#starspicewrites

[starspicewrites]

Sylus Buys You a Tiara

Pairing(s): Sylus Qin x f!Reader

Contains: fluff / est. relationship (married) / suggestive

Summary: You want to add more whimsy to your life. Sylus wants you to put a fuzzy headband out of its misery. He finds a more than suitable compromise.

WC: ~1.5k

“I think I want to start adding a little more whimsy to my life,” you commented aloud, leaning over the built-in bathroom vanity as you wiped off your makeup from your date night. Your dress and coat had been swapped for silk pajamas. Your hair, once styled, was now unpinned and loose.

Sylus was already in bed, shirtless and in sweats, watching you with a fondness the outside world couldn’t imagine. This was his favorite part of the night: just watching you in one of your most humble forms.

His brow quirked in sync with the corner of his lip. “Yeah? What’s your plan?” he mused. He was long used to your thoughts shared aloud. They were silly, random, or serious, so to him, it felt like roulette every time.

A gamble he was hopelessly addicted to. It was his beloved wife after all.

He listened to you hum in thought, dressed in silk pajamas and that makeup-stained fuzzy headband now, pushing hair back from your face. “Hm, dunno. Maybe try fun shapes with my Sunday pancakes. Oh! I saw this one girl online say she started talking to her house, like saying good morning to it or goodbye when she’d leave. Maybe I could start there," you replied, moving on to your skincare routine.

“Fun pancakes and talking to the house, huh?” he mused, yet he was endeared. It wasn’t hard, as nearly everything about you he somehow found endearing. “I think those are very…you.”

You laughed softly, the sound floating in the space between your bathroom vanity and his heart.

"Any chance whimsy can convince you to finally get rid of that headband?” he added, nodding towards said accessory even if you weren't looking at him. “You know, my darling dear wife, that you can replace it. In fact, I'd be happy to do it for you.”

You laughed again, shaking your head as you continued on your nightly routine. “I know, dear husband,” you began, teasing him with the same tone he used. “But I find this one comfortable. I've grown attached to it too, and of course, once that happens, it becomes discontinued. Everything else I find just isn’t right," you explained.

His hands raised in mock surrender. “Alright, alright.” He acquiesced.

His mind, however, didn’t.

— • —

It was a couple days later, his favorite part of the night coming around again. Tonight, he watched you from the doorframe instead of the bed. He’d seen you do this hundreds of times, yet it never got old. It was grounding in a way to watch him as much as the process was for you.

And then you pulled out that headband. Faded and stained with either makeup or something unidentifiable. The small cuts of triangular pink satin making up the inside of the kitten ears were beginning to fray and separate from the fluffier material. You’d had it for years.

Tonight, however, Sylus had other plans.

He pushed off the doorframe, leaving for but a moment and returning with an unmarked, mid-sized black cube. A rather fancy box. You glanced at him through the mirror, a brow raising as your movements slowed. It wasn’t odd that he gave gifts for no reason other than he simply felt like it.

Sylus huffed a laugh, amused by your suspicion. He stopped beside you, hip leaning against the countertop as he set the box down between you both like a believer leaving a gift at his goddess’s altar.

"Whatcha got there?” you asked, a mix of suspicion and curiosity obvious in your voice. Sylus’s smile grew, setting the box down. “A gift,” he replied, obviously with a shrug. You rolled your eyes with a laugh. "I can see that. What’s in it?”

"Close your eyes for me.” He said instead. a gentle command as carmine eyes search yours for a moment.

You stared back at him, both brows lifted in challenge. “What’s in the box?” you replied, persistent. Sylus huffed a laugh. Leave you to love him and still be suspicious of his gifts. “It’s harmless, I promise.”

Your lips pursed in thought, gaze playfully narrowing at him before sighing in mock defeat and closing your eyes. "Fine. But for the record, I'm still very suspicious. You better not have something scary like—”

His laugh was low and warm, steadily rolling over the space between you and into your bones.

"Sweetie, you know I would never," he began, kissing your forehead, your nose, and then your lips. twice. "Harmless. I promise," he whispered before stealing a third kiss. His smile grew as he saw yours faintly twitch into one. He couldn’t help but look at you for a moment. standing there in your pajamas, barefaced and lovely.

“Okay,” you whispered, disarmed. He had a knack for it, much to your dismay at times.

He hummed softly, gently removing the worn headband from your head. Your brows furrowed slightly in confusion, but your eyes remained closed. You heard some shuffling, something like a box opening. "Since you wanted to start adding whimsy to your life,” he muttered, as something cool and decently weighted—like metal—took the place of the once fuzzy headband. "I wanted to contribute,” he added as he adjusted this new thing on your head.

You felt him turn you by the shoulders, smoothing your hair down. His hands, large, calloused, and warm, slid down your body to settle in the dip of your waist. You felt him press behind you, his chest pressed behind your shoulders and his chin hooked over your shoulder.

“Can I open now?” You asked softly. You couldn’t help but smile as you felt his thumbs trace idly over the fabric. His lips lightly pressing to your shoulder. You took that as confirmation.

When your eyes opened, it took a moment to adjust to the lighting again. A mix of disbelief, amusement, and awe came out of you in a laugh. Where your old, fuzzy cat-eared headband once sat, there was now an elegant crown. Delicate arches and swirls, metal leaves, and vines made of glinting gold. Diamonds embedded most of the crown and left no empty space. Larger rubies were meticulously accented along the middle, and smaller ones winked bloodily at the peaks of the delicate arches. You had no doubt it was all real. It was Sylus after all.

“Sylus,” you laughed out again, turning your head slowly to watch the bathroom light catch on the gems. "Why on earth did you get me a crown?”

"Tiara, actually,” he corrected playfully with a light kiss to the side of your neck, arms slipping further around your waist. “Of course, I did consider a crown, but it would’ve been too heavy and kept falling for your purposes. Besides, I wanted you to have something better than a fraying and stained headband. Seemed like a natural compromise,” he said lowly and casually like he’d just said the sky was blue.

A disbelieving laugh left your lips as you met his eyes in the mirror. "Sy, my love. I love it—I love you—but I—I mean, a tiara?” you said, disbelieving still as you turned your head enough to face him.

"Yes, a tiara. My beloved only deserves the best,” he whispered, searching your eyes as his nose brushed against yours.

You huffed another laugh, turning back to your reflection. You thought for a moment, head tilting a fraction, and the gemstones glimmered with each minuscule movement. The glimmered even as you breathed. “It is rather beautiful and whimsical,” you murmured. “I don’t even want to consider how much it cost,” you added with a cringe.

Sylus chuckled at your grimace, kissing your temple as if to shoo such trivial thoughts away from his beloved’s pretty head. “Don’t worry about it. Now, finish up your thing. I intend to show my wife just how much of a queen I believe her to be,” he murmured, lightly squeezing your waist, which you knew to be more than just affectionate. A familiar warmth skittered down your spine and pooled in your lower belly.

You’d finished your skincare in record time.

You’d barely been able to pat your face dry before Sylus lifted you easily by the waist, his evol impatiently, putting your things away to clear space for you as he set you on the countertop.

Warm hands splayed across your thighs, his large frame gently forcing your legs apart to settle between them. Your hands draped over his bare shoulders, your eyes searching his in a dance you both have always known.

Your breath hitched, and his smile grew as he crowded you. Never out of intimidation but to be close to you. He would crawl into your heart and lay his head on your soul every night if he could, but alas, this would have to do. His thumbs stroked the silky fabric of your pajamas, teasingly dragging the fabric up as his hands skimmed higher.

The night was long, slow, and heated like many nights. Silk sheets replaced your clothes, and morning sun retraced the places his lips and fingers had been the night before.

The tiara stayed on.

a/n: Sylus fr said “keep that mf thing ON 😤” but also with heart eyes. Need me a Sylus Qin frfr.

© starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.

[starspicewrites]

Lipstick Stains

Pairing(s): Azriel, Cassian, Rhysand, and Eris x f!Reader (separate)

Contains: fluff / est. relationship

WC: ~2.4k (approx. 500 - 600 each)

Azriel

It was a strong start to summer. Spring was hardly giving way to unrelenting heat, and despite being Prythian's northernmost court, it was futile.

The heat waited for no one. War didn’t care about the weather. Not that there was a war going on, but Azriel insisted on training like there would be any day. Just in case. It was a force of habit—centuries old—to start training at dawn. Sometimes alone, sometimes with his brothers.

By mid-morning, he’d shed the upper half of his training leathers. Cassian had too. Somewhere between the past two sparring rounds ending in a tie, the swords had been traded for bare knuckles. Dust kicked up and muddied their sweaty skin, with dirt under their nails and in crevices. Warrior versus warrior, some of the strongest of their kind—and the Night Court—had ever seen.

The brothers panted, a stubbornness rivaling the blistering heat, as neither of them wanted to surrender to the other. They were a balanced tangle of muscles, limbs, and wings. Cassian’s provoking comments, teeming with grunts, slipped into Azriel’s ear. He’d heard it all to the point of desensitization, and Azriel wouldn’t budge.

All comments but one. Luck sprinted from Azriel’s corner and into Cassian’s, the general grinning with the taste of victory stuck between his teeth.

“Oh, what’s this, brother?” Cassian teased, catching the barest crimson stain behind Azriel’s ear, tucked under a dark, sweaty curl stuck to his skin. too purposeful, too solid to be blood, and too dark to be a blush. As if to provoke Azriel further, Cassian held his brother in a headlock with one arm as the other quickly moved the lock of hair hiding it. It took a second to register the smearing mark from contact, sweat, and grime, but when he did, Cassian’s shock gave way to great amusement.

It was a second, long enough to give Azriel an opening. He threw his weight back, turning the tables and pinning Cassian face down onto the dirt. Yet Cassian was unbothered, as if his discovery were a far better victory than some sparring session.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed on Cassian, his knee digging into his shoulder blades. "What are you laughing about?” Azriel huffed, sweat dripping down his nose lazily. Cassian laughed harder. Azriel was more confused, getting off of his brother to sit beside him.

Azriel was catching his breath. Cassian was trying, but a lull was followed by another bout of laughter. Azriel rolled his eyes, lightly kicking Cassian’s side. “What are you on about?”

“You should clean the back of your ears better,” Cassian teased, relishing his brother's rare confusion as he pushed himself off the dirt with a grunt. Azriel barely raised a brow. Lo and behold, a pair of curious shadows swirled into that spot only to whisper in his ear.

