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Pairing(s): Azriel, Cassian, Rhysand, and Eris x f!Reader (separate)
Contains: fluff / est. relationship
WC: ~2.4k (approx. 500 - 600 each)
Azriel
It was a strong start to summer. Spring was hardly giving way to unrelenting heat, and despite being Prythian's northernmost court, it was futile.
The heat waited for no one. War didnât care about the weather. Not that there was a war going on, but Azriel insisted on training like there would be any day. Just in case. It was a force of habitâcenturies oldâto start training at dawn. Sometimes alone, sometimes with his brothers.
By mid-morning, heâd shed the upper half of his training leathers. Cassian had too. Somewhere between the past two sparring rounds ending in a tie, the swords had been traded for bare knuckles. Dust kicked up and muddied their sweaty skin, with dirt under their nails and in crevices. Warrior versus warrior, some of the strongest of their kindâand the Night Courtâhad ever seen.
The brothers panted, a stubbornness rivaling the blistering heat, as neither of them wanted to surrender to the other. They were a balanced tangle of muscles, limbs, and wings. Cassianâs provoking comments, teeming with grunts, slipped into Azrielâs ear. Heâd heard it all to the point of desensitization, and Azriel wouldnât budge.
All comments but one. Luck sprinted from Azrielâs corner and into Cassianâs, the general grinning with the taste of victory stuck between his teeth.
âOh, whatâs this, brother?â Cassian teased, catching the barest crimson stain behind Azrielâs ear, tucked under a dark, sweaty curl stuck to his skin. too purposeful, too solid to be blood, and too dark to be a blush. As if to provoke Azriel further, Cassian held his brother in a headlock with one arm as the other quickly moved the lock of hair hiding it. It took a second to register the smearing mark from contact, sweat, and grime, but when he did, Cassianâs shock gave way to great amusement.
It was a second, long enough to give Azriel an opening. He threw his weight back, turning the tables and pinning Cassian face down onto the dirt. Yet Cassian was unbothered, as if his discovery were a far better victory than some sparring session.
Azrielâs eyes narrowed on Cassian, his knee digging into his shoulder blades. "What are you laughing about?â Azriel huffed, sweat dripping down his nose lazily. Cassian laughed harder. Azriel was more confused, getting off of his brother to sit beside him.
Azriel was catching his breath. Cassian was trying, but a lull was followed by another bout of laughter. Azriel rolled his eyes, lightly kicking Cassianâs side. âWhat are you on about?â
âYou should clean the back of your ears better,â Cassian teased, relishing his brother's rare confusion as he pushed himself off the dirt with a grunt. Azriel barely raised a brow. Lo and behold, a pair of curious shadows swirled into that spot only to whisper in his ear.
Lipstick stain. Mate's present was left for Master.Â
His fingers brushed against your "gift," a flush unrelated to the heat and exertion from training prickling his skin. Cassian's laughter was suddenly distant as he was more focused on the phantom pressure of your lips from the night before. You were giddy, teasing, and delirious with the late hour, and instead of wiping your makeup off like you'd normally do, you decided kissing it off against his skin was much better. You said he was an irresistibly perfect canvas, red smudges gradually fading all over his neck and jaw between giggles. He'd washed them off this morningâor at least he thought he'd gotten them all.
Cassian ruffled Azrielâs hair as he passed by, causing the shadow singer to blink out of his trance.Â
Azriel was considering three things. 1) How long could he avoid his family, whom Cassian was going to undoubtedly tell right now? 2) He is definitely getting you back for this somehow. And 3) how soon he could make your mark a tattoo.
Cassian
"Gods, where are those two?" More grumbled, tapping her foot impatiently as she glanced at the clock. For the first time in a long time, whether it was luck, the stars aligning, or divine intervention, she had managed to not only find a free night in everyone's schedules but also convince everyone to go out to Rita's.
At least that was the plan.
"If these two aren't down in the next five minutes, I'm ditching them and getting drunk alone," she added under her breath, glaring down the hallway where Cassian's room was. Rhys chuckled from beside her, swirling his wine with one hand as the other one slipped around Feyreâs waist, drawing her off the arm of the couch and into his lap.
"No, you won't," Rhys mused knowingly. âFor one, you'd get bored halfway there, and two, you've been begging us to go out for ages. Besides, mates who have been apart for so many weeks could be more insufferable," he added, tipping the glass towards her before taking a sip.
She rolled her eyes and sipped her wine.
It was in between idle conversation that a door opened down the hall, followed by a jolly whistle.
Mor huffed in mock exasperation, leaning back enough to look over at the couch and down the hall. "It took you long enough. If Iâ"
Her words died, a mixed buzz of amusement and disbelief taking over. She snorted a laugh into her glass as Cassian stepped into the full light. Rhys, Azriel, and Feyre gave similar reactions.
"What the hell are you wearing?" she snickered, turning to look at him fully. The general wore dark trousers and a dark shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, showing off his forearms carved from endless hours of training and battle. His hands were in his pockets, and a very proud grin was on his face.
"What? Whatâs wrong with my outfit?" he replied, as if nothing were unusual. In the center of his chest was a white tie, once spotless silk, now smothered in lipstick stains of varying opacity.
"No," Feyre began, trying and failing to hide her laugh. "It's just...itâs definitely something."
"Thanks, I'm trying something new." Cassian ignored her thinly veiled amusement, his own swallowing his smug pride, especially with his wider grin. "Had some help."Â
"Don't listen to whatever he's saying!" You called out from down the hall, your mate senses tingling with his smug mischief. You emerged, sparkly, fixing your earrings and giving a playful glare at your mate. "I told him not to wear it, but it was like talking to a brick wall."
Cassian feigned offense, though it didn't last long, not with the cackle erupting from him. He drew you closer, like it was sacrilegious to be in the same room and not touch you in some way. "But why? You gave me a gift. Should I not be using it?"
"It was a gag gift at best," you deadpanned.
"Still a gift. And what better sign of being taken than this?" he added with a smirk, smoothing the tie with a large hand like it was a priceless trophy.
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you decided this wasnât a battle you were choosing today.
If it weren't for Cassian remaining near you all night, the tie certainly did work as a deterrent.
Rhysand
The rain was steady, on and off all day. Low-lying clouds swallowed the red mountain peaks surrounding Velaris. Mist kissed your skin and collected like morning dew in your hair as you leaned against a windowsill.
You didn't come here to find something or get away from another. It was happenstance that you were walking back from the kitchen and the view drew you in. The House of Wind was quiet save for the bone-deep hum of its magic and the rain.
You were caught up in drifting thoughts and watching rain trickle through the earth to spot Rhys. Maybe he took advantage of your distraction, or maybe you were used to his safety.
He stood at the end of the hall, hands in his pockets, and enamored joy settled comfortably in his chest. He watched you against the rain, framed by the arched window, with your dewy skin and frizzy hair, and for a moment he wondered if it was too soon to marry you all over again.
"You okay?â he asked lightly instead of a second proposal, though he wouldâve in a less restrained state.
Your head snapped his way, surprise softening for familiarity. You huffed a laugh, a hand splayed on your chest. "You scared me.â
Rhys chuckled quietly, closing the gap with languid strides until he stood beside you. He gently nudged your shoulder with his, his way of a halfhearted apology. "What happened to 'I know you by your footstepsâ?â he teased, his grin widening as you rolled your eyes.
"I was distracted and didnât hear you coming. Otherwise, I certainly wouldâve, Bigfoot," you sassed. Rhys feigned offense so theatrically it must've been Cassian finally rubbing off on him.
"Oh, so thatâs how you want to play,â he growled playfully, pulling you close and playfully nipping wherever he could reachâyour cheeks, nose, neck, and ear. "Calling me Bigfoot, huh?â he grumbled between nips and occasional kisses. It was ticklish, the surprised gasp cascading into shrieking laughter. You smelled like rain, sandalwood, and love.
He nipped your cheek a second time before withdrawing enough to let you catch your breath and for him to take in the aftermath. Your frizzy hair clinging to your cheeks and forehead, your hands resting over his heartbeat while yours was still steadying. As beautiful as always, he thought.
He leaned closer, violet eyes narrowed yet twinkling. "Do you yield, beloved?â he whispered, drawing you close enough for your nose to brush against his. You let your eyes soften with affection, feigning defeat at the edges. Rhys was too smug and enamored to catch it.
You moved swiftly, pressing your painted lips to his. An innocent kiss, and Rhys believed it. You smiled innocently up at him, suppressing laughter for a whole minute before breaking. You were weak, dropping your head against his chest with shaking shoulders. Rhysand's arm looped tighter, keeping you close. "What's so funny?â he asked through a confused laugh; yours is always contagious to him.
You glanced up at him, laughing harder. You couldnât speak, and your poor husband was increasingly confused. It was on your third failed attempt when you gave up and pointed to the mirror hanging behind him. You watched his features morph from confusion to realization (and slight horror) before ending in final amusement.
Rhysand met your gaze again, squeezing you gently as your laughter finally began subsiding. "I see," he muttered with a grin. He returned the gesture, giving you a firm kiss before mimicking his earlier antics until your lipstick smudged all over his lips and your face. He vaguely heard your startled noise melting into a laugh, which only fueled the fire.
He withdrew eventually, taking you in for a third time, frazzled, a little dazed, and sharing lipstick stains with him. "There. Now we match.â
Eris
You could handle yourself. Eris knew you were more than capable; you'd been doing this before you met.
It was harder to convince a primal instinct older than time and centuries of history ingrained in Autumn Court soil and memory. His own history.
You were safeâjust busy in your studio all day. He missed you, but he knew better than to interrupt you, especially when it was something you loved. So Eris kept himself distracted with the never-ending High Lord duties.
The candles had burned steadily, flames and parchment fluttering with the breeze from the cracked windows. His study smelled like it always did: spice, ink, and mahogany. He'd been in his study since you'd left early afternoon, waiting for your returnâor simply any correspondenceâdespite knowing there was nothing threatening about a bookbinding studio. Nothing you couldn't handle, at least.
He was in the middle of reading a report from Rhysand when a little folded paper materialized on his desk. Unsuspecting except for the subtle fragrance of leather and your perfume hovering around it. The report was quickly neglected for it.
âI can feel you missing me from all the way over here. I'll be home soon.â
Erisâs thumb grazed over your handwriting. Neat, simple, and sweet.
"You say it like it's a crime," he scrawled on the back of your note with an angry, doodled version of himself despite his little smile. It was more for your amusement than his conviction. The note vanished just as it came. Your bemusement came down the bond like tinkling bells. His chest swelled with pride, wishing he could see your smile for himself and hear your laughter.
"Now you're putting words in my mouth." Your reply arrived right under his empty complaint. Additionally, you added a doodle of yourself beside his, two little stick figures holding hands.
He couldn't resist, not when you set it up for him so perfectly. "I could put something else in your mouth if you'd prefer." He scrawled, adding a wink at the end, and sent it on its way. He felt the precise moment you registered his words. Your emotions coming all at once from flustered to incredulity were like a beacon in his chest despite being halfway across town.
He laughed softly when your reply was purely doodles. A side-eye, another vomiting, and lastly, you wide-eyed and blushing. A crippling fondness and delight swallowed him whole, the dopey grin wide and lovesick in the privacy of his study. He imagined you making the same faces as your doodles as a separate note appeared.
"You're gross. I'll be home in an hour. I love you, stinky." Eris huffed a laugh at your strange term of endearment. Warm softness bloomed in his chest as he spotted your special signature, one you began doing early on in your relationship. A scribbled heart with your lipstick stain beside it. Your kiss imprintâhe could recognize the mark, the ridges forming a unique print. the only one heâd care to memorize. It was like a secret message just for him, sending him vicarious kisses and your love.
His thumb grazed over the rouge, faintly warm from your kiss moments ago. A flick of his hand and a sleek wooden box spawned on his desk. Unsuspecting and boring but enchanted to hell and back. He set both your notes gently with the rest, a growing collection through the years. The most sacred pieces in any autumn court vault.
The hour could not pass soon enough.
A/N: Here's this brain worm I've been having :p
Š starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, whose bikeâsleek, midnight black, and a âpiss rocket," according to Tojiâis his pride and joy. Modded to perfection and has the earnings from every successful race to show for it.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, who first met you working at the front desk of Tojiâs garageâwith your cutesy-themed desk, chewing bubblegum behind glossy lips and the most bored expression as you typed. Sure, he thought you were hot but didnât do anything about it.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, who rolled up to the dragstrip on another Friday night smelling like rubber, gasoline, and less-than-legal championship wins.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, who snickered under his helmet when his opponent rolled up on a white bike with lilac accents, a fucking Snoopy keychain resting on the gas tank, and cat ears on top of their helmet. Sure, it was a decent engine displacement but nothing close to his own. An easy win if heâs seen any.
Drag Racer!Sukuna is now glowering at the digital stopwatch at the end of the lane, mockingly displaying his first loss in years by 0.52 seconds. He nearly ripped the fuckass amateur apart, convinced there was cheating, noncompliant mods to their bike (like he wasnât always toeing that line), paid off the hostsâsomething.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, who didnât even bother to remove his helmet before he pulled you back by the collar mid-conversation when you got back to the crowd, dragging you away and somewhere more private. You barely managed to snag the keys from the ignition. Barely manage to get your helmet off and rip him a new one before he crowds you against the brick wall. The dragstrip smell mingled with his spicy musk. Carmine's eyes sharpened as he glared down at you, the facial tattoos wrinkling with his expressions.
You nor the Drag Racer!Sukuna recalls when barbed insults became moans and grunts of pleasure and pointing fingers turned into his fingers in your pussy or yours wrapped around his cock after races. Neither of you really recalls which night, which race, or which win marked the start of the unspoken routine where he'd bend you over the loser's bike and fuck you dumb. All he knows is he was addicted to you with your stupid strawberry lip gloss and your stupid bike modded beautifully and that goddamn Snoopy keychain.
Drag Racer!Sukuna definitely doesn't remember which time he was balls deep in your soft, tight, soaking pussy when he thought this was better than any check or any win.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, the only place he spent more time at than the drag strip and Toji's garage was between your legs.
Drag Racer!Sukuna does, however, remember when you didnât show up to a race for the first time in months. He didnât think too deeply, but then one night became a month, and heâd rather die than ask Toji about your whereabouts.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, whose heart does something traitorous and worries about you a month after your disappearance from the races and, coincidentally, from the garage whenever he comes around.
Drag Racer!Sukuna finds himself at Getoâs bar after winning one of the yearâs bigger races. Another celebration with all his friends, another notch in his belt, and all he can think about is you. If youâre okay. He struggles to push back all that warmth and softness in his chest that reemerge more frequently when you cross his mind despite smothering the thoughts for ages.
Drag Racer!Sukuna has a lapse of judgment and is too sober for his liking; he gets your address from a drunken Toji that same night and rides over. He finds himself knocking on your door, his gruff voice too loud for the hour.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, whom you opened the door for, has hair a little messy and is dressed in a sweater and Hello Kitty pajama pants, and he thinks youâve never looked hotter. Drag Racer!Sukunafeels whatever adrenaline and alcohol were in his system finally catch up and loosen up his tongue, spilling all that warmth and gushy softness on your doorstep in the dead of night.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, who shut his uncharacteristic rambling up with a kiss right there on your doormat in your pajamas. He recovers quickly enough to kiss you back and swallow your giggles. Drag Racer!Sukuna finds himself on your couch, in an apartment thatâs so cozy, and you but all he can think about is you tucked into his side, head on his shoulder as you explain your absence. He listens for real as you explain your side of the story: the classic of catching feelings for someone you swore you wouldn't. Of everything reminding you of him, it was easier to pull away than break your own heart.
Drag Racer!Sukuna falls asleep with you on your couch after talking until dawn about anything, nothing, and everything and wakes up in a tangle of limbs, his head on your chest, and a crick in his neck. He watches you sleepânot in a creepy way, he swears! But in an "Oh fuck, I fell asleep on her couch after I confessed and she felt the sameâ kind of way.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, who asks you out on a date as soon as you wake up, confused, crusty-eyed, and stiff. He has to repeat it a couple times for your sleepy mind to catch up (he teases you about it to cover for the fact heâs waiting for your response). You say yes.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, whose edges soften enough over the next few months around you and only for you. He asks you to be his girlfriend a few weeks later because Sukuna doesnât do halfway.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, who mods the fuck out of your bike (with your permissionâŚmostly) because his girl âcanât be riding a glorified scooter." Donât be mistaken; you still race him, upholding your title of Queen of the Track, but now all the trash talk is for show because heâs proud of you either way. If anyone says he let his girl win, theyâre getting a knuckle sandwich special and vehement denial from Sukuna.
A/N: mmmm Sukuna with a motorcycle đ¤¤
Š starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.
MMA Fighter!Toji started fighting in underground arenas built on discretionary rules and a gambling addictâs dreams. Sure, it was illegal and risky, but after several wins and word spreading about the new guy, the paycheck was far more enticing than his prior and also illegal career.
MMA Fighter!Toji now stands sweat-slicked, panting, and bloodied, but the victor. Cheers roared in the old warehouse-turned-arena. It stung to grin, a busted lip pulling beyond its limits, but the adrenaline numbed it just enough. Heâd won the tournament.
MMA Fighter!Toji meets two people that night. The first is a man named Shiu who scouted Toji for the past few months and now offers to be his manager, to take him higher. Toji laughs in his face and tells him to fuck off before heading back to the makeshift locker rooms to wash up. However, he stops short when Shiu shares how much more he could be making. Something about sign-on bonuses and benefits.
MMA Fighter!Toji, who flippantly agrees since he doesnât have much to lose.
The second person MMA Fighter!Toji meets is at the bus stop. After heâs slightly freshened up, he's now in a black hoodie, gray sweats, and his worn duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He just wants to go home to his shitty apartment, drink, and pass out. Except heâs stopped short when he sees one other person at the little bus stop. It was late in a not-so-great part of town.
MMA Fighter!Toji beats people up for a living, but heâs not a total dick, especially when youâre so obviously alone and wary of such a large man who respectfully stays on the clear opposite side of the dingy bus stop. He finds himself occasionally glancing at you. The way your leg bounces anxiously, eyes flicking up the street every ten seconds. You were kinda cute.
MMA Fighter!Toji, who swears heâs seen you somewhere but canât figure it out. Even when the bus comes and days pass, he canât figure it out.
MMA Fighter!Toji gets his answer when heâs in the middle of training in a real gym, with a coach and fancier equipment that costs more than heâd ever made. He was in the middle of a break when he saw you come in through the doors. Quiet, unassuming, and dressed in a uniformâthatâs when it clicks. You were one of the medics who patched him up once or twice. He's looking at his coach, but his attention is on you in his periphery, skirting the gym walls until you slip through some doors. You linger on the edges of his attention through his training.
