#Provocation and Self-Control

[seemabhatnagar]

“Grave and Sudden Provocation”

➡️ On November 5, 2007, the appellant (Vijay @ Vijayakumar) and his friends, including PW-11(Thiru Ramu) and PW-12(Tmt Raji), were returning home after watching a movie.

🔹While resting under a bridge at midnight, they encountered the deceased, who was in an inebriated state.

🔹An altercation broke out between the appellant and the deceased, during which the appellant struck the deceased with a cement brick, causing fatal head injuries.

🔹Subsequently, the appellant attempted to destroy evidence by burning the deceased's body.

🔹A complaint was lodged by the Village Administrative Officer Thiru Mohan(PW-1), and the investigation led to the recovery of relevant evidence, including a confession statement.

#GraveandSuddenProvocation #Section304Part1IndianPenalCode

➡️The legal issue in this *case before the Apex Court was whether the act of the appellant falls under Exception 1 of Section 300 IPC, thereby reducing the offense from murder to culpable homicide not amounting to murder (Section 304 Part I IPC).

#ProvocationandSelfControl

➡️The Appellant contended

🔹The act was committed under grave and sudden provocation caused by the deceased during the altercation.

🔹Exception 1 of Section 300 IPC applies, justifying the reduction in charges.

The State objected

🔹The appellant's act was premeditated and intended to kill the deceased.

🔹The destruction of evidence post-incident demonstrated an attempt to cover up the crime, undermining the claim of provocation.

#justiceincriminallaw ##SentencingPrinciples

➡️The Apex Court observed

🔹Exception 1 to Section 300 IPC applies when the accused is deprived of self-control due to grave and sudden provocation.

🔹The provocation arose from the deceased's conduct during the altercation.

🔹Provocation must be evaluated based on its gravity, suddenness, and effect on a reasonable person.

🔹The appellant reacted immediately, suggesting loss of self-control due to provocation.

🔹The act of striking the deceased with a cement brick was deemed excessive but arose from the provocation.

🔹The appellant's subsequent attempt to burn the body to destroy evidence warranted additional punishment under Section 201 IPC.

#culpablehomicideversusmurder #Exception1ofSection300IPC

➡️The Supreme Court upheld the Trial Court and High Court's findings that the appellant was guilty under Section 304 Part I IPC (culpable homicide not amounting to murder).

The appellant’s sentence of five years rigorous imprisonment for Section 304 Part I IPC and two years rigorous imprisonment for Section 201 IPC (destruction of evidence) was confirmed.

*Case Vijay v. State

Crl. Appeal 1049/2021, Before the Supreme Court of India

Heard by Hon'ble Mr. Justice J B Pardiwala J & Hon'ble Mr. Justice R Mahadevan J

[wayti-blog]

Provocation doesn't make me ill-tempered: it only shows me how ill-tempered I am.

C. S. Lewis

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐌𝐎𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The soft evening light filtered through the apartment windows as Xavier dozed on the couch, one arm draped over his face. The TV played quietly in the background, some documentary about astronomy he’d insisted on watching but had fallen asleep to within minutes.

You approached quietly, smiling at how peaceful he looked in these rare moments of complete relaxation. On impulse, you leaned down close to his ear and let out a soft, suggestive moan.

The effect was immediate. Xavier’s eyes snapped open, all traces of sleep vanishing instantly. He turned to face you, his gaze suddenly alert and focused entirely on your face.

“Was was that?” he asked like he can’t believe of what he had just heard.

“Nothing,” you replied with a teasing smile.

He sat up straighter, watching you with that gaze that seemed to look straight through you. “You wouldn’t wake me up like that without purpose.”

The apartment felt suddenly quieter, the documentary’s narration fading into the background as he continued to observe you, waiting. He remained still, but there was a visible tension in his posture now.

“Did you want something specific?”

You tilted your head slightly. “I thought you might prefer me to your documentary. Was I wrong?”

When you didn’t elaborate further, he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours. You noticed the slight quickening of his breath.

“If you’re suggesting what I think you are,” he said, his voice dropping slightly lower, “then perhaps we should move to the bedroom.”

He stood up, still holding your hand, the documentary completely forgotten. “You woke me up,” he stated simply, tugging you in a hurry toward the hallway. His thumb traced small circles on your skin as you walked.

“Now,” he said quietly, closing the door behind you, “I’ll make you make that sound again.”

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The home office was Zayne’s sanctuary, even on his rare days off. The space was meticulously organized—medical journals stacked neatly, his laptop open to patient files he was reviewing despite technically being off-duty.

You hesitated at the doorway before deciding to proceed with your little experiment. Approaching his desk, you leaned over his shoulder as if to see what he was working on. Then, close to his ear, you let out a deliberately provocative moan.

His fingers froze mid-keystroke. For a moment, he remained perfectly still, the only movement the slow rise and fall of his chest as he took a deep breath.

“I have ten more minutes of work,” he said, his voice even but with an edge to it. His eyes, when they met yours, had darkened. “Wait for me in the bedroom.”

“What if I don’t want to wait?” you challenged.

His jaw tightened as he checked his watch. “Ten minutes,” he repeated firmly. “I need to finish these notes. After that...” He stood up, closing some of the distance between you. His hand reached out, fingers brushing along your jawline before he leaned in close.

“After that, I’ll give you something real to moan about,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. He pulled back, his expression once again composed as he returned to his chair. “Ten minutes,” he said one final time, already refocusing on his work, though you noticed his typing speed had increased considerably.

“I’ll be timing you,” you said, leaning against the doorframe. You lingered, watching as he tried to concentrate on the screen before him. The slight tremor in his hands revealed how affected he truly was. His perfectionist nature wouldn’t allow him to leave work unfinished, but his usually impeccable focus was clearly compromised.

You wondered if he would actually last the full ten minutes, or if his self-control would finally break.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows of Rafayel’s studio, illuminating half-finished canvases and scattered art supplies. He stood before his painting, brush in hand, lost in the world of his creation. Thomas had been trying to contact him all morning about an upcoming exhibition, but Rafayel had switched his phone off hours ago.

You approached quietly from behind, admiring how the light caught in his hair as he worked. On impulse, you leaned close and breathed a soft, sensual moan directly into his ear.

The paintbrush clattered to the floor, splattering tiny dots of colors across the floor. Rafayel stood frozen, his hand still suspended in the air where it had been working moments before.

Slowly, he turned to face you, his eyes wide and unfocused. “That’s... that’s not fair,” he managed, his voice unusually strained.

“I didn’t know I needed to play fair,” you replied with an innocent smile. “Did I break your concentration?”

You took a step back, amused at his reaction, but he quickly closed the distance.

“No, no retreating now,” he said, a mix of playfulness and seriousness in his voice. “You can’t just do that and walk away.”

“Maybe I just wanted your attention,” you said.

His hands reached for yours. “Do you know what sounds like that do to me?” he asked, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together.

“Why don’t you show me?” you suggested, your voice barely above a whisper.

“My sweet darling,” he murmured against your neck. “Always knowing exactly how to distract me.”

Without warning, he scooped you up, abandoning his painting without a second thought. “This can wait another day,” he declared, carrying you toward the door. As he walked toward his bedroom, he paused only long enough to press his lips to your ear. “Make that sound again,” he whispered.

“Like this?” you breathed, repeating the moan directly against his skin.

His heart hammered against your side where he held you close, his usually steady artist’s hands trembling slightly with barely contained desire.

“Mmm, some masterpieces require a different kind of canvas.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

Warm evening light cast long shadows through the expansive windows of the private residence. Sylus reclined on the plush sofa, a book balanced in one hand while the other absently swirled a glass of deep red wine. These quiet moments were rare—moments where he set aside the mantle of leadership and simply existed in the comfort of his own space.

You approached silently across the thick carpet, observing how the fading light caught the sharp angles of his profile. On impulse, you leaned close to his ear and let out a soft, deliberate moan.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Sylus went perfectly still, only his eyes moving as they flicked up from the page. Without rushing, he marked his place in the book and set it aside, followed by the wine glass.

“How interesting,” he said, voice deceptively casual despite the sudden intensity of his gaze. “I was just thinking the evening was lacking something.”

“Were you now?” you asked, maintaining eye contact. “Happy to provide a distraction.”

In one fluid motion, he pulled you down onto the couch beside him, his hands settling possessively on your waist. “Is there something you want from me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “Or are you simply trying to capture my attention?”

“Maybe both,” you replied, not backing down from his intensity. “Is it working?”

When you didn’t elaborate further, his grip tightened slightly. “You know better than to start games you don’t intend to finish.”

“Who says I don’t intend to finish?” you challenged, this time straddling his lap.

He shifted, bringing your faces closer together. “Right here? On this couch? I’m perfectly willing to accommodate if that’s what you’re asking for.” His thumb traced your lower lip, his expression equal parts challenge and desire. “Just say the word.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you whispered against his finger.

Sylus seemed perfectly content to let you decide the next move. One hand moved slowly up your back, coming to rest at the nape of your neck.

“Well?” he prompted, one eyebrow raised in that particular way that made it impossible to tell if he was challenging you or genuinely asking. “What will it be?”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the large windows of the home office where Caleb had been working for hours. Despite being off-duty, he remained dedicated to reviewing the latest training protocols for the newest batch of Fleet officers.

When you entered, he acknowledged you with a quick smile before returning his attention to the document in front of him. “Just need to finish this section,” he explained, not looking up from his work. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”

“You said that two hours ago,” you reminded him gently, approaching his desk.

You observed the focused concentration on his face—so different from his usual playful demeanor when you were alone together. On impulse, you leaned down close to his ear and let out a soft, suggestive moan.

His hand froze mid-note, digital pen pressing so hard against the tablet that the screen glitched momentarily. You watched as the muscles in his shoulders tensed beneath his casual t-shirt, his entire body going rigid.

When he finally turned to look at you, his eyes had darkened, all thoughts of work evidently forgotten. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting your attention,” you replied innocently. “Is it working?”

You took a small step back, a smile playing at your lips, but Caleb was faster. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood in one fluid motion, catching your wrist before you could retreat further.

“You don’t get to do that and just walk away,” he said firmly, pulling you closer until you were trapped between his body and the desk.

“I wasn’t walking away,” you meet his intense gaze.

With one sweep of his arm, he cleared a space on the desk, documents and tablets pushed unceremoniously to the side. He lifted you onto the cleared surface.

“I was trying to work,” he murmured against your neck, his hands already finding their way beneath your shirt. “But clearly you had other ideas for how I should spend my afternoon.”

“Maybe I was tired of sharing you with your work,” you admitted, tilting your head to give him better access.

His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “You’re going to have to deal with the consequences of that little sound you just made.”

Based on this request.

[luna-azzurra]

List of 40 character flaws

Stubbornness, Unyielding in one's own views, even when wrong.

Impatience, Difficulty waiting for long-term results.

Self-doubt, Constant uncertainty despite evident abilities.

Quick temper, Excessive reactions to provocations.

Selfishness, Prioritizing one's own needs over others'.

Arrogance, Overestimating one's own abilities.

Trust issues, Difficulty trusting others.

Perfectionism, Setting unreachable high standards.

Fear of change, Avoiding changes.

Haunted by the past, Old mistakes or traumas influencing the present.

Jealousy, Envious of others' successes.

Laziness, Hesitant to exert effort.

Vindictiveness, Strong desire for revenge.

Prejudice, Unfair biases against others.

Shyness, Excessive timidity.

Indecisiveness, Difficulty making decisions.

Vulnerability, Overly sensitive to criticism.

Greed, Strong desire for more (money, power, etc.).

Dishonesty, Tendency to distort the truth.

Recklessness, Ignoring the consequences of one's actions.

Cynicism, Negative attitude and distrust.

Cowardice, Lack of courage in critical moments.

Hotheadedness, Quick, often thoughtless reactions.

Contentiousness, Tendency to provoke conflicts.

Forgetfulness, Difficulty remembering important details.

Kleptomania, Compulsion to steal things.

Hypochondria, Excessive concern about one's health.

Pessimism, Expecting the worst in every situation.

Narcissism, Excessive self-love.

Control freak, Inability to let go or trust others.

Tactlessness, Inability to address sensitive topics sensitively.

Hopelessness, Feeling that nothing will get better.

Dogmatism, Rigidity in one's own beliefs.

Unreliability, Inability to keep promises.

Closed-offness, Difficulty expressing emotions.

Impulsiveness, Acting without thinking.

Wounded pride, Overly sensitive to criticism of oneself.

Isolation, Tendency to withdraw from others.

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS TOXIC TRAITS / RED FLAGS + GREEN FLAGS ── .✦

a/n: the thing is, they all aren’t like problematic when it comes to relationships but they do have some things and flaws which when heard sound “oh okay that’s fine” but may be like super annoying in a irl relationship also this was a request by anon (here)! (Tags: batboys x reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Chronic People-Pleaser: Will prioritize everyone’s needs over his own (or yours), leading to burnout… and you having to remind him you exist.

Flirty by Nature: He’s not trying to flirt… it just happens. That waitress? Nope, not on purpose, but yeah, you’ll roll your eyes a lot.

Hero Complex: He always has to “save” people, including you, even when you’re perfectly fine handling it yourself. “I got it, babe.” No, you don’t, Dick.

GREEN FLAGS:

Emotionally Intelligent: He can read your mood like a book and knows exactly how to make you smile (with pancakes shaped like hearts).

Physical Affection Expert: Hugs, cuddles, forehead kisses—you’re basically his personal teddy bear.

Supportive King: He’s your biggest cheerleader, hyping you up in the most genuine, heartfelt ways. “That’s my girl.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Anger Issues: He’ll throw hands for you at the slightest provocation. Guy looks at you wrong? Jason’s already removing his jacket.

Emotionally Guarded: Good luck getting him to open up. He’s more likely to tell you his deepest fears after you’ve fallen asleep.

Reckless Behavior: He’ll drag you into the most insane situations and act like it’s no big deal. “What do you mean this is dangerous? It’s fine.”

GREEN FLAGS:

Loyal to a Fault: He’ll defend you with his life, no questions asked. “You mess with her, you mess with me.”

Soft Romantic: Beneath the tough exterior, he’s writing you sweet notes and remembering the little things, like how you take your coffee.

Protective (in a good way): He won’t smother you, but he’ll make sure you always feel safe, even if it’s just crossing the street.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Workaholic: He’ll forget to eat, sleep, and sometimes text you back because “the case was just getting good!”

Overthinks Everything: Spends hours analyzing your last text to figure out if you were mad or just tired. “Was that period passive-aggressive?”

Terrible Self-Care: You’ll have to force him to drink water and go to bed like a mom with a rebellious child.

GREEN FLAGS:

Incredibly Thoughtful: He remembers every detail about you, from your favorite flower to that obscure hobby you mentioned once.

Adorably Awkward: His shy smiles and fumbling over words when you flirt back are endlessly endearing.

Problem Solver: He’ll find solutions to all your problems, from fixing your computer to making your bad day better with tea and soft music.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Insanely Jealous: He glares daggers at anyone who looks at you too long. “Why is he breathing near you?”

Judgmental: He might critique your taste in music, books, or anything else with his usual bluntness. “This… is what you listen to?”

Control Freak: He likes things done a certain way and will try to “help” you by micromanaging your life.

GREEN FLAGS:

Devoted Partner: Once he’s in, he’s all in. You’ll never doubt his commitment because he’s always showing up for you.

Loyal Beyond Measure: He’ll defend your honor to anyone, even Bruce. “She’s perfect, Father. You simply lack taste.”

Surprisingly Gentle: Despite his tough exterior, he has a soft side that only you get to see, like the way he pets animals—or you—so tenderly.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Emotionally Repressed: He’s basically a human brick wall when it comes to expressing his feelings. “I’m… fine.” No, Bruce, you’re not.

Work Comes First: He’ll disappear into the Batcave for days unless you drag him out by the cape which becomes quickly annoying.

Overprotective: He’ll want to track your every move, not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he worries too much. “It’s for your safety.”

GREEN FLAGS:

Quietly Romantic: He may not be overly expressive, but he’ll show love through subtle gestures—like a bouquet of your favorite flowers left on the table.

Ultimate Provider: He makes sure you never want for anything, whether it’s emotional support or physical comfort.

Unshakable Devotion: Once you’ve captured his heart, he’s yours forever. There’s no halfway with Bruce—he’s in it for the long haul.

[skzdarlings]

harmony ; 3racha x reader ; one-shot

masterlist.

porn without plot. you want to have some fun and you know exactly which boyfriend can help get it started.

pairing: 3racha/reader content info: sub!reader, dom!changbin, dom!chan, switch!jisung, polyamorous mmfm foursome (so they’re all involved with each other and interact with each other), very enthusiastic consent with an implied red/yellow/green light system (yellow is employed once).  some rough play (esp with changbin), cnc game that reader initiates, face-slapping, choking, dirty talk, pussy eating, double penetration, blow job, all three holes at once, multiple orgasms, jisung having a monster dick for no reason, aftercare.  (technically no mention of birth control but it’s a long established relationship and you can safely assume it’s taken care of.) 

word count: 5255 words.

enjoy <3

-

When you want to play – really play – you know where to go. 

Jisung can be an overthinker and Chan is always protective, so they hesitate before getting too rough with you. Changbin, however, never holds back.  You know how to touch him, how to smile that particularly provocative smile, how to bat your eyelashes and invite him to play.  

You are thinking about it when he returns from his work-out, muscles straining in his black tank shirt, body damp with sweat, and looking like pure, unadulterated sex.  Chan and Jisung are huddled around a laptop in the living room, their entrepreneurial endeavours a seemingly endless chore, and they are so engrossed in their work they don’t see you leave. 

You sneak off to your room to change, ditching your shorts and underclothes, slipping into one of Changbin’s old t-shirts and absolutely nothing else.  

You intend to hunt him down after his shower, but it’s Changbin who comes to you.  He ambles casually into your bedroom without knocking, comfortable and relaxed and at home.  You have your own rooms for personal space but you all come and go as you please.

Your room is dimly lit with strings of fairy lights, the bed crowded with pillows and teddy bears, not to mention a big strong boyfriend who makes himself at home.  Changbin is dressed in sweatpants and a black t-shirt, his hair blow-dried soft and fluffy, but body as bulky and powerful as ever. 

“Look at this,” he says, holding out his phone.  A sweater you were eyeing has gone on sale so he sits on your bed and buys it for you without hesitation.   He giggles to himself with all that self-satisfied delight, teasing that he is the best boyfriend and your number one favourite. 

He knows the truest harmony lies among the four of you, together, always, but he likes to tease.

You like to tease back. 

“Be careful, you big bully,” you say, because he plops himself down at the head of the bed, knocking a teddy bear over.  You pick it up and aggressively shove it back into place. 

He quirks an eyebrow, his giggling joviality replaced with a studious expression.  He seems to finally notice what you are wearing, blinking his gaze up and down your body as you rearrange the pillows behind him. 

You bat your eyelashes, all playful innocence.

“Don’t be so serious,” he says.  He deliberately knocks a teddy onto the floor. 

You playfully gasp, bending over with a flourish and flashing him. 

“Ah,” he says, putting his phone on your bedside table.  “It’s like that?” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, blinking. 

“Hm,” he says, giving you another quick once-over.  “Okay.”  

Changbin hauls you over his shoulder and wrestles you onto the bed.  He puts you on your back, upside down so your head is near the foot.  He climbs right on top of you, not an inch of muscle budging even when you thud your fists against his firm chest.    

“Binnie,” you say, wriggling underneath him, the t-shirt riding up your thighs.  “You’re crushing me, you big mean brute.” 

“Brute,” he says, laughing.  He grabs your hips and pins you to the mattress.  “Tsk.  You like it like that.” 

“No, I – ah!”

Changbin never hesitates.  He knows you will tell him if you don’t like something.  It’s a game of trust, full of an all encompassing love that boasts such tender affection beneath each action.  Being with Changbin is like being nestled in blankets by a warm fire on a snowy winter’s day.  You are sheltered in the storm, feeling that protection even more keenly because of the dangerous cold.    

Between you, there is nothing but heat. 

He gathers the hem of the t-shirt and shoves it up, past the skin of your tummy, exposing your thighs and all the bare softness between them.  Oh, yes, all softness against his hard body, the thickness of his biceps as he holds you down, his big thighs shoved between your open legs, broad shoulders relentless and ungiving even where you smack him repeatedly. 

“Binnie, be careful,” you say, trying to close your legs around his hips. 

You gasp when he puts a hand up your shirt, squeezing your breast in the cup of his palm. His mean fingers immediately find the stiffening peak, thumb tormenting you while you whine. 

You buck as if you want to throw him off, but he is right where you want him and he knows it.  He knows you, your body like a well-loved instrument, his strong hands drawing every musical gasp and sigh out of you. 

“Where’s your panties, hm?” he asks.  Undeterred by your continuous bucking and writhing, he slides his hands down to your naked hips.  He was slouched half-on top of you but he gets up on his knees now.  He pushes your thighs apart, forcing his hips between them. 

“Shameful,” he says.   He tries to grab your flailing hands to no avail.  You smack his chest and shoulders, dodging the reach of his fingers. 

He smacks your face, a tap hard enough to register the game has really begun, but not so hard to sting for long.  You still gasp, your hands pausing.  It gives him time to work a hand between your open thighs. 

“Ahh—!” 

“Yah, look at you,” he says, rubbing his fingers through your wet pussy without finesse or gentleness.  You twitch every time his knuckle rides over your clit.   “Bad girl,” he says.  “Who are you so wet for?” 

He gives you no time to answer, scooting back to drag you to the middle of the bed. You are still upside down, your pillows and teddies piled behind him, all the dreaminess of your girly lace bedroom in contrast to his stark masculinity.  It makes your whole body thrum with arousal, hot from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head.  You feel him even where he is not touching you.  

Where he is touching you, you burn, heart erratic with anticipation as he squeezes your thighs, as he shoves your hands out of his way, as he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy open to his gaze. 

“Ah – Binnie—!”  You get louder.  Your bedroom door is open.  Chan and Jisung might be focussed on their work, but not for long, not if you keep this up.  Still, to speed things along, you scream, “Chan!  Channie!  Ch—hmmph!”