Lipstick stain. Mate's present was left for Master. 

His fingers brushed against your "gift," a flush unrelated to the heat and exertion from training prickling his skin. Cassian's laughter was suddenly distant as he was more focused on the phantom pressure of your lips from the night before. You were giddy, teasing, and delirious with the late hour, and instead of wiping your makeup off like you'd normally do, you decided kissing it off against his skin was much better. You said he was an irresistibly perfect canvas, red smudges gradually fading all over his neck and jaw between giggles. He'd washed them off this morning—or at least he thought he'd gotten them all.

Cassian ruffled Azriel’s hair as he passed by, causing the shadow singer to blink out of his trance. 

Azriel was considering three things. 1) How long could he avoid his family, whom Cassian was going to undoubtedly tell right now? 2) He is definitely getting you back for this somehow. And 3) how soon he could make your mark a tattoo.

Cassian

"Gods, where are those two?" More grumbled, tapping her foot impatiently as she glanced at the clock. For the first time in a long time, whether it was luck, the stars aligning, or divine intervention, she had managed to not only find a free night in everyone's schedules but also convince everyone to go out to Rita's.

At least that was the plan.

"If these two aren't down in the next five minutes, I'm ditching them and getting drunk alone," she added under her breath, glaring down the hallway where Cassian's room was. Rhys chuckled from beside her, swirling his wine with one hand as the other one slipped around Feyre’s waist, drawing her off the arm of the couch and into his lap.

"No, you won't," Rhys mused knowingly. “For one, you'd get bored halfway there, and two, you've been begging us to go out for ages. Besides, mates who have been apart for so many weeks could be more insufferable," he added, tipping the glass towards her before taking a sip.

She rolled her eyes and sipped her wine.

It was in between idle conversation that a door opened down the hall, followed by a jolly whistle.

Mor huffed in mock exasperation, leaning back enough to look over at the couch and down the hall. "It took you long enough. If I—"

Her words died, a mixed buzz of amusement and disbelief taking over. She snorted a laugh into her glass as Cassian stepped into the full light. Rhys, Azriel, and Feyre gave similar reactions.

"What the hell are you wearing?" she snickered, turning to look at him fully. The general wore dark trousers and a dark shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, showing off his forearms carved from endless hours of training and battle. His hands were in his pockets, and a very proud grin was on his face.

"What? What’s wrong with my outfit?" he replied, as if nothing were unusual. In the center of his chest was a white tie, once spotless silk, now smothered in lipstick stains of varying opacity.

"No," Feyre began, trying and failing to hide her laugh. "It's just...it’s definitely something."

"Thanks, I'm trying something new." Cassian ignored her thinly veiled amusement, his own swallowing his smug pride, especially with his wider grin. "Had some help." 

"Don't listen to whatever he's saying!" You called out from down the hall, your mate senses tingling with his smug mischief. You emerged, sparkly, fixing your earrings and giving a playful glare at your mate. "I told him not to wear it, but it was like talking to a brick wall."

Cassian feigned offense, though it didn't last long, not with the cackle erupting from him. He drew you closer, like it was sacrilegious to be in the same room and not touch you in some way. "But why? You gave me a gift. Should I not be using it?"

"It was a gag gift at best," you deadpanned.

"Still a gift. And what better sign of being taken than this?" he added with a smirk, smoothing the tie with a large hand like it was a priceless trophy.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you decided this wasn’t a battle you were choosing today.

If it weren't for Cassian remaining near you all night, the tie certainly did work as a deterrent.

Rhysand

The rain was steady, on and off all day. Low-lying clouds swallowed the red mountain peaks surrounding Velaris. Mist kissed your skin and collected like morning dew in your hair as you leaned against a windowsill.

You didn't come here to find something or get away from another. It was happenstance that you were walking back from the kitchen and the view drew you in. The House of Wind was quiet save for the bone-deep hum of its magic and the rain.

You were caught up in drifting thoughts and watching rain trickle through the earth to spot Rhys. Maybe he took advantage of your distraction, or maybe you were used to his safety.

He stood at the end of the hall, hands in his pockets, and enamored joy settled comfortably in his chest. He watched you against the rain, framed by the arched window, with your dewy skin and frizzy hair, and for a moment he wondered if it was too soon to marry you all over again.

"You okay?” he asked lightly instead of a second proposal, though he would’ve in a less restrained state.

Your head snapped his way, surprise softening for familiarity. You huffed a laugh, a hand splayed on your chest. "You scared me.”

Rhys chuckled quietly, closing the gap with languid strides until he stood beside you. He gently nudged your shoulder with his, his way of a halfhearted apology. "What happened to 'I know you by your footsteps’?” he teased, his grin widening as you rolled your eyes.

"I was distracted and didn’t hear you coming. Otherwise, I certainly would’ve, Bigfoot," you sassed. Rhys feigned offense so theatrically it must've been Cassian finally rubbing off on him.

"Oh, so that’s how you want to play,” he growled playfully, pulling you close and playfully nipping wherever he could reach—your cheeks, nose, neck, and ear. "Calling me Bigfoot, huh?” he grumbled between nips and occasional kisses. It was ticklish, the surprised gasp cascading into shrieking laughter. You smelled like rain, sandalwood, and love.

He nipped your cheek a second time before withdrawing enough to let you catch your breath and for him to take in the aftermath. Your frizzy hair clinging to your cheeks and forehead, your hands resting over his heartbeat while yours was still steadying. As beautiful as always, he thought.

He leaned closer, violet eyes narrowed yet twinkling. "Do you yield, beloved?” he whispered, drawing you close enough for your nose to brush against his. You let your eyes soften with affection, feigning defeat at the edges. Rhys was too smug and enamored to catch it.

You moved swiftly, pressing your painted lips to his. An innocent kiss, and Rhys believed it. You smiled innocently up at him, suppressing laughter for a whole minute before breaking. You were weak, dropping your head against his chest with shaking shoulders. Rhysand's arm looped tighter, keeping you close. "What's so funny?” he asked through a confused laugh; yours is always contagious to him.

You glanced up at him, laughing harder. You couldn’t speak, and your poor husband was increasingly confused. It was on your third failed attempt when you gave up and pointed to the mirror hanging behind him. You watched his features morph from confusion to realization (and slight horror) before ending in final amusement.

Rhysand met your gaze again, squeezing you gently as your laughter finally began subsiding. "I see," he muttered with a grin. He returned the gesture, giving you a firm kiss before mimicking his earlier antics until your lipstick smudged all over his lips and your face. He vaguely heard your startled noise melting into a laugh, which only fueled the fire.

He withdrew eventually, taking you in for a third time, frazzled, a little dazed, and sharing lipstick stains with him. "There. Now we match.”

Eris

You could handle yourself. Eris knew you were more than capable; you'd been doing this before you met.

It was harder to convince a primal instinct older than time and centuries of history ingrained in Autumn Court soil and memory. His own history.

You were safe—just busy in your studio all day. He missed you, but he knew better than to interrupt you, especially when it was something you loved. So Eris kept himself distracted with the never-ending High Lord duties.

The candles had burned steadily, flames and parchment fluttering with the breeze from the cracked windows. His study smelled like it always did: spice, ink, and mahogany. He'd been in his study since you'd left early afternoon, waiting for your return—or simply any correspondence—despite knowing there was nothing threatening about a bookbinding studio. Nothing you couldn't handle, at least.

He was in the middle of reading a report from Rhysand when a little folded paper materialized on his desk. Unsuspecting except for the subtle fragrance of leather and your perfume hovering around it. The report was quickly neglected for it.

“I can feel you missing me from all the way over here. I'll be home soon.”

Eris’s thumb grazed over your handwriting. Neat, simple, and sweet.

"You say it like it's a crime," he scrawled on the back of your note with an angry, doodled version of himself despite his little smile. It was more for your amusement than his conviction. The note vanished just as it came. Your bemusement came down the bond like tinkling bells. His chest swelled with pride, wishing he could see your smile for himself and hear your laughter.

"Now you're putting words in my mouth." Your reply arrived right under his empty complaint. Additionally, you added a doodle of yourself beside his, two little stick figures holding hands.

He couldn't resist, not when you set it up for him so perfectly. "I could put something else in your mouth if you'd prefer." He scrawled, adding a wink at the end, and sent it on its way. He felt the precise moment you registered his words. Your emotions coming all at once from flustered to incredulity were like a beacon in his chest despite being halfway across town.

He laughed softly when your reply was purely doodles. A side-eye, another vomiting, and lastly, you wide-eyed and blushing. A crippling fondness and delight swallowed him whole, the dopey grin wide and lovesick in the privacy of his study. He imagined you making the same faces as your doodles as a separate note appeared.

"You're gross. I'll be home in an hour. I love you, stinky." Eris huffed a laugh at your strange term of endearment. Warm softness bloomed in his chest as he spotted your special signature, one you began doing early on in your relationship. A scribbled heart with your lipstick stain beside it. Your kiss imprint—he could recognize the mark, the ridges forming a unique print. the only one he’d care to memorize. It was like a secret message just for him, sending him vicarious kisses and your love.

His thumb grazed over the rouge, faintly warm from your kiss moments ago. A flick of his hand and a sleek wooden box spawned on his desk. Unsuspecting and boring but enchanted to hell and back. He set both your notes gently with the rest, a growing collection through the years. The most sacred pieces in any autumn court vault.

The hour could not pass soon enough.

A/N: Here's this brain worm I've been having :p

© starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.

[starspicewrites]

Three times you have Clark a scandalous Polaroid at inappropriate times

Pairing(s): David Corenswet!Clark Kent x Reader

Contains: suggestive themes

Summary: three separate times during your relationship with Clark you give him photos of yourself. You like seeing him so flustered.

WC: ~2.5k

Incident #1: Clark’s 30th birthday

Clark's thirtieth was celebrated in the most Clark way. Simple, fun, and with the people he loved most. Martha and John came into town. You’d invited Lois, Jimmy, and Cat came in all for a nice dinner at one of Clark’s favorite restaurants.

It was a lovely evening, and seeing the smile on his face all night made it all worth it.

You had been with Clark for just over a year, incredibly loved by his friends and his parents even more. Clark would joke that you're replacing him sometimes, to which you’d kiss that pout away.