MMA Fighter!Toji makes his name in the MMA world the same way he fightsâhard, dirty, and too fast to register. Shiu wasnât lying when he made all those promises. His background pushed rumored whispers, his popularity skyrocketed. His looks drew in a new crowd, the seats filling out the way he filled out the Calvin Klein boxers in his most recent ad campaign.
MMA Fighter!Toji couldn't care less about the marketing, PR, and interview bullshit, except it backfires when it fans the flames of "the dangerous and mysterious" reputation. However, he gets a kick out of press conferencesâseeing the other fighter red in the face, trying to big-dog Toji through shit-talking. All Toji does is smile down at them, smug and condescending. He sees them like court jesters to a king, his tongue poking his cheek because he knows indifference pisses them off most.
And sure, the money was really fucking niceâmore than he thought heâd ever seeâbut the best part of his nights was after the fights, when he was still hot with adrenaline, sweaty, and finding you somewhere in the back. You, with your cute little medical uniform and your glasses and smaller hands tending to the injuries littering his face.
"You should see the other guy,â MMA Fighter!Toji would muse every time without fail, and every time youâd roll your eyes before laughing despite yourself. That was his real win tonight, giving him more pride than any mean right hook.
MMA Fighter!Toji started lingering a little more around you after fights when youâd patch him up. Anyone on his team learned real quick not to rush him, especially when you were involved. Any attempts were met with death glares at best and barked curses up and down their bloodline at worst. Did he get an earful from his coach? Absolutely. Did he give a single flying fuck? No. In fact, he was already planning when heâd see you again.
MMA Fighter!Toji pushes himself too hard, too far from the upcoming championship against the King of the Ring, Sukuna Ryomen. Heâs first in the gym and the last to leave. He rarely takes breaks, especially when every moment of silence allows his coachâs shouts, the higher-ups leveled threats and anything else heâs held back thus far to creep up. He doesn't realize how late it is or how heâd skipped lunch and dinner until dots litter his vision. Like everything, he grits his teeth and shakes it off. Except heâs stumbling, swaying and hitting the floor with a resounding thud. The last thing he remembers is a door opening somewhere.
MMA Fighter!Toji wakes up to soft, cool sensations in his skin. The ring lights are dimmer somehow. He tries to sit up only to be stopped by gentle pressure agaisnt his shoulder. "Don't move," you mutter.
MMA Fighter!Toji is confused, but listens. Something about that look on your face, all focused and a little angry, is as scary as it is hot. He realized he was lying flat in the practice ring. You were kneeling beside him with a kit he was too familiar with.
"When was the last time you ate?" you add after a moment, glancing down at him. He thinks it over through the pounding headache and comes up empty. His lips part to answer something snarky, flirtyâthe usualâexcept you cut him off like you knew it was coming. "Exactly. I thought you gym freaks were adamant about your protein and meal prepping. Youâre dehydrated and with terribly low blood sugar," you muttered under your breath before narrowing your gaze at him as you hooked him up to a makeshift IV setup. "You're lucky I had to stay late. I saw you pass out just as I was heading out. Unfortunately, you're far too big for me to drag you to the medical room alone, so I had to treat you here," you explained as you worked.
Like every other time you were patching him up, Toji was either looking at your face or your hands working. "My knight in shining armor," he teases, low and gravelly. He grins lopsidedly as you glare at him and a prompt flick to his forehead. "You're lucky, I tolerate you and my job banks on keeping you in good health. I would've left you here otherwise."
"Aw, you like me doll?"
"Brave of you to be flirting with someone holding a needle and a scalpel within reaching distance."
He raises his hands slightly in mock surrender despite the smirk but doesn't say much else for a while. The exhaustion began to catch up with him, guiding him to close his eyes and drop his head back on the canvas floor. He's resting, and you think he's fainted again. In slight panic, you pat his cheek repeatedly. "Hey, no sleeping. C'monâ"
"I'm awake, woman! I'm just closing my eyes," He grumbles, batting his hand away lazily. He closes his eyes again, hearing you sigh in relief, muttering an apology.Â
Something something and suddenly, he was in an octagonal cage with shouting, bright lights and a foot flying towards his jaw. He ducked just in time, his coach yelling at him to focus from the sidelines. Right, the championships. Had it already been three weeks? Never mind; he didn't have time to dawdle.
Sukuna was big like Toji, pink-haired and mean. Aptly monikered as âKing of the Ringâ. Toji's thighs hooked around Sukunaâs middle, both of them sweaty and tussling on the floor. Somewhere in the past weeks Toji made a bet with himselfâa motivation more than anythingâthat when he wins, heâs going to finally ask you out on a date. Sure he could kiss you or fuck you back at his place (heâs certainly imagined it) but traitorously, something has nagged in the back of his mind that you deserved better than a quick fuck; you were built for worship.
Sukuna was a good fighter. No wonder their teams and the association milked the hell out of their rivalry in the press and marketing, playing it up to fill the seats surrounding them. Sweaty, tangled and bloodied, both of them refused to give up. They were built and trained better than that.
MMA Fighter!Toji pictured your face. The smile he'd wriggle out of you with his dumb lines, the way you'd glower at him for his recklessness. The ghost of your smaller hands skillfully patching him up. Performance enhancers may be banned from the sport, but the images of youâlet alone the nasty ones from Toji's fantasiesâwere as good as duds to him. A fresh shot of adrenaline in his veins had him tightening his punches, his kicks higher, sharper, quicker. Sukuna was forced on defense, blocking Toji the best he could. The crowd's roar was the same as the blood rushing through his head. Toji found an opening, locking Sukuna's head between meaty thighs, burly arms trapping his opponents as the referee slapped the floor.
MMA Fighter!Toji is now MMA Champion!Toji. Bloodied, drained and closer to a wet noodle but a champion nonetheless. He moved on autopilot, vaguely registering being crowned victor, camera flashes and slaps on the back of congratulations. He let himself be herded into the back hallways of the arena, passing the journalists and fans itching for the new champion's attention. His limbs are heavy, but he only has you on his mind.
And oh, there you are. Stood outside your tiny med bay, grinning as you rocked on the balls of your feet like your excitement pushed the boundaries of professionalism. He huffs a laugh, the scar stretching in a way that makes your stomach roll slowly. You barely manage to catch him as he more or less slumps against you than a hug. Toji's form swallows yours, his musk and sweat clinging to you. You guide him to sit on one of the beds, attention drifting long enough to shoo everyone else out, claiming focus and lack of space.
"Congrats champ," you teased as you dabbed at the cut on his jaw. Your gaze flicked up to his jade ones peeking out from the damp bangs in front of them.
"Wouldn't have survived without you, doll," he rasped, watching your face.
The sounds of the crowd were distant, footsteps shuffling outside the med bay, but your presence was grounding. Your familiar scent cuts through the antiseptic scent and his sweat. You snorted a laugh and his heart did the usual inconvenient thing it regularly does around you.
âYouâve survived this longââ
âWhat're you doing tomorrow night?â Toji interjected, adrenaline serving as liquid courage and dimming whatever little filter he had. It sounded rough and like it cost him too much. Itâd certainly cost him even more to admit why; he wouldnât do it over his dead body.
He saw you freeze for a moment, raising a brow. âCatching up on sleep,â you mused. âWhy? Because if you expect me to go on a three-day bender to celebrate, Iâm afraid Iââ
Toji shook his head, gently grasping his wrist in his colored, larger hand. He felt your pulse flutter under his thumbâs absentminded caress. âDinner. With me tomorrow at eight. Iâll pick you up and everything.â
He searched your eyes and the fluorescent light shining on them, how they widened.
âIâToji. That wouldnât be professional. Iâd love to in any other context but with my job and you andââ
âPlease.â
The clarifier gave you both pause. It felt strange to hear as much as it felt to say it, but Toji was slowly losing the fight against denying you. He feared he was quickly approaching territory where heâd do just about anything for him.
You whispered his name, heat creeping up your neck. It was such a gentle sound, delicately perfect on your lips, that you had him cradling it in the back of his mind for future reference. His hand was dragged up to curl around your bicep, his thumb stroking like it'd expel his nerves. "Just one date. And if it causes you trouble, I'll handle it," he added quietly.
You swallowed the butterflies threatening to breakout from your throat. Your heart flipped slowly and tightly, taking a measured breath like it'd be helpful. It was terribly inconvenient that you did exactly what you swore and were taught not to do: catch feelings for your patient and not just anyone, Toji Fushiguro.
And a small, reckless, hopeful part of you tugged harshly. Your lips pressed into a thin line, exhaling in both defeat and premature regret for acting on a bad thing. God forbid a girl indulge her heart's desires sometimes.
"One," you accepted, pointing a finger at his bare chest. Toji grinned, pulling you closer until you stood properly between his thick thighs. His rough hands settled lightly on your hips, his lips scared, stretching with that stupid grin you wanted to both kiss and smack off for months. Your eyes narrowed in an effort to hold the glare despite the corner of your own lips twitching. "I mean it. And if there's any trouble, you promise to handle it or else you're paying my unemployment package yourself."
He gently squeezed your waist under your uniform. Even sitting on the cot, he was eye level with you. "Happily."
Š starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, whose bikeâsleek, midnight black, and a âpiss rocket," according to Tojiâis his pride and joy. Modded to perfection and has the earnings from every successful race to show for it.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, who first met you working at the front desk of Tojiâs garageâwith your cutesy-themed desk, chewing bubblegum behind glossy lips and the most bored expression as you typed. Sure, he thought you were hot but didnât do anything about it.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, who rolled up to the dragstrip on another Friday night smelling like rubber, gasoline, and less-than-legal championship wins.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, who snickered under his helmet when his opponent rolled up on a white bike with lilac accents, a fucking Snoopy keychain resting on the gas tank, and cat ears on top of their helmet. Sure, it was a decent engine displacement but nothing close to his own. An easy win if heâs seen any.
Drag Racer!Sukuna is now glowering at the digital stopwatch at the end of the lane, mockingly displaying his first loss in years by 0.52 seconds. He nearly ripped the fuckass amateur apart, convinced there was cheating, noncompliant mods to their bike (like he wasnât always toeing that line), paid off the hostsâsomething.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, who didnât even bother to remove his helmet before he pulled you back by the collar mid-conversation when you got back to the crowd, dragging you away and somewhere more private. You barely managed to snag the keys from the ignition. Barely manage to get your helmet off and rip him a new one before he crowds you against the brick wall. The dragstrip smell mingled with his spicy musk. Carmine's eyes sharpened as he glared down at you, the facial tattoos wrinkling with his expressions.
You nor the Drag Racer!Sukuna recalls when barbed insults became moans and grunts of pleasure and pointing fingers turned into his fingers in your pussy or yours wrapped around his cock after races. Neither of you really recalls which night, which race, or which win marked the start of the unspoken routine where he'd bend you over the loser's bike and fuck you dumb. All he knows is he was addicted to you with your stupid strawberry lip gloss and your stupid bike modded beautifully and that goddamn Snoopy keychain.
Drag Racer!Sukuna definitely doesn't remember which time he was balls deep in your soft, tight, soaking pussy when he thought this was better than any check or any win.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, the only place he spent more time at than the drag strip and Toji's garage was between your legs.
Drag Racer!Sukuna does, however, remember when you didnât show up to a race for the first time in months. He didnât think too deeply, but then one night became a month, and heâd rather die than ask Toji about your whereabouts.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, whose heart does something traitorous and worries about you a month after your disappearance from the races and, coincidentally, from the garage whenever he comes around.
Drag Racer!Sukuna finds himself at Getoâs bar after winning one of the yearâs bigger races. Another celebration with all his friends, another notch in his belt, and all he can think about is you. If youâre okay. He struggles to push back all that warmth and softness in his chest that reemerge more frequently when you cross his mind despite smothering the thoughts for ages.
Drag Racer!Sukuna has a lapse of judgment and is too sober for his liking; he gets your address from a drunken Toji that same night and rides over. He finds himself knocking on your door, his gruff voice too loud for the hour.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, whom you opened the door for, has hair a little messy and is dressed in a sweater and Hello Kitty pajama pants, and he thinks youâve never looked hotter. Drag Racer!Sukunafeels whatever adrenaline and alcohol were in his system finally catch up and loosen up his tongue, spilling all that warmth and gushy softness on your doorstep in the dead of night.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, who shut his uncharacteristic rambling up with a kiss right there on your doormat in your pajamas. He recovers quickly enough to kiss you back and swallow your giggles. Drag Racer!Sukuna finds himself on your couch, in an apartment thatâs so cozy, and you but all he can think about is you tucked into his side, head on his shoulder as you explain your absence. He listens for real as you explain your side of the story: the classic of catching feelings for someone you swore you wouldn't. Of everything reminding you of him, it was easier to pull away than break your own heart.
Drag Racer!Sukuna falls asleep with you on your couch after talking until dawn about anything, nothing, and everything and wakes up in a tangle of limbs, his head on your chest, and a crick in his neck. He watches you sleepânot in a creepy way, he swears! But in an "Oh fuck, I fell asleep on her couch after I confessed and she felt the sameâ kind of way.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, who asks you out on a date as soon as you wake up, confused, crusty-eyed, and stiff. He has to repeat it a couple times for your sleepy mind to catch up (he teases you about it to cover for the fact heâs waiting for your response). You say yes.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, whose edges soften enough over the next few months around you and only for you. He asks you to be his girlfriend a few weeks later because Sukuna doesnât do halfway.
Drag Racer!Sukuna, who mods the fuck out of your bike (with your permissionâŚmostly) because his girl âcanât be riding a glorified scooter." Donât be mistaken; you still race him, upholding your title of Queen of the Track, but now all the trash talk is for show because heâs proud of you either way. If anyone says he let his girl win, theyâre getting a knuckle sandwich special and vehement denial from Sukuna.
A/N: mmmm Sukuna with a motorcycle đ¤¤
Š starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.
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Contains: angst / fluff / mentions of injury (blood)
Summary: He'd gone for a solstice celebration and ended up on a rescue mission, saving what everyone else called a bad omen.
WC: ~4.6k
Helion's parties were legendary, but they seemed to reach new heights when it came to special celebrations like summer Solstice.
An inlet at the westernmost border of Night and Day was one of the few beaches the court had. Now it was transformed to a Helion certified party. Golden sand, deep turquoise waters. Everything glittery, ivory, and gold decorated the beachâfrom the cliffs to the east near the border down to the lush, green mountains to the west.
It had been hours since the Inner Circleâs arrival. Their usual finery was traded for something a little lighter. Rhysand had just now managed to slip away for a walkâa well-timed excuse before Cassian and Helion dragged him to competitively drink themselves sick. Again.
The soft sand was warm between his toes, the setting sun warmer. The ocean breeze tugged the open-top of his tunic, sea foam dancing around his bare feet and ankles from where heâd rolled up his pants. He strolled aimlessly along the sand, thinking about nothing and everything a High Lord would, sipping occasionally from the drink heâd brought as a companion.
The celebration became a murmur under the crashing waves the further he strolled, save for the occasional booming laugh or cheers. Easily Helion or Cassianâs doing.
When he looked up again, the cliffs were closer and the sun halfway down the horizon. He scanned the beach briefly before his gaze snagged on a strange, long lump. He nearly ignored it, passing it off as beached driftwood, but no. It was too smooth andâŚshiny? The waves curved over its form, gently tipping it as they receded back to the sea.
Then he saw hair. Next he smelled blood.
He took a step, turning into a walk and then a jog until he was a few feet away.
There was hair and hands and a head andâ
No legs. Not just no legsâthere was a long tail in itâs place.
A long tailâone rivaling his wingspan from fluke to the scales that blended into the creamy skin of a torsoânow tangled and cut up by netting. Deep gashes slicing into the opalescent scales and muscle beneath, tearing in ways Rhys had only seen on battlefields. Red rivers flowed around the thicker parts. Your fluke and fins were badly shredded tooâsome parts barely hanging on and small bits gone altogether.
"Hey,â Rhysand called out, drink vanishing dropping into a pocket realm as he knelt. His hands hovered reluctantly over you. He didnât want to worsen your injuries. âCan you hear me?â he tried again as he assessed you. Your eyes were closed, arms limp and tangled with the net. You're injured and unresponsive.
Fueled by a slight buzz of alcohol, rising adrenaline and a savior complex built on his trauma, he moved without hesitation. A flick of his wrist and the netting vanished. Caution and focus helped him scoop you up, disregarding your blood seeping into his clothes. He was careful to avoid your wounds or pressing against your gills slatted on either side of your ribs.
He winnowed you back to his suite in Helionâs beachside property, where everyone had been given accommodations for the visit. He kicked the nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle or bump you around too much.
"I need a healer to my suite immediately." He sent down his mind link to Azriel while he slowly stepped down into the pool, letting warm saltwater surround you and him. He trusted the spymaster to be the most coherent.
"Are you hurt?" Azriel's reply was instant, firm and steady, but urgency slipped through in a way Rhys had come to pick out on rare occasions after centuries together.
"No, but I found someone who is, and I don't know siren anatomy to do anything confidently."
A short, tense pause.
"I'm coming. I'll bring the healers with me."
He exhaled in relief as his gaze drifted over you. How your hair floated like an inky halo in the water. How opalescent scales were the same color as your tail lined your cheekbones, hairline and your arms in random clusters. Long, damp lashes clung to your cheeks. Scalloped fins jutting out from behind your earsâthe same color as your fins and flukeâlay flat against the side of your head. Their shape reminded him of butterfly wings if they were sharperâjagged in a dangerously beautiful way. He politely glanced past your bare chest, and down to your tail, mangled and bleeding still but at least net-free.Â
A door slammed open somewhere, followed by rushed footsteps and voices.
"Bathroom," Rhysand called out, unable to look away from you. You were still breathing, albeit very slowly, but breathing meant you were alive.
He tore his gaze away as Azriel approached with a pair of healers, turning just enough to look at them. One of the healers swore under her breath and made the sign of the Mother with her free hand over her chest and forehead. The other was wide-eyed and visibly paled as she sucked a breath between her teeth.
âI found her unconscious, beached and tangled in a net. I managed to free her, but she'd lost too much blood.â Rhysâs gaze went between them and his brother.
âMy lord,â the older healer whoâd made the religious sign of the Mother began. âThatâŚthat is a a bad omen.â she said the world like it was a secret and a curse. Violet eyes sharpened around the edges as the word and tone grated against him.
âShe,â he corrected, without room for disagreement. âwill receive help.â
There was a heavy stillness among the four before they finally moved. Rhys waded closer to the edge with you, bloody water lazily swirling around him. The healers knelt, getting to work, but he noticed their cautious eyes flicking towards your face like youâd wake up any moment and use those webbed clawsâtalons reallyâto drag them under.
