Summary: Y/n learns new information that strains her relationship with Cassian and Azriel. While avoiding the others, she explores her powers further and slowly reconnects with Azriel.
Word Count: 3.2K.
“I don’t think I can train with you girls any longer,” Y/n grunted.
“Didn’t take you for a quitter, Y/n,” Cassian grinned, watching the females suffering through his exercises.
“I am not. I just don’t want to become a Valkyrie. Our training was different,” she reminded, panting.
“Not up to the challenge?” He folded his arms across his chest, smirking. “We can always go back to one-on-one training.”
“Y/n, you can do this. Don’t let him win,” Gwyn cheered.
“When it comes to this much physical training, he can have the win,” Y/n complained but still held the pose.
Her lungs and muscles were on fire. The others might have learned some mind-stilling techniques to fall back on, but she had nothing. No breathing exercises. No meditative calm. Just instinct.
She closed her eyes and let ice spread from her hands, crawling down to her legs and locking them into place.
Cassian pointed at the frost creeping up around her. “Y/n, that’s cheating. No powers during training.”
“On a battlefield, I would absolutely use my powers,” she insisted.
“If you were hit with an ash arrow or faebane, you wouldn’t have any powers to use. Relying on them during training makes you dependent, and that’s not the point here.”
“And what is the point? Torture? Because that’s what this feels like,” Y/n whined.
Cassian didn’t rise to the bait and shot her a look.
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes before pulling the ice back.
“Time,” he called. The females collapsed to the ground.
“That took forever,” Gwyn groaned.
Cassian looked at the heap of them and scoffed, clearly entertained. “Pathetic.”
Y/n couldn’t wait until the day she wiped that grin off his face.
The others fell into conversation, while Y/n stayed on her back, staring at the sky. The sun was shining, and it occurred to her that she hadn’t wielded her other power in a long time. She raised her arm and tried to summon lightning, certain nothing would happen, but to her surprise, clouds covered the sun and thunder rumbled across the sky before rain started pouring down. She rose to her feet in shock.
Nesta shoved wet hair out of her face. “What the hell, Y/n?”
“Maybe next time, a little warning,” Cassian added.
“Sorry,” she muttered, shrugging before closing her eyes again and reaching inside herself until the thunderstorm dissolved. When she opened her eyes, the sun was out again.
“Thank you,” Cassian said, already exchanging one of his “looks” with Nesta.
Y/n caught it and grimaced. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, not here.” She glanced between them, and Nesta’s face went red before she muttered something to Emerie.
As Gwyn and Emerie took their leave, Nesta and Cassian lingered. Y/n could tell something was wrong just from the set of her sister’s shoulders. She walked over in time to hear Nesta asking how long they had all known.
“What the hell is going on?” Y/n asked, stepping up beside her.
“Cassian and the others knew that the blades I worked on when he took me to the blacksmith are imbued with the Cauldron’s powers. They’re now a part of the Dread Trove. And apparently there was even a debate about whether to tell me or not,” Nesta informed her, face tight with fury.
“What the hell is wrong with you people? So, you might have not even told her about it?” Y/n’s temper snapped.
“Who. Voted. Against. Me?” Nesta enunciated.
“Rhys and Amren,” Cassian admitted quietly, unable to meet her eyes.
Nesta said nothing. She’d expected Rhys to vote against it, but Amren? They used to be friends.
She turned and walked away without a word. Y/n knew how much that hurt her even if Nesta refused to show it.
Cassian moved to follow, but Y/n caught his arm.
“Let her go. You’ve already done enough damage.” Y/n dropped his arm and stepped back, shaking her head in disappointment. “You lot think you’re entitled to do whatever the hell you want with no consequences, don’t you?”
“You know that’s not true.”
“No? Then tell me, when your mighty High Lord does something wrong, who holds him accountable? Who does he answer to, huh?”
“Us. If he were to do something wrong, we would hold him accountable. We’d stand against him.”
“See, that's the thing. You never think he’d do something wrong, and when he does, you’re all standing right behind him anyway. You all need to be put in your place. Centuries of unlimited power and not one of you has had to face a real consequence. It’s made you blind to everything outside your own circle. It shows.”
“And who’s going to do that? You?”
“If I have to. If any of you hurt Nesta, I will do whatever it takes to hurt you back, and I don’t care what it would cost me or if I have to sell my soul for it, so you better watch out,” Y/n threatened, holding his gaze before turning away, a thunderstorm following at her heels.
—
Azriel had returned to the House of Wind that night. He hadn’t been there that morning, and for once Y/n had been glad. Nesta and Cassian were nowhere to be found. She didn’t know what happened or where Nesta was, only that she’d made it down the ten thousand steps. Y/n was still furious with how the Inner Circle kept treating her sister, and she needed to do something about it.
Azriel was eating dinner when Y/n strode into the dining room, no greetings, no pleasantries, just demanding in a flat, cold tone, “I want you to take me to a blacksmith.”
Azriel sat his spoon calmly back on the table and looked up at her. “You’ve heard about what happened?”
“I was there when your General told Nesta how your friends debated whether she deserved to know about her own powers. That you all had to take a vote on it.” Y/n crossed her arms, anger crawling up her throat as she tried (and failed) to stay calm.
“You’re upset,” he observed calmly.
“Upset doesn’t even begin to describe it. So I need you to take me to a blacksmith to release all that tension.”
“We can train,” he offered. “That would help burn off some of your tension. I know why you want to go there, Y/n.”
“So, you refuse?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“It’s not a good idea,” he said carefully.
“You don’t trust me, just like they don't trust Nesta.” There was a hurt underneath the words that most people wouldn’t have caught, but not Azriel.
“That’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
“You’re not yourself right now,” he replied reluctantly.
“I’ve never been more myself.” She put her palms flat on the table and leaned down to his level. “If you won’t take me, I’ll find another way. And when I do, I won’t be coming back.”
“How about this? If you still want to go tomorrow, I’ll take you. But for tonight, please just calm down.” His eyes stayed on hers, pleading. There was something gentle in them, unexpected for a male built to intimidate. But with her, that look always came naturally.
If he hadn’t used that exact tone with that look in his eyes, if he’d said it any differently, she would’ve stubbornly refused and told him not to tell her what to do. But his reaction and steadiness throughout all of it made it hard to lash out at him.
She exhaled slowly. “Fine. I’m not changing my mind, though.”
“Alright.” He nodded once. “Now, are you going to sit and eat, or keep standing over me?”
Y/n loosened slightly, but didn’t sit yet. “Where are Nesta and the General?”
That was the question he’d hoped she wouldn’t ask. He’d known the question was coming, but still hoped. Once he’d told her, she’d be furious all over again, but he couldn’t lie to her either.
“Sit down first.”
“I’m not hungry,” she muttered flatly.
“Y/n, sit down. Please.” Azriel repeated, but his voice was quieter now. She recognized the seriousness in his tone and pulled out a chair.
“They’re not in Velaris.”
“Why?” she asked, immediately defensive.
“Nesta told Feyre something she shouldn’t have. For her safety it was best to get her out.”
“Feyre? Safety? What is going on, Shadowsinger?” A hint of frustration and far more confusion laced her tone.
Azriel took a deep breath. “I take it you don’t know about Feyre’s situation?”
“What situation? Stop talking in bits and pieces!” Her voice rose with frustration.
Azriel remained calm. “There’s a strong possibility Feyre won’t survive childbirth. The babe has wings.”
Y/n went very still. The anger drained out of her face and left something worse behind it. She was quiet for once. Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes but didn’t fall. Her sister might die, and nobody had thought to even tell her. Azriel had expected her to lash out, to scream at him or tear into his friends, but she just sat there in silence.
“Nesta told her today. Rhys was furious, so Cassian took her away to give him time to calm down,” he continued, but still nothing from her.
After a long moment, he spoke again. “Y/n, say something. Please.”
“What do you want me to say?” She turned to face him slowly.
“Something. Anything. Just don’t keep it all to yourself.” Azriel didn’t know exactly what he wanted from her, he just knew that silence wasn’t it. The Shadowsinger who preferred the quiet was now dreading every second of it.
“It appears that’s all you do here. I just told your General the same thing this morning and here I am, proven right again. You don’t care about anyone but yourselves. Your happy little Inner Circle. Not even Feyre, really. You just keep hiding things. Vital information from all of us.” She took a slow breath, composing herself before speaking again, her tone barely audible, hurt clear in her voice. “What have we done so wrong to deserve this treatment?”
“I’m sorry.” Azriel looked at her directly, the quiet devastation on her face hitting harder than any anger would have. Her pain broke his heart. “You had a right to know about your sister’s condition. But it wasn’t my call to make.”
“It never is.” She paused, collecting herself. “It’s funny how your High Lord is furious at Nesta for telling her sister information he should’ve told her the moment he found out. If Nesta hadn’t told Feyre, I would have. It’s never right to keep something from someone when it involves them or their health.”
“I know,” Azriel replied quietly, unable to meet her eyes anymore.
“Yet you said nothing.” She paused again before standing. “I’m tired of this place, Shadowsinger. It is suffocating.”
“I’ll talk to Rhys.”
“And tell him what exactly? He’s the reason for all of this.” She looked at him for a moment, then walked out.
Azriel stayed at the table, staring at the same spot on the floor for a long time, feeling helpless and defeated while his thoughts ate at him.
The next day, Y/n didn’t leave her room for breakfast, lunch, or anything else.
Eventually, Azriel knocked on her door. When she opened it, he asked if she still wanted to go to the blacksmith, eyes not quite reaching hers.
Whether it was a bad idea or not remained to be seen. All he knew was she needed to get out of the house, let out some steam, and she wasn’t going to train with him, not after what he’d told her last night.
When they arrived at the blacksmith's shop, the owner looked surprised to see Azriel there. It was usually Cassian who stopped by. Azriel rarely came to Illyria unless he had to, let alone visited its shops. The elderly male greeted him kindly and asked what he could do for him.
“I’d like you to show Lady Y/n how to forge a blade,” Azriel requested politely.
Y/n recoiled at the title but said nothing.
“I mean you no disrespect, Shadowsinger, but after last time, I don’t want her or her sister in my shop again.”
“I only need you to show me what you showed my sister. Just a small dagger. I’ll take it with me immediately afterward and we’ll pay double for it, please,” Y/n pleaded.
The blacksmith hesitated, but with a little persuasion from Azriel, he finally agreed. He walked her through it and she followed, while Azriel stood back and watched her channel every bit of her rage and pain into the work. He didn’t know what she planned to do with the blade and wasn’t sure he wanted to ask.
They waited while the blade cooled and in the meantime Y/n managed a conversation with the blacksmith, awkward at first, then easier as the conversation continued. He was different from most Illyrian males. Kind, respectful, even if there was still a trace of wariness in the way he looked at her.
Neither she nor Azriel spoke to each other the whole time.
Once the dagger was fully forged, the blacksmith didn’t reach for it. Y/n examined the blade herself before sliding it into the leather scabbard he offered. She didn’t wrap or conceal it, instead she belted it at her waist and wore it out of the shop.
She said nothing to Azriel on the way back. Didn’t ask him to keep it from the others. That was her test for him. She wanted to see whether he’d go to Rhys, or trust her with it.
For the next week she didn’t leave her room, didn’t train with Azriel, didn’t speak to him. She went to the library once to see Gwyn, if only to breathe for a little while. Gwyn asked about her powers and Y/n told her everything she knew. Then Gwyn suggested something that hadn’t occurred to her before: what if she could manipulate air or wind enough to lift herself off the ground?
Back in her room she tried. She failed, over and over, for days. She could barely control summoning a storm on command, let alone lift herself off the ground with the wind.
The night Nesta returned, Y/n managed to stay airborne for a few seconds before dropping back on the mattress. It was a process, and she was happy about it, but there was no one to tell. At least she had Shadow, who was watching her from the foot of the bed with the expression of someone who had witnessed something deeply undignified. She scooped him up and settled him on her chest, one hand moving slowly along his back. “I guess it’s just you and me, buddy. But you’re worth more than anyone.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head and fell asleep with him curled in her arms.
The next day she didn’t go to training, but once the others were done she finally went to Nesta's room. Her sister wasn’t back yet, but Y/n knew where she would be. At least things between her and Cassian were good again.
She sat on the corner of Nesta’s bed and waited. When Nesta stepped through the door, she halted at the sight of Y/n sitting there, clearly expecting to be confronted over Feyre. Instead, Y/n stood and pulled her into a hug.
Nesta reeked of sex and Y/n wanted to get the hell out of there, but first she needed to make sure her sister was alright.
“I’d ask if you were alright, but I can smell how well your night went.” Y/n stepped back after a moment.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Nesta started. “When I found out, we weren’t on speaking terms, and I forgot after–”
“It’s alright.” Y/n shook her head. “I’m not mad at you. If you’d told me, I would’ve gone straight to Feyre and ended up exactly where you did. Well, minus all the sex with the General.” She made a face at the thought. “I’ll see you around, Nes.”
“You didn’t come to training this morning,” Nesta said before she could leave.
“I’m done training with him. You two might be on good terms now, but I’m not, and it’s not just because of what happened the other day.” Y/n walked out without looking back.
—
“You’re needed in Hewn City,” Azriel said to Y/n as soon as she opened her bedroom door.
“And I’m just supposed to go when I’m told?”
“Nesta found the third Dread Trove. The Harp. We need you to ward it with her.” Azriel didn’t try to soften things. No preamble.
“Fine.” The truth was she only agreed because she hoped Feyre would be there. And she was, but so were Rhys and Cassian, and Y/n really did not want to see them. Not after everything that had happened. She didn’t speak a word to either of them the entire time.
After she and Nesta finished placing a ward around the Harp, Rhys thanked her. She didn’t acknowledge it and turned to Feyre instead.
“H– how are you feeling?” Y/n finally asked.
“I’m alright, Y/n.” A look of confusion crossed Feyre’s face.
“I heard about the baby.”
“I see.” Feyre nodded, searching for the right words. “Rhys and the others are still looking into it. But I’m alright. Really.”
Y/n was quiet for a moment. “You may come up to the house, if you want.”
Feyre’s expression shifted, somewhere between surprised and relieved. “I’d love that.” She put her hand over Y/n’s, smiling. “W– what about Elain?”
“No. Just you,” Y/n insisted firmly.
—
“What is it now, Shadowsinger?” Y/n opened the door before he’d finished knocking, already knowing who stood on the other side. He was the only one who visited her at this time of night.
“You haven’t been to training in a while,” Azriel replied in his usual calm tone.
“So? Maybe I’m done.” She crossed her arms defensively.
“What happened to defeating Cassian?” he asked, one brow raised and a subtle smirk tugging at his mouth, quietly challenging her.
“I don’t want to even look at him, let alone fight him,” she huffed.
“So you’re giving up?” he pressed lightly
“Maybe I finally am,” she answered dully.
“Are you still mad at me?” His voice dropped, more careful, like he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted the answer.
“Not necessarily.” She looked down at her nails, not meeting his eyes. The truth was she could never stay mad at him for more than a few days, no matter how hard she tried. And what happened wasn’t really his fault. He was loyal, so of course he hadn’t said anything Rhys told him to keep to himself.
“Come train with me then. I missed kicking your ass,” he teased, the smile not so subtle anymore.
She huffed in disbelief and slight amusement. “Haha, very funny.”
“My shadows miss you too. They told me if you don’t come up, they’ll just stay down here with you,” he tried with another approach.
“Ah, resorting to threats now, are they?” She met his eyes, and despite herself the corner of her mouth lifted.
“No, not threats. They just haven’t seen you for a while,”he murmured.
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated breath. “I’ll be up in a minute. If only to shut you up.”
Summary: Y/n shares an almost normal breakfast with Azriel, Cassian and Nesta. In Hewn City, Helion teaches them how ward the mask. Y/n uncovers what’s really going on between Nesta and Cassian.
A/N: Hey everyone! I know it’s been a long while… but I’m back.
My Master’s thesis completely took over my life for the past few months, but now I'm finally done and have some time again. I’ll try to update more regularly from now on.
Word Count: 2.9K.
Recap: A tense breakfast turns lighter with Cassian’s antics. Later, Azriel gives Y/n a kitten, revealing a softer side of her. During a heated sparring session, Y/n deliberately steps into his blade, injuring herself, prompting Azriel to end the training. By morning, she joins the Valkyries’ training, though not without a hint of jealousy.
“Where did you get that? Cassian asked, brows lifting as Y/n entered the dining room with Shadow tucked securely against her chest.
“He was a gift,” Y/n replied, sliding into the seat beside Nesta, one hand absentmindedly stroking the kitten’s soft fur.
Cassian noticed the difference immediately. She’d been lighter these past few days, quicker to smile, less sharp around the edges. He just hadn’t known why. But one look at the small creature curled contentedly against her made everything clear.
“And who might that gift be from?” Cassian’s gaze flicked between her and Azriel, who sat across the table, posture relaxed but attention unmistakably fixed on her.
Y/n parted her lips to answer, but Azriel spoke first. “I did. I found him alone on the street while doing my rotation through Velaris. Thought he could use some company.”
It was only half the truth. Yes, the kitten may have been from the streets, but Azriel had chosen him deliberately, picking him from a shelter.
“I see,” Cassian said, clearly trying and failing to hide his smile.
“What’s his name?” Nesta asked, leaning forward, curiosity softening her usual composure.
“Shadow,” Y/n answered, glancing down at him before looking back up. “Do you want to hold him?”
Cassian choked on his drink, coughing into his hand. “Shadow? Is that the shortened version of Shadowsinger?”
“It is not,” Y/n shot back. “Also while your Shadowsinger commands shadows, my Shadow commands attention.”
Nesta let out a quiet laugh, reaching out as her expression softened further when Y/n passed the kitten over. “He’s adorable,” she murmured, settling him carefully in her arms. “And I think I prefer this Shadow more. Less brooding, more cuddly.”
Y/n and Azriel exchanged a look, something unspoken passing between them. Cassian rolled his eyes, though his grin lingered. “He’s got quite the big name to live up to.”
“Oh, he does,” Y/n said, leaning back in her chair. “He’s fearless. Always pouncing on anything that moves. One second he’s there, the next he’s gone, blending into the dark. He’s the true king of shadows in this household.” She didn’t miss the way Azriel looked up at that, meeting her gaze, which had been on him as she spoke.
Cassian barked a laugh. “Well, as long as he doesn’t start spying on us and reporting back, I think we’re safe.”
“Relax, General.” An amused smile tugged at Y/n’s lips. “Whatever he sees or hears stays with me.”
Shadow’s purring deepened, a soft rumble as he curled further into Nesta’s arms. Y/n watched him for a moment, warmth settling in her chest. The room felt lighter for it, easy, almost normal.
“Will we be seeing more of you around?” Nesta finally asked, glancing between Y/n and Azriel.
“Probably,” Azriel replied, tone calm as always. “As long as I’m training the new recruits.”
—
As Y/n stepped into the fighting ring, Azriel tossed her a sword. She caught it on instinct, but damn, it was still heavy.
“We should go back to hand-to-hand combat,” she said, adjusting her grip and testing the weight.
“Why? Finally tired of getting your ass kicked?” he teased.
She shot him a flat look. “It has nothing to do with that. But sword training is more–” she paused, searching for the ‘right phrasing’, “if things get…difficult, injuries would be visible.”
“I’m not putting my blade near your neck again.” His jaw set, the memory cutting through him. Her defiance. The moment she leaned into the edge, the line of red that followed. He shut it down before it showed. “I learned my lesson.”
“You won’t,” she countered. “But who’s to say I wouldn’t? I get carried away sometimes.”
His attention dropped briefly to her throat. “I remember. You cut me once.”
“Exactly.” She shifted her stance, rolling her shoulders. “Which is why we should stick to something less…sharp.”
“I don’t think I can do that anymore.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “What? Why not?”
“You’re… too distracting.”
She stared at him for a beat, then scoffed. “Thank you?” Then she tipped her head, considering him as she drawled, “So...are you afraid I’ll kick your ass?”
“That is one possible outcome,” he admitted, lips twitching faintly, like he wouldn’t mind seeing her try. “However, since I’m training the other recruits now, I need to conserve energy.”
She pressed her lips together, failing to fully hide the hint of a smile. “And swordplay doesn’t drain you?”
“No. It's less movement for me.” He said it deadpan, taking in her stance. “All I have to do is block your attacks.”
“Asshole.”
His lips curved into an actual smile this time. “If you’re going to challenge Cassian to a duel, how will you train?”
She let out a quiet breath. “That’s a fair point.”
“How about this? We train with wooden swords. That way no one accidentally leaves a mark on the other, and you still get your training,” Azriel offered.
“Alright.”
“I see you’re in a better mood. You look happier.”
“I am,” she nodded, grip loosening around the hilt.
“Is this because of a certain mischievous male?”
She arched a brow. “Is this how you’re going to be referring to my little baby?”
“Baby?” His head titled, brows drawing together.
“He is a kitten, after all. And he’ll always be my baby, no matter how much he grows.” She huffed under her breath. “And to answer your question, yes, he’s been a great joy.”
“I’m glad he could help you in ways I can’t.”
She stilled for a moment. “Such as?”
“For starters, cuddles.”
Y/n laughed, and his eyes lit at the sound, his heartbeat faltering for a brief moment. “...And you now have someone to talk to when you’re feeling lonely. Or when you need a comforting presence when you let your emotions out.”