"Thank you again for this,” he said it low enough for you to hear. Your gaze dragged away from Jimmy, who was retelling some elaborate story (which you were sure was embellished). Your heart and gaze softened, watching the warm fairy lights strung across the ceiling sparkle warmly across his features.

"Of course. You deserve it, honey.” You replied just as softly as your hand gently slipped into his. His smile grew, dimples peeking out and making your heart flutter again. It was funny how he could still make you feel like it was day one.

Clark kissed your cheek gently, and just as he went to return his attention to the others, your spark of mischief flared up. A gentle squeeze of his hand had his attention returning again. He searched for your gaze once before dropping down to the envelope you’d drawn out.

He gave you a pointed look. You’d already given him his birthday gift this morning. "Sunshine, I thought we agreed on only one gift.”

You shrugged as if you weren't a spider waiting for her unsuspecting prey to fall into her web.

Your prey just happened to be a 6’4” farm boy hunk.

“I know. Technically, this isn’t a gift. I forgot to take the card out of my purse to include your gift this morning. So, I thought to just give it now.” You explained softly and innocently. And poor, unsuspecting, in-love Clark believed you.

Trap: laid and set.

He smiled, something between reprimanding and ultimately grateful. He squeezed your hand gently. “Thank you.” He murmured as he took the envelope.

You watch him open it from the corner of your eye, taking a sip of your drink to stop yourself from giving yourself away.

Clark opened the envelope, huffing a laugh at the dry humor and cheesy cover of a pug with googly eyes and a crooked party hat.

However, when he opened the card, his smile quickly fell in exchange for wide eyes and a tomato-red flush from his cheeks to his hairline. He practically clapped the card shut to his chest as if it held the world’s most guarded secret.

An amused smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you glanced between his blushing face and the card.

“Well?” You hummed softly, turning in your chair to face him fully. Your smile grew as he looked between you, the card, and the others.

“O-oh, I—well…golly…" he stammered, daring another peek at the card’s contents.

Yes, it was a birthday card with a handwritten message from you inside. However, the little pocket meant to hold cash held a scandalous photo of you.

The pose and setting were innocent. You were lying in your unmade bed, hair fanned out under you as you looked at the camera. Only your body from your shins to your nose was in frame. Your smile was something wicked. Not exactly a big grin but still knowing and still salacious, as if you could already see Clark’s reaction to such a photo. The photo was captured right as the tip of your tongue ran over the point of your canine.

Like you were preparing to devour your lover alive since then.

You looked like heaven to Clark, and the only reason it made him blush beet red was your state of dress. Or undress, rather. You were in nothing but a burgundy lingerie set. A delicate and sexy combination of lace and silk Clark would do anything to be in the place of.

One of your brows rose, a satisfied smile gracing your lips as you watched him swallow thickly. He was careful to angle the card and its contents away from Martha, sitting on his other side.

"You…you look…” he muttered, not finding the right words. He shook his head in disbelief, scanning the Polaroid repeatedly. You had no doubt he was engraving it into his mind.

You laughed softly, patting his thigh below the table. His thigh tensed for a moment; he was wound up already. "Take your time, big guy.” You teased before your voice dropped just above a whisper, which only his super-hearing would catch. "Besides, we have dessert at home.”

You gave him a heated, knowing, and mischievous glance before looking back to the others as if you did not just turn his night upside down.

Clark only stared back at you; surely, you could hear his heart race. He dared a quick glance down at you and regretted it. One second of using x-ray vision showed him you were wearing that very burgundy set.

You had never seen him wrap up a dinner so fast.

Incident #2: When Clark was having a rough day at work

The Daily Planet thrived on chaos. From incessant, unsynchronized clacking keyboards to rushed footsteps and frustrated huffs preceding epiphanies, controlled chaos was the newspaper’s blood.

Clark was no exception.

He’d been slumped in his cheap, too small office chair, typing and deleting cyclically for the better part of two hours. He had a lead, details, and a story all formulated in his head, yet when it came down to writing, no syntax seemed right.

He sighed for the third time before his head tipped back towards the ceiling. He considered talking to Jimmy or Lois, but both had left right after lunch to help the latter with her own article.

But you were free.

So, Clark glanced around the bullpen, spotting Perry talking to another journalist in his office. Occupied. That’s good. He shot you a quick text.

If I can’t figure out how to start this article, I might fly straight into the moon :(

He was about to put his phone away, but it buzzed once with the unique pattern he’d assigned to your contact.

Noooo don't kys you’re too sexy :(((

He huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes.

I would think I'd get more sympathy from my fiancée.

What if I gave you something better than sympathy??

I can’t tell if I should be scared or not. You worry me sometimes, honey.

Well, I WAS gonna say motivation but now I'm reconsidering >:(

Okay, okay, I'm sorry, sunshine. I'm desperate for any motivation at this point.

You didn’t reply for a minute and then another. Perhaps you got distracted or someone came to the door.

But then the familiar buzz pattern returned.

He pressed the notification; the image preview was far too small on the lock screen.

Clark should’ve known better. Maybe his mistake was letting his guard down a little too much around you sometimes. Or maybe he was grateful. He still wasn’t sure.

There you were.

A Polaroid of you was recaptured on your phone to send to him. It was you lying in your shared bed—on Clark’s side of the bed—front pressed against the sheets, your head resting on folded arms. Your engagement ring shimmered brightly against your skin from the camera flash. Your legs were bent at the knee, kicked up behind you, and ankles crossed. You peered up through your lashes towards the camera, towards his soul on the other side. He could barely make out the baby blue lace barely covering your ass behind your shoulder. And its top half was missing entirely.

No straps on your shoulders, no lace cupping your breasts even against the sheets.

“Good golly.” Clark breathed, rooted in his chair and frozen. Only his eyes could move over the screen.

Honey…you can’t just send that.

Clark’s fingers were trembling as he typed, his brain utter mush.

Why not?? I thought it’d be a little motivation?

My love, my sunshine, my future wife. I love you so much and I love this photo of you, but the wrong…Clark is being motivated right now.

You giggled to yourself back at home, knowing full well you put him in a hard spot. Literally.

Do you want me to call so you can get Clark junior sorted? I’d be happy to help ;)

You're not helping!! :(

…you do look very beautiful. Golly I still can’t believe I’m gonna get to marry you one day and I get you all to myself forever.

Aww Clark <33 I love you.

Now finish up before you get in trouble. Then when you come home, I’ll help you relax, okay?

Clark sighed, glancing up as he heard Perry leave his office. Times up.

I love you too and you better. You’ve left me in a very tight spot.

Oh, I bet ;)

Clark blushed further at your innuendo and put his phone away. For better or worse, your motivation had worked, as the words seemed to come flying across his screen. The quicker he turned in his article, the sooner he could get home to you.

Incident #3: The anniversary

It had been just over a year since you and Clark got married. A blissfully wonderful year and today marked the first anniversary.

“I'm home, honey!” He called out as he shuffled into your shared apartment. Clark felt awful he couldn’t get the day off. It was your first wedding anniversary, after all. Hopefully, the flowers he picked up would be an apology enough.

“Kitchen!” You called out, glancing over your shoulder as you heard him shuffle down the little hallway.

Even after years together, your heart grew when seeing Clark. You couldn’t help but softly laugh, wiping your hands on a dishtowel as you turned to face him. "Oh, honey," you cooed, gently taking the flowers—a large bouquet of your favorites. "These are beautiful.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist, kissing the top of your head while being mindful not to crush the flowers between you. "I feel awful I couldn't get today off. Thought I'd get you something to make you feel special," he murmured.

He watched your face soften, moving away enough to set the bouquet aside. "Honey, I know you tried your best, and it’s not your fault our anniversary fell on a weekday. But that also doesn’t mean we still can’t celebrate,” you hummed softly.

Clark was smart. Clark was observant. And he also knows the look on your face can only mean scheming. "Sunshine," he drawled suspiciously.

But you didn’t give him a chance. Only a quick kiss to his jaw, and you were slipping past him to head off into your bedroom. "Stay right there!” You called out from somewhere in there.

Clark blinked towards the doorway where you’d just left and returned from, this time with a neatly wrapped box and a smug feline smile.

Under fluorescent kitchen lights on linoleum tiles, you handed him said box.

"Happy anniversary,” was all you offered as he gently took the box in exchange for a kiss.

Clark could've sworn your smile grew as he opened the box, but that could've easily been your excitement.

The ribbon was untied, and the lid was set beside your flowers on the countertop.

Inside lay a book—a photo album, he deduced by the side. Sleek, black, and locked with a tiny heart-shaped padlock. It was unassuming otherwise, but one thing he came to learn about you: never underestimate you.

"Oh… golly. Thank you, sunshine," he breathed, running his hand over the cover as he took it out of the box. "But it’s locked.”

You huffed a laugh at your husband. "Yes, it is, and you already have the key for it. You've had it in your possession for a while," you mused.

Clark's brows furrowed, glancing between you and the book as he thought. And when it clicked, his eyes widened.

He did have it for a while. A year, to be exact.

Somewhere between watching you dance with your friends hours into the wedding reception and him nursing a drink (that wasn’t doing anything for him) off to the side, your maid of honor had approached him with a self-satisfied smile and a tiny envelope. No words were exchanged; he wasn’t given the chance to. Only a tiny key.

It had been a year since, and you had made no mention or hint of it. So he added it to his key ring for safekeeping. And forgotten about it.

"You little minx," he finally breathed, your grin growing. He peppered kisses on your face, practically having to tear himself away to fetch his keys he’d hooked by the door.

Your laugh danced with the jingle of his shuffling keys as he found the tiny one from a year ago between his apartment key and a cute little Superman keychain you got for him years ago.

Clark was not prepared when he finally turned the cover.

"Oh! Oh golly… honey..." he stammered, breath catching and a hot flush blooming under his skin from head to toe.

Page upon slowly turned page was filled with you. All of you sensually posed, some in black and white, others in color. All had satin and lace.

You'd done a boudoir shoot, and not only that, but you’d planned this out at least a year in advance.

Clark has fought beasts, aliens, intergalactic monsters, and arch-nemeses. Yet none of them had made him this weak.

He couldn't look away, couldn’t stop turning each page. Photo upon photo of art—of you.

A mix of editorials and Polaroids at different poses and angles.

And when he spotted a familiar pair, his blood ran hot, and his pants got tighter.

The one with you in the burgundy set from his birthday a few years ago. The baby blue set you’d sent on a whim over a year ago.

“Do you like it?” You asked softly, glancing at him and the photos.

