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sunshine-and-moonshine · 4 months

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The Three Bear Hybrids

Summary: You find yourself lost in the woods at night but luckily there’s a cozy cabin you can take a rest in! Sure hope there aren’t any lustful bear hybrids who own this cabin….

Warnings: Reader has a Vagina (no pronouns or tits mentioned), Smut, Breeding Kink, Spit Kink (Kinda? Lots of slobber), Reader really just broke into these men’s house, Dub-con (reader is described as having a hazy mind at times, implied like pheromone shit or something)

Pairings: Bear Hybrids!Ghost, Price, and Gaz x Reader

A/N: Any spelling mistakes you see are between me and the Devil so if you see them then shhhhhh

It was a bit cliche to say that it was a dark and stormy night, but you couldn’t find better words to describe it. The sky pitch black, sparkling stars and the bright full moon covered by thick black storm clouds, a deep cold settling into your bones. And you were caught right in the middle of the woods, lost in the forest while out picking mushrooms for tomorrow’s breakfast. You cursed yourself under your breath, worried eyes looking up towards the clouds just as a few droplets started to fall down on you from the heavens. With no other choice, you resigned to find your way home in the morning, wrapping your cloak around your body tightly to fend off the chill and the rain, a new haste in your steps as you trudged through the forest, almost tripping over roots and rocks that you could not see without the guidance of the moon’s light or your lantern that you had stupidly left at home, thinking that you would not be long. Nothing to help you find an alcove of thick brush trees or an abandoned cave to protect yourself against the coming storm.

Nothing save for a faint glow in the distance, a beacon calling out to you in the night. And like a moth to a flame, you followed it. Relief filling your weary bones when you set eyes upon a large cabin nestled cozily in the forest. A bit tattered on the outside, lacking any love. No pretty decorations or painted walls. Vines and moss growing up the sides, the door left cracked open and seeming to be broken off of its hinges, but set firmly in the place it should be to keep the inside warm. Carefully, you approached. Moving the door was a bit of a struggle but you managed it, and you were able to slip inside before placing it back in the frame, looking around at the interior of the cabin when you were sure the door wouldn’t fall on your head the second you turned your back to it.

The inside of the cabin was just as sparse as the outside. Everything made of plain wood, crudely made, everything seeming to be made just for its purpose with no care of how it looked. The table in the living room was crooked, the couch propped up by thick books instead of proper legs. The kitchen bare save for a single freezer box, packed full of meat and varying sizes of jars filled with jellies, jams, and fruit. The glow that called to you earlier revealed to be a small candle left burning in the windowsill, which you grabbed and used to light your way in the plain cabin. Not that there seemed to be much to see in the first place. The only thing of real note being that everything seemed to be made for giants, all the furniture almost comically big. But nothing was as big as the beds. Three plush mattresses in an almost perfect row, just a few inches from each other in the same room. Curiously, you ran your hand over the one in the left corner. Stiff as a rock, and you wondered who could sleep on something so hard. The next bed was softer. Too soft in fact. When you laid your hand on it, it felt like it was just a pile of blankets instead of a mattress. Certainly cozier then the first, but you doubted such a mattress was good for someone’s back. Oh but the third bed!

The third bed was just right.

The perfect mix of soft and firm, still warm with the heat of whoever had last slept on it. And when you couldn’t help but lean in closer, there was a soft alluring musk that waived off of the sheets. It lulled you, made your head fuzzy and stupid. You couldn’t stop yourself from curling up into the bed, that scent embracing you like a long gone lover as you wrap your cloak tighter around yourself just to stave off the slight nip in the air. Just a short nap, you promised yourself. The owners of this cabin surely wouldn’t even notice you were there. You’d be long gone by the time they came back.

The assurances you told yourself were enough to ease you into fully closing your eyes, a sigh of contentment slipping from your parted lips just as the rain outside started pouring down, covering up the sound of heavy footsteps crunching cobblestone beneath their weight.

You awoke to the sound of voices. Your mind still hazy with sleep, cocooned in that nice comfy feeling of warmth and safety and laziness. The kind of feeling you never wanted to wash away just because of how good it made you feel. But the feeling never lasted, and it started to drip away from you like ice melting in the spring sun.

“But they’re sleeping in your bed, Price!” A voice hissed softly, like they were trying to keep themselves quiet. Were they trying not to wake you? It seemed like an odd thing to do when whoever it was was clearly panicked.

“I can see that, Gaz.” A rougher voice said in return, a deep sigh following the statement, and you felt the hair resting on your cheek be shifted away. Still sleep dumb, you could only sigh and snuggle further into the large warm pillows beneath your head, almost missing the amused chuckle sounding from above you. And then suddenly your whole body was being moved, the bed shifting beneath the weight of another person as they pulled themselves onto the mattress with you, tucking themselves up against you. It was what finally drained the last of your sleepiness away, and you tried to shoot up in the bed in your panic.

Tried being the key word here.

An arm, thick and muscular, shot up at the same time you did, wrapping around your chest and yanking you back down, pulling you chest to chest with an older looking man, his blue eyes sparkling beneath the faint rays of the rising sun shining in through the window at your back. They looked like the sea, bright and mysterious, beautiful. You felt like you could drown in them, like they’d pull you under their waves and fill your lungs with that blue til you couldn’t breathe. Unbidden, you felt heat rise up in your cheeks as those blue eyes narrowed at you, clearly not impressed with your pathetic escape attempt.

“Easy, Honey.” That gruff voice, hoarse and rough but almost melodic to your ears, said, a hand running down your back at the exact same time, pulling you even closer somehow. Not giving you the room to run away or fight him off. “We’re not gonna hurt ya, Honey. It’s okay, just calm down.”

Surprisingly, his words did wonders to ease your nerves, your flailing turning to light shaking as he kept looking into your eyes. But your own look beyond him, at the two men standing just at the edge of the bed. One tall, taller than the man holding you, scars criss crossing all over his face, brown eyes looking almost like warm honey in the light. But, seemingly a bit unnerved by your looking, he turned his face away. Looking down at the man beside him. Shorter than the other two but his smile seemed to fill the room, warmer than the sun, eyes a darker brown. Like the wood of a great oak tree, strong and steadfast, but glinting with boyish mischief.

And it was just about then that you noticed something….peculiar about the three men. Namely the round fluffy ears that sat atop their heads, twitching at every sound in the room. And if you looked closely, you were sure that you could see a small fluffy tail twitching excitedly behind the shortest man, and the sound of one lazily thumping against the bed coming from the man holding you. More than a bit confused, you opened your mouth to question them, but the scarred man beat you to the punch.

“What are you doing in our cabin?” He asked, his tone defensive, full of bite, like the dog of your neighbor who so fiercely defended his properly. It made fear peak up again, but it didn’t escalate into full blown panic as the man holding you started to rub his nose against your neck, sniffing you like some forest beast. The heat in your cheeks only intensified, especially when he let out some pleased sound that rumbled deep in his chest.

“I…..got lost. In the forest.” You tell him, biting back a sharp gasp as the man licks a long trail from your neck up to your ear, nosing against it before nipping your lobe. It should have unnerved you, frightened you, but it only made a warmth pool in your cheeks and belly. For some inexplicable reason, you enjoyed it. And so did the man, if the rapidly hardening bump against your thigh was any indication.

“And you decided that breaking into our cabin was the best course of action?” He asked with a quirked brow, disbelief in his eyes. But he seemed nervous, twitching just like the man beside him, both of them seeming almost possessed. Licking their lips and sniffing the air like their was something delicious cooking in the other room.