The healers did what they could for hours: stitch and salve your wounds, wrap them to the best of their knowledge. They advised the rest be left up to time.
The bloody seawater was changed out before the healers left, leaving Nightâs High Lord on watch. Rhys had sat against a nearby wall, watching your long lithe form rest at the bottom of the pool. Your gills gently fluttering with each breath. Counting them lulled him to sleep.
â ⢠â
Swish.
Hours bled into dawn.
Drip.
Rhysandâs eyes snapped open, his power tangibly charged at possible danger. He wasnât greeted with a knife to the throat or an arrow between his eyes like he expected.
Instead, at the edge of the pool a few inches away from his outstretched leg was a pair of eyes.
You, still as stone. Awake. Observing.
Everything below your nose was hidden behind the tiled edge or submerged underwater, but even from a distance he could see your tail stretched out behind you at the bottom of the pool.
His breath stalled, and his leg jerked back instinctively. A mistake, apparently.
It all happened in a second. Your once calculating pupils narrowing to pinpricks. The fins behind your ears he thought looked like wings now flared and trembled like leaves in the wind. He watched your teeth sharpen to jagged points as you bared them with a hiss.
His hands flew up in a placating gesture.
âWoah, easy. Easy.â he exclaimed, watching you carefully. At least you were awake.
You only glared harder, a series of high-pitched sounds and clicks emitted from your throat.
Huh.
âIâm not going to hurt you,â he continued slowly, taking note of you. you were moving which was good. âDo you remember anything?â
He got a huff and glare in response, which both intrigued and amused him. So you could understand him. That much was clear. You observed each other carefully. You noted if he was still a threat. He noted how the morning light spilling in fat beams through the gilded arches made the water on your skin and hair glitter like diamonds. Even if you looked murderous.
âYou didnât kill me,â you replied. Your voice was rough from misuse, lilted with a faint and unfamiliar accent flooded with suspicion. Rhys hated how his first thought was it was sexy (albeit for half a second before he quickly caught himself).
His lips quirked with a smile. âNo, I did not.â
Your eyes narrowed, your pupils are no longer pinpricks but not fully dilated either. âWhy?â
âIâm unsure how much of the surface rumors make it down under, but Iâm notââ
âBecause youâre landfolk,â you interjected. The words landed like a droplet on the surface of a still lake; just enough to unsettle the calm. âAnd landfolk see my kind as demons.â
He was still deciding whether to be offended or amused at your interjection. A lesser fae wouldâve sought death before cutting off the most powerful High Lord. He considered your words and the healersâ reactions when they first saw you.
âBecause there are demons up here too,â was all he said, arms lazily crossed over his knees now drawn to his chest. âOnes with a long list of their sinsânot that I'm religious. Some seek to build a legacy out of it.â
You eyed him for a moment, more quizzical and slightly less wary as you turned over his words. âYou sound like youâre among them.â
Rhys hummed soft and dismissive as he looked at you. A little knowingly, a little misdirecting, a sprinkle of amusement and dash of truth. All laid behind a careful mask.
The water stirred as your scaly hand clutched your rumbling abdomen, hovering over slimy kelp and gauze dressings. Rhysand relished the look on your face. Finally, something besides suspicion and glowering.
You barely started to respond before tangy magic filled the air and a large platter of seafood delicacies prepared in every way imaginable appeared at the edge of the bathing pool.
âEat. You need it if youâre to heal properly.â He glanced between you and the platter, watching your brows twitch with both distrust and mild interest. He huffed a laugh before musing, âI assure you itâs not poisââ
It was all your desperation needed.
One moment you were wary, glowering, and the next your pupils dilated until they were fully black, your nails elongated, sinuous skin darkening from your cuticles down to your knuckles. Teeth shaped like his one moment became sharpened points the next.
You were feral.
He watched you devour with both awe and horror. Fistfuls of two different meals in each hand, sharp teeth gnashing as you alternated between both. It wasnât elegant or polite by any means.
Yet there was a disturbing beauty.
A few messy handfuls when you weren't downright famished anymore, you considered him. If he wanted to kill you at any point, he could'veâwouldâve already, but he didn't. In fact, he went out of his way to heal and feed you.
Names held power and to give it was to put power into someone elseâs hands. In the wrong hands meant consequences, yet your gut said he could be trusted. For now. Between bites, you glanced up at him long enough to tell him your name.
Rhysand repeated it softly, rolling it over his tongue. It suited you, he thought. Something beautiful and sharp. Lethally sweet. He watched until you licked the platter clean and the webbing between your fingers. Rhys watched in amusement as youâd gone from hostile and distrustful to softer, calmer, like a feral kitten turned domestic. Your eyes were softer, occasionally glancing up at him. Gone were sharpened teeth and talons.
â ⢠â
It took three days for you to heal significantly. It wasnât perfect, but it was fast. Having access to the Spell Cleaver's endless libraries in addition to fast fae healing certainly helped. Scarring wrapped around your tail, deeper and more jagged where the worst of the cuts had been. However, youâd make a full recovery. Helion let Rhys extend his visit and use the bathing pool as a makeshift rehabilitation center.
In that time youâd learned his name and his stories. His role in Prythian, his Inner Circle, his home. Slowly but surely you begin to open up too. How you were a siren (âif you call a mermaid a siren or vice versa to the wrong fae, you could start a warâ), stories from your childhood in the sea, your adventures, your interestsâhow you got caught up in the net and beached. Rhysand quickly realized all the stories about sirens were to keep overly curious folks away. He of anyone knew how much rumor and fear could be weaponized. He realized you were more alike than not; how you were all bark and bite because you were afraid, you were lost and cornered in unfamiliar territory.
Rhys knew the feeling too well.
It was the fifth night since your arrival. Sunset had long passed and sconces flickered against the carved pillars of the chamber. Rhysand stood at the doorway with his hands in his pockets. He watched you swim, back and forth across the pool.
You were restless, pacing as much as a siren could who was nearly as long as her space. The thought prodded unhelpfully somewhere in his chest.
âYou know,â he announced his presence, stopping at edge of the pool. âIf you had legs you'd have certainly worn a hole in the ground.â
Your pacing ceased with your back turned towards him, hair plastered against your skull and shoulders and the rest floating like smoke in the water. You were too quiet, too still and watching the world beyond the carved and embellished arches.
He didnât have to read your mind to understand the shape of your silence and weight of your gaze. Heâd felt it Under the Mountain.
"You want to go home." His voice was quiet, gentle. Of course, you did. What was a bathing pool compared to the open sea? No amount of freshly caught fish would compare to the real hunt. He swallowed thickly as he watched you nod softly.
"I do," you whispered, eyes closing.
"The healers said you'll be discharged tomorrow morning," he stayed quiet, slow moving as he sat on the edge of the pool. "I can take you back to the beach. You can go home." The words hurt to say, but he didn't label it as such. He knew you couldn't stay here for many reasons. It was temporary from the start and only cruel beyond this point.
He looked up as the water rippled further, as you swam closer to him. He watched the firelight bounce off the walls and dimly kiss your skin, illuminate you like an ember, droplets glimmering against your skin. The emotion in your eyes twisted his heart.
You gave a small smile and nod, trekking over him once more. âThank you,â you began softly, watching the water lap against the tiles instead of his weighty gaze above you. âFor saving me. You couldâve left me on the beach but youâŚyou didnât. I realize I havenât given my proper thanks.â
There was a pause. Not awkward but heavy with something unsaid as you both looked at each other. He watched your lips part, clearly hesitant, as if you wanted to say more. Maybe it was him projecting what heâd been mulling over these recent nights.
You only smiled softly and whispered goodnight.
â ⢠â
The morning was still cool, the sun barely past the horizon. After breakfast and a full bill of health, heâd winnowed you in his arms to the inlet.
He watched the sea breeze tug at your hair, how you melted into the salty air.
He toed off his shoes and socks, wading into the water with you in his arms. Waves lapped against you, the wind and cool water prickling goosebumps across your skin. You couldn't help the laugh as your home wrapped around you again. Rhys saved the sound, though he wasnât sure why. Maybe because it was the first time heâd seen it light you up so from the inside.
âDo you feel okay?â he asked gently, stopping until he was chest deep. His gaze flicked over you once more. He used it as an excuse to check your injuries. So what if he did it to memorize you one last time? Who knows if he'd ever see you again. You nodded against this shoulder, wriggling out of his arms until you were swimming on your own. A testing swish of your tail and then a stronger one to propel you. Your laugh was contagious and Rhysand found himself smiling.
You circled him in the waves, playfully splashing him with your fluke. In the limited time you both had together, he'd never seen you like that. There really was no place like home.
You popped up in front of him with a splash, soaked and sparkling under the morning sun. If he was a weaker male, he would've let the receding waves pull him into you. Instead, he huffed a laugh, tucking a wet lock behind your ear. "I take it as a yes then," he mused softly.
His touch lingered and you let it. Hell, you lingered. You could've swam off into the deep the moment he let you go, yet you found yourself staying a little longer. The last few days trickled across your mind, challenging your opinions on land folk. On High Lords. On him. A part of you knew it was foolish to feel anything like attachment in such a short amount of time and yet the more you fought it, the worse you got caught up in it. You blinked rapidly as his fingers brushed your jaw, those violet eyes reminding you of coral on your favorite reef.
"I... I should go," you whispered.
Rhysand smiled softly, coming back from wherever his mind had drifted. "Right. Yes. I should too," he murmured, stepping back to give you room. You returned to it as best you could. You were going home. You should be happy.Â
"Thank you again, Rhys, For everything," you replied, slowly beginning to swim further out. Your tail rushed against his leg under the water like you were prolonging things, but the tides waited for no one. "I won't forget you."
He softly smiled and nodded once in return, secretly clinging to the way you called his name. "Of course."
You both stretched the moment as long as you could, taking final glances and "accidental" lingering touches before you finally turned and dove under. Rhysand watched you leave from his spot in the waves. How you didn't look back, how your form was dark under the waves, warped and shrinking as you swam further away.
â ⢠â
The year bled by. Seasons passed, solstice or equinoxes were celebrated in their respective courts. It was the thick of summer now, hot, sweltering heat pressing down on Velaris. It was unforgiving this year, but at the ports where it was open, the breeze helped slightly. The fresh air was needed after being held up in the House of Wind and piles of paperwork, though it didn't take work away altogether, to Rhysand's dismay.
"Since the opening of the trade routes, the traffic and jobs at the ports have increased exponentially..." the maritime advisor overseeing Velaris's ports had been droning for a while. Rhysand listed where he should and a little less so when he went off on tangents. Hearing reports and seeing numbers was one thing, but leagues were different than the real thing: the dockworkers loading and unloading ships from various courts, the bustling activity, noise and scents. It ran like its own city.
It was at an unoccupied pier that he noticed the advisor's silence. Rhysandâs watched the distant sea, his hands remained in his pockets. "What is it, Noeh?" he asked light and dry.
"Well..." Noeh began, fiddling with his cuffs. "There's been...a strange occurrence. The sailors are calling it a bad omen." This had Rhysand's brow raised as he pivoted to look at him better. "What is?"
Noeh looked between a barnacle-covered post and his High Lord, unsure. "I think it's easier if I show you."
He followed his advisor back up the busy docks and into his office. It wasn't very big, though the commonly large piles of paperwork didn't help. He wove through the towers until Noeh rounded the desk, drawing a box from a drawer. He glanced between his advisor and the box, a brow raised.
The room shrank as he saw the contents.
Opalescent scales too beautiful for a normal fish and too familiar to the ghosts of his memory. Mixed between them were black pearls, little spheres of night and starlight. there mustâve been hundreds of each.
"It startedâwe thinkâin spring. It wasn't until a few weeks ago that we saw them pile up in the same spot on the same pier. We thought it would stop on its own, but it seemed too deliberate. Some of the fishing boats reported a large shadow lurking around the caves and wonât go back. The sailors believe it's a ghost or a siren setting a trap." Noeh explained, huffing a laugh. "Could you believe it? A siren. Laying a trap."
Rhys was barely listening, his gaze pigeonholed on the contents. You were here. You've been here.
He nodded once, taking the box from the advisor. "Thank you. I'll see to this immediately."
Rhys didn't wait for much else, leaving the office and taking to the skies. You were here after a year. There was no way it wasn't you. Those scales haunted his dreams more than he'd like to admit. He landed swiftly and quietly on a sandbar between the rocky arms jutting out from the mountainside. carved by millennia of erosion, pockets of jagged rock formations carved out the tunnels, leading somewhere further inland. It was noticeably cooler here, scattered sunbeams filtering from above. He hadn't been to this part of the court in many years. The box tucked safely under his arm.
"I know you're here," he called out, his voice echoing off the rock walls. Water dripped somewhere, crashing waves echoed around him. "I got your gifts," he added, spinning in a slow circle, scanning the plentiful hiding spots or the waters for you.
He didn't get any responses but kept a watchful eye for any shadows in the deep blue water. Maybe he was too hopeful, deluded by the memories of you from a year ago. How could someone so fleeting be so memorable? He laughed at himself at the thought. "I'd appreciate it if you stopped scaring the dockworkers too," he called out again.Â
"How else would I get my gifts to you?"
He stilled as the voice came behind him, echoing off the rockfaces just as he remembered. Rhys slowly pivoted in the sand and there you were. Tucked behind a boulder with your arms folded under your head and that long, powerful tailânow scar freeâcurled around the damp rock. He watched your fluke curl lazily almost like a cat's tail, catching the light just so.
You were more exquisite than his memory served.
Healthier, stronger, happier. He watched you climb off the rock and swim toward the sandbar until you resurfaced. âHello Rhysand,â you greeted him, flashing him a playful smile that softened around the edges. He returned the grin, sitting on a nearby rock, but was pulled into your orbit anyway. He leaned closer, brushing the wet locks clung to your cheek. There you are.
âHello, siren,â he mused, low and gentle like a warm current. âI thought i told you to call me Rhys.â
You barely a bit back a laugh, leaning into his touch. This time he didnât hesitate to cradle your cheek but was gentle all the same. His callouses felt more pronounced against your silky skin, cool and wet from the ocean. He spent too long considering what heâd do if he saw you again. Reconsidering what he wished he did the first time he met you.
It was like no time had passed.
Your eyes flicked over him, his over you. A dance conducted with a look, a secret passed through silence. Rhysand wandered through your mind just as much as you did his, like two lost souls who were trying to find home again.
âYou land folk are terrible at passing messages,â you chided playfully, brows furrowed in mock annoyance. âIt took me weeks before anyone noticed.â
His laugh felt electric under your skin. âSo Iâve heard. Admittedly, I wasnât expecting anything from you after last year.â
Your smile softened. âWould you believe it if I said I was surprised myself?â
Rhys raised a brow at you, "Why?"
"I don't know."
Silence fell over you both, save for the tides and ocean moving on. He looked over you once before leaning back. his hand left your skin to set the box of your gifts on the rock. you swallowed the embarrassing protest in your throat. you blinked in surprise as he pushed off to sit in the shallows with you. âWhat are youââ you began, startled.
"Iâd rather not catch heatstroke, siren,â he mused, melting in the refreshing water despite his clothes clinging to him. You blinked at him now sitting beside you, though you made extra effort not to ogle how wet fabric highlighted his toned form underneath. He leaned against the rock he once sat on, smirking as he caught your failed attempts to not stare. His attention was all on you anyway. How your hair dried into curls and danced in the breeze. How sunlight reflecting off the water makes you look shinier, the color of your skin and scales brighter.
"I don't know, but I think I'd do it again," you whispered, looking at the rock arches towering around you instead as you revisited your earlier statements.
His gaze returned to your face, his own softening. "I would too," he replied just as quietly. He knew you didnât mean the messages left on the docks. "But preferably sans injury this time. Maybe like right now," he added lightly, gently nudging his knee against your hip.
You laughed softly, leaning towards him a fraction until your orbits overlapped, your gravities colliding until those unspoken dances and messages came back with a force. there was a charged silence again filled with darting glances between the otherâs eyes and lips. too much pressed in, too much caught up.
Neither of you knew who moved first.
His hand cupped your cheek again, his breath fanning across your lips for a second like he was giving you the chance to back out until you closed the gap yourself. You tasted like salt and sun; he was warm and sweet. The waves lolled you both back and forth and he could drown for all he cared. A soft hum buzzed against your tongue, skittering down your spine like lightning. He pulled back first to breathe.
You huffed a laugh, so did Rhys, until you were both laughing like giddy children. Your arms looped around his neck as he steadied you by the waist, drawing you closer until your front pressed against his and you lay between his legs.. He made a noise of surprise as you kissed him again.
"I cannot believe it took me a year to do that," you whispered against him, sparkling, wide eyes flicking between his.
âIâll be damned if I have to wait another," he replied, stealing another kiss.
I have a handful of prompts in my to do list but idk where to start. Fear not!! All of them will happen eventually. These will most likely be oneshots/HC style.
Contains: fluff / smut (MNDI) / AFAB reader / p in v / fireplay (kinda? He burns your underwear off lol) / oral (f! Receiving) / handjob (m! Receiving) / orgasm denial / minor character death mention at the end
Summary: Tension is thick. Eris finally sees his portrait you made. Secrets are shared and previous tensions build until it snaps into a different kind.
WC: ~3.6k
Part 1 Part 2
You couldn't read his face. That wasnât new; heâd mastered it. Eris didn't know what to make of this. Why had he said all that back at the gala, why'd he suddenly winnowed you home or why you were showing him this?
Quiet, measured steps, gaze fixed on yours until he stopped wordlessly in front of you. From here you could see the fissures. The way his amber eyesâbronze from the dimnessâdarted too quickly. The way he wet his lips one too many times. He couldn't bring himself to turn yet.
You swallowed the rock in your throat, ensnared under the weight of his gaze. Eris looked just behind you towards the window and felt another spear wedge between his ribs. In the glass, he caught enough of the paintingâs reflection and his world tipped; something it tends to do around you.
He thinks you whispered his name or screamed itâhe wasn't sure given the blood rushing in his ears. His eyes met yours anyway before he finally turned.
Eris knew what the court whispered. Hell, some didn't bother whispering at all. A monster, hell-spawn, Beron's heirlingâthe list was endlessâand yet they suddenly became insignificant.
The portrait of him: streaks of copper, auburn, reds, browns, taupe and beige layered in combinations he couldnât fathom. Smooth paint seeming rough at the right edges and softer where it mattered to you. You made him softerânot mushy or vulnerable but in a raw way like youâd opened his chest and saw his soul. It was nothingâlaughable, reallyâto the elegant portraiture hanging in the Forest House. The one that gave those rumors fangs and something to believe in.
This was a far cry from any depiction he'd seen.