You blinked up at me, and God, you could've buckled then and there. His cheeks flushed, blue eyes wide, and pupils blown out. Pretty lips parted and chest moving a little quicker than a few minutes ago.

It was barely a blink. One moment you were looking at him; the next he scooped you up and moved to the bedroom with purpose.

"Golly, sunshine, y-you’re going to—gosh, you’re going to kill me," he groaned. His hands roamed your body like he couldn't get enough yet hovered like he was holding himself back.

Your own roamed over his torso, skimming up over his shoulders and tangling into his hair. Your nails scratched his scalp lightly, your pride swelling as he whimpered. Clark's forehead dropped to the crown of your head. His fingers flexed against your hips despite his resistance.

Clark walked you backward until your legs hit the bed, and you were both falling.

It was like a tipping point.

His lips found yours halfway, two pairs of hands roaming the others like they’d melt away. Little gasps, moans, and slow-building pleasure filled the room.

Your first wedding anniversary may not have been typical, but you only needed Clark.

And you had Clark all night.

A/n: not loving the ending soz. I’ll be back with better stuff trust.

© starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.

[starspicewrites]

The one where Azriel discovers he has a fat crush on the jeweler

Pairing(s): Azriel x gn!reader

Contains: fluff / a little OOC Azriel

Summary: Azriel hadn’t thought much of the new jewelry store. He’d only planed to get a gift for Amren. He, fortunately or unfortunately, hadn’t accounted for you unknowingly messing with his heart.

WC: ~2.0k

Part 2

It wasn’t always this bad.

He chalked it up to Solstice being the reason he ever entered the jewelry store to begin with. He needed a gift for Amren after all.

What he hadn’t accounted for was you.

You watched you emerge from the back, wiping your hands on a towel, and removed the loop from your face as he walked in. Winter afternoon sun filtered in. Where it reflected off the snow outside, it glinted off the shining jewels and metals in here. Metal and gems of all kinds, elegantly set with precision and displayed in glass cases.

And yet he found you to be the brightest jewel among them.

“Hello, welcome in!” you greeted, bright and warm from behind a display case.

He gave a small nod in acknowledgment, tearing his eyes away.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” you asked gently, head slightly tilted.

“Something unique. For a solstice gift,” he explained quietly, scanning the pieces. From rings to elaborate, layered necklaces—no doubt heavier than they looked—they rested on plush satin pillows or small velvet busts. His gaze flicked up at you briefly, assessing just as quickly. It was a centuries’ old habit; he was a spymaster after all.

“Everything here is custom and made in-house, so you’re sure to find what you’re looking for,” you replied lightly, stopping behind a display case of pieces that were embedded with diamonds and emeralds. He watched you pull out one of those velvet busts that held a necklace. “This is a part of our upcoming spring collection,” you added with a small smile, meeting his eyes.

They were undoubtedly beautiful, he thought, as were your eyes, he added mentally despite himself. He immediately shook that thought away. Where had that even come from?

While beautiful, it didn't feel right for Amren. “It’s beautiful,” he began, hazel eyes flicking up to yours briefly. They were much brighter up close; not just the color but also the shine in them. “Beautiful, but I don't think it’s quite what I'm looking for," he added almost apologetically. His gaze was dragged away in favor of the other display cases, attention snagging on a display case a few yards away.

His shadows trailed behind him as always as he neared it. Silver metal weaving, looping around twilight-colored gems, a mixture of sharp elegance, cut and set with unbelievable craftsmanship. Everything here was, he realized.

His gaze flicked up as you neared before returning. These seemed more Amren’s style. “I'll take this one,” he said, glancing between you and the elaborate necklace resting on a black velvet bust.

He watched you smile, carefully packing up the necklace and ringing him up. He handed you the payment in exchange for the bag. His fingers brushed against yours briefly, his stomach giving a strange twirl, but he promptly named it as hunger.

— • —

It had been six months since then, and he was—by definition—addicted.

Amren had loved the gift (as much as Amren would approve), and Azriel had conveniently used her as an excuse for the following visits where he could. At first, it was twice a month, and then it became weekly. Then he thought a couple of extra times wouldn’t hurt until one day, he blinked and realized it had become at least twice a week.

All because he wanted to catch a glimpse of you.

Sure, he was a spymaster and could, well, spy on you if he really wanted, but that was creepy, and a creep was the last thing Azriel had wanted you to think of him.

He still found any and all excuses to come into the shop, never once leaving without a new purchase. An alleged birthday here, a “need to return to good graces” gift there. Luckily, you hadn't asked why or how he was such a loyal customer. He just was.

Of course, Azriel was beginning to suspect why he was. What exactly about you intrigued him in a way he’d only felt twice before? He also knew the heartache that paired with both of those times. So, like before, he’d do what he’s done best for centuries—observe from afar. Yearn from afar (but he didn’t dare label it that).

“Oh, before you go,” you began, eyes lighting up just as you handed him the small bag of his new purchase of silver bands. Not marital kinds, of course, but something new and for once, himself. Not that it would be suited for his occupation, but perhaps something new to try.

His eyes flicked to yours, expectant, but as always, his face never gave anything away. He thought it was curious—precious even—how opposite you were to him in the smallest ways. You are bright and expressive to his careful neutrality and aloofness.

“Since you’re my most loyal—and favorite, but don’t tell anyone else that—customer, I wanted to give you something. I know it’s not much, but I just wanted to give you…something special as a token of my appreciation.” You spoke—rambled really—with a small laugh. Nervous, even as he watched you hand over a small box from under the register.

He blinked and then tentatively took the box. “Oh,” he murmured, briefly dumbfounded. He carefully removed the lid, revealing a simple silver chain. It was woven tightly, seeming closer to tightly woven moonlight plucked from the night itself. Like everything else in the shop—that you made, he’d learned by his third visit—it was beautiful. Whether it was the artistry or perhaps because he started seeing parts of you through every purchase, he wasn't sure.

A scarred thumb gently stroked over the finely detailed metalwork. He opened his mouth to speak, but your nervous rambling beat him to it.

"I… I don't often make jewelry for males, let alone chains like that, but I'm trying something new, and thus a collection, so I thought, why not give you something exclusive?" You added softly, quickly, and with animated gestures. He didn’t miss how you wrung your fingers. It was preciously endearing to him.

His gaze searched yours, and for the first time since you’d met, he had the faintest hint of a genuine smile. “Thank you, then.” He replied just as quietly, securing the chain back in the box and into the bag with a reverence as if it were precious glass.

Azriel's crush had now grown to an exponential, out-of-control, big fat crush.

— • —

It had been a month since that visit.

In that time, he’d caught himself briefly grazing fingers along the chain when he was alone, disguising it as scratching an itch or a collar adjustment. Sometimes his shadows would twine around it like snakes hugging a branch. And every instance, without fail, he’d catch himself thinking about you. About your eyes or your smile, your voice or your laugh. The minimal contact of fingers brushing against yours at the end of every trip to your store.

How and when did he let it get this bad?

For better or for worse, Azriel is sure you haven't noticed the way his gaze softens a fraction or how he tries to linger in your shop for a few seconds longer.

He needed to get a grip. He was going to finally do something about it.

He sighed a breath before he entered your shop, the familiar little bell signaling his arrival.

He watched you smile and thank a customer just as you wrapped up their purchase.

He watched your gaze meet his halfway across the store, and for one delusional moment, he let himself believe that your eyes lit up and sparkled a little more in recognition of him.

"Hey!" you greeted, bright and warm as ever.

"Hi," he breathed, watching your smile grow a fraction. He felt his shadows buzz with excitement but kept it contained. Or perhaps it was nerves. He wasn't sure yet.

"What's led you to little ole me today?” you mused, leaning against the display case that always separated you two.

He shrugged with a smile, tugging his lips before pretending to look around, browsing. Many of the pieces were familiar, some new, but quite frankly, and for once, he wasn’t here to buy something.

"Not sure. But I'll know when I see it," he replied quietly, passing a gold and ruby collection. How could he possibly say, “I'm here for you. I only ever come here to see you." How could he say every silly, corny, stupid line that’s crossed his mind for nearly the past year without sounding like a desperate fool or worse?

You huffed a laugh, accustomed to him and this routine. So you just watched him browse from the corner of your eye as you moved about the shop.

A few quiet minutes have passed, only filled with footsteps on hardwood and occasional shuffling.

Azriel nearly lost his mind, and you were none the wiser. He felt like his world was crashing and healing all at once, all by you just being in the room. Selfishly, he wanted more.

In the next fifteen minutes, he miraculously mustered up the courage. He selected a random bracelet—one he couldn't be bothered to even ask the story of, like he normally would. He watched you ring him up like always, handing over the small bag in exchange for payment.

When his fingers brushed against yours just enough, just like always, he lost his nerve.

He'd faced unfathomable evils, fears turned tangible, and flirted with death more times than any soul should. Yet this seemed to be the most terrifying among them.

He mustered a polite smile and decided his plan would have to wait another time as he turned to leave.

It seemed fate was taking matters into her own hands. Or rather his shadows, for they tugged him to a stop just as he reached to open the door. They seemed adamant that he’d go through with this today. No amount of pulling or mental scolding got them to let go. "Traitors," he thought.

His shadows whispered in one ear how you were watching him from behind the register as he stood by the door, the other ear filled with encouragement that was borderline scolding.

You raised a slight brow as he froze, slowly turning on his heel after a minute.

"Azriel? Are you—”

"Are you free tonight?” He blurted, searching your gaze from across the shop. He was sure you could hear his heart pounding and prayed to the Mother you didn’t. He watched you blink twice, undoubtedly startled.

"I—yes?" You replied though it came out like a question more than a statement.

His lips parted, words dancing on his tongue. He was caught in the middle between his heart and mind, logic and emotion. Desire and self-preservation.

"I…would you like to get dinner with me?” He rushed out before he gave up now, holding your gaze. Azriel watched you blink twice before widening a fraction. Something buzzed with satisfaction as his shadows whispered of a blush growing on your cheeks.

"Oh…" you murmured, your own heart skittering. “I…I would like that. "Yeah," you found yourself saying. It took every effort not to burst in disbelief or giddy excitement.

Maybe the universe wasn’t imploding for Azriel.