Changbin shoves a pillow in your face, holding it there, smothering you to soften your shrieks.  His other hand is on your thigh – no, slipping higher, a surface touch through all that wet desire.  Then his blunt fingers are inside you.  You moan into the pillow, clenching around the thrust of his fingers.  You get dizzy quickly, partially because of the pillow, partially his skilled hand. 

He abruptly lifts the pillow.  The oxygen goes straight to your head, as intoxicating as a kiss.  You realize you are close to coming already, hiccupping with all that sudden breath as he fucks his fingers into you. 

Changbin is relentless.   You smack his chest but he ignores it, his strong arm keeping a steady momentum.  An orgasm builds and builds, your fingers hooking into his t-shirt for some leverage.  He puts a hand on your belly and holds you down.  He feels so strong and heavy, utterly unmovable, and it makes falling apart so much easier. 

“Didn’t you have something to say to Chan?” he says. 

You gasp and turn your head.  Sure enough, Chan is standing there, watching you.  Changbin does it on purpose, knowing when you are close, so you look at Chan just as the orgasm crests.  

Chan is standing beside the bed, dressed in his basketball shorts and a sleeveless black shirt, a baseball cap over his curly dark hair.   He must have entered the room while the pillow was on your face, and now he is standing there, watching Changbin hold you down and fuck you with his hand. 

“Channie, please—” you say, then you come all over Changbin’s fingers.  You cry out because he keeps tormenting you, thumb shaking back-and-forth across your throbbing clit.  “Ah, Binnie—Channie, please!”

Chan gives Changbin a look, his eyebrow quirked, then he just leans towards the open door and whistles.  It’s a sharp, high whistle, a call to attention. 

“Han,” he says, not even very loud.  Chan never needs to shove or force or yell.  When Chan says come, you come. 

You always obey Chan.  You throw your head back, gasping as you come a second time.  It is so soon after the first orgasm that it feels like one long, rolling wave.  It continues to shudder through you, even after Changbin slips his hand out. 

The shirt is still shoved up your tummy, soft skin and wet pussy on display.   Chan does not look away, reaching blindly behind himself for your desk chair.  He yanks it closer to the bed and plops down, taking off his cap and tossing it on the floor.   He is bare-faced, expression so open and honest, but a hunger in his eyes that darkens his whole face. 

Changbin just looks giddy.  You look at him as he giggles, that funny little chortle leaving that buff body.  Then you realize he is rolling his sweatpants down. 

“Channie!” you yelp, shrieking and twisting while Changbin licks his palm and strokes his cock, his other hand effortlessly holding you down. 

Chan slouches in the chair.  He props an elbow on the arm-rest and puts his chin in his palm.  His other hand slips under the waistband of his shorts. 

“Careful, baby,” Chan says, seconds before Changbin smacks you again.  It is within your limit, but still enough to turn your head on impact.

Like before, it breaks your concentration, and Changbin takes the opportunity to grab your hips, line up, and shove his cock inside you.  Chan and Jisung always give you a minute to adjust, the size of a hard cock definitely different from fingers, but Changbin never waits.  Even while you wince and complain, he fucks you through it, gripping your hips hard and ignoring your hands pushing against his chest. 

“Too much, Binnie,” you say, even though the sting is quickly passing.  You’re so wet and it makes it easy for him to fuck you.  It even sounds messy, every thrust opening you up, getting you even wetter, the bed creaking as he pulls you onto his cock over and over. 

You look over at Chan who is still watching, the shape of his hand and his dick so clear through the material of his shorts as he fists his cock slowly. 

You hiccup as Changbin switches from long, deep strokes to short, pounding ones. 

At which point Jisung finally walks in, yapping about work, saying, “I was thinking we could postpone the meeting to Monday and—oh, hi, WHAAAT, we’re having sex in here?  All right, man, okay, that’s cool, all right, what’s up.”   

Oh, your sweet Jisung.  He is also in house clothes, black shorts and a sleeveless white shirt, dark hair feathering through his fingers as he runs his hand through it.  He walks further into the room, kicking the door closed behind himself for no reason.  His attention is firmly fixed on you, holding your gaze while Changbin fucks you.  The unmoving intensity of those big brown eyes leaves you tingling, a swoop in your belly that feels as thorough as a good fuck.  It crashes into the feeling of Changbin inside you, makes your whole body get tight so Changbin groans and curses. 

“Oh,” is all you can say.  You cover your face with both hands, gasping when Changbin goes back to longer, deeper thrusts. 

“Heyyy, baby, why are you hiding?” Jisung says in his sweetest voice. 

You hear him approaching, even above the sound of you getting fucked, above Changbin’s little grunts, above Chan cursing.   You feel the dip of the mattress when Jisung climbs up on the bed, sitting near your head.  Then his hands are on your wrists, prying them away from your face.   You try to wrestle them back but he holds them calmly, his own arms boasting a subtle musculature as he pins your hands to the mattress to stop you from moving. 

“Yes,” Changbin says.  “Like that.  Come on.” 

“Jisungie,” you whine, looking down at where Changbin is driving into you, feeling each thrust deeper than your pussy, all the way up to your throat.  You tip your head back, looking at Jisung upside down. 

He leans down, his hair swooping forward, tickling your face as he kisses your forehead and temple. 

“It’s okay, baby,” he says.�� Despite his soft voice, he does not lighten his grip, your hands still locked in place.  “Does it hurt?” he asks, wide-eyed. 

“Mmm,” you say, nodding, even while shuddering with so much pleasure that a tear spills down your cheek. 

“Aww,” he says, licking that tear track, making every nerve spasm.  “You’re so cute, baby.” 

“She gets tighter when you choke her,” Chan says.

“Awww,” Jisung says.   He releases one hand to reach for you.  He wraps his fingers delicately around your throat, not even squeezing at first, just a caress as his hand curls around you. 

Your adrenaline naturally peaks, body clenching, just like Chan said.  Changbin groans his satisfaction and Jisung tightens his grip, keeping you pinned by the throat while Changbin goes still, coming inside you. 

“Fuck,” Chan says. 

Jisung releases your throat and you suck in a shaky breath.  It is interrupted when Jisung swoops in, kissing your lips upside down.  You squirm under the confusing messiness of his open mouth at this angle. 

He comes up with a breath, one as shaky as your own, ravished from a kiss.  He runs his hand through his hair and nods to Changbin, saying, “Turn her around.” 

Two pairs of hands find you, manhandling you so easily between them.  You yelp, startled by the movement, as they lift you up and turn you around so your head is in Changbin’s lap and Jisung is now the one between your legs. 

Changbin hoists you into his arms, holds you in the cradle of his bicep as Jisung lays down between your open legs. 

This is one area that Jisung never hesitates to indulge, his open mouth descending on your pussy with ravenous excitement. 

You are so, so sensitive down there, almost numb beneath the first few searching swipes. 

He presses his whole mouth there, moaning as he sucks on your clit then licks up and down, back and forth, around and around.  His tongue rubs where Changbin just came, circling your sensitive hole, pressing there then licking back up to your already throbbing clit. 

“Can’t come again,” you say, not entirely sure if it comes out coherent because your eyes are closed and your brain feels fuzzy.   

He answers with a hum.  He does not seem to be eating you out with the intention of making you come, but purely for his own pleasure as he sucks and licks and tastes.  Despite that – and despite your words – you feel a tightening in your belly, a dull throb that feels too feels too deep to reach. 

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Changbin says when you start to writhe, his big arm wrapped around your neck, holding you tight to his beating heart. 

The thud of that heart, the relentless flick of Jisung’s tongue, and Chan’s approving nod makes your thighs press around Jisung’s head. 

“Oh—” is your last word before you come again, bucking hard against Jisung’s face.  You gasp and cling to Changbin’s arm. 

Jisung keeps licking at you, not relenting until your gasping whine is more of a scream.   Then he kisses your thighs and hips before pushing himself up onto his knees. 

He and Changbin wordlessly work together, sitting you upright to remove your only article of clothing.   Both pairs of hands find you again, touching and groping and stimulating everywhere. 

You shudder under all the sensation, eyes closing, rocking against nothing.  You are desperate to close your legs to relieve the tension, but Jisung is kneeling between them.  Fortunately, he knows you well, his hand sliding down there, fingers finding you, curling into you. 

“You’re soo wet, baby, it’s embarrassing,” he says.  “You need it that bad?” 

He is still using his sweetest voice, like he doesn’t know he is about to utterly wreck your shit.  Because Jisung always does without very much effort, simply by effect of having the biggest dick you have ever taken.   It is part of the reason you usually can’t start with him, or why he takes his time when you do, because it is an aching endeavour whenever he tries to fit all that inside you. 

Even the bulge in his shorts is obscene, the material rubbing against your thighs.  He brings your hand to that bulge and groans when you squeeze it, saying, “That’s it, that’s it—”

He leans over you.  It sounds like he and Changbin might be kissing above your head, sloppily at that.  Jisung is probably shoving his tongue into Changbin’s mouth, the same tongue that was just inside you as it licked up the mess that Changbin made.   

They press you between their bodies in an envelope of desire, utterly dominating your senses.  Changbin smells like his shampoo, a deep scent like mahogany, while Jisung tends to douse himself in cologne, faded now at the end of the day but still a rich, expensive smell.  Beneath all that is that simple sweat, bodies getting worked up, raw sex overwhelming all those other scents. 

You breathe them in, whimpering because you are pressed so tightly between them. You can feel Jisung twitching in your hand and Changbin beginning to stiffen again at your backside. 

 There is a wet pop and a shared gasp when they stop kissing.  Jisung grabs your face and pulls you up, his mouth hot when it claims yours, that stupidly talented mouth making you crazy. 

“Hold her,” Jisung says, speaking against your lips while guiding Changbin’s hands.  Jisung grabs your thighs and pushes them up, not quite folding you in half but almost there.  He knows you need to be open to take him.  Even then, you are already clenching, fluttering around nothing in anticipation.

Changbin holds your thighs back, hands pressed under the curve of your knee.  Jisung hastily shoves his shorts down his thighs, leaving them gathered at the knee.   He touches you and uses your desire to wet his dick, frantically jerking it as if it is not already intimidatingly hard and ready. 

“Jisungie,” you say, already whining, wiping an embarrassing spot of drool as it spills over your bottom lip.  Your body is so eager that it thunders out of control, clenching around nothing, and you can’t seem to stop it.   

Jisung is so mean, just using his fingertip for a second, circling your fluttering hole.  You try kicking him but your ankle manages little more than a flick, your legs trapped in Changbin’s hold. 

“Sorry,” Jisung says, giggling and obviously unapologetic.  He flicks your pouting bottom lip before finally putting the tip of his dick at your entrance. 

The first little bit is always fine.  It feels good to be full, your body needing him, pulling him in.  He rocks back and forth a little, pushing an inch then another, and that’s when your body realizes how much there is, clenching and stretching and burning as he pushes in.   

He goes slow, his whining mouth against your throat.  But then Chan sits on the edge of the bed and touches his back.  He bottoms out quickly and you squeak, eyes closed and breath coming fast. 

You hear Chan say, “Take it off.”   Confused, you blink your eyes open.  Chan is talking to Jisung, tugging his shirt up his back. 

Jisung groans but complies, tugging it over his head with one hand.  The few seconds give you a precious moment to adjust, barely enough before he comes back and starts to fuck you with short, rolling thrusts.   You think Chan is getting Jisung’s shorts out of the way given the jerky way Jisung moves on top of you, but then you are skin to skin with no obstruction. 

“Mmph, yellow – legs,” you say, breaking only briefly to prevent a cramp in your thighs.  Changbin is quick to smooth you out, helping reposition you more comfortably.  

You sprawl flat on your back as Changbin moves away, wrapping your legs around Jisung’s waist without any hindrance.  He holds himself above you, alternatively muttering expletives and cooing sweet nothings at you. 

Changbin sits on one side, Chan the other, both fully clothed despite the obvious strain below their waistbands.  It reminds you a little of the time Changbin topped Jisung while Chan fucked you, the pair of you kissing and touching between them the entire time.   

Today is a little different.  You are at the centre of it all, Jisung inside you, Chan’s hand on your chest and Changbin’s fingers circling your mouth.   You take those fingers when prompted, sucking dutifully, batting your eyelashes up at him while he softly finger-fucks your mouth. 

Chan’s fingers join him, touching your lip.  You open your mouth wider and drool messily around the intrusion. 

“Fuck,” Chan says.  He rips his hand back in sudden needy haste.  “Turn over,” he demands, smacking Jisung on the ass. 

It makes Jisung yelp but he complies.  With some help from Changbin, you roll over until Jisung is on his back and you are on top of him.  Changbin kneels upright too, taking your face in his hands and kissing you, tongue penetrating your mouth as Jisung holds your hips and thrusts up into you. 

Chan grabs the back of your neck, holding you in place while Changbin kisses you.  Chan’s other hand runs down your front, tweaking a nipple and making you mewl into Changbin’s mouth.  You are more panting than kissing by the time Chan’s fingers reach your pussy. 

Jisung slows down just a little, out of breath and whimpering as you clench around him.  This angle makes him feel stupidly deep, your eyes rolling back.  He makes a few small, jerky movements, not even a deep thrust, and it still feels like he his hitting your heart. 

Chan joins the kiss with Changbin.  You are not even sure who is kissing you, just that it is one or the other, back and forth until you are dizzy.  You know it is Chan’s fingers between your legs, the unmistakable pattern of his deft, familiar stroke making you spiral towards another orgasm. 

“Oh, god, she’s – she’s—” Jisung says, squeezing your hips, going still for a minute to stop himself from coming when you do.  He is breathing as hard as you. 

You look down at Jisung, holding eye contact while you come hard on Chan’s fingers. Chan and Changbin are each sucking a bruise into either side of your neck. 

“Fuck,” you say in a watery voice, thighs shaking, hands on Jisung’s abdomen as you lean forward. 

“That’s it,” Chan says, kissing your throat sweetly while Changbin bites you meanly.  Both of them swipe their tongue across the mark they leave behind.  “Jisung,” Chan says, a demand without further explanation.

“Fuck, I know,” Jisung says, slowly moving his hips again. 

It is so quick off your orgasm, it makes aftershocks move through your whole body.  You are a livewire, making every ridiculous sound possible as Jisung fucks you, Changbin kisses you, and Chan gets up behind you. 

Chan runs his hands down your sides, gently bending you forward until you are chest to chest with Jisung. 

“Yup, just like that,” Chan says, rubbing the base of your spine then lower.  His hands cup the curve of your ass, squeezing, tilting your hips just so.  It gives him a good view of Jisung’s cock moving in and out of you, no doubt obscenely wet and messy, as well as exposing the smaller hole in your ass as he spreads you open. 

“Changbin,” Chan says, still with that same confident assurance he will be obeyed no matter what, “Pass me the lube. Bedside drawer.” 

As if you were not already sensitive enough, just hearing those words makes everything clench, which makes Jisung fuck you harder, which makes some place inside you that is so unbelievably soft and tender start to ache. 

“Ah, that sound,” Changbin says when your moans turn to high-pitched whimpers.  He pats the back of your head and reaches for the bedside table. 

After a bit of rustling, he tosses the lube at Chan who catches it easily. 

“One second,” Changbin says while Chan uncaps it.  “She’s gonna come again.  Big one, isn’t it, yes?” 

The fact he knows before you do is a testament to how closely he watches you, how well he knows you.  He is completely right, of course, as Jisung repeatedly pounds into some squishy, vulnerable part of you, so deep and so tender.  You are not sure your clit would even respond if someone tried to touch it, but they don’t need to.   It is enough that Jisung is hitting that place again and again. 

You come with a scream, literally gushing around Jisung as you come.  It takes everything in his willpower not to come, nonsensically begging Changbin to help so he doesn’t finish.  Changbin just grabs him by the throat, much harder than Jisung grabbed you, making Jisung choke out a strangled gasp immediately.  It works, though, as Jisung goes still but stays hard, letting you rock desperately on top of him as your orgasm seems to last ages. 

When it finishes, you are completely boneless.  You slump onto Jisung who takes a breath when Changbin lets go. 

“All right,” Changbin says, smacking your ass.  You hear him kiss Chan quickly.   “Your turn.”

It is a good thing you feel so willowy; it makes it easy for Chan to open you up on his slick fingers.  The few times you have done this, it always took forever, which was fun in its own way, but today it is so easy.  He slides a finger right in, then another, hardly any obstruction as your body surrenders so completely to your boyfriends.

“You gonna take it okay, baby?” Jisung asks, his hands on your sides, holding you steady. 

You look up at him, nodding, and open your mouth with a whine.  He understands, lifting his head, meeting you in a messy, lazy kiss while he rocks slowly inside you.   The kiss only breaks when Chan replaces his fingers with his cock, reigniting every spark in your over sensitized body.  

“Ugh, god,” Jisung says, barely above a breath as he pants against your mouth.  “He’s inside you, baby?” 

You don’t answer because he can probably feel it when Chan is fully inside you.  It takes a second for them to calibrate, find a rhythm that works.   You are not sure if you are more impressed with yourself for taking it so easily this time, or impressed that Jisung has lasted this long and is still coherent enough to keep a steady rhythm. 

“Changbin,” you say, his name a moan on your lips.  You need to feel him too, his hand on your back not nearly enough. 

“Go,” Chan says, groaning, your hips in his hands as he fucks you.  “Oh, baby, you’re so good,” he says.  “Isn’t our girl so good for us?” 

Changbin and Jisung basically just grunt in reply, affirmative but irrevocably distracted. 

Changbin kneels near your head, rubbing the back of your neck and gently guiding you to turn your face.  Jisung swears when you open your mouth, a bit of spit drooling past his own lips as he watches you take Changbin’s cock past your lips.   You mostly just lay there with your mouth open, letting him fuck it rather than really blowing him, but there are no complaints. 

Chan squeezes your ass, a gentle knead that just makes you feel more open, stretched to your absolute limits, so full that you do not know how you will ever be happy without them all inside you.  

It reinvigorates you.  You find strength in your arm and use it to touch Changbin, fist circling where your mouth does not reach.  You get him off first but Chan follows quickly, muttering things like you, tight, perfect, baby, baby, baby.

“Oh god,” Jisung says, somehow still holding out.  When Chan slips out, it gives Jisung slightly more leverage.  He pushes himself upright, letting you slump in his arms and cling to him while he fucks up into you with quick, desperate little uh-uh-uhs. 

Finally, he comes, your name melting into a moan as he buries his face in your neck, mouth open where Changbin left his bitemark. 

They surround you after that and you hum happily, letting them pass you from one pair of arms to the next.  Jisung flops back, running his hands through his hair and catching his breath.  Changbin is there with a cloth of some kind – you think it might be Jisung’s shirt, but Jisung is way past caring – and he gives you a quick and gentle wipe-down while kissing your sleepy brow. 

“I should buy you sweaters more often,” Changbin says, giggling. 

It makes you snort with laughter, blinking up at him with a grin.  “Was gonna fuck you anyway, dummy,” you say. 

“In that case, I’ll buy you another one right now.” 

You giggle when he rubs his nose against yours in a cute little nose-kiss, eyes crinkling with an affectionate smile. 

“Mm, c’mere, sleepy,” Chan says, rightfully as you are still mostly slumped in his arms.  You manage to string an arm around his neck as he scoops you off the bed and holds you against his chest.

You are still a little dazed from so much sensation.   You let your boys take care of you.  After some quick inspection and care, you are plunked in a bath with Jisung to clean and decompress while the other two go strip and re-make the bed. 

Jisung kisses your face while helping you wash, his careful hands and the hot water soothing every achy limb. 

“Totally worth it,” you say, head under his chin, eyes closed and sighing contently. 

Changbin comes to help you out.  By then, you are bright-eyed, sore but in a way that makes you alive.  You feel clean and fresh and loved, bundled up in a robe and then carried off in Changbin’s arms to the living room where food, a comfy couch, and Chan is waiting. 

Jisung joins a moment later.  The laptop is long since closed and utterly forgotten, the four of you snuggling up in a big blanket.  Chan has an arm slung across the back of the couch, your head on his chest, Changbin’s arm around your middle, and Jisung half-asleep where heis  slumped against Changbin. 

“Round two?” Jisung asks then promptly yawns, making you laugh as Changbin playfully smacks him and Chan just sighs an amused sigh. 

Taking the cue from Jisung’s yawn, you close your eyes and snuggle down. 

“Love you,” you say, drifting off to each of them saying it back.  You know one of them will carry you to bed eventually, so you let yourself drift into sleep, safe and warm, happiest when you are all together, just like this, the four of you always in perfect harmony. 

[stellarsecrets86]

“Karma, Kisses, and a Little Chaos”- Astro Observation

🌿 Lilith in 1st House of Venus Persona Chart – Creates a dangerously sexy aura. Others attribute fantasies and forbidden desires to such a person.

🌿 Eros conjunct Ascendant – Others feel desire at first sight. You have inescapable sex appeal and artistic ability.

🌿 Mars in 5th House of Groom Persona Chart – The individual exudes raw masculine/sexual appeal. They attract flirtatious yet ardent admirers.

🌿 Sun sextile Eros (Synastry) – Sun is admired and sexually appreciated. Eros is fascinated by Sun.

🌿 Eros conjunct Sun in MC Persona Chart – Public self has sexual appeal and artistic magnetism. People are captivated by their confidence and creative energy.

🌿 Venus trine Mars – Innate flirt. Harmony of desire and love makes you sensually appealing.

🌿 Lilith conjunct MC – You're renowned for your provocative nature, seduction, and fierce independence. Irresistible in the public eye.

🌿 Venus conjunct Pluto (Synastry) – The Venus person falls hard; the Pluto person is the power holder. It's love, lust, and control all at once.

🌿 Psyche in Scorpio – Soul insight that delves deeply. People are obsessed with "knowing you," sensing there's more to you than what comes across.

🌿 Psyche conjunct Moon in Venus Persona Chart – They are soul-deep in sympathy and emotional loveliness. Others feel "emotionally seen" by them.

🌿 Pluto conjunct Descendant in Mars Persona Chart – Others are controlled and pulled into power games, but intensely interested.