“I-It was the only shelter I could find.” You tell him, eyes going a bit hazy as the man holding you suddenly shifts, laying you flat on your back and hunching over you, growling as he works to untie the tight strings of your cloak before angrily ripping at it when it would not bend to his will. You wanted to be angry, but find that you couldn’t summon the will to tell him off when he just dived for the open skin of your collarbones, sucking and licking with a fervent need.

“And sleeping in our beds, that was also for shelter?” The scarred man huffed, his tone softer now, thick with something heated and warm as the shortest man stepped closer, starting to undo the laces of your shirt, delving beneath the loosened fabric to stroke eager fingers over your pebbled nipples. You shuddered, head tilting back with a soft whimper as he leans in, whispering against your ear, breathe heating up your skin.

“My name is Gaz.” He says, and you immediately stored that information away, moaning out the name softly when he pinched one of your nipples before lazily rolling it between his fingers. “And this one, the one sucking on you like some cub? That’s Price. And the big fucker behind me is Ghost. He’s a bit shy though, Love. Needs a bit more incentive to come closer. Why don’t we get you undressed and show him what he’s missing out on?” Gaz suggested, and you couldn’t help but nod, your fate sealed as he ripped your shirt clean off your skin, Price already working on your pants, yanking open your legs and letting the sweet honey scent of you fill the air, all their eyes going hazy, all thought washing away from them as they all tried to lunge for your wet core, growling and huffing at each other, tongues darting out for a taste and getting angrier and angrier when they kept accidentally licking at each other in their eagerness.

But you? You were drenched in bliss, the feeling of three tongues fighting between your legs, thighs forced open wide to accommodate them all, hearing them growl like wild animals just for a single lick of you. It was incredibly arousing and the mewl you let out when one of their noses bumped against your clit was loud, all eyes snapping up to your face. Lust all over their faces, mad with it, hungry beasts who wanted nothing more than to tear you apart on their mouths and cocks.

Eventually, after several minutes of the battle for your cunt, Price was the one who growled at the other two to get back, loud and ferocious. Gaz backed away with little resistance but Ghost growled right back, reaching out to grab at your hips and try to drag you closer. That was, until Price gripped the scruff of his neck and practically ripped him away from you, the bigger man going limp before finally backing away with a soft grumbling noise.

Price then turned to you, a happy gleam in his eyes as he leaned down between your thighs again, tongue slower then before, like he was trying to savor a delicacy as he licked a long stripe from ass to clit, his groan reverberating through your lower half in a way that made a tingle go through your belly. And then he was all wild animal again, starved for your pussy as he lapped and succked and nibbled, his nose grinding against your clit and his beard leaving raw scratches along your inner thighs that you knew would be tender for days to come. But in this intense you couldn’t care less, throwing your head back with a loud moan, clamping your legs shut around his head, feet resting between his shoulder blades. It did little to deter him, only seemed to encourage him in fact, and he dug his fingertips into the undersides of your thighs, not letting you open or close them any further, practically suffocating him in your pussy. Just as Gaz was taking to sucking at your nipples like a welp, soft moaning sounds made against your flesh, his eyes closed whenever he pulled back to switch his affections to the other pert bud, licking and kissing along the expanse of your chest, leaving little untouched by his sinfully talented mouth.

And Ghost. Oh Ghost was just enjoying the show, his eyes wide as they roamed over your body and the two men worshipping it, his hand beneath his pants, stroking slowly to the sight of you getting tongue fucked by Price. It wasn’t til you reached a hand out to him that he approached, leaning down to sniff at your wrist a little before licking it, laughing under his breath when you jolted, his free hand coming up to hold your palm against his cheek as he continued to jerk himself off, eyes locked onto yours, his orgasm hitting him at almost the exact time yours hit you, almost twin like soft noises falling from both of your mouths as he leaned in to kiss you, all tongue and teeth, saliva dripping down your cheeks as he bit your lips and licked alonhg the inside of your cheeks. It was the best kiss you’d ever had, and you didn’t want it to end, whining with disappointment when he pulled back to allow you to breathe. But you just grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him back down and forcing your mouth against his, pleased with the rumbling groan he let out in response. It was heavenly, he was heavenly, they all were. You’d never felt such pleasure in your life. The haze over your mind making thoughts sink far out of your reach, like a stone in water. The wave of heat over your body like a comforting childhood blanket. And you were sure nothing would ever feel better than this.

But you were quickly proven wrong when Price shifted between your legs, sitting up straight over you as he shifted down your pants, yanking your lower half closer to him so he could run his cock through your warm wet folds, tapping the large mushroom head against your clit almost playfully before sliding in with one firm thrust that had you crying out with pain tinged pleasure. But they held you through it, all of them. Ghost’s big palms on your cheeks, Gaz’s holding your hands, and Price’s squeezing your hips. Oh and it felt like coming home when Price was rooted inside you to the base, tip so close to brushing against your cervix that it made you want to scream. It burned, in both good and bad ways, but thankfully he gave you time to adjust. Letting his boys shower you with affectionate kisses for a few moments before he gave a slow experimental thrust.

Instantly, pleasure shot up through you like a bolt of lighting and you jolted beneath them, keening and wiggling, much to their amusement. But it was all that Price needed to know, setting a steady pace that battered at your slick walls pleasurably, stretching you out in a way you were sure that you would never fully recover from, sure to gape from the width of him when he would pull out, an ever present reminder of him. The thought made you clench and he snarled, fighting against the resistance your walls gave him, struggling to pull and push when you were clamping down on him so tight. He clicked his tongue, hand reaching down to rub rough circles on your stiff clit, more force behind his thrusts now, unwilling to be deterred by your body’s tightness.

“Gonna breed you.” Price huffed, voice thick, sticking like honey in his throat, like it was hard for him to speak. “All of us are gonna breed you full, Honey. Give you a few cute little cubs to take care of come spring. Maybe get lucky and have one from each of us. That sound good to you, Honey? Can’t wait to see you with a cub on your hip, feeding another one in your arms. Never gonna stop giving you little babies to take care of. You’re ours now. Swell like ours. Sweet little mate, we’ll take care of you.” He promises, his words sending molten lava through your veins, only able to stare up at him as he tilted his head back and growled. Not like the playful and commanding ones he used just previously, but something animalistic, inhuman. Terrifying and arousing at the same time. Ghost and Gaz pulled back just enough to make similar sounds, something in them becoming even wilder at the sound, diving back into you like you were a buffet, slobbering all over your body as they left no inch of you kisses and suckled at, pawing at you and humping your sides to relieve their aching cocks, tension building and building and building.

Until it snapped along with that knot in your belly, your orgasm washing over you as your sight becomes overtaken by a sheen of white, back arching to the heavens as you cry out, the sound copied by the man above you, his own pleasure shown in the ropes of thick white sperm that he sprayed inside you, hips nestling against yours, unwilling to let even a drop spill free as the two other bear hybrids already begin to bicker amongst themselves as to who would get the next turn with you. But all you could focus on was the ceiling, wondering what on God’s green earth you’d gotten yourself into now.

#fairy tale au #cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #John price #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader

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adhdvsautismbracket · 1 year

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*sLAMS HANDS ON TABLE* I saw Anon talking about Roxy and Dirk

Dirk's Autism Traits Include:

Tone and sense of humor that is nigh inscrutable and inaccessible to people who have not already learned him well

Difficulty reading social cues, which actually feeds his preexisting paranoia about him being Secretly Bad And Evil And Bad For All His Friends Who Mean The World To Him

(I think he also probably has BPD, but that's a different thing)

He drinks One Type Of Drink. Only Orange Flavored Sodas. The variety comes from the way different brands are and That Is It.