He huffed a disbelieving and excited laugh—the most emotion you’ve probably ever seen from him. "Good. That's…that's—yeah. Okay," he stammered, more to himself, like confirming this was real and happening. "Okay. I'll pick you up here at seven. Don't feel like you have to dress fancy," he added, finding his confidence and mental footing again despite his racing heart.

"Okay," you whispered, disbelieving yet elated. Your heart fluttered at his growing smile, one you couldn't help but mirror.

"Okay." He whispered back across the shop. "It's a date," he added, smirking as he watched your cheeks warm again. He memorized it—your beaming smile and sparkle in your eyes—like it would be the only thing to keep him alive until seven.

His gaze lingered before he finally left the shop with the biggest smile Velaris had ever seen from their Shadowsinger.

It only grew when a sneaky shadow lingering by your shop returned to his shoulder with whispers of your giddy shrieks and cheek-splitting grin a block away.

Azriel was utterly doomed yet was exactly where he wanted to be.

Notes: first time writing kinda nervous 🫣 any feedback is appreciated!

© starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.

[starspicewrites]

The Sun's Favorite

Pairing(s): Azriel x f!Reader

Contains: fluff / smut / NSFW (MDNI) / oral (f! receiving) / swearing

Summary: Azriel's entire being is the opposite of light and brightness, for shadows need darkness. However, you believe otherwise, and it's about time someone tells him.

WC: ~3.2k

He was no secret but, rather, a legend taken form.

Everyone knew Shadowsingers were very rare. If one came every millennium, that was a gift. Two would be a miracle and three was either the Mother's presence or a terrible omen; history hadn't decided yet.

Such beings with powers of darkness, shadows turned corporeal, sentient even. They lived, breathed and thrived in the dark. An intangible entity that could walk through light and shadow, things seen and unseen, in ways no other soul could.

Azriel was the only one for the last four and a half millennia.

And after a month-long mission on the continent, hours of debriefing with Rhysand, he was finally home. Finally, he could lie in his own bed, bathe with his own soap and return to his own space. Once a quaint, bare bones townhouse on the edge of Velaris was now lived in a warm and proper home.

Your presence breathed life into his life and now your shared home.

He missed his bed because you, his mate, kept it warm. He missed the baths he'd sink into just to hold you and run his fingers through your damp hair until the water went cold. He missed coming back to a place once labeled just his Velaris residence turned into a home.

He missed you and everything you brought into his life.

A month apart wasn't new. You understood it was his job long before you met. Missions were necessary to keep Prythian safe. But after a long month away, a longer flight back and a too-long debrief, all Azriel wanted—needed—was in his shared bed. 

He'd gotten used to waking up in a strange bed (if he was lucky), but now Velaris dawn peeked through the familiar curtains in place of a random inn wall with unknown stains.

The scent was familiar, like a long missed memory. Something clean from the detergent you used to wash the sheets, cedar from him and a hint of cinnamon from you. His lips ticked up into a sleepy smile before his eyes even opened.

His nose pressed in your hair further as if he could bury into the source itself. His arms drew you closer, lazily dragging the sheets higher over your bare skin and a wing curling over you both as a second blanket. He felt you hum groggily in your sleep, the raspy sound tingling against his chest. He tensed fractionally when your perpetually cold hands skimmed over his bare waist and settled on his lower back. He kissed your hair as if you’d apologized for it despite knowing if you were awake, you would've grinned at him smugly and completely unrepentant.

Azriel tried to doze off again but gave up after three minutes.

He started noting, then memorizing how his skin pressed against his. His scarred hands began to delicately trace your silhouette as he saw behind his eyelids as if he was nothing but a whisper caressing hair-thin crystal and not his beloved’s body. He had yet to open his eyes but, for you, he never needed to.

His fingers were much warmer compared to yours as they grazed down your spine, barely swooping between the notches of your vertebrae. His hand slowly curved over your hip, sliding back up along your bare waist. Each brush was a caress, another line of your form drawn in his mind, retracing or adjusting a millimeter to the vision he had until it was a mirror rendition. His hand rests on your ribs for a moment to feel you breathe. You were alive, safe and here. He'd made it back to you just as promised.

His thumb stroked once, then twice like an attempt to tell the shared bond residing there a fraction of how much he missed you. How much he loves you.

He kissed the top of your head again, breathing you in deeply, and I was finally able to fall asleep again.

— • —

You woke up to a much heavier weight than the weighted blanket you'd gotten used to in the past month. An inadequate substitute for Azriel in his absence, but you made do.

Memories returned parallel to brief panic before quickly transforming it into a quiet joy. Bleary eyes opened, adjusting to the sunlight and sight of Azriel after a month of waking to an empty bed. He was still asleep, soft steady breaths gently fanned across your face mere inches away. His chest rose and fell against yours as if he’d deliberately matched his breaths to yours. Knowing Azriel, it was likely.

He deserved the sleep, so you let him be. Instead, you took him in. First you memorized what you could never forget. How his brows were dark and strong. How the crease normally between them—even lightly—was smoothed over in his sleep. You’re sure it was probably the first time it disappeared since his leave. Your eyes met his closed ones, watching the very tips of dark lashes barely kissing the tops of tanned cheeks. You counted each wisp just because you could, even including the fallen one that had landed on the side of his nose.

You didn't dare brush it away in fear of waking him.

And since you were already there, your gaze trekked slowly down the bridge of his nose—including the little bump towards the top. You weren't sure if it was genetics or if he’d broken it in his youth and it simply healed that way. All you knew is it was a favorite quirk of his and gave you many memories to associate with it—wholesome and heated. It took many wills to resist kissing it so instead you smiled to yourself.

Outside, a large cloud finally passed over the morning sun, allowing it to finally join you in tracing your lover.

This was easily one—if not your favorite versions of him. Sunlight dappled over his tanned skin, kissing inky swirls and whorls of his tattoos. You could see the tiniest hint of freckles sparse and a half shade darker across his nose and cheeks. Good to see he got some sun while on the his mission.

Your gaze dipped down to his lips. His top lip was mauve, naturally a few shades darker. his cupid’s bow heart-shaped and his bottom lip plush and pink. Another urge to resist kissing came over you. 

You forced your gaze away in favor of moving along his jaw. You felt your lips tingle with the ghost of hundreds of kisses and dozens of nips you've left there.

Not for the first time, you thought Azriel was the sun's favorite. For someone who lived, controlled, thrived in the shadows, the sun showed him considerable favor. From the tanned skin to the way sunlight made home in his eyes. Bright, strong hazel that was sunset and sunrise together.

As if the Mother had heard your stray wish (or his instincts felt someone watching), those very eyes fluttered open, squinting, crinkling against bright morning light. The arm draped over your waist and the leg tangled between yours stiffened and stretched for a moment before drawing you closer. 

"Hi," Azriel rasped, his voice thick and gravelly like his own shadows over icy steel, yet fresh honey too.

"G’morning," you whispered back, watching your favorite sun finally rise again.

You spent a minute watching him while he adjusted and woke more. He huffed a laugh through his nose, the heel of his hand rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What? Got something on my face?" he mused in a rasp. You didn't bother pretending you hadn't been caught. Instead, you huffed your own laugh, the hand on his back leaving to finally thumb away the fallen eyelash on his nose and then the slightest bit of drool on the corner of his lips. "Yeah, something like that," you teased quietly.

His lips curved into a smile under your thumb, your own mirroring because you couldn't help it and because he softly kissed the pad of your thumb. You thought it was cute. Azriel was thinking of how many of those it would take to permanently engrave your thumbprint into his lips so he could carry a piece of you forever

"Sleep good?" you rasped quietly as a hand lazily, lightly scratched his back. You felt a rumble of approval buzz through your fingers and against your chest from where it touched his. 

"Best I've had in the past month."

“Me too.” A comfortable quiet fell over you. Distant sounds of rustling leaves, the city slowly beginning to wake in the late morning. Faint songbirds in trees were chirping and singing. And yet no song would compare to the sounds Azriel naturally made. “You know,” you began quietly, like you were sharing a secret. You couldn't dare to look away from him. “For a shadowsinger all dark and broody—” “I don’t brood,” he interjected indignantly, disbelieving even. “You do sometimes, my love,” you replied just as plainly as fingers danced up his skin to weave into his hair. Thick, dark, a little outgrown from his time away and ruffled with sleep, yet beautifully splayed like the solar prominences you read about in one of the Day Court library books ages ago. “As I was saying, for someone of dark and shadows, you seem to be the sun’s favorite.” You said like it was obvious. To you, it’d always been. To Azriel, it wasn't. You’d always thought about the comparison, sure, but you’d never said it aloud. Azriel blinked at you twice, searching your gaze with his sun-dappled one. “What do you mean?” he breathed. “Well, for starters—and the most obvious, in my opinion—your skin. You're naturally tanned, but when you really spend some time outside, especially during the warmer days, you tan really nicely. I'm a little jealous if I'm honest,” you mused lightly. Fingers idly scratched his scalp, slow and light. “And your eyes are practically the sun itself. Hazel—as far as natural eye colors go—is literally the closest to sunshine. That’s even more unfair.” Azriel held his breath as you continued, both listening to your every word like it was gospel and reeling from the weight it carried. “Then there’s the less obvious ones, like how you make me feel warm all the time. Well, you just run warm all the time, so that's not hard, but inside too. And how your bedhead looks like solar flares and prominences but in a cute way. Your freckles come out too, when you get enough sun—want to kiss all of ‘em,” you added quietly like a note to yourself to do later. He huffed a laugh, something between disbelief and growing affection that was pressing out from inside his chest. “You’ve really thought about this, huh? And should I be offended about the bedhead observation?” he replied, a dark brow lifting. Your grin grew with a small laugh, eyes closed for a few seconds as he kissed your forehead. It was a habit you’d barely realized and one Azriel had loved for decades. “No, you shouldn’t. I quite like the longer hair on you, actually.” “Mm. So you say,” he murmured as he pulled back to look at you. “I’m just calling it how I see it, Az. You could be the sun’s son and I’d believe it,” you said, matter-of-factly, a bare-shoulder shrugging. He huffed a laugh, arms tightened a fraction around you to pull you closer. One of his hands rested on the small of your back, the other now cruising up your spine and into your hair. He played with the messy locks, gently brushing them away whether they were in your way or not.

He huffed a laugh, gaze trailing over your face again. "I wonder what it's like to be in your mind for a day," he mused, subtly deflecting away from the heavy affection and weight your comparison carried. It wasn't that he disliked it; the opposite really. But Azriel was still getting used to how easily you shared your affections. Five decades with you were nothing compared to his nearly six centuries of living. Of fighting and self preservation just for survival.