🌿 Moon trine Eros (Synastry) – The Moon person is emotionally secure but erotically excited by Eros.

🌿 Mercury conjunct Psyche – The ability to speak directly to people's hearts. Mind becomes emotionally riveting.

🌿 Sun sextile Neptune – Intangible radiance, creative allure, and an ethereal fascination that makes people dream about you.

🌿 Mars sextile Lilith (Synastry) – Passionate mutual attraction; Mars is excited and Lilith can let go with their dark feminine side.

🌿 Pluto trine Moon – Powerful emotional presence. Everyone feels you feel everything—they instinctively trust you.

🌿 Juno conjunct Mars (Synastry) – Juno person looks for long-term possibilities in Mars' action-packed, passionate nature. Mars is "claimed."

🌿 Neptune conjunct IC – You evoke nostalgia, safety, and nearly spiritual attraction in inner relationships.

🌿 Pluto square Sun (Synastry) – Sun individual is stimulated and transformed by the power of Pluto. Pluto wants to control.

🌿 Venus conjunct Ascendant – Natural beauty and allure. Everyone is drawn to your energy immediately.

🌿 Pluto in 1st House – You walk into a room and everyone recognizes it. Presence haunts you even when you are quiet.

🌿 Mercury square Pluto (Synastry) – Dramatic conversations, obsession with the other's mind. Mercury person may feel psychologically exposed.

🌿 Juno in 7th House – People like to think long-term thoughts regarding you; you attract soulmate-type relationships.

🌿 Lilith opposite Moon (Synastry) – Moon is emotionally unbalanced but fascinated; Lilith triggers underlying insecurities and cravings.

🌿 Saturn trine Venus – Subtle but tangible charm. You radiate stability, loyalty, and serious love presence.

🌿 Eros in 5th House – Flirtatious, playful nature. People can feel enormous passion just with your presence.

🌿 Amor trine Venus (Synastry) – Romantic feeling is easy. Love comes naturally in this dynamic.

🌿 Cupido conjunct Venus – You are the ultimate ideal lover. Others feel infatuated and desire you.

🌿 Groom conjunct Bride (Synastry or Natal) – Stable soulmate connection. It is prone to predict likely marriages or fated relationships.

🌿 Valentine conjunct Moon – Romantic love and emotional commitment. People naturally want to look after and love you.

🌿 Boda conjunct Juno – Signs of intense marital commitment energy within a chart. People see you as "spouse material."

🌿 Psyche conjunct Neptune (Synastry) – Deep soul union, with dreamy intimacy. Can become delusional or idealized.

🌿 Amor in 12th House – Secret lovers, hidden love affairs, and invisible but magnetic romantic energy.

🌿 Moon in 5th House – Romantic emotional expression is sensed to be attractive. You feel emotionally alive and loving to others.

🌿 Mars in 8th House – Strong sexual dominance, with the capability to create deep physical and emotional connections.

🍰♡ ༘*.ﾟ🧸🎀

[PS:Entertainment Purposes only. Enjoy]

[pearlprincess02]

lilith in a woman's birthchart

aries lilith

lilith in aries intensifies a woman's connection to her primal urges and raw sexual energy. she embraces her desires unapologetically, often challenging societal norms or any expectations of passivity in love and sex. this placement fuels a fierce sense of independence, making her unwilling to submit to anyone’s control, especially in intimate relationships. in aries, lilith represents a relentless drive for self-expression, fearlessly exploring the darker aspects of femininity and sexuality. rebellion becomes second nature, as she fights against restrictions that seek to tame her, embodying the bold, untamed aspects of the feminine. rage and power are central themes—when provoked or oppressed, this lilith placement manifests as fiery outbursts, asserting her right to be free, powerful, and true to her instincts. her shadow emerges when she suppresses her desires, which can lead to frustration, impulsiveness, or an intense need for control.

examples from tv: daenerys targaryen (game of thrones), jessica jones (jessica jones), buffy summers (buffy the vampire slayer), maggie greene (the walking dead), olivia pope (scandal)

taurus lilith

lilith in taurus embodies sensuality and the deep connection to physical pleasure. a woman with this placement has a powerful sense of sexual empowerment rooted in the indulgence of her body and desires. she embraces eroticism through touch, comfort, and nature, demanding satisfaction on her own terms. her independence is expressed through self-sufficiency, particularly when it comes to financial stability and personal security. taurus lilith refuses to be dependent on others, especially in love, often taking control of her own life and resources. this placement's shadow emerges in the realm of possessiveness and greed—she may cling to relationships or material things, using them as a shield against vulnerability. rebellion comes when she's forced to conform to roles or standards that conflict with her need for stability and pleasure. feminine power in taurus lilith is steady, grounded, and fierce when provoked, manifesting as rage when her sense of security or sensual fulfillment is threatened. she harnesses her power through patience and persistence, standing firm in her boundaries and her right to enjoy life fully.

examples from tv: cersei lannister (game of thrones), cristina yang (grey’s anatomy), cookie lyon (empire), claire underwood (house of cards), fiona gallagher (shameless)

gemini lilith

lilith in gemini thrives on mental stimulation and variety, making her sexual empowerment stem from curiosity and the freedom to explore her desires in intellectual and communicative ways. a woman with this placement often uses her words and wit to seduce, understanding the power of conversation and playful banter in igniting desire. she rebels against limitations on her freedom of thought and expression, craving experiences that keep her mentally engaged. her independence is defined by her need for space to explore different ideas, lovers, and life paths, refusing to be confined to one narrative or role. the shadow side of gemini lilith may emerge as manipulative tendencies or using her words as weapons, particularly when her autonomy is threatened. she might also struggle with inconsistency, driven by the fear of being tied down or bored. in terms of feminine power, she’s sharp, quick-witted, and resourceful, with the ability to outthink her opponents or charm her way out of difficult situations. rage surfaces when she feels intellectually underestimated or silenced, often leading her to rebel through provocative words and clever schemes.

examples from tv: villanelle (killing eve), blair waldorf (gossip girl), samantha jones (sex and the city), lorelai gilmore (gilmore girls), margo hanson (the magicians)

cancer lilith

lilith in cancer embodies a deeply emotional and instinctual form of sexual empowerment. a woman with this placement taps into her sexuality through emotional intimacy and nurturing energy, using her sensitivity and vulnerability as sources of power. she desires deep, meaningful connections and is empowered by the safety of emotional bonds. independence for cancer lilith is defined by her ability to protect her emotional boundaries, often rebelling against roles that require her to sacrifice her needs for others. her rebellion is quiet but profound, as she fiercely guards her right to care for herself and her loved ones on her own terms. the shadow side of cancer lilith may emerge in the form of emotional manipulation or possessiveness, especially when she feels threatened or unappreciated. she may use guilt or emotional withdrawal as a defense mechanism. feminine power for cancer lilith is rooted in her ability to create and destroy, to nurture or cut off care when her emotional needs are not met. rage surfaces when her vulnerability is exploited or when her deep emotional world is disregarded, leading her to fiercely defend her sense of emotional autonomy and security.

examples from tv: norma bates (bates motel), gemma teller morrow (sons of anarchy), fiona goode (american horror story: coven), nora durst (the leftovers), rachel green (friends),

leo lilith

lilith in leo exudes a powerful, magnetic form of sexual empowerment that thrives on attention, admiration, and self-expression. a woman with this placement embraces her sexuality with confidence and flair, craving to be seen, desired, and worshipped for her uniqueness. she finds empowerment in shining brightly, unapologetically owning her desires and passions. Independence for leo lilith comes from her refusal to dim her light or be overshadowed by anyone—she rebels against anyone or anything that tries to suppress her individuality or diminish her power. the shadow side of this placement can emerge through arrogance, vanity, or a need for constant validation. she might manipulate situations to stay in the spotlight, or become excessively dramatic when her sense of self-worth is threatened. feminine power for leo lilith radiates from her charisma, creativity, and ability to inspire others with her presence. her rage surfaces when she feels ignored, undervalued, or disrespected—she will fiercely reclaim her throne and demand the recognition she believes she deserves, even if it means burning bridges to do so.

examples from tv: elektra abundance (pose), katherine pierce (the vampire diaries), lucille bluth (arrested development), margaery tyrell (game of thrones), rachel berry (glee)

virgo lilith

lilith in virgo embodies a unique form of sexual empowerment rooted in the pursuit of perfection and authenticity. a woman with this placement often finds her desires interwoven with her sense of self-worth, leading her to seek a deeper understanding of her body and sexuality through meticulous exploration and analysis. she is independent and rebellious in her quest for self-improvement, often challenging societal norms regarding beauty and sexuality. this independence is expressed through her insistence on high standards, whether in her relationships or her own self-image. the shadow side of virgo lilith may manifest as excessive self-criticism, anxiety, or perfectionism, leading her to suppress her desires if they don’t align with her ideals. she may also struggle with shame regarding her sexual needs, viewing them as messy or less refined. feminine power for virgo lilith comes from her analytical nature, as she harnesses her intellect to navigate her relationships and sexuality. rage can surface when she feels her boundaries are crossed or when her need for order and clarity is disrupted, leading her to assert her power in a calculated and sometimes cutting manner.

examples from tv: hermione granger (harry potter), molly hooper (sherlock), ann perkins (parks and recreation), daria morgendorffer (daria), miranda bailey (grey’s anatomy)

libra lilith

lilith in libra embodies a complex interplay of sexual empowerment rooted in relationships, aesthetics, and harmony. a woman with this placement often finds her desires closely tied to her ability to create beauty and connection with others. she seeks empowerment through partnerships, using her charm and diplomacy to navigate her desires, often wanting her relationships to reflect her ideals of love and balance. independence for libra lilith is expressed through a strong sense of self-worth and the refusal to settle for less than equitable partnerships; she rebels against any form of imbalance or injustice in her relationships. however, the shadow side of libra lilith can manifest as indecisiveness or a tendency to people-please, suppressing her own needs in favor of maintaining peace and harmony. this can lead to a build-up of resentment and rage when her boundaries are crossed or when she feels unappreciated. feminine power for libra lilith is found in her ability to captivate and influence others, often using her social skills to assert herself. rage surfaces when her ideals of love and justice are compromised, leading her to fight fiercely for her right to love authentically and demand respect in her relationships.

examples from tv: maya hart (girl meets world), marissa cooper (the o.c.), veronica lodge (riverdale), luna lovegood (harry potter), serena van der woodsen (gossip girl)

scorpio lilith

lilith in scorpio represents a profound and intense form of sexual empowerment, where desire is intertwined with emotional depth and transformative power. a woman with this placement embraces her sexuality as a force of both creation and destruction, often drawn to the darker, more taboo aspects of intimacy. she seeks to empower herself through experiences that probe the depths of her psyche, using her sexual energy to connect with others on a profound level. Independence for scorpio lilith is fiercely guarded; she rebels against emotional vulnerability and demands authenticity in her relationships, often taking the lead in navigating the complexities of intimacy. the shadow side of this placement can manifest as obsession, jealousy, or manipulative tendencies, as she grapples with intense emotions and the fear of betrayal. feminine power for scorpio lilith lies in her ability to transform herself and those around her through her magnetic presence and profound insights into the human condition. rage can erupt when she feels betrayed or her trust is violated, leading to a fierce and transformative confrontation that challenges the status quo and demands respect.

examples from tv: daphne bridgerton (bridgerton), raven reyes (the 100), faye chamberlain (the secret circle), jessica pearson (suits), annalise keating (how to get away with murder),

sagittarius lilith

lilith in sagittarius embodies a dynamic and adventurous form of sexual empowerment, where desire is closely tied to freedom, exploration, and a thirst for knowledge. a woman with this placement embraces her sexuality as a journey of discovery, often seeking experiences that broaden her horizons and challenge conventional boundaries. she finds empowerment in her independence, rebelling against any constraints that limit her exploration of love and intimacy. this desire for freedom can lead her to unconventional relationships or sexual experiences that reflect her adventurous spirit. the shadow side of sagittarius lilith may manifest as restlessness, a tendency to avoid commitment, or a disregard for the emotional needs of others, as her quest for personal truth can sometimes overshadow relational harmony. feminine power for sagittarius lilith is rooted in her optimism, charisma, and philosophical approach to life, inspiring others to embrace their own journeys of self-discovery. rage can surface when her freedom is threatened or when she feels stifled by societal norms, leading her to assert her desires with fiery passion and unyielding determination.

examples from tv: chloe decker (lucifer), jessica day (new girl), emma woodhouse (emma), arya stark (game of thrones), june osborne (the handmaid's tale),

capricorn lilith

lilith in capricorn embodies a grounded and pragmatic approach to sexual empowerment, where desire is often intertwined with ambition, responsibility, and a drive for success. a woman with this placement tends to view her sexuality as a powerful tool for achieving her goals, embracing her desires with a sense of seriousness and intent. she finds empowerment in her independence, fiercely rebelling against any societal expectations that dictate how she should express her femininity or navigate her relationships. capricorn lilith women often seek stability and security in their partnerships, and their desire for commitment can sometimes lead them to play the role of the caretaker or the one in control. the shadow side of this placement may manifest as coldness, emotional detachment, or a fear of vulnerability, as they grapple with the societal pressures to remain strong and composed. feminine power for capricorn lilith lies in her resilience, practicality, and ability to navigate challenges with grace and determination. rage can surface when her ambitions are undermined or when she feels her worth is dismissed, prompting her to assert her power in a calculated and formidable manner.

examples from tv: leslie knope (parks and recreation), miranda priestly (the devil wears prada), selina meyer (veep), betty draper (mad men), alicia florrick (the good wife),

aquarius lilith

lilith in aquarius embodies a unique form of sexual empowerment that is characterized by originality, freedom, and a progressive approach to desire. a woman with this placement views her sexuality as an avenue for self-expression and experimentation, often breaking societal norms to explore her identity fully. she finds empowerment in her independence, fiercely rebelling against traditional expectations around relationships and intimacy. this rebellious spirit allows her to forge her own path, valuing her individuality above all else. the shadow side of aquarius lilith may manifest as emotional detachment or aloofness, as she navigates her desires with a focus on intellect over emotion, sometimes leading to difficulty in forming deep connections. feminine power for aquarius lilith lies in her visionary nature, as she inspires others to embrace their uniqueness and challenge societal norms. rage can emerge when her ideals of freedom and equality are threatened, prompting her to assert herself in unconventional ways, often rallying others to join her cause for change and liberation.

examples from tv: harley quinn (harley quinn), raven baxter (that's so raven), jules vaughn (euphoria), eleven (stranger things), maeve wiley (sex education),

pisces lilith

lilith in pisces represents a profound and ethereal form of sexual empowerment, where desire is deeply intertwined with emotional sensitivity, intuition, and a connection to the mystical. a woman with this placement often views her sexuality as an expression of her dreams and fantasies, embracing the fluidity of her desires while exploring the depths of her emotions. she finds empowerment in her independence, rebelling against rigid norms and societal expectations, allowing her to navigate relationships in a way that feels authentic and freeing. this can lead to a rich inner world filled with creative and spiritual pursuits, but the shadow side of pisces lilith may manifest as escapism, emotional turmoil, or a tendency to become enmeshed in unhealthy relationships. feminine power for pisces lilith is rooted in her ability to empathize with others, her artistic expression, and her capacity to inspire deep emotional connections. rage may surface when her boundaries are violated, or when she feels misunderstood, prompting her to assert her needs and desires in ways that can be both gentle and fiercely protective.

examples from tv: rory gilmore (gilmore girls), willow rosenberg (buffy the vampire slayer), misty day (american horror story: coven), felicity smoak (arrow), cassandra cain (birds of prey)

in houses

lilith in 1st house: dominance, seduction, magnetism, self-possession, fierce individuality, rebellion, authority defiance, primal instincts, raw sexuality, unapologetic self-expression, boldness, power struggles, intense presence, liberation, untamed energy, fearless identity, taboo exploration, dangerous allure, radical self-assertion, outlaw spirit, rage against norms, subversive behavior, sensual dominance, mundane rebellion (e.g., fashion, body image), boundary-breaking, unconventional beauty, reclaiming body autonomy, embracing shadows, provocative demeanor, empowerment through defiance

lilith in 2nd house: sensuality, material indulgence, self-worth rebellion, desire for luxury, possessive power, financial independence, sexual value, taboo desires, reclaiming body autonomy, feminine wealth, empowerment through possessions, breaking societal value systems, self-sufficiency, erotic self-esteem, rage against dependency, unconventional assets, financial rebellion, ownership of desires, untamed sensuality, transforming wealth, valuing the taboo, monetizing sexuality, body as currency, empowerment through self-possession, rage against materialism, rebellious spending, resource control, luxury as rebellion, sexual magnetism for wealth, power through resources

lilith in 3rd house: seductive speech, provocative ideas, rebellious thoughts, taboo conversations, feminine intellect, outspoken power, unfiltered expression, rebellious learning, intellectual freedom, sensual communication, dangerous curiosity, breaking communication norms, manipulative language, empowerment through words, verbal independence, taboo knowledge, bold self-expression, radical opinions, persuasion through seduction, communicating desires, verbal power struggles, erotic messaging, empowering sisterhood, breaking intellectual taboos, subversive writing, secret messages, outrageous ideas, feminine rage in discussions, challenging mental limitations, verbal empowerment

lilith in 4th house: emotional independence, rebellion against tradition, home as sanctuary, feminine rage in domesticity, intimate desires, subversive family dynamics, sensual home environment, nurturing empowerment, hidden emotional depths, radical self-care, taboo family secrets, intimate power, feminine heritage, liberation from familial expectations, emotional authenticity, challenging home roles, shadow work, domestic rebellion, sensuality in privacy, reclaiming family narratives, attachment to the past, breaking generational curses, empowerment through vulnerability, nostalgic desires, emotional boundaries, secrets of the heart, transcending domestic norms, radical family structures, reinterpreting femininity at home, sovereignty in emotional spaces

lilith in 5th house: creative seduction, liberated sexuality, playful rebellion, passionate self-expression, daring romance, taboo desires in love, feminine artistry, joyful defiance, sensual creativity, radical pleasure, empowerment through play, challenging societal norms, erotic imagination, shadowy fantasies, romantic independence, unconventional love affairs, reclaiming joy & passion, desires for attention, feminine energy in performance, rebellion through art, embracing inner child, empowering flirtation, sensual games, exploration of taboo themes, joyful expression of rage, eccentric dating, breaking artistic boundaries, celebrating sensuality, nurturing creative passions, spontaneous empowerment

lilith in 6th house: empowerment through service, sensual self-care, rebellious work ethic, challenging health norms, intimate routines, radical wellness, subversive daily habits, erotic labor, feminine power in work, liberation through productivity, taboo health practices, emotional healing, breaking work boundaries, sensuality in the mundane, personal rituals, rage against conformity, redefining success, nurturing independence, empowered self-discipline, exploration of body mechanics, workplace defiance, radical approaches to fitness, emotional labor, transformative routines, sacredness of everyday life, awakening through service, liberation from toxic environments, embodied wellness, self-expression through work, challenging societal expectations

lilith in 7th house: empowered partnerships, desire for authentic connection, rebellion against conventional love, challenging relationship norms, feminine power in partnerships, seductive negotiation, intimacy through independence, taboo relationship dynamics, emotional power plays, radical honesty in love, defying societal expectations, erotic exploration of relationships, unconventional commitment, fierce loyalty, reclaiming personal space, duality of desire, rage against betrayal, negotiating boundaries, partnerships as power dynamics, sensuality in alliances, transformative relationships, flirtation with taboo, feminine rage in love, exploring polyamory, reinterpreting partnership roles, authenticity in social interactions, nurturing independence within love, unmasking social facades, empowering others through love, rebellion in romantic norms

lilith in 8th house: empowerment through intimacy, desire for deep connections, rebellion against emotional vulnerability, challenging societal taboos, feminine power in sexuality, transformative sexual experiences, radical honesty in intimacy, exploration of desires, shadow work in relationships, liberation through shared resources, subversive passion, unmasking hidden fears, erotic power dynamics, reclaiming sexual energy, resilience through loss, rage against betrayal & deception, mystical sexuality, exploring the taboo, emotional & sexual healing, challenging possessiveness, depth in emotional exploration, secrets of the heart, sensual transformation, empowered shadow self, reinterpreting intimacy, emotional alchemy, sacredness of sexual connection, defiance through shared intimacy, liberation from fears, navigating power struggles

lilith in 9th house: empowerment through exploration, desire for freedom & adventure, rebellion against dogma, challenging societal beliefs, feminine wisdom in travel, erotic journeys, radical perspectives on sexuality, embracing philosophical desires, taboo subjects in education, liberation through knowledge, exploring cultural taboos, adventurous spirit, rage against limitations, sensual exploration of beliefs, empowered spiritual journey, radical honesty in beliefs, freedom of expression, challenging traditional roles, transcending boundaries, mystical experiences, self-discovery through travel, passionate about diverse cultures, emotional & intellectual expansion, defying conventional wisdom, sacred sexuality in spirituality, evolving belief systems, liberating philosophical discussions, empowering education, embracing the unknown, shadow work through exploration

lilith in 10th house: empowerment in professional settings, desire for recognition & success, rebellion against corporate norms, challenging societal expectations, feminine authority in leadership, sexuality as a power tool, radical honesty in public persona, taboo topics in the workplace, liberation through career choices, ambition with authenticity, defying traditional roles, rage against patriarchal structures, exploring personal brand, sensuality in professional relationships, empowerment through visibility, unmasking public facades, emotional strength in leadership, transforming the workplace dynamic, passionate about personal legacy, navigating power struggles, reinterpreting success, challenging authority, feminine rage in professional spaces, shadow work in career choices, evolving public image, embracing unconventional paths, empowered ambition, sensuality as a form of influence, exploring taboo in reputation, redefining success on one's terms

lilith in 11th house: empowerment through community, desire for authentic connections, rebellion against conformity, challenging social norms, feminine power in friendships, radical ideas in social circles, exploration of desires in groups, taboo subjects in social discussions, liberation through social activism, defying collective expectations, rage against social injustice, passionate about shared ideals, challenging the status quo, emotional depth in friendships, sensuality in group dynamics, empowered through social networks, exploring alternative lifestyles, shadow work within groups, redefining friendship dynamics, feminine rage in collective movements, evolving social identities, unmasking hidden desires, transformative friendships, exploring sexual identity in community, empowered collective expression, subversive camaraderie, reinterpreting loyalty, navigating power within social circles, sacred bonds among women, embracing individuality within groups

lilith in 12th house: empowerment through self-discovery, desire for spiritual freedom, rebellion against repression, exploring hidden passions, feminine power in solitude, unraveling subconscious desires, radical authenticity in introspection, taboo themes in spirituality, liberation through self-acceptance, embracing the unseen, challenging internal limitations, rage against self-sabotage, passionate about healing, exploring mystical experiences, empowerment in dreams, shadow work & transformation, subversive insights from within, redefining personal spirituality, sensuality in isolation, navigating hidden emotions, feminine rage in solitude, evolving through inner conflicts, defying the subconscious, exploring repressed desires, empowered intuition, challenging spiritual norms, embracing the shadow self, emotional depth in solitude, exploring fantasies, transcending societal expectations

all observations are done by me !!! @pearlprincess02

main masterlist

[mingapace]

𝕺𝖓 𝖆 𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖍

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴘᴇᴛ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ x ꜰ!ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴅᴇꜱᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴇ-ᴘᴀᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ, ꜱᴜʙ/ꜱᴇʀᴠɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏᴘ ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ, ᴅᴏᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ᴇʀᴀ, ʜᴀɴᴅᴊᴏʙꜱ (ᴍ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ), ᴄᴜᴍ ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴘ ɪɴ ᴠ, ᴍᴏᴀɴɪɴɢ, ᴘᴇᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ, ᴡʜɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱɪɴɢ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅɪɴɢ, ᴅʀᴏᴏʟɪɴɢ, ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀ ᴘᴏʀɴ, ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ꜱᴇx, ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴇxᴄᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ. [Also, English is not my first language]

𝔹𝕒𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕄𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ: 4K

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: @lunaleah

Things with Remmick kept changing. Slowly, of course—like frost retreating in spring, leaving patches of bare earth in the ice—but they were changing.