Eris swallowed thickly, unable to blink or move. Even if he wanted, his body refused. You managed to depict him like you saw something real and worth sparing despite his thistles and venom.
âYou know,â you began in a low whisper. âYou became my light when the others did cease.â
âYou are a fool,â he breathed, and yet he was deprived of all the snark he usually had. His fingers ghosted over the edge of the canvas. Youâd stripped him with brushstrokes alone. Mother spare him if you ever got a hold of his heart.
You huffed a laugh through your nose, glancing at his side profile. âIâve been a fool the moment you discovered me on the terrace.â
It would be your laughâno matter how faintâto break the trance you'd put him in. He looked at you properly, more raw than anyone else had ever seen from him. You had already held him by the throat and you didn't even know it. Eris could've laughed if he could find the strength. How did he out of everyone fall like this? His hands trembled imperceptibly, unsure whether to touch the creator or her creation.
You stared at him quietly, carefully as you logged every tell. He seldom gave his true feelings away and you didnât blame him. it would cost him more than you could imagine; it already has. despite it, your hand rose slowlyâcautiouslyâ enough to brush against his cheek. You could feel the warmth emanating from him. You didn't cradle just yet, allowing him the chance to back out if he desired.
But Eris only desired you.
He had only ever desired you, and he was holding himself back for too long. It was he who was known for taking what he wanted when he wanted it, and yet he hesitated when it came to you.
His exhalation shook, his own hand raised slowly to cup yours until it pressed snugly against his cheek. His warmth and scent surrounded you, eyes refusing to slip away as they conveyed everything he could no longer contain. There were no tears, no heartfelt confessionsâEris didn't do those. Not yet, at least. But there was pure honesty in every other way it counted.
His head dipped enough to press against yours, watching as your eyes fluttered close instinctively.
Your souls spoke for you where words couldn't. Heartbeats traded for articulation, the touch of skin and fanned breaths in place of insufficient whispers. Time was insignificant. The studio didn't fell small anymoreânot in the same way. Eris felt naked. Eris felt himself blindly handing his heart over to you.
Either a breath or an eternity passedâyou were unsureâbut you opened your eyes anyway to meet him again. It was unclear who moved first, but your lips found his slotted and magnetized. He tasted of smoke and spice, of crisp breezes and applewood. Eris kissed you like molasses, sweet and slow because parting for something as silly as breathing would kill him.
Rough hands became gentle as they caressed your outline. One cupped the side of your neck, thumb caressing your pulse as the other skimmed over your waist. Your arms looped around his neck, gala layers whispering between you. It was you who parted first to breathe but just enough to meet his eyes. You huffed a laugh, something between amusement and disbelief. Your thumb gently traced his lower lip, glossy from kisses and lightly smudged with your lipstick.
"Quite unfair, you look so lovely with smudged lipstick," you mused with a whisper, watching your thumb.
Erisâs smile grew under your thumb followed by a playful nip and softer kiss.
âI could smudge yours even more if you like,â he teased slowly, leaning closer. The familiar smirk returned, infectious with how you couldn't help your own. Maybe it was the giddiness and disbelief from the whole evening, from the last few minutes. You stole a kissâquick and cheeky enough to catch him off guard just a tad. The secondâbecause you couldnât resistâhe was better prepared for.
He kept you there, holding you steady as he kissed you again. He groaned against your lips as you parted them, tongues and teeth dancing with something hot and feverish. A flame burned the soles of your feet, licking up to your core and curling around your spine.
His fingers dug into your waist, your gown providing little resistance and too big a barrier. Yours skimmed across his shoulders and into his hair as you chased his lips. He walked you backwards, giggling, breathless and tripping over your gown until you fell backwards on the studio couch. A leather loveseat thatâs seen better days.
Eris settled himself over you. He kissed your skin, hands moving reverently as they mapped where his lips would follow, but again too many layers and too little patience. He kissed along your neckline, teeth scraping against the top of your breasts, drawing constellations with his tongue back up to your lips.
His hand slid behind you, your body arching into his with a soft gasp he immediately swallowed. You ground your clothed center against his thigh, fingers curling into copper tresses from the buzzing sensation.
âEris,â you breathed, unsure if it was a prayer or a request. Maybe both. âPlease.â
âPlease what?â he murmured against the corner of your jaw. âUse your words pretty girl.â
âI want you,â you murmured, breaking off into a whimper as he marked a sensitive spot on your skin.
âWant me where?â he teased despite his own thinning restraint. âI canât read your mind.â
Impatience battled pride, battled need. You huffed, pulling him back by the hair enough to look at him. For a moment you were enraptured by his swollen lips and lust blown pupils.
Your gaze solidified, brows slightly furrowing. Eris felt himself grow harder at the sight, already considering how to make you mad in the future just to see that sexy look on you.
âEris Vanserra. I want you to fuck me on this couch. Immediately.â
Eris blinked at you once and for a second you feared it was too much, too quick and too forward. But then he chuckled, disbelief, melting into amusement. He raised his brow, shifting, so his forearms caged you, red hair forming a wispy curtain around you. Your hips pressed against his, breath catching as you felt him through the layers. Somewhere in his movement, his hand flicked, magicking both his clothes away with it until you were in just your undergarments.
He watched you bite the inside of your cheeks, eyes wide with surprise at the sudden and mutual nakedness. You could feel all of him now. More of his heat, his skin, his well-endowed cock against your clothed cunt.
Your lashes fluttered as his thumb stroked your cheek. Sizzling heat still lingered in the air, but it softened at the edges. Your eyes flicked between his, watching as slits of moonlight danced across his face. Your hand slid from his hair and cradled his jaw, cool fingertips brushing delicately across his freckles.
Eris stiffened under your touch, jaw feathering. His gaze sharpened with instinctive caution making you withdraw. âSorry, I,â you began, but Eris grabbed your wrist, his thumb skimming over your fluttering pulse.
âItâs alright,â he murmured, swallowing thickly. You saw something soften around his eyes. Youâd observed him closely for so many weeks to know he was thinking something thoroughly now. Eris offered a smileâmore smirk, really. âCouldn't help yourself, could you?â he teased.
You scoffed despite your own tugging smile and rolled your eyes. he was deflecting but you decided to not call him out this time. âThe same way can you help yourself?â you replied, rolling your hips slow and precise against his to let him know exactly what you meant. Eris hissed as his grip tightened around your wrist in warning. Not harmful but warning. His eyes narrowed down at you, nose skimming yours. âCareful. You know better.â
You hummed softly, rolling your hips again painfully slow to feel every ridge and vein again. His forehead dropped to yours, pushing your wrist above your head. Shallow breaths fanned across your kiss-bitten lips.Â
"Believe it or not, I'm trying to be careful with you. And you," he tugged your lower lip gently between his teeth. "Are testing those bounds."
"Who said you needed to be careful?"
A tether snapped behind his dilating pupils, his body deliciously pressing against yours. He kissed you feverishly and starving. He swallowed every sound you offered, marking along your skinâyour jaw, your neck, your collarbones, breasts. He all but tore off your bra, tongue flattening hot, broad strokes around the stiff peaks and soft swells. Your body arced into his tasting, head tipped back with pleasure. "Eris," you breathed, his name a desperate prayer.
He didnât spare an inch of your skin as he went lower. He kissed along your ribs, your naval, your waist, nipped into the softness of your hips and each action set you alight.
âWhat did I tell you doll?â he whispered against your thighs. Your fingers threaded through his hair, nails scratching his scalp in an effort to guide him closer to where you needed him most. The heat pooling in your core was dripping out, soaking your gusset.
there was a flash through your eyelids followed by a new heat licked across your hips. the scent of burning fabric filled your nose. Your eyes snapped open to find amber eyes looking up at you from between your legs.
And your underwear became ashes.
âEris!â you exclaimed. The bastard had the audacity to smirk and shrug innocently. âIt was in my way.â
You scoffed with indigence and disbelief, and definitely arousal. Eris killed the words on your tongue with his own flatteningâdraggingâbetween your folds. His gaze remained on yours, taking in every moan, twitch and shudder as your own eyes rolled back, head pressing into the couch cushion.
âFuck,â you moaned, breathless and arching. His mouth was a sin youâd gladly go to hell for. Pale, muscled arms encircled your thighs to hold them open, hands holding you in place as he feasted. The music you both created was pure debauchery. âGods, fuck me.â
âI plan on it,â Eris muttered without hesitation, lips shining in your essence. He sucked harshly around your clit. You bowed off the cushions, barely able to give him a warning of your impending climax. Your thighs clenched around his head, fingers tugging his hair tighter, closer.
âE-Eris Iâmââ your words died against a silent scream, your head thrown back as you shattered. Eris watched you unravel, taking every drop you gave him. His tongue prodded your fluttering entrance, groaning as you clenched around him, at your taste. He was greedy, and you were overstimulated, a hand pressed against your lower belly to keep you still as he cleaned you up with kitten licks and teasing kisses.
You were panting, boneless on the couch by the time he had mercy on you. Your vision swam; one moment you saw your studio's ceiling and the next he appeared with that stupidly cute smirk and red hair tickling your face.
Your gaze met his again, hand tangling in his hair again. Eris didn't need to be told once, let alone twice. Hands roamed limbs tangling until there was no end or beginning between you both. Eris drew you closer, lifting you until he was kneeling on the couch cushion and you straddled strong thighs. your chests pressed together, rumbling as you tasted yourself on his tongue.
Your hand danced down his torso, grazing every dip and valley of his pale, lean form. you knew he was big but as you glanced down between your bodies, you finally saw him. your fingers couldnât touch as you wrapped around him. his tip was flushed, beading peralescent and down the throbbing veins along the side and bottom of his shaft.
"Fuck," he gasped against your lips as you slowly stroked. "Just like that baby," he groaned between panting breaths. Strong fingers dug into Your hips while his jaw clenched. Your thumb ran across the tip, smearing the precum. His head tipped back with a breathy groan, hips jerking deeper into your hand. Like iron to a magnet, your lips latched onto the pale column of his neck, kissing, biting and licking along his pulse and jugular like he did to you earlier. You were looking forward to those finger-shaped bruises intended in your hips tomorrow morning.
he twitched in your hand. just as you were about to quicken he pulled your hand away. your eyes snapped up to his, wide and flickering. in fear youâd done something wrong.
"Not like this." he rasped.
You swallowed, nodding softly in permission. He kissed the corner of your mouth, helping you guide him to your cunt. He watched your expressions morph as you sunk down on him. You swore at the stretch, clawing his shoulders. Hisses and groans of pleasure until he was nestled deep to the hilt. He was big, the fullness an aching split.Â
You rocked experimentally, your head tipping back with a blissful moan. Every shift of him spreading his knees made his cock drag against your gummy walls. Slow rolls of your hips turned into bounces. A cacophony of moans, squelching and swears echoed off the studio walls. Eris met your bounces with thrusts, leaking tip twitching against your cervix. His lips and nose skimmed against your exposed neck.
He glanced up at you through thick lashes and heavy lids and what a sight you were. The contrast of moonlight and candlelight slitting across your face, lips shiny and puffy with kisses, parted with a song he'd ensure only he will ever hear.
Your blood sparked, buzzing down to your bone marrow. Stars and thrills danced behind your eyes as you chased another climax. You clenched around him, his groan rumbling in your throat and chest he'd pressed against.
"Whose pussy is this?" he growled, licking the length of your neck, hips thrusting, steady and strong.Â
"Mine," you breathed.
His hips faltered. He knew when you sassed, when you bit back and this wasn't it. Yet he found himself huffing a laugh of surprise because it was such a you replyâstubborn, strong in your own right. Eris grinned against your skin, kissing your pulse and thrusting deep against that spongy spot that had you clamming tight around him.
"Then who'sâshitâfucking this pussy so good?" he tried again.
"You.â
His pace quickened, guiding you up and down on him until the burning coil in your belly tightened. Your head tossed back, fingers digging into whatever part of him you found. Eris groaned against you, biting, kissing down to your bouncing tits.
âCum for me.â he panted. You clamped down tight, shuddering as you fell apart. His name was a moaned litany from your glossy lips. Eris spilled into you with a grunt,. your walls still fluttering ruthlessly to milk him.
He gently lay you back down on the couch, softly hissing as he pulled out. He lay next to you along the edge of the couch, gentle fingers brushing the hair stuck to your face. The couch was too small for you both, especially with how your legs dangled off the armrest but heâd be damned if he up and left nowâsomething he wasn't used to. Eris was warm as usual but now, as everything caught up to him, the warmth softened his gaze.âWill you stay?â you whispered, too fucked out to have a filter. Eris swallowed,pulling you closer to his chest, a large hand bringing your thigh over his hip. He hummed against the top of your head, nodding subtly. It wasn't quite a kiss but your scent and touch was grounding.
â ⢠â
Seven years had passed too fast.
Things changed, people changed, everything changed.
Beron died. That was all Eris would tell you. He spared you the details, but a part of you knew it was meticulously planned and likely something to do with his secret alliance with Rhysand. You didn't blame him. though with Beronâs death and the natural flow of fate, Eris became High Lord.
You knocked on the door frame softly, pushing open his study door enough to peak your head through. The floor-to-ceiling windows poured in clear blue sky and sprawling gold, red and brown forests. Eris stood with his back turned, hands clasped behind his back. He was always well-dressed but seeing him in coronation wear was exquisite. You shut the door behind you, walking until you stood beside him and followed his gaze.
"They're ready for you," you said softly, feeling his heat radiate from the few inches separating you. You smoothed your own gown, watching a murder of crows peck at the ground far below. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. How light softly lit his features, rusty red brows furrowed slightly in deep thought. You resisted the urge to smooth the wrinkle in between.
A minute passed, then another. You almost called him again before he inhaled deeplyâsteadyingâas he turned to look at you. Your mouth opened but he beat you to it.
"Marry me."
Long, heavy silence followed for two heartbeats. Even the crowsâthe forest itselfâbelow seemed to pause.
His gaze searched yours before flicking down to your hands. His reach was hesitantâa word you'd rarelyâif at allâ use to describe Eris. Familiar warmth and gentleness surrounded your perpetual cold hands as he held them, thumbs stroking across your knuckles.
"For the last seven years, you've allowed me to bask in your light," he began, watching you swallow thickly, and your eyes shine with tears. "I have watched you shine and grow into an unbelievable artist. it wasnât until too late, and far too deep when I found myself growing with you. I want to grow old with you which is a damn long time and still not enough. You make me want to keep becoming a better male, which I know seems impossible." he teased, squeezing your hands gently. You huffed a watery laugh, uselessly blinking tears away before it stained your makeup. Eris's smile softened, his heart twisting just as it did the first time he heard it.
"I don't know how you ever found me deserving enough to come near your light, let alone stay so long, but I am a greedy bastard, beloved. I, if you'd give me the honor, would want nothing more than to burn out in it for eternity."
You were crying now, nodding furiously. You didn't even let him pull the ring from his pocket before you dragged him down by his lapel and kissed him stupid. His hands cradled your jaw gently, the kiss sweet and salty. "Yes," you whispered between kisses. "A thousand times, yes."
He grinned against your lips, peppering light kisses everywhere he could reach.âYouââ kiss ââare goingââ kiss ââto be so sick of me.â Kiss. He pulled back enough to really look at you at his eternal flame heâd savor for every coming day.âNever,â he whispered through a teary grin which only grew wider as he pulled out the ring from his pocket.
"Good, otherwise my request for you to be the one to coronation me would be very awkward," he teased, a thumb running over your new ring like it was already a habit. Pride, joy and something territorial prowled in his chest. He kissed against your laughter just because he could. The taste and sound of you would never be enough.
A/N: My first mini series is now complete!! Thank you for all you love and support on all my works <3
Š starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.
Contains: fluff / est. relationship (they're married <3)
WC: 659
Cowboy! Grayson comes home with the sound of boots on a wooden porch signaling his arrival. Sweat, dirt, and sunâonly a Texas summer could bringâlinger on him. His cologne lingers faintly beneath it all somehow.
Cowboy! Grayson, who leaves his worn boots (that have definitely seen better days) at the door ever since you got mad about him trekking in dirt a little too close to the new living room rug two years ago.
Cowboy! Grayson, who finally breathes in the scent of you and your shared home for the first time since he kissed you goodbye this morning. He smiles softly as he catches your faint hum and follows it like a red thread of fate into the kitchen.
Cowboy! Grayson is tired, but the sight of his wifeâGod, that never got old, even after three yearsâdancing idly in front of the countertop as she cuts something on the cutting board. He smiles softly despite himself as he watches you do your little dance to God knows what song in your head. It only grew smug as you froze for a second, startled at his sudden presence across the kitchen, only to grin and laugh softly instead.
Cowboy! Grayson closes the gap despite your halfhearted protests for him to get away because of the remnants of his day clinging to him. He only wraps his arms around you further, your knife discarded on the cutting board as he buries you close.
Cowboy! Grayson, who plucks the cowboy hat from his head and puts it onto yours, like a routine every evening. "It looks damn better on you, darlinâ,â he claims every time. You disagree; he kisses you like it was a rebuttal itself.
Cowboy! Grayson helps with dinner despite the long day and exhaustion, enjoying any moment with you. A man who enjoys a simple dinner with his wife in their shared farmhouse.
Cowboy! Grayson, who after dinner and cleaning up, with all the lights off save for a lamp in the corner of the living room, insists on a dance before bed.
â ⢠â
âGray,â you said through a soft laugh, his fingers playing with yours to keep you there instead of going to bed just yet. "What are you doing?â
âDancinâ with my wife,â He grins shamelessly, tugging you close until an arm is wrapped snugly around your waist. His other hand delicately trailed up your wrist and your palm before lacing his fingers with yours.
You laughed softly, shaking your head. He was ridiculous. You were in love.
You indulged him, dancing in your living room, barefooted on your not-so-new-anymore-but-still-nice rug. You let go long enough to carefully set the hat on the nearby couch, now able to comfortably rest your forehead against his chin.
His smile softened, kissing your hairline as he led you into a slow dance.
There was no music unless you counted the crickets outside and your heartbeats between your chests.
"It feels like our first dance again,â you whispered after a while, as if anything louder would break reality.
âMhm.â
You huffed a laugh, recognizing his tells after seven years with him. "Was that your plan then?â you teased, turning your head enough to look up at him. His gray eyes were softened by warm lamplight and affection.
He grinned smugly in response, kissing your brow gently. âMaybe,â he murmured, entirely unrepentant, pressing his forehead against yours instead. "Can you blame me for wanting to reminisce about our first dance a little?â
You snorted a laugh, playfully rolling your eyes. "You say it like weâre senile and dying tomorrow, Gray.â He only shook his head in mock exasperation, playfully bumping your forehead with his.