Some days he fears you were never real.

“I think you’d be a little overwhelmed. I’m a glad you’re not daemati. I'd rather you not see the sexy murals of you I have on the walls of my mind.” you teased, brushing a kiss to his jaw.

He scoffed, something between disbelief and amusement. “Sexy murals? Really?”

It was your turn to scoff though, in mock offense. You pulled back from your kisses to look up at him. “Are you implying you don’t have sexy murals of me in your mind? Not even a faded, questionably stained poster in the corner?” You teased in feigned offense.

You felt his laugh rumble through his chest pressed against yours. “Fine, fine. I may have one or two.” He mused, kissing your brow. He started to slowly trail them down the side of your face, slow, warm, and sweet between his words. You may have called him the sun, but with how he wanted to remain in your orbit, he’d argue otherwise.

“The mural—because I know you’re gonna ask—” He began low and quiet. His voice had dipped to something warm, rich, and premonitory. “—is of you, just like this. Bare, in our bed, loving me the way I love you.” He muttered between kisses. His lips slowly climbed down your cheek, lingering on your jaw and sensitive underside.

“It’s you, tangled in our sheets,” he continued, leaving slow kisses all over the column of your neck. He smiled faintly as he felt your pulse skitter beneath his lips, the way your head craned to give him room. “Your hair everywhere like those solar prominences you were on about,” his teeth grazed your softness, and Azriel relished in the way your breath stuttered.

Azriel rolled you both over so he could hover over you. Sheets halfheartedly draped over his waist, wings stretching behind him to splay over the rest of the bed. Neither of you were religious, but in your half-lidded gaze, you could’ve mistaken him for a deity. Azriel considered you the only divinity he’d ever worship.

The air changed into something thicker. Not exactly tension but anticipation. A long-awaited yearning for two souls needing to be one again. Azriel kissed down your naked body, re-memorizing anything he was foolish enough to forget and adjusting the permanent mirror image of you embossed into his heart. For each kiss he left, your fingers skimmed over him. Whether it was his wings, his hair, or shoulders. The gates had opened, and you would get your fill.

“Beautiful.” He whispered against your thighs, laving at the plush skin with gentle nips. Your thighs flinched, threatening to clamp over his ears. “Az…” You tried to warn for his teasing, though it only came out as a needy mewl. No amount of imagination and toys in the past month could replace him.

Any other instance, Azriel would’ve teased you, would be amused. And sure, he was a little bit, but he was in the same boat. “I know, beloved.” He whispered between apologetic kisses as he moved north. He could smell your natural sweetness emitting from your core, the warmth calling to his soul. Or perhaps that was the unfiltered want flooding the bond from both of you.

Azriel already had to wait a month. There was no way he’d waste a second more.

His nose gently nudged your slit, warm tongue following. He was rewarded with a breathy moan from you. Azriel knew you loved that little bump on the bridge of his nose for less than innocent reasons and he made good show of it. He nudged it against your clit, letting you grind slow and deep.

He couldn’t resist peering up, watching your face contort in pleasure. The way your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, eyes screwed shut and lips switching between parting or being bitten raw. Strong yet gentle hands curled around your thighs and hips, holding you securely as he tasted.

Azriel was precise, coordinated, and drunk on you. Your pleasure was his pleasure. He would live, stay, and die right there if he could.

He felt your fingers tug his hair (perhaps a little harsher than intended, but then again, after a month apart, he understood). He rewarded you with a long suck to your puffy clit and watched you keen. Your eyes snapped open, rolling back until they were half-lidded and only white. Your back arched off the bed, wanton moans echoing through the townhouse, loud in the way he knew it had been far too long. He rotated between sucking, making out, and licking your pussy like he was on death’s door.

“Ah—Az, I’m not—I—fuck—I’m gonna—” you babbled brokenly. Normally, you lasted longer, but you’ve been a little out of practice. He hummed against your wet heat in acknowledgment, seemingly burying deeper to get you to fall into your pleasure. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Az—Oh god!” Your moans crescendo, thighs shaking only to clamp around his head. Your heels dug into his back, unsure whether to get him away or keep him close. Your toes curled so hard, the arch of your foot cramped. Your strength was out of your control as the orgasm smothered you. Blood rushed in your ears, vision whiting out as you bowed over him, practically sitting up. Heat and buzzes swam in your nerves as Azriel drew out your pleasure.

You collapsed with a gasp, slightly dizzy and entirely dazed. Azriel watched you as he kissed your inner thighs. You were a vision no artist but him could capture. Breathless, satisfied, gorgeous beyond belief as sunlight retraced where his lips and hands had been.

Just like the mural in his mind.

He slowly climbed back to hover over you, gentle hands brushing hair away. He watched you come back down, dazed sparkling eyes slowly finding his.

“Holy fuck.” You panted.

“Yeah?” Azriel grinned softly, stealing a gentle kiss. “I missed that. Missed you.”

You huffed a breathless laugh before melting into a soft hum as you tasted yourself. “Missed you too. And that. But you a little more.” You mused against his lips.

“Liar.” he whispered, nipping your nose playfully.

He pulled back just enough to really look at you. “You may call me the sun’s favorite, but I think you are the sun itself.” He whispered, lightly tracing the outline of your features, hazel eyes flicking over you.

Your eyes closed, a lopsided smile tugging at your lips. “Trying to one-up me, are you?” You mumbled teasingly. Azriel’s laugh fanned across your cheeks. “No. Just being honest.” He murmured as he dropped another kiss. “Rest. I’ll clean you up and then breakfast, okay?”

You hummed softly in acknowledgment as you felt the mattress shift and familiar sounds of him moving about.

The house was finally felt like home again.

A/N: I need him so bad, it's terminal I fear. Also, requests are open so please send some in!!

© starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.

[starspicewrites]

18+ | Thinking about…

Drag Racer!Sukuna, whose bike—sleek, midnight black, and a “piss rocket," according to Toji—is his pride and joy. Modded to perfection and has the earnings from every successful race to show for it.

Drag Racer!Sukuna, who first met you working at the front desk of Toji’s garage—with your cutesy-themed desk, chewing bubblegum behind glossy lips and the most bored expression as you typed. Sure, he thought you were hot but didn’t do anything about it.

Drag Racer!Sukuna, who rolled up to the dragstrip on another Friday night smelling like rubber, gasoline, and less-than-legal championship wins.

Drag Racer!Sukuna, who snickered under his helmet when his opponent rolled up on a white bike with lilac accents, a fucking Snoopy keychain resting on the gas tank, and cat ears on top of their helmet. Sure, it was a decent engine displacement but nothing close to his own. An easy win if he’s seen any.

Drag Racer!Sukuna is now glowering at the digital stopwatch at the end of the lane, mockingly displaying his first loss in years by 0.52 seconds. He nearly ripped the fuckass amateur apart, convinced there was cheating, noncompliant mods to their bike (like he wasn’t always toeing that line), paid off the hosts—something.

Drag Racer!Sukuna, who didn’t even bother to remove his helmet before he pulled you back by the collar mid-conversation when you got back to the crowd, dragging you away and somewhere more private. You barely managed to snag the keys from the ignition. Barely manage to get your helmet off and rip him a new one before he crowds you against the brick wall. The dragstrip smell mingled with his spicy musk. Carmine's eyes sharpened as he glared down at you, the facial tattoos wrinkling with his expressions.

You nor the Drag Racer!Sukuna recalls when barbed insults became moans and grunts of pleasure and pointing fingers turned into his fingers in your pussy or yours wrapped around his cock after races. Neither of you really recalls which night, which race, or which win marked the start of the unspoken routine where he'd bend you over the loser's bike and fuck you dumb. All he knows is he was addicted to you with your stupid strawberry lip gloss and your stupid bike modded beautifully and that goddamn Snoopy keychain.

Drag Racer!Sukuna definitely doesn't remember which time he was balls deep in your soft, tight, soaking pussy when he thought this was better than any check or any win.

Drag Racer!Sukuna, the only place he spent more time at than the drag strip and Toji's garage was between your legs.

Drag Racer!Sukuna does, however, remember when you didn’t show up to a race for the first time in months. He didn’t think too deeply, but then one night became a month, and he’d rather die than ask Toji about your whereabouts.

Drag Racer!Sukuna, whose heart does something traitorous and worries about you a month after your disappearance from the races and, coincidentally, from the garage whenever he comes around.

Drag Racer!Sukuna finds himself at Geto’s bar after winning one of the year’s bigger races. Another celebration with all his friends, another notch in his belt, and all he can think about is you. If you’re okay. He struggles to push back all that warmth and softness in his chest that reemerge more frequently when you cross his mind despite smothering the thoughts for ages.

Drag Racer!Sukuna has a lapse of judgment and is too sober for his liking; he gets your address from a drunken Toji that same night and rides over. He finds himself knocking on your door, his gruff voice too loud for the hour.

Drag Racer!Sukuna, whom you opened the door for, has hair a little messy and is dressed in a sweater and Hello Kitty pajama pants, and he thinks you’ve never looked hotter. Drag Racer!Sukunafeels whatever adrenaline and alcohol were in his system finally catch up and loosen up his tongue, spilling all that warmth and gushy softness on your doorstep in the dead of night.

Drag Racer!Sukuna, who shut his uncharacteristic rambling up with a kiss right there on your doormat in your pajamas. He recovers quickly enough to kiss you back and swallow your giggles. Drag Racer!Sukuna finds himself on your couch, in an apartment that’s so cozy, and you but all he can think about is you tucked into his side, head on his shoulder as you explain your absence. He listens for real as you explain your side of the story: the classic of catching feelings for someone you swore you wouldn't. Of everything reminding you of him, it was easier to pull away than break your own heart.

Drag Racer!Sukuna falls asleep with you on your couch after talking until dawn about anything, nothing, and everything and wakes up in a tangle of limbs, his head on your chest, and a crick in his neck. He watches you sleep—not in a creepy way, he swears! But in an "Oh fuck, I fell asleep on her couch after I confessed and she felt the same” kind of way.

Drag Racer!Sukuna, who asks you out on a date as soon as you wake up, confused, crusty-eyed, and stiff. He has to repeat it a couple times for your sleepy mind to catch up (he teases you about it to cover for the fact he’s waiting for your response). You say yes.