You no longer slept with a vial of holy water under your pillow, nor did you roam the house pointing a rifle at him whenever he suddenly appeared behind you.

The tension had softened, and the sex—well, that helped quite a bit.

Still, there was one barrier he hadn’t crossed yet: the bed.

He still slept at your feet, like a loyal animal that didn’t dare claim more than what he’d been given.

Technically, you hadn’t set that boundary yourself—but you’d realized it. He was waiting for permission.

And you… you hadn’t given it to him yet.

You found comfort in not yet sharing that level of closeness. For some strange reason, sleeping next to him felt deeply intimate. Yes, more intimate than the furious, casual sex you sometimes gave in to.

But your doubts—while under analysis—were the lesser evil.

There was a bigger problem in the house: your cat couldn’t stand Remmick. A creature used to ruling the house, now forced to share its territory with a larger predator. Literally. And of course, Remmick returned the sentiment with equal intensity.

They growled at each other, hissed, traded glares like in a Western film before throwing themselves at one another.

More than once, you had to separate them. You’d learned to read the moment just before it exploded—when your cat’s fur stood up like a lit fuse.

You often had to lock the two in separate rooms. Like quarreling children. And you feared, just as often, that Remmick might lose control.

His teeth were always there—barely hidden behind his lips, sharp as razors. Ready.

One evening, after yet another incident, after scolding them both, your cat curled up on your stomach before Remmick could, almost like a further act of defiance.

And you absentmindedly stroked it, turning your focus back to the movie.

Remmick, on the other side of the couch, sulked. He didn’t say anything. Not his usual annoying remarks during the most intense scenes.

That night, he didn’t even climb to the end of the bed.

He left into the night, and the next morning, you found him already at the stove, making the usual breakfast.

For three days, he was distant. Not cold or rude, but… hurt.

As if you’d made a choice. Declared a preference.

On the fourth day, however, you pushed the cat off the couch and offered Remmick its spot—on your lap.

“Don’t want it?” you asked, your eyes soft, knowing it would make his self-raised walls crumble.

Of course, he gave in almost instantly.

You stroked his hair, and he curled into it like a dog on his favorite blanket. You let him stay there even after turning off the TV, especially because he didn’t seem eager to move.

This day, you were sitting at the living room table, the blue light of the computer casting onto your face as you scanned the dozens of rows and columns on the screen.

You were doing inventory.

Or at least, trying to.

The task wasn’t new. You had a habit of logging the store’s stock every two weeks so you could restock early.

It was a routine that made you feel in control. It reminded you who you were: methodical, precise, present.

Yet… something felt off today.

You scanned the page again, as if looking for an inconsistency, but when you realized the problem wasn’t in the file—it was in your home—you frowned.

There was silence. Too much silence.

Remmick wasn’t talking, and that bothered you more than any provocation.

By now, the vampire would’ve found some way to distract you. His voice echoed through even your busiest days: a whisper, an out-of-place question. “What d'ya reckon happens if ya mix powdered milk and blood?” “D'ya think yer cat hates me more or less than it hates dogs?" “Why've ya got two citrus juicers when there’s never a fruit 'round here and you live off takeaway from next door?”

Annoying. But predictable. And, in a way, familiar.

But today… nothing.

Not even a footstep, not a held breath, not even the muffled sound of his clawed hands tapping the doorframe in that cute, pathetic way.

Only the steady hum of the fan and the dull thud of your own heartbeat.

You closed the laptop and stood up. Your legs creaked slightly under the sudden movement—too abrupt after sitting still so long.

“Remmick?” you called.

No answer.

You sighed as you entered the hallway, walking slowly past the kitchen. The fridge was closed, lights off. Everything in place.

Your cat appeared from around the corner and brushed past your legs, heading back into the living room.

In the bathroom, the toothbrush cup was untouched. The utility closet door was closed.

Maybe he’d gone out to the garden? But it was still early. The light streamed in bright and steady, and Remmick only went out at dusk—when the sky turned orange and the shadows stretched across the walls like fingers.

You rolled your neck with a soft exhale, then made your way toward your bedroom.

The door was ajar—and your breath caught in your throat when your eyes focused on the scene.

He was standing in front of the full-length mirror, backlit.

His figure—solid and well-proportioned—was still. His left arm raised and tense. He was shirtless. The pants—the ones he had you buy in three identical pairs—were unbuttoned, revealing the curve of his hip. The suspenders hung down, abandoned along his thighs. His dark hair was messy as usual, giving him that desperate look.

But that’s not what struck you. It was what he was holding.

Your dog’s old leather collar.

He had placed it around his neck. Not buckled yet, but resting on his skin.

The clasp nestled just below his throat, and with two fingers, he held the tag, watching its reflection in the mirror.

He stood completely still, his bearded face shadowed, eyes vacant.

The air hung, suspended.

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

You stared at him.

As if the scene didn’t belong to you. As if you were looking through frosted glass at something forbidden.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the point where leather met his skin. Something, at that image, pulsed under your ribs. Not just by the strangeness of it—you were used to strange by now with him. It was the tenderness, the almost ceremonial care with which he held the tag.

A part of you—the part used to deflect things with sarcasm—took over, stifling the desire.

You parted your lips, half-smiling. Your voice came out softer than you’d meant.

“I think I already told you not to snoop through my underwear drawers, didn’t I?”

Remmick flinched slightly, as if he’d been too absorbed to hear you. All his supernatural predator senses drowned.

He dropped his gaze almost immediately with something like shame. Or arousal. Or both.

The hand holding the collar lowered slowly, almost reluctantly.

You saw the gold chain around his neck shimmer again in the LED light.

“I wasn’t… snooping. Was only having a look—” he stopped. Swallowed. “Spotted a wee box down at the bottom, closed up like. Got curious, so I thought it might be somethin' of yours.”

He said it like yours meant sacred.

You stepped away from the door and approached slowly. Held out a hand without speaking, and he, docile, handed you the collar.

His fingers brushed yours—and for a moment, that was all: skin against skin, brief and intense. Like everything between you.

Then you took it.

The collar weighed little, but the moment you held it, you felt the worn leather flex in your hand—as if it remembered.

You brought the tag closer, and the letters engraved in the metal etched into your heart.

Your dog’s name.

You closed your eyes. Something twisted in your stomach. A small, familiar ache. Sweet, like an old scar that flares up when the seasons change.

You saw yourself again, crouched in the driveway years ago, with that enthusiastic furball licking your face. You saw the runs in the park, his tail thumping against everything, his dusty paws on freshly cleaned floors.

A shaky breath filled your chest.

You felt Remmick’s eyes piercing your skull, like he was trying to follow your thoughts.

Trying to understand why you were aching so deeply.

You gently ran your thumb over the tag, then flipped it.

On the other side—the one Remmick had been reading in the mirror—it said:

Owner.

And below it, your name. Yours.

You smiled. A crooked little smirk. Unexpected, as a thought crossed your mind.

The memory dissolved, and you felt amused. And something more.

You turned toward Remmick. Found him exactly as bided—deep grey eyes locked on you. His bare shoulders tensed. His pale skin catching the faint light through the side window.

No more shame on his face. Just desire. Pure and simple. But not the lust that used to consume you. This was deeper. Barer. As if he needed something that once belonged to someone else.

The collar still sat between your fingers.

“Do you want one too?” you asked softly.

Your voice wasn’t teasing. It was real. Almost gentle.

Remmick opened his mouth. Then bit his lower lip. Held it. Swallowed. And said:

“Yeah… I want somethin' that says I’m yours. All of me.” His voice cracked on the last words.

It wasn’t dramatic. It was honest. It was pathetic.

Beautifully pathetic.

You stepped behind him. Slowly.

Watched him in the mirror as you lifted the collar and slid it around his neck—more resolute this time.

Remmick tilted his chin up, just slightly. Without being asked. Offered his throat like it was instinct.

He hardly breathed. Not that he needed to.

Your hand moved calmly. You brought one end of the collar around the back of his neck, following the curve of his throat. The leather slid over his smooth, taut skin like a promise spoken without words. The buckle was cold. The metal pricked your fingers. But you were careful. Precise. You slipped the other end through and began to tighten it.

Not too much—but not loose either.

You wanted him to feel it.

Remmick made a choked sound. His muscles tensed slightly again, his shoulders lowered, his throat fluttered with an almost imperceptible tremor.

In the mirror, you locked eyes with him—watching the red glow pulse in his irises.

His canines peeked past his slightly parted lips.

The buckle snapped into place with a click. Firm. Final.

The tag dangled. You heard it clink against the other chain he already wore.

You had turned it to show only your name and your ownership of him.

You paused.

Your hands still at his collar, like you were weighing the meaning of it. Your fingers brushed the skin stretched under the strap.

His scent reached you: something metallic, cold, laced with soap and your fabric softener.

He had become part of your home. Without you even noticing.

“Look at yourself,” you said.

Remmick raised his eyes.

In the reflection, your eyes meet.

Your hands glide down along his collarbone, then lower — slow — tracing the lines of his chest. You feel him stiff against you when your nail grazes a nipple. But you don’t stop. You keep descending, pressing your lips to the back of his shoulder while watching him in the mirror.

He’s cold, as always. But it doesn’t disturb you. On the contrary, it makes you want to set him on fire.

You reach the waistband of his pants, still loose, and slip your fingers underneath — unhurried. You’re not rushing. You want him to savor the torment, just like he often made you.

A thin string of drool slips from his parted lips, and you smile against his skin.

And when your hand closes around his erection, his body folds slightly forward, as if the gesture had split him in two. A moan tears from his chest — thin, hoarse, like an involuntary plea.

“Stand up straight for me, Remmick,” you whisper, gently pushing him back upright, your free hand pressing softly against his throat.

You hear him murmur your name as he tears his gaze away from the mirror, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“Y've no idea what y'do to me, darlin'…”

Your hand slides down his shaft. He throbs, alive, almost warm in contrast to the rest of him. Your fingers outline the veins in small strokes until they reach the tip, where you collect the first sign of his desire, spreading it all around.

“Ma’am…”

The word leaves him broken — desperate — as you begin moving your hand up and down. You feel the drool mess your ear where he breathes, ragged, and a shiver runs down your spine.

“I like how that sounds,” you grin. “Say it again.”

“Ma’am, I'm beggin' ya…please don't stop...” His breath catches when you squeeze just at the base of his cock, near his balls, and he throws his head back onto your shoulder.

The mirror reflects his pitiful, desperate state. His cheeks are flushed, fangs visibly longer, forcing his mouth to remain open. Saliva slides down his throat, seeping beneath the collar.

His eyes are half-lidded but still looking, just as you told him to.

“You’re such a mess. Drooling and leaking like a fucking dog,” you whisper, brushing your cheek against his temple. Your hand keeps its steady, slow rhythm — just enough to push him into despair — and you feel him push his hips forward, craving more.

“Oh, you like that.” His cock twists beneath your palm, soaking his underwear with precum, and it almost makes you drool too. “You like being my messy little mutt, don’t you?”

He chokes out a little whimper when you sink your teeth into his neck, bent perfectly for your mouth.

“Fuckin' hell… yes. Wouldn't want to be anythin' else for ya. Yer always so good to me, love. So kind.”

His eyes meet yours again — red, filled with barely restrained lust. But you feel it. His shoulders stiffen. His thighs press together.

He’s close.

And you’re always generous with him. You wouldn’t deny him this.

Your fingers wrap fully around him and your wrist picks up speed. His cock answers eagerly, growing harder, pulsing with need.

Remmick accidentally — or maybe not — scratches his lip, and a thick line of blood joins the drool staining his chin.

“Are you close, sweetheart?” you tease, fully satisfied when he nods, fast and wild. “You’ve been good. You can come.”

And he does. You feel him melt into your hand with a sob, head falling forward, body taut like a drawn bow. His hips lock as pleasure shoots through him like electricity.

“Thank you…” he whimpers, as his release soaks through his underwear. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

You smile gently and your hand pulls away. He lets out a quiet moan, like losing the last point of contact with the world. You start to turn away, ready to go clean yourself in the bathroom — but he grabs you, hard.

One arm wraps around your waist, the other seizes your wrist and raises it up.

His bare chest presses against your shirt-covered back, and you can hear the low, barely-there heartbeat that accelerates only for you.

You watch as he bends to your palm and licks — slowly — gathering his own release with his tongue. It runs between your fingers, over each joint, until you’re partially clean again.

You turn in his hold. The need to look into his eyes takes over.

Remmick returns your gaze. The red is gone, replaced with a human gray. Lust has vanished, but something deeper shines in its place.

It’s not hunger. It’s not craving.

It’s something that lives in the space between his mouth and yours — which he closes in an instant.

The kiss is different than usual. Slower.

There’s no urgency. No devouring need.

It’s a promise. A prayer.

He kisses you like he’s waited years for this.

Like there’s nothing in the world he’d rather devour than your lips.

He takes your face between his hands — carefully, without claws. His fingers tremble just slightly, but they’re firm the moment they touch your skin. He holds you like that as his mouth opens — just enough to welcome yours. Your tongues brush and curl into a rhythm of recognition.

You taste blood, his release, his desperation.

When he pulls back, his eyes remain locked on you.

“I reckon the reason I didn’t die when I should've… is 'cause the world was waitin' on me to find you.”

His hands explore you with a slowness that surprises you — even now. Not like someone seeking a body, but someone seeking a home. He brushes along your arms, your ribs, the soft curve of your waist. His fingertips slip beneath layers of fabric, touch your bare stomach as though he’s tracing a secret poem along your skin.

You shiver beneath the attention, but don’t pull away. You don’t think you could even if you tried.

He takes your hand in his, silent, and guides you back to the bed. He doesn’t undress you immediately. He lays you down on the sheets as if placing you on an altar.

In the meantime, he must have kicked away his boxers and pants — because when he settles between your thighs, he’s bare. Completely. All that remains is the collar, snug around his throat.

His cock presses against your stomach, hard again, demanding more. You silently thank whatever vampire magic grants him such rapid recovery. The hem of your shirt has risen just enough to let in the cold air of the room.

He stretches out on top of you — not to pin you down, but to cover you. Protect you. Envelope you.

Remmick kisses you again, deeper now, like his heart had climbed into his throat and wants to be devoured whole. His palms splay across your bare hips, rising higher, dragging the fabric up with them.

You realize he has no intention of unbuttoning your shirt — so you lift your arms, letting him peel it off over your head. When he pulls back to do it, he kisses every new inch of exposed skin as if he’s seeing you naked for the first time.

And maybe he is.

And maybe, that’s exactly how you want to be seen. Every day. Forever.

When he gets to your underwear, he drags them slowly down your legs, and you’re sure he’s about to bury himself between your thighs again — his favorite place — but you stop him. Slide two fingers under the collar at his throat and pull upward, hard.

He gasps, a little guttural sound that’s half protest, half delight. But when your thighs close tightly around his hips, his smile returns — crooked and satisfied.

Your fingers comb through his dark hair, playing with the small knots you find along the way, and it makes him hum — like a purring cat — the sound pulling your own smile out of hiding.

You’d had sex before. Many times.

Remmick had always been hungry. Always physical. Always attentive. He’d learned your rhythms, your sounds, even your silences.

He’d always asked. Never taken. He’d touched you with worship, eaten you like a rite, taken you like a gift.

But this… this had never happened.

Not like this.

Not this slow. Not this full. Not this… domestic.

He pushes inside you while your mind is still floating. There’s no warning, no fingers — but you don’t need it. You’re so wet and open, he slides in easily. That damp pressure between your thighs could only be your own arousal.

“Rem…” you sigh, your arms instinctively circling around his neck, pulling him close. You feel the cold of the medallion brushing your clavicles as he rolls his hips forward, mouth descending toward your neck, and thrusts into you again — deep, firm, sure.

“Fuck, darlin'… I could live inside ya like this forever,” he stammers against your skin, his hands lifting your hips slightly to find that perfect spot you crave — and as always, he finds it.

Your eyes roll back as he hits it again. And again.

“Ya feel unreal...so fuckin' good,” he groans, his pace faltering, the rhythm of his thrusts slipping into a stutter. You hear the tiny, familiar whimpers escape him — the ones you’ve learned mean he’s close. “I can’t even fucking think straight— love—”

He rotates his hips in a way that makes you see stars, your spine arching beneath him, your nails digging into his back like claws anchoring you to this world.

You feel the climax boiling in your stomach, rising fast, your legs trembling as you try to keep up — but he holds you. One hand supporting your lower back, the other gripping the underside of your thigh, keeping you spread wide around him.

“Remmick—” you gasp, gripping the collar again, yanking it. “I’m gonna come—”

“Look at me,” he pleads, lifting his face from your neck, locking eyes with you. “I want to see ya. I want ya to look too. Look at what you're doin' to me...Come with me. Please—”

It’s hard to keep your eyes open when the knot inside you snaps. Your cunt clenches around him, pulling him deeper as you come, and he falls with you, the moment he feels it. He keeps moving, slower now, hips rocking through it, pumping the last of his cum deep into you, like he’s trying to mark your inside forever.

The blankets are tangled. Your skin is wet with sweat. Your back aches from the angle, but you feel full. Complete.

Remmick collapses on your chest, lips barely brushing your skin, still trembling through the aftershocks. Eyes closed — but you can feel it: he’s not asleep.

And then… he moves.

Carefully. Like someone who isn’t used to staying.

He lifts himself slightly, eyes scanning for his pants on the floor. Reaching for them, as if to dress. To withdraw. To return to his place.

At your feet.

Far away.

As always.

But you don’t want as always anymore. Not after this.

You reach out without lifting your head, and pull him back down by the collar, slow and firm. He drops back into the bed with a stunned look, and you roll onto your side, silent, guiding his arm around you until he holds you.

Not permitted.

Required.

Remmick stiffens at first.

Then something breaks.

A long breath. A quiet surrender. A deep, honest relief.

His body softens against yours, curling into you.

“…Can I stay, yeah?” he whispers, instantly regretful for asking aloud.

“I thought that was obvious,” you murmur, eyes closed.

Remmick smiles against your nape.

He kisses your shoulder. Once. Twice. A third time — soft and grateful.

His fingers caress your stomach, then your waist, then your hip, as though redrawing the boundaries of what he’s allowed to touch.

He pulls you closer. Nose buried in your hair.

Something moves outside the room, catching his attention.

A shadow glides past the half-open door. Light paws. A high tail. Indifferent.

Your cat.

Remmick opens one eye.

Sees him pass. The little animal doesn’t stop — just a lazy glance. The usual feline disdain.

But the vampire…smiles.

He throws the cat a look of triumph — not smug, just assured. “This time, I’m the one in bed. Next to her.”

The cat pauses. As if understanding. Then, with solemn dignity, walks away.

And with that, Remmick curls back around you and finally, peacefully — sleeps.

[sevikaswifegurl]

Just the Tip

Hobie Brown X Black!F!Reader

Synopsis: Hobie swears it’ll just be a little, just the tip. But you both know how this always ends.

Warning: Explicit content, adult language, failed self-control, Hobie being provocative and persuasive (as always in this profile).

word count: 1436

Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance if there are any mistakes.

The credits of the GIF go to: @beif0ngs

The tension was thick from the moment Hobie stepped into the room. He threw his accessories onto the furniture more forcefully than usual, kicked his shoes aside, and ran his hand through his hair in an impatient gesture. You didn’t need to ask to know what was going on—it was written all over the way he looked at you, the hungry gleam in his dark eyes, the way his tongue played with the ring in his lower lip.

He wanted you. He needed you.

But you weren’t in the mood.

— Are you okay? — you asked, watching him flop beside you on the bed, arms behind his head as if forcing himself to relax.

Hobie let out a heavy sigh, his fingers drumming on your knee. — Just... tired — he murmured, but the way his eyes roamed your body contradicted his words.

You knew that look. The way he became quieter, more focused, how his touches grew slower and drawn out, as if waiting for you to make the first move. But today, it just didn’t feel like the right moment.

— Hobs... — you began, already anticipating the conversation.

— I know. — He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. — I just wanted a little. Doesn’t have to be much.

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. — A little?