“Who says I need to do that?” she shot back, though there was less bite to it than usual.
“Everyone does, from time to time.”
“And who do you talk to about your emotions?” She narrowed her eyes at him slightly.
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Now I’m curious,” she said, stepping closer, studying him. “Since you believe everyone needs someone to rely on.”
“My shadows are good listeners.”
“You don’t talk to the General or your High Lord when something is bothering you?”
“Not always. They have enough on their plate to worry about.”
“They wouldn’t want you to keep to yourself,” she pointed out.
“I could say the same to you.”
She held his gaze for a moment before speaking quietly, “well, if you ever need someone to listen, I’m here.”
“Only if you’re willing to accept a shoulder to lean on in return.”
“Tempting,” she said, stepping back again, resetting her stance. “But I’ll pass for now.”
—
“You’re getting much stronger,” Y/n complimented Nesta as she drove her fist into the padded wood.
“I would hope so, I’ve been training for months now.”
Y/n’s smile vanished when she noticed a certain ginger male standing in the archway to the training area, speaking with Cassian. She stepped out of the ring and headed straight for him.
“What are you doing here? And if you’re looking for Elain, she’s not here.” Y/n crossed her arms over her chest, nostrils flaring with irritation.
“As I said to your friend, not everything I do is about Elain.”
“Then why the hell are you here? And he’s not my friend.” She didn’t slow as she closed the distance between them, eyes shooting daggers his way.
“Feyre said I should come here.” He didn’t rise to it, his tone staying level.
“And you listen to everything my sister tells you to do?” Her arms tightened further across her chest.
Lucien exhaled slowly before answering, his voice calm but tired, “Y/n, I’m not the enemy here.”
“You sure looked like it when you stood next to the King of Hybern as he threw us into the Cauldron, or have you forgotten? Because I certainly haven’t,” Y/n spat, heat rising under her skin despite her attempts to stay composed.
“Y/n! Play nice,” Cassian cut in, trying to defuse the situation.
“Whatever! Tell Feyre if she values her friends, she shouldn’t send them up my way, unless she was trying to get rid of them.” Y/n huffed and turned on her heel before stalking back into the house.
—
The next day they had flown to Hewn City, Helion was to teach Nesta how to ward the Mask, and she wanted Y/n with her. Maybe double reinforcement would be better, they thought.
“I don’t like this, Nes. It’s too powerful. How are you able to resist it?” Y/n muttered, feeling the Mask’s call from where it lay on the table before them.
“Just ignore its call. Focus on something else,” Nesta replied, not looking up from the romance novel in her hands.
“Like one of these books?” Y/n tipped her chin toward the book.
“You can try one if you’d like. I have many I could lend you. Even Gwyn and Emerie have started reading them.” Nesta turned a page, unfazed.
“Ah, you’re starting your own book club? Good for you. I have no interest in romance or that kind of delusion.” Y/n’s mouth curved, but there was no warmth in it.
“No, you prefer adventures with nonexistent monsters, like vampires.” Nesta finally glanced up.
“Hey, they’re not monsters. And now that you mention it, those books did have romance in them. They just had a tragic ending, that’s all.”
“You and I have a different definition of romance, Y/n.”
Then a voice cut in from the doorway.
“Lady Y/n, Lady Nesta.” Helion bowed as he stepped inside, and Nesta rose into a curtsy.
Y/n, on the other hand, snorted. “I’m sorry, Y/n will do just fine… you have a beautiful winged horse.”
“Thank you,” Helion returned easily, looking her over without subtlety. “But you’re even more beautiful.”
Azriel tensed at Helion’s words while Y/n didn’t react to the compliment as she replied, “I believe you and my sister have some things to do.”
“Is that the Mask?” he asked, pointing at the velvet cloth wrapped around it.
“It is,” Y/n pressed, “Can we do this quickly? It has a tremendous amount of power.”
Although everyone felt its pull, no one was as affected as Y/n.
Helion showed Nesta some warding techniques and insisted Y/n remained with them, for if they didn’t want to access it, both of them had to draw a shield around it. By the end, they had created strong wards that would not even allow either of them to enter without the other’s blood.
Afterwards, the conversation shifted.
They discussed telling Eris about the soldiers still locked in the dungeon. Rhys suggested Nesta go with Cassian to inform him.
Azriel wanted to go to the human lands to confirm Briallyn had the second Dead Trove; the Crown, which would grant whoever wore it control over others, just as it had with the Autumn Court soldiers. Feyre and Rhys objected, unwilling to take the risk but Azriel argued and didn't back down. Y/n was glad to see he didn't just blindly follow his High Lord and Lady and would, at times, push back. And while she didn't often agree with them, this time, she did.
The thought of Briallyn getting her hands on him was not one she wanted to entertain.
Before the tension could build further, Helion cut in, redirecting the conversation by asking Rhys and Feyre to show him the palace.
Cassian and Nesta left shortly after, discussing whatever book she was reading. Azriel and Y/n remained. She could clearly see how upset he was.
“I know they can be ‘difficult’ sometimes, but… they’re right,” Y/n admitted reluctantly.
“You’re taking their side now?” His brows drew together, her words catching him off guard, he hadn’t expected that from her.
“No. Never. But we cannot lose you, Shadowsinger.” She said it plainly, exhaustion replacing her usual defenses, her expression stripped for once. She heard how it sounded but didn’t pull back. “If that queen got her hands on you–”
“Why is everyone certain she would?” It came out rougher than anything he’d said before.
“I didn’t say that. But it is a possibility. And I have no doubt that you are the best spy there is and that you are more than capable of handling yourself.” She let out a slow breath before continuing, “Look, I understand how you’re feeling. I know it all too well. And unfortunately, I have no advice for you. I still struggle with their orders.”
He went quiet, the tension from before easing just enough as he looked at her properly this time. “Is that why you’re angry all the time?” he asked, softer this time, like something had just clicked into place.
“That is one of the many reasons, yes.” She didn’t look at him when she said it. “Let’s go home, I miss Shadow.” For the first time, she called the House of Wind home. And not because of the place itself.
“You’ve been gone less than ten hours and you already miss him?” He chuckled lightly, the sound escaped him before he could stop it.
“I started missing him the minute I left.”
“If you told me I’d hear you say something like that a few months ago, I’d have thought you’d lost your mind.”
—
The next morning, Y/n sat picking at her breakfast. Across from her, Nesta, Cassian, and Azriel were engaged in quiet conversation.
Y/n glanced up from her plate, catching the subtle exchange of glances between Nesta and Cassian. Something about it felt off, there was a shift between them this morning that she couldn’t quite pin down.
As she leaned in to take a sip of her coffee, another sharp scent cut through it, wrong and out of place. It was the unmistakable scent of sex.
She paused, her eyes flicked to Nesta and Cassian, who were still at it, thinking they were subtle. Y/n's stomach tightened as it clicked, shock first, then irritation, a tiny hint of rage, and finally something close to amusement. She glanced at Azriel, who seemed to notice what she’d just realized. From the looks of it, he already knew.
"General?" she asked, setting her cup down with deliberate care. "Are you fucking my sister?" She didn’t raise her voice, not a trace of her internal emotions reaching her face.
The table went quiet. Nesta froze, heat rising to her face as she reached for her cup, suddenly far too interested in it. Cassian blinked, his expression shifting from surprise to pure discomfort in the span of a heartbeat under Y/n's scrutiny.
Azriel, ever the quiet observer, watched the exchange between the three of them with a mix of amusement and a touch of bemusement at her bluntness, though he wisely chose to remain silent.
Cassian cleared his throat, giving her a sheepish look as he searched for the right words. "Y/n, it's not–" he started.
Y/n lifted a hand, cutting him off. “Oh, you fucking bastard, you couldn’t resist, could you?” She crossed her arms, huffing through her nose. A crooked, incredulous pull touched one corner of her mouth.
Nesta's grip tightened on her cup as she stared at the pattern of the tablecloth. Cassian scratched the back of his neck, letting out a strained chuckle and mumbling something that might have been an apology.
“And you?” she went on, turning toward Azriel and fixing him with a look. “Where the fuck were you? As a chaperone, you’re doing a terrible job at it.”
It wasn’t anger in her voice, but rather discomfort and a trace of disgust at what she’d just realized. She did not want to think about her sister and Cassian getting it on in the same house she was staying in.
“Well,” she continued before anyone else could answer, “I can't really tell you what to do. You’re both responsible adults, I hope. Just try to be a bit more discreet next time. And take a long bath to get that stench off you while you’re at it. Try to keep it out of the dining room, would you? Or any other place that isn’t your bedroom.”
When she mentioned the dining room, the three of them exchanged certain looks, which was a mistake, because Y/n noticed.
“Oh, come on, seriously? Here? Some of us fucking eat here. And you knew all along and still chose to eat here?” She directed the last part at Azriel, turning that on him, but he remained silent, sipping his tea.
“I’m never eating here again, thank you for that.” Y/n sighed, pushing her breakfast away with a resigned shake of her head. "I swear, I'm surrounded by children," she muttered under her breath, sounding more amused than she intended.
She grabbed her mug and moved to the chair in the living area, just a few feet away from them.
“We’ll miss you at breakfast,” Cassian threw in, and she leveled him a look.
“Lovely, now two of my sisters are fucking two arrogant Illyrian fae. It couldn’t get any better,” she muttered, a thin smile forming at her mouth that didn’t reach her eyes.
“If you’re jealous, Y/n, I strongly believe Az would be ready to oblige,” Cassian taunted.
Azriel choked on his tea, and Y/n blinked. “You disgust me.”
But… to say she never thought of him that way would be a lie.
A/N: These drabbles were written as holiday pieces and ended up stretching from Christmas into New Year’s. They're a bit late, but still very much in the spirit. Happy New Year everyone 🤍
Sylus
Most of the base was shut down for the night.
Sylus looked different like this, jacket off, sleeves rolled, leaning back against the worktable as if there were nowhere else he needed to be. Just waiting for you.
He had settled onto the couch, knowing you’d arrive soon.
As if on cue, you arrived shortly after, leaning over the back of the couch. Your arms settled around his chest as you pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He didn’t look up as he smiled to himself, thumb brushing your knuckles before you pulled away.
Dropping onto the couch beside him, his arm came up automatically, draping around your shoulders lazily.
You noticed the box on the coffee table before he said anything.
It was elegant, dark, and classic. Sitting exactly where it would catch your eye.
Lifting your gaze from the box, you caught his satisfied smile.
“You’re enjoying this.” If you were referring to him enjoying gifting you, watching the anticipation on your face when you found his gift, or simply spending time alone with you, you didn’t specify. Because the answer would be yes to everything.
“A little,” he said, then corrected himself, smirk settling in. “No. Immensely.”
You exhaled a quiet laugh, reaching for the box and opening it. “Of course you are.”
The gem inside was unmistakable.
You’d seen pieces like this cross the auction floor, raw power disguised as indulgence. But this one was different. Smaller. Purposeful. The cut was deliberate, shaped to catch light without dominating it. Set into jewelry that looked… wearable. Not ceremonial. Not fragile. Just perfect, curated for your needs.
It wasn’t the first time he himself worked on downsizing a gem for you. But still, your breath caught every time.
“You altered it,” you noted.
“Yes.”
You looked up, meeting his gaze. “You downsized an auction piece.”
“I refined it,” he replied mildly. “The original was…excessive.”
You gave him a look. Then lifted the piece carefully. It was warm, like it hadn’t been sitting long. Like it was in his hands before you arrived.
“You didn’t have to,” you murmured quietly.
“I’m aware.” No defensiveness. No explanation. Just a fact.
He stood up and straightened slightly, gesturing. “Turn.”
You did so without thinking. His fingers were steady at the clasp, practiced, close enough that you were acutely aware of him, feeling his breath against the back of your neck. The contact was brief, precise, but when he finished, his hand lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
“There,” he said quietly.
You turned back to face him. The gem catching the low light as you moved. His gaze followed it, satisfied.
“It suits you,” he added. Not praise. Observation.
You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your mouth. “You’re just enamored.”
“I know.”
He reached for your hand, thumb brushing your knuckles once before he pressed something into your palm.
You glanced down.
A brochure. Mountains. Snow-dusted stone. A secluded villa tucked far from anything crowded.
You looked back at him. “Sylus.”
He watched your reaction, relaxed. Not searching your face, just taking it in.
“You mentioned wanting to get away during your break,” he said calmly. “Somewhere quiet.”
You turned the brochure once, then again. “When did you—”
“Does it matter?,” he cut in lightly. “It’s handled.”
You huffed a soft laugh. “You didn’t even check if I—”
“You will,” he said, tone even, almost amused. “You always do.”
And he was right. Whatever he picked, you liked. He’d always known exactly what you’d need and want, long before you ever asked.
You glanced back down at the brochure, fingers tracing the edge, smiling. “You planned this to avoid people.”
“Partially.” He paused. “But mainly I wanted you to relax and enjoy the holiday properly.” Then, he smirked. “And I might have done it to get you all to myself.”
You looked up again, deciding to tease him. “And if I wanted somewhere else?”
A corner of his mouth lifted, knowing exactly what you were doing. “Then we adjust.”
You folded the brochure once and set it aside, leaning back into him. “Happy Holidays, Sylus.”
He studied you for a moment, expression warm. “Mm,” he hummed. “With you by my side, always.”
“Happy Holidays, Sweetie,” he added. “The plane leaves in an hour. Don’t bother packing. I had the Twins buy everything you might need.”
You let out a quiet breath. “You don’t waste time.”
“I don’t see the benefit in waiting,” he replied smugly. “After you, Kitten.” He gestured for you to walk.
A step behind you, his expression softened as he took in the sight of you, joyful, eyes sparkling, knowing he was the one who put the smile on your face. That, more than anything else, was his gift this holiday. And it was the only part of the it that truly mattered to him.
Zayne
Knowing you had off this time of year, Zayne scheduled a last-minute checkup for you.
It was, on paper, routine. In practice, you could tell the moment you stepped into his office that he’d arranged the appointment the way he planned evenings with you, by thinking it through before you ever stepped inside. The overhead lights were dimmed a touch lower than usual. The screen on his desk was already pulled up to your file. Even the disposable paper on the exam bed had been smoothed flat.
“Sit,” he said, not unkindly, as he slipped the cuff around your arm.
The monitor beeped once. His gaze stayed on the numbers, not you, but you knew him well enough to notice the small pause when your pulse ticked higher than it should have. The pen in his hand tapped the clipboard once before he wrote something down.
He set a neat bag on the table next to you while reviewing your vitals, expression neutral, as if it were just another part of the visit. No comment. No elaboration.
You raised a brow, but couldn’t help the smile that threatened to show as you reached for the bag and peered inside, recognizing this as his way of giving you gifts.
A temperature-regulating accessory of the latest technology lay inside, along with a small, clinically labeled kit tailored to what you tended to forget when you were running on adrenaline. Supplements measured to the exact dosage you ignored. Stabilizers you only remembered once it was too late. There were more than a few other things, heat packs, a couple of sealed packets that made your stomach twist with the realization that he’d noticed exactly which corners you cut when you insisted you were ‘fine.’ Things that you brushed off until it became a real problem, all neatly organized.
It was the kind of thoughtfulness that said he hadn’t just noticed; he’d been paying attention. Tracking your habits quietly, consistently, for months. No. Longer than that.
“You overextend,” he said flatly, pen tapping once again. After a beat, his tone shifted, warmer. “So I planned for it.”
You opened your mouth to deflect it, already reaching for a joke, but he gave you that measured look, stoic, professional, until his mouth softened, just a fraction.
“Take it,” he added, like an order, as if it were the only way he knew how to say I’m worried about you.
You wanted to protest. Wanted to argue about autonomy, about being busy, about not needing to be managed. But the neatness of the kit, the details, made your throat tighten in a way that had nothing to do with pride. You ended up nodding instead. “Thank you.”
He didn’t respond. His attention returned to the screen, eyes scanning data he’d already memorized. But the tension in his shoulders eased by a degree, in a way you’d learned to recognize over time.
“Are you coming tonight?” you asked after a moment.
“I have work.” When he caught the disappointment on your face, he immediately added, “But I’ll try to make it.”
You nodded. “Okay. Don’t work too long. You should start practicing what you preach.”
A subtle smile touched his lips as he pretended to review your chart again.
“For your information,” you paused on purpose, casual to the point of cruelty. “I also have a gift for you at home.” Your eyes lit with mischief as your mouth curved into a knowing smile.
“Oh?” His brow lifted. He already had an idea what that ‘gift’ might be, but didn’t want to get his hopes up, so he dismissed it just as quickly.
“The sooner you come home, the longer you get to enjoy your present.” You winked, smoothed your clothes as you stood, and moved toward the door, pausing only to glance over your shoulder. “Happy Holidays, Dr. Zayne.”
You knew what calling him by his title did to him, especially when it came out of your mouth the way it did. You watched his throat work once as he swallowed. His eyes cut back to the screen, but the cursor on it didn’t move.
He tried to remain stoic, determined to show you he could control his desires. “Oh, I’m sure it’s going to be a very happy night. See you at home, Miss Fairy.”
Then he returned to his computer as if he hadn’t implied exactly what he had.
Caleb
You and Caleb sat across from each other at the table, halfway through dinner. You had made his favorite meal from childhood, the one your grandma used to make for the two of you every holiday, back when the kitchen always smelled warm and nothing felt complicated yet.
“You made it just the way grandma did,” he said after a bite. “But yours tastes even better.” He winked, smiling around his fork.
You returned his smile, hands intertwined and resting under your chin as you watched him eat with obvious enthusiasm. It felt nice, familiar, seeing him like this, relaxed and content, like no time had passed at all. Like you were still kids stealing extra servings before anyone noticed, laughing too loud, thinking the world would stay this small and safe.
He paused mid-meal, sliding a box across the table before taking a sip of his drink.
He gave it to you the way he always had, casually, like it was nothing, like looking after you had always been his role.
Inside was something practical but worn-in: a repaired keepsake from your past. Something you had cried about when it broke. You’d been so young then, yet you always had an understanding of what was truly valuable and sentimental.
“Thought you’d want this back,” he said, shrugging, eyes warm, and with that easy smile that had known you longer than anyone else ever could.
“Caleb… is that— is that what I think it is?” Your voice wobbled as your eyes widened, already glassy with tears that threatened to spill.
He nodded once.
“Where did you find it?”
“You left it behind, so I brought it back.” His gaze flicked from the piece in your hand to your face. “I took it right where you left it and repaired it.”
You were on your feet before you realized it, moving toward him without thinking. He pulled you easily into his lap, arms wrapping around you as he kissed the top of your head. You clung to him, breathing him in, grounding yourself in the steady beat of his chest.
“Caleb, this means so much to me. I don’t even know what to say.” You pulled back just enough to look at him, sniffing slightly.
“It’s nothing, really.” He shrugged again, like he hadn’t gone out of his way to fix it. Like he hadn’t spent years since it broke trying to repair it. Like it hadn’t mattered to him just as much as it did to you.
You shook your head. “It’s everything. I thought it was gone for good.”
“Hey,” he tipped your chin up gently. “I fixed it so you’d be smiling, not crying.” He wiped your tears with his thumb before pulling you back against his chest.
“I’m just so happy. Thank you.”
“Happy Holidays, Pip,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your hair.
“Happy Holidays, Caleb.” Then reality caught up to you, his half-full plate, your position in his lap, and you attempted to move. He didn’t let you.
“Now where do you think you’re going?” he asked, grin turning wicked.
“Back to my seat so you can eat,” you explained.
He chuckled. “I can eat just fine with you right here. Now stop squirming, unless you want me to feast on you next.” His words were half threat, half promise.
Your cheeks burned. “Caleb!”
“What?” he said innocently. “I want dessert after the main course. It’s only logical. And you, my dear Pipsqueak, are the sweetest dessert I could ever dream of.”
You swallowed, fingers tightening briefly in his shirt as you tilted your head back just enough to meet his eyes. “You’re disgusting,” you said, your voice contradicting your words.
Caleb laughed, clearly pleased, reaching back for his fork without a care, as if ruining your appetite for food was part of the fun, especially knowing he’d gotten you worked up and fully intending to make you wait.
Xavier
Xavier didn’t outright give you your present. Instead, he made sure to place it somewhere that would end up with you.
A small box appeared in your locker after a mission, tucked behind your gear like it had always belonged there. Not placed carefully. Not hidden. Just there, waiting for you to notice it when you reached for something else. Still, you almost missed it, too focused on unstrapping your kit, too busy replaying the last few minutes of the fight. But the moment your fingers brushed the corner of it, you froze.
You opened the box to find a compact, upgraded safety charm for your kit. Functional. Reinforced. Designed to actually help rather than simply exist as decoration. The kind of thing he would notice you needed long before you admitted it yourself.
You approached Xavier later that evening, when he’d just stepped out of the shower with nothing more than a towel wrapped around his waist. Hair damp, skin faintly flushed from the heat. He didn’t look surprised when you held the box up.
You confronted him about it. In return, he shrugged, expression neutral, voice calm, like this was ordinary. His gaze stayed on your hands as you turned the charm over, watching your reaction the way he usually checked your wounds.
“Figured you’d use it,” he said, almost too casual.
“Xavier,” you said, a little softer than you meant to. “That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.”