Drag Racer!Sukuna, whose edges soften enough over the next few months around you and only for you. He asks you to be his girlfriend a few weeks later because Sukuna doesn’t do halfway.

Drag Racer!Sukuna, who mods the fuck out of your bike (with your permission…mostly) because his girl “can’t be riding a glorified scooter." Don’t be mistaken; you still race him, upholding your title of Queen of the Track, but now all the trash talk is for show because he’s proud of you either way. If anyone says he let his girl win, they’re getting a knuckle sandwich special and vehement denial from Sukuna.

A/N: mmmm Sukuna with a motorcycle 🤤

© starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.

[starspicewrites]

The one where Azriel discovers he has a fat crush on the jeweler PT.2

Pairing(s): Azriel x gn! Reader

Contains: Fluff

Summary: Azriel has his first date with his crush of the past year.

WC: ~2.0k

Part 1

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. It's just a date. A totally normal, regular date. I can do this. It's just my most loyal customer, who just so happens to be the spymaster of the Night Court, and yeah, sure, he’s easy on the eyes…quite easy.” You rambled, the last part trailing off into quiet with a look. You darted between your bathroom and bedroom unsure if you were talking to yourself, forgotten ghosts watching with amusement, or the void on your bed akin to a burnt loaf of bread, your black cat, Oobi.

Two bright green eyes blinked at you slowly, entirely unbothered at your spiraling. "I love you, but you aren’t very helpful in these trying times.” You deadpanned to the creature, smoothing the fabric over your thighs for the umpteenth time. A quick glance at the clock showed it was already 6:37pm.

You felt your heart skitter again, glancing back at the cat, who only watched you back. “Would you happen to know how to stop nervous sweating in the next twenty-odd minutes?” You asked her hopelessly, only to get a soft, unhelpful mrrp in reply.

You could only hope a miracle would appear.

“Aren’t roses too…forward for a first date?” Azriel muttered under his breath, head tilting as he inspected the buckets overflowing with various flora.

His shadows—either hyper with excitement, shy with nerves or both—wove around and over him. They occasionally whispered in his ears, either observations of the market environment or suggestions of which flowers to get you.

A scarred thumb had begun to mindlessly rub that silver chain you’d gifted him in thought. Of course he wore it to your date! And for once, it was visible, the summer orange sunset winking off the metal lying at the base of his throat.

"What about moonflowers or gardenias?” he thought aloud as if his shadows would reply.

They’d unhelpfully approved of every suggestion thus far.

He sighed, attention snagged on a bucket of tulips half hidden behind another overflowing with plump peonies.

Perfect.

Upon Azriel’s request, the faerie managing the booth wrapped up a bouquet of a dozen pink tulips with baby’s breath woven between. He paid, carefully cradling the wrapped bouquet in exchange. After a small thanks, he began walking through Velaris towards your shop, where he’d meet you. A passing clock tower showed he had fifteen minutes to seven, to get to the shop, to finally see you.

Fifteen minutes to get rampant nerves squashed before you undoubtedly kicked them up into a frenzy again. No dates in the past, no war, no mission, and no near-death experience had him feeling this nervous and excited simultaneously.

— • —

You barely managed to quell your heart from the short walk between your apartment and the jewelry store. You (not so subtly) paced off the nerves under the storefront awning.

You pivoted on your heel for a third time only to freeze.

There, under the setting golden sun, dressed like both dream and sin, he stood. The golden sunlight bathed him like it too bent to his will. His familiar leathers had been traded for a black button-up with sleeves rolled to the elbows and the top button undone. Tattoos barely discernible from his winding shadows peeked out against the tan skin. You recognized the silver chain resting like a rivulet of starlight between his collarbones. Black trousers hugged his legs, tailored an inch within their life. His hair was windswept yet effortless.

You swore your heart and breathing stopped when your feet did. Dream and sin indeed.

“Now that’s just unfair.” You muttered barely under your breath as you took him in. It took a breath too late and a small huff of a laugh from Azriel to realize you’d said it aloud.

Mother above, smite me now, you thought.

“Sorry—I—you weren't supposed to—I didn't mean—” you stammered out, but what could you even say that would dig you out from such a hole? You could only hope the burnishing sunset hid any hint of the blush now burning your skin.

Whether it was amusement, pity, or both, he decided to spare you of the teasing. Just barely resisting the temptation.

You watched him walk a bit closer, unable to look away as your heart thundered. If he wasn’t a faerie, an Illyrian in this life, you were sure he’d be a siren in another.

“You look…wow.” He said soft, warm, and smooth.

“I—oh. Thank you.” You breathed. Despite the few steps between you, you could smell his faint cologne and natural scent.

He smiled softly, letting the quiet settle between you. Not so awkward anymore, and it felt like the nerves and anxiety were a little more distant.

“These are for you.” He broke the silence, just as warm and soft as his hand behind his back revealed a bouquet of pink tulips and baby’s breath.

You felt your heart skitter again. Something so simple yet heavy with intention, with effort. Your hands reached out, cradling the flowers. You couldn't help but smell them, daring a glance at him through your lashes. “Thank you, Azriel. They’re beautiful.” you murmured.

“Yet incomparable to you.” Azriel replied without hesitation and as quiet as a secret only for you.

Oh.

You were sure he was out to kill you.

You blinked quickly, gaze darting away with a heart racing too quickly for your liking.

"Shall we?” he spoke. It took every instinct to not offer his arm just yet. While gentlemanly, he didn't want to push too far too quickly. He was never a religious man, but he prayed tonight went well so he could one day (hopefully soon) get to do that.

And more. he shook that thought away before his mind wandered into inappropriate territory.

You nodded softly, paper crinkling under your fingers as you took him in for a second longer.

— • —

The restaurant was quiet and warm but nice. It wasn’t fancy like he promised, but certainly no suspicious tavern.

“i didn’t even know there was a place like this in Velaris.” You noted as a waiter had seated you both and taken your drink orders. Your glance around the restaurant ended with meeting his gaze across the table and already on you.

You'd have long lost count of how many times your stomach fluttered.

"I think it opened a few months ago. My brother, Cassian came with his mate and said it was good.” He replied, gaze flicking between yours. Whether it was his spymaster habits or his big crush on you finally going somewhere, he was taking in every detail about you. The highlights and shadows cast by bobbing faelights overhead and flickering candle on the table, your voice’s cadence, and how your hair and clothes complemented your form.

He watched your eyes light in slight curiosity or recognition. A look he wouldn't tire of, but then again, he liked any expression across your features.

He was a doomed, doomed male.

"Oh, right, the General,” you replied, breaking him from his stupor. He hummed and nodded softly in affirmation.

“I can only imagine what your childhood was like with two brothers,” you mused gently.

Azriel found himself mirroring your smile and amusement. "Yeah. It was…adventurous, to say the least. Definitely got into plenty of trouble.”

You laughed softly, eyes crinkling from your smile. He swore he heard angels sing.

"Got into or still get into?” you teased with raised brows, feeling nerves replaced by safety. Comfort.

His smile only grew, knowing, a little mischievous and entirely endeared by you already.

“Touché.”

He watched you laugh again—a little loud but no less bright and real, mentally tucking the vision away.

“So, any stories of you getting into trouble?” You mused between subsiding laughter.

Azriel's smile grew further, a laugh of his own slipping through.

You had your assumptions, but you’d underestimated just what kind and how much trouble he’d tell you. In between bites of your meals, which you both eventually ordered, you split stories and laughs. For someone so reserved, he was funny. Not in the loud, attention-demanding way you were learning his brother was like but the quieter, dry humor way. It was oddly endearing yet so…him.

It felt so easy, you discovered somewhere along the way. Long gone were those nerves from your pacing before his arrival.

You hadn’t been on a plethora of dates, sure, but this was checking so many boxes the others struggled to. The ease, the comfort, the space to be you instead of shrinking yourself to not intimidate or emasculate whoever was across the table.

You could shine in your own light, and he wouldn’t run away from it. For someone so familiar with dark and shadows, he would burn in your light willingly.

You were learning he was exactly who you used to wish for in the empty dark of night.

He was learning you weren’t afraid of the dark and the scars he came with.

And while it was a little frightening for you both, both of you wanted time to slow, to stop even, just to stay in this restaurant, in this moment, a little longer.

— • —

"Thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time," you said softly as you approached your apartment.

After dinner and learning Azriel had paid for the meal in advance (you couldn’t stop thinking about), you both went for a stroll around the city and a stop for ice cream. only now after a clock tower showed midnight did he insist on walking you home.

He smiled softly, hands in his pockets to stop him from reaching out to touch your cheek, "Of course. I had a good time too," he replied.

Crickets and distant sounds of the city filled the silence. It was filled with a dozen unsaid things on either side, yet the right words seemed distant. So you both looked instead in hopes it would be enough.

“I…I should head up," you whispered after a long moment, even if you wanted to do anything but. It was late, and you had work tomorrow. He nodded in understanding with a small smile. "Right, yes. Of course. Goodnight, Y/N," he added gently, memorizing every bit of you just in case tonight was all a dream.

He watched you smile softly before you reluctantly turned and began to head up. He watched you climb the stairs, occasionally seeing you peek behind your shoulder to find him already watching.

You waved shyly with your free hand, the other still cradling the bouquet before fishing out your key.

"Wait."

You blinked in surprise, leaning over the railing to see him where you’d left him two flights below and staring up at you, grinning crookedly—and dare you to think—nervously.

"When can I see you again?”

He breathed, and you huffed a laugh between teenage-like giddiness and disbelief. "You come to my shop twice a week! And spent the past five hours with me!” you whispered harshly through a laugh, not wanting to wake up any of your neighbors.

His grin grew, and your heart flipped at the sight. “It will never be enough.” He replied back. Another harsher flip.

"You know what I mean," he added in the same loud whisper, hopeful, after a few seconds, watching your micro-expressions from below. How silly was this? How stupidly, childishly and utterly romantic.

"Fine then. Soon, but come to the shop tomorrow and I'll tell you properly." You grinned down at him, the bouquet wrapping crinkling between your fingers and the railing. You gave a small and quick wave, teasingly, as you drawled in a singsong whisper. "Goodnight, Azriel.”

Azriel watched you walk away and into your apartment and the door shut behind you. Only then did he let his shadows loose of all the restraint he’d used to hold them back all night. even with them swarming the walls, his feet and the ground below he couldn't stop smiling. He couldn’t stop looking where you’d just been behind the railing.