He flashed a crooked grin, turning his face toward you. — Just the tip. I swear. No moving, nothing. Just to feel you, babe. — His voice was low, laced with provocation and promise.

You huffed, crossing your arms. — This never works like that, and you know it.

Hobie chuckled, leaning in to press a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

— I promise this time it’ll work. Just the tip, come on. Just a little.

You looked at him, at those eyes full of desire and his lip slightly parted, waiting for your response. It was hard to say no when he looked at you like that, but you knew how this would end.

— Are you really going to stay still? — you asked, narrowing your eyes.

— An anarchist's word. — He raised one hand as if taking an oath, but the mischievous smile was still there.

You sighed, shaking your head. — Fine, but if you move, I stop.

He bit his lip, nodding quickly. — Deal.

Hobie quickly got rid of his clothes, his eyes gleaming with excitement. You couldn’t help but shiver when he positioned himself against you, the tip of his member brushing against your entrance. The heat of his skin against yours was a dangerous temptation, and he knew it.

He let out a shaky breath as he slid only the head inside you, his fingers gripping your waist tightly. His body tensed, his arm and abdominal muscles contracting as if he were holding himself back with all his strength.

— Damn... — He exhaled, his eyes closing for a moment. — This is torture.

You let out a soft laugh, taking the chance to tease him. — Yeah, you asked for it.

Hobie opened one eye, gazing at you with a mischievous gleam. His breath was heavy, his hips trembling slightly in restraint. But to your surprise, he actually stayed still. Just the tip, as promised.

Seconds passed, long and filled with tension. The heat, the proximity, the way he was holding back... All of it made your body react, even against your will. You felt an involuntary tightening around him, and Hobie groaned low, the sound deep and drawn out.

— Babe... — His voice came out hoarse, and you knew in that moment that he was at his limit.

You smiled against the warm skin of his neck. — Is it hard?

Hobie laughed, but it was a nervous laugh, full of desperation. — You have no idea.

His fingers traced a slow path along your waist, climbing to your ribcage before descending again. The simple touch made your body shiver, a slow heat building in your belly. He was hot, pulsing inside you, and even without moving, the sensation was intense.

His chest rose and fell unevenly, his self-control being tested with every passing second. You could see his abdominal muscles tightening, his thighs stiffening as he forced himself to stay still. But the truth was, seeing him like this, so desperate, made your own desire start to stir, even if it was against your initial will.

Hobie noticed. Of course, he noticed. A slow, smug smile spread across his lips, his eyes wicked as he leaned in to kiss your jawline.

— Babe... — He whispered against your skin, his voice heavy with need and provocation. — You’re getting wet for me, aren’t you?

Your body heated at his words, but you refused to admit it. — Shut up, Hobie.

He chuckled against your neck, but didn’t say anything more. He just stayed there, breathing heavily, while struggling against his own desire. But then, something inside you gave. Your hips moved, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough.

Hobie froze.

And then, slowly, as if he still wanted to test his limits, he began to push a little deeper. Inch by inch, with lazy kisses on your neck, whispering your name against your warm skin. Each movement was slow, drawn out, waiting for any sign to stop. But you didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.

Pleasure mixed with gradual surrender, and when you finally realized it, there was no more space between you. Desire consumed you both entirely, and everything else stopped mattering.

[mahalachives]

Part 5: The Sound of Her Silence

TW: This chapter contains intense emotional distress, depictions of self-harm, mental health deterioration, themes of suicidal ideation, fever-induced hallucinations, and emotional abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

Please take care of yourself and skip or pause if needed. 💛

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 Great Hall fell into uneasy silence after the Night Court's entrance, their arrival a deliberate provocation.

Even Beron hesitated, his ever-burning flames receding as if inhaling before a storm.

The flames illuminated the High Lord's face, calculating, dangerous, a predator considering his options.

Rhysand stepped forward, power coiled tight beneath his skin, a leashed tempest. "Lord Beron," he said with cool precision, "we come regarding matters of mutual interest between our courts."

Beron's voice, low and sharp, sliced through the tension. "You enter my court uninvited. That alone is a breach of protocol. Give me one reason not to treat it as an act of war."

"Because war would serve neither of us," Rhysand answered smoothly. "Not over what is, by all appearances, a personal complication."

Your eyes were drawn unbidden to Azriel.

He stood apart from Rhysand and Cassian, his body angled as if bracing for a fight. His face was impassive, carved from stone, shadows held tight around him like armor.

Yet they strained against his control, reaching toward you in aborted, desperate movements before he willed them still.

Where one tendril briefly brushed the flagstone, a frost pattern etched itself into the ground and faded, leaving behind a scent like winter pine.

The mating bond flared in your chest, a barbed hook that twisted with every heartbeat, golden warmth laced with unbearable pressure.

Your lungs constricted. Your fingers trembled.

Every instinct screamed to move toward him, to close the unbearable distance.

Beron's gaze flicked from you to Azriel, sharp with calculation. "Your shadowsinger shows an unusual concern for my daughter." His fingers tapped once against his throne, embers spiraling upward. "Is this intrusion about the mating bond that threatens both our courts' standing with the others?"

Eris stepped forward, his copper hair gleaming in the firelight. "Perhaps we should hear what the Night Court has to say." His voice was silk over steel, practiced and smooth. "After all, we wouldn't want to appear inhospitable."

Beron shot his eldest son a withering glance. "Your hospitality has already cost us enough, Eris."

"Among other things," Rhysand replied to Beron's earlier question. "Though this may not be the appropriate setting to discuss such matters."

The doors to the Great Hall swung open, and Lady of the Autumn Court entered.

Your mother moved with quiet grace, her russet gown flowing like autumn leaves around her slender frame. She paused at the threshold, taking in the scene with eyes that betrayed nothing of her thoughts.

"You weren't summoned," Beron said coldly, not bothering to turn fully toward his wife.

She inclined her head slightly. "I heard we had guests." Her voice was soft but steady. "It would be remiss of me not to welcome them properly."

Beron's flames flared, casting harsh shadows across his face.

"Always interfering where you're not wanted. Like mother, like daughter." His gaze cut to you, contempt evident. "Both of you, useless except for the trouble you cause."

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, rage building in your chest alongside the pull of the bond. The insult spoken so casually, so cruelly, made something crack inside you.

Eris's face remained composed, but his eyes hardened to amber chips. "The Night Court representatives are waiting." His voice was still controlled, but carried an edge sharp enough to cut. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion elsewhere."

Your mother's face remained impassive, a mask perfected over centuries of such treatment. Only the slight whitening of her knuckles betrayed her reaction.

Beron's nostrils flared. The flames around him crackled and dimmed, reflecting the push and pull of his control.

Heat pulsed in waves through the hall, making the air shimmer. At last, he waved a hand. "The western salon. I will join you shortly."

As the Night Court turned to leave, Beron snapped his gaze back to you. "You. Walk with me."

You stood, legs stiff beneath the weight of your father's fury, and fell into step beside him.

"I'll accompany them," your mother said quietly, moving toward the Night Court.

Beron grabbed her wrist, flames licking at his fingers, dangerously close to her skin. "You will return to your chambers and stay there until I send for you."

"Let her go." The words escaped your lips before you could stop them, quiet but firm.

Eris shifted slightly, positioning himself between your father and mother. "The Night Court is watching," he murmured, his voice for Beron's ears alone. "Consider the impression we make."

Beron released her wrist with a shove. "Get out of my sight."

Your mother's eyes met yours briefly, a warning, a plea for caution before she bowed her head and withdrew, dignity intact despite the humiliation.

Eris lingered a moment, his eyes meeting Azriel's with cold assessment. "Watch yourself, shadowsinger," he murmured, too low for the others to hear. "Beron's patience has limits, and so does mine."

He followed after Beron, silent as a blade at your back.

"Control yourself," Beron hissed at you as you walked. "Your mother's weakness is bad enough without you adding to our shame."

Rage simmered beneath your skin, hot as Autumn fire. "She is not weak. She never has been."

Beron's laugh was cruel. "Defending her now? Where was that courage when she needed it?"

The word struck like a physical blow, dragging memories forward, sterile white rooms with strange instruments, laughter that didn't belong in this realm, voices discussing you as if you weren't present.

A life before Prythian, before the Autumn Court. Before you were—whatever you are now.

The western salon was warmer, quieter. Sunlight poured through amber-stained windows, gilding the dust in the air. Rhysand and Cassian stood near the hearth, speaking in low tones. Azriel remained by the door, positioned like a sentry, his back straight, expression unreadable.

When your eyes met his, the bond shuddered.

Golden light rippled beneath your skin and his, cold fire racing along your veins.

Azriel didn't move. Didn't flinch.

His shadows curled in tight coils around him, containing the flare before it could escape, but not before one shadow darted toward you, caressing your cheek with a touch like frost-covered silk.

Your heart stumbled in your chest. Blood rushed in your ears.

Beron took his seat and gestured curtly to the chair beside him. "Speak, Rhysand. Then leave."

Rhysand sat, every inch the High Lord, his posture relaxed and voice level. "Recent events call into question the stability of our courts' relationship. An unexpected mating bond. An attempted crossing into another court's lands. An unauthorized rescue."

"My daughter's choices are her own," Beron said coldly.

"They become our concern when they involve one of mine," Rhysand answered, unblinking. "And when they nearly end in bloodshed."

You stared down at your hands. The bond tugged with every beat of your heart, flaring whenever Azriel so much as shifted his stance. His silence was deafening, a void that demanded to be filled.

Beron leaned back, his expression glacial. "The bond was rejected. That is the end of it."

"It is not so easily discarded," Rhysand said. "You know that. A rejected bond leaves... consequences. Dangerous ones."

Beron sneered. "Do not lecture me about consequences, boy. If your shadowsinger cannot stomach the match, that is no longer my concern."

"Then consider this a precaution," Rhysand replied, steel beneath the silk. "Allow my spymaster ten minutes alone with her. To ensure there are no... lingering complications that might destabilize Autumn's borders or create vulnerabilities Night's enemies could exploit."

A long silence followed.

Beron's fingers twitched, flames licking at his knuckles, crawling up his wrists like living things.

At last, he gestured dismissively. "Ten minutes. Then she returns to her chambers, under guard."

Rhysand rose. "Cassian, Eris, shall we?"

Eris unfolded himself from his chair with feline grace. "Of course." His gaze swept over you, lingering on the faint glow of the bond beneath your skin.

They filed out, one by one. When the door shut behind them, silence settled like ash. The only sound was the crackle of the hearth and your treacherous, thundering heart.

Azriel did not move.

You waited, the pressure in your chest mounting until each breath felt like drawing in shards of glass. He watched you like a stranger, shadows still circling his boots, though they shivered with what looked like restraint.

"You shouldn't have come," he said at last. His voice was low. Controlled. Ice, not fire. Each syllable precisely measured. "Not to the war camp."

Your mouth dried. "I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant," he interrupted, sharp enough to cut to bone. "But intent doesn't undo consequences."

You stood, unable to remain still under the weight of his voice, every muscle drawn taut. "The bond-"

"Is inconvenient," he said flatly.

His shadows flinched at the words, contradicting his tone.

One of them drifted toward you before curling back like a burned leaf, leaving a trail of frost that melted instantly in the Autumn Court's heat.

You swallowed. "I thought if I said goodbye, it would ease the pain."

His expression didn't change, but his jaw tightened fractionally, tendons straining beneath scarred skin.

"And the lake? Was that meant to ease something too?"

You couldn't answer. Not truthfully. Your fingernails bit into your palms.

"I wanted it to end," you whispered. "I thought death might sever the bond."

His shadows stilled. The silence that followed was so complete it rang in your ears. The temperature in the room plummeted, your breath clouding before your face.

He stepped forward once, slow and deliberate.

Not close. Never close.

"I've seen bonds form between killers. Between traitors. Between those who should be enemies." His voice dropped lower. "They don't care about virtue or wisdom. Only connection. And sometimes, connection is a curse that will tear down everything we've built."

You stared at him, heart splintering. "Is that what I am to you? A curse?"

He didn't answer right away.

When he did, his voice was quiet, almost gentle, and that gentleness cut deeper than any blade. "You're not the same female I knew."

A breath. A pause. His shadows twisted around him, agitated.

"But you have caused too much pain." I can't trust myself around you hung unspoken between you.

The bond pulsed again, a flare of pain so acute it forced a gasp from your lips.

You staggered slightly.

Azriel didn't move to catch you, but his shadows lurched forward before he brutally reined them back.

You steadied yourself against a table, knuckles white. "If I could change it-"

"You can't," he said, more sharply than before. "And neither can I. Not without destroying what keeps both our courts safe."

His gaze locked with yours, centuries of survival and sacrifice written in the tight lines around his mouth. "The Night Court has enemies who would use any vulnerability. The Autumn Court the same. This bond is a weakness neither of us can afford."

He looked at you as if weighing something, then added, "I don't hate you. But I don't believe this bond is something either of us should accept. Not at the cost it would demand."

Another breath passed, then two. He reached for the door, shadows reluctantly trailing after him.

"I came to say goodbye," he said without turning around. "And to make it clear. I reject you. I dont want anything to do with you."

His shadows curled toward you one final time, a defiance of his words—their touch colder than winter, gentler than a lover's caress as they traced the contours of your face. Then they vanished, ripped back to their master.

"Goodbye," he said.

You couldn't speak.

Not as he opened the door and left without a backward glance. Not as the door clicked shut behind him, sealing you in the quiet.

You rose from your chair, legs unsteady, hand pressed to your chest where the bond burned like a brand. It pulsed once more, then dulled to a low throb.

Still there. Still aching.

But colder now. Just like him.

You moved toward the door, vision blurring.

You needed to be away from here, away from the lingering scent of pine and winter that his shadows had left behind. Each step felt heavier than the last as you pushed through the doors and into the hallway, not caring who might see the tears that now threatened to spill.

The corridors stretched before you, all amber and ruby and burnished gold.

Suffocating.

You quickened your pace, heading for your chambers, the only place where you might find a moment's peace.

A figure stepped from an alcove, blocking your path. Your mother—no, not your mother. The Lady of Autumn Court.

She stood before you, her eyes taking in your trembling hands, the faint golden glow still visible beneath your skin, the tears you could no longer hold back. Something in her expression softened, a recognition of pain she understood all too well.

You tried to step around her, to maintain the distance that had always existed between you, heightened by the knowledge that you were not truly her daughter. That you came from another world entirely, a world of skyscrapers and smartphones, not magic and immortal fae.

But she simply opened her arms.

The gesture broke something loose inside you.

Memories flashed through your mind, another mother in another life, hugs after scraped knees, whispered comfort during thunderstorms.

A life stolen from you.

You stepped into her embrace, burying your face against her shoulder. Her arms closed around you, unexpectedly strong, smelling of cinnamon and woodsmoke. The dam within you burst completely.

Silent tears soaked into the silk of her dress as she held you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head like you were a child. Your shoulders shook with the force of your grief—grief for the bond, for the cold goodbye, for the life you once knew, for the truth you couldn't speak.

She made no move to pull away, asked no questions you couldn't answer. Her heartbeat steady against yours, a counterpoint to the painful throb of the rejected bond.

In that moment, in that corridor of amber and shadows, something shifted between you.

Not blood, not shared history, but something equally powerful—understanding. Compassion.

A choice to be family when nothing in fate had designed you to be.

You clung to her, this woman you barely knew, as the golden bond-light flickered beneath your skin and tears continued to fall.

Days passed in a gray haze of pain and emptiness. 

Confined to your chambers under Beron's orders, you barely left your bed.

The mating bond, once a dull ache you could somehow endure, had transformed into something monstrous in the wake of Azriel's formal rejection.

It pulled and twisted beneath your skin, the golden light pulsing visibly through your nightgown at all hours, casting eerie shadows across your walls.

"Make it stop," you whispered into your pillow, the words becoming a mantra as hours bled into days. "Please, make it stop."

Food remained untouched on trays. Water turned stale beside your bed. Sleep came only in fitful bursts, often jolting you awake when the bond would suddenly flare as if sensing Azriel across the distance.

Each time, the pain would be fresh again, as if his rejection had just occurred.

On the third day, you couldn't leave your bed.

Your limbs felt leaden, unresponsive to your commands. The bond's golden light had spread, no longer contained to your chest but threading through your entire body in a complex network that resembled veins of fire beneath your skin.

"Make it stop," you begged the empty room, your voice cracking with disuse. "Make it stop."

Briar came and went, her face increasingly drawn with worry. She bathed your forehead with cool cloths that brought momentary relief, helped you sip water when your throat became too parched to speak. But even her gentle care couldn't touch the agony of the bond.

"The healers say-" she began on the fourth day, only to fall silent when you shook your head weakly.

"No more healers," you whispered. "They can't help."

The rejection was killing you.

Not quickly with merciful swiftness, but slowly, systematically.

First your appetite, then your sleep, then your strength.

Soon, you knew, it would take your mind, and finally, your life.

By the fifth day, the pain had become so unbearable that you could no longer contain your screams.

They tore from your throat in ragged bursts, startling servants and causing guards to peer nervously through your door.

Ember, your faithful flame bunny, tried desperately to comfort you, nuzzling against your tear-stained cheeks and offering his warmth. But even his presence brought only fleeting solace.

"Make it stop," you sobbed between screams, your voice raw and broken. "Please, just make it stop."

Night fell, and with it came fever.

Your body burned from within, as if the bond had ignited your very blood.

The golden light beneath your skin pulsed in nauseating waves, brightening and dimming with each labored beat of your heart. Shadows danced strangely across your walls, though no source of light moved to cast them.

In your delirium, you thought you saw your human body, lying peacefully in a hospital bed, monitors beeping steadily beside it.

The vision taunted you—safety and normalcy just beyond reach. You stretched your hand toward it, only to watch it dissolve like mist.

"I want to go home," you wept, curling into yourself as another wave of pain crashed through you. "I just want to go home."

The latch on your door clicked softly, the sound barely audible over your ragged breathing.

You didn't bother looking up. Another healer, no doubt, come to offer useless remedies for a condition beyond their understanding.

"So, this is what a mating bond does," said a familiar voice, cool with equal parts disdain and clinical interest. "How remarkably... undignified."

You forced your eyes open to find Eris standing at the foot of your bed, his amber eyes assessing your deteriorated state with detached calculation.

He held a small wooden box in one hand, its surface carved with intricate symbols you didn't recognize.

"Go away," you managed, your voice barely audible. "Can't... help."

"Can't I?" A smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he set the box on your nightstand. "Your arrogance persists even in this state. How typical."

His dismissive tone convinced you he saw only what he expected to see. His cruel sister, temporarily weakened. He didn't suspect you were someone else entirely.

Eris opened the box with careful precision, removing a small vial of dark liquid.

"Do you know what this is?" When you didn't respond, he continued, "It's called ash tea. Death to our kind in sufficient quantity, it disintegrates our magic from within, dissolves our organs rather spectacularly." He swirled the vial, studying the contents with academic interest. "But in minute, carefully measured amounts..."

"Poison?" you whispered, hope flaring briefly.

Eris laughed softly. "Not as you're thinking, no. Though many would consider offering this to a High Fae treasonous." He sat carefully on the edge of your bed, an unexpected intimacy that emphasized the seriousness of the moment. "This particular blend contains ash wood bark, ground fine enough to enter the bloodstream without killing you outright, but potent enough to... dampen certain magical connections."

Understanding dawned slowly through your pain-addled mind. "The bond?"

"Precisely." Eris uncorked the vial, the scent of earth and something acrid filling the air between you. "It cannot be broken, but it can be... muted. Made bearable. At least temporarily."

You tried to sit up, wincing as the movement sent fresh waves of agony radiating from your chest. "Why would you... help me?"

Eris's expression remained carefully neutral, though something flickered in his eyes, not quite compassion, but perhaps a cold form of practicality. "Let's just say having the Lady of Autumn Court driven mad by bond rejection doesn't serve anyone's interests. Particularly not when diplomatic relations with the Night Court are so delicate."

He lifted the vial. "This won't be pleasant. And the effects are temporary. A day, perhaps two. But it should bring enough relief to keep you from it."

Hope and suspicion warred within you. This was Eris, after all—known for manipulation and political maneuvering, not acts of charity.

"What's the... price?" you asked, even as you eyed the vial with desperate longing.

A smile ghosted across his lips. "Smart question. There is, of course, a cost. The ash will dampen the bond, but it also suppresses all magic—including healing magic. You'll be weaker, more vulnerable to injury. And if you take too much, too often..." He shrugged eloquently. "Well, that's a risk you'll have to decide if you're willing to take."

Another wave of bond-agony crashed through you, drawing a whimper from your raw throat. The golden light beneath your skin pulsed viciously, as if the bond itself protested this conversation.

"Give it to me," you gasped, reaching weakly for the vial.

Eris held it to your lips. "Drink all of it. And brace yourself. This will hurt before it helps."

The liquid burned like fire as it slid down your throat, leaving a trail of blistering pain in its wake. You gagged, nearly retching as your body instinctively tried to reject the poison. Eris held you steady, his grip surprisingly gentle despite his usual coldness.

"Breathe," he instructed calmly. "The first wave will hit in approximately thirty seconds. Try not to scream too loudly. The servants are already terrified enough."

The pain began in your stomach, a spreading heat that quickly evolved into liquid agony. It raced through your veins like molten metal, seeking out the golden threads of the mating bond wherever they had infiltrated your system. You bit down hard on your lip to keep from screaming, tasting blood as your teeth pierced skin.

"Good," Eris murmured, observing with cold efficiency. "If you survive the next few minutes, relief should follow."

You couldn't respond, too consumed by the battle raging within your body. The ash tea burned through you like wildfire, while the mating bond fought to maintain its hold.

Golden light flared beneath your skin, brighter than ever before, illuminating your chamber as if noon sun streamed through the windows.

Just when you thought you couldn't bear another second, when death seemed not just welcome but necessary. The pain crested, held for one eternal moment, then began to recede.

The golden light dimmed, not disappearing entirely but retreating, condensing back toward your heart where the bond's core resided. The burning sensation of the ash tea transformed into something cooler, almost numbing, as it wrapped around the bond's tendrils like a smothering blanket.