Only later did you notice the small modification he’d added, something personal. A detail that had nothing to do with safety and everything to do with you. A mark set where your fingers would land when you clipped it in place. A tiny choice that turned ‘useful’ into ‘yours,’ like he’d tagged it with a private signature only you would understand.
So you decided to return the gesture in your own way.
You cooked a proper meal for him this Christmas.
When he came back from another mission, the apartment smelled of a warm, home-cooked dinner. The lights were dim. Candles were arranged across the dining table. Mistletoe hung over the door, slightly crooked, like you’d tried to make it look effortless and failed in the best way.
He paused, noticing the elegantly placed plates, then went looking for you.
You were humming in the kitchen, adding the last touches to the meal, when he stepped up behind you and pressed a brief kiss to the back of your head. You didn’t turn, but you felt him there before it happened, the way you always did.
“What are you cooking?” he asked. “It smells so good.”
“It’s a surprise. Go change and sit down. I’m almost done,” you instructed, still focused on the stove.
He didn’t argue. He never did, when you sounded like that.
Fifteen minutes later, you emerged from the kitchen with his favorite meal. What he didn’t know was that you’d also prepared his favorite dessert for after.
He stared at the food for a second too long, as if trying to confirm it was real. Then he glanced up at you. “What’s the occasion?” he asked, genuinely confused.
“It’s Christmas, Xav. I wanted to do something special for you.”
“But I didn’t get you anything. And I don’t need you to cook a grand meal for me. Instant ramen would’ve sufficed, truly.” The look he gave you indicated that he expected you to agree with him and let it go.
You gave him a pointed look. “You expect me to let you eat instant anything on CHRISTMAS? Besides, what do you mean you didn’t get me anything? That well-thought charm you designed for me meant more than you can imagine. So let me spoil you for once.”
He considered it, then exhaled as he gave in with a nod. “Fine. But only if you let me take you out tomorrow.”
You searched his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Deal.”
“Good. I already planned something. I just didn’t want to make it cliché by doing it on the first day.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Of course you did. You can’t simply let me win for once.”
He shrugged, digging into his plate. “I’m just that competitive.”
“I’ll get you next year,” you promised.
“You can try.”
“Happy Holidays, Xav.”
“Happy Holidays, Princess.” He leaned in, giving you a quick peck before returning to his food.
Rafayel
Rafayel had dragged you to his studio the moment the two of you finished dining together. He was impatient, as always, practically vibrating with it, unable to wait a second longer to give you your gift.
He complained the entire way there, talking with his hands, pacing ahead of you, then doubling back as if waiting were a personal offense. At some point, he caught your wrist and tugged you along gently, until you were rolling your eyes at his hastiness. This was classic Rafayel.
He was being obvious about it, but you played along anyway, pretending not to notice that this sudden urgency had nothing to do with a last-minute commission or a piece he needed to alter before selling.
When he finally stopped in front of a covered canvas, he hesitated for the briefest moment before pulling the cloth away.
The gift was a piece he made especially for you. Not something he would ever sell or recreate. It was unmistakably yours, every detail chosen with intention, every color layered with care, something he’d painted with you in mind, not the market.
He circled behind you then, hands resting on your shoulders as he leaned in to look at the painting again over your head. “I kept changing the colors,” he murmured, quieter now. “Every time I thought I was done, it didn’t feel like you yet.” His thumbs pressed lightly, grounding himself. He was simply hoping the thing he made could hold even a fraction of what he felt when he looked at you.
It was beautiful. The kind of beauty that caught your breath before you could form words. The longer you looked, the more it revealed itself. It was as if he knew exactly what would speak to you. It wasn’t something you would just display at your apartment or office, but a piece you’d actually stop and look at from time to time.
“If you don’t like it,” he started, already bracing himself. Then he stopped, suddenly serious. “…I didn’t make it for anyone else. So if you don’t like it, I’ll just have to throw it away.”
You turned to face him, brows drawn together. “Raf, are you crazy? I love it. I was just too stunned to speak.”
“Oh.” His shoulders visibly relaxed. “I thought you didn’t. When you didn’t say anything, I thought you were figuring out how to tell me it was hideous.”
“Babe, you need to chill. It’s magnificent. When did you even start working on it?”
He smiled, clearly pleased with himself now. “Oh, just last year. When you told me about that place you love.”
“Raf! You’ve been working on this for that long and now you’re pretending it’s not even a big deal?” You slapped his shoulder lightly.
“It’s not that big of a deal, Cutie. I’m an artist, it’s nothing. I can paint you more if you’d like.”
“While I do appreciate you taking the time to think of me, I’m not taking more free paintings from you.”
He smirked. “Who said anything about free?” He gestured to the painting. “This one is your present. But the next one would cost you.” He hooked a finger into the collar of your coat, pulling you closer. “A lot. But I promise, you’d like it.”
The next thing you knew, his lips crashed against yours. He guided you backward until the table pressed into your spine before hoisting you onto it without breaking the kiss. Somewhere behind you, canvases fell, while paint splattered across the floor, but neither of you spared it a glance. You were the piece of art he was focused on right now.
Rafayel pulled back only long enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, breath uneven now. His hands stayed at your waist as he murmured against your lips, satisfied in a way that had nothing to do with the painting anymore. “Happy Holidays, Cutie.”
He didn’t give you time to answer. His hands slipped your coat from your shoulders and let it drop. He bent to you again, mouth moving over your neck and collarbone, leaving hickies in their wake, painting your body in shades of purple and red, treating your skin like a canvas beneath his hands and mouth.
A/N: Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! 🎄✨Last year, I shared a collection of short drabbles imagining how the ACOTAR men would give the reader a Solstice gift. The following drabbles are a continuation of last year's. Enjoy!
Please note: the Rhysand drabble includes brief explicit sexual content.
Azriel
Last year, Azriel left the gift he brought you in your room because he didn’t know where the boundary was.
This year, he decided to gather his courage and knock on your door, hands trembling slightly, shadows restless. He didn’t want to give you his gift in front of everyone.
He wanted to be the only one to see your reaction. Wanted an excuse to see you…alone. But part of him was also afraid of how you’d react.
You opened the door in your cozy winter robe, your face dimly lit by the fireplace. You were surprised to see him at this hour, and it was as if he could read your mind. He was trained in reading facial expressions, and yours said it all.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I shouldn’t have come at this late hour. It wasn’t proper of me.”
You shook your head, giving him a polite smile. “It’s alright. I just didn’t expect to see you. That’s all.”
“Oh…” His gaze dropped to the floor before he finally lifted it to meet yours. He wanted to say something, but then he got lost in your eyes. Every thought gone.
He pressed the wrapped present into your hand without saying anything.
“What’s this?” you looked down at it, breaking eye contact.
“It’s something I wanted you to have. Have a good night, Y/n.” He turned to leave, but you stopped him.
“Az, wait.” You reached out, grabbing the hem of his leather sleeve.
He froze, shivers running down his spine. He wasn’t used to this. He turned to look at you once more. “It’s late. I don’t want to disturb you further.”
“You’re not,” you quickly added. “Would you…like some hot cocoa? It’s not much, but if you’d allow me, I’ll make you the best in Velaris as my gift to you.”
The faintest smile curled at one side of his lips before he nodded. Then he gestured with his palm for you to lead the way.
“So, are you gonna tell me what’s inside?”
“Open it and see,” he said dryly, though he meant it teasingly.
“I’ll wait until I finish making your cocoa. We’ll exchange our presents at the same time.”
As you began your preparations, Azriel sat on a stool, watching your every move. He was drowning in the way you moved, how you concentrated, how you looked, smelled, swayed. He was utterly lost, pulled back only by the sound of your voice.
“Your cocoa is ready.” You handed him a mug with a softness that made his chest tighten.
“Thank you.” His mouth curved faintly in response, then gestured to the wrapped gift on the counter. “Open it...please.”
And so you did. Inside was a delicate light blade that was easy to carry and conceal. It was adorned with a single blue gem at the hilt. His color.
“It’s beautiful, Az. Where did you get it? I’ve never seen something so simple, yet elegant. And it’s not heavy. Perfect for protection.”
His heart fluttered at your words. “I forged it myself. I wanted you to always be able to protect yourself.”
“Thank you.” You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek. The ever-stoic Shadowsinger’s expression faltered, his cheeks turning a slight shade of red.
You hesitated before uttering the next words, “The gem at the hilt makes it even more beautiful. And gives me a sense of extended protection.”
When he found his voice again, he asked, “How so?”
“You made it. The blue of it will always remind me of you. And that if I truly needed you, you’d be there.” You reached for his hand, closing your palm around his clenched fist.
“I’ll always be here when you need me, Y/n,” he said sincerely, eyes searching yours.
“I know.” You held his gaze, but then your eyes dropped to his lips for a split second and he noticed immediately.
“Y/n,” he started.
Somehow you knew what he was going to say, so you interjected, pulling back. “You haven’t tried your cocoa yet.”
His jaw ticked, but he nodded before taking a slow sip of his mug.
You looked at him eagerly, trying to gauge his reaction.
After a moment, he spoke. “It’s delicious. I’m not usually a fan of sweet things. But this, this is good.”
“I’m glad.”
The two of you drank in silence, both reluctant to finish, knowing it would make the excuse that brought you together vanish.
Eventually, Azriel finished his drink and stood up. “It’s already late. I won’t hold you back longer.”
You nodded in understanding.
“Good night, Y/n. And happy Solstice.” He turned and started walking away.
“Az, wait.” You stood up abruptly and crossed the short distance between you.
When he turned to face you, there were only inches left between your bodies. Your chest rose with a quiet breath, almost brushing his as his warmth washed over you. You could feel the ghost of his breath along your cheek, feel how still he’d gone.
“Y/n,” he said slowly, a warning in his tone.
Your throat bobbed as you swallowed your nerves. “Az,” you murmured, softer now.
He shut his eyes, jaw tightening as if he were holding himself back. When he finally looked at you again, you were still there, close, eyes openly asking for what he hadn’t dared take. “Screw it.”
Then his lips crashed against yours. The force of it drove you back until your spine hit the counter, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. His mouth was hot and demanding, all restraint he’d held onto unraveling in a single, heated moment.
He started to pull away, but your arms were already around his neck, dragging him back down, urging him closer as you deepened the kiss. A low sound escaped him as his hands found your waist, calloused fingers gripping, pressing you flush against his body like he needed the contact to ground himself.
Only when your lungs burned did you pull back, panting softly as you looked up at him.
“Happy Solstice, Az,” you said, your voice steady despite the way your pulse raced.
He huffed a quiet, breathless chuckle against your lips, forehead dropping briefly to yours. “This might be the best one yet.”
Cassian
Cassian noticed you wearing the necklace he gifted you last year. He pretended to play it cool, but inside he was absolutely gone.
He plunked down next to you on the couch with another one of his infuriating grins, brows raised in greeting, settling in close enough that his shoulder deliberately brushed yours.
“Cassian,” you greeted back, a subtle smile playing at your lips.
“Pretty necklace. Whoever gave it to you has good taste,” he remarked arrogantly, eyes flicking to it for just a moment too long.
You rolled your eyes. “Mmh, yes, probably.”
“Probably?” He raised a hand to his chest, feigning heartbreak dramatically.
You slapped his chest playfully. “Grow up, you Illyrian baby.”
He looked far too pleased with himself as he handed you your present, clearly enjoying the anticipation.
“What did you get me this time?”
His grin sharpened into something wicked. “Open it while everyone else is distracted with their own presents.”
That made your heart skip a beat, and you quickly unwrapped it. It was a short red silk robe. The sexy kind. The fabric slid cool and smooth between your fingers as you lifted it free.
Your tongue flicked against the inside of your cheek as you slowly turned to face him, expecting an explanation.
“I’d have gotten you a classic black,” he said lightly, “but then again, red is the color of passion…and it’s my color. I wanted you to remember me every time you wear it,” he teased.
“Cas!”
“What?” He feigned innocence.
“Friends don’t give each other that.”
“What’s wrong with it?” He pretended to play dumb.
You glared at him. “You know exactly what.”
“Do I? I’m but a mere innocent Illyrian baby, as you so often remind me.”
You continued to glare at him, but then hugged him tightly as if to punish him. It backfired immediately, his arms locked around you as he relished it, squishing you and burying his face against your shoulder.
“So,” he murmured, amused, “what’s my gift this Solstice?”
You pulled away slightly before pressing a soft kiss against his cheek, far too close to his lips, then leaned back against the couch as if nothing had happened, watching his reaction from the corner of your eye.
“This is your gift.” You shrugged with a too-innocent look.
“You’re evil.”
“Learned from you,” you said nonchalantly. “Happy Solstice, Cassian.” Your tone softened despite yourself.
“Happy Solstice, Y/n.” His tone matched yours, warm beneath the bravado. Then, because Cassian couldn’t help but be himself, he added, “Can’t wait for you to wear that for me.”
“In your dreams,” you scoffed, elbowing his ribs.
“Oh, I will be dreaming about it,” he winked, utterly unapologetic.
He leaned back against the couch, still grinning to himself, eyes following as you shifted closer to the others. The necklace caught the light again, and his smile softened just a fraction.
Some gifts, he decided, were worth waiting to see worn.
He stayed quiet for a moment, just watching you laugh with the others, the occasional brush of shoulders grounding him, though silence never lasted long with Cassian, and soon enough instinct took over, and he reached out to touch your arm, grinning as he slipped right back into flirting.
Rhysand
When you entered your shared bedroom, you did not expect to be met with the sight before you.
Rhys was sprawled across the black silk sheets, completely naked, propped casually on one elbow, violet eyes bright with mischief. A single red ribbon was wrapped around his hips, just barely preserving the illusion of modesty, and doing very little to help your composure.
Your lips parted as you blinked, momentarily stunned. “Rhys?”
“Hello, darling. I’ve been waiting for you,” he said smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Mm hm. I noticed,” you replied dryly. “Care to explain this?” You gestured vaguely toward him, taking in the deliberate display.
“Oh this?” He glanced down at himself, unbothered and proud. “This is one of your gifts this Solstice.”
You clicked your tongue. “Rhys, I see you naked every day. I know every inch of your body.”
“True,” he agreed easily. “But it’s not about that.” His gaze softened, though the teasing never quite left his eyes. “Tonight, you have me. No politics. No duties. No expectations. Completely and utterly with no conditions. Just me, entirely yours. Whatever you want, however you want me.” His gaze held yours, unflinching. “Tonight is all about your pleasure.”
“Rhys,” you began, already wary of where this was going.
“I know, I know.” He cut in lightly. “I always leave you satisfied.” He shifted slightly on the sheets, watching your reaction closely. “But this is different. I want to dedicate this night to you and only you.” A pause, intentional. “And after that, I’ll take you to see and open the rest of your presents.”
You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips, before moving closer and crawling onto the bed.
His hand reached out, catching yours before you could settle, and with a playful tug he drew you forward until you were straddling his stomach. He laughed softly at your startled breath, clearly pleased.
Then he leaned back, placing his hands behind his head, utterly at ease beneath you, expression smug. “Do whatever you want with me, darling,” he murmured. “I’m all yours.”
And so you did…
You tugged at the ribbon, undoing the bow with slow indulgence. Rhys watched, hardening against you.
You shifted your hips, slowly sinking down onto his length, the stretch drawing a sharp inhale from you both as you adjusted to the fullness of him.
He let out a groan, hands reaching up to hold your hips, not controlling or guiding, just grounding. He let you set the pace, rolling your hips in a steady rhythm, earning ragged praise from his lips.
Heat coiled in your belly as you rode him, relishing the way he filled you completely.
“I’m all yours,” he rasped.
His words were all it took. Pleasure tore through you, a breathless cry spilling from your lips as you came undone around him. He followed with a low groan, driving up into you one last time, hands anchoring your hips as he held you there through the aftershock, steady until the tremor finally eased.
When your body relaxed, he drew you down against him, lips brushing your temple, then your ear.
You shifted against him, still catching your breath, and he smiled warmly. “Now,” he added, voice dropping into something lazy and satisfied, “if you’re ready, I believe I promised you something else, but don’t think for a second we’re done here. I’m just giving you a break to recover before I worship you properly.”
With a lazy stretch, he reached for the discarded ribbon, looping it around his fingers before offering you his hand. “Come on, darling,” he said, eyes sparkling. “The rest of your gifts are waiting, and I’d hate to keep them from you any longer.”
Lucien
This was your first Winter Solstice together as mates. Lucien was never late, yet somehow he was nowhere to be found.
He had told you to go ahead to Rhys and Feyre’s house, promising he wouldn’t be long. But midnight was fast approaching, and he still hadn’t arrived.
You tried not to let the worry settle too deeply, but today mattered. It marked your first anniversary of accepting the bond, and you wanted him here, wanted to share this moment with him.
You had baked his favorite food this Solstice, spending the year perfecting the recipe as your gift to him.
Outside, the weather worsened, a blizzard swallowing the streets, and still there was no word from him. At this point, all you could do was hope he was safe.
Then the doorbell rang.
Feyre moved to answer it, but you were faster, rushing to the door with your heart hammering in your chest. When you opened it, a blast of icy wind rushed in, and there he was. Your mate. Breathless, snow-covered, and smiling.
You pulled him inside quickly, shutting the door behind him. Snow clung to his hair and coat, his body trembling faintly despite the fire in his veins.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now. And you’re safe.”
“Did I worry you?”
You nodded.
He muttered a curse under his breath. “It was never my intention.”
“I know. It’s not your fault.”
“It is,” he said softly. “You’re my mate. I should’ve told you.” He hesitated, then added, “I was out getting your gift. There were some delays, but I have it now.”
He pulled a small box from his pocket and handed it to you.
You opened it carefully. Inside lay an intricate pocket watch, elegant and clearly expensive, engraved with both your initials.
“Open it,” he urged.
You did. The numbers inside shifted upward, changing with a steady rhythm, while a single number at the bottom remained fixed. You looked up at him, confused.
“It’s enchanted,” he explained. “Synced to my heartbeat. So even when I’m not by your side, you’ll always have me with you.”
“Lucien,” your voice caught. “That’s—I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say you like it.”
“I—I love it. It’s perfect.” You surged forward, arms wrapping around his neck, feet lifting off the floor as you kissed him with unrestrained affection. He stumbled back a step before instinctively catching you, arms tightening as he lifted you fully off the ground.
Someone whistled from the living room, another laughed outright, followed by quiet commentary, but Lucien ignored it entirely, not breaking the kiss or so much as glancing their way as he carried you through the house, setting you down only once he reached the kitchen.
Once you were there, your gaze drifted to the dish you’d prepared earlier on the counter. You handed him his gift, pouting. “It’s probably cold now. And not as good.”
“Anything my mate makes is perfect,” he replied, already reaching for it.
“Happy Solstice, Lucien.”
“Happy Solstice, Y/n.” He pressed a gentle kiss against your temple, eyes closing, content to simply have you there.
Eris
Again this year, Eris sent for you, claiming there was an urgent matter to discuss. You knew it had something to do with Winter Solstice, but you played his game anyway.
You arrived at the clearing between your courts fashionably late. And there he was, as always, leaning against a tree, arms crossed.
When he saw you, his breath caught. You were dressed differently, but instead of letting it show, he commented, “Don’t you think it’s a little cold for such clothes?”
You smirked, approaching slowly. “You said it was urgent. I had to leave immediately.”
He tsked in disapproval. “If you did, you wouldn’t have made me wait.”
You rolled your eyes. “You know, a little compliment every now and then wouldn’t hurt.”
He scoffed. “You want compliments from me now? What happened to you?”
“Why am I here, Eris?” you asked, folding your arms as you studied him.
He straightened before picking up a heavy, wrapped package from the ground behind him.
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously as he placed it in your hands. “It’s heavy.”
“You can carry it.” You couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or simply a fact.
“Aren’t you gonna open it?” he prompted, impatience flickering across his expression.
“You want me to?” you teased.
“Do whatever you want.” He turned to leave, but you stopped him.
“Wait. I’ll open it, and you can see my facial expression before you run away again.”
“I didn’t run away,” he countered.
“Sure, you didn’t. You just couldn’t handle staying an extra minute after handing me last year’s gift.”
“My time is valuable,” he said coolly. “And I had other things to do besides giving enemies gifts.”
“Enemies don’t gift each other things,” you pointed out, arching a brow.
“Just open it,” he said dryly, jaw tightening as he looked away.
Once you removed the wrapping, you found an old leather-bound book.
Seeing the confusion on your face, he clarified. “You always said you wanted to learn fire magic. Well, this is a collection of spells I annotated myself. You’ll find the ones you could master with a bit of practice.”
You blinked. “You–you’re giving me an Autumn Court book on fire magic? You do realize the consequences of that if anyone found out?”
“Don’t read into it,” he said flatly. “If you don’t tell, no one will find out. And I know for a fact that you won’t, considering you kept us a secret for this long.”
Your lips twitched. “Us? I didn’t know there was an us.”
“You know what I mean,” he replied shortly, gaze sharpening on yours.
You stepped closer until the only thing separating you was the book. “Well, in that case, take this.”
You pressed a dagger into his hand, freshly drawn from your boot, fingers lingering against his for a moment too long.
“A dagger?” he scoffed. “I have plenty. I don’t need a gift just because I gave you one.”