âI know, I know. It doesnât change anything, though. If I want to dance with my darlinâ, I will,â he replied matter-of-factly like a child. You huffed a laugh again.
âDork,â you muttered, awfully fond.
"Mm, yours though,â he whispered, pulling you impossibly closer.
a/n: Cowboy! Grayson, my beloved, please come home; the kids miss you :(
Š starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.
The world feels like itâs ending. Sukuna isnât having it.
Pairing(s): Sukuna Ryomen x f!reader
Contains: light angst to comfort / prob ooc Sukuna
Summary: thereâs so much going on in the world and itâs one of those days. Sukuna pulls you out of your own head before you really spiral.
WC: 699
At first he thought you might've fainted, and he felt his stomach drop a little. Then you sighed, blinking at the ceiling.
He sighed, taking his shoes off by the front door and walking closer to you. He crouched near your head, his own cocking in slight amusement.
Here he was, coming home from work to find you sprawled across the living room rug, staring at the ceiling. He huffed a would-be laugh through his nose, lip tugging at the corner. He couldnât help but playfully flick your forehead.
âWhatâs up with you?â He mused, taking you in.
Your eyes didnât leave that one spot on the ceiling. "Oh, you know. The usual Wednesday spiraling,â you muttered, unmoving.
âAbout?â he prodded, raising his brow. Though amusement glinted in his eyes, a wisp of curiosity and concern lingered behind it (not that Sukuna would ever admit it to you).
Your gaze finally broke from the plaster, finally meeting his. Normally so bright red, now theyâre darker with lamplight in the corner. "The general state of the world.â
He made a hum of acknowledgment, still eyeing you. He watched you for a minute longer and saw the micro shifts in your expression. This was serious, he realized. He sighed, finally sitting on the floor. He shifted enough to move your head from the floor and onto his thigh.
His fingersânormally so rough and dirtied with remnants from his shift at the garageâran gently through your hair. You were still in your work clothes, he realized.
"I go through my day, driving to work, or I'm at my desk, and my brain is just like, 'Hm, I have this project to turn in by the end of the day. Children dying. I have to fill up gas tomorrow. Is the world ending? Or did we all collectively die and go to hell and not know it? I wonder what weâll do for dinner. People are being separated from their families andââ
"Hey, whoa.â He interjected, holding your cheeks to ground you to him and reality. âStop that and look at me,â he said firmly, searching your gaze and holding it.
âYouâre okay. Breathe, woman,â Sukuna muttered. He watched you, your chest once rising and falling too quickly, now moving steadier under his instruction. His fingers brushed your jaw even as you looked at him upside down, another hand smoothing over your hair. He considered his next words. He had to tread carefully lest you spiral again.
"I feel hopeless, but then sometimes for a moment or two I do finally feel hopeful, and sometimes itâs both at once, and itâs justâitâs soââ you muttered, quiet and cracking at the end as the weight felt pressing again.
He huffed impatiently, rolling his eyes. âJesus Christ, woman,â he said firmly, squeezing your face a fraction to bring you back to him. "Yes, the world is corrupted and a shitshow, and I know you have a big heart. You care a hell of a lot, but you have to breathe or else youâll end up right back here, sprawled out on the floor.â
âYouâre always telling me to calm down. Take your own advice before you lose your own mind, would ya? Itâs alright to take a break. Arenât you always getting on my ass about that?â he added.
You swallowed the tightness in your throat, nodding softly. You know he had a point: that spiraling would do no one any good. âBut Iââ you protested anyway.
"Dammit, woman, no buts.â
He watched you huff, borderline pouting with narrowed eyes as if to challenge him. Sukuna only glared back, daring you to stubbornly fight your way out of this one.
You huffed in defeat after a minute of staring at each other, and a âfineâ grumbled under your breath. Sukunaâs glare giving way to a smug grin. "Atta girl. Now,â he began, leaning down to kiss you swiftly, sweetly, and upside down. "Why donât you go wash up and out of your work clothes? Iâll order in.â
A tiny smile tugged at your lips, the weight of the world and all its calamities not too heavy for a while. âOkay,â you whispered.
a/n: kinda self indulgent. The horrors persist but so do we. Hang in there team <3
Š starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.
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The one where Azriel discovers he has a fat crush on the jeweler
Pairing(s): Azriel x gn!reader
Contains: fluff / a little OOC Azriel
Summary: Azriel hadnât thought much of the new jewelry store. Heâd only planed to get a gift for Amren. He, fortunately or unfortunately, hadnât accounted for you unknowingly messing with his heart.
WC: ~2.0k
Part 2
It wasnât always this bad.
He chalked it up to Solstice being the reason he ever entered the jewelry store to begin with. He needed a gift for Amren after all.
What he hadnât accounted for was you.
You watched you emerge from the back, wiping your hands on a towel, and removed the loop from your face as he walked in. Winter afternoon sun filtered in. Where it reflected off the snow outside, it glinted off the shining jewels and metals in here. Metal and gems of all kinds, elegantly set with precision and displayed in glass cases.
And yet he found you to be the brightest jewel among them.
âHello, welcome in!â you greeted, bright and warm from behind a display case.
He gave a small nod in acknowledgment, tearing his eyes away.
âAre you looking for anything in particular?â you asked gently, head slightly tilted.
âSomething unique. For a solstice gift,â he explained quietly, scanning the pieces. From rings to elaborate, layered necklacesâno doubt heavier than they lookedâthey rested on plush satin pillows or small velvet busts. His gaze flicked up at you briefly, assessing just as quickly. It was a centuriesâ old habit; he was a spymaster after all.
âEverything here is custom and made in-house, so youâre sure to find what youâre looking for,â you replied lightly, stopping behind a display case of pieces that were embedded with diamonds and emeralds. He watched you pull out one of those velvet busts that held a necklace. âThis is a part of our upcoming spring collection,â you added with a small smile, meeting his eyes.
They were undoubtedly beautiful, he thought, as were your eyes, he added mentally despite himself. He immediately shook that thought away. Where had that even come from?
While beautiful, it didn't feel right for Amren. âItâs beautiful,â he began, hazel eyes flicking up to yours briefly. They were much brighter up close; not just the color but also the shine in them. âBeautiful, but I don't think itâs quite what I'm looking for," he added almost apologetically. His gaze was dragged away in favor of the other display cases, attention snagging on a display case a few yards away.
His shadows trailed behind him as always as he neared it. Silver metal weaving, looping around twilight-colored gems, a mixture of sharp elegance, cut and set with unbelievable craftsmanship. Everything here was, he realized.
His gaze flicked up as you neared before returning. These seemed more Amrenâs style. âI'll take this one,â he said, glancing between you and the elaborate necklace resting on a black velvet bust.
He watched you smile, carefully packing up the necklace and ringing him up. He handed you the payment in exchange for the bag. His fingers brushed against yours briefly, his stomach giving a strange twirl, but he promptly named it as hunger.
â ⢠â
It had been six months since then, and he wasâby definitionâaddicted.
Amren had loved the gift (as much as Amren would approve), and Azriel had conveniently used her as an excuse for the following visits where he could. At first, it was twice a month, and then it became weekly. Then he thought a couple of extra times wouldnât hurt until one day, he blinked and realized it had become at least twice a week.
All because he wanted to catch a glimpse of you.
Sure, he was a spymaster and could, well, spy on you if he really wanted, but that was creepy, and a creep was the last thing Azriel had wanted you to think of him.
He still found any and all excuses to come into the shop, never once leaving without a new purchase. An alleged birthday here, a âneed to return to good gracesâ gift there. Luckily, you hadn't asked why or how he was such a loyal customer. He just was.
Of course, Azriel was beginning to suspect why he was. What exactly about you intrigued him in a way heâd only felt twice before? He also knew the heartache that paired with both of those times. So, like before, heâd do what heâs done best for centuriesâobserve from afar. Yearn from afar (but he didnât dare label it that).
âOh, before you go,â you began, eyes lighting up just as you handed him the small bag of his new purchase of silver bands. Not marital kinds, of course, but something new and for once, himself. Not that it would be suited for his occupation, but perhaps something new to try.
His eyes flicked to yours, expectant, but as always, his face never gave anything away. He thought it was curiousâprecious evenâhow opposite you were to him in the smallest ways. You are bright and expressive to his careful neutrality and aloofness.
âSince youâre my most loyalâand favorite, but donât tell anyone else thatâcustomer, I wanted to give you something. I know itâs not much, but I just wanted to give youâŚsomething special as a token of my appreciation.â You spokeârambled reallyâwith a small laugh. Nervous, even as he watched you hand over a small box from under the register.
He blinked and then tentatively took the box. âOh,â he murmured, briefly dumbfounded. He carefully removed the lid, revealing a simple silver chain. It was woven tightly, seeming closer to tightly woven moonlight plucked from the night itself. Like everything else in the shopâthat you made, heâd learned by his third visitâit was beautiful. Whether it was the artistry or perhaps because he started seeing parts of you through every purchase, he wasn't sure.
A scarred thumb gently stroked over the finely detailed metalwork. He opened his mouth to speak, but your nervous rambling beat him to it.
"I⌠I don't often make jewelry for males, let alone chains like that, but I'm trying something new, and thus a collection, so I thought, why not give you something exclusive?" You added softly, quickly, and with animated gestures. He didnât miss how you wrung your fingers. It was preciously endearing to him.
His gaze searched yours, and for the first time since youâd met, he had the faintest hint of a genuine smile. âThank you, then.â He replied just as quietly, securing the chain back in the box and into the bag with a reverence as if it were precious glass.
Azriel's crush had now grown to an exponential, out-of-control, big fat crush.
â ⢠â
It had been a month since that visit.
In that time, heâd caught himself briefly grazing fingers along the chain when he was alone, disguising it as scratching an itch or a collar adjustment. Sometimes his shadows would twine around it like snakes hugging a branch. And every instance, without fail, heâd catch himself thinking about you. About your eyes or your smile, your voice or your laugh. The minimal contact of fingers brushing against yours at the end of every trip to your store.
How and when did he let it get this bad?
For better or for worse, Azriel is sure you haven't noticed the way his gaze softens a fraction or how he tries to linger in your shop for a few seconds longer.
He needed to get a grip. He was going to finally do something about it.
He sighed a breath before he entered your shop, the familiar little bell signaling his arrival.
He watched you smile and thank a customer just as you wrapped up their purchase.
He watched your gaze meet his halfway across the store, and for one delusional moment, he let himself believe that your eyes lit up and sparkled a little more in recognition of him.
"Hey!" you greeted, bright and warm as ever.
"Hi," he breathed, watching your smile grow a fraction. He felt his shadows buzz with excitement but kept it contained. Or perhaps it was nerves. He wasn't sure yet.
"What's led you to little ole me today?â you mused, leaning against the display case that always separated you two.
He shrugged with a smile, tugging his lips before pretending to look around, browsing. Many of the pieces were familiar, some new, but quite frankly, and for once, he wasnât here to buy something.
"Not sure. But I'll know when I see it," he replied quietly, passing a gold and ruby collection. How could he possibly say, âI'm here for you. I only ever come here to see you." How could he say every silly, corny, stupid line thatâs crossed his mind for nearly the past year without sounding like a desperate fool or worse?
You huffed a laugh, accustomed to him and this routine. So you just watched him browse from the corner of your eye as you moved about the shop.
A few quiet minutes have passed, only filled with footsteps on hardwood and occasional shuffling.
Azriel nearly lost his mind, and you were none the wiser. He felt like his world was crashing and healing all at once, all by you just being in the room. Selfishly, he wanted more.
In the next fifteen minutes, he miraculously mustered up the courage. He selected a random braceletâone he couldn't be bothered to even ask the story of, like he normally would. He watched you ring him up like always, handing over the small bag in exchange for payment.
When his fingers brushed against yours just enough, just like always, he lost his nerve.
He'd faced unfathomable evils, fears turned tangible, and flirted with death more times than any soul should. Yet this seemed to be the most terrifying among them.
He mustered a polite smile and decided his plan would have to wait another time as he turned to leave.
It seemed fate was taking matters into her own hands. Or rather his shadows, for they tugged him to a stop just as he reached to open the door. They seemed adamant that heâd go through with this today. No amount of pulling or mental scolding got them to let go. "Traitors," he thought.
His shadows whispered in one ear how you were watching him from behind the register as he stood by the door, the other ear filled with encouragement that was borderline scolding.
You raised a slight brow as he froze, slowly turning on his heel after a minute.
"Azriel? Are youââ
"Are you free tonight?â He blurted, searching your gaze from across the shop. He was sure you could hear his heart pounding and prayed to the Mother you didnât. He watched you blink twice, undoubtedly startled.
"Iâyes?" You replied though it came out like a question more than a statement.
His lips parted, words dancing on his tongue. He was caught in the middle between his heart and mind, logic and emotion. Desire and self-preservation.
"IâŚwould you like to get dinner with me?â He rushed out before he gave up now, holding your gaze. Azriel watched you blink twice before widening a fraction. Something buzzed with satisfaction as his shadows whispered of a blush growing on your cheeks.
"OhâŚ" you murmured, your own heart skittering. âIâŚI would like that. "Yeah," you found yourself saying. It took every effort not to burst in disbelief or giddy excitement.
Maybe the universe wasnât imploding for Azriel.
He huffed a disbelieving and excited laughâthe most emotion youâve probably ever seen from him. "Good. That'sâŚthat'sâyeah. Okay," he stammered, more to himself, like confirming this was real and happening. "Okay. I'll pick you up here at seven. Don't feel like you have to dress fancy," he added, finding his confidence and mental footing again despite his racing heart.
"Okay," you whispered, disbelieving yet elated. Your heart fluttered at his growing smile, one you couldn't help but mirror.
"Okay." He whispered back across the shop. "It's a date," he added, smirking as he watched your cheeks warm again. He memorized itâyour beaming smile and sparkle in your eyesâlike it would be the only thing to keep him alive until seven.
His gaze lingered before he finally left the shop with the biggest smile Velaris had ever seen from their Shadowsinger.
It only grew when a sneaky shadow lingering by your shop returned to his shoulder with whispers of your giddy shrieks and cheek-splitting grin a block away.
Azriel was utterly doomed yet was exactly where he wanted to be.
Notes: first time writing kinda nervous 𫣠any feedback is appreciated!
Š starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.
Contains: fluff / est. relationship (married) / suggestive
Summary: You want to add more whimsy to your life. Sylus wants you to put a fuzzy headband out of its misery. He finds a more than suitable compromise.
WC: ~1.5k
âI think I want to start adding a little more whimsy to my life,â you commented aloud, leaning over the built-in bathroom vanity as you wiped off your makeup from your date night. Your dress and coat had been swapped for silk pajamas. Your hair, once styled, was now unpinned and loose.
Sylus was already in bed, shirtless and in sweats, watching you with a fondness the outside world couldnât imagine. This was his favorite part of the night: just watching you in one of your most humble forms.
His brow quirked in sync with the corner of his lip. âYeah? Whatâs your plan?â he mused. He was long used to your thoughts shared aloud. They were silly, random, or serious, so to him, it felt like roulette every time.
A gamble he was hopelessly addicted to. It was his beloved wife after all.
He listened to you hum in thought, dressed in silk pajamas and that makeup-stained fuzzy headband now, pushing hair back from your face. âHm, dunno. Maybe try fun shapes with my Sunday pancakes. Oh! I saw this one girl online say she started talking to her house, like saying good morning to it or goodbye when sheâd leave. Maybe I could start there," you replied, moving on to your skincare routine.
âFun pancakes and talking to the house, huh?â he mused, yet he was endeared. It wasnât hard, as nearly everything about you he somehow found endearing. âI think those are veryâŚyou.â
You laughed softly, the sound floating in the space between your bathroom vanity and his heart.
"Any chance whimsy can convince you to finally get rid of that headband?â he added, nodding towards said accessory even if you weren't looking at him. âYou know, my darling dear wife, that you can replace it. In fact, I'd be happy to do it for you.â
You laughed again, shaking your head as you continued on your nightly routine. âI know, dear husband,â you began, teasing him with the same tone he used. âBut I find this one comfortable. I've grown attached to it too, and of course, once that happens, it becomes discontinued. Everything else I find just isnât right," you explained.
His hands raised in mock surrender. âAlright, alright.â He acquiesced.
His mind, however, didnât.
â ⢠â
It was a couple days later, his favorite part of the night coming around again. Tonight, he watched you from the doorframe instead of the bed. Heâd seen you do this hundreds of times, yet it never got old. It was grounding in a way to watch him as much as the process was for you.
And then you pulled out that headband. Faded and stained with either makeup or something unidentifiable. The small cuts of triangular pink satin making up the inside of the kitten ears were beginning to fray and separate from the fluffier material. Youâd had it for years.
Tonight, however, Sylus had other plans.
He pushed off the doorframe, leaving for but a moment and returning with an unmarked, mid-sized black cube. A rather fancy box. You glanced at him through the mirror, a brow raising as your movements slowed. It wasnât odd that he gave gifts for no reason other than he simply felt like it.
Sylus huffed a laugh, amused by your suspicion. He stopped beside you, hip leaning against the countertop as he set the box down between you both like a believer leaving a gift at his goddessâs altar.
"Whatcha got there?â you asked, a mix of suspicion and curiosity obvious in your voice. Sylusâs smile grew, setting the box down. âA gift,â he replied, obviously with a shrug. You rolled your eyes with a laugh. "I can see that. Whatâs in it?â
"Close your eyes for me.â He said instead. a gentle command as carmine eyes search yours for a moment.
You stared back at him, both brows lifted in challenge. âWhatâs in the box?â you replied, persistent. Sylus huffed a laugh. Leave you to love him and still be suspicious of his gifts. âItâs harmless, I promise.â
Your lips pursed in thought, gaze playfully narrowing at him before sighing in mock defeat and closing your eyes. "Fine. But for the record, I'm still very suspicious. You better not have something scary likeââ
His laugh was low and warm, steadily rolling over the space between you and into your bones.
"Sweetie, you know I would never," he began, kissing your forehead, your nose, and then your lips. twice. "Harmless. I promise," he whispered before stealing a third kiss. His smile grew as he saw yours faintly twitch into one. He couldnât help but look at you for a moment. standing there in your pajamas, barefaced and lovely.
âOkay,â you whispered, disarmed. He had a knack for it, much to your dismay at times.
He hummed softly, gently removing the worn headband from your head. Your brows furrowed slightly in confusion, but your eyes remained closed. You heard some shuffling, something like a box opening. "Since you wanted to start adding whimsy to your life,â he muttered, as something cool and decently weightedâlike metalâtook the place of the once fuzzy headband. "I wanted to contribute,â he added as he adjusted this new thing on your head.