Reads as cold and uncaring to most people around him when in reality he feels his feelings Very Intensely and Cares So Deeply about every person in his life and his own morals and sense of self

Easily loses sight of what the fuck is going on around him when focused on a stimulating task

Roxy's ADHD Traits Include:

Those Fuckin' Typos. Like, many of her initial typos are due to being drunk, but They Keep Going after she sobers up even when she speaks aloud, her brain and her mouth simply have a frazzled connection.

As anon pointed out: Big Emotions. I was once assigned Roxy Kinnie when I was first getting into Homestuck based primarily upon this trait.

Y'know that thing when you have ADHD and you're Really Good At The Things You're Interested In and Really Spotty In All Other Areas Including Socially? That. She has that.

Hyperempathy

Pretty sure it's an ADHD trait to get Incredibly Irrationally Attached to people and things you Just Found Out Existed. She does this with her weird little dudes she collects and with Dave when he calls her Mom.

They got that ADHD/Autism mindmeld goin' on, they just Get Eachother except in the moments where they Just Don't. I will never be over Dirk saying to Jane just before they all die to be resurrected with their powerups "You wanna know what I really think of Roxy? I love her." even though Roxy is Right Next To Him and Jane is On Another Planet, there is something about that moment and how Roxy is worried about Dirk being mad at her but he was upset earlier because he Cares So Much and he was So Overwhelmed By The Everything and now he just feels guilty for breaking down and so does she and Listen I Am Soft For Them. MLM WLW solidarity as well, Roxy is Pan I'll die on this hill.

THEY SOUND SO SILLY ❤️❤️❤️🥺

#ask #stars-in-a-jam-jar #adhd vs autism propaganda #adhd vs autism bracket #Homestuck

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rainbowbarnacle · 2 months

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Please make a tea post so I can save it especially the pineapple ice cubes I need more info

Oh, like, different teas I like to make? Okay! :D

🍍Pineapple Tea🍍

The way I do it is really simple:

Buy a giant jug of already-made tea (I like gold peak!)

Buy a carton of pineapple juice

Freeze the juice into cubes, pour a little of it in the tea for extra flavor

And that's it. That's aaaall you gotta do.

There's all kindsa ways you can dress it up, but nine times out of ten I just do this and drink it by the gallon when it's hot out.

If you wanna get fancy with it, feel free to cold brew your own black (or green) tea, add actual hunks of pineapple fruit in there, add some orange juice, add some honey, add some coconut milk or sweetened condensed milk, whatever sounds good! (Also, pairing pineapple tea with coconut cookies? SO GOOD.) Put mint in the pineapple cubes if you like mint! Add a bit of boiled ginger root or some brown sugar and cinnamon for a little kick! Heck, last summer I used blue peaflower star-shaped ice cubes just because they were pretty.

(Peaflower petals don't taste like much, but they make a GORGEOUS blue, and if you put something acidic in there like lemon juice IT TURNS PINK. :D)

🍓Strawberry Tea🍓

I find this stuff sort of difficult to find where I live, so often I go the same route as the pineapple tea: grab a jug of black tea, grab a jug of strawberry juice, (ocean spray has a really nice cran-strawberry one I like) freeze the juice, mix, and enjoy. Super simple.

If I can't find strawberry juice, I dice some strawberries up and put it in a jar with some water and a bit of sugar for a few hours, then add *that* to the tea. (heck, it's really nice all by itself!)

What goes with strawberry? ANY DANG THING YOU WANT. I am particularly fond of lychee. Jasmine tea and rose petals pair really well with it too. Again, if you like mint, it's *really* nice with strawberry. And you know how if you put black pepper on strawberries they taste even strawberrier? (If you haven't tried this, go do it, it's magic.) Same goes with the tea, add some peppercorns or a teeny bit of chili powder or some ginger.

If you wanna drink it hot or cold brew a batch of your own, here are some brands that are also nice:

1. Strawberry Sensation

2. Adagio Strawberry Tea (this is also where I got the peaflower petals)

3. Any of Lupicia's Strawberry Teas they are HEAVENLY

🍏Apple Tea🍏

As with the pineapple and strawberry teas, it's totally fine to just go find some ready-made tea and mix it with some apple cider or apple juice for tasty low spoons fun. If you drink it iced, a bit of sugar and lemon juice brings out the apple flavor nicely!

I prefer drinking this stuff hot though. You know that Fall Drink post that was floating around? IF YOU HAVEN'T YET, TRY IT, IT'S AWESOME.

☕Chai Tea☕

So here's the thing about chai for me personally: I don't tend to drink it iced or sugary, but if you do like it iced and sugary, there are a couple of really nice chai tea concentrates:

Oregon Chai Latte

Tazo's Chai Latte (Forget the "skinny" nonsense, I just wanted to include an option with no milk so you can add whatever you want to it)

Pacific Chai isn't concentrated, but you can use it to make hot or iced chai and it's really lovely, not too sweet and super easy to work with. As for dressing up chai, I don't tend to! There's already so much going on with all the flavors, I just drink it as-is most days. Play with milk-to-tea ratios or sugar amounts all you like, figure out what's your jam.

I do know that mixing chai and coffee together (or chai and chocolate together) is guaranteed to make a feeling groovy kind of morning, at least if you have two thumbs and you're me. Iiii think that's all the tea blather I can think of for right now. Thank you for asking, anon, it was fun! Anybody reading this, feel free to add your own favorite things to do with tea. :D

#domestic blifs #this has been tea blather with rainbowbarnacle #thank you for attending my TEA-d talk

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lilac-5ky · 6 months

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always darkest before the dawn (Satoru x Fem!Reader)

plot: your boyfriend finds you waiting on his porch after a mission you warned him against going.

tags: hurt/comfort with a silly ending cause I'm silly for this man.

wc: 2.4k

“Baby? What are you still doing up?”

The sound of his voice gets amplified with every step he takes toward the dim-lit engawa, a pleasant break from the incessant chirping of the cicadas slowly being traded for that of the first morning sparrows—midnight sky melting into the lightest shades of blue. Stars are sprinkled over the velvet canopy like powder sugar, a subtle bronze haze dividing the horizon from the heavens above, and you almost thank them for sending their most exalted angel your way.

He comes alive again—wings heavy from the blood that soaks them, its source hardly human.

The knitted blanket slides off your shoulders as you turn around to face Satoru, his otherwise sublime features wearier and more haggard than you remember seeing them this morning by your pillow. He carries a bag in each hand, his apology wrapped in layers upon layers of aluminum foil. You wonder what it tastes like. Last time was gyoza, and the time before that drunken noodles—always accompanied by some sort of dessert from some faraway corner of the map, which he (typically) promises to revisit with you.

“Welcome home.” You sigh, mustering a smile to distract him from the dried-up tears that stain the apples of your cheeks.

It was a long night, and his absence stretched it to eternity. You realized after he left for his mission that forever is a long time to be spent alone, especially when the last words you said to him echo harder than the cumbersome footsteps of his departure, scaring you into thinking that was the last you heard of each other.

No one ever told you that being with the strongest meant becoming stronger yourself.

It’s not fair.

He doesn’t miss the opportunity to call you weak, making a habit of teasing you when your puny arms fail to carry his excessive haul of grocery bags or when you can’t open a mere jar of jam without him loosening the cap beforehand. He doesn’t admit you are stronger than him, despite you being the one to carry his burden and your worries, the two brewing into a sickly cocktail of premonition you can barely stomach—one that initiated today’s fallout.