You exhaled. “It’s not just any dagger. It would allow you to enter the court without being stopped or questioned, so you can visit whenever to do what enemies do in each other’s private quarters.”
That earned a low chuckle. “Alright then. You’re on. Expect me to test this new power tonight.”
He turned to winnow, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “And Y/n? Wear that bracelet I gave you last Solstice.”
You smiled, lifting your arm and tugging your sleeve back to reveal it. “I never took it off.”
“Good.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face before it vanished just as quickly.
And with that, he was gone. But not for long.
You glanced down at the bracelet on your wrist, lips curving despite yourself. Enemies, he’d said, but neither of you had bothered to pretend that word still fit.
Sylus was a vampire. You, a human; an offering by the vampires who’d captured you, hoping to win his grace.
They had forced you into a fancy gown, done your hair and makeup, presenting you like a doll. It was either this or death. But given Sylus’s vicious reputation, you knew you were living on borrowed time. You had thought about running away after they presented you to him, but no. You’d heard what he did to cowards, to people who ran from him. He’d shred you to pieces.
Stabbing him? You had no wooden stake, and the method wasn’t even confirmed. And if you missed? Shredded to pieces. Begging and pleading? That’s a sign of weakness, something he disliked. And the result? Killed and discarded without a second thought. Making him an offer? Well, that was something he was open to…when he was in a good mood. But even then, what could you offer the vampire king who had it all? You had nothing. A simple human girl who’d been unlucky to get captured at the wrong time.
You wondered what it would feel like, to have his fangs pierce your skin, how painful it would be. How long it would take for him to drain you, when you’d lose consciousness. At this point, you just hoped for a quick merciful death.
You didn’t dare look up when your captors dragged you in during one of Sylus’s balls. The other vampires cleared a path, eyeing you hungrily, but knowing you were an offering for their king, they restrained themselves.
Oh God, what if he rejected you and threw you to them? They’d tear you apart piece by piece, and you’d probably be conscious to feel all of it. Suddenly, being devoured by their king felt more merciful.
They forced you to kneel as they presented you. An animal for slaughter. Prey to be feasted upon.
Sylus didn’t even acknowledge you, or your captors. He remained seated on his throne, still engaged in conversation with what seemed like his two most trusted advisors. Friends? Subordinates? You didn’t care. You just needed him to look at you long enough to accept the offering.
One of your captors cleared his throat. “Your Majesty?”
Sylus slowly turned his head to glance at the nuisance who dared disturb him.
“We bring you an offering, Your Highness,” the vampire said, voice trembling. “A pure human girl who hasn’t been marked by another vampire.”
Sylus finally glanced your way before descending the stairs with unhurried grace.
Your captor’s spine went rigid.
“And the purpose of this offering is…?” Sylus gestured lazily in your direction.
“Y–your pleasure, my King,” the vampire stammered.
Ah, no confidence. A sign of weakness. You thought to yourself.
“I see. And you thought bringing me a trembling, delicate human girl would please me?”
Shit. He thought you were delicate. Weak. That meant death. Well, at least Sylus killing you would be better than his subjects.
“I–uh–we thought—”
“You thought she’d please me,” Sylus cut in, unimpressed. “That if I’m in a good mood, I’d reward you. You thought you could bribe me? Buy my favor with a mere human girl? Put a price on my grace… and that price was this girl?” He scoffed. “I am offended.”
“Y–yo–your Grace, please—”
Another captor interjected, “I–we didn’t mean it like that. We only wished to honor you.”
A third only made it worse, “We believed an untouched human girl would have the purest, most exquisite taste.”
Your stomach folded on itself. And it was as if Sylus could sense it. His gaze flickered to you briefly, a faint crease forming between his brows under the mask, before he turned back. “Enough!”
Silence fell over the hall. Everyone recognized that tone. He was displeased. And when he was in this mood, he tended to make an example of someone. After all, he hadn’t earned his reputation without reason. Someone was about to die.
All eyes were on the five vampires, you, and Sylus.
One vampire behind you collapsed to his knees. “Please, my King. Mercy.”
Ah. Another mistake committed by him tonight.
“Mercy?” Sylus laughed. “Do I look like a merciful King to you? What’s next? You’ll ask to sit at my side?”
The vampire shook his head. “N–no, my King. Please–spare us—”
“You should’ve considered that before bringing her here.” With a casual flick of his fingers, their heads dropped next to their bodies behind you. You flinched.
And then he approached you.
With two fingers under your chin, he guided your face up to meet his eyes and removed his mask.
Your breath caught.
Shit. He was hot. Extremely so. And those red eyes… the fear inside you shifted into something else. Excitement? Thrill? Desire?
No. Ew. He was a vicious vampire king who only saw you as food. Right?
“You’re cold for a human.” These were his first words to you. Weird. Oddly gentle for a ruthless vampire, but okay.
“Well, it is cold in here,” you blurted.
Shit. You’re dead. Your head would join your captors’.
His lips twitched. Barely. But you saw it. Was he amused?
“And what is your name, mortal?” he asked, removing your mask with surprising delicacy.
“Y/n,” you said, forcing steady eye contact. You had to show strength. Even if he could hear your heartbeat thundering.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, and it caused goosebumps to break across your skin.
Was he talking about your name or your…face? Probably something else entirely that had nothing to do with you.
“Huh?” escaped you.
Fuck. You did it again. You were doomed. He was gonna think you were disrespecting him and get offended.
This time, he smirked subtly. “Rise.”
A single command. And you found your body obeying instantly.
He clapped twice. What the hell did that mean? Was it a signal for them to attack and rip you apart? For guards to drag you out and feed you to some other vicious vampire he probably kept up in his dungeon.
Instead, the ballroom resumed its merriment, as if nothing happened.
Sylus motioned for you to walk with him.
You followed him until you reached his balcony, away from prying eyes.
Then he did the most unexpected thing: he removed his coat and draped it over your shoulders. The shock on your face was unmistakable.
“You were shivering. Can’t have my guests catching a cold, now can I? I’d be a terrible host.”
You couldn’t believe your ears. You were his guest? You? Whaaat?
“Not a blood bag?” you blurted.
You and that damned mouth that was gonna get you in trouble if you kept speaking without thinking.
“Technically, yes,” he mused. “Depends on who you ask. But you’re safe here. No one would dare touch you while you’re under my protection.”
Your heart skipped a beat. “Can I ask you something?”
He nodded. “Go on.”
“Why?”
He knew what you were asking, but he wanted to hear you say it. His eyes gleamed. “Why what?”
“Why did you spare me?”
“Who said I’m sparing you?” he teased.
Oh, he was toying with you. Testing you.
“You… just said that I was safe.”
He nodded. “True. Safe from everyone else,” he corrected. “No one other than me would dare touch you. Surely you didn’t think the rules applied to me?”
“Right. Of course not. You’re the vicious vampire king,” you muttered with a hint of sarcasm.
“You’re a brave one. Talking to your king like that.”
Somehow you found the gut to say the next words. “My king? I’m a human. You’re a vampire. You rule over your kind.”
“And a defiant one, I see. Tell me, did you not just witness what I do to offenders?” he asked, amused.
You shrugged. “I have. But I also know what happens to the weak. Besides, they deserved it. I won’t feel pity for them.”
He chuckled. “You do realize I could end your life with a snap of my fingers?”
“I do. But I won’t beg for my life. If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.”
“I don’t take kindly to orders.” His tone sharpened, a warning.
“Sorry, Your Grace.” You courtesied with theatrical politeness. “If you wish to end my life, then please do, Your Highness.”
He laughed softly. “Alright. You got me. No harm will come to you. Not from my court…and not even from me, this time. You have my word.”
“Thank you.”
“But what would you give me in return?” he asked.
“Ah, of course there’s a catch,” you smiled. For a moment, you forgot who you were actually talking to. He didn’t seem that vicious or dangerous…well, except for that part where he just killed five vampires simply because he felt like it.
“What? I’m a king after all. I don’t just grant free wishes. I’m not a genie. Besides, nothing in life is free.”
“Fine. What do you want in return for sparing me?”
He wagged a finger. “Ah-ah. I want to know what you’re willing to offer freely.”
“Hmm, I could say my loyalty, but you already have plenty of that.”
“Smart girl. Go on then. I’m intrigued.”
You thought for a long moment. “There is nothing I could offer you that you don’t already have. And I cannot assume you’d want anything, otherwise you’d have already taken it. I’d say the only thing I could offer would be love, but then who’s to say you want it, or even feel it. Besides, it would be a lie to offer something so deep to someone I barely know.”
“I see.” A beat of silence. “And you’re not wrong. If there’s anything I wanted, I’d have taken it. Whether it’s love or otherwise.”
“You can’t force someone to love you.”
“Who said anything about force?” He raised a brow, placing his hands behind his back.
“No? Then how would you take it, if it isn’t offered?”
“By earning it.” He said it so casually, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple. Difficult, maybe. But straightforward. If I want something, I get it. But there are many different ways of getting what we want, depending on what it is and who we want it from. Know your target and act accordingly. Some things require violence, others require a certain amount of…gentleness, and patience.”
You nodded, impressed. “You’re not what I thought you’d be.”
“What? A bloodthirsty vampire?” He smirked. “I am. It’s in my nature. But I’m not cruel. I deal with people the way they deserve to be dealt with.”
You smiled but said nothing. Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You were looking up at the stars, trying not to think about him. Him being this gentle and nice with you didn’t help the thoughts you were having about him.
Then he broke the silence. “Do you want me to bite, or do you want to keep pretending you don’t want me to?”
You turned to look at him, only to find him staring at you. You swallowed hard before answering. “I—What?”
“Don’t be coy with me now. I could hear your heartbeat from the moment you entered, and I can distinguish between fear and…desire.” His fingers hovered over your lips, not touching yet. Waiting for permission.
“I–” your breath hitched.
“You…?” he taunted with an amused smile.
“How much does it hurt?”
Why were you asking that? You should refuse immediately as long as he’s giving you a choice, which he was!
“Only one way to find out.” He shrugged. “So, what is it gonna be, Y/n? Do you dare and are you brave enough to take a chance or will you keep wondering and play it safe?” His hand stayed right in front of your face.
You inhaled deeply, gathering all your courage to speak. “I want to know what it feels like.”
He nodded in acknowledgement, satisfied with your answer. His thumb traced your lips before finding your pulse point, hooking his fingers at the back of your neck and pulling you closer. He extended his fangs and was ready to sink them into your delicate skin before you stopped him.
“Wait!”
One brow lifted. Surprised? Disappointed? Confused?
“Did you change your mind? Does the thought of my fangs penetrating your skin scare you?”
You shook your head. “You asked me earlier what I could offer you. This is my answer.”
“For me to drink from you?” He scoffed lightly. “You do know that I’m a vampire and do this all the time, right?”
You shook your head again. “That’s not what I meant.” You steadied yourself. “I mean willingly. Humans are terrified of your race. Many have been fed on forcibly, at least once. The treaty between our races, the humans sent here as ‘volunteers’, they don’t do it because they desire to be fed on. They do it as a sacrifice to keep the rest of us safe. I can assure you no human who’d been fed on did it without reason. So here I am, offering you my neck without expecting anything in return. You have already given me your word that you’d spare me even without anything in return. So this is me offering you something purely.”
For the first time, Sylus looked stunned.
Then he bit you. He didn’t warn you, didn’t ease into it, he simply claimed you.
It stung at first, but far less than you imagined.
And oh, did he enjoy it. He groaned in satisfaction. The taste of your untainted blood hit his tongue, and it was euphoric. For the first time, he found it difficult to stop. He’d never had blood taste this sweet and delicious. But then he remembered his promise to you and pulled back. Slowly. Reluctantly.
Your blood dripped down from the corner of his lips. “Exquisite,” he breathed as he looked down at you.
You were gasping softly, lips parted.
“And? How was it? Up to your expectations?” He wiped the blood with his thumb before applying gentle pressure to your wound.
“Better,” you whispered.
He smirked. “Good. Are you interested in making a deal with me?”
You raised a brow. “What kind of deal?”
“Stay by my side…And let me earn your love,” he said bluntly.
“Oh.” That rendered you speechless for a moment.
But for some reason, you found yourself asking, “And what would I get in return?”
“Other than my eternal love and devotion? You’d have a place by my side. As my queen. You’d want for nothing, whether it’s physical, material, emotional, or otherwise.”
“I–”
“You don’t have to give me an answer now. I’ll wait for as long as you need.”
You nodded. “If I do accept, where would I stay?... Sleep?”
“Ah. If it is a separate bedroom you prefer, you shall have one.”
“You sleep on a bed?…Not in a coffin?”
He snorted. “This is the twenty-first century. Beds exist. Vampires have evolved. Though the coffin has…its charms, I still have mine if that’s what you’re asking. It was more sanitary than many places back in the day. And on some days, it feels better than a bed.”
“I see.”
He saw your hesitation and already knew what you were wondering. “Would you like to see it?”
You nodded. He offered you his hand and you took it as he led you down through the castle halls. The lower levels were lit up by firelight. Finally, you reached a secluded chamber with a single ornate coffin. He let go of your hand to open it before stepping aside.
You approached slowly, looking inside, taking it in.
Then, from behind, he whispered: “I dare you to lie inside.”
Your eyes widened briefly, heart racing, but you were determined to show him that it wasn’t a big deal. So, you did.
The truth was, he never allowed anyone inside his coffin, yet somehow he found himself wanting to share it with you. He climbed in after you, the space feeling extremely tight, but not unwelcome. His chest pressed to yours as he turned to face you.
“Would you sleep in here with me if I asked nicely?”
You nodded, breath shallow.
“No need to be anxious, Y/n,” he murmured. “Nothing will happen to you. And I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”
Maybe he wasn’t the vicious vampire everyone claimed he was after all. And somehow, deep down, you knew he’d never harm you as sleep finally claimed you.
For the first time in ages, Sylus slept through the night and it felt good. Peaceful.
The next morning felt different. Though you were in enemy territory, you felt safe. When you opened your eyes you found his staring back at you.
“Good morning,” he muttered softly.
You blinked. “Morning...”
“You must be starving. I’ll have the servants prepare something for you.” And with that he was gone.
Your mouth hung open as you processed what just happened.
Later, as you wandered upstairs, the servants surprisingly greeted you respectfully. This was the first time vampires had ever looked at you like you weren’t food. Well, Sylus too, but that was different.
You ate alone in the grand hall, the dining table was way too big and felt oddly uncomfortable. After that, you explored his castle, ceilings, tapestries, the strange quiet of a place built for power but filled with loneliness.
You found yourself wondering where Sylus had disappeared. What he was doing. If he was with someone…
You ended up in the royal gardens around sunset and they were breathtaking. He had all sorts of unique plants and flowers you’ve never seen before.
You reached out to touch a petal of one flower that caught your attention, but his voice stopped you.
“Careful,” he warned, approaching you with his hands behind his back. “This one is poisonous.”
You startled. “Your Highness.”
He shook his head. “There’s no need for formalities or pretense. You said it yourself, I’m not your king.”
You narrowed your eyes for a moment before nodding. This was better than having to keep pretending.
“Have you been…enjoying your day?”
“Yes. Your home is beautiful, but…”
He raised a brow. “But?”
“It’s lonely. It feels so empty. Cold.”
“That’s the price you pay for immortality when you have no one to share it with,” he said simply, as if he’d grown accustomed to it.
You swallowed. “I have been thinking about your offer. It’s… a good one.”
“But it is one that would bind you to me for your entire life,” he reminded you.
“Yes. However, here I’d have safety, stability, and,... maybe one day, love. That’s more than most humans can dream of, considering how your kind rules the night and roams the streets.”
His jaw clenched. “True. Being by my side would eliminate those threats. But are you truly sure you want to spend the rest of your life with me?”
“I would still have my freedom, right?”
He exhaled. “Is any of us truly free?”
When you didn’t answer, he continued, “I could tell you you’d be free to do whatever you want, but that would be a lie. If you stay here, there would be certain rules you’d have to adhere to. And while yes, in a physical sense you may roam the castle as you wish, that’s not the case for the outside world. Once you step outside my castle, my kingdom, I cannot guarantee your safety, which is something I have vowed to do if you accept the deal. So, while I’m not restricting you from venturing out, I would require that I know every time you leave, and that you take some of my trusted subordinates with you.”
You considered for a moment, his words sinking in. “Fine. I can live with that.”
“Y/n…”
“What? Are you,” you searched his eyes, “hesitating?”
“No. But I want you to be certain. I don’t want you to rush into this. It’s a lifelong commitment for a mortal.”
“I know. And as a ‘mortal’, I can tell you it's the best deal I’d ever get. You know it’s true. So tell me, how do we do this?” Whatever doubt you had before last night suddenly disappeared, just like magic.
He relented. “Alright. But you won’t like the ritual.”
You looked up at him, waiting for an explanation.
“The ritual requires you to drink my blood, and I yours, ending with a kiss to seal the vow.”
You grimaced, not because he had to sink his fangs into your skin again, but because you had to drink blood.
“Alright. How much blood are we talking about?”
“Not a drop,” he said dryly. “If that’s what you’re hoping for.”
Then he cut his wrist and lifted it to your mouth. “Drink.”
You obeyed, lips sealing around his skin as you drew his blood onto your tongue. His fingers slid into your hair gently, stroking as if grounding you while you drank. “That’s enough.”
You pulled back, breath unsteady, his blood trailing down your chin. His thumb caught it slowly, smearing it across your mouth before he leaned back to look at you, eyes dark, intent, as if committing the sight to memory. Then, he leaned down, whispering, “You look better like this. Marked with my blood.”
The next thing you knew, he sank his fangs into you again, a quiet gasp escaping you as your nails gripped his shoulders. It didn’t take long for him to drink before finally sealing the ritual with his blood-stained lips crashing against yours.
Your blood, breath, and saliva mixing as the two of you became bound.
“Now you’re mine. And I’m yours,” he whispered against your lips before devouring your mouth.
The ritual’s final kiss didn’t break. It deepened. He cupped your face with a gentle command, tilting your head back to taste more of your soft mouth. His silver-white hair tumbled forward as he pressed closer.
You felt the cool brush of his fangs when he broke the kiss only to trail his mouth along your jaw to your neck. He paused, breath warm on your skin. “May I?” Sylus whispered. Even lost in desire, he waited for your consent.
At your breathless nod, he let out a shuddering sigh of relief. In one swift motion, he lifted you onto the marble gazebo’s edge, strong hands sliding along your thighs as you wrapped them around his waist.
His hands moved with deliberate care, sliding over your arms, skimming bare skin as he loosened the fabric inch by inch. Each clasp undone sent a shiver down your spine. When your dress finally slipped from your shoulders, revealing a hint of your breasts, he paused again.
You helped him next, fingers trembling as they traced the buttons of his coat, easing it open. He let you, watching you move, until his coat fell to the ground.
He pressed his forehead to yours, taking a deep breath before speaking again, “Come with me.”
He didn’t rush you. He guided you, fingers laced with yours, leading you from the garden, past stone corridors warmed by torchlight, up into the quiet of his bedroom.
The chamber was dim, lit by candlelight. He turned to you before the bed, eyes searching your face. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
You didn’t answer with words. Your hands rose instead, trembling only slightly as you touched the front of his tunic. He stilled, watching you closely as you undid it piece by piece, fabric parting beneath your fingers. When your touch faltered, his hands covered yours, guiding, steadying, until his shirt fell away.
He reached for the remaining ties of your dress slowly. The fabric loosened inch by inch, slipping down your breasts under his careful hands. His knuckles brushed your bare skin and lingered there for a moment. When the gown finally pooled at your feet, his breath changed.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, not as praise, but as fact.
He eased you down onto the mattress and followed, his knee pressing gently between your legs, urging them to part as his weight settled close.
He finally aligned himself against your warm entrance, holding your gaze with those intense eyes as he guided himself forward. A breathless gasp tumbled from your lips as he slowly filled you, inch by torturous inch. He moved with controlled strength, letting you feel every bit of him without ever slamming or rushing. Your body arched to meet his, as large hands slid to your hips, steadying you.
He watched you intently, attentive to your every need, he adjusted his angle with a slight shift of his hips, drawing a startled cry from you as he hit that perfect spot inside. A satisfied smile ghosted across his lips at your reaction.
The sensation was maddeningly exquisite: he would withdraw almost completely, the emptiness making you whine softly in protest, only to plunge back in with that same deliberate depth, drawing a trembling moan from deep in your throat.
Your hands slid up to grasp at his biceps, feeling them flex and tense under your palms with each restrained movement.
One of his hands captured your wrists when you began to writhe too desperately. He pinned them gently above your head, pressing them into the pillows. His thumb caressed the inside of your wrist in a soothing stroke.
“Easy,” he murmured, the word soft yet commanding.
You yielded completely, wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him even closer. The new angle sent a bolt of raw pleasure through you both, and Sylus hissed a breath between his teeth, his composure flickering as your inner walls clenched around him.
For just a heartbeat, his restraint nearly slipped, his next thrust was harder, driving into you with a force that bordered on rough. A broken cry spilled from your lips at the sudden intensity, pleasure and a hint of pain blurring together. Realizing how fiercely his desire had surged, Sylus forced himself to still, buried deep inside you while you quivered around him. With a ragged exhale, he pressed a tender kiss to your parted lips, an unspoken apology and reassurance all in one.
“Alright?” he asked softly.