You felt him turn you by the shoulders, smoothing your hair down. His hands, large, calloused, and warm, slid down your body to settle in the dip of your waist. You felt him press behind you, his chest pressed behind your shoulders and his chin hooked over your shoulder.
âCan I open now?â You asked softly. You couldnât help but smile as you felt his thumbs trace idly over the fabric. His lips lightly pressing to your shoulder. You took that as confirmation.
When your eyes opened, it took a moment to adjust to the lighting again. A mix of disbelief, amusement, and awe came out of you in a laugh. Where your old, fuzzy cat-eared headband once sat, there was now an elegant crown. Delicate arches and swirls, metal leaves, and vines made of glinting gold. Diamonds embedded most of the crown and left no empty space. Larger rubies were meticulously accented along the middle, and smaller ones winked bloodily at the peaks of the delicate arches. You had no doubt it was all real. It was Sylus after all.
âSylus,â you laughed out again, turning your head slowly to watch the bathroom light catch on the gems. "Why on earth did you get me a crown?â
"Tiara, actually,â he corrected playfully with a light kiss to the side of your neck, arms slipping further around your waist. âOf course, I did consider a crown, but it wouldâve been too heavy and kept falling for your purposes. Besides, I wanted you to have something better than a fraying and stained headband. Seemed like a natural compromise,â he said lowly and casually like heâd just said the sky was blue.
A disbelieving laugh left your lips as you met his eyes in the mirror. "Sy, my love. I love itâI love youâbut IâI mean, a tiara?â you said, disbelieving still as you turned your head enough to face him.
"Yes, a tiara. My beloved only deserves the best,â he whispered, searching your eyes as his nose brushed against yours.
You huffed another laugh, turning back to your reflection. You thought for a moment, head tilting a fraction, and the gemstones glimmered with each minuscule movement. The glimmered even as you breathed. âIt is rather beautiful and whimsical,â you murmured. âI donât even want to consider how much it cost,â you added with a cringe.
Sylus chuckled at your grimace, kissing your temple as if to shoo such trivial thoughts away from his belovedâs pretty head. âDonât worry about it. Now, finish up your thing. I intend to show my wife just how much of a queen I believe her to be,â he murmured, lightly squeezing your waist, which you knew to be more than just affectionate. A familiar warmth skittered down your spine and pooled in your lower belly.
Youâd finished your skincare in record time.
Youâd barely been able to pat your face dry before Sylus lifted you easily by the waist, his evol impatiently, putting your things away to clear space for you as he set you on the countertop.
Warm hands splayed across your thighs, his large frame gently forcing your legs apart to settle between them. Your hands draped over his bare shoulders, your eyes searching his in a dance you both have always known.
Your breath hitched, and his smile grew as he crowded you. Never out of intimidation but to be close to you. He would crawl into your heart and lay his head on your soul every night if he could, but alas, this would have to do. His thumbs stroked the silky fabric of your pajamas, teasingly dragging the fabric up as his hands skimmed higher.
The night was long, slow, and heated like many nights. Silk sheets replaced your clothes, and morning sun retraced the places his lips and fingers had been the night before.
The tiara stayed on.
a/n: Sylus fr said âkeep that mf thing ON đ¤â but also with heart eyes. Need me a Sylus Qin frfr.
Š starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.
The one where you wear retainers in front of Grayson for the first time
Paring(s): Grayson Hawthorne x gn!Reader
Contains: fluff / est. relationship / reader had braces in the past / âdollâ as nickname / probably ooc Grayson
Summary: Youâve been trying your hardest to avoid wearing your nightly retainers around Grayson, sure heâd tease you about the lisp. He finds out anyway.
WC: ~1k
You stared at your reflection. âI can do this.â You barely whispered under your breath like you were preparing for war.
Except your armor was pajamas, your trusty steed, a pair of fuzzy slippers and your enemyâ
A pair of clear, plastic retainers.
You glared at the plastic case holding a mold of your teeth as if it personally wronged you. Youâd gotten your braces off over a decade ago and grown into the new smile with time and age, but nightly retainers were necessary if you wanted to keep it.
âDonât tell me you fell asleep in there,â you hear from outside your bathroom.
While you had spent a handful of nights with Grayson, youâd skirted around wearing your retainers. You were supposed to wear them regularlyâand you didâonly when he wasnât there. But now you could feel your teeth shifting imperceptibly. It was only emphasized when you popped the plastic over your teeth. They felt a little too snug.
âComing,â you called out. Maybe if you avoided words with S's, he wouldn't notice.
You sighed in defeat, mustering the courage to face Grayson. You shut the bathroom light behind you, leaving only the lamp warming your bedroom and Gray in your bed. He sat against the headboard, laptop on his linen-clad thighs and glasses perched on his nose. His hair was fluffier, looser now, as if being in your space had released him from his masks and reins he wore everywhere else.
You took his preoccupation to your advantage to slide onto your side of the bed, laying your head on his bicep. You could feel tendons and muscles shift under his warm skin as he typed.
âUrgent?â you asked softly, trying to make sense of what he was working on.
âEditing a draft proposal I have to present to the board tomorrow. I'll be a few more minutes,â he replied. You felt him pause and dip down long enough to kiss the top of your head. Youâd gotten away thus far, but luck would only last so long.
âHow was your day?â he asked after a few minutes, still typing.
âGood. Busy at work with projects. We have our big annual company meeting later in the week. I might come home a little later that day,â you murmured. You watched his fingers slow across the keys and felt him still under you a little.
âDoll?â he said almost tentatively and amusedly all at once. âAre you alright?â
You hummed and nodded, tilting your head enough to look up at him like it would spare you.
It only makes his smile grow in that mischievous way he so often hides. Great, now youâve really got his attention.
âIs something the matter? You soundâŚdifferent,â he observed, with all the amusement he could manage.
âNope. I think you're just tired. Looking at your computer for too long.â You replied with a shrug. You carefully picked words that wouldn't give away your lisp.
âRightâŚâ he trailed off, entirely unconvinced and letting you know it too. But he only shrugged and continued typing. No one else would be relieved, and, for a moment, you were foolish enough to believe it, too.
âSo you wouldnât mind saying my name, would you?â he asked casually, as if he hadn't just set up a trap on a silver platter.
âGray,â you replied easily. Both could play these games.
He huffed a laugh, lightly poking his forehead in disapproval. âTry again.â
You felt him laugh under your cheek, the sound low and rumbling through his bones and into yours. âIâll keep bugging you until you tell me. Confess,â he added lightly.
You mulled it over for a moment. Maybe if you suddenly fell asleep or suddenly turned deaf, heâd let it go, but those ideas didn't last very long. Grayson Hawthorne's stubbornness wasnât to be underestimated. Sometimes it gave yours a run for its money.
So you sighed, the white flag waved, and embarrassment was already creeping up your cheeks. âSweetheart,â you muttered, begrudgingly, and lisp out in the open.
Grayson grinned like heâd won a grand prize. âThere we go. Wasnât so hard,â he prodded.
You groaned, turning to press your face into the side of his arm like it would stop the embarrassment. You might as well bite the bullet. âFine, okay. You got me. Yes, I sound weird, but only because I have retainers in. Don't make fun of me,â you added, emphasizing with a slight glare through your lashes. He had the nerve to mockingly raise his hand in surrender and smirk. That bastard.
âI didn't know you wore retainers.â
"Yeah, and on purpose. I wear them when youâre not around to avoid exactly this,â you explained in a mutter, avoiding his eyes.
He saw your obvious embarrassment. Grayson was observant by nature, but with his girlfriend, it was taken up a notch. So, instead of pushing you further, he simply hummed, kissed the top of your head, and resumed typing.
âI think you sound cute. Plus, they help keep your smile looking pretty,â he replied softly as a knuckle pushed his glasses further up. âSo while you do sound a little funny, I should be thanking them for their service,â he added, just to tease you a little bit.
You sank in embarrassment. An inch deeper under the covers, against his arm, as you were filled with a different kind of embarrassment. You glared at his laptop like it was personally responsible for the past five minutes. âShut up,â you muttered without any bite.
Grayson chuckled, shifting so the arm you lay against wrapped around your shoulders instead. He gently shifted you both to accommodate resting your head on his chest. Your arm naturally draped over his waist, a hand up the hem of his white shirt to settle on his bare waist. "I love you,â he replied instead, and you could hear his smile and amusement through it. âLisp and all.â
"Yeah, yeah, love you too, Grayson.â You muttered, despite recovering from your embarrassment.
âThatâs not my name.â
You huffed a laugh, playfully rolling your eyes. "Fine. Love you too, sweetheart.â
"Better. Now sleep. Iâll be done in a few.â
a/n: lowkey not loving this but we ball. Iâll be back (at some point) with better stuff.
Š starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.
Summary: Azriel's entire being is the opposite of light and brightness, for shadows need darkness. However, you believe otherwise, and it's about time someone tells him.
WC: ~3.2k
He was no secret but, rather, a legend taken form.
Everyone knew Shadowsingers were very rare. If one came every millennium, that was a gift. Two would be a miracle and three was either the Mother's presence or a terrible omen; history hadn't decided yet.
Such beings with powers of darkness, shadows turned corporeal, sentient even. They lived, breathed and thrived in the dark. An intangible entity that could walk through light and shadow, things seen and unseen, in ways no other soul could.
Azriel was the only one for the last four and a half millennia.
And after a month-long mission on the continent, hours of debriefing with Rhysand, he was finally home. Finally, he could lie in his own bed, bathe with his own soap and return to his own space. Once a quaint, bare bones townhouse on the edge of Velaris was now lived in a warm and proper home.
Your presence breathed life into his life and now your shared home.
He missed his bed because you, his mate, kept it warm. He missed the baths he'd sink into just to hold you and run his fingers through your damp hair until the water went cold. He missed coming back to a place once labeled just his Velaris residence turned into a home.
He missed you and everything you brought into his life.
A month apart wasn't new. You understood it was his job long before you met. Missions were necessary to keep Prythian safe. But after a long month away, a longer flight back and a too-long debrief, all Azriel wantedâneededâwas in his shared bed.Â
He'd gotten used to waking up in a strange bed (if he was lucky), but now Velaris dawn peeked through the familiar curtains in place of a random inn wall with unknown stains.
The scent was familiar, like a long missed memory. Something clean from the detergent you used to wash the sheets, cedar from him and a hint of cinnamon from you. His lips ticked up into a sleepy smile before his eyes even opened.
His nose pressed in your hair further as if he could bury into the source itself. His arms drew you closer, lazily dragging the sheets higher over your bare skin and a wing curling over you both as a second blanket. He felt you hum groggily in your sleep, the raspy sound tingling against his chest. He tensed fractionally when your perpetually cold hands skimmed over his bare waist and settled on his lower back. He kissed your hair as if youâd apologized for it despite knowing if you were awake, you would've grinned at him smugly and completely unrepentant.
Azriel tried to doze off again but gave up after three minutes.
He started noting, then memorizing how his skin pressed against his. His scarred hands began to delicately trace your silhouette as he saw behind his eyelids as if he was nothing but a whisper caressing hair-thin crystal and not his belovedâs body. He had yet to open his eyes but, for you, he never needed to.
His fingers were much warmer compared to yours as they grazed down your spine, barely swooping between the notches of your vertebrae. His hand slowly curved over your hip, sliding back up along your bare waist. Each brush was a caress, another line of your form drawn in his mind, retracing or adjusting a millimeter to the vision he had until it was a mirror rendition. His hand rests on your ribs for a moment to feel you breathe. You were alive, safe and here. He'd made it back to you just as promised.
His thumb stroked once, then twice like an attempt to tell the shared bond residing there a fraction of how much he missed you. How much he loves you.
He kissed the top of your head again, breathing you in deeply, and I was finally able to fall asleep again.
â ⢠â
You woke up to a much heavier weight than the weighted blanket you'd gotten used to in the past month. An inadequate substitute for Azriel in his absence, but you made do.
Memories returned parallel to brief panic before quickly transforming it into a quiet joy. Bleary eyes opened, adjusting to the sunlight and sight of Azriel after a month of waking to an empty bed. He was still asleep, soft steady breaths gently fanned across your face mere inches away. His chest rose and fell against yours as if heâd deliberately matched his breaths to yours. Knowing Azriel, it was likely.
He deserved the sleep, so you let him be. Instead, you took him in. First you memorized what you could never forget. How his brows were dark and strong. How the crease normally between themâeven lightlyâwas smoothed over in his sleep. Youâre sure it was probably the first time it disappeared since his leave. Your eyes met his closed ones, watching the very tips of dark lashes barely kissing the tops of tanned cheeks. You counted each wisp just because you could, even including the fallen one that had landed on the side of his nose.
You didn't dare brush it away in fear of waking him.
And since you were already there, your gaze trekked slowly down the bridge of his noseâincluding the little bump towards the top. You weren't sure if it was genetics or if heâd broken it in his youth and it simply healed that way. All you knew is it was a favorite quirk of his and gave you many memories to associate with itâwholesome and heated. It took many wills to resist kissing it so instead you smiled to yourself.
Outside, a large cloud finally passed over the morning sun, allowing it to finally join you in tracing your lover.
This was easily oneâif not your favorite versions of him. Sunlight dappled over his tanned skin, kissing inky swirls and whorls of his tattoos. You could see the tiniest hint of freckles sparse and a half shade darker across his nose and cheeks. Good to see he got some sun while on the his mission.
Your gaze dipped down to his lips. His top lip was mauve, naturally a few shades darker. his cupidâs bow heart-shaped and his bottom lip plush and pink. Another urge to resist kissing came over you.Â
You forced your gaze away in favor of moving along his jaw. You felt your lips tingle with the ghost of hundreds of kisses and dozens of nips you've left there.
Not for the first time, you thought Azriel was the sun's favorite. For someone who lived, controlled, thrived in the shadows, the sun showed him considerable favor. From the tanned skin to the way sunlight made home in his eyes. Bright, strong hazel that was sunset and sunrise together.
As if the Mother had heard your stray wish (or his instincts felt someone watching), those very eyes fluttered open, squinting, crinkling against bright morning light. The arm draped over your waist and the leg tangled between yours stiffened and stretched for a moment before drawing you closer.Â
"Hi," Azriel rasped, his voice thick and gravelly like his own shadows over icy steel, yet fresh honey too.
"Gâmorning," you whispered back, watching your favorite sun finally rise again.
You spent a minute watching him while he adjusted and woke more. He huffed a laugh through his nose, the heel of his hand rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What? Got something on my face?" he mused in a rasp. You didn't bother pretending you hadn't been caught. Instead, you huffed your own laugh, the hand on his back leaving to finally thumb away the fallen eyelash on his nose and then the slightest bit of drool on the corner of his lips. "Yeah, something like that," you teased quietly.
His lips curved into a smile under your thumb, your own mirroring because you couldn't help it and because he softly kissed the pad of your thumb. You thought it was cute. Azriel was thinking of how many of those it would take to permanently engrave your thumbprint into his lips so he could carry a piece of you forever
"Sleep good?" you rasped quietly as a hand lazily, lightly scratched his back. You felt a rumble of approval buzz through your fingers and against your chest from where it touched his.Â
"Best I've had in the past month."
âMe too.â
A comfortable quiet fell over you. Distant sounds of rustling leaves, the city slowly beginning to wake in the late morning. Faint songbirds in trees were chirping and singing. And yet no song would compare to the sounds Azriel naturally made.
âYou know,â you began quietly, like you were sharing a secret. You couldn't dare to look away from him. âFor a shadowsinger all dark and broodyââ
âI donât brood,â he interjected indignantly, disbelieving even.
âYou do sometimes, my love,â you replied just as plainly as fingers danced up his skin to weave into his hair. Thick, dark, a little outgrown from his time away and ruffled with sleep, yet beautifully splayed like the solar prominences you read about in one of the Day Court library books ages ago.
âAs I was saying, for someone of dark and shadows, you seem to be the sunâs favorite.â You said like it was obvious. To you, itâd always been.
To Azriel, it wasn't. Youâd always thought about the comparison, sure, but youâd never said it aloud. Azriel blinked at you twice, searching your gaze with his sun-dappled one.
âWhat do you mean?â he breathed.
âWell, for startersâand the most obvious, in my opinionâyour skin. You're naturally tanned, but when you really spend some time outside, especially during the warmer days, you tan really nicely. I'm a little jealous if I'm honest,â you mused lightly. Fingers idly scratched his scalp, slow and light. âAnd your eyes are practically the sun itself. Hazelâas far as natural eye colors goâis literally the closest to sunshine. Thatâs even more unfair.â
Azriel held his breath as you continued, both listening to your every word like it was gospel and reeling from the weight it carried.
âThen thereâs the less obvious ones, like how you make me feel warm all the time. Well, you just run warm all the time, so that's not hard, but inside too. And how your bedhead looks like solar flares and prominences but in a cute way. Your freckles come out too, when you get enough sunâwant to kiss all of âem,â you added quietly like a note to yourself to do later.
He huffed a laugh, something between disbelief and growing affection that was pressing out from inside his chest. âYouâve really thought about this, huh? And should I be offended about the bedhead observation?â he replied, a dark brow lifting.
Your grin grew with a small laugh, eyes closed for a few seconds as he kissed your forehead. It was a habit youâd barely realized and one Azriel had loved for decades.
âNo, you shouldnât. I quite like the longer hair on you, actually.â
âMm. So you say,â he murmured as he pulled back to look at you.
âIâm just calling it how I see it, Az. You could be the sunâs son and Iâd believe it,â you said, matter-of-factly, a bare-shoulder shrugging. He huffed a laugh, arms tightened a fraction around you to pull you closer. One of his hands rested on the small of your back, the other now cruising up your spine and into your hair. He played with the messy locks, gently brushing them away whether they were in your way or not.
He huffed a laugh, gaze trailing over your face again. "I wonder what it's like to be in your mind for a day," he mused, subtly deflecting away from the heavy affection and weight your comparison carried. It wasn't that he disliked it; the opposite really. But Azriel was still getting used to how easily you shared your affections. Five decades with you were nothing compared to his nearly six centuries of living. Of fighting and self preservation just for survival.
Some days he fears you were never real.
âI think youâd be a little overwhelmed. Iâm a glad youâre not daemati. I'd rather you not see the sexy murals of you I have on the walls of my mind.â you teased, brushing a kiss to his jaw.
He scoffed, something between disbelief and amusement. âSexy murals? Really?â
It was your turn to scoff though, in mock offense. You pulled back from your kisses to look up at him. âAre you implying you donât have sexy murals of me in your mind? Not even a faded, questionably stained poster in the corner?â You teased in feigned offense.
You felt his laugh rumble through his chest pressed against yours. âFine, fine. I may have one or two.â He mused, kissing your brow. He started to slowly trail them down the side of your face, slow, warm, and sweet between his words. You may have called him the sun, but with how he wanted to remain in your orbit, heâd argue otherwise.