You feel wronged. Your roles were reversed against your will; the comfort of being the weak one viciously yanked from your grasp, feet forcefully put into a pair of shoes you were never meant to wear. You should be weak. He should be strong. You should be crying, and he should be comforting. You should be able to tell him, don’t go, and he should be able to stay.

But you didn’t. And he did not.

Unaffected by the war of contradictory motions in your head, Satoru plops down beside you, large palms emptying of the cheap plastic handles to fill up with you. The thrill of the fight still hasn’t worn out, muscles taut from the action, and eyes bright under their concealment. He feels warm, warmer than the blanket that’s now receded to your thighs, though not warm enough to appease the cold in your heart, goosebumps prickling your skin from the inside out like your body is trying to escape itself.

A lump forms in your throat from where his lips touch your neck, briefly and fleetingly, before they are replaced with the familiar fluff of hair. It’s ironic how he tries to fit in you. There isn’t a part of you that hasn’t been touched by him in one way or another, and if you could pull out your own guts to make more space for him, then you would. You’d let him consume you whole if that meant never spending a second without him.

You wonder if that’s how love is supposed to be. You aren’t sure. You don’t know if you’re just another person who foolishly let themselves worship Gojo Satoru—if, in your effort to get to know the real him, you became his biggest fan.

“You are abnormally quiet.” You point out, instantly hating how ragged your voice sounds. The only dissonance in the picturesque garden of his estate.

Satoru shifts in his position, heavy jaw rubbing sweetly against your bare shoulder, hot breath fanning your neck. “I’m just mimicking you.”

“Mimicking me?” A bit better this time.

“Mhm.”

You glance at him, following the curve of his nose down to the dip of his cupid’s bow, both highlighted under the waning moonlight. Even when the stars are slowly drained and those flattering shadows dispelled, his beauty remains a certain constant. He is so beautiful that your heart aches, a longing sigh caught at the far back of your palate, his soft smile begging for its release.

He won’t hear you say it. Not tonight.

You test out the waters with a teasing poke of your tongue. He does the same, mouths almost touching with how closely he leans forward. Then a pout. A scrunch of the nose. An unserious wiggle of his eyebrows that mirrors your own—an image far more perfect than the one you’re used to seeing in the mirror.

“Would you jump down a cliff if I did?” You taunt.

“Absolutely!” He breaks the loop, answering in less than a heartbeat. “You know I would. The world would be a horrible place without my sugarplum.”

“You know, you could save us both if you wanted.” You say with a level voice.

“The greatest love stories are sealed by tragedy.” Satoru argues back. “Romeo and Juliette. Jack and Rose. Orihime and Hikoboshi. Takeru and Hikari.”

You are quick to spot the odd one out. “First of all, stop sneaking in Digimon references thinking I won’t notice, and second of all, Takeru and Hikari didn’t die.”

“No, but they never got together.” He frowns.

You roll your eyes. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re soooo pretty. Did you do something to your face? Your dark circles look extra dark tonight.” Satoru tries to catch your cheek in his palm, fine sand slipping through his fingers as you pull away.

“Shut up!” Your mixed chuckles course through your body, reigning over the tremors that previously had you shriveling into a ball of tightly packed limps. Staying mad at him is impossible when he’s actually there; all mood for poignancy gone in an instant.

“You never answered my question.” A featherlight hum brushes against the shell of your ear, the pout easy on his tone. “What are you still doing up?”

With a knowing smile, you peer at the sky, feeling the press of his cheek on yours as he follows the movement of your eyes. “Whenever I miss you, the only thing that calms me is looking at the sky.”

“You know I’m not dead, right?”

“Say one more stupid thing, and that will change!” You warn with your pointer up. He kisses it. God.

You tap your finger against his forehead, urging some distance be put between the two of you. “Whenever I look at the sky,” you start again, “I see you.”

Breaking from his embrace, you shape two circles with your thumbs and forefingers, narrowing their size until they turn into a pair of minuscule goggles you lower over to where his eyes supposedly lie behind the blindfold. “See? Just like your eyes.”

“Oh, I’m not too sure about that.” Satoru gazes at the sky through your fingers, eventually tipping in your direction. He smirks, “I mean, the eyes of the Gojo Satoru are kinda hard to beat. See?”

Peeling the blindfold off, he lets your palms spread over his cheeks, azure eyes losing their vibrancy as your dainty fingers frame them better than any pair of sunglasses in his collection. He’s right. The original cannot compare. It’s not Satoru’s eyes that resemble the sky. It’s the sky that resembles his eyes, for in his 28 years, he’s managed to make something as ancient as time itself seem like a cheap rip-off.

“But I am flattered.” Warm palms cushion yours as he brings them to his mouth. You don’t realize how frigid they are until he starts blowing the cold away, smiling against them. “Means I’m always on your mind with how often your head’s in the clouds.”

“Can’t go one minute without bringing me down, huh?” Your voice frail once more.

“I can. But where’s the fun in that?”

You pull each other into a gentle kiss, Satoru’s arms snaking around your waist while your fingers cup his cheeks with urgency, fearing that by the time your eyes blink open, he’ll already have faded into stardust. He doesn’t share your concern, soft pecks interrupted by muffled chuckles, the taste on his lips giving you an idea of what he brought home with him.

“Pancakes?” Your tongue drags against his bottom lip. Foreheads pressed against one another.

“Mhm. Figured you’d be hungry for breakfast at this ungodly hour.” Satoru pecks your lips again and again, making it impossible to think straight, let alone answer, given how often your mouths are smashed together.

“How did you know I’d be up?” You breathe out.

“Hmm, a premonition?” He grins, playing with fire with how he mocks your previous words of concern. “My six eyes—”

“Do your six eyes tell you that you’ll be smacked in three, two, one!”

Limitless activates before your forehead can ram into his skull, the number of times you bob your head futile.

“One of these days, my anger will outdo your technique.” You promise.

“Can’t wait for that!” Satoru beams earnestly. “Maybe then I can teach you about domains too. Make my baby into the best—well, second-best sorcerer.”

Truly impossible.

The world quiets down as the final veil of the night is lifted from the sky and dawn begins its dance, everything it touches slowly coming into life. Light seeps between the yellowing grass blades, illuminating the morning dew that rests upon them. Water sparkles as it pours from the bamboo fountain, the constant thump setting the tempo for the birds’ song. Fragrance is drawn out of the towering pine trees, grounding the elegance of the showy blue hydrangeas. No room for despair in this imagery of hope, complete with Satoru’s presence, white lashes fluttering shut as he stretches like a cat in the sun.

You love him.

You know you do. You mean it every morning and every night when he makes you say it in between chuckles, slender fingers tickling the admission out of your ribs. You mean it when he moves heaven and earth to fulfill a stupid promise you made at 4 AM when you were drunk out of your mind and he tucked you into the comfort of your shared bed—somehow less sober without a drop of alcohol in his system.

You mean it when there’s sand in his eyes, when his breath doesn’t smell as peachy as one would expect of someone as ridiculously perfect as him, when his voice cracks during a sing-along. You mean it when his tongue licks the luscious coffee cream from your lips and when it greedily laps between the puffy lips down under.

There is so much you love about him that you’d run out of synonyms for words before you could jot them all down in a way that’s not dull to read, and still, you’d lose out on describing how exactly he makes you feel.

Because Satoru isn’t a person, so much as he is art. Sometimes he is just splash of colors across a canvas without the masterful strokes needed to hone him into a finished product. Other times, he is just the notes composing the wonderful lilt of his voice, too audacious to be deemed a symphony. He can be poetry too, spilling out of the ordinary 17-syllable arrangement of a haiku. But most of all, he is raw energy, an untamed torrent ripping through mountains and a whirlwind sweeping everything in its path.