"There," Eris said, satisfaction evident in his voice. "The worst is over."

You collapsed back against your pillows, gasping for breath. The pain hadn't vanished completely—the bond still pulsed steadily in your chest—but it was... contained.

Manageable. For the first time in days, you could think clearly, breathe without agony slicing through your lungs.

"How do you feel?" Eris asked, assessing you with calculating eyes.

"Like I've been trampled by a herd of horses," you replied honestly, your voice hoarse but stronger. "But... better."

He nodded, seeming pleased with the results of his experiment. "It forms a temporary barrier between you and the bond. It's still there, still active, but its effects are dampened. You should be able to eat, sleep, perhaps even function normally for a brief time."

"Thank you," you whispered, the words entirely genuine.

"Don't thank me yet. It has side effects, headaches, nausea, significant weakening of your healing abilities. A paper cut could take days to close. And when it wears off..."

"The pain returns," you finished for him.

"Precisely. This is not a cure, merely a reprieve." He rose from the bed, returning the empty vial to its box with careful precision. "I have more. Enough for several treatments, if necessary. But using ash too frequently risks permanent damage to your magic, possibly death. It's a temporary solution at best."

You nodded, understanding the limitations but grateful nonetheless for even temporary relief. "Why help me at all?"

"Because a mad Lady of Autumn is a liability to this court," he said finally, his voice carefully devoid of emotion. "And because no one deserves that particular hell. Not even you."

Through your exhaustion, you noticed Eris studying you with an intensity that hadn't been there before. His amber eyes narrowed slightly, head tilted in calculation.

"Rest now," he said, his voice oddly soft. "Sleep while you can."

The suggestion was unnecessary.

Your body, wrung out from days of suffering and the recent battle with the ash tea, was already surrendering to exhaustion. Your eyelids felt impossibly heavy, darkness crowding the edges of your vision.

The last thing you saw before consciousness fled was Eris standing over you, his expression unreadable as he pulled something from his pocket—another vial, this one filled with clear liquid.

"Forgive me, sister," he murmured, though the words seemed to come from very far away. "But you cannot stay here."

Then darkness claimed you completely.

Far away in the Night Court, in the darkest chamber of the House of Wind, Azriel knelt on the cold stone floor.

Alone, as he preferred. As he required.

His blade—Truth-Teller—lay before him, its edge gleaming in the dim light.

Blood. His blood. Already stained the steel, fresh rivulets running down its length to pool on the stone beneath.

Another wave of pain crashed through the bond, brutal and unrelenting.

Azriel didn't make a sound.

Five centuries of torture and war had taught him that lesson well.

Silence in suffering.

But his body betrayed him, trembling violently as the mating bond seared his insides like molten silver.

With deliberate precision, he picked up the blade and drew it across his chest, adding another perfect line to the row of cuts already marking his skin.

Each one corresponded to a wave of your pain that had reached him through the bond.

Blood for pain. Pain for denial. Denial for protection.

His shadows writhed around him, agitated and distressed by the self-inflicted wounds, but he controlled them with ruthless precision.

Control was all he had left. All he could permit himself.

It was the secret that male Fae carried and females rarely understood.

Rejection hurt the male more. Always.

The Cauldron's cruelest design—to make the one who denied the bond suffer more deeply, more fundamentally, than the one rejected.

The females experienced the pain as something inflicted upon them.

The males felt it as something torn from within them.

He had rejected you. For his family, for his court, for five centuries of history that couldn't be erased by the sudden, incomprehensible appearance of a bond.

Yet with each day that passed, with each wave of agony that pulsed through the connection, his reasons seemed increasingly hollow.

Azriel closed his eyes, mastering the tremors that threatened to overtake his body.

His wings tightened against his back, the membrane between the joints quivering with the effort of maintaining control. Each breath was measured, deliberate, a weapon against the madness that clawed at the edges of his consciousness.

The madness all males faced when denying the mating bond.

His shadows swirled around the wounds on his chest, trying to staunch the bleeding, but he commanded them back.

The physical pain was a lifeline, an anchor to sanity when the bond threatened to drag him into the abyss. Each cut was a reminder, a demarcation between thought and action, between the primal claiming instinct and his hard-won self-control.

"She's not mine," he said aloud, his voice steady despite the war raging within him. "She can't be mine."

His shadows disagreed, stretching southward toward the Autumn Court, toward you, before he wrenched them back with brutal force. They had grown harder to control since the bond formed, increasingly rebellious against his commands where you were concerned.

Just as his mind had grown more fragmented, thoughts circling in patterns he recognized as dangerous.

Possessive. Violent. Obsessive.

Mine to reject. Mine to claim. Mine to punish. Mine to protect.

Another wave of your pain rolled through him, sharper this time, different. Not the steady agony of rejection but something new—something foreign.

His body arched backwards, a wordless snarl escaping through clenched teeth as the unfamiliar sensation burned along the bond.

Something was happening to you. Something was being done to you.

Without conscious thought, Truth-Teller was in his hand again, his grip so tight the scars on his hands whitened. His shadows exploded outward, slashing across the walls in chaotic patterns before he brought them to heel.

"Control," he gasped, the word a prayer and command. "Control."

The foreign sensation continued, burning through the bond for endless minutes before slowly, gradually beginning to recede.

As it faded, the connection itself seemed to dim—not broken, never broken, but muffled.

Distant. As if a veil had fallen between them.

Azriel stared at his bloody hands, at Truth-Teller's gleaming edge, as realization dawned.

Someone had interfered.

Someone had touched what was his.

A low, feral growl built in his chest, shadows coalescing around him like armor. His wings flared wide, bumping against the chamber walls, as pure, primal rage flooded his system. It was the claiming instinct, the mating drive—made worse, not better, by his rejection.

Shadows pooled at his feet, rising up his legs like living things, responding to emotions he refused to name. They whispered to him, ancient and dark,

Find her. Claim her. Kill anyone who stands between.

For one terrible moment, he considered it—giving in to the madness, surrendering to the bond's demands. It would be easier than fighting, easier than the constant war between instinct and reason, between what the bond wanted and what his mind knew was necessary.

The shadows sensed his weakness, surging eagerly in response, already mapping the fastest route to the Autumn Court, to you.

With tremendous effort, Azriel forced them back, confined them to the chamber, to himself. His hands shook with the strain, blood dripping from fresh cuts to the stone below.

"I am not a slave to instinct," he said, each word precise and controlled. "I am not ruled by the bond."

But even as he spoke, he knew it for the lie it was. The mating bond had fundamentally altered him, changed something essential in his makeup. The ruthless control he had maintained for centuries was fracturing, eroding a little more with each denial, each rejection.

Eventually, it would break entirely. And when it did...

You woke to sunlight and the scent of lavender.

Soft sheets. Linen curtains. A breeze slipped in through the open window, carrying the scent of wild roses and summer heat.

Winnowed here from the heart of Autumn, you were somewhere new—somewhere safe. The ash tea still burned faintly in your bloodstream, muting the mating bond's agony into something distant and bearable.

Not gone. Never gone. But quieter now.

You pushed yourself upright, slow and stiff. Your muscles protested, days of agony had left their mark. Ember stirred at your feet with a warm churr, his tiny pink flame ears twitching lazily as he hopped up onto your lap.

His companion—Sizzle, your second fire bunny—lounged on the windowsill like she owned the house, her tail periodically sparking small holes in the curtains.

"We live another day, troublemakers," you murmured, scratching Ember behind his flaming ears. He purred in response, a sound like kindling catching fire.

Sizzle, apparently jealous of the attention, sneezed dramatically. A tiny fireball shot across the room, hitting the curtain.

You scrambled to pat out the flames while Ember, startled by the sudden movement, jumped onto your pillow and promptly set it ablaze.

"Perfect," you muttered, now frantically swatting at both the curtain and pillow. "Absolutely perfect."

The door opened with a soft click, revealing Lucien Vanserra standing in the threshold, one brow arched. His russet hair was pulled back in a neat queue, his metal eye whirring as it assessed the smoldering chaos.

"I see your therapy animals are hard at work," he remarked dryly.

"They're very passionate about interior redesign," you replied, finally extinguishing the pillow.

Ember, unperturbed by the commotion he'd caused, began grooming himself smugly. Sizzle hopped down from the windowsill to join him, leaving a trail of tiny scorch marks across the blanket.

Lucien stepped inside, moving with the fluid grace of a High Fae male. Despite his seemingly casual demeanor, his hand never strayed far from the ornate knife at his hip.

"Eris said you were stable," he said. "I see he was being optimistic."

"I'm perfectly stable," you protested. "It's these two that are hazardous."

As if on cue, both bunnies looked up at Lucien with identical innocent expressions, their flame ears flickering like halos.

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Why am I here?" you asked, gathering Ember in your arms before he could cause more damage.

"My home. Border estate between Spring and Autumn," he replied. "Far enough from Summer that their water-wielders can't sense your fire magic."

"No, I mean why here. Why you?"

His jaw clenched. "Because Eris didn't trust anyone else to keep you alive."

A beat of silence. You stared at him. "Beron knows I'm gone?"

Lucien nodded grimly. "He's furious. You disappearing was one thing. But being bonded with the Night Court's shadowsinger... that made you a liability."

You swallowed hard. "He'll come after me."

"Yes," Lucien said simply. "But not here. Not yet. The border glamours I've crafted keep this place hidden from most eyes."

Ember, sensing your distress, nuzzled against your hand, his warm fur oddly comforting. Sizzle hopped closer, squeaking indignantly, as if personally offended by Beron's threat to you.

Eris swept into the doorway, elegant and deadly in fine Autumn Court attire. His eyes immediately landed on the singed pillow, then the bunnies, then you.

"You're awake," he added, gaze sliding over you. "Good. You were very dramatic about nearly dying."

You offered him a flat look. "You drugged me. Forgive me for not being chipper."

Eris just smiled thinly. "You're welcome."

Ember, evidently unimpressed by Eris's entrance, turned his back on your eldest brother and began methodically cleaning his paws. Sizzle, however, puffed up to twice her size, her tiny flame ears growing larger as she stared Eris down.

Lucien and Eris stared at each other, tension crackling like fire beneath still water. Centuries of history hung between them—betrayal, silence, blood.

"Why bring me here?" you asked again.

Eris's gaze darkened. "Because Beron watches me too closely. And because our charming brother has experience managing broken bonds."

Lucien's jaw ticked. "I'm not your pawn."

"No. Just the only one who's already walked through fire." Eris's eyes flicked to the scars on Lucien's face. "Literally and metaphorically." He continued. "I have business in the human lands. Autumn's emissaries report unusual activity," Eris said, already stepping back toward the door. "I'll return in three days. Try not to explode before then."

And then he was gone, leaving behind only the scent of embers and spice—not bothering to walk out, but winnowing away in a flash of copper light.

Ember triumphantly squeaked, as if he had personally driven Eris away, while Sizzle hopped in an excited circle, leaving a ring of tiny burn marks on the floor.

"Your security detail is very effective," Lucien remarked, his lips twitching.

"They're very selective about who they allow near me," you replied, patting the bed for them to return. Ember immediately hopped back onto your lap, while Sizzle took a detour to investigate Lucien's boots.

"So," you said, "Beron's hunting me."

Lucien nodded. "And I'm keeping you off his radar. For now."

Your mind flashed suddenly to that moment in the Autumn Court—Azriel's shadows coiling away from you, his face carved from ice as he rejected you.

The memory sent a bolt of pain through the bond, sharp enough to make you gasp. Golden light flared beneath your skin, pulsing once, twice, before the ash tea smothered it again.

Ember chirped in alarm, nudging your hand with his warm nose. Sizzle abandoned her investigation of Lucien to race back to your side, both bunnies pressing against you as if trying to absorb your pain.

Lucien tensed, his hand moving to his knife, not drawing it, but ready. "Breathe through it," he instructed, voice steady. "Don't fight it."

You nodded, forcing air into your lungs. "Why help me?" you managed after a moment.

He paused, then said, "Because someone should have helped me."

Your hand drifted to your chest, fingers pressing lightly over the steady, bruised thrum of the bond. "Azriel told me it wasn't real. That we weren't anything."

Something flashed across Lucien's face—recognition, perhaps. Understanding. His metal eye whirred softly. "But you felt it."

You nodded. "Still do."

Ember, as if understanding, rested his tiny paw on your hand where it pressed against your chest. His warmth seeped into your skin, a small comfort against the ache.

Lucien exhaled, his gaze distant. "It never fully goes away. You just get better at living around the ache."

"For how long will the tea work?"

"A week. Maybe less." His voice was clinical, practiced. "It gives you time to think without drowning."

"Think about what?"

"Whether you're going to keep breaking every time he turns away," Lucien said quietly.

Sizzle, who had been unnaturally still and attentive, suddenly hopped toward Lucien and squeaked forcefully, as if disagreeing with his pessimism. She punctuated her argument by sneezing a perfect smoke ring.

Lucien blinked down at her. "Was that... intentional?"

"She has opinions," you said, unable to stop a small smile. "Strong ones."

You looked at him. "And you? With your bond?"

His jaw tightened. "I've learned to stay standing."

You let silence sit between you. "It hurts."

"It should," he replied. "It means you cared."

You stroked Ember's back as he nestled against your ribs. "Azriel's in love with Elain," you said. I

The bond flared again at the shadowsinger's name, a sharp, twisting pain that made your fingers curl into fists. Golden light rippled beneath your skin, illuminating your veins like molten metal.

Lucien didn't flinch. "Yes."

Your eyes widened slightly. "Elain is your mate."

He nodded once, the motion tight and controlled. "Yes."

You gave a sharp, humorless laugh. "So my mate wants yours. And yours won't even look at you."

Heat surged through your body—not the bond this time, but your own power.

Flames licked between your fingers, dancing along your knuckles. Ember chirped in alarm, scurrying to safety, while Sizzle watched in what appeared to be admiration.

Lucien moved with startling speed, his hand closing around your wrist. Not roughly, but firmly. "Control it," he said, voice low. "You'll burn down the house."

The absurdity of the moment—the deadly serious warning about your power—broke through your anger. You took a deep breath, pulling the fire back inside.

"Sorry," you murmured, extending a gentle hand to coax Ember back.

Lucien's smile didn't reach his eyes. "The Cauldron has a twisted sense of humor."

"I'm done," you said, voice barely a whisper. "Done chasing someone who only ever turns around to run."

The moment the words left your mouth, the bond gave a violent pulse, as if in protest.

You gasped, pressing a hand to your chest as golden light spilled between your fingers.

Lucien looked at you for a long moment. "Good."

"I keep thinking if I'm better, softer, less angry, he'll see me. But I could walk through fire and he'd still stare at the smoke."

His voice was quiet. "I know the feeling."

You wiped at your face with the edge of the sheet. "So what now?"

Lucien's mismatched gaze found yours. "Now we learn to walk forward. With the ache. Without them."

You offered a watery smile. "We'll be strong for each other."

He returned it, faint but real. "The Vanserra way."

You wiped tears from your cheek. "Honestly? They're both walking red flags."

Lucien blinked. "Red what?"

"It's a saying," you explained quickly. "Red flags mean warning signs. Bad news. Like signals in battle, but for people."

"So I've been ignoring battle signals for decades," Lucien said dryly.

"Exactly. And Azriel..." You sighed. "Shadow and steel and silence don't make for healthy relationships."

Lucien's laugh was unexpected—sharp and genuine. "Don't let Rhysand hear you say that."

"At least I'm done chasing my red flag," you said.

The bond throbbed once more, a deep ache that would never truly fade. But for the first time, it didn't feel like it would tear you apart.

He nodded, the golden eye whirring softly. "And I'm learning to carry mine."

You looked at him, really looked at this brother you barely knew, and said, "We've got each other. That's enough."

Lucien leaned back. "The Vanserra siblings. Mated. Rejected. Slightly flammable."

"Speak for yourself," you grinned, A small flame danced across your fingertip as you stroked them, controlled this time, gentle. "We're adorably flammable."

His laughter—sharp and real—echoed softly through the room, making both bunnies' ears perk up in delight.

And for the first time in days, the ache in your chest felt like something you might one day be able to carry without breaking—a permanent bond, yes, but no longer a chain.

The golden light pulsed once more beneath your skin, and somewhere, miles away, in the darkness of the Night Court, you knew a shadowsinger felt it too.

Azriel woke shaking, breath crystallizing in the frigid air.

The bond.

Muffled for two days now—erupted with savage, unfamiliar pain. He'd marked each hour of silence with thin, precise cuts across his chest, but nothing prepared him for this blazing agony, as if the golden thread inside his ribs had been yanked tight and set aflame. Shadows writhed across the floor, mirroring his frantic heartbeat as sweat soaked the sheets.

He dressed by touch alone, leather sliding over half-healed wounds. Blood blossomed beneath the buckles, warm against his ice-cold skin. The hallway distorted, edges warping, but discipline drove him forward.

Movement might drown the torment. He staggered toward the training ring, trailing frost in his wake.

Cassian was drilling recruits when Azriel stepped onto the sand. Ice crackled under his boots; every Illyrian within twenty paces fell silent. His hands trembled violently, nearly dropping the practice sword until he clenched harder, reopening the newest cut.

Crimson seeped down his abdomen, its metallic scent sharp in the morning air.

A young warrior advanced.

Azriel struck—too fast, too brutal—wood splintering against bone.

The boy crumpled with a cry that Azriel barely registered through white sparks bursting behind his eyes, each one pulsing with the bond's torment.

Another opponent stepped forward, then another. Azriel met each with vicious, mechanical precision until Cassian intercepted, arms braced across his chest.

"Look at me," Cassian ordered, voice cutting through the roaring in Azriel's ears.

Azriel's vision swam. "It's worse," he rasped, throat raw. "Didn't know it could get worse."

Cassian's gaze dropped to the blood darkening Azriel's tunic. "You need a healer."

"I need-" Azriel couldn't finish.

Shadows spilled from his shoulders, lashing the air like whips, carrying the scent of nightfall and steel.

Cassian's siphons flared crimson, siphoning the wild magic before it scorched the watching recruits. "Training's over. War room, now."

Azriel remembered nothing of climbing the stairs to the River House, only the taste of copper and frost on his tongue. Maps blanketed the long table where Rhysand, Feyre, Mor, Amren, and Nesta looked up as he stumbled in, darkness trailing his every step.

Rhys's violet eyes narrowed at the blood. "Az-"

"The bond," Azriel grated, each word a tremor. "The agony's funneling straight through. I can't-" He pressed a shaking fist to his sternum where phantom fire burned. "I can't shut it out."

Feyre reached with her mind, gentle as dawn. The attempt brushed against raw nerves; Azriel recoiled with a guttural snarl. Glass shattered in the windowpanes.

The chandelier swayed, crystal tinkling. Shadows erupted, drenching the room in smothering darkness that tasted of ashes and grief.

Mor stepped forward, palms raised. "Az, breathe-"

"Every heartbeat feels like a blade," he said, voice breaking.

His eyes—normally calm as a midnight lake—shone wild, desperate. "If it gets any worse, I'll-" He bit down on the rest, but the madness was there, circling, hungry, a beast straining at its chains.

Nesta's steel-gray gaze tracked the shadows crawling over the ceiling. "Then we fix it before you lose yourself."

Cassian planted a steady hand between Azriel's shoulder blades, grounding him. "Name the order, Rhys."

Rhysand's power rolled out—cool midnight and stars—pushing the shadows back until lantern-light flickered once more. "Stealth flight to Autumn in four hours," the High Lord said. "We extract and return before dawn."

Azriel's knees nearly buckled with equal parts relief and renewed terror. "Four hours is too long."

"It's how long it takes to prepare winnow points that Beron can't trace," Rhys countered, voice edged with authority. "You will hold."

Azriel's jaw clenched so hard something cracked.

Fresh blood slid beneath his leathers, a warm contrast to the cold sweat beading his skin. "I'll try."

Amren clicked her tongue, ancient eyes gleaming. "Try harder. Velaris has survived worse than your shadows."

Azriel dragged in a ragged breath that smelled of pine and steel and coming snow.

The pain surged again—hot, merciless—and his vision went white at the edges. But he felt Cassian's steadying hand, heard Rhys's measured voice, sensed Feyre's mind-touch waiting for permission.

He swallowed hard. "Keep me busy."

Cassian's grin was fierce, all teeth. "I can do that."

The shadows settled—trembling, resentful, but leashed. Focus returned to Azriel's fever-bright eyes, razor-sharp and deadly.

Four hours.

He could endure four more hours of this hell.

And when the time came, he would fly south on wings of night and frost, and anyone standing between him and that muted golden thread would learn why even High Lords feared a shadowsinger's wrath.

Author’s Note:

If you made it through this chapter—first of all, I love you. This one was heavy, but necessary. Our girl is still standing (with fire bunnies), and Azriel is one breakdown away from realizing he’s in love. As always, thank you for reading. 💛

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[deebris]

The Misteryous Visitor 5

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: The argument between Talia and Bruce is catastrophic from beginning to end, and while the whole truth is revealed, neither of them wants to let go of you. Strange was always a greater danger than he let on and was closer than he ever thought.

Warnings: Family discussion; meaningless kiss; aggression; blood; kidnapping; maternal possessiveness;

Word count: 4.5k

Note: Talia has a slightly different relationship with Bruce in my story compared to the canon, being more tense than the impression I got when I watched scenes between the two of them.

I forget to mention that English is not my first language, forgive me for any mistakes.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"Is it true?" Bruce asked quickly, barely giving Talia time to dare say anything before him. The woman rolled her eyes, still with her back to him, and prepared to maintain her confident pose.

She turned to face him and took a few moments to admire the vision, blatantly diverting her eyes to his lips and seeing how the messy shirt had given him a more fierce and attractive aura. Their relationship was complicated, that's a fact, but she could never stop finding the man in front of her charmingly handsome.

"You'll need to be more specific than that," Talia's voice dripped with a sweet and wicked tone as she walked toward him. Bruce violently stood up from the chair when he saw her hand reach towards him and imposed his height over hers to intimidate.

"Don't play the cynic." There was a suppressed fury in his tone, and she was sure he was using the last bit of self-control that still possessed.