He was smitten tenfold and there was no end in sight.

He was already planning to show up when you opened the shop tomorrow.

a/n: part 2 is here!! Thank you for all the love on part 1!!

© starspicewrites 2026. Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, re-upload, or feed to AI of any kind, including (but not limited to) chatbots. All characters belong to their original creators and are not mine (unless specified). No AI was used in the making of this work.

[starspicewrites]

Cassian Tries Pottery but Leaves With a Crush on The Teacher

Pairing(s): Cassian x f!reader

Summary: Cassian visits Feyre’s studio on a favor to visit the students. He did isn’t anticipate the teacher to be someone so lovely.

Contains: fluff / maybe OOC Cassian / suggestive bits (really brief)

WC: ~2.0k

"It's an introductory pottery class for kids. I made the mistake of mentioning I know you once and, well, they've been asking when you'll show up," Feyre said lightly in passing during dinner one night. It wasn't flashy or pleading, just a simple request.

Cassian chuckled and nodded, half glass of wine set back down. “Sure, I'll stop by to see the little squirts. Plus, I haven't stopped by the studio in a while,” he added lightly, with a grin.

Now, a few days later, he landed on the cobblestone street across from the studio. A few passing faces gave him smiles and greetings. The facade was clean and bright, with two tall windows flanking the propped-open front door and flooding the interior with spring air and sunlight. The afternoon air was warm yet breezy, stirring the paper stack in the far corner of the studio. The faint smell of paint and clay was grounding, carried on the breeze on its way out. Laughter paired with little voices and smaller feet shuffled in.

Cassian followed a father and young girl, tucking his wings tight.

“You made it!” Feyre greeted, wiping hands on an apron that had certainly seen better days.

“Wouldn't miss it." He grinned.

“Good,” Feyre chuckled and began walking deeper into the studio. Cassian fell in step behind her, giving small waves and bigger grins to the kids settling in their seats. Tables and canvas easels were moved aside to accommodate a semicircle of pottery wheels and one in front and center. Most stools were filled with a small bodies, either chatting with a neighbor or curiously investigating the machine without actually touching it.

“Today’s an introductory pottery class like i mentioned at dinner and if you want we can—oh! You’re here!” Cassian dragged his gaze away from a pair of boys he waved at and followed Feyre.

There, across the room, tying one of the studio-stained aprons around your waist, was you. For a breath, time slowed for Cassian, and the sunlight pouring through the windows glowed brighter, like it was holding its breath to shine a little brighter for you.

Feyre moved in his periphery, and Cassian blinked, the sun breathing and time moving again.

“Hey,” you greeted Feyre with a smile. “My plans didn't go through, so I thought I'd come help today instead. I hope that's alright,” you added almost apologetically.

Feyre waved dismissively. “Of course it is. Besides, you’re our best ceramicist, and the kids love you. I also asked this one to come in today, since the kids have been asking for a few weeks.” She glanced up at him briefly and gestured to you both. Cassian realized he was the “this one” in question. “Cassian, Y/N. Y/N, Cassian.”

Cassian was frozen for a heartbeat. He made an effort not to stare or gawk. He'd seen beauty of all kinds, colors, shapes, and sizes. He was an avid appreciator of it in the form of a body, but you were a kind he hadn’t come across often.

You, with your hair tied back, save for a few stubbornly loose pieces around your face. Your eyes were bright in a way that put the stars this court was known for to shame. Your smile was otherworldly. Your voice was calm and smooth like honey-coated marble, wrapping around his spine and melting into the gaps between.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” you replied, offering a hand.

Cassian’s larger hand engulfed your smaller, albeit colder, one. “Likewise,” he breathed.

He watched your gaze meet Feyre’s again with a soft smile. “I'll finish setting up, and then we can start?”

Feyre nodded and watched you go prepare your station at the front. “Why don’t we get set up? You can take any of the empty spots with the kids.”

Cassian tore his gaze away from you where you gathered supplies in the corner, and found an empty spot between two girls. They blinked at him owlishly. Cassian tucked his wings tighter as he greeted them both, trying to make himself appear friendly and nonthreatening.

He was in the middle of answering one of there questions about what clouds felt like when he watched you take your spot at the center pottery wheel. “Can everyone please put a bubble in their mouth for me?” you asked the class, sleeves rolled up to your elbows and a finger to your lips and cheeks puffed up. Cassian watched the kids settle down and mimic your bubble in their mouths. he was half tempted to copy for his own amusement (and maybe yours), the other half because of how your teacher voice subconsciously compelled him to for a moment.

You slipped into your teacher's role so easily, Cassian found, with your voice loud and clear, and your tone was adjusted to keep the students engaged. It was so different from your introduction. “Thank you, everyone. Today we’re going to be trying pottery. But before we start, we have a special guest,” you added, your gaze finally landing on Cassian with a small smile and an encouraging nod. “Guest, would you please introduce yourself?”

Cassian grinned, feeling ten pairs of eyes suddenly on him. He waved gently as he looked aroundthe class. “Hello, everyone. I'm Cassian. I'm going to learn pottery with you all.”

Soft, excited gasps and wide eyes flit through the little crowd, some whispering to their friends. A little boy with blueish skin and even big, blue eyes and a missing tooth raised his hand so fast he nearly fell off the stool. He was precariously kneeling to get a better look at the general, to which you gently chided him to sit correctly before he fell.

"Um, do you—when—when you uh, fight bad guys, how uh…how do you not get hurt?”

He huffed a laugh before glancing at you for permission.

“Well, I trained really hard for a long, long time. I still train with my brother’s but sometimes i still get hurt. I wish i could never not get hurt. That would make things a whole lot easier, now wouldn’t it?” he added lightly, earning scattered giggles.

He couldn't help but glance at you briefly as if he wanted your approval too. It was strange feeling; he’d only just met you. You allowed three more questions from other students before bringing their attention back to the class.

Cassian watched you just as intently as the students. He could tell they respected you and were excited about the class to learn. You asked them questions; they’d answer with excited raised hands and stars in their eyes. They followed your instructions with rapt attention and excitement. It was hard for him not to get sucked in either. From how to wedge the clay to centering and pulling. He felt that familiar tug of attraction. Of course, he found you physically attractive, but this was different; your skill was attractive. You have a talent, the way wet clay coats your hands as you pinch and pull with such even pressure. The careful balance of delicacy and strength was mesmerizing.

Cassian’s hands had so seldom been used for care and precision unless there was a bloodied blade and a dead body or two involved. His size was used for brute strength and even brutal techniques meant to end, not create. Pottery was out of his depth, but he told Feyre he’d come for today’s class. And watching you practice your craft, teaching simultaneously was enthralling.

And then your ring and middle fingers slowly curled down the center of your clay, and Cassian’s mind went very filthy very quickly.

Blood rushed to his ears and neck. His gaze tore away as he tried to follow your demonstration on his own.

He really shouldn’t feel so hot. You were teaching a technique—welling, he thinks, but the blood rushing in his head made it hard to remember. All he could focus on was your fingers curling, murky water displacing from the hole and spilling over the slick clay walls.

It took several deep breaths and morbid thoughts to focus on his own clay before his blood flooded elsewhere. There were children around, for Cauldron’s sake! Every so often he’d peek up through thick lashes as he caught you helping other students, your demonstration paused.

For better or for worse, Cassian was not used to walking such a fine line of delicacy and strength. Usually it was just one side of the fence—the brute strength. It was familiar. What he’d been trained for. So the focus it took to pull a simple cylinder was a challenge but one he didn’t mind. It was a little frustrating and more mentally demanding than he assumed, but it was better than thinking about what other wet, squelching area your two fingers could curl into—

"Cauldron boil me,” he muttered under his breath.

“Trouble?”

His head snapped up to where you stood across from him. Your sudden presence took him off guard, and as if the Mother were punishing him for such lewd thoughts about you, his wet clay caved in from the uneven pressure and detached from the center until it landed inside the pan.

"Oh dear,” you muttered, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Cassian huffed a laugh, a slip-coated hand gently waving dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Guess I was just really focused.”

Your smile softened, the worried curve of your brow smoothing again. "You were doing really well. Well…at least before it went flying.”

Cassian grinned at you, charming yet mischievous. “Had a real good teacher.”

You huffed a laugh, raising your brow. “I’d hope so. Otherwise, I’d have to reevaluate a few things about myself. Namely, how I still have my job,” you mused.

Cassian chuckled, letting you get pulled away by another student.

— • —

It was late afternoon when the class was wrapping up. Although he truly tried his best, the cylinder he managed to make was short and thick-walled, he was proud of it anyway.

He gave high-fives or fist bumps to the kids as they left, and before long it was just him, you and Feyre. He didn't know his way around the studio like you both, but he helped clean up.

“I'll lock up,” you reassured Feyre before she winnowed away. That left just you both.

Now, Cassian had considered his options. He could a) give polite goodbyes and leave or b) find some excuse to hang around a bit longer to talk to you more, to learn a little more about you, but he also didn't want to impose. He did meet you today.

“Thank you again for coming. The students were really happy,” you said gently as you put away the last of the tools in labeled buckets.

Cassian blinked out of his thoughts, grinning. “It’s nothing. Besides, I couldn’t disappoint them.”

Your smile grew as you dried your hands and finally exchanged the stained studio apron for your things. He followed you out, watching you lock up the studio and how the sun settled on you. Your eyes finally met his, bright and sparkling. A mix of peach and rose prickled under your skin at the sudden eye contact. Cassian’s smile grows, cataloging how your face holds the blush and already wondering how he can get you to do it again.

“Should I expect you for the next class?” you found yourself asking as you adjusted your bag to your shoulder.

“I’ll come to any class you want me to sweetheart.”

Your blush deepens, traveling up your ears and down your neck. “Oh,” you mutter, suddenly too warm up for the spring sun. Cassian relishes it and that smug smile lets you know full well.

“In that case,” you begin, steeling your flustered nerves and holding his gaze. A smirk tugs at your lips this time, voice dipping low and smooth. “I also offer private lessons, in case you're interested,” you add.

Now it was his turn to feel a little flustered and yours to smile in satisfaction. You don’t give him the chance to respond, only a brief goodbye as you turn heel and around the corner to the gods know where.

“Well, fuck me,” Cassian huffs out with a grin.

A/N: lowkey cheeks. Thank you for all the love and support!! I appreciate every single one of you!! <3

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