It’s hard not to romanticize him in moments like this. They don’t come too often.

“You know, you don’t need tragedy to write a good love story.” Your tendency to break the silence festers into a bad habit. “We might be doomed by the narrative, but we are here to live. I’d rather live with you than die with you, or live a life without you.” You whisper, voice getting caught in your throat.

Sincerity always scared you, but if there’s one thing more regrettable than words you’ve said, then that’d be words that were never told.

Your focus shifts to your dangling feet, grass grazing your toes at the completion of each nervous sway. You are no longer touching. Not purposely at least, contact reduced to the slight nudge of your shoulders as Satoru leans against his to smile.

“Gotcha.” He says, not quite pressuring you to face him just yet. “It was easy-peasy, by the way. Yuji and Nobara did most of the work, while Megumi—he fell inside a curse’s stomach. It was hilarious! You should visit them soon; see how my kids have grown.”

Your lips pucker their way around your mouth, tongue poking at your cheek from the inside—prelude to a slow nod. Too uncertain to be directed at him. You regret bringing this up. You should’ve let yourself bask in his affections when they didn’t require a verbal answer.

“You worry too much.” Your uneasiness prompts Satoru to crane his neck and lay a tender kiss on the crown of your head. His voice serious when he says, “I won’t die.”

“That’s what everyone says right before they die.”

“But I’m not everyone. I’m Gojo Satoru, and I won’t die.”

You gulp, then huff a forced chuckle. “H-hey, that’s a pretty good catchphrase. You should use it in your fights when you’re about to deal the killing blow.”

“I have a better one. I’m Gojo Satoru, and I love youuuu~” He sings, seconds before his lips attack your neck, deft fingers mercilessly tickling your sides against the hard wood.

“God! You are so corny!” You blurt in between giggles.

“You love it!” He protests, a wild glint to his eyes. “C’mon, don’t be shy. Say it.”

“N-no way!”

“No?” The sadist stops his torture, finding new ways to torment you as he slyly moves toward the forgotten takeout. “Guess I’ll be enjoying these myself then. Thank me for the food!”

“Hey, Satoru! Wait!” You concede.

Maybe it’s fine to let him stand on the podium alone this once.

a/n: my mood is all over the place nowadays, suffering writer's block, wrote this as a self-indulgent 5 AM craze, help satoru brainrot too strong

#gojo x reader #gojo angst #gojo fluff #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #satoru <3 #jjk gojo #jjk fanfic #satoru x reader

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acourtofmishapandmistakes · 9 days

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Under Summer Stars

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: In Under the Summer Stars, the scene unfolds at the illustrious birthday celebration of Tarquin, set against the picturesque backdrop of the Summer Court. As the night descends into a playful chaos of laughter and drunken antics, the story centers around the heartwarming and sometimes chaotic experiences of a pregnant protagonist, you, her close-knit circle of friends, and their significant others, as well as your mate, Azriel. From navigating the complexities of motherhood and friendship to rekindling sibling bonds with Tamlin and igniting old flames, this fic covers a lot of ground. Amidst the revelry, unexpected moments of vulnerability and hilarity ensue, leading to a night that promises to be unforgettable.

Warnings: Mentions of sexual activity and brief nudity, along with pregnancy.

Word Count: 5.2k

Authors note: This includes only info from ACOTAR and does not include any background from Crescent City. Also, this is my first more lengthy fic so please read with that in mind! As much as I read, and reread this, there are bound to be typos so if you see them.... no you didn't.

“My love, you can't exactly camp out on the couch all day,” Azriel says. I glance up at him with a package of raspberries neatly arranged on my very pregnant belly. With a grand gesture towards the pile, I pop another berry into my mouth. “I’m not just hanging around—I’m busy making a baby here.”

Azriel grins as he snags a berry from my fingers and eats it himself. I shoot him a playful scowl, the kind meant more in jest than anger, and focus on devouring the rest of the berries.

“I do appreciate you taking a break from your hectic schedule to grow our little one,” Az jokes, his hands gently caressing my belly, “But we've got plans tonight, and you need to get ready.”

I let out a heavy sigh and dramatically flop my head back over the chair’s armrest, letting my hand, still holding a berry, dangle to the floor. “I really don’t wanna go,” I moan, while Azriel steadies the berry basket that's perilously close to sliding off my bump.

“You have to,” he chuckles softly.

“You can't make me,” I shoot back, my head still draped lazily over the back of the chair.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Azriel retorts, picking up the basket of berries and giving me a quick kiss on the forehead before taking them back to the kitchen.

I hear the tap running as he starts on some dishes—my ever-busy, nesting mate, who’s more prepared for this babe than I am, while we still have three months to go.

“What are you wearing?” I call out, curiosity peaking.

“What?” he yells back, sounding puzzled.

“Your outfit,” I clarify, pushing myself up with a grunt and swinging my legs around. While I still had time, this belly was proving to be a real hassle.

Azriel calls back, “Um, pants, a sweater and socks?”

I shuffle my way into the kitchen where Azriel stands, washing a plate with a tea towel casually thrown over his shoulder. “I mean, what are you wearing out tonight?”

Azriel dries a plate with the towel, then hangs it back over his shoulder before leaning casually against the kitchen counter, his palms resting on either side. His fingers tap rhythmically against the surface as he considers his wardrobe for the evening. “Probably the black button-down, slacks, and boots,” he decides with a nonchalant shrug.

I respond with a noncommittal “hm,” and swing open the fridge to scout my snack options. My hand lands on a jar of rhubarb jam. I pop the lid off and swipe a finger through the sticky sweet contents, humming in delight as I taste it. Azriel's chuckle floats over from the sink.

“It’s just not fair,” I complain, scooping another dollop of jam and licking it off. “You toss on anything that isn’t stained, torn, or stinking, and you’re gala-ready.”

Azriel, still busy with the dishes, throws a playful retort over his shoulder, “Are you suggesting I wouldn’t look good in a dress?”

I replace the jam in the fridge, leaning against it as I try and ponder that image. “Oh, you’d be stunning, no doubt. But let’s be real, the choices for females? Endless. Short dresses, long ones, off the shoulder, petticoats, sleek lines, just the right amount of lace…” I trail off, knowing he's smirking without even looking.

He finishes up, turning off the water and tossing the towel onto the counter with a flick of his wrist. I sigh, grabbing the towel to fold it neatly on a cabinet knob. Azriel rolls his eyes but his expression softens as he draws me close by my hips. I rest my chin on his chest, looking up into his hazel eyes that crinkle with amusement.

“What?” I inquire, feeling his hands smooth a stray hair behind my ear.

“You’re gorgeous, whether in ball gowns or in nothing at all,” he says earnestly.

“You’d think I'm gorgeous in nothing,” I retort, half-teasing. “You’re feral.”

He presses a soft kiss to my nose. “Only because I love you.”

I close my eyes, basking in the warmth of his words. “I love you too. But I still have no clue what I’ll wear tonight. Nothing fits since you knocked me up.”

He steps back, feigning offense. “Hey, it takes two to tango, particularly the naked tango. It’s not like I was alone in this.”

I glance down at my swollen belly, half-joking, “Well, you’re the responsible one. Should’ve warned me about the perpetual sweat and swelling.”

Azriel chuckles, striking a mock-serious pose. “Nothing fills me with more hope for our baby than hearing their mother call me,” he gestures to himself, “the responsible one.”

I roll my eyes playfully. “I’m sure you have something, love,” Azriel reassures me, nodding towards the lavish extension we jokingly call 'the second closet.'