You nodded and whispered a breathless “Yes… please, don’t stop.”
Sylus’s lips curved in a faint smile against your mouth, and he resumed his motions, returning to that deep, rolling rhythm that made your toes curl.
His gaze drifted to the delicate column of your throat, where a single bead of sweat trickled down. The pulse there fluttered wildly with your excitement. Sylus felt his fangs ache with need. He had held off this long, determined to put your pleasure first, but the hunger was growing, intertwining with the pleasure in a dizzying mix.
Bowing his head, he brushed aside your hair to bare the smooth curve of your neck. He kissed you there, slowly, sensually, a silent warning and a request. You tilted your head in wordless consent, exposing more of yourself to him, and he did not miss the way your body tightened eagerly around him in response.
“I’ll be gentle,” he promised against your skin.
On the next thrust, as he filled you to the hilt, Sylus finally gave in to his darker desire. His fangs sank into your neck with careful precision. He stilled inside you, holding you tight as your blood flowed over his tongue. His arm slipped beneath the arch of your back, cradling you against his chest as he drank. There was a strange, hypnotic bliss in yielding so completely, in feeling his mouth at your throat, knowing he was taking sustenance from you even as he gave you ecstasy in return.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, pain and pleasure twined tightly together; each time he drew on your vein, a responsive throb clenched around the hardness he kept buried inside you.
Sylus growled softly against your neck at that exquisite squeeze, Instinctively, your hips rolled, urging him to move, to keep taking you. He answered with a slow grind of his hips, stirring a fresh wave of sensation deep in your core, even as he continued to drink in measured pulls.
Pleasure was building rapidly now, and he could feel it in the way your body tightened.
He forced himself to be gentle, even now, when his own desire was roaring in his veins. His inner demon snarled for more, more blood, more thrusts, more of you. But he held it on a tight leash. His free hand found yours and he interlaced your fingers, grounding both of you in that moment of shared connection.
He drank until he sensed your pulse quicken even further, a sign both of your arousal peaking and the need to stop before he took too much. Reluctantly, he retracted his fangs, sealing his lips over the bite marks as he withdrew. His tongue swept over the small wounds, a soothing caress that staunched the blood.
He raised his head to look at you then, licking the last trace of crimson from his lips.
With a deep groan, he began to move again in earnest. The leisurely pace he’d maintained finally fractured under the tide of shared lust. He didn’t fully unleash, even now there was a remarkable control in the way he drove into you, but his thrusts were harder and deeper.
The relentless friction and the throbbing aftershocks of the bite finally sent you tumbling over the edge. Sylus held you as you fell apart, capturing your moan with his mouth in a fierce, passionate kiss.
Your release triggered his own. With a ragged growl into your mouth, Sylus thrust one final time, plunging as far as he could go and spilling himself deep inside you. He broke the kiss only to press his forehead to yours, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. For a long moment, neither of you moved.
Eventually, he carefully eased himself from your body, drawing a mutual gasp at the sensitivity, and then settled by your side on the rumpled sheets.
Immediately, he gathered you against him, cradling your head to his chest. He tilted your chin gently, inspecting the small puncture wounds with visible concern despite how minor they were. A remorseful flicker crossed his face, as if worried he’d hurt you, but you just gave him a sated, lazy smile to reassure him. Leaning in, he placed a soft, open-mouthed kiss over the marks, his tongue darting out to lave the tender skin.
Finally, he relaxed fully, laying back against the pillows and drew half your body on top of him, enveloping your smaller form in his arms. He shifted just enough to pull the blankets around you, cocooning you in warmth. You felt his lips press to your forehead.
Completely spent and blissful, you closed your eyes. In his arms, you knew you were cherished and protected, the dark fiend’s beloved, held safe until sleep claimed you both.
It was the annual Blood Moon Masquerade that Rhysand hosted. It was the only court that allowed mortals and vampires to mingle, but only on this night. Only a certain number of mortals would be invited, and you were one of them. People would kill to go to that lavish masquerade ball. It was everything they’d ever dreamt of: the riches, the food, the wine, the entertainment, and most importantly, the pleasure. You had heard about it before, how a vampire drinking from a mortal could be euphoric to both parties if done correctly.
You had no interest whatsoever in snobs and arrogant vampires who looked down on mortals and thought them beneath notice, a source of entertainment when not being consumed as food. And the trouble was, they always had a way of seducing mortals in a way they couldn’t refuse. And you were afraid of that.
Your friends, however, nominated your name as a joke, but when the results came out, your name was on the list. When they told you what they’d done, you were furious. You told them they could take your place. But the problem was once an invitation was sent, it couldn’t be retracted. And refusing to attend would be an insult to the Lord of the Night Court, one that could have serious consequences for your family, friends, and everyone you held dear. So, despite how much you hated it, you had to go.
A custom made dress and mask were delivered to your doorstep, as well as a carriage to take you straight to the palace.
You arrived at the same time as all other mortals did. They rushed inside, buzzing with excitement, while you took a deep breath and entered last.
The place was beautiful, elegant, you had to admit, and this was only the outside. But you tried not to look impressed. You grabbed the hem of your gown and started ascending the stairs. You looked up, still taking in the design, when your eyes met a masked man’s on the balcony. You dropped your gaze and went inside, not paying much attention to who that man was.
You roamed the grand hall before stepping into the ballroom. The vampires were friendlier on this night, more sociable, and of course more charming and seductive. You knew that the mortals were invited to be feasted upon, even though guaranteed a safe return, it still repulsed you.
You just hoped you’d go unnoticed and no one would approach you.
But oh, you were so wrong.
You heard the clinking of silverware against glass as everyone quieted and turned toward the marble stairs. The host, dressed in black, was standing atop them. He greeted his guests with a toast before his eyes met yours. It was the same man from before. You recognized those violet eyes.
As he finished his speech and started descending, you pushed through the crowds to disappear. You had a feeling he was after you. And you weren’t wrong.
You reached the buffet table and began filling a plate. As you straightened up again, you felt a strong presence behind you.
His fangs grazed your neck. “Careful, darling. Another step back and I’ll sink my fangs in.”
Your body went rigid. You did not want to be feasted upon. Not now, not later. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
You were about to turn to face your predator, but he kept you in place, facing forward. “Uh, uh, uh. I didn’t say you could turn around.”
“I didn’t know there were so many rules,” you shot back.
“There aren’t. The rules are simple: no violence, no boring talk, and everyone indulges in pleasure,” he explained.
“I am. Food is pleasure,” you countered.
He chuckled. “It’s not the only pleasure. Allow me to demonstrate.”
“No!” you blurted. Then you cleared your throat when you realized how quickly you’d refused, heart hammering in your chest. “I prefer to eat first. I haven’t eaten all day. I wouldn’t want to faint from blood loss.”
He nodded, stepping back. “Fair enough. I’ll leave you to it…For now.” And then he was gone.
You were finally able to breathe again. You had to get out before he detected you again. You ate the food first, and it was nothing like you’d tasted before. Now you understood why many mortals wanted to come here.
As you finished eating, you headed to the exit discreetly, checking your surroundings. Luckily, he was nowhere to be found, or so you thought. When you turned your head towards the exit again, you bumped into him. Shit!
“Going somewhere, Miss?” He smirked.
“Uh, I just wanted to get some fresh air. It’s hot in here,” you lied.
“Tell me, little mortal, are you always this ungrateful?”
Your eyes widened. “What? I didn’t mean to–”
“You have been lying to me from the start. Why are you here? Because you clearly are not interested in having anyone’s fangs in your throat.” He stepped in, your escape route shrinking to nothing.
“I just…”
“No lies.”
You exhaled sharply. “Fine. I didn’t want to come, but I knew there would be consequences. My friends nominated me without my knowledge, and now I’m here.”
He laughed. “A mortal who doesn’t want to attend the ball ended up taking the place of many others who would’ve killed to take your spot. Tell me, what should I do with you?”
“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. You asked for the truth.”
“I did, and now you’ve given it to me.”
There was a beat of silence before he grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the dance floor. “I have decided. Dance with me. If I’m pleased with you, I’ll let you go.”
You stumbled forward, your hand automatically pushing at his chest to steady yourself. His hand on your waist caught you with ease, while his other clasped yours.
“And if you’re not?” you asked, anxious to hear his answer.
“Then I’ll devour you,” he said coldly.
Your throat bobbed. You couldn’t dance, not really. And definitely not in a professional manner. Yet you gathered yourself, and when the music played, he led and you followed.
He leaned in to whisper in your ear, his hand tightening around yours. “If you falter, I’ll bite.”
Dammit. This wasn’t what you signed up for. But then again, there was a big chance some disgusting vampire was going to sink his teeth into you anyway. And though their Lord appeared handsome behind the mask, you despised him for the way he spoke to you.
“What’s your name?” he demanded.
“Y/n.”
“Y/n.” He repeated. “What a nice name. It suits you.”
As the dance progressed, you found yourself keeping up with him. But when the music died, he didn’t let go of you. Instead, he dragged you out of the hall. You didn’t focus on the surroundings or where you were; your eyes were only on your wrist held captive in his grip.
A rush of cool air hit you, he’d brought you back to the same balcony where he’d stood when you first saw him. He was standing behind you, hands on your waist. He nipped at your earlobe. “You look exquisite in the mask I chose for you.”
Your heart skipped a beat. “You chose the mask?”
“Of course. You see, everyone here contributes to the masks sent to mortals. Of course, usuallyI send the most. But this year, I was bored of it all. So I decided to send only one. And you were the lucky girl to receive it.”
He inhaled your scent slowly, as if committing it to memory, fingers tightening on your waist. “So imagine my disappointment,” he murmured against your throat, “when you pulled away from my bite as if it were poison. When you lied to my face just to avoid my fangs.”
His thumb slid up to the hollow beneath your jaw, tilting your head. “And then to find out you didn’t even want to be here…” A soft, dangerous laugh ghosted against your skin. “I’ve been deciding what to do with you ever since.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint.” Your voice broke, caught somewhere between thrill and fear.
“Stop apologizing,” he ordered, irritation flickering beneath his tone. “Tell me something, Y/n. Would you rather I let you back out there, unmarked, for another vampire to claim?”
“No!”
“Then tell me what I should do.” His hand slid from your waist as he reached for the ribbon securing your mask, untying it with slow precision before letting it fall away. “Turn around.”
You obeyed. And when your eyes met his, something inside you snapped into place. Recognition. Danger. Inevitability.
His touch was gentle as he cupped your cheek, and then he removed his own mask. Your breath stuttered when his face was revealed, too beautiful and too predatory all at once.
He stepped forward, guiding you backwards into the room with nothing more than his presence and the pressure of his gaze. You couldn’t hold it for long. He was too intense, too consuming. You were being seduced, deliberately, expertly, and there was nothing you could do about it but to give in and surrender.
Only when your heel nudged something soft did you finally glance to the side.
A large, elegant black bed.
Fuck. You were in his bedroom.
He spun you smoothly, your back meeting his chest as he positioned you before a wall-long mirror. One hand splayed over your stomach, the other dragging slowly along your arm. His touch sending shivers down your spine.
His fangs descended, grazing the tender skin of your throat. “Tell me you want it.”
You swallowed hard, his gaze locking you in place as you nodded, helpless despite yourself.
His grip tightened around your stomach, drawing you flush against the solid line of his body. His breath brushed your ear as he murmured, low and commanding. “Keep your eyes on the mirror.”
And then he sank his fangs into your throat.
You gasped, pain and pleasure tangling together.
“Don’t flinch,” he coaxed against your skin, “Pleasure always stings at first.”
Your lips parted, eyes drifting shut.
“I said keep them open,” he murmured against your skin. “Watch how beautiful you look with my fangs in your throat.”
And you did. You watched how he fed from you, the way his violet eyes stayed locked on yours, the way his lips were stained crimson.
It was all true. It felt euphoric, better than anything you had ever known. Your knees buckled, but his arm stayed locked around you, holding you upright as heat unfurled through your veins.
He kept you pinned firmly from behind, one hand still splayed possessively across your lower belly to hold you flush against his hips. His fangs remained buried in your throat, drawing slow pulses of your blood as a shuddering moan spilled from your lips. The pain disappearing, replaced by ecstatic pleasure.
Through your disheveled gown, you could feel the hard, cool press of his body and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal grinding against the small of your back. A strangled whimper escaped you as he rolled his hips in time with the greedy suck of his mouth at your neck. Your own hands fluttered upward, desperate for purchase, until your fingers finally seized his forearm, clutching the sleeve of his coat as wave after wave of bliss crashed over you.
In the mirror, you could see a flush blooming across your chest and cheeks, your lips parting around a series of breathless moans as he took his fill of your essence.
Eventually, he slowed down, withdrawing his fangs from your throat with a final, languid lick over the punctured wound. A thin trail of scarlet escaped down your skin, but he was swift to chase it with his tongue, catching every last drop and sending a helpless shudder through your entire body.
His head lifted, and in the mirror you glimpsed his lips painted red with your blood, a sight that should have terrified you, yet instead made heat pool deep in your core.
His eyes never left yours as he slowly, deliberately licked his lips clean, savoring the taste of your life on his tongue. You swayed, lightheaded and boneless, but he held you steady against him, the smirk curving his lips was one of dark satisfaction.
With preternatural grace, he spun you to face him, your full skirt swirling around your legs as your knees buckled again. You collapsed against his solid chest, your fingers tangling desperately in the lapels of his coat for balance.
A low, dark chuckle rumbled from him at your weakened, pliant state, and he brushed a stray lock of hair away from your damp cheek. The twin puncture marks on your neck were still slowly oozing, so he bent and pressed a gentle, open-mouthed kiss over the wounds, whether to numb the ache or simply to claim you again, you couldn’t tell.
Before you could form another thought, he swept you up into his arms in one effortless motion, cradling you against his chest and carrying you to his luxurious bed. With deliberate care, he lowered you onto it, laying you out across his cool silk sheets. Your body sunk into the plush mattress as he loomed over you, each of his movements radiating authority and restrained hunger.
Your head fell back against the pillows, and he followed you down in a fluid motion. The weight of him pressed you pleasantly into the mattress pinning you in place beneath his solid frame. You could feel the cool silk sheets against the hot, bare skin of your back where the gown had slipped low, baring your shoulders. A soft sigh slipped from you as his lips trailed your jaw to the hollow of your throat.
His fingers tugged deftly at the delicate straps of your masquerade dress, sliding them down your arms to further expose the expanse of your chest. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, the muscles beneath his shirt hard. You gripped him, needing something solid to anchor you amid the dizzying waves of sensation.
A wicked smirk played on his lips as he shifted lower, settling himself between your parted thighs. The tulle and silk of your skirt rustled as he pushed the fancy fabric up, bunching it high around your hips to bare your legs.
His hands slid slowly along the outside of your thighs, then inward, spreading them further apart. He paused to drink in the sight of you laid out before him, hair fanned across his pillows, dress rucked up indecently, chest heaving, and his eyes flashed with lustful approval.
One hand glided up the inside of your thigh, his thumb teasing along the sensitive skin until it hovered just shy of the apex of your legs. You could feel the heat of his touch achingly close to where you needed him most. You shifted your hips in a silent plea, but he only smirked and pressed his broad palm to your lower abdomen to hold you down firmly.
The message was clear: you would receive what he chose to give, only when he chose to give it. A whiny whimper escaped you at his teasing refusal, but it only made his grin sharpen.
For a moment he released you, just long enough to strip off his coat and toss it aside, followed by the swift undoing of buttons and buckles. Scars from centuries-old battles marked his hard, muscled skin. Your mouth went dry at the sight, but your eyes were inevitably drawn lower as he kicked off his boots and worked open the front of his trousers. Through heavy-lidded eyes you caught a glimpse of his arousal, thick and rigid, before he moved over you once more.
He brushed a soft kiss against your chin before kneeling between your thighs and slipping his arms beneath your knees, lifting and hooking your legs around his waist. Then you felt his hardness brush against your inner thigh, your entire body responding with a jolt of need. Your legs tightened around his hips of their own accord, trying to urge him closer, He gave a throaty chuckle at your impatience, the sound both indulgent and taunting.
Gripping your hips in his strong hands, he positioned himself at your entrance. For an agonizing heartbeat he hovered there, the tip of him nudging teasingly against your slick folds, sending sparks skittering through your core. Your nails dug into the sheets, bracing yourself.
Then, with a slow, inexorable roll of his hips, he pushed into you. Breath left your lungs in a shattered cry as he stretched and filled you inch by excruciating inch. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, a hiss of pleasure escaping through his clenched teeth as your warmth enveloped him fully. He sank into you to the hilt, burying himself in your tight, yielding heat until your bodies were joined completely.
You lifted your shaking hands to touch him, fingertips skimming over the tense muscles of his arms. But before you could wrap your arms around his shoulders, he captured your wrists in one swift movement. A startled gasp caught in your throat as he pinned your arms above your head, pressing them into the pillows. His long fingers easily encircled both your delicate wrists, shackling them beneath him.
He set a punishing rhythm, each powerful thrust driving him deeper, eliciting a new gasp or moan as he claimed your body over and over.
Your thighs tightened around his waist, ankles locking behind his back as if to keep him from ever leaving your depths.
You turned your face, and his mouth found yours in a searing kiss, the copper tang of your own blood still on his tongue. The intimacy of the kiss was all-consuming as you tasted yourself and him, a mingling of essence that made your head spin. He swallowed your moans as his pace quickened. Your body was tightened around him, spiraling toward release with dizzying speed. And seeing how close you were, he tore his mouth from yours and buried his face in the curve of your neck. His hot breath fanned over the fresh bruises his lips had left on your throat. You tilted your head back automatically, giving him access to claim you there once more.
“Yes...please…” you managed to gasp, though you weren’t even sure what you were begging for, more of his bite, more of his body, more of everything.
A dark, satisfied growl rolled out of him in response.
At the very brink of your climax, he sank his fangs into you again, on the untouched side of your neck.
The dual sensation of his thick shaft driving into you at the same moment his fangs pierced your flesh sent you flying over the edge. Pleasure exploded through you like lightning. You screamed, a raw, helpless sound as your body convulsed around him. Your vision blanked out, your thighs clamped around his waist, holding him tight as you shattered.
He snarled against your throat, his own control finally snapping at the taste of your climax on his tongue. With a final, shuddering thrust that pressed you flush together, he found his release. A feral groan vibrated against your neck as he spilled himself into you.
He loosened his grip on your wrists and carefully slid his fangs from your neck, licking over the new punctures to seal them. The sharp sting faded into a gentle burn that only made you nuzzle weakly into him. Both of you were shaking still, chest heaving as you drew ragged breaths. A sheen of sweat and a few streaks of blood glistened on your entangled bodies.
He eased your limp arms down from above your head, and you immediately draped them around his neck, unwilling to let any space come between you.
With a satisfied rumble, he collapsed onto the bed beside you, remaining joined to you so that you ended up half atop him, your cheek resting on his bare chest.
One of his arms snaked around your waist, holding you possessively close, while the other hand came up to stroke your hair away from your damp face.
For a long, languid moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds in the chamber were your slowing breaths and the faint, muffled music filtering in from the distant ballroom. The atmosphere remained thick with the charge of what transpired.
Then he finally spoke. “I’m keeping you.”
You were still panting but managed a reply. “I’m not a pet.”
His lips curved into a smirk against the top of your head. “No. But you’re mine now.”
The storm had been building all night, rain tapping softly against the windowpanes, the fireplace crackling low. You tried to ignore it, to ignore the way Rafayel’s eyes kept drifting toward the sea beyond the glass.
“You haven’t asked me when I’m leaving,” he said finally, voice quiet, weighted.
You looked up from your cup, throat tightening. “If I ask, it’ll make it real.”
He gave a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “So dance with me instead.”
He stood and set an old record onto the player.
When he looked back at you, you hesitated before nodding. He offered his hand, his palm cool, thumb tracing idle circles against your knuckles as he pulled you close.
You leaned into him, your cheek brushing his shoulder, his other palm resting at the small of your back. For a little while, you simply swayed, feet moving without thought, time slipping through your fingers.
He finally murmured, “The song’s almost over.”
You tightened your hold, refusing to let go. “Just keep dancing with me until the storm passes.”
But it didn’t pass. Wind clawed at the shutters until the latch gave and the window burst open. Cold air swept through the room, carrying the scent of the sea.
He looked toward it, toward the call he could never ignore.
“Don’t,” you said, fingers clutching his coat. “Please.”
His gaze softened, regret shimmering in his eyes. “I have to.”
You felt his breath when he spoke, the warmth of it brushing your cheek before his lips did. You closed your eyes, not wanting to face reality. His mouth found yours, but his kiss wasn’t passionate, it was breaking. It held every word he didn’t have the strength to speak.
When you finally opened your eyes, the fire had nearly gone out. You watched as his shadow disappeared through the door, not once looking back.
But you couldn’t let him go, not like this.
You ran after him as rain swept across the coast in sheets, soaking through your clothes. The earth beneath your feet was soft and slick, wind howling across the cliffs.
“Rafayel!”
He turned, slightly startled.
You stumbled toward him, hair plastered to your face. “You were going to leave without saying goodbye?”
He looked away. “I did say goodbye.”
“You call that a goodbye?” Your voice trembled, caught between anger and hurt.
“It’s easier,” he whispered.
“Not for me,” you said, voice breaking.