"For heaven's sake, Bruce." Talia mocked, picking up the coat she had intended to grab from the beginning from the chair, having recognized it as yours. She grimaced as felt the damp fabric and dropped it in a corner of the room on the floor. The look she was receiving could burn her skin, and when she turned her face back to his, she realized how disturbed he was. "You look horrible. Strange really got into your head, didn't he?"

Talia saw him narrow his eyes with impatient indignation as he snorted. She found seeing him like this very peculiar and thought it would be fun to try and provoke.

The woman brought her face close to his, making her warm breath touch his chin provocatively while boldly wrapping her arms around the broad neck. She tested the waters, seeing how he remained still, and brushed her red lips along his jawline, then moved up until their mouths shared the same breath.

She was going to try to persuade, convince him that he was overthinking, and smiled inwardly when she saw Bruce become disconcerted for a second, completely unresponsive when she sealed their lips together. She managed to seduce him in that second to the point where, unconsciously, he moved his tongue with hers, but tasting her saliva brought him back to rationality.

He left her in complete shock when abruptly pushed her away and grabbed her face in an aggressive manner, squeezing the cheeks and making her squirm until eyes glazed over into his. “You repulse me.” Bruce spat and was glad to see her bold expression disappear. “Tell me once: she is mine?"

Talia tried to take his hand away with hers, but he seemed implacable, and didn't even move a finger out of place. He might be stronger, but she wasn't weak, and that was what made her let out an astonished sob.

"She is my daughter?!" He shouted, shaking her, no longer able to take the lack of response.

"Yes it is true." The confession made him let go of her finally, and she almost stumbled back with how sudden it was.

She massaged her face, seeking relief, and it didn't take long for her eyebrows to furrow in shock. Bruce felt no pity or regret, she deserved much more than he would ever have the courage to do.

"How?" By the way he looked, she knew there was no more room for lies or evasion. She had never seen him like this; Bruce had always been the most balanced man she had ever known in her entire life.

"She and Damian are twins," Talia responded immediately.

"Twins?" Bruce's voice sounded incredulous. He felt that even all the time in the universe wouldn't be enough to process that. It seemed simply unreal. "Why did you hide this? Why did you tell me about Damian and not about her?"

"Because you would have taken her from me!" She shouted, running her fingers over her face to check if her makeup had smeared. "I handed Damian over to you willingly, but if you had found out about him before, you would have brought him here just the same. And with her, it would be no different. You should be grateful to have had the boy."

"How dare you say such a thing?" Bruce threw the chair to the floor in a fit of rage, making a loud noise that echoed even outside the hallway. "And 'handed Damian over willingly'? You only did that because you felt pressured after your father died." He threw it in her face and suddenly remembered something: "You made that boy lie for you." He accused her.

Talia was silent for a brief moment, but her face showed nothing but contempt. "I did, yes." She admitted.

"What's the point of that? Was it just out of whim?" Bruce seemed fragile before her for the first time in so many years. For a moment, she glimpsed an old argument, from when they were still dating and didn't hide feelings from each other as they do today. "Do you hold that much resentment? You know very well why I dismissed the League of Assassins."

"Of course, Bruce. Your morals are too valuable, aren't they?" Talia replied with her chin up, not letting him affect her. "You think you're a good guy, a pure superhero like Superman. But I know you and I know how rotten you are inside. You are not as different from us as you think." She spewed the words in his face like venom.

"You wanted her to come here, didn't you? You and he planned all this?" Comprehension seemed to have hit Bruce, but that only left the woman confused.

"If it were up to me, you would never have discovered her existence. Why would I send her here?" The confession left him silent, not because he wasn't angry anymore, but because he was tired of hearing her voice; he simply couldn't believe anything Talia said. "She is my daughter. And I don't care what you're going to do now, but don't think you're going to drag her with you like you did with all those boys.”

"You think you can offer something better? You, the same person who left her in the hands of that sicko, consider yourself a better option?" Bruce insinuated this with a firmness that made it clear he had no doubt Talia was cooperating with Strange, making her eyes turn red. She could hear many insults from him, but insinuating that she had put you at risk was something entirely different. "You can be sure you won't lay another finger on her."

She knew Bruce was serious, and that he could actually prevent any future contact betwedn you and her. She wanted to kill him right now out of sheer hatred, but she was smart and knew that acting impulsively wouldn't solve anything. So, reluctantly, she tried to change the tone of the discussion to a neutral one. There was no way she could leave without giving him explanations, and if she tried, he would stop her.

"Maybe Strange had been threatening me for some time, possibly before deciding to appear publicly again and attack you." There was a slight irony of indignation in her words. Her gaze was firm and her green eyes shining with the intensity of someone defending their own honor. "Let it be clear: I didn't help anyone; I was as much a victim of this as you were."

"Victim?" Bruce retorted with disdain.

"This threat wasn't for you, Bruce, it was for me. Today you didn't lose anything, quite the opposite." She ignored the acidic tone and continued. "Maybe this contributed to some kind of psychological game Strange is playing against you, but it must be just a bonus."

"Why is he threatening you?" The question contained no compassion or empathy, but it didn't matter to her to receive that kind of consideration from him.

"What did he do to you?" Talia ignored the question, and as a form of childish revenge, he did the same. She sighed and tried a different approach: "If you tell me, I'll tell you too." She needed to know to try to understand the depth of Strange's current intentions or at least get some clue about the plan he was plotting because although she wouldn't say it to Bruce, she was also trying to catch him.

"A photo of my parents," he confessed, trying to sound indifferent before continuing, "Photos of the boys, of Alfred..." Bruce left the sentence hanging in the air and didn't proceed. He would never say more than he deemed necessary to her.

"Damian too?" She asked, worried about her son, and saw Bruce nod affirmatively. Bruce calmly unwrinkled a card while handing it to her.

"He asked her to deliver this to me today." His tone was serious, revealing a determination to deal with the situation pragmatically and directly.

Talia repeated those printed words several times, and every hair on her body stood on end all at once. "Did she…?"

"She didn't read it." He said curtly. "But what I don't understand is how all this seems so convenient and you claim to have nothing to do with it. He had this card perfectly prepared."

"Knowing him well, he must have been waiting for an opportunity for many days, or he induced this to happen somehow." She reflected, scratching the fine texture with her nails right where the text was printed to the point of making it illegible. "The letter that Damian said she picked up took longer to arrive than the others; it must have ended up with him at some point."

"How could he be so close, and you didn't notice?" His voice became aggressive again, the same beastly rage returning.

"I did notice! I just didn't imagine Strange interested in her; I thought it was about Damian. So, I didn't worry because he wasn't with me; he was with you." She raised her voice, trying to match his volume. "Strange has been sending me coded messages. Threats that had nothing to do with my daughter. I thought he didn't know she was yours and therefore wouldn't care about her." She finished, and Bruce clenched his jaw, observing how she increasingly emphasized the expression "my daughter," excluding him.

"Threats related to Damian?" He asked. His muscles were tense and sore, but he endured the discomfort if it meant clarifying everything once and for all. "And, of course, you never considered telling me."

"This started long before I left him with you, Bruce. They were still children." Talia said, growing increasingly frustrated with the conversation.

"What could Damian have done to him as a child?"

"Damian ended up leaving Strange with one less eye. He was already pursuing him because of you, but after losing an eye, all he wanted was revenge." She walked to the bed, leaning on the arms while crossing her legs. A very characteristic gesture of her behavior, which was highlighted when she wore her extravagant dresses, but the cold pants she wore made the movements relaxed. "He was a child; he didn't do it on purpose. He was just protecting his sister."

"How could Strange have known about Damian for so long and not about her? What you're saying doesn't make any sense, Talia." Bruce was frantic, and after a brief moment of melancholy, she sighed:

"I blame my father for this." Her voice almost wavered in front of him, but being the proud person she was, she quickly composed herself.

“What did Ra’s do?” He threw the question into the air, laden with apprehension.

The room plunged into a disturbing silence. Talia remained motionless, while the sound of Bruce's heavy breathing was the only thing breaking the void in the atmosphere. For a brief moment, her eyes met his and captured the storm of emotions brewing there: betrayal, despair, expectation.

She did not fear him, but rather how he might react to this. You were there, nearby, in the hallway, and the last thing she wanted was for the primal figure Bruce was becoming to explode and expel her, taking you to him. Moreover, she needed to remind herself that she was at a disadvantage there. It wasn't just Bruce she would face if things turned worse or physical, but everyone else in the house.

“What did he do, Talia?” Bruce growled, repeating the question with intensity.

She stared at the floor, fully aware that her next words would turn against her later, but at this point, he needed to know. Strange was out there, and he was still as much of a psychopath obsessed with Batman as before, meaning he wouldn’t rest until he managed to take Bruce’s place as a vigilante. So, with a low but icy voice, she moved her mouth to tell him the truth:

“Years ago, Strange sought out the League of Assassins. That lunatic was always smart and somehow discovered the rift between you and my father.” The mention of such an old event took Bruce by surprise. He slightly recoiled and his eyebrows raised, but he restrained himself from interrupting her. “He wanted the League to help him defeat you and vice versa. My father was suspicious, but he was so resentful that he agreed. Your betrayal was still fresh to us.”

“And of course it went wrong, didn’t it?” He asked with implicit sarcasm.

“Strange was so cunning that he managed to manipulate him to his advantage. He provided us with precise and important information about you, but after a while, he wanted to advise my father on how to act. That’s when I started to hate him, realizing how he was controlling.” She shook her head in denial, recalling the memory with bitterness, and continued:

“My father trusted him so much that he allowed Strange to infiltrate us more and more, until one day, by chance, he found damian in Nanda Parbat. Strange was nosy and curious; he tried to extract the information from me, but discovered on his own that you were his father.” Talia blew a strand of hair that fell on her face and decided to add the next part with acidity: “Strange was so fascinated by this that he made an absurd request. We denied it, and then he rebelled against us. Of course, that incompetent couldn’t accomplish anything, and then disappeared, as he always does when things go wrong.”

“Ra’s and Strange working together?” Bruce asked himself. He could never have imagined that two such distinct people could have had a relationship like that in the past. “And what did he ask for?”

“He was obsessed with surpassing you, but it wasn’t just that, he wanted to be you and have everything that was yours. He asked to raise Damian as if he were his own son, can you believe it? Luckily, Y/n never set foot in Nanda Parbat, so he didn’t discover her in that time.” She paused for a moment, reliving the events. “He wanted to prove that he could raise him and make a better Robin. Strange has known your identities much longer than you think; he knew the real Robin was your adopted son.”

Bruce’s face contorted in an expression of disbelief. His eyes narrowed slightly, and his mouth opened as if about to say something, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. He blinked a few times, needing to assimilate what he had heard. “If he never saw her before, how did all this happen?”

“A few years later, when my father hadn’t been dead for long, I returned to live in Gotham City with Y/n, and Strange found out Damian was here too and broke into the apartment where we were. He intended to kidnap Damian, but he used to share a room with his sister, and by mistake, Strange went to her bed.” She spoke with a heavy voice, the last sentence sending chills down her spine, but she persisted:

“I woke up to her frightened scream and a loud noise. I ran and when I saw it was him, I had no mercy. He is intelligent, but sometimes he is blinded by his own obsession and do stupid things. He was already bleeding, with a pencil piercing one of his eyes, thanks to Damian, then fled through the living room. I didn’t initially chase after him because I wanted to make sure Damian was okay; the problem was I hadn’t realized that Y/n wasn’t in the room. Damian had distracted Strange to let his sister escape, and because of my delay, he took her.”

Talia seemed to be in a trance. Each word weighed on her chest like lead, yet she threw them out as if they were disposable. Her usually confident and determined eyes didn’t know where to look. Sitting rigidly on the bed, her imposing posture didn’t waver, as her pride didn’t allow her to show weakness.

“What did he do?” Bruce throat tightened, as if the air was rarefied, as he waited for the answer. Talia might think otherwise, but he could see through her facade. And despite it being selfish to say this, he couldn’t feel a shred of concern for her, especially when someone more important to him was now involved.

After standing for so long, Bruce sat on the bed next to her. He reflected on the sad incident, deeply disturbed. He blamed her. He blamed her for her character, for lying so much, and for hiding from him that his children were in danger. He was grateful that she had fallen silent for a few seconds, as he was mentally preparing himself for a grim scenario, one he wasn’t yet ready to face.

“What happened to her?” He asked, seeing that she wasn’t showing signs of speaking, trying to prompt her to continue.

"Strange carried her through the city, desperately fleeing from me until he ended up in an alley. He encountered a group of drunks who surrounded and wanted to rob him. He's not a good fighter, you already know that, and like a damn coward, he threw her into their midst as a distraction while he escaped again.”

“Unbelievable…” Bruce massaged his eyebrows with his eyes closed, visibly upset. He pressed his temples hard, as if trying to dispel the accumulated frustration. After a deep breath, he suddenly exploded in a shout of frustration and anger, just like at the beginning. “You should have contacted me!"

“Are you trying to blame me?!” She asked indignantly.

"She didn't seem to recognize him when she spoke to me just now. It sounded like she was talking about a random stranger." Bruce was confused.

"I don't know if she would recognize him again, she never wanted to talk to me about that day. And I never mentioned Hugo Strange either, everything she knows about him she sees on the news."

“You and your father are the worst kind of people I could have gotten involved with,” Bruce said, his voice dangerously low this time. “If it weren't for Ra's, Strange would never have gotten close to them. If it weren't for your stupid lie, nothing you just said would have happened. And I don't even want to imagine what the hell happened after that!”

"You would have made sure nothing like that happened, wouldn't you, Bruce? You talk about it with such certainty, but weren't you the one who let the Joker do something similar to that kid… Is Jason his name?" Her mention of something like that made Bruce's ears go deaf. He could clearly hear the sound of his heart beating inside his chest, until her disgusting voice sounded again: "You would have put her in the same disgrace!"

Bruce lost the control he tried so hard to maintain from the beginning. He threw the lamp next to him into the headboard on the wall. The movement was so violent that the wire connecting the object to the socket broke in a strange way and the entire glass part broke into several pieces. The noise was thunderous, and even when he stood up with a piercing look at her, Talia continued with her laughing face, enjoying watching him go crazy.

“Don't try to compare the two things. You didn’t tell me about Strange before because you were embarrassed. It's too hard for you to admit that you can fail. Besides, you always liked having someone to control, to manipulate at your pleasure. You did this to her, didn't you? And even then, you’re not satisfied. You continued to torment Damian, using him.” Bruce took a deep breath.“I thought you cared about him.”

Talia got up too and lifted her chin, her eyes shining with defiance. “You understand nothing, Bruce,” she responded with a firm and cutting voice. “Everything I did was to protect them both. I explained my reasons to you. Do you think hiding them was just my decision? My father would never have allowed it, and I won't deny that I wasn’t against him, but it didn’t depend solely on me. You, with your inflexible morality and your rules, would never understand.”

“Don’t give me that,” Bruce growled, his gaze fixed and penetrating. “You branded the girl with your initials like she was cattle. It was never about protection; it’s possessiveness.”

Like him, Talia stood up. “I may be a woman of whims, as you like to say, but I didn’t hide anything because I was embarrassed”

Talia paused, her voice softening but not positively. “And as for tormenting him… I trained him, prepared him for the cruel world we live in. Do you think you could keep him safe with your mild methods? He needs to be strong, needs to be able to survive, and in those years I taught him to protect her because no one else would. My father didn’t care about a granddaughter; he finally had the male heir he wanted. I had to meet his demands to make Damian perfect, and that allowed me the freedom to raise her away from all that. What I could do, I did. And what I wanted to do, I also did. And I’d do it all again.”

“You always think you did everything right, but everything you’ve said only proves how misguided you are. I remember I gave you a choice, Talia. I told you that you could abandon the League of Assassins and come with me. I told you that your father didn't need to control your life forever,” Bruce said, his voice laden with disdain. “You will never come near her again. You’ll have to go over my dead body first.”

Talia narrowed her eyes in contempt. “Do you really think you can stop me?” Her voice was low and controlled, but each word carried significant weight. “You always saw the world in black and white. Do you really think it was so simple to abandon my entire life and devotion for you, a mere fleeting romance? If you think it’s that easy to give up everything, I challenge you to abandon Batman right now. After all, it’s because of this secret identity of yours that all this started, isn’t it? Isn’t it as easy as that, Bruce?”

She took a step forward, facing him without wavering. “I can repeat it as many times as you want: I am a criminal, I am selfish, and whatever else you want me to say, but the only hypocrite in this room is you.” Her eyes shone with determination, while his wavered before her.

Bruce hardened his expression, sadness hitting him. He wanted to accuse her of being a low person, but deep in his conscience, he feared it was true. But he wouldn’t allow himself to be deceived; she was still the wrong one here. She was the one who completely distorted the situation, making herself the victim and trying to justify everything she did, turning him into the villain of the story.

“Talia, I never wanted you to be any of these things,” he began, his voice laden with anguish. He felt bitterness looking at her face now, as it painfully reminded him of the time when he had been deeply in love with this same woman. “I wanted to believe you could change, that you would be different from your father. But every choice you made, every lie you told… Our relationship was unsustainable, and now the only thing I feel for you is remorse.”

He closed the last distance between them, imposing himself with a somber aura. “Your actions, your alliances… they put her at risk. My duty as a father is to protect her, and I can’t ignore the danger you represent. I never wanted it to come to this, Talia. But if keeping her safe means keeping her away from you, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Talia clenched her fists, her expression hardening even more. “Do you think I didn’t want to protect her too?” Her voice became silky. There was a dark delight in how the words dragged, a subtle poison hidden in each intonation. “You talk about protecting her, but she needs more than simple physical protection. She needs a mother, someone who understands the complexity of her feelings.”

“Look at yourself for a moment, Bruce,” said Talia, her voice icy and full of disdain. “You’re losing your composure. Do you really think she’ll like finding out that her father is this weak and ridiculous man you’ve become?”

The woman took a step forward, fixing her eyes on his with a challenging gleam. “The only thing she’ll feel for you is shame.”

"Do you really think you can tell me who I've become?" He paused, swallowing hard. "I didn't want it to come to this, Talia, but if you don't leave voluntarily, I'll be forced to tell that girl everything you've done. And then we'll let her decide."

He intensified the confrontation, provoking her: "Are you sure she would still choose you after so many lies? After everything you've hidden from her?" His eyes darkened, pupils dilated by the dim light in the room. "Value the good image she still has of you."

Talia was momentarily silent, her eyes meeting Bruce's with a genuine expression of concern. She took a deep breath before speaking, her voice a bit more dangerous than before. "Would you really do that? Tell her everything?"

Bruce replied firmly, maintaining his serious gaze on hers. "It's what I must do, regardless of everything. Continuing to hide things isn't right. But if the only way for you to leave more easily is under this condition, then go now."

Talia took a few steps back, her serious expression showing shock and worry. Her thoughts repeated Bruce's ultimatum continuously, knowing you would not react well to it.

You were a smart girl, but emotionally very fragile. Your bonds of trust were limited to her and your brother, and you two had been apart for so long that having your relationship with your mother destroyed in this way would leave a huge scar on your heart. This would be the best choice, both for her and for you if Talia didn't want everything to fall apart.

She turned towards the bedroom hallway, as if seeking a moment to ponder the consequences. After a moment, she turned her gaze back to Bruce, her shoulders slightly lower. "You are not going to involve her in your vigilante life." It wasn't a request, it was a warning, and Bruce didn't contest it to avoid further conflict. Understanding that she had decided to leave was enough to reassure him.

"I didn't mean to." He walked past her, picking up your coat she had thrown on the floor earlier, checking carefully that it hadn't been damaged by the broken lampshade, and lifting the chair to let the piece dry once more.

"You know where the exit is; don't take too long." Without bothering to be polite, he quickly opened the door, leaving her standing there. He knew she would really leave after seeing how she reacted. She wouldn't risk irritating him by taking longer than necessary.

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[the-cosmic-cauldron]

How the Moon Signs Crash Out

For those who don’t know what crash out means here is the Urban dictionary definition: Means to get really mad or upset; lose all your self control.

We think the water signs would crash out but every element has a point of crash out when it deals with their emotions, read below.

Fire Moon

Fire moons are the most obvious “crash-outs.” They’re the first to crash out because they act impulsively; they don’t always think things through before reacting. So, why do fire moons crash out? It’s primarily over their pride. If you play with their image or challenge what they deem as right, they’ll crash out. If you try to make them seem weak, attempt to overpower them, or force them into a position of submission or docility, they’re going to crash out.

Fire moons also crash out if you try to make them understand your perspective—especially if it clashes with theirs—and they perceive it as the start of an argument. Any slight form of disrespect will set them off. If they feel disrespected in any way, they’re crashing out. Attempts to control them can also trigger this response. However, if you respectfully suggest something, they might listen. It’s when your tone shifts to one of disrespect—like raising your voice—that they crash out.

Ignoring a fire moon is another sure way to provoke them. They will crash out if you play with their image, reputation, or how they see themselves. Similarly, if you try to dictate how they should live their life or act smarter than them, questioning their intelligence or ability to think critically, they’ll crash out.

Honorable mentions for what might make a fire moon crash out include:

• If someone flirts with their partner, they’re crashing out.

• If anyone disrespects their kids, even slightly, they’re crashing out.

• If someone talks badly about their family, they’re crashing out.

• If a trusted friend betrays or flips on them, they’re crashing out.

Fire moons are the ultimate crash-out personalities. If you ever meet one, tread carefully. Anything they perceive as disrespectful could set them off.

Earth Moons

Earth moons are known for their calm demeanor. People enjoy being around them because they provide a sense of stability and avoid unnecessary intensity—after all, earth moons struggle to handle too much emotional or confrontational energy. However, certain situations can push even an earth moon to their breaking point. Here’s what can make them “crash out.”

Because earth moons are naturally calm, they are particularly affected by intensely emotional and confrontational individuals. When faced with someone who is provocative, blunt, or openly expressive without regard for consequences, earth moons can lose their composure. They simply can’t handle that level of emotional intensity and may react by “crashing out.”