I scoff, a smirk teasing my lips as I walk past him, giving his chest a light tap. “Guess I’ll just have to try on everything,” I tease, pausing in the doorway with a sultry glance over my shoulder. “You know, strip down, wander about in the buff, slip into something, despise it, peel it off...” My voice trails off, my smile growing more provocative as I catch the shift in his gaze—lips captured by teeth, eyes deepening with interest. “I might just need a second opinion.”

Azriel’s response is a deep, throaty sound that rumbles through the room, his playful side unfurling. “I’m certain I could be of assistance,” he quips, his tone laced with promise as he begins to close the distance between us.

Before he can reach me, I slip into the hallway, my steps light and teasing. I hear his footsteps quicken, a hint of urgency as he follows me up the stairs to our room, anticipation building with every step.

______________________________________________________________

By the time I settle on an outfit, Azriel has left me breathless no fewer than three times, each interlude accompanied by a chorus of compliments—beautiful, stunning, irresistible—every synonym for 'ravishing' that he can think of. The silver lining to this pregnancy, aside from the obvious, has been the noticeable spike in our libidos. Azriel's hands are seemingly glued to me, and barring the occasional wave of nausea or the fact that my toes have become a distant memory, I'm game for his advances nearly anytime, anywhere. It was actually our rampant escapades that clued us in on the pregnancy before Azriel noticed the shift in my scent—we were both equally wild, seeking out secluded spots in the River House, shadowy alleyways in Velaris, and once, rather riskily, an old woodshed in the Autumn Court while Rhys and Eris were busy hunting nearby. 'Feral' might be an understatement—I was downright voracious.

Emerging from the bathroom, a cloud of steam billowing behind me, I find Azriel sprawled across the bed, as naked and carefree as ever despite our looming engagement. He flashes a lazy grin. “Round four?” he proposes, propping his head on his palms against the headboard.

“You're the one who insisted I get ready,” I remind him with a chuckle, tossing the towel onto the bed and striding toward the closet.

As I delve into the sea of clothes, Azriel's voice floats in, tinged with mischief, “And then you stripped, and suddenly, I stopped caring.” I can't help but laugh, sifting through hangers as I search for something that will accommodate both my bump and the sweltering heat of a Summer Court party in August. I wanted a word with whomever planned the date for this.

I pull out a floor-length, champagne pink silk gown that gleams with a light pearlescent chiffon cascading down the front. The dress, cinching just below my breasts, seems ready to accommodate both myself and the growing babe. The slit running up the side promises a hint of breeze on what I accept will be another warm evening. As I touch the fabric, memories of wearing it to Nyx’s first starfall flood back—Azriel and I, not yet mated, laughing under the twinkling lights while Cassian, wine glass in hand, serenaded the night with a mix of folk songs and his own tipsy renditions.

Slipping the gown over my head, the bump causes the hem to rise slightly, creating an unintended high-low effect. Nothing a good pair of heels can’t fix. I reach behind to fasten the top but struggle with the buttons. "Az," I call out softly.

"Yeah?" His voice drifts from the bathroom, mingling with the sound of running water.

"Can you come here for a second?" I ask.

Azriel appears, his hair tousled and falling into his eyes, which light up as he sees me. “You still have that one?” he remarks, a touch of nostalgia in his tone.

"I haven’t worn it in a while, but it seems to still fit, right?" I motion for him to help with the buttons at my neck, which he does with practiced ease. He stands behind me, and we both gaze into the closet’s full-length mirror. He wraps his arms around my waist, gently lifting the weight of my belly for a moment. I lean back against his shoulder, relieved by his support.

"Just like I said," he murmurs, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. "You look beautiful." He eases the weight back down and sweeps my damp hair over my shoulders, leaving a kiss on my temple. "Half an hour," he reminds me before disappearing back into the bathroom.

I take another moment to smooth the dress over my bump, admiring the silhouette from the side.

Azriel returns from his bath, towel-drying his hair with a shake that reminds me of a playful puppy. I'm securing my hair into a low braided bun, trying to keep as cool as possible. I pull two strands to softly frame my face, catching glimpses of Azriel in the mirror as he parades, unabashedly bare, back into the closet.

From the depths of the closet, Azriel's voice floats out playfully, "Hm, what to wear, what to wear—so many options." His mock contemplation sends a chuckle through me as I clasp on a pair of simple pearl earrings.

He emerges moments later, his black shirt hanging open, pants secured, and socks in hand. "It was a tough decision," he remarks, catching my eye in the mirror as he settles on the edge of the bed to slip on his socks. "But I managed to pick the perfect ensemble." He flashes a cheeky grin, and I roll my eyes playfully as I fasten a silver necklace with a tiny blue sapphire pendant—echoing the color of Azriel’s siphons—around my neck, adjusting it to rest just right.

Turning back to him, I see Azriel buttoning his shirt, meticulously placing his siphons into the custom slits designed for them. I step closer to assist with securing one on his left hand.

Giving him a thorough once-over as he completes a slow twirl for my inspection, I adjust his shirt slightly, smoothing my hands over his shoulders. "Do I look great?" he asks, half-jokingly.

"Beautiful," I reply, grinning. "Can you grab my shoes for me?"

He strides over to the blanket chest at the foot of our bed, retrieving the tan, two-strapped heels I'd selected for the evening. He juggles them in his hands, skeptical. "My love, there's no way you're going to keep these on all night."

I shoot him a defiant glare before setting the heels on the floor and sliding my feet into them. "I plan to."

But as I lean forward to fasten the straps, my belly firmly intervenes, making me pause and push a strand of hair behind my ear. I look up at Azriel, who's barely concealing his amusement. "Little help?" I ask, sheepishly.

Dropping to one knee, Azriel secures the straps for me, his fingers gentle. He plants a kiss on my thigh and mutters, "I’m not carrying these all night."

I nudge him away playfully, marching back to the closet to grab a pair of flat sandals. I hand them to him with a mock-serious tone. "Here, ask Rhys to stash these in a pocket realm in case I need them."

Azriel laughs softly, tucking the flats under his arm as we head out of the bedroom together.

______________________________________________________________

We converge with the rest of our group at the River House where Rhys and Feyre have arranged to winnow us directly to the Summer Court. Unlike Rhys, Azriel encourages me to maintain my normal activities during pregnancy, thus making winnowing an accessible choice. Cassian, Nesta, Rhys, Feyre, Azriel, and I begin our descent from the manor, with Elain cradling Cassian and Nesta’s baby girl, Nyx playfully tugging at her dress and waving eagerly to his parents. Feyre sends Nyx a blown kiss, which he theatrically catches and presses to his lips before launching one back her way. Rhys places a hand on Feyre’s lower back, open to the breeze from its low cut to bring her focus on our departure. Lucien appears in the doorway, his son perched high on his shoulders, as they wave us off. “We’ll be back later!” Cassian bellows toward the house.

Lucien shouts back with a teasing tone, “No rush! And be on your best behavior!”

Cassian responds with a vulgar gesture and Elain slaps her hand over Nyx’s eyes to shield him from it. After enduring a pregnancy marked by relentless morning sickness, Nesta found solace in the ocean's breeze. She spent much of her time at Tarquin’s castle, situated atop a cliff with sweeping views of the sea. Tarquin, empathetic and familiar with the challenges of parenthood, graciously readmitted Cassian into the Summer Court, with the strict caveat that Nesta keep him in sight at all times.

With an arm slung around Rhys, Cassian is the first to be winnowed, followed swiftly by Feyre and Nesta, and then Azriel and me. Although I can still manage the winnowing process, a twinge of motion sickness usually follows. Nonetheless, I prefer it to flying, which only prolongs the discomfort. As we materialize on the steps of the Summer Court palace, Azriel steadies me with gentle hands at my waist as I lean forward, taking a deep, stabilizing breath.