His jaw tightened. “You know I have to, Y/n.”
You shook your head, stepping closer until your fingers found his sleeve. “Then dance with me again. One last time.”
His brow furrowed. “Now? Here? In the storm?”
“Yes. Here. We don’t have much time.”
He smiled faintly, brokenly. “You never make things easy, do you?”
The rain ran between your joined hands as he pulled you close. You moved together slowly, clumsy against the wind. No music played this time, yet the rain became a melody, each drop a note in some unspoken farewell as your bodies swayed to a rhythm that didn’t exist.
The downpour eased, the sea quieting with it.
“It’s not pouring anymore,” he murmured.
“Then pretend it is,” you breathed.
For a heartbeat, he did. He smiled, just barely, and lowered his head to your shoulder. You felt him breathe you in, the damp air and salt and goodbye mingling between you.
His hand pressed against your back, steadying you as he drew in a slow breath. He lifted his head, and your hand rose to his cheek without thinking, your fingers brushing his skin. He caught your wrist gently, holding it there as he leaned into your touch, eyes falling shut as though memorizing the warmth of your palm against him. And then he kissed you one last time.
When he pulled away, he lingered, forehead pressed to yours, his wet hair dripping against your cheeks. “You’ll find me when the tide turns again.”
“You always say that,” you whispered, voice shaking.
“And I always mean it.”
“Rafayel–” you barely managed.
He exhaled, heavy and resigned, like the sea itself sighing against the shore. “If I could stay, I would.”
“I know,” you said, though your heart ached with how little that changed.
“Goodbye, Y/n.”
You couldn’t say a word. Your tears spoke for you, not that they were visible as they mixed with the rain. But he noticed, he always did. This time, he couldn’t fix it.
He twirled you once, slow and aching, before letting go of your hand.
He took one step back, and another. You stood alone in cold weather, arms still lifted from where he’d held you.
You watched until the distance blurred him into the horizon and the waves claimed the light around him. The sea called him, and he went, stepping into the water until it swallowed him whole.
When you finally returned inside, the fire had gone out completely. Only his fading scent and the echo of your name on his lips remained in the cold, vast, dark house.
The wind had started whispering of autumn, laced with the scent of rain-damp earth and pine. You’d been waiting for it, the first chill that made you reach for the cinnamon tin and your softest shawl. It made you light up, and Lucien loved watching it happen. The way your eyes softened at the sight of turning leaves, how you’d hum while grinding spices for cider, or how you treated the simple act of lighting the hearth like a celebration. It was ridiculous, he’d once thought. Now it was the one thing he looked forward to most.
You were already bustling about the small cabin, humming under your breath. A steaming cup of spiced cider sat on the table beside a cluster of pumpkins you’d clearly gathered for decoration.
You knelt by the fireplace, coaxing sparks from kindling while Lucien sat back in his armchair, a book forgotten in his lap. He smiled to himself, gaze following the curve of your back, the faint sway of your hair as you moved. You were sunlight in human form, he thought, and every autumn you came alive.
“You’re far too excited to light a fire,” he drawled, the corner of his mouth lifting again. “It’s barely even autumn.”
You glanced over your shoulder, grinning. “It’s never too early to prepare.”
He chuckled under his breath, watching the light climb your face, gold reflected in your eyes, copper in your hair. “I’d say you’ve already summoned the season,” he murmured, voice low, fond.
You turned, catching his gaze. “You could come help, you know.”
“I am helping,” he replied, rising slowly, the book closed and set on the table. “Supervising.”
You rolled your eyes, standing and dusting your palms free of ash and wood.
He stopped just behind you, close enough that his warmth mixed with the hearth’s. His fingers skimmed your shoulder, trailed down your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Then his arm slipped around your stomach, drawing you gently back against him as he bent to press a kiss to your shoulders.
“You make this cabin feel like home,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the crackle of flame.
You turned to face him, his hands remaining where they’d found purchase, one at your waist, the other sliding to the small of your back. “And you make it warmer,” you whispered.
He cradled your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek. Then he kissed you, slow and deep, tasting spiced cider on your lips. When you parted, he pressed his forehead to yours, breathing you in.
You melted into him, the firelight dancing across your skin as he guided you to the thick fur rug before the hearth.
You laughed quietly when he tugged at your shawl, teasing, “Impatient?”
He lowered his head, his breath warm against your throat as a smile curved his lips. “You started the fire.”
“For aesthetic,“ you clarified, unable to fight your own smile.
“Well, we can have it both ways, can’t we?” He dipped his head lower until his lips brushed the edge of your collarbone.
He laid you down carefully, one hand cupping beneath your head while the other slipped under the hem of your sweater, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist, gliding higher along your ribs, brushing the side of your breast, pausing to feel your breath hitch beneath his touch. His mouth followed its own path upward, kissing your shoulder, your throat, the hollow where your pulse fluttered against his lips. He undressed you like unwrapping something delicate and precious, pausing to breathe against each new inch of skin revealed.
You tugged at his shirt in return, fingers fumbling with the buttons until he helped you, laughing softly against your neck. “Who’s impatient now?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. His mouth captured yours again. The kiss wasn’t hurried but reverent, mouths parting, shared air warm between you. His hand slid along your thigh, over your hip, until he caught your wrist and pinned it gently above your head. You gasped softly, your fingers instinctively tangling with his. His other hand followed, pinning both of yours to the fur, his thumb drawing slow circles against your skin, a silent question, a reassurance.
You arched beneath him, your breath catching as his hips pressed closer. The motion was purposeful, a rhythm that built gradually, heat rolling through you in waves that matched the fire beside you.
“Lucien,” you breathed, his name breaking on a whisper.
He kissed you in answer, with the quiet certainty of someone who’d found home. His movements stayed slow, committing everything to memory: the sound of your breathing, the way your body arched toward him, the quiet plea of your voice when you said his name.
His forehead touched yours, breath uneven as he whispered it back like a prayer. You answered with a soft sound, your body responding to his with the same tenderness and urgency he gave you. The fire cracked beside you, the sound swallowed by the quiet rhythm of his slow thrusts and your soft gasps.
When it was over, the fire had burned lower. You lay together tangled in the fur, your fingers still caught between his. His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist lazily, tracing your pulse. He gathered you closer, leaning to press a kiss to your temple, then another to your shoulder, voice husky but gentle. “You were right,” he murmured. “It’s never too early to prepare.”
You smiled against his chest, drowsy, content. “Told you so.”
The rain had started hours ago, tapping against the windows in a steady rhythm. Lightening flashed through the sky now and then, trapping you inside with Xavier.
You’d spent the evening testing his patience while he sat by the fireplace, absorbed in a book, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. You had tried everything: talking, humming, brushing against his shoulder, even draping yourself across his lap and pouting, yet nothing had pulled him from those pages.
Finally, you sighed, sprawling dramatically across the couch. “Xavier,” you whined, dragging his name out on purpose.
He didn’t even glance up. “Y/n.”
“You’re ignoring me.” You pouted.
His eyes flicked up briefly. “I’m reading.”
“Same thing.”
You hurled a pillow at him. It bounced off his arm with a dull thud.
That earned you a look; slow, assessing, with that faint curve of his mouth that meant you were pushing your luck. “Careful,” he warned.
You smiled sweetly and poked his cheek. “I’m boreeed.”
The book closed with a soft snap. His gaze lifted, calm and dangerous all at once. He stood slowly, the couch creaking as he rose to his full height. He set the book down with deliberate care.
“Shit,” you muttered under your breath before springing up.
He took a few steps forward, closing the distance. You backed away, stumbling slightly as your back met the cold surface behind you. He didn’t stop until he was caging you between his body and the wall.
You swallowed hard as he looked down at you with those predatory eyes.
“You wanted my attention?” he asked softly, leaning in to whisper against your ear. “Now you have all of it.”
Your breath hitched. “Uh oh.”
Then you shoved him lightly and darted toward the door, bare feet skidding on the cool tile before you burst outside into the storm. Cold rain slapped your face as thunder cracked overhead. You looked back just once, catching the low sound of his laugh as he stepped out after you, unhurried, sleeves rolled up, eyes dark with intent.
You sprinted toward the street, rain plastering your hair to your face. You spun at the end of the block, breathless, half-expecting to be alone. Instead, he rounded the corner a heartbeat later, soaked and grinning like a wolf. He didn’t slow.
You squealed and ran toward the apartment. He gave you a few seconds of freedom before catching you easily, one arm snaring your waist, spinning you back to face him, and tackling you against the brick wall with enough force to rattle your teeth. His palms flattened against the bricks on either side of your head, boxing you in. You gasped, water slick on your skin, his breath hot against your ear despite the chill. Rain streamed off his hair in rivulets, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His chest rose and fell beneath the drenched shirt as he looked you up and down, pupils blown wide with lust.
“You should know better,” he growled. “Run again, and I’ll make sure you can’t walk out of the apartment for days.”
Your pulse stuttered. Was it a threat? A promise? You didn’t care.
Thunder cracked and neither of you moved.
Then he leaned in, rain-slick lips capturing yours in a kiss that made something coil deep in your stomach. It was rough and hungry. His teeth nipped your lower lip, drawing a sound from you that made his hand tighten at your waist.
You clung to his shoulders, kissing him back with equal fire. When he finally pulled away, his breath ghosted over your lips. “Home,” he rasped. He didn’t wait for you to agree. He scooped you up by the backs of your thighs, tossing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.
You let out a breathless laugh, hands thumping his back. “Xavier!”
“Be quiet,” he ordered, swatting your ass as he carried you through the rain, his grip firm as he strode the short distance back to the apartment.
The door banged open. “Or you’ll get even wetter,” he added, kicking it shut behind you.
He set you down in the entryway, your hair and clothes dripping onto the hardwood. Water pooled beneath your feet. His gaze raked over you, taking in the way your soaked shirt clung to your skin.
“Strip,” he said simply.
You shivered. “B-bossy.”
He smirked. “Huh? You gonna argue?” He stepped closer until your back hit the floor-to-ceiling window, the chill biting through your soaked clothes. He peeled the drenched sweater over your head, tossing it aside. In one smooth motion, he turned you around so your chest pressed against the chilled surface.
Then his fingers hooked under your bra strap and snapped it against your skin, making you jump. “Keep your hands on the window,” he murmured, capturing your wrists and pressing them up against the cold pane. “Eyes forward. Right where you ran, yeah?”
You blinked through the rain-streaked glass, seeing the wet street, the puddles you’d splashed through. Your breath fogged the window, and you could see your own hazy reflection, his taller form looming behind you. He dragged his palms down your arms, then settled them around your hips.
“You wanted attention,” he whispered, his mouth finding the sensitive spot behind your ear as he repeated his earlier words. “Now you have my undivided attention. Every. Fucking. Inch.” His teeth grazed your throat, biting just hard enough to leave a sting.
You whimpered, your forehead thunking against the glass. “Xavier…”
“Hm?” He chuckled darkly. “Beg later.” His hands slid down, gripping your hips and pulling you back to meet him. Your spine arched instinctively as he pressed himself against you. You could feel how hard he was through the soaked layers that still separated you. He held you like that, pinned between his body and the window, rocking his hips once, testing. You moaned.
“Good,” he murmured. “You wanted to run away into the rain? Then stay right here and watch that spot while I remind you why you never run from me.”
You tried to move, a reflex more than rebellion, but his fingers caught your wrists again before you could. He slammed them flat against the pane, trapping you in completely. “Don’t move,” he bit out through gritted teeth. The command sank straight through you, making your pulse stutter.
The world outside vanished as he curled fingers into the waistband of your drenched leggings, yanking them down before shoving his own clothes aside and tearing away the last barrier between you. The first thrust stole your breath; the second tore his name from your throat. He didn’t stop. Each motion grew rougher, every drive of his hips making the window rattle faintly.
The glass fogged under your fingers with every shuddering breath. His mouth found your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses between thrusts. “That’s it…just like that.”
“Keep your eyes open,” he ordered. “Watch.”
Lightning flashed, and for an instant, you saw everything. The way his body molded to yours, your mouth open, hands trembling, his grip tight around your hips as he moved in a brutal rhythm.
Every push drove you higher, your knees shaking, your voice breaking. But he didn’t let go, didn’t ease up, holding you right there against the glass until your thoughts dissolved.
If anyone walked by outside, they would see two shadows pressed to the pane, bodies moving, hands sliding, lips devouring. He made good on his promise to give you every ounce of his attention, thoroughly, relentlessly, until your legs gave out and he had to steady you.
When he finally slowed, you knew you’d be sore tomorrow. His chest rose against your back as he leaned down to kiss your shoulder, licking the rainwater and sweat from your skin. His voice came out low, roughed by satisfaction. “Now, was that enough of my attention for you?”
A/N: This is collection of short drabbles of how I imagine LADS men would celebrate Halloween with their S/O. Enjoy!
Sylus
Sylus had no patience for decorations or silly costumes, but you’d convinced him to walk through the market anyway.
Neon signs mixed with flickering lanterns, vendors sold candy in odd shapes, and children chasing each other in masks. He took it all in with a flat look that said he’d rather be anywhere else.
“You dragged me here for this?” he asked, deadpan.
“Yes,” you shot back, grinning.
A moment later, he pressed a wrapped sweet into your hand. “You kept staring at it,” he said, already walking on.
You opened your mouth to speak, but he was right. You had eyed that candy a few moments ago.
“You didn’t steal it right?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“No. I don’t steal from civilians.” He gave you a sidelong glance.
“I thought you knew me better than that.” Then, as if reading your next thought, he added, “I left a generous tip in exchange for it.”
You slipped your hand into his, and he didn’t let go.
A group jostled past; his hand found the small of your back, impersonal on the surface, possessive underneath.
When a booth attendant offered couple costumes, you snorted. Sylus didn’t. He was busy paying, this time in front of you, so you wouldn’t accuse him of ‘stealing’ again.
You ended up with a stupid headband you pretended not to want. “You didn’t have to,” you said.
“I wanted to,” he replied dryly. Then, after a beat, he handed you another headband, matching yours, only in a different color.
You arched a brow, waiting for an explanation.
“Go on,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Put it on me. I know you want to.”
Your smile was bright, eyes sparkling from joy. It was a simple thing, but he knew exactly how much it meant to you.
You took the headband from his hand, and he leaned down just enough for you to place it on his head.
“Now we’re matching.” You leaned your head against his shoulder as you walked through the decorated streets.
“Happy Halloween, Y/n.”
You bumped his shoulder. “It’s the best one yet.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, the faintest smile ghosting there, gone before you could call him out for it.
Zayne
Zayne called the holiday “nonsense.” He’d spent the evening complaining about how pointless it was while brewing you tea “because it’s cold and you never dress properly.”
You cupped the mug anyway, the steam smelling like clove, thyme, a hint of something floral you always failed to name.
“This will do more for you than cheap candy ever could,” he muttered. Because of course he had to think about your health first.
“This isn’t tasty. Candy is.” You pouted.
He fought a smile and lost. “Drink.”
You did, warmth sliding down your throat. He watched your face like he was cataloging symptoms, and found none he disliked.
“Thank you,” you said.
He nodded in quiet acknowledgement.
“Now that I did what you asked,” you began, a smirk curling your lips. "It's time for you to do what I ask.”
“Y/n—” he started, but the look in your eyes made him sigh. “Fine. What do you want?”
“You already know. We’re dressing up and going out.”
“I don’t have a costume.” His brow lifted, voice flat, though the faint crease between his brows betrayed mild annoyance.
You grinned wickedly. “Oh don’t worry. I came prepared.” From your bag, you pulled out a blood-stained lab coat.
“Really?” He leveled you with a cool, unimpressed stare.
“What? It suits you, doctor,” you teased, waggling your brows.
“And what are you supposed to be?”
“Your sexy nurse.” You held up your outfit, proudly showing it to him.
He groaned. This was going to be a tortuous night. He told himself he was only going because someone had to supervise your chaos, and because he could never say no to you. “If I do this,” he asked flatly, “do I get to make another request?”
“That depends. What do you want?”
“I’ll tell you when we get back.”
Zayne ended up having more fun than he expected, but of course, he wasn’t going to admit it.
You kicked off your shoes as you came home, dropping the bowl of candy on the table.
“Admit it,” you said. “You enjoyed this.”
“I enjoy not treating a sugar crash as a personality,” he replied dryly. His gaze slid to the candy you’d collected. “Moderation.”
“You say that on every day that ends in ‘y’.”
He rolled his eyes. “Now, can I get my wish?”
“You still haven’t told me what you want.”
“You,” he said simply.
You turned to him, closing the distance between you. “Is that so, Dr. Zayne?” you murmured, tilting his chin up with two fingers.
“Y/n—” he warned.
“Yes, Dr.?”
“I’m about to devour you and make this into a true Halloween night.”
You giggled, though your heartbeat quickened. “Ooh, Dr. Zayne. You’re naughty.” You bit your lip, eyes glistening with challenge, then pressed a kiss to his throat before darting upstairs.
He growled, then followed at an unhurried prowl, like a real predator who already knew his prey wouldn’t escape.
Caleb
Halloween was chaos, and Caleb thrived in it. He took you straight into the busiest part of the celebration.
When a haunted house attraction made you jump, his arm was instantly around your waist.
“Relax, it’s just me,” he teased, grinning. “What’s the matter? Did you really think a monster had you?”
You shoved him playfully, but when his fingers stayed at your hip, warm and protective, you didn’t push him away.
Outside, he bought you cider and made you trade sips.
“You’re sticky,” you accused.
“Tragic.” He grinned again. “Kiss it better?”
You rolled your eyes and kissed him anyway, quick and sweet. He went still for a heartbeat, then kissed you back like he’d been waiting all night.
When you pulled away, he tucked a stray hair behind your ear, eyes bright with mischief as he pointed towards the dark maze. “Scared?”
“Of the dark?” You scoffed. “No.”
“Good.” He laced your fingers together. “Stay with me.”
Then he led you inside the maze. He tried to act unimpressed by it. He failed the moment you jumped and grabbed his arm when an actor lunged from the shadows, nearly giving you a heart attack.
“Relax, pipsqueak” he whispered, laughter rumbling low in his chest. “No one’s gonna hurt you while I’m around.”
Xavier
You insisted on watching horror movies despite being terrified. Xavier indulged you, making popcorn while you set the mood; lighting candles, turning off the lights, and piling up fluffy blankets.
He returned with popcorn, snacks and hot drinks balanced in his hands before dropping onto the couch beside you. You settled in next to him, nudging his arm open so you could curl against his chest, guiding his arm to wrap around you.
His smile was small but full as he watched you maneuver him into the perfect cuddle like a cat finding her spot. You tugged the blanket over both of you and hit play.
Xavier was half-distracted by how adorable you looked pretending not to be scared. When the first jump scare hit, you hid your face in the blanket.
“You’re missing the good parts,” he murmured.
“Am not! You can tell me what happened later.”
“I thought you wanted to watch horror movies with me,” he teased.
“I do.”
“Then why are you hiding?” His lips twitched, he was losing the battle against a smile.
“I’m scared,” you admitted, muffled against the blanket.
He exhaled softly, pulling you into his lap, his arms circling you protectively. “Here,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “ I’ll keep the monsters away.”
Rafayel
Rafayel was a menace. He ate too much candy, stole decorations, and made you laugh so hard you nearly cried. When you tried to scold him, he only grinned wider, shoving another sweet into your mouth.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said with sticky lips and a wicked smile. “I know I’m sweet enough without the candy.”
You gave him a flat look, biting back a smile. “You wish.”
He leaned down and brushed a kiss against the corner of your mouth, then gasped, mock-scandalized. “Thief! You stole my sugar.”
“Report me.” You shrugged, trying not to laugh.
He flopped down onto a step with zero grace, tugging you into his lap with all confidence in the world. One arm settled loosely at your waist, the other traced slow, lazy lines up and down your sides.
For all his dramatics, his voice softened when he spoke again. “Happy Halloween," he mumbled into your shoulder.
“Come on, let’s go home.” You stood, grabbing his hands to pull him up.
“No. We have to get more candy. You ate all of mine!” He pouted.
“You’re being dramatic. I only had, like, three.”
“That’s three too many.”
You shook your head, amused. “You’re a big baby, you know that?”
A/N: I know I'm incredibly late, but I've been really busy lately. However, I managed to write this collection of short drabbles of how I imagine ACOTAR men would celebrate Halloween with their S/O. Enjoy!
Azriel
It was All Hallows’ Eve. Everyone was out in Velaris, celebrating and laughing the night away. Crowds weren’t Azriel’s thing, you knew that. He preferred quieter things.
You found him on the roof of the House of Wind, lying on the cold stone and watching the stars. His shadows stirred when you stepped closer, alerting him to your presence.
He turned his head toward you, a faint smile ghosting his lips. “Hey.”
“Hey back.” You returned his smile and crossed the space between you. When he lifted an arm in invitation, you nestled beside him, resting your head on his shoulder.
“I thought you’d be out celebrating with the others,” he murmured.
“And leave you to brood and sulk alone? No way,” you teased, tracing idle shapes on his chest.
A soft chuckle escaped him. “You know you can go out and have fun, right? You don’t have to stay behind for my sake.”
“Az, there is no fun without you. My place is here, by your side. So is my happiness. So if you’re gonna spend the night watching the stars, then so will I.” You paused, smiling faintly. “Besides, I like having you all to myself like this.”