âThe muralâbecause I know youâre gonna askââ He began low and quiet. His voice had dipped to something warm, rich, and premonitory. ââis of you, just like this. Bare, in our bed, loving me the way I love you.â He muttered between kisses. His lips slowly climbed down your cheek, lingering on your jaw and sensitive underside.
âItâs you, tangled in our sheets,â he continued, leaving slow kisses all over the column of your neck. He smiled faintly as he felt your pulse skitter beneath his lips, the way your head craned to give him room. âYour hair everywhere like those solar prominences you were on about,â his teeth grazed your softness, and Azriel relished in the way your breath stuttered.
Azriel rolled you both over so he could hover over you. Sheets halfheartedly draped over his waist, wings stretching behind him to splay over the rest of the bed. Neither of you were religious, but in your half-lidded gaze, you couldâve mistaken him for a deity. Azriel considered you the only divinity heâd ever worship.
The air changed into something thicker. Not exactly tension but anticipation. A long-awaited yearning for two souls needing to be one again. Azriel kissed down your naked body, re-memorizing anything he was foolish enough to forget and adjusting the permanent mirror image of you embossed into his heart. For each kiss he left, your fingers skimmed over him. Whether it was his wings, his hair, or shoulders. The gates had opened, and you would get your fill.
âBeautiful.â He whispered against your thighs, laving at the plush skin with gentle nips. Your thighs flinched, threatening to clamp over his ears. âAzâŚâ You tried to warn for his teasing, though it only came out as a needy mewl. No amount of imagination and toys in the past month could replace him.
Any other instance, Azriel wouldâve teased you, would be amused. And sure, he was a little bit, but he was in the same boat. âI know, beloved.â He whispered between apologetic kisses as he moved north. He could smell your natural sweetness emitting from your core, the warmth calling to his soul. Or perhaps that was the unfiltered want flooding the bond from both of you.
Azriel already had to wait a month. There was no way heâd waste a second more.
His nose gently nudged your slit, warm tongue following. He was rewarded with a breathy moan from you. Azriel knew you loved that little bump on the bridge of his nose for less than innocent reasons and he made good show of it. He nudged it against your clit, letting you grind slow and deep.
He couldnât resist peering up, watching your face contort in pleasure. The way your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, eyes screwed shut and lips switching between parting or being bitten raw. Strong yet gentle hands curled around your thighs and hips, holding you securely as he tasted.
Azriel was precise, coordinated, and drunk on you. Your pleasure was his pleasure. He would live, stay, and die right there if he could.
He felt your fingers tug his hair (perhaps a little harsher than intended, but then again, after a month apart, he understood). He rewarded you with a long suck to your puffy clit and watched you keen. Your eyes snapped open, rolling back until they were half-lidded and only white. Your back arched off the bed, wanton moans echoing through the townhouse, loud in the way he knew it had been far too long. He rotated between sucking, making out, and licking your pussy like he was on deathâs door.
âAhâAz, Iâm notâIâfuckâIâm gonnaââ you babbled brokenly. Normally, you lasted longer, but youâve been a little out of practice. He hummed against your wet heat in acknowledgment, seemingly burying deeper to get you to fall into your pleasure. âOh fuck, oh fuck, AzâOh god!â Your moans crescendo, thighs shaking only to clamp around his head. Your heels dug into his back, unsure whether to get him away or keep him close. Your toes curled so hard, the arch of your foot cramped. Your strength was out of your control as the orgasm smothered you. Blood rushed in your ears, vision whiting out as you bowed over him, practically sitting up. Heat and buzzes swam in your nerves as Azriel drew out your pleasure.
You collapsed with a gasp, slightly dizzy and entirely dazed. Azriel watched you as he kissed your inner thighs. You were a vision no artist but him could capture. Breathless, satisfied, gorgeous beyond belief as sunlight retraced where his lips and hands had been.
Just like the mural in his mind.
He slowly climbed back to hover over you, gentle hands brushing hair away. He watched you come back down, dazed sparkling eyes slowly finding his.
You huffed a breathless laugh before melting into a soft hum as you tasted yourself. âMissed you too. And that. But you a little more.â You mused against his lips.
âLiar.â he whispered, nipping your nose playfully.
He pulled back just enough to really look at you. âYou may call me the sunâs favorite, but I think you are the sun itself.â He whispered, lightly tracing the outline of your features, hazel eyes flicking over you.
Your eyes closed, a lopsided smile tugging at your lips. âTrying to one-up me, are you?â You mumbled teasingly. Azrielâs laugh fanned across your cheeks. âNo. Just being honest.â He murmured as he dropped another kiss. âRest. Iâll clean you up and then breakfast, okay?â
You hummed softly in acknowledgment as you felt the mattress shift and familiar sounds of him moving about.
The house was finally felt like home again.
A/N: I need him so bad, it's terminal I fear. Also, requests are open so please send some in!!
Š starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.
Three times you have Clark a scandalous Polaroid at inappropriate times
Pairing(s): David Corenswet!Clark Kent x Reader
Contains: suggestive themes
Summary: three separate times during your relationship with Clark you give him photos of yourself. You like seeing him so flustered.
WC: ~2.5k
Incident #1: Clarkâs 30th birthday
Clark's thirtieth was celebrated in the most Clark way. Simple, fun, and with the people he loved most. Martha and John came into town. Youâd invited Lois, Jimmy, and Cat came in all for a nice dinner at one of Clarkâs favorite restaurants.
It was a lovely evening, and seeing the smile on his face all night made it all worth it.
You had been with Clark for just over a year, incredibly loved by his friends and his parents even more. Clark would joke that you're replacing him sometimes, to which youâd kiss that pout away.
"Thank you again for this,â he said it low enough for you to hear. Your gaze dragged away from Jimmy, who was retelling some elaborate story (which you were sure was embellished). Your heart and gaze softened, watching the warm fairy lights strung across the ceiling sparkle warmly across his features.
"Of course. You deserve it, honey.â You replied just as softly as your hand gently slipped into his. His smile grew, dimples peeking out and making your heart flutter again. It was funny how he could still make you feel like it was day one.
Clark kissed your cheek gently, and just as he went to return his attention to the others, your spark of mischief flared up. A gentle squeeze of his hand had his attention returning again. He searched for your gaze once before dropping down to the envelope youâd drawn out.
He gave you a pointed look. Youâd already given him his birthday gift this morning. "Sunshine, I thought we agreed on only one gift.â
You shrugged as if you weren't a spider waiting for her unsuspecting prey to fall into her web.
Your prey just happened to be a 6â4â farm boy hunk.
âI know. Technically, this isnât a gift. I forgot to take the card out of my purse to include your gift this morning. So, I thought to just give it now.â You explained softly and innocently. And poor, unsuspecting, in-love Clark believed you.
Trap: laid and set.
He smiled, something between reprimanding and ultimately grateful. He squeezed your hand gently. âThank you.â He murmured as he took the envelope.
You watch him open it from the corner of your eye, taking a sip of your drink to stop yourself from giving yourself away.
Clark opened the envelope, huffing a laugh at the dry humor and cheesy cover of a pug with googly eyes and a crooked party hat.
However, when he opened the card, his smile quickly fell in exchange for wide eyes and a tomato-red flush from his cheeks to his hairline. He practically clapped the card shut to his chest as if it held the worldâs most guarded secret.
An amused smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you glanced between his blushing face and the card.
âWell?â You hummed softly, turning in your chair to face him fully. Your smile grew as he looked between you, the card, and the others.
âO-oh, IâwellâŚgollyâŚ" he stammered, daring another peek at the cardâs contents.
Yes, it was a birthday card with a handwritten message from you inside. However, the little pocket meant to hold cash held a scandalous photo of you.
The pose and setting were innocent. You were lying in your unmade bed, hair fanned out under you as you looked at the camera. Only your body from your shins to your nose was in frame. Your smile was something wicked. Not exactly a big grin but still knowing and still salacious, as if you could already see Clarkâs reaction to such a photo. The photo was captured right as the tip of your tongue ran over the point of your canine.
Like you were preparing to devour your lover alive since then.
You looked like heaven to Clark, and the only reason it made him blush beet red was your state of dress. Or undress, rather. You were in nothing but a burgundy lingerie set. A delicate and sexy combination of lace and silk Clark would do anything to be in the place of.
One of your brows rose, a satisfied smile gracing your lips as you watched him swallow thickly. He was careful to angle the card and its contents away from Martha, sitting on his other side.
"YouâŚyou lookâŚâ he muttered, not finding the right words. He shook his head in disbelief, scanning the Polaroid repeatedly. You had no doubt he was engraving it into his mind.
You laughed softly, patting his thigh below the table. His thigh tensed for a moment; he was wound up already. "Take your time, big guy.â You teased before your voice dropped just above a whisper, which only his super-hearing would catch. "Besides, we have dessert at home.â
You gave him a heated, knowing, and mischievous glance before looking back to the others as if you did not just turn his night upside down.
Clark only stared back at you; surely, you could hear his heart race. He dared a quick glance down at you and regretted it. One second of using x-ray vision showed him you were wearing that very burgundy set.
You had never seen him wrap up a dinner so fast.
Incident #2: When Clark was having a rough day at work
The Daily Planet thrived on chaos. From incessant, unsynchronized clacking keyboards to rushed footsteps and frustrated huffs preceding epiphanies, controlled chaos was the newspaperâs blood.
Clark was no exception.
Heâd been slumped in his cheap, too small office chair, typing and deleting cyclically for the better part of two hours. He had a lead, details, and a story all formulated in his head, yet when it came down to writing, no syntax seemed right.
He sighed for the third time before his head tipped back towards the ceiling. He considered talking to Jimmy or Lois, but both had left right after lunch to help the latter with her own article.
But you were free.
So, Clark glanced around the bullpen, spotting Perry talking to another journalist in his office. Occupied. Thatâs good. He shot you a quick text.
If I canât figure out how to start this article, I might fly straight into the moon :(
He was about to put his phone away, but it buzzed once with the unique pattern heâd assigned to your contact.
Noooo don't kys youâre too sexy :(((
He huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes.
I would think I'd get more sympathy from my fiancĂŠe.
What if I gave you something better than sympathy??
I canât tell if I should be scared or not. You worry me sometimes, honey.
Well, I WAS gonna say motivation but now I'm reconsidering >:(
Okay, okay, I'm sorry, sunshine. I'm desperate for any motivation at this point.
You didnât reply for a minute and then another. Perhaps you got distracted or someone came to the door.
But then the familiar buzz pattern returned.
He pressed the notification; the image preview was far too small on the lock screen.
Clark shouldâve known better. Maybe his mistake was letting his guard down a little too much around you sometimes. Or maybe he was grateful. He still wasnât sure.
There you were.
A Polaroid of you was recaptured on your phone to send to him. It was you lying in your shared bedâon Clarkâs side of the bedâfront pressed against the sheets, your head resting on folded arms. Your engagement ring shimmered brightly against your skin from the camera flash. Your legs were bent at the knee, kicked up behind you, and ankles crossed. You peered up through your lashes towards the camera, towards his soul on the other side. He could barely make out the baby blue lace barely covering your ass behind your shoulder. And its top half was missing entirely.
No straps on your shoulders, no lace cupping your breasts even against the sheets.
âGood golly.â Clark breathed, rooted in his chair and frozen. Only his eyes could move over the screen.
HoneyâŚyou canât just send that.
Clarkâs fingers were trembling as he typed, his brain utter mush.
Why not?? I thought itâd be a little motivation?
My love, my sunshine, my future wife. I love you so much and I love this photo of you, but the wrongâŚClark is being motivated right now.
You giggled to yourself back at home, knowing full well you put him in a hard spot. Literally.
Do you want me to call so you can get Clark junior sorted? Iâd be happy to help ;)
You're not helping!! :(
âŚyou do look very beautiful. Golly I still canât believe Iâm gonna get to marry you one day and I get you all to myself forever.
Aww Clark <33 I love you.
Now finish up before you get in trouble. Then when you come home, Iâll help you relax, okay?
Clark sighed, glancing up as he heard Perry leave his office. Times up.
I love you too and you better. Youâve left me in a very tight spot.
Oh, I bet ;)
Clark blushed further at your innuendo and put his phone away. For better or worse, your motivation had worked, as the words seemed to come flying across his screen. The quicker he turned in his article, the sooner he could get home to you.
Incident #3: The anniversary
It had been just over a year since you and Clark got married. A blissfully wonderful year and today marked the first anniversary.
âI'm home, honey!â He called out as he shuffled into your shared apartment. Clark felt awful he couldnât get the day off. It was your first wedding anniversary, after all. Hopefully, the flowers he picked up would be an apology enough.
âKitchen!â You called out, glancing over your shoulder as you heard him shuffle down the little hallway.
Even after years together, your heart grew when seeing Clark. You couldnât help but softly laugh, wiping your hands on a dishtowel as you turned to face him. "Oh, honey," you cooed, gently taking the flowersâa large bouquet of your favorites. "These are beautiful.â
He wrapped an arm around your waist, kissing the top of your head while being mindful not to crush the flowers between you. "I feel awful I couldn't get today off. Thought I'd get you something to make you feel special," he murmured.
He watched your face soften, moving away enough to set the bouquet aside. "Honey, I know you tried your best, and itâs not your fault our anniversary fell on a weekday. But that also doesnât mean we still canât celebrate,â you hummed softly.
Clark was smart. Clark was observant. And he also knows the look on your face can only mean scheming. "Sunshine," he drawled suspiciously.
But you didnât give him a chance. Only a quick kiss to his jaw, and you were slipping past him to head off into your bedroom. "Stay right there!â You called out from somewhere in there.
Clark blinked towards the doorway where youâd just left and returned from, this time with a neatly wrapped box and a smug feline smile.
Under fluorescent kitchen lights on linoleum tiles, you handed him said box.
"Happy anniversary,â was all you offered as he gently took the box in exchange for a kiss.
Clark could've sworn your smile grew as he opened the box, but that could've easily been your excitement.
The ribbon was untied, and the lid was set beside your flowers on the countertop.
Inside lay a bookâa photo album, he deduced by the side. Sleek, black, and locked with a tiny heart-shaped padlock. It was unassuming otherwise, but one thing he came to learn about you: never underestimate you.
"Oh⌠golly. Thank you, sunshine," he breathed, running his hand over the cover as he took it out of the box. "But itâs locked.â
You huffed a laugh at your husband. "Yes, it is, and you already have the key for it. You've had it in your possession for a while," you mused.
Clark's brows furrowed, glancing between you and the book as he thought. And when it clicked, his eyes widened.
He did have it for a while. A year, to be exact.
Somewhere between watching you dance with your friends hours into the wedding reception and him nursing a drink (that wasnât doing anything for him) off to the side, your maid of honor had approached him with a self-satisfied smile and a tiny envelope. No words were exchanged; he wasnât given the chance to. Only a tiny key.
It had been a year since, and you had made no mention or hint of it. So he added it to his key ring for safekeeping. And forgotten about it.
"You little minx," he finally breathed, your grin growing. He peppered kisses on your face, practically having to tear himself away to fetch his keys heâd hooked by the door.
Your laugh danced with the jingle of his shuffling keys as he found the tiny one from a year ago between his apartment key and a cute little Superman keychain you got for him years ago.
Clark was not prepared when he finally turned the cover.
"Oh! Oh golly⌠honey..." he stammered, breath catching and a hot flush blooming under his skin from head to toe.
Page upon slowly turned page was filled with you. All of you sensually posed, some in black and white, others in color. All had satin and lace.
You'd done a boudoir shoot, and not only that, but youâd planned this out at least a year in advance.
Clark has fought beasts, aliens, intergalactic monsters, and arch-nemeses. Yet none of them had made him this weak.
He couldn't look away, couldnât stop turning each page. Photo upon photo of artâof you.
A mix of editorials and Polaroids at different poses and angles.
And when he spotted a familiar pair, his blood ran hot, and his pants got tighter.
The one with you in the burgundy set from his birthday a few years ago. The baby blue set youâd sent on a whim over a year ago.
âDo you like it?â You asked softly, glancing at him and the photos.
You blinked up at me, and God, you could've buckled then and there. His cheeks flushed, blue eyes wide, and pupils blown out. Pretty lips parted and chest moving a little quicker than a few minutes ago.
It was barely a blink. One moment you were looking at him; the next he scooped you up and moved to the bedroom with purpose.
"Golly, sunshine, y-youâre going toâgosh, youâre going to kill me," he groaned. His hands roamed your body like he couldn't get enough yet hovered like he was holding himself back.
Your own roamed over his torso, skimming up over his shoulders and tangling into his hair. Your nails scratched his scalp lightly, your pride swelling as he whimpered. Clark's forehead dropped to the crown of your head. His fingers flexed against your hips despite his resistance.
Clark walked you backward until your legs hit the bed, and you were both falling.
It was like a tipping point.
His lips found yours halfway, two pairs of hands roaming the others like theyâd melt away. Little gasps, moans, and slow-building pleasure filled the room.
Your first wedding anniversary may not have been typical, but you only needed Clark.
And you had Clark all night.
A/n: not loving the ending soz. Iâll be back with better stuff trust.
Š starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.
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"It's an introductory pottery class for kids. I made the mistake of mentioning I know you once and, well, they've been asking when you'll show up," Feyre said lightly in passing during dinner one night. It wasn't flashy or pleading, just a simple request.
Cassian chuckled and nodded, half glass of wine set back down. âSure, I'll stop by to see the little squirts. Plus, I haven't stopped by the studio in a while,â he added lightly, with a grin.
Now, a few days later, he landed on the cobblestone street across from the studio. A few passing faces gave him smiles and greetings. The facade was clean and bright, with two tall windows flanking the propped-open front door and flooding the interior with spring air and sunlight. The afternoon air was warm yet breezy, stirring the paper stack in the far corner of the studio. The faint smell of paint and clay was grounding, carried on the breeze on its way out. Laughter paired with little voices and smaller feet shuffled in.
Cassian followed a father and young girl, tucking his wings tight.
âYou made it!â Feyre greeted, wiping hands on an apron that had certainly seen better days.
âWouldn't miss it." He grinned.
âGood,â Feyre chuckled and began walking deeper into the studio. Cassian fell in step behind her, giving small waves and bigger grins to the kids settling in their seats. Tables and canvas easels were moved aside to accommodate a semicircle of pottery wheels and one in front and center. Most stools were filled with a small bodies, either chatting with a neighbor or curiously investigating the machine without actually touching it.
âTodayâs an introductory pottery class like i mentioned at dinner and if you want we canâoh! Youâre here!â Cassian dragged his gaze away from a pair of boys he waved at and followed Feyre.