Triggers for Earth Moons:

1. Financial Instability:

Earth moons are deeply connected to material stability. If they lose their job, experience financial struggles, or dip into negative balances in their bank account, they will crash out. The loss of any valuable material possession they hold dear can have the same effect.

2. Breakups:

After a breakup, earth moons often struggle with overwhelming emotions. Their inability to process intense feelings calmly can lead to a full crash out.

3. Friendship Fallout:

Earth moons value long-term friendships, so falling out with a close friend can cause a significant emotional reaction.

4. Missed Opportunities:

If they’re rejected for a job or an opportunity they were counting on for stability, they can spiral into frustration and anger.

5. Disrupted Environment:

Earth moons need a sense of order in their living space. If someone starts moving their belongings or changing things around them without permission, they’re bound to crash out.

6. Overwhelming Demands:

Earth moons value their personal time and space. If someone demands too much of their time and ignores polite requests for space, the earth moon will eventually snap.

7. Being Wrong:

Earth moons take pride in their logic and reasoning. If they believe they’re right about something and later discover they were wrong, it can shake their confidence, leading to a crash-out moment.

8. Emotional Pressure:

Pushing an earth moon to express emotions in a way that feels uncomfortable to them can cause them to react negatively.

9. Being Controlled or Dismissed:

If someone tries to tell an earth moon how to live their life—especially someone they don’t respect—they won’t take it lightly.

10. Prolonged Exposure to Emotional Volatility:

Earth moons prefer calm, stable environments. If they’re forced to deal with someone who is consistently emotional, moody, confrontational, or volatile, their patience will wear thin, and they’ll eventually crash out.

11. Dealing with Bullies:

Earth moons try to avoid conflict, but if they’re exposed to bullying behavior for too long, they’ll eventually lose their calm and lash out.

Honorable Mentions:

• Earth moons crash out over material possessions. If someone moves, touches, or disrespects their belongings, it’s a major trigger.

• They also struggle with emotional instability after a breakup, the end of a friendship, or job loss.

• Being wrong about something they were confident in can push them to react strongly.

• Prolonged emotional confrontation or demand for their time will wear them down until they snap.

Although earth moons may not seem like the “ultimate crash-outs,” they can go all-in when their stability and calm are disrupted. Once they reach their tipping point, their reaction is swift, intense, and affects everyone around them.

Air Moons

Air Moons might seem chill because they tend to intellectualize their emotions. People often perceive them as logical when it comes to feelings, believing that emotions don’t bother them much. However, Air Moons can ultimately be the biggest “crash-outs.” Let’s break down why Air Moons might crash out.

Air Moons often analyze and intellectualize their emotions because they don’t fully understand the emotional landscape. When they’re forced to deal with intensely emotional situations, much like Earth Moons, they crash out. However, Air Moons crash out in a unique way—they try to process emotions through communication and logic, often failing to let those emotions flow naturally. This can lead them to accuse or assume things about people and situations that aren’t true. They rely on patterns and past experiences to create preconceived notions, which only adds to their frustration.

Triggers for Air Moons:

1. Things That Don’t Make Sense:

Air Moons crave understanding and clarity. If something doesn’t make sense to them, they lose control and crash out. Their curiosity is so strong that when they can’t figure something out, they start assuming things, which only fuels their frustration.

2. Lack of Communication:

If they feel ignored or if communication isn’t flowing the way they want, Air Moons will crash out. They thrive on dialogue and connection, so feeling shut out is a major trigger.

3. Challenges to Their Intelligence:

Air Moons take pride in their intellect. If someone plays with their intelligence—makes them feel dumb, uneducated, or less knowledgeable—they’re bound to crash out. They need to feel five steps ahead of others, and any slight to this will set them off.

4. Opinions and Beliefs:

Air Moons are deeply attached to their opinions, even when they aren’t entirely logical. If someone challenges their beliefs too much or tries to “win” a debate, Air Moons will crash out. They always want to feel right, and being told they’re wrong about their life, thoughts, or perspectives is a surefire way to trigger them.

5. Threats to Freedom and Independence:

Any perceived attempt to take away their independence is an automatic crash-out moment. In relationships, if their partner becomes possessive, controlling, or overly emotional, Air Moons will react negatively.

6. Emotional Intensity:

Air Moons struggle with highly emotional people. If someone is too intense or moody, constantly expressing their emotions, Air Moons will eventually crash out. They can’t handle being around excessive emotions for too long.

7. Petty Triggers:

Sometimes, Air Moons crash out over minor things. If they don’t like the way someone talks to them, or if they’re in a mood, even a small annoyance can set them off.

8. Perceived Verbal Threats:

Air Moons are highly sensitive to words. If they feel someone is trying to intimidate, disrespect, or talk down to them in a condescending or sarcastic way, they will crash out.

9. Lack of Praise:

Air Moons often feel a sense of superiority because they intellectualize their emotions. If they don’t receive acknowledgment or praise for their ideas, logic, or reasoning, they’ll crash out.

10. Being Called Emotional:

Never tell an Air Moon they’re emotional. They refuse to see themselves that way and will crash out if you try to label them as such. Comments like “You need to get over it” or “You’re stuck in the past” will only fuel their frustration.

11. Overstimulation:

While Air Moons enjoy being social, too much time around others can overwhelm them. They’ll start to feel overstimulated, with too much energy and inconsistency in the environment, leading to a crash-out.

12. Inconsistency (From Others):

Air Moons can be unpredictable themselves—they might ghost people, not text back, or fail to show up. However, if someone else is inconsistent or unpredictable, Air Moons will crash out. They expect reliability from others, even if they don’t always provide it themselves.

13. Challenges to Their Identity:

Air Moons will crash out if they feel someone is challenging who they are as a person. If they think they can take on the challenge, they’ll fight back. If they feel it’s too much, they’ll still crash out, but in a more chaotic way.

Final Thoughts:

Air Moons may not seem like the ultimate crash-outs at first, but once their calm exterior is disrupted, they can spiral quickly. Once the air starts moving, it doesn’t stop—it becomes a whirlwind of frustration, overthinking, and emotional outbursts. Tread lightly around an Air Moon if you don’t want to witness their crash-out firsthand.

Water Moon

Water Moons are often perceived as the ultimate crash-outs, but the truth is they can be quite calm—until they’re pushed too far. People don’t always understand this about them. Let’s break down why a Water Moon might crash out.

Why Water Moons Crash Out:

1. Self-Protectiveness and Boundaries:

Water Moons are extremely self-protective. If someone invades their personal space, crosses their boundaries, or confronts them abruptly, they’re going to crash out. They don’t tolerate invasive behavior or anyone overstepping their limits.

2. Lack of Emotional Understanding:

Water Moons will crash out if their emotions are misunderstood. If they express their feelings and someone twists their words or tells them they feel differently than they do, they’re crashing out.

3. Emotional Reciprocity:

If a Water Moon opens up and shares their emotions, but the other person doesn’t reciprocate, they’ll crash out. Vulnerability requires mutual respect, and they won’t tolerate feeling like they’re the only one opening up.

4. Loved Ones and Family:

Water Moons are fiercely protective of their loved ones. If someone insults or disrespects their family, friends, or those they care about, they’ll crash out—especially if it happens repeatedly.

5. Intrusiveness:

Water Moons value privacy. If someone pries into their personal life, tries to psychoanalyze them, or pushes for details they aren’t willing to share, they’ll crash out. They only share what they want others to know.

6. Feeling Disrespected:

A Water Moon won’t tolerate being made to feel stupid, weak, or incapable. If someone tries to undermine their emotional intelligence or strength, they’ll crash out immediately.

7. Not Getting Their Way:

Water Moons are deeply connected to their desires and emotions. If they don’t get their way in situations that matter to them, they’re likely to crash out.

8. Lack of Love and Nurturing:

Water Moons need emotional nourishment. If they feel unloved, unseen, or untouched—whether through physical affection, kind words, or emotional support—they’ll crash out. A lack of care or affection is a significant trigger for them.

9. Stagnation:

If a Water Moon feels like they’re stuck in life, in “stagnant waters,” or unable to move forward, they’ll spiral and crash out. A sense of progress and growth is essential for their emotional well-being.

10. Breakups or Friendship Endings:

After a breakup or the loss of a close friendship, Water Moons can lose control of their emotions. The pain and emotional intensity are overwhelming, leading to a crash-out.

11. Feeling Betrayed:

If someone switches up on them—acting friendly one day and then cold or hostile the next—Water Moons will crash out. They value consistency in their relationships.

12. Volatile Environments:

Water Moons thrive in calm, emotionally supportive environments. If they’re surrounded by manipulative, cold-hearted, or emotionally unavailable people, they’ll eventually crash out. They also won’t tolerate rudeness or outright disrespect.

13. Feeling Unappreciated:

Water Moons invest deeply in their relationships and emotional connections. If their efforts go unnoticed or unappreciated, they’ll feel hurt and eventually crash out.

14. Being Pulled Out of Their Space:

Alone time is crucial for Water Moons. If someone tries to force them to engage when they need space, they’ll crash out. Respecting their need for solitude is key to maintaining harmony.

15. Forcing Realism or Logic:

Water Moons don’t like being forced into a strictly logical or overly realistic perspective, especially when they’re in an emotional state. If they feel pressured to abandon their emotions for practicality, they’ll crash out over time.

16. Dismissing Their Trauma:

Water Moons are deeply affected by their past experiences. If someone dismisses or disregards the emotional pain or trauma they’ve endured, they’ll crash out. Their experiences are integral to their identity, and invalidating them is one of the worst things you can do.

Final Thoughts:

If you don’t want a Water Moon to crash out, it’s important to respect their boundaries, emotions, and need for connection. Water Moons are like waves—when they crash, they can disrupt the emotional stability of everyone around them. Handle them with care, and avoid testing their patience. Once they reach their breaking point, they’re hard to stop.

[pureastrologywisdom]

𝔖𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔖𝔢𝔡𝔲𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔓𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰

Lilith aspecting Moon

This is a very powerful placement for women specifically. The moon, which is your emotions, connected to the unconscious self, habits, comfort and femininity is connected to the point in your chart that is powerful and dark, a part fuelled by pain, and all about transmutation. These woman often have a very intriguing essence about them. Strong and seductive. It's like you are playing with fire. She enjoys being a little off putting and knows exactly how to be enticing yet intimidating all in one.

Neptune/Venus/Pluto in the 3rd House

The third house is often overlooked when people are speaking on seduction and sex appeal in astrology. People are so focused on visual they miss a key point. Seduction includes all the senses. Someone being beautiful doesn't necessarily mean they are seductive. It's the way someone moves, speaks, the things they say and don't say, how they hold themselves along with present themselves. It's subtle.

This brings me to why the third house comes into play. It inductees how we communicate. As mentioned words can be very seductive. Having planets like Neptune and Venus will give someone a sweet and sensual demeanour when talking. Neptune is very receptive and often these people are incredible at being able to asses the needs of the person they are taking to, it's a very intuitive placement. Neptune is also all about fantasy. Playing into a role you project onto them.

Pluto in the third's seductive tactics are centred around power snd control. Manipulation if you will - not always in the worst sense. They are good at digging for information getting to the base of the persons psyche that they are speaking to. Once again it's about understanding the people around them. You can see how Neptune and Pluto have this in common but the way they use this is different.

Scorpio Rising

I feel like you guys know this one has to be mentioned. And I am sure I have written about this before. However I feel it's important to explain why this rising sign specifically holds such seductive energy. I often hear people talk about their eyes, which is very true. But it goes much deeper than just appearance. Scorpio naturally rules over the 8th house, a house that is very deep and dark. It's shrouded by mystery and taboo, along with being a sexually charged house. Now think about all of these themes being brought into the 1st house. Being at the forefront of someones being in not only the way they look, but they way they carry themselves and interact with the world around them. It's very provocative energy.

But there is more. Though people may assume that because of this scorpios may give off an overt sexual energy, its not quite as obvious one one may think. Whilst there is this air of sex appeal around them, this often doesn't come from being so open and bold about these things, but rather from holding a little something back. As we know scorpio is about the things below the surface, secrets, privacy. This creates a dynamic where people can sense this energy, however they must peel back the layers and investigate more to truly see what these people are like. This can create a push and pull, a little bit of an enigma. It piques the intrigue of people and encourages the chase.

Mercury quintile/Bi-quintile Mars, Pluto or Neptune & Lilith in some cases

Very similar to the previously mentioned third house, Mercury rules over communication, along wit the way we think and process things. Having a quintile or Bi-quintile aspecting mercury it shows us that someone has a particular skill around communication. I have already explained why having Pluto and Neptune connected to areas of your chart dealing with communication creates seduction.

I also included Mars, as Mars is a planet of strategy. Often working towards a goal these people like to win, and are very good at 'winning people over' in conversation. Mars is more of a dominant planet so domination is a tactic often used by these people. Sometimes being commanded is sexy. These people speak strongly which is sexy.

The reason why I put Lilith as a case by case aspect is because as we know, Lilith often states as a place of wounding in a natal chart. It's only after someone has healed those wounds and understood the source of power that that area of their chart is with Lilith sitting there that they can truly start to embody and experience this. Though I will say having Lilith in a quintile or Bi-quintile is often easier. When developed Lilith is a very untamed energy, a little wild and unpredictable. Two traits that are extremely enticing.

Thank you all for reading my loves,

Pureastrowisdom x

Also a quick notice - I have a TikTok account under the name of

.plutonian.priestess

I would love if you would go and follow me on there too where I can post more image based content and eventually go into video style content too.

I am thinking of putting a face to my name and my account as I want you guys to see the person behind my work

[luna-azzurra]

Give your protagonist flaws.

Some examples of character flaws that can add humanity to your protagonist

Stubbornness

Stubbornness can cause your protagonist to cling to their viewpoints, even when they know they are wrong, often leading to conflicts with others. This trait can create dramatic tension and drive the narrative forward as the protagonist struggles with the consequences of their inflexibility.

Michael, a seasoned detective, refuses to consider new evidence that contradicts his initial theory about a case. His stubbornness leads to conflicts with his team and delays in solving the case.

Impatience

Impatience can make your protagonist demand immediate results, struggling with long-term goals or slower processes. This flaw can add layers to their journey, showing the difficulties they face in learning the value of patience and strategic planning.

Celeste, an aspiring entrepreneur, rushes the development of her new app, pushing her team to the brink. Her impatience results in a product that is not ready for launch, jeopardizing her startup's future.

Self-Doubt

Self-doubt, despite evident skills and achievements, can impair the protagonist's decision-making and actions. This internal conflict adds a relatable dimension, making their journey toward self-acceptance and confidence compelling.

Jordan, a talented musician, constantly questions his abilities despite receiving praise from peers and critics. His self-doubt hinders him from seizing opportunities that could advance his career.

Short Temper

A short temper can cause your protagonist to react aggressively to provocations or challenges, creating interpersonal issues. This flaw can drive subplots involving reconciliation, personal growth, and the learning of emotional control.

Maria, a brilliant surgeon, often lashes out at her colleagues and patients under pressure. Her short temper strains her professional relationships and threatens her career.

Selfishness

Selfishness can lead the protagonist to place their own needs and desires above others, costing them sympathy and support. This flaw can create opportunities for the character to learn empathy and the importance of selflessness.

Chris, a charismatic lawyer, often prioritizes his career over his family, missing important events and neglecting relationships. His selfishness alienates those who care about him, forcing him to reevaluate his choices.

Arrogance

Arrogance can make your protagonist overestimate their abilities and underestimate challenges, leading to dangerous or embarrassing situations. This flaw provides a platform for the character to learn humility and the value of listening to others.

Mandy, a top student, dismisses her classmates' ideas during group projects, believing she knows best. Her arrogance leads to friction and eventually to a significant mistake that humbles her.

Trust Issues

Trust issues can make it difficult for your protagonist to trust others, hindering teamwork and relationships. This trait can create tension and development opportunities as the character learns to open up and rely on others.

Liam, a former spy, finds it hard to trust anyone due to past betrayals. His trust issues complicate his relationships and collaboration with a new team.

Perfectionism

Perfectionism can lead your protagonist to set unrealistically high standards, never being content with their or others' performance. This flaw can drive stories about the struggle for balance and acceptance of imperfection.

Olivia, an artist, is never satisfied with her work, constantly striving for an unattainable level of perfection. Her perfectionism causes stress and burnout, affecting her creativity and personal life.

Fear of Change

Fear of change can make your protagonist cling to the familiar and avoid necessary or beneficial changes. This resistance can create narrative tension as they are forced to confront and adapt to evolving circumstances.

Jamie, a successful business owner, resists adopting new technologies or methods in his company. His fear of change threatens his business's relevance and growth.

Haunted by the Past

Being haunted by past mistakes or traumas can influence your protagonist's present behavior and decisions. This flaw adds a rich backstory and provides a path for emotional development and overcoming personal demons.

Zack, a war veteran, is haunted by his experiences in combat. His traumatic past affects his current relationships and decisions, leading him on a journey of healing and redemption.

[misty-petals]

The limit

|Baekjin x Fem!Reader

|Obscenity, Smut, Sexual tension, unprotected sex

English is not my first language

Summary: You played too hard with Baek Jin's self-control—and you finally got what you wanted.

You always knew you were poking at something dangerous. Baek Jin wasn’t the type to fall easily for provocations. He looked over his shoulder, pretended you didn’t exist—but his eyes… His eyes always betrayed him. Always too dark, lingering too long, sliding over your body when he thought you weren’t looking.

But you noticed.

You counted the seconds.

—“How long are you planning to keep ignoring me?” —you ask on a random afternoon, leaning against his desk with a crooked smile.

He doesn’t even look up.

—“Until you grow up.”

You laugh. His audacity turns you on.

—“Lucky you, then. I grew up exactly where it matters.”

It’s subtle. Almost imperceptible. But his pen stalls for half a second over the notebook. And that’s when you know: you won. Not now. But soon.

ᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗ⁠ᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗ⁠ᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗ⁠ᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗᴗ⁠ᴗ

Soon comes earlier than expected. Rain crashes outside when he slams you against the bedroom wall, his large hands pinning your wrists above your head. His gaze is incandescent, and the silence is so dense that the sound of thunder feels far away.

—“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” —he growls low, his face so close to yours that you feel the heat of his breath. — “Keep pushing me, provoking me... thinking there won’t be consequences.”

You lick your lips, taunting.

—“Are there?”

His grip on your wrists tightens for a moment. He licks his own lips, jaw tense, chest heaving like he ran all the way here.

—“You think this is a game?”

—“It was never a game with you.”

The words come out softer than planned, and he hesitates for a second. But only a second. Because in the next, his lips are on yours—hot, furious, desperate. Baek Jin kisses you like he’s punishing and devouring you at once, like every day of provocation built up in each bite and each thrust of his tongue.

When he releases your wrists, his hands trail down your body with urgency, grabbing your waist, yanking your shirt off impatiently. The fabric hits the floor. The bra follows. He pauses for a second, just to look.

—“Fuck…” —he murmurs, voice low, hoarse, almost a confession.—“You’re way too hot for someone so damn annoying.”

—“And you’re way too grumpy to be this hot,” —you shoot back with a smug grin, yanking him by the collar of his shirt.

He groans, a deep sound from the back of his throat, and pulls you to the bed, laying you down firmly, his body settling between your legs as he works on your pants. You help him, hurriedly stripping the rest of your clothes, and he follows suit. The sight of Baek Jin taking off his shirt is enough to make you gasp: toned abs, predator gaze, and that simmering rage under his skin.

He doesn’t say anything when he kneels between your open legs, just pulls down his briefs with clenched teeth, eyes locked on yours. His cock is hard, thick, pulsing. And when he looks at you, it’s like he’s giving you one last chance to run.

But you won’t run.

You spread your legs wider.

—“I’m right here, Baek Jin.”

He leans over you, the tip of his cock brushing your wet entrance, and the groan that escapes his throat sounds almost like a stifled scream.

—“This is what you wanted, huh?” —he murmurs, voice dragging, tone heavy with tension. —“Wanted to see how far I could take it…”

—“Didn’t think you’d last this long.”

The smile that curves his lips is dangerous. And when he finally pushes in, slow and overwhelming, the air leaves your lungs. It’s hot. It’s full. It’s him. And every inch filled makes you feel like you’re burning from the inside.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, panting.

—“Fuck… you’re… squeezing me so tight…”

—“That’s the least I could do after all this time, right?” —Baek Jin moves. And when he starts, he doesn’t stop.

The rhythm is firm, steady, almost cruel. He holds your waist with one hand and pins your thigh with the other, his hips slapping against yours with every wet thrust. The creaking bed mixes with your moans and his—low, raspy, like he’s fighting himself.

—“You’re a walking temptation,” —he growls against your mouth, face pressed close to yours. —“Wearing those short shorts, bending over just so I’d look…”

—“And you look.”

He smirks. A crooked, dangerous smirk.

—“I always look.”

The thrusts get rougher, more erratic. You feel the orgasm building, tearing through your belly like lightning ready to strike. He notices.

—“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?”

You can only nod, eyes closing, body trembling.

—“Then cum with me,” —he whispers in your ear. —“I wanna feel it.”

And you cum. You cum screaming his name, nails digging into his back, body writhing under his. And when your walls tighten hard around him, Baek Jin finally loses control.

He thrusts once, twice more before burying himself completely, letting out a deep, almost animalistic groan as he cums inside you. His muscles tense, breath stutters, and he collapses on top of you, sweaty, panting, spent.

The silence that follows is filled only with breaths. And when he rolls to the side, still pulling you with him, hugging you against his chest, you feel his heart pounding erratically.

—“If you do that again…” —he starts, voice still rough.— “While I’m trying to study… I’ll take you right there, on the floor.”

You chuckle softly, biting his shoulder.

—“Then it’ll be hard to hold back.”

He runs a hand slowly down your back.

—“At this rate, I’m gonna break every rule because of you.”

You look at him, surprised by the moment of vulnerability. But he doesn’t look back. He stares at the ceiling, arm still around you, like he’s already accepted it.

—“Is that a threat or a promise?” —you ask.

This time, he looks.

And smiles.

—“Both.”

Hello! This is my first story in this style. Before, I had already written something with a more suggestive theme, but nothing as intense as this one. Anyway, I hope you like it and thank you very much for reading.