His chest rose in quiet breath, shadows brushing softly over your skin as if echoing his contentment. “You sure you don’t want to light a candle or something?” he asked after a moment. “To lighten the place up a bit?”
You shook your head, gaze still fixed on the constellations above. “No. I don’t need a candle,” you whispered. “You are my light, Az.”
His heart stumbled in his chest. He turned, pressing a gentle kiss to your hair, his voice barely above a murmur. “Happy All Hallows’ Eve, Y/n.”
Cassian
Cider, lanterns, laughter, costumes, the whole All Hallows’s Eve Festival might as well have been invented for Cassian. He won a ridiculous number of games, cheated only when it made you laugh, and kissed you wet and grinning after an unfair victory at apple-bobbing.
“You’re insufferable,” you told him, breathless, pushing him off you teasingly.
“You love me like this,” he shot back, hauling you into a spinning dance as a band struck up something loud and fast. His hands were everywhere, steady at your waist, teasing at your hips, until the music slowed and so did he.
“You look happy,” you said softly.
He ducked his head, that rare soft smile peeking through the swagger as he brushed his lips against your jaw. “You do that.”
Your heart skipped, and before you could respond, he twirled you around and dipped you the moment you faced him again. It was so sudden you didn’t even have time to gasp before he leaned down again and started kissing your throat right there on the dance floor.
“Cassian, people are staring!” you hissed, swatting at him.
“Let them,” he murmured against your skin, voice muffled and smug.
You somehow finally distracted him with a pint of ale, which worked, until you regretted it later when he was spectacularly drunk.
When another drunk tried to flirt with you, Cassian didn’t even glance his way. “Sorry, brother,” he said mildly, drawing you closer. “She’s busy.”
“With what?” you asked, amused.
He pulled you into his lap, brushing his mouth over your cheek. “Me.”
You burst out laughing. He looked ridiculously proud of himself for managing that answer.
You spent the rest of the night dragging him from stall to stall, his arm slung heavy around your shoulders, both of you giggling under the strings of faelights. Velaris shimmered with lanterns and laughter. And Cassian glanced up a few times, eyes half-lidded and soft. “Oh, sweetheart,” he slurred,”we should stay and have fun with the others.”
You sighed, adjusting his weight. “We already did, Cass. You’re barely conscious.”
He grinned sleepily. “Still fun.”
By the time you made it home, you barely managed to shove him onto the bed. But before you could step away, his hand caught yours, tugging you done onto his chest.
“Better,” he muttered, smirking. His arms locked around you in a possessive, heavy, unrelenting hold, so you couldn’t move even if you tried.
And just like that, the Lord of Bloodshed and General of the Night Court was out cold, snoring loud enough to wake the dead, with you stuck on top of him.
Rhysand
Rhysand had insisted on throwing a masquerade ball at the River House, because of course he did. Velaris was alive with lanterns, children running in painted masks, but the real spectacle was the party he’d arranged. Velvet draped the walls, golden candlelight flickered from every corner, and music swelled in the grand hall as half the city danced beneath enchanted chandeliers.
“You do know this isn’t your holiday, right?” you teased as he pulled you onto the dance floor. His mask was black and gold, but you’d recognize that smug grin anywhere.
“Everything is my holiday if I decide it is,” he murmured against your ear, spinning you before drawing you flush against him again. “Besides, what good is Hallows’ Night if I can’t make a spectacle of you?”
You laughed despite yourself, your mask slipping a little as he leaned closer. “So this whole ball was just an excuse to show me off?”
“Obviously,” he said without a hint of shame. His hand skimmed lower along your back, sending a shiver up your spine. “Look at them, all of Velaris staring, and none of them daring to touch. It’s almost enough to make me jealous.”
“Almost?”
Rhys’s grin sharpened. He bent his head, lips brushing the curve of your jaw through the mask. “Almost, because I know how you’ll look later, when the music is gone, and it’s just us, and I have you pressed against the window with nothing but the stars watching.”
Heat curled through you, but you pushed lightly against his chest. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he purred, twirling you in a dizzying spin before catching you again, “you adore me.”
By the time the music slowed, your mask was askew, your cheeks flushed, and Rhys was looking at you like you were the only one in the room. He reached up to fix the ribbon at your temple, fingers brushing your skin with deliberate slowness.
“Beautiful,” he said softly. No tease this time, no sharp edge, just that voice he only ever used when it was the two of you.
“Happy Hallows’ Night, darling. Now come with me before I forget how to be a gentleman.”
And judging by the wicked gleam in his eyes, you knew he already had.
Lucien
Lucien didn’t need a festival. He preferred a lantern-lit walk through the woods, your hands brushing as he told stories of spirits and old traditions. When you flinched at a whisper in the trees, his fingers found yours.
“Stay close,” he said, his fox’s grin softened by the firelight. “It’s only spirits passing by.”
“Where are we going, Lucien?” you asked, still glancing around warily.
“There’s a field beyond the woods. It’s where the spirits rise to the sky. You’ll see, it’s worth it.”
“And you’re sure these spirits aren’t…harmful?” you pressed, unease still curling in your stomach.
He stopped then, turning to face you fully. His hands came to rest gently on your shoulders. “I’d never take you anywhere I thought you’d be in danger,” he said softly. “And you know I’d never let anything harm you.”
You hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll follow your lead.”
His smile returned, small but genuine, as he laced your fingers together and guided you through the last stretch of trees. The forest opened into a quiet meadow bathed in starlight. Colored mist rose from afar, drifting lazily toward the sky.
“Wow,” you breathed, looking up in awe.
Lucien sat down in the grass, tugging your hand to bring you down beside him. “Those,” he said, following your gaze, “are the spirits I told you about.”
“They’re beautiful,” you whispered.
But his eyes never left your face. “They are,” he murmured, a faint smile curving his lips. “So very beautiful.”
The sky shimmered above you, and he watched in silence, content, because seeing you happy had always been enough to make him happy too.
Eris
Eris, as always didn’t ask you to meet him, he summoned you, with yet another ‘urgent’ letter. Same clearing as always, same impatient tilt to his mouth, same attempt at pretending this meant nothing.
“You’re late,” he said, leaning against the same old tree.
“And you’re dramatic,” you returned, crossing your arms. “What now?”
Eris rolled a small wrapped box across his knuckles, then held it out without meeting your eyes. “Take it.”
You stared. “On Hallows’ Eve?”
He scoffed. “It’s a day. Days pass. Open it.”
Inside was a slender, fire-wrought pin, elegant, unmistakably Autumn Court. You looked up; he was already glancing away like he hadn’t spent weeks choosing it.
“It’s not a declaration,” he said smoothly. “Don’t make it one.”
“Of course not,” you said, pinning it just above your heart. “It’s nothing. But just so you know, people don’t usually gift each other things on Hallows’ Eve.”
Silence followed. His gaze dropped to the pin against your chest; something inside him tightened.
“Wear it to the ball tonight,” he said at last.
“The ball?” you echoed, brow raised.
“My father is hosting one. In honor of the deceased, or whatever.”
“Ah, and you want me to attend?” you asked, unable to hide your amusement.
“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t want you to.”
“You didn’t ask,” you reminded.
“Don’t be a smartass,” he shot back.
“Don’t be a bastard,” you countered.
He exhaled through his nose, clearly restraining a smile. “Fine. You want me to ask properly or something?”
“For starters, yes,” you said, crossing your arms.
He inhaled deeply then exhaled, resigned. “Y/n… come to the ball tonight.” He glanced up, saw you weren’t budging, and added quietly, “please?”
You smirked, amused. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?
“Is that a yes?”
You rolled your eyes. “Yes, Eris. It’s a yes. I’ll come to the damn ball.”
“Good.” His voice softened, the edge fading. “Happy Hallows’ Eve.”
“It’s not—” you began, but the words were lost as he stepped forward, fast, fingers at your jaw, mouth finding yours in a kiss so precise it felt like a brand. When he pulled back, his voice was a warning and a confession at once. “Don’t read into it.”
You smiled against his mouth. “Never do. It means nothing.”
He kissed you again, rougher, messier, like he despised how much it meant, how much he craved it.
It was Harvest Festival in the old town, filled with music, lanterns, and cider. Everyone had gathered to drink, eat, play, and dance until morning. You and Cassian were there with the Inner Circle, at least until he leaned in behind you, his palm barely brushing your back as he whispered, “Wanna get out of here and do something actually fun?”
You shot him a suspicious look over your cup.
Seeing you hesitate, he dipped again, voice low and coaxing. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll make it worth your time. Promise.”
You didn’t need much convincing. You were about to excuse yourself when his fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging you subtly through the crowd.
“Slow down,” you panted lightly as he wove you between stalls. “Where are we even going?”
“To the maze,” he said, with that infuriating smirk playing on his lips. “I have an idea. I believe you’ll like it very much.”
You finally reached the entrance of the massive hedge maze, lit only by lanterns and moonlight. “Now what?”
“Race you. First to find the exit wins?” He winked.
“Seriously?” you deadpanned. “You wanna play this?”
“Yes.” A lie. He had something else entirely planned for you.
“Alright. Good luck.” You rolled your eyes before entering.
“Oh, I don’t need luck, sweetheart,” he muttered under his breath, pretending to play fair.
You’d barely made it two turns before strong hands caught your waist from behind, pulling you into the shadows. You twisted, ready to knee your attacker, and nearly planted your boot in your mate’s crotch.
“Easy,” he said, trying to steady you as you lost your balance, but it was too late. You stumbled backward, holding onto his shirt at the last second before landing in a pile of hay. He braced his hands on either side of your face so as not to crush you with his full weight as you pulled him down with you.
You exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of your nose in exasperation, but he made no effort to move off of you.
“Missed me, sweetheart?” he asked with that stupid smirk still planted on his face.
“Seriously, baby?” you mock-glared at him.
“What?” he asked innocently.
“This was your plan from the beginning, wasn’t it?”
“You know me too well.” He dipped his head and brushed his lips against your cheek.
When he still hadn’t moved, you huffed, shifting under him. “Get off me, Cas. The hay is itchy.”
“Sweetheart, you think this hay is itchy?” His voice turned wicked. “Wait until I show you what else we can do in it.”
Oh, uh. You knew that mischievous grin all too well. He was up to no good at all.
And as if on cue, he lowered himself, diving under your full skirt before you could reply.
“Cassian!” you almost yelped, eyes going wide.
He lifted his face from between your legs, that stupid grin never leaving his face. “I do need you to be quiet though, we’re not at home, sweetheart…unless you don’t mind getting caught. In that case, scream all you want.” He winked before his head disappeared under your skirt again.
That got you to shut up real fast. Whatever sharp retort you had died on your tongue in a sharp gasp the instant his mouth descended between your thighs.
You grabbed a fistful of his hair in warning, meaning to yank him back, only for the bastard to groan against you like you’d rewarded him. He only responded by doubling down, slow and intent, clearly determined to memorize every flinch and shiver he could draw out of you.
His steady hands anchored your hips firmly in place, fingers digging into your flesh each time your body writhed from the onslaught. Heat coiled in your stomach, building unbearably with every flick of his tongue that teased your swollen clit and every slow press of it deeper that worked you open. Pleasure lanced through you in hot, thick waves, leaving you trembling and desperate beneath him as he devoured you with devastating focus.
He surfaced, kissing a path up your thigh, then your belly, until you dragged him up by the collar.
One moment you were limp and boneless from his mouth’s torment, the next, his hands caught the backs of your thighs and hauled you to straddle his lap as if you weighed nothing, he was a warrior after all.
You were slick and ready from his tongue, so when he rocked you down onto him, a ragged moan tore from your throat. That earned you his palm sliding up your spine and into your hair, his mouth slanting over yours in a kiss that swallowed every sound you made.
His broad hands spanned your waist, guiding you along his length as he began to move. Each powerful surge of his hips drove him deeper, and he set a rhythm that made your thoughts scatter like ash on the wind. Every thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure crashing through you, driving out any coherent thought until nothing existed except the feeling of him inside you.
Your nails raked down his chest through his shirt as the pleasure rose, before you ripped it open, leaving red marks all over his skin. He angled your chin, mouth trailing your throat; teeth caught at your pulse before he drew slow marks along your collarbone. The bodice stayed on; he only nudged the neckline aside with his teeth, claiming the exposed curve. Then he dipped to where the fabric scooped low, teeth grazing before his mouth sealed there; a bruise bloomed under his tongue and your gasp caught as he licked the sting away.
Then he locked both hands at your waist and drove up, dragging you down to meet each thrust.
He only tore his mouth just in time for you to cry out his name as that coil snapped and you broke, shaking against him.
He held you through it, grip firm as he murmured something filthy against your cheek, kisses gentler now. Your breath evened as you let your forehead fall to his shoulder. He stroked your hair and pressed a kiss to your temple while he continued to guide your hips in small, shuddering rolls to draw out every last pulse of your climax.
When the aftershock finally ebbed, he exhaled and reclined slowly, taking you with him until his shoulders met the hay, keeping you draped over his hips as his heartbeat steadied beneath your palms.
He was always like that. Teasing, infuriating, and sarcastic most of the time, but after sex he was gentle, caring, and so affectionate. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Once you recovered, you pushed up on his chest and plucked a piece of hay from your hair. He didn’t move. Didn’t even try. Just looked smug, pleased, and absolutely unrepentant.
“Cas,” you sighed, exasperated, then paused. His gaze wasn’t on your face. It was lower.
You followed it, ready to call him something along the lines of a pervert, but then you blinked. From your neck to your collarbones, shoulders, and the swell of your breasts, your skin was covered with bruises and love bites.
“You left marks on me,” you said, aiming for casual and failing as your voice caught. “What exactly are you planning to do when they don’t fade?”
He only shrugged, satisfied. “Oh, sweetheart. That was the plan. Needed to mark you so everyone knows you’re mine.”
You rolled your eyes. “Everyone already does,” you muttered. “You’re not subtle, baby. Especially not when you’re drunk. You roam around shouting ‘She’s my mate’ and introducing me to random strangers.”
His grin turned downright proud. “I do be doing that. But what can I say? It can’t be helped. You’re too perfect not to show off.”
“Ugh, I hate you.” You pushed at his chest softly.
“Nonsense. You adore me.” He paused for a moment, then another mischievous idea came to him. “If you feel wronged, feel free to exact your revenge on me. I’m all yours. Cover me in bite marks.”
“Nice try,” you said sweetly. “But that sounds a lot more like reward and a lot less like punishment. Speaking of which, I have a really nice idea about how to take my revenge.”
He winced theatrically. “Oh, no. I know that face. I’m not gonna like it, am I?”
“Nope… You don’t get any bites, kisses, or any kind of touch for a day.”
He stared at you like you’d declared war. “Oh come on, you know that’s impossible!”
“You’re a disciplined warrior. Trained to be patient. You just forgot, but don’t worry. I’ll be here to remind you. And if you break the rules, no sex for a week.”
“Wait–what?” He gaped, actually offended. “No. You can’t do this.”
“Watch me. You had your fun. Now I’m having mine.”
“You’re a cruel, cruel female. Anyone tell you that, sweetheart?”
You chuckled. “Occasionally. Now help me up before someone finds us like this.”
He eyed you, suspicious. “Is this a test? Are you trying to see if I’ll touch you or not?”
“Oh, that. No. When I said ‘No touch’, I meant in a sexual way. So, you can help me up.”
He didn’t hesitate for a second, hauling you to your feet immediately. “What about hugging? Hugging isn’t sexual.”
“With you? It usually becomes it,” you softened, “but, since I love cuddling, I’ll allow it when we sleep. That’s it. Don’t push your luck.”
He sighed, long-suffering and already plotting. “Yes, ma’am.”
You rose onto your toes, plucking a straw from his hair before you leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. Then you pulled back before he could chase it. His groan was pure agony.
“Twenty-four hours, starting now,” you reminded, smug.
“Fuuck,” he whined. “I’m going to fail this test spectacularly.”
You rolled your eyes and took his hand anyway, leading him back toward the lantern light, skin warm, throat marked, and grinning like you’d won.
You opened the door and nearly dropped your drink.
Sylus stood in the hallway, deadpan, wearing a pair of black cat ears. No costume. Just the ears. And his usual holsters, guns, knives, and impossible composure.
“…why,” you whispered, pressing your lips together to keep from laughing.
“I heard that’s what people do on Halloween,” he said simply. “Couples usually choose complementary costumes. You’re the witch, I’m your familiar.”
You blinked, reminding him of earlier. “You refused to dress up!”
He shrugged one shoulder. “They threatened to ban me from the party.”
“They?” you echoed, confused.
“The twins.”
That made you choke on a laugh. You covered your mouth, shaking your head.
“You let them talk you into this?”
“‘Let’ is a strong word,” he said dryly. “They ambushed me with glue and glitter. I chose the lesser humiliation.”
“You look ridiculous,” you managed between giggles.
Sylus stepped forward, unhurried. “Correct.”
You nearly snorted into your drink. “You’re not even gonna deny it?”
“Why would I? he asked, stepping inside like he owned the place. “You’re laughing. Mission accomplished.”
“Ughh, shut up, Sylus.”
His mouth curved. “As you wish.”
He moved past you, full-on smirking, and you tried not to stare.
Everyone else failed miserably. Every head turned as he crossed the room, tall, armed, radiating danger…and wearing cat ears like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
A hush rippled through the party. Then came the whispers.
Since when does he attend these parties?
Is that—are those cat ears?
Do you think she made him wear them?
Sylus ignored them all. He reached for a drink from the tray, unbothered, moving through the murmurs like a king walking among peasants.
No one dared to comment on it. And if they lingered too long, they wouldn’t like the outcome.
After a beat of silence, people tried to go back to what they were doing, but it was hard. There were whispers, speculations about why he was even wearing such a thing.
Sylus was unfazed by it all. He didn’t care about their opinions. He never cared what anyone thought…except for you. And if you were happy or if he managed to make you smile, to laugh, then that was enough. He was happy, even if you were laughing at him.
When he caught you watching him from across the room, trying to suppress another laugh, he raised his glass slightly in a silent toast.
And there it was again. The small traitorous smile tugging at your mouth.
You made your way toward him, weaving through the crowd. “They’re all terrified,” you whispered when you reached him.
“Good,” he murmured. “Fear keeps people quiet and out of my way.”
“Or it kills the mood,” you muttered, sipping your drink.
He glanced down at you, the corner of his lips lifting. “Not mine.”
You raised a brow. “So this is you in a good mood?”
“This is me humoring you, kitten,” he said dryly. “Don’t get used to it.”
You smirked. “You’re only here because I told you to socialize.”
He turned toward you then, fully. “I’m socializing.”
“Standing in the corner doesn’t count.”
“I’m standing beside you and talking to you,” he corrected. “That’s enough.”
Your heart did that annoying flutter thing you pretended not to notice. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, exasperated and grinning.
He leaned closer, his breath brushing your ear. “And yet, you keep inviting me to these things.”
You rolled your eyes. “Because you need to socialize with other people, not just me.”
“Do I? I think I’m sociable enough.”
“Yes, you do. And threatening people with violence isn’t considered sociable.”
He pretended to think about it. “You seem to like me antisocial anyway.”
“I didn’t say that,” you said quickly.
His smirk widened, satisfied. “Then what do you like?”
You stared up at him, lips parting before you could answer. The cat ears twitched slightly when he tilted his head, and that absurd contrast, predator in plush felt, broke your composure all over again.
You laughed. He didn’t. But the faintest shadow of amusement crossed his face, the kind only you would notice.
“Don’t take them off,” you said sincerely.
He raised a brow. “So you like them?”
You shrugged, feigning indifference. “Maybe.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “Then they stay.”
Your breath caught, just slightly.
The party noise blurred into the background as he looked down at you, calm, unreadable, and utterly in control while wearing something so absurd. And that was the most Sylus thing of all: somehow, he could make cat ears look like a threat and a promise at once.
You shook your head, smiling helplessly. “You’re going to ruin Halloween for everyone else.”
He took a slow sip of his drink. “They can find somewhere else to be.”
The air felt different here. Cooler. Thinner. Stripped of magic and replaced by car exhaust, roasted chestnuts, and rain-soaked pavement.
Neon signs blinked above crowded streets, music echoed from bars, and mortals in strange costumes wandered, laughing under orange lights. Rhysand stood in the middle of the street, utterly still, wings half-visible in the glow of the streetlamps before he forced them away. His head tilted as a small mortal child in a pair of plastic bat wings sprinted past, shrieking with laughter, clutching a pumpkin-shaped bucket full of candy.
You could almost hear the wheels in his head turning. “What in the Mother’s name—” he started, confused. “What… is this place?”
You bit back a laugh. “Earth.” You tucked your arm through his. “My world. And tonight is special. It’s Halloween.”
His violet eyes flicked toward you. “Halloween,” he repeated slowly, like it was a spell he didn’t quite trust. “Is that some sort of ritual?”
“Sort of. Mortals dress up for fun. Witches, fae, vampires, anything supernatural. Sometimes not even that, just any costume would do. They eat sweets, go to parties, try to scare each other...”
“Ah,” he drawled, gaze sliding over a pair of humans wearing glittering wings. “So they spend one night pretending to be dangerous.” His smile deepened. “And have no idea they’re walking beside the real thing.”
You laughed, tugging his arm. “Technically, you don’t even need a costume.”