“You alright?” Azriel inquires.

I nod, the fresh ocean breeze helping to soothe my senses. Once assured of my steadiness, I take a moment to absorb the breathtaking view. Tarquin has chosen his "Summer House" for his hundredth birthday celebration—an amusing choice given its grandeur. Situated on a cliff opposite his main castle, easily visible across the bay, this secondary residence is no less opulent. Sandstone columns and marble steps lead to grand doors beautifully inlaid with blue and pink seaglass, while orbs of faelight suspended in fishing nets add a whimsical touch. With the sun dipping below the horizon, the sky is aflame in vibrant shades of pink and orange, creating a spectacular backdrop as we ascend the steps.

As we proceed, Azriel casually hands my sandals to Rhys, who offers me a knowing smile before they vanish into a pocket realm.

The grand doors swung open, revealing the entrancing melody of a live band in the foyer. The interior of the house matched the exterior in opulence, with a domed glass ceiling that bathed the marble floor in the sunset’s spectrum. Seashells were intricately embedded in the floor, and the familiar columns from outside now stood amidst streams of crystal-clear water that seemed to flow through the hall and cascade down the stairs. As we advanced, I marveled at the pearl mosaics adorning the high ceiling, a grandeur that left me nearly speechless.

Pulling gently on Azriel's arm to draw him closer, I whispered conspiratorially, “I want to change the theme of the nursery.”

Azriel chuckled, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “It took Cassian and me a week to paint it the color it is, and you mulled over those two shades of yellow for three weeks beforehand.”

Cassian's voice floated from behind, tinged with mock horror, “If you’re asking me to paint again, you’re on your own.”

At the top of the grand staircase, the crowd below melded into a vibrant tapestry of colors and movement. Feyre, in her flowing turquoise gown, descended gracefully with Rhys by her side, navigating through the crowd with practiced ease. Azriel and I followed, his hand a constant presence on my hip, grounding me.

I scanned the sea of faces for a particular one, but as the crowd parted, I found myself face-to-face with Tarquin instead, his smile broad and slightly tipsy.

“Look who brought in the bats!” he exclaimed jovially.

Rhys clapped Tarquin on the shoulder, wishing him a happy birthday. He then picked up a glass of champagne, offering one to Feyre, and they toasted to Tarquin’s continued health. After the brief exchange, Tarquin turned his attention to us. Azriel exchanged a firm handshake with him, while Cassian, standing slightly behind Nesta with his hands on her shoulders, received a more personal summon.

“Cassian,” Tarquin slurred slightly, his eyes glinting with mischief, “I want to show you something.”

Cassian looked down at Nesta, who responded with a nonchalant shrug. He then followed Tarquin out onto the balcony, his curiosity piqued. Azriel watched them leave with a guarded expression.

Nesta, catching the look, nudged Azriel gently. “Just go make sure Tarquin doesn’t throw him off,” she urged.

“On it,” Azriel replied briskly, striding after them with a determined pace.

Nesta grasped my hand, weaving us through the bustling crowd, muttering how she was going to need a stiff drink to get through this night. Since the birth of her daughter, Nesta had been grappling with intense separation anxiety, rarely managing a few hours away. She and Cassian had attempted a weekend trip getaway and she made it only four hours before returning in tears, taking her young babe from my arms and sobbing into her jet black hair. Since then, Nesta had promised she was going to stop being “mama” all the time and start being herself again.

We reached the bar located near the grand staircase, where a fae female was expertly crafting cocktails. Nesta ordered a “Seabreeze,” and I opted for a lemonade.

“I can’t wait until you can drink with me again,” Nesta said, picking up her drink. The swirling glitter within the blue liquid looked delicious and I found myself licking my lips as I watched her down it. “You’re the only one who can keep up with me when we dance.” She said before ordering another.

“Not too much longer,” I responded, caressing the babe within me.

Nesta looked at me thoughtfully, the blue glitter swirling in her glass, “I want you to have a girl, so Elora can grow up with a friend. Not surrounded by Feyre and Elain’s boys.”

I smiled at her, I had asked the healer to keep the baby’s sex a secret from everyone but Azriel who, as spymaster, kept that information under lock and key.

My gaze returned to scanning the crowd, and finally, I spotted the familiar broad shoulders and gleaming blond hair of my older brother. I tugged at Nesta’s hand, leading her over toward Tamlin. As he sensed my approach, he turned swiftly and enveloped me in a hug.

“Careful!” I cautioned, a mix of surprise and laughter, before he gently set me back down on my feet.

Tamlin scanned me from head to toe, his eyes alight with surprise and mirth. “I didn’t know you’d be here!” he shouted, his speech slightly slurred from the drinks.

“I wasn’t sure I would make it, but I figured why not enjoy myself before the baby arrives,” I smiled back at him.

Nesta, still holding a subtle grudge against Tamlin for the whole “cauldron fae thing”, glanced at her nails and offered a cool, “Hello Tamlin.”

Tamlin, ever the optimist about winning back some favor, took her hand and kissed it—a bold move he’d likely reconsider sober. “Nesta, lovely to see you. You look stunning.”

And stunning she was in her pastel green gown with its daring neckline and slits, revealing her long, toned, cream colored legs— her dress, much like mine, but tailored to hug her figure perfectly. “You’re drunk,” Nesta quipped, pulling her hand away with a laugh.

Tamlin’s smirk widened. “Only a little. I would’ve paced myself had I known my favorite sister was coming.”

“For what? It’s not like she can party hard right now,” Nesta pointed out, gesturing towards my pregnant belly.

Realizing his faux pas, Tamlin’s eyes widened, and he awkwardly placed his hands on my stomach. We were never a family that embraced often, and his sudden affection felt out of place. “I forgot!” he exclaimed. “Hi, baby!”

Trying to stifle her laughter, Nesta shot me a look that triggered my own snort of amusement.

“Tam, maybe it’s time for some water,” I suggested gently. “It’s still early, and you’re already peaking.”

Shaking his head, his blonde locks falling into his eyes, Tamlin pulled me into another hug, elongating the word “great” as if to emphasize his point. “I’m great,” he insisted.

“I just miss you, that’s all,” he murmured, his voice muffled by my hair. “I miss the name-calling and our hunting trips. Remember those?”

“Like asshat and idiot?” I replied, finally managing to extricate myself from his grip. His nostalgia often painted a rosier picture of our past than my own memories did.

In a moment of pause, he suddenly asked, “You promise you’ll bring my niece to see me?” he asked earnestly, searching my eyes.

“I promise, Tam, though I’ve told you—I don’t know the baby’s gender yet.”

“It’s a girl,” he slurred confidently. “I’d bet on it.”

Nesta joined in, “You could make that bet. Rhys and Cassian think it’s a boy. Feyre and I are betting on a girl.”

Attempting to high-five Nesta, Tamlin found no takers and ended up clapping his own hand. “Hell yeah, team girl!”

“Where’s Lucien?” he then asked, trying to shift the topic.

“Home with the kids,” I informed him.

“That old man,” Tamlin scoffed, his drink sloshing dangerously. “Has one kid and thinks he’s too good for a night out.”

Laughing, I couldn't help but tease, “Tam, you’re really drunk.”

“Am not,” he protested weakly. “You’re drunk.”

“Sure,” I agreed, rolling my eyes indulgently.

He squinted across the ballroom, waving vaguely. “Gotta go see a guy about a thing,” he declared, stumbling slightly as he made his exit after a quick, affectionate peck on my forehead.