There, across the room, tying one of the studio-stained aprons around your waist, was you. For a breath, time slowed for Cassian, and the sunlight pouring through the windows glowed brighter, like it was holding its breath to shine a little brighter for you.
Feyre moved in his periphery, and Cassian blinked, the sun breathing and time moving again.
âHey,â you greeted Feyre with a smile. âMy plans didn't go through, so I thought I'd come help today instead. I hope that's alright,â you added almost apologetically.
Feyre waved dismissively. âOf course it is. Besides, youâre our best ceramicist, and the kids love you. I also asked this one to come in today, since the kids have been asking for a few weeks.â She glanced up at him briefly and gestured to you both. Cassian realized he was the âthis oneâ in question. âCassian, Y/N. Y/N, Cassian.â
Cassian was frozen for a heartbeat. He made an effort not to stare or gawk. He'd seen beauty of all kinds, colors, shapes, and sizes. He was an avid appreciator of it in the form of a body, but you were a kind he hadnât come across often.
You, with your hair tied back, save for a few stubbornly loose pieces around your face. Your eyes were bright in a way that put the stars this court was known for to shame. Your smile was otherworldly. Your voice was calm and smooth like honey-coated marble, wrapping around his spine and melting into the gaps between.
âHi, itâs nice to meet you,â you replied, offering a hand.
Cassianâs larger hand engulfed your smaller, albeit colder, one. âLikewise,â he breathed.
He watched your gaze meet Feyreâs again with a soft smile. âI'll finish setting up, and then we can start?â
Feyre nodded and watched you go prepare your station at the front. âWhy donât we get set up? You can take any of the empty spots with the kids.â
Cassian tore his gaze away from you where you gathered supplies in the corner, and found an empty spot between two girls. They blinked at him owlishly. Cassian tucked his wings tighter as he greeted them both, trying to make himself appear friendly and nonthreatening.
He was in the middle of answering one of there questions about what clouds felt like when he watched you take your spot at the center pottery wheel. âCan everyone please put a bubble in their mouth for me?â you asked the class, sleeves rolled up to your elbows and a finger to your lips and cheeks puffed up. Cassian watched the kids settle down and mimic your bubble in their mouths. he was half tempted to copy for his own amusement (and maybe yours), the other half because of how your teacher voice subconsciously compelled him to for a moment.
You slipped into your teacher's role so easily, Cassian found, with your voice loud and clear, and your tone was adjusted to keep the students engaged. It was so different from your introduction. âThank you, everyone. Today weâre going to be trying pottery. But before we start, we have a special guest,â you added, your gaze finally landing on Cassian with a small smile and an encouraging nod. âGuest, would you please introduce yourself?â
Cassian grinned, feeling ten pairs of eyes suddenly on him. He waved gently as he looked aroundthe class. âHello, everyone. I'm Cassian. I'm going to learn pottery with you all.â
Soft, excited gasps and wide eyes flit through the little crowd, some whispering to their friends. A little boy with blueish skin and even big, blue eyes and a missing tooth raised his hand so fast he nearly fell off the stool. He was precariously kneeling to get a better look at the general, to which you gently chided him to sit correctly before he fell.
"Um, do youâwhenâwhen you uh, fight bad guys, how uhâŚhow do you not get hurt?â
He huffed a laugh before glancing at you for permission.
âWell, I trained really hard for a long, long time. I still train with my brotherâs but sometimes i still get hurt. I wish i could never not get hurt. That would make things a whole lot easier, now wouldnât it?â he added lightly, earning scattered giggles.
He couldn't help but glance at you briefly as if he wanted your approval too. It was strange feeling; heâd only just met you. You allowed three more questions from other students before bringing their attention back to the class.
Cassian watched you just as intently as the students. He could tell they respected you and were excited about the class to learn. You asked them questions; theyâd answer with excited raised hands and stars in their eyes. They followed your instructions with rapt attention and excitement. It was hard for him not to get sucked in either. From how to wedge the clay to centering and pulling. He felt that familiar tug of attraction. Of course, he found you physically attractive, but this was different; your skill was attractive. You have a talent, the way wet clay coats your hands as you pinch and pull with such even pressure. The careful balance of delicacy and strength was mesmerizing.
Cassianâs hands had so seldom been used for care and precision unless there was a bloodied blade and a dead body or two involved. His size was used for brute strength and even brutal techniques meant to end, not create. Pottery was out of his depth, but he told Feyre heâd come for todayâs class. And watching you practice your craft, teaching simultaneously was enthralling.
And then your ring and middle fingers slowly curled down the center of your clay, and Cassianâs mind went very filthy very quickly.
Blood rushed to his ears and neck. His gaze tore away as he tried to follow your demonstration on his own.
He really shouldnât feel so hot. You were teaching a techniqueâwelling, he thinks, but the blood rushing in his head made it hard to remember. All he could focus on was your fingers curling, murky water displacing from the hole and spilling over the slick clay walls.
It took several deep breaths and morbid thoughts to focus on his own clay before his blood flooded elsewhere. There were children around, for Cauldronâs sake! Every so often heâd peek up through thick lashes as he caught you helping other students, your demonstration paused.
For better or for worse, Cassian was not used to walking such a fine line of delicacy and strength. Usually it was just one side of the fenceâthe brute strength. It was familiar. What heâd been trained for. So the focus it took to pull a simple cylinder was a challenge but one he didnât mind. It was a little frustrating and more mentally demanding than he assumed, but it was better than thinking about what other wet, squelching area your two fingers could curl intoâ
"Cauldron boil me,â he muttered under his breath.
âTrouble?â
His head snapped up to where you stood across from him. Your sudden presence took him off guard, and as if the Mother were punishing him for such lewd thoughts about you, his wet clay caved in from the uneven pressure and detached from the center until it landed inside the pan.
"Oh dear,â you muttered, âI didnât mean to startle you.â
Cassian huffed a laugh, a slip-coated hand gently waving dismissively. âDonât worry about it. Guess I was just really focused.â
Your smile softened, the worried curve of your brow smoothing again. "You were doing really well. WellâŚat least before it went flying.â
Cassian grinned at you, charming yet mischievous. âHad a real good teacher.â
You huffed a laugh, raising your brow. âIâd hope so. Otherwise, Iâd have to reevaluate a few things about myself. Namely, how I still have my job,â you mused.
Cassian chuckled, letting you get pulled away by another student.
â ⢠â
It was late afternoon when the class was wrapping up. Although he truly tried his best, the cylinder he managed to make was short and thick-walled, he was proud of it anyway.
He gave high-fives or fist bumps to the kids as they left, and before long it was just him, you and Feyre. He didn't know his way around the studio like you both, but he helped clean up.
âI'll lock up,â you reassured Feyre before she winnowed away. That left just you both.
Now, Cassian had considered his options. He could a) give polite goodbyes and leave or b) find some excuse to hang around a bit longer to talk to you more, to learn a little more about you, but he also didn't want to impose. He did meet you today.
âThank you again for coming. The students were really happy,â you said gently as you put away the last of the tools in labeled buckets.
Cassian blinked out of his thoughts, grinning. âItâs nothing. Besides, I couldnât disappoint them.â
Your smile grew as you dried your hands and finally exchanged the stained studio apron for your things. He followed you out, watching you lock up the studio and how the sun settled on you. Your eyes finally met his, bright and sparkling. A mix of peach and rose prickled under your skin at the sudden eye contact. Cassianâs smile grows, cataloging how your face holds the blush and already wondering how he can get you to do it again.
âShould I expect you for the next class?â you found yourself asking as you adjusted your bag to your shoulder.
âIâll come to any class you want me to sweetheart.â
Your blush deepens, traveling up your ears and down your neck. âOh,â you mutter, suddenly too warm up for the spring sun. Cassian relishes it and that smug smile lets you know full well.
âIn that case,â you begin, steeling your flustered nerves and holding his gaze. A smirk tugs at your lips this time, voice dipping low and smooth. âI also offer private lessons, in case you're interested,â you add.
Now it was his turn to feel a little flustered and yours to smile in satisfaction. You donât give him the chance to respond, only a brief goodbye as you turn heel and around the corner to the gods know where.
âWell, fuck me,â Cassian huffs out with a grin.
A/N: lowkey cheeks. Thank you for all the love and support!! I appreciate every single one of you!! <3
All work is subject to copyright. Š starspicewrites 2026. All rights reserved. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to Large Language Models (LLMs) and/or AI of any kind, including chatbots. No AI was used in the making of this work.
Summary: Eris finds you somewhere you're not supposed to be. Then he decides to keep you around. Then your heart starts to betray you.
WC: 2.15k
Part 2
You shouldnât be here.
Neither should he.
Correction. He didnât want to be.
You more so. He at least had the freedom as prince to slink about where, when, and how he pleased. The viper pit disguised as a ballroom was meant for nobles, for silky promises falling from silkier lips.
So whyâhowâwere you here?
Eris didnât know whether to be impressed, appalled, or an unforeseen third option as to how you got here and in one piece.
The evening began as per usual. Dressed in courtly finest, tailored to an inch of his life, and the usual mask of sly calculation even tighter. He observed, noting everything worth his time either now or in the future. Eris would always find the right time to pull a loose thread if he knew it could benefit him.
His usual perusal of tonightâs occupants was routine at this point. If he were any younger, any less trained to survive the gilded prison called the Autumn Court, he wouldâve missed it.
Peeking from a terrace archway on the the third floor and shrubbery, was you. Eris's gaze lingered for a second, only looking away when he briefly considered it a hallucination. But there you were again, a faint movement in the foliage with leaves and shadows as cover.
This was the most interesting thing to happen all night, and Eris did love unexpected entertainment.
He moved through the crowd, indifferent, plucking a goblet from a passing server. He didnât nod or smile in response to what he received. He remained unruffled, like it was all a bore, which, to be fair, it was.
As soon as he ducked into the staircase leading up, he winnowed to the terrace heâd spotted you at and ended up right behind you.
His grin only grew at the sight. You were dressed unremarkably and crouched just past the doorframe. You who seemed to be intentlyâŚsketching something?
"Your attempt at inconspicuousness needs some work," he said simply, taking a sip from his wine, like heâd it was you whoâd walked in on the occupied terrace.
Your breath hitched, head whipping back so fast your neck nearly strained and your braid almost smacked your face. Your wide eyes met his.
âIâI am so sorryâI wasâI swear I wasn'tâ"
"Weren't what? Plotting?" Eris mused, a brow lifting. He watched you quickly stand, clutching a book to your chest. "If youâre a spy, youâre a bad one.â
You blinked, shaking your head quickly. "N-no, I'm not, I swear! IâŚI was just observing. Studying, actually. I promise. I was just leaving.â You hurried out, bowing at the waist to turn and leave only to stop short. âDeepest apologies, my lord.â
Eris watched with intrigued amusement as you stepped and retracted several times. You were hesitating.
If you go back in there, youâd get caught for sure. You knew it, and he knew you knew it.
"Prove it then," he called out as you hesitated a third time. Your gaze met his again, searching across the balcony. For a moment neither of you moved. Neither did the wind, as if time really did cease.
"IâŚpardon, my lord?â you blinked, fingers tightening around your book.
"You heard me. You claim you were studying, so show me. Surely youâd know how it would look otherwise.â
Your gaze flickered between his, and he only held steady. You swallowed thickly as he leaned back against the stone railing, completely unbothered for someone who found a trespasser in his home.
You knew your options were limited: comply or look suspicious and be charged with trespassing. At the bare minimum. You knew which was the lesser poison.
You extended the book towards him. simple black leather, worn at the corners, freckled with paint.
He watches you swallow again as he takes the book, setting his goblet aside atop the stone.
Eris was bred and built to suspect everything, to constantly stay ten steps ahead. You may not claim to be a spy, but he knew deceit and lies thrived in Autumn; dying leaves displaying beauty and hiding rot.
So when the cover cracked open, Eris was still suspicious. but also interested underneathâmore than he should be. Yes, you claimed to be studying, though he wouldnât have guessed, people.
You were studying people, movements, and anatomy.
Each page was filled with charcoal or graphite streaks and smudges. Patchworks of anatomical close-ups, from hands, lips, and eyes, all with different expressions, shapes, and angles. Another page filled messilyâsketches in the rawest senseâwith bodies. Some whole, some portions, some clothed, and other naked. Yet, all detailed. It was controlled chaos. There was a layer of intricacy from the most minimal scribbles.
Eris scanned the pages, occasionally glancing up at you. You watched as he did, fidgeting with your linen dress.
"You're an artist then?â It was rhetorical, but questioning was instinct.
"IâŚyes, I suppose. Aspiring, really," you began carefully, cheeks warming when he huffed a nervous laugh, lips tugging in the corner.
"Only an aspiring artist would be foolish enough to trespass here.â He replied low and smooth as he paused to scan over a full page sketch. The background was vague, like how itâd appear in a dream, but the subjects were clear. The way pairs danced, skirts and hair flaring in spins and turns all frozen in time, in gravity. The abstract gestures of a smile or arms bent above their heads as they danced happily. It wasnât the ballroom; it was far to open and lacking. Must be the square as confirmed by the Autumn Equinox date scrawled in the lower right corner.
âI deeply apologize, my lord. I sincerely apologize if I've offended you or His Lordship. I only meant to stay long enough to study a bit and then leave without being in the way or noticed. Iâ" you rambled, your heart skittering only to drop as he held up his free hand. You shut your mouth with a clack of your teeth, nervously watching him as he continued to study your drawings.
"Aspiring, yes?â he muttered, glancing through his lashes with a raised brow as you didnât reply for a few seconds.
"Iâyes! Yes, I am." you stammered, blinking and catching up to his question.
He made a noncommittal noise, thumbing through the pages until he landed on the last sketches. It was from tonightâright nowâgiven how it was half complete. True to the drawings preceding it, youâd captured detail and movement from your hiding spot. People drinking, mingling, dancingâ
Him.
Interesting.
The overall study was half-finished, and yet he found himself complete amongst your crowd. Somehow with distance, graphite, and a little charcoal, you managed to catch his expression and the detail of his finery.
His gaze lingered, yet his mind worked. He looked at you again, examiningâconsideringâfor a moment. The sketchbook clapped shut in his hand, and you tried and failed to suppress a startle. The familiar Vanserra smirk appeared.
âYouâll be working for me from now on.â
You blinked at him slowly, owlishly, as the grip on the sketchbook slackened momentarily. "Huh?!"
"I'm not in the business to repeat myself."
You stammered, failing to find the right words or your mental footing as you clutched the book to your chest. You were sure heâd burn you where you stood for trespassing. As if he read your thoughtsâ
âWhile I should try you for trespassing, I find your talents ratherâŚuseful to me. At the very least, entertaining," he began, swirling his wine thrice. "You'll find things get quite mind-numbing around here after a few hundred years of monotony.â
You were frozen to the stone, staring at him as your mind reeled. Eris found great amusement from that look on your face.
âNoon. Tomorrow. Donât be late.â was all you got as he stepped past you and back inside.
â ⢠â
You didnât know what you were expecting. Shackles and torture if you were honest. You may have been sober doing it, but sneaking into the Forest House was either the stupidest or luckiest idea you had. The jury was still out for that one.
But alas, you would make it last as long as you could.
Now, hours since your timely arrival, you trailed behind Eris as he walked through the surrounding forest with three of his smokehounds. He didnât give you any instructions. In fact, he said little to nothing to you after fetching you from the gates, and that left you walking a tightrope over a bottomless pit.
You observed him, the dogs, and the forest carefully for a long while. Your bag of drawing supplies bounced on your hip, softly clattering inside in rhythm with the crunch of leaves under boots and paws. A pencil twirled in your fingers as you worried the inside of your cheeks. It felt like you used a lifetimeâs worth of luck to have this be the outcome rather than a trial.
After debating for the past half hour and getting annoyed at yourself for hesitating for so long, you bit the bullet.
You watched him walk ahead, glancing between him and the fresh sketch blooming across a new page in your sketchbook. Your hand swished across the page, the pencil arcing like an extension of your wrist, scratching quietly. The rough outline of his form, the fabric shifting with each step or turn, and how his hair stirred with wind and movement.
Eris glanced briefly over his shoulder at the new and delicate sounds from you, the movement unnoticed in your periphery during your focus. He smirked to himself as he faced forward again.
Thatâs how it went.
Once a week, youâd follow him around for an afternoon and draw. Sometimes itâd be walks in the forest. other days were spent in his study as he worked. The conversation was little, but the silence wasnât awkward. Youâd follow, draw for a while, get paid handsomely and go home.
You also found a new doorway in your mind, like a wall finally collapsing and opening to a new world. Neither your tool nor your hand could move fast enough as they worked in tandem to sketch him. Page after page began to become Eris alone. By the third week, your artistâs block had dissolved, and by the seventh, you found your muse.Â
Youâd caught yourself sketching details of him on your own time, long after youâd left his presence. From his hand curling around a quill to strong, pale fingers buried in smoky fur to full candid portraits of him.Â
There was a page dedicated to just his eyes and all the subtle expressions theyâd make.Â
Deep at night with nothing but a handful of faelights and restlessness, you found yourself streaking paint across a canvas. Graphite or charcoal could never capture color. From the rich copper of his hair to the muted gold of his eyes. Slow where it mattered, and rushed where it didn't, your fingers danced with brushes until the first rays of dawn kissed the canvas. Only then did you step back to finally see your work. Â
A portrait yet not like the clean, sharply elegant ones lining halls of the Forest House. This was raw, capturing his essence.
The eyes you painted glinted back at you, sunlight winking off wet paint. His lipsâat first glanceâappeared straight. The image of indifference, of the anger and violence begotten by living under Baron. But a few steps closer showed the slightest lift at the corner. Â
Your fingers ghosted over the paint streaks along his strong jaw, his nose, sharp brows, and planes of freckled cheeks.Â
You managed to capture his likeness, and yet it was dull compared to the vision in your mind.
So, you sighed, leaving the canvas to dry on the easel to go bathe and finally sleep.
The impromptu painting of him stayed tucked away in your apartment between other paused artworks. As you sank into the warm water, you knew Eris couldâwouldânever see it. It was too raw, too free for someone of his station. His personality.
Too raw for your own heart.
You may not have grown up directly under Baronâs thumb the way Eris had, but as a member of the court, there was indirect cruelty you were forced to toughen under.
Feelings of softness were no different than turning belly up. A bleeding heart held in anotherâs hands was a target between your eyes. Safety was a hoax dressed like a knight and loved the dragon it was destined to slay.
So you buried the blooming deep under bones, blood, and drawings. You crushed it under your boot like the very leaves you stepped on as you followed Eris through the forest yet again.
Eris had become your muse and to remain nothing more, your demise too.
a/n: đŤŁ
Š starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.
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