“I’ve been told I clean up well enough.” He glanced down at his usual black attire, amused and slightly cocky. “But if it pleases you, I’ll play along.”
Before you could speak again, a small boy dressed similarly to what Rhys normally wore, only much cheaper and fake, wings made of black felt, face dusted in silver paint, ran up to Rhys and froze. “Cool costume,” he said in awe.
Rhys blinked, looking genuinely taken aback for once. “Ah… thank you,” he said solemnly, glancing down at his black coat and the faint shimmer of power he hadn’t entirely managed to conceal. The boy grinned and darted away.
You chuckled. “See, you’re already dressed the part, but for the sake of the experience, we’ll get you something…fake and silly.”
That was how he found himself in a cramped little shop, fluorescent lights flickering above aisles of masks and fabric scraps pretending to be clothes. Rhys eyed a vampire cape with visible disdain. You were thinking of picking a set of matching horror costumes when something else caught your eye. You stopped, and Rhys followed your gaze. There was a mannequin wearing a very short, black, and entirely indecent dress.
Rhys tilted his head. “Don’t tell me that’s what mortals consider a costume.”
“Well, it is…Halloween. While some people dress in scary outfits, others…”You trailed off, meeting his eyes. “…prefer something a little riskier.”
A quiet hum vibrated in his throat. “Riskier,” he repeated, stepping closer until the distance between you felt deliberate. “And you’d wear this for what purpose?”
You smirked as an idea formed in your head. Then, you shrugged, playful. “Because some mortals like getting a little freaky on Halloween.”
His eyes gleamed. “Freaky.” The word rolled off his tongue like silk. “And that’s tradition, is it?”
You tilted your head from side to side, thinking of how to explain it to him. “Hm, to some it is.”
“And am I required to wear something slutty as well?” he asked carefully.
“Nah. You’re safe. We’ll get you a cheap vampire costume.”
“Then by all means,” he murmured, his grin dangerous and indulgent, “show me how mortals celebrate.”
An hour later, you walked through a clearing at the edge of the city, where mortals had gathered around a bonfire. Some danced, some chatted, others drank, and some did all three at once.
Rhys hadn’t stopped watching you since you’d slipped into that dress–if it could be called one. His fingers brushed your lower back as you laughed with strangers, the faintest trace of territorial amusement in his eyes.
“You keep staring,” you teased, turning toward him.
He didn’t deny it. “I’m only wondering how many of them are praying I’m not your date,” he said lazily, though his hand trailed to the small of your back, thumb tracing bare skin. “Or if they are wise enough to be afraid.”
“Rhys,” you warned, though it came out more breath than protest.
“Darling, I’ve been wondering ever since you got that damned dress, what are you meant to be exactly?”
You smirked. “A witch. Obviously.” You pointed to the hat on your head.
He stepped closer, his breath ghosting against your ear. “Then I suppose I should be the fool who sold his soul to her.”
Your pulse stuttered. “You’re unbelievable. And no. You’re a vampire. We’re mortal enemies.”
“Hm, then consider me under your spell, witch.”
You rolled your eyes. “Fine. I guess that could make sense.”
“Tell me,” he murmured, leaning close enough that his breath stirred your hair, “you said mortals get… freaky on this night?”
You bit your lip. “That’s one way to put it.”
He chuckled devilishly. “Then I suppose I should honor local custom.”
Before you could answer, his hand found yours, tugging gently. He led you away from the noise, through shadows and trees, until the music was only a faint whisper in the distance.
You stumbled back against an old oak, his hand braced beside your head. The movement knocked your witch’s hat askew before it slipped off completely, landing at his feet. He glanced at it briefly, then at you, clearly deciding which one was more interesting.
He wasted no time, his mouth already at your neck, devouring you in hungry, open-mouthed kisses. “A vampire, you said?” His teeth grazed your pulse before he bit down, just enough to make you gasp. “Then, let me show you what a vampire under your spell would do.”
“Rhys…” your voice was barely a whisper as your palm pressed against his chest.
“Careful,” he murmured, his tone soft but edged with danger. “You say my name like that and I might not be able to go slow.”
You meant to answer, but his hand came up, fingers brushing the hollow of your throat, tracing upward until his thumb grazed your jaw. His touch was reverent, but his gaze was anything but.
He leaned in, his nose brushing your cheek, his breath hot against your ear. “You have no idea what seeing you in this thing you call a dress is doing to me.”
His lips claimed yours then, not gentle, not testing. The kind of kiss that left your knees weak and your thoughts scattered. His hand fisted gently into your hair, holding you still as his tongue slid against yours, tasting every sound that dared to leave your lips. You arched against him, one hand fisting in his shirt, the other curling around his wrist as if that could ground you.
When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard. His forehead rested against yours, and his voice dropped to a rough murmur. “You wanted me to have the mortal experience, right?”
You nodded, still panting.
He chuckled at your speechless state, before his lips found the line of your throat again. The sound that escaped you made him groan quietly against your skin. His teeth grazed your pulse point again. Your hands found his shoulders, his neck, the silk of his hair. He trailed his mouth lower, lips ghosting the edge of your collarbone before pausing there.
“Don’t stop,” you breathed.
“Not for anything. I was admiring the view. Memorizing the way you look.” His lips curved, a teasing smirl ghosting his face as his fingers trailed down your sides, finding the edge of that infuriating dress and gathering the hem between his hands. “Rhys…”
His mouth silenced you before he pulled back again to murmur against your lips “Shh. I said I’d try that mortal experience.” The corner of his mouth lifted, wicked and slow. “That includes getting freaky in the woods.”
His hand dragged along your thigh, the warmth of his palm searing even through the thin fabric. The rough bark at your back contrasted the smooth drag of his fingers as he gathered the hem of your dress higher, inch by inch, until the cool air met overheated skin. His knee nudged between your legs with deliberate pressure, just enough to make you whimper. Then, he hooked his other hand under your knee and hitched your leg around his waist, pinning you fully against the tree.
“That dress was made for tearing, but you’re lucky we’re in public. Otherwise I’d have torn it to shreds.”
His hands clamped hard on your hips, grinding against you, every shift of his body deliberate, teasing, until you squirmed for more. His grip tightened in warning when you moaned and arched too eagerly into him.
“Keep your pretty little noises quiet, unless you want an audience, darling…not that I’d mind.”
He nuzzled at your jaw, thumb hooking beneath the strap of that scandalous dress and tugging it down until cool air kissed your overheated breasts. His mouth went there immediately, licking and sucking until you bit your lip to muffle a cry. Your nails dug into his shoulders as his tongue left you aching in ways your mind couldn’t articulate.
You bit down a sound, but it still slipped out, broken, desperate, trembling against the curve of his shoulder.
He laughed quietly, the sound dark and hungry. “Quiet,” he whispered, his breath grazing the shell of your ear. “You wouldn’t want them to know what I’m doing to you out here, would you?”
You shook your head and he rolled his hips once more, slow, punishing, making sure you felt every inch of control he still had left.
His hand slid down between your legs, his fingertips teasing along the damp lace until even the brush of his knuckle made you swallow a cry. A feral curse spilled against your throat when he found you already slick for him.
“You’re drenched,” he murmured, a growl threaded through his humor. “And you expect me to be a gentleman?”
Your answer was a strangled sound as he continued his slow torture, moving over the lace in maddening circles, enough to make your legs shake. His other hand fumbled briefly at his belt, the soft click of metal unfastening sending a thrill down your spine. You lifted your hips instinctively, helping, desperate to erase the final barrier between you. “Hold on to me,” he murmured against your skin before hitching your other leg around his waist.
His mouth crashed against yours again, swallowing your gasp as he finally tugged the lace aside. Then his hands were back on your hips, hauling you higher– with both legs wrapped around his waist. There was nothing between you but heated air and fabric bunched around your waist as he rocked forward, hips rolling with slow, devastating intent. You gasped.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, dark eyes locked on yours as he rolled his hips again.
You didn’t. You couldn’t. “Rhys.” Your voice broke.
“Say my name like that again,” he whispered, and then his lips captured yours, all hunger and command. You gave him what he wanted, over and over, until words devolved into gasps and whimpers. He answered each sound with a harder thrust, a deeper kiss. And when his hand dipped between your legs this time, fingers stroking intimately, coaxing you toward the edge, you let out a strangled moan, forgetting entirely about the party beyond the trees.
You clutched at his shirt as he adjusted, guiding your hips until you found the rhythm of him, each movement rougher, needier than the last.
The rhythm built until control slipped from your grasp, your body trembling as release washed over you. He followed a heartbeat later with a low, broken groan, his forehead pressed to your neck.
“Happy Halloween,” he purred, and the only reply you could give was a breathless laugh. Then you felt his smirk ghost against your neck as he started moving inside you again.
“Rhys—” you began to protest.
His head tilted up, his mouth finding yours again before you could finish. “Shh,” he teased against your lips, voice seductive. “We’re only getting started.”
The last rational thought scattered as he found the angle he’d been hunting for, then there was only the rustle of autumn leaves, the soft slide of fabric, and then the rest of the world disappeared.
Zayne liked to claim science could explain everything. You liked to prove him wrong at least three times a week. He was a doctor: precise, methodical, allergic to nonsense. You were a witch: chaotic, intuitive, allergic to rules.
Together, you were either a disaster or an experiment gone right—depending on who was telling the story.
You had very different views. And yet somehow, every disagreement between you ended the same way— with him giving in, quietly, because it was you asking. He was a composed man, but when it came to you, his resolve crumpled.
Despite his skepticism, he never refused your requests. Not once.
Whether you needed a volunteer to test a potion, a customer to read your tarot, or simply someone to hold a charm while it cooled, he’d do it, no questions asked, no matter how silly or serious.
And though he’d never admit it out loud, Zayne loved it. Loved being the first one you thought of when you brewed something new. Loved the way your eyes lit up when you said, “Try this.” Loved the taste of everything you made. Was it the taste of your creations that fascinated him, or the feeling of your magic lingering on his tongue afterward? He couldn’t tell anymore.
Today, your latest experiment was a simple herbal tea. Or at least that’s what you told him.
He sat in your kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed from the rain. The sight of him like this nearly broke your concentration.
Steam curled from the mug in his hands, faintly scented of cinnamon, honey, and something… elusive. Something otherworldly.
He lifted the cup and took a sip, expression calm and unreadable, as always.
You watched closely, elbows on the table, chin resting in your palms. Watched how his throat moved as he swallowed, how the candlelight reflected his beautiful eyes, how his lips parted when he exhaled.
He caught you off guard. “You’re staring,” he muttered without looking up.
“Just trying to see your reaction to my special tea,” you said sweetly. “You’re always so stoic.”
He hummed. “If you want to know something, you could always use your words.”
“Fine,” you said, feigning impatience. “So, what do you think of it?”
“It’s good.” That was all he said.
You groaned, not satisfied with his answer. “Good? That’s it?”
He finally looked at you, one dark brow raised. “Are you fishing for compliments now?”
“And what if I am?” you challenge with a glare, arms crossed.
“Then maybe,” he said slowly, holding your gaze, “you should pour me another cup. I didn’t quite catch all the flavors.”
You huffed, but your lips curved despite yourself. “Smooth, doctor. Real smooth.” You reached for the teapot, refilling his cup as he held it up to you. His eyes followed your every movement, not in hunger, but in fascination, like you were a spell he couldn’t help but study. When you leaned over to set the pot back down, his hand caught your wrist.
“What’s wrong?” You frowned.
He didn’t answer. His grip was gentle but firm. Then finally, he spoke, voice deceptively calm. “I think I’ve been cursed.”
You blinked. “What?”
He took another sip, then set the cup down deliberately, not breaking eye contact.
“Some witch made me drink something she called ‘tea.’ But it’s far too potent to be that.”
Your lips twitched. “Mmhm. And what makes you believe that said witch cursed you, exactly?”
He looked up at you, and this time, his composure cracked just enough for a smirk. “Because I can’t stop craving whatever this is.”
You snorted softly. “Tsk. So now what?”
He pulled you down into his lap, hands resting gently on your hips.
“I believe the only way to break the curse is by kiss. A witch’s kiss.” He looked up at you, tone serious, like he was diagnosing a condition.
You rolled your eyes, but leaned down anyway, brushing your lips against his in a teasing kiss. “And? Is the curse broken now?”
He hummed, pretending to consider. “Hmm. No. I think it only made it worse. The symptoms have intensified.”
“Oh, really?” you teased, smile threatening to break through.
He nodded. “Now I’m not just cursed… I’m bewitched.”
You scoffed. “Shut up, Zaynie.”
His arms tightened around your waist, laughing softly. “What did you put in that tea?”
“Nothing that wasn’t meant to work,” you said, voice lilting, almost singsong. “A drop of honeysuckle for sweetness. A pinch of night-bloom flower for truth. And maybe…” you trailed your finger down his chest, “…a little enchantment to loosen your tongue.”
His breath hitched, but his expression remained neutral. “It worked.”
You smirked. “I know.”
And then you kissed him again. This time longer, slower, the taste of your tea and your magic clinging to both your lips. Your tongue invaded his mouth as you ‘completed your spell’, making him addicted to you. When you finally pulled back, he looked dazed, almost reverent.
You tilted your head, amused by the rare sight of him speechless. “What’s the diagnosis, doctor?” you whispered.
He blinked once, lips curving faintly. “Terminal. The symptoms include accelerated heartbeat, shortness of breath…” His voice dropped lower as his hand slid up your thigh, tracing the edge of your skirt, “…and complete loss of rational thought.”
Your breath hitched. “That last one’s new.”
“Side effect of your magic, I suppose,” he murmured against your jaw, his lips brushing just enough to make you shiver. “Or maybe just you.”
Your fingers tangled in his hair as he kissed down your neck, slow, deliberate, like he was studying every reaction. The warmth of his breath sent sparks racing across your skin, and when his teeth grazed the spot just below your ear, your pulse stuttered.
“Think you’re still cursed?” you breathed.
He looked up at you through half-lidded eyes, voice a low rasp. “I’m not sure I want to be cured.”
Before you could reply, his mouth found yours again, hungrier this time, his composure unraveling by degrees. His hands roamed higher, tracing your spine, pulling you closer until you could feel his heartbeat thundering against yours.
The table scraped faintly against the floor as he lifted you onto it without breaking the kiss. His hand slid briefly away, only to remove his glasses and set them aside, before his mouth found yours again, rougher this time.
The heat between you was thick and unrelenting. Magic hummed faintly at your fingertips, reacting to every touch, every sigh, until the air itself felt charged.
“Zayne–” you started, but his mouth silenced you with another kiss, rougher, needier.
“I told you,” he whispered against your lips, “I’m addicted.”
The last thing you felt was his breath on your skin, his hands sliding beneath fabric, before the candlelight flickered, and the world dissolved into darkness. It was only you and him now.
You and Azriel were on a mission when he got seriously injured. Not enough to end his life, but enough to drain his strength and leave him too weak to winnow.
Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, you dragged him through mud, fog, and wind until you found shelter. The rain had turned relentless, a cold downpour cutting through the trees, and thunder rolled across the mountains like an angry beast. Everything was swallowed in white mist. Trees blurring into shadow, the path disappearing under your boots.
By some miracle, you spotted the faint outline of a cottage through the fog. The windows were dark, the air heavy with silence. No animals or insects to be heard or seen. You knocked once, twice, but there was no answer. And when you tried the handle, the door creaked open.
You guided Azriel inside and lowered him onto a worn-out couch. Dust floated in the air, but it was a shelter nonetheless.
“I’m alright, Y/n,” Azriel said softly, trying to ease your worry, because of course he wasn’t used to anyone taking care of him, let alone someone worrying about him.
“The wound on your abdomen says otherwise. You can’t even winnow in your state,” you muttered, frustration bleeding into your tone as you rummaged through drawers for anything useful.
He grimaced. Azriel never liked being reminded of his own weakness, his ‘incompetence’ and ‘shortcomings’, injured or not, even when it was the truth.
The look on his face didn’t escape you. “I’m sorry,” you said quickly. “I didn’t mean that. I just–” You exhaled, relief cutting your words short as you found a clean cloth and what looked like alcohol.
You returned to his side, kneeling in front of the couch. “Can you sit up?”
He nodded, wincing as he pushed himself upright. You itched to help him but held back, he’d always prefer to do it himself.
When he lifted his hand from the gash on his abdomen, you pressed the cloth against it, trying to clean the blood. But it kept flowing, warm and relentless between your fingers.
“Fuck, Az. It’s not stopping.” You frowned, panic tightening your voice.
He inhaled through his nose, steady but pained. “You’ll have to cauterize it.”
Your head snapped up. You hated that he was right. The only way to stop the bleeding was to burn it shut.
You glanced toward the small fireplace. It was cold and empty. You rubbed the bridge of your nose in frustration.
“Hey, you alright?” Azriel asked softly.
“Az, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m the one who should be asking you this. You’re the one who– I’ll go get wood.”
“No need to go that far. There’s some out back,” he murmured calmly.
You were about to ask him how he knew but then saw the faint shadows curling around him.
You smiled faintly before nodding. “Of course.”
You rushed outside into the storm, rain biting your skin as you gathered damp logs. By the time you stumbled back in, you were soaked through. You stripped off your jacket and tried to dry the logs with your shirt, shivering as your fingers trembled.
Azriel, ever the gentleman even half-conscious, averted his gaze to give you privacy.
When you finally coaxed a small flame to life, you heated the tip of your blade.
Then you knelt by his side again, heart pounding. You looked up at him and gave him a sympathetic look. “Ready?”
He gave a faint nod. “Y/n, just do it.”
And so you did. You pressed the glowing steel to his wound. The sound hit you first, the smell of burnt flesh, second. His muscles tensed, teeth gritted, but he didn’t make a sound. You, however, nearly broke at the sight. The whole situation made your stomach churn. You’d seen battle, watched warriors die, but when it came to Azriel, it was different. You could never handle seeing him in pain. Your heart was too weak for him. Not that he knew…or so you thought.
When it was done, you cleaned and bandaged the wound as best you could. But your nerves wouldn’t settle. You began pacing the small room, arms wrapped around yourself, a nervous habit that Azriel knew about. You kept sighing quietly, not that you noticed. You were gonna go crazy.
Thunder cracked outside; rain battered the windows. The cottage felt smaller with every heartbeat.
Even if you wanted to go out again under the pretense of hunting or collecting some herbs or whatnot, you couldn’t anymore—not in that weather. It was chaotic and too dangerous.
You were trapped. Trapped inside. With him. The male who made your heart race so fast you almost thought it was going out of your chest.
Azriel watched you quietly from the couch, eyes soft despite the exhaustion shadowing his face. “Y/n,” he said gently, trying to soothe you, “relax. The storm won’t hurt you, it’s not coming inside.”
“The storm isn’t what scares me,” you admitted before you could stop yourself. “It’s being stuck in here with you…alone.”
You froze, hand immediately covering your lips.
His brows drew together, confusion flickering. “What?” First he thought you meant that you didn’t feel safe in his presence or that he made you feel uncomfortable. That would’ve broken his already broken heart. Then realization dawned. And a glimpse of hope sparked in him.
“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” You felt your throat tightening as you swallowed.
“How can I? When you’re standing there, looking…” he couldn’t even finish that sentence, not if you didn’t want him the way he wanted you.
“Looking what, Az?” you turned to face him, eyes full of sorrow and something else.
“Perfect,” he whispered.
You scoffed. “I don’t look perfect, Az. Look at me. We’re in our Illyrian leathers. My shirt is wet and dirty, my pants are torn, and my hair and face look like I just crawled out of a swamp.”
In any other situation, he would’ve let out a short quiet chuckle, but not today. Instead, he looked at you with those beautiful hazel eyes that you got lost in every time you looked at him. “I am looking, Y/n.”
“I–” Your lips parted, but no words came.
He patted the space next to him and you sat down quietly. His gaze never left your face.
And when you turned to look at him, you realized that you were sitting close–way too close. “Az,” you started.
“I know. You don’t have to say anything,” he reassured.
“But–”
“Shh. You took care of me. Now let me take care of you.” His calloused hand caressed the side of your face, thumb dragging slowly along your lower lip. Your breath hitched.
You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you. But the moment your lips met, the world outside, the storm, the thunder, the rain, they ceased to exist.
His kiss was slow at first, reverent, almost hesitant, like he was memorizing the moment instead of devouring it. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing softly over your cheek as if you were something precious, breakable.
But years of restraint, of stolen glances, unsaid words, and buried want, burned away in a heartbeat. You kissed him back fiercely, the taste of rain still clinging to both your lips. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan low in his throat.
He slowly leaned back, guiding you with him, until you followed his movement without thinking, your body molding to his. Your palm grazed his abdomen, over the freshly bandaged wound, as you lost yourself in the kiss. The sound he made, half a wince, half a growl, snapped you back.
You pulled away and he looked up at you through heavy lashes, lips parted, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner. “Careful. You might open the wound again. Not that I mind your hands on me like that. But I think I prefer if your hands were on me in other ways.”
You huffed a shaky laugh. “Mm hm. You’re lucky you’re injured. Otherwise, I wouldn’t cater to your needs.”
He caught your chin with two fingers, tilting your face back toward him. “Then I guess,” he whispered, stealing one more slow, dizzying kiss, “I’ll just have to get injured more often.”