As he sauntered off, Nesta and I couldn't contain our laughter. “I haven’t seen him this plastered in ages,” I noted, reminiscing about our younger days spent lounging by the lake in the Spring Court.

Catching her breath, Nesta added, “He’s actually tolerable when he’s like this.

I wiped a tear from my eye, still laughing, though each breath was a bit strained around the edges due to the baby pressing up against my lungs. Just as I managed to catch my breath, I heard my brother's boisterous shout, "Who do I have to screw to get a screwball around here?" Sending me into another peal of laughter.

Nesta, pulling herself together, wiped the smeared eyeliner from under her eyes and snagged a champagne flute from a passing waiter.

My laughter seemed to stir a frenzy of activity within me; I placed a hand over my stomach as a particularly vigorous kick landed just under my lungs, knocking the wind out of me. I doubled over slightly, laughing through the discomfort, while Nesta leaned in with a worried look. "Are you alright?"

"Totally fine, the little one just got a bit too excited," I assured her, patting my belly. Nesta reached out, asking to feel the kicks, and when my baby delivered another strong jab, her face lit up with a mix of awe and amusement. "Certainly strong," she remarked.

"Unfortunately for me, yes," I agreed, sharing a knowing smile.

Her eyes filled with nostalgia. "I so miss that."

I gently placed my hand over hers. "I try to remind myself I’ll miss it too. Usually I do a good job, until she decides to kick my bladder and I end up pissing myself."

Nesta chuckled, her hand instinctively resting on her own stomach where her little one had grown not so long ago. I squeezed her hand affectionately. "You doing okay?" I asked, noting the slight tension in her expression.

She offered a tight-lipped smile, her eyes betraying a hint of her inner struggle—the pull to return to her child who, despite adoring her father, seemed to reserve her deepest affections for her mother. "Just say the word, and I’ll fake a headache, or actually wet myself, and we can bolt."

Nesta shook her head slightly, more to reassure herself than me. "No," she paused, then stronger, "No, this is good for me. I know she’s fine."

I squeezed her hand again, offering a gentle reassurance. "Just because she's okay doesn't mean you have to be," I reminded her softly. Nesta wiped a stray tear from her cheek, still clutching her champagne, before quickly finishing it off with a relieved smile.

"I am glad I can do that again," she said, nodding towards her empty glass before setting it on a passing tray.

Together, we continued weaving through the ballroom, exchanging pleasantries with various courtiers—some of whom were so tipsy they scarcely remembered who we were. Throughout my pregnancy, I'd never been offered so many drinks that I had to politely decline. It seemed every mother and elder fae woman felt compelled to touch my stomach, causing my little one to energetically respond.

Every so often, I bumped into my brother, and we playfully stuck our tongues out at each other. However, as we mingled through the crowd, neither Cassian nor Azriel crossed our path. Eventually, we found Feyre, just as a Summer Courtier excused themselves from her company. She gave them a warm, promising touch on the shoulder before turning to face us. With a deep sigh and a quick roll of her eyes, Feyre shot back her drink—a twirling pink concoction that made her wince from its potency.

"Having fun?" Nesta inquired, a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

Feyre, still recovering from the fiery liquid, nodded. "Absolutely. I love playing the diplomat at other courts. I can't really start drinking until everyone else is well into their cups." She then snatched Nesta’s wine glass and drained it. "Can't afford to make a fool of the Night Court."

I chuckled to myself. Feyre might have been slightly tipsy, but as High Lady, she only truly relaxed around family. After many evenings spent with her, I knew her tolerance was notably high—we'd even had a shot contest when I first came to live with them. In my enforced sobriety over the past seven months, I had observed the high fae's love for maintaining a facade of sobriety, despite obvious inebriation.

"Have you seen Az or Cass?" I asked, scanning the room.

Feyre glanced around, her brows knitting slightly. "No, I haven't, actually. Not since they stepped out onto the balcony with Tarquin."

"Where's Rhys?" Nesta chimed in, her voice laced with mild irritation.

Feyre threw her hands up, nearly clipping a waiter bustling by with more drinks—which she quickly commandeered. "Don’t know. He wandered off somewhere when I was chatting with what's-her-face. Haven't seen him since."

"Fantastic," Nesta remarked dryly, "We’ve been here an hour and the boys' club has already managed to vanish on us."

While Nesta and Feyre chatted, I slipped into a corner to send a gentle pulse through our bond. Receiving no response, I intensified the signal, only to get a slight jolt followed by Azriel's slurred, "What's up, pretty lady?"

I turned back to Nesta and Feyre with a grin. "They're drunk."

I messaged Azriel again, asking, "Hi my love, where are you?"

His chuckle echoed down the bond, "Beach."

Realizing that was all the information I was likely to get, I informed Nesta and Feyre, "They're on the beach."

"They left?!" Nesta half-yelled, frustration mounting. "I want to leave!"

Seizing our hands, she led us through the crowd, up the stairs, and out the door. Outside, her braid loosened, hairs springing free as they often did when she drank. Spotting a sign for the beach, she marched us in that direction. Feyre, slightly tipsy, giggled and leaned on me as we followed Nesta.

Reaching the sandy path, Nesta kicked off her heels and hiked up her dress, staggering forward. Feyre and I quickly followed suit, Feyre removing her own shoes and then helping me with mine before we continued on with Nesta, the tall seagrass swaying in the night breeze.

The pathway was lit by fae lights, and the cool ocean wind caused goosebumps to rise on my skin. Feyre held my hand for balance as we walked, with Nesta leading determinedly ahead.

When we finally reached the beach, Nesta scanned the bonfires for our mates. Feyre, losing her footing in a dip, fell onto the sand with a shriek of laughter. I couldn't help but laugh as she lay there, the sand clinging to her dress and hair.

Her laughter contagious, Nesta turned and joined in, stumbling over to help Feyre up as the wind pressed her silk dress against her legs. Without warning, Feyre threw back her head and called out, "Rhysand!" Nesta shouted “Cassian, get your ass over here! I want to go home and drink without clothes on!” This promptied laughs from other partygoers.

When Nesta tried to yell again, I quickly covered her mouth, accidentally getting sand in her mouth, which she spat out as Feyre howled with laughter.

Down the beach, Rhys's voice called back, "Feyre Darling!" Pointing in his direction, Feyre declared, "That one's mine," and staggered off toward the boys.

Nesta, wrapping an arm around me, leaned on me as we followed. Soon, Feyre charged into Rhys, sending them both into the sand, while Cassian's laughter boomed over the crashing surf, nearly toppling him from his driftwood seat. Tarquin, adding wood to the fire, doubled over with laughter.

Nesta settled next to Cassian, her arms crossed and her gaze fixed on the ocean. "Hi Ness," Cassian slurred, pulling her into his lap and showering her with kisses despite her protests. "Stop, stop," she laughed. "I'm supposed to be mad at you."

"You can't resist me!" Cassian declared, landing another sloppy kiss.

Meanwhile, Azriel sat in the sand, a bottle of wine in hand, his smile lighting up as he saw me. Dropping beside him, I laid my head on his shoulder. "Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," I replied, seeking a kiss which he tenderly delivered, his lips tasting of sweet strawberry wine.

Azriel stashed the bottle in the sand, wrapping one arm around me and lazily stroking my stomach with the other. Together, we took in the serene scene—Feyre and Rhys wrapped in each other's arms, Cassian and Nesta chatting with Tarquin, all of us enjoying the moment.

There, with Azriel and our soon-to-arrive baby, I soaked in the beauty of our world, filled with anticipation for the new life we were about to welcome.

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