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Please my back is hurting atp

Furious that I don’t have a hot book character sitting behind me and supportively holding my boobs while I wrap Christmas presents ???!!!

Here's mine! I have...

Scoliosis!

~~ta-da!!

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(screw it what's a fun fact about yourself also @ people I'll go first I'm allergic to myself

@escapetheslaughter

@ugly-astral-taurus

@bees-official

@gremlininthedark

@bloodmoon-da-idiot

@multifandomcutie13 )

I absolutely ADORED Unseen, Unheard, Unloved, it was AMAZING, there is not enough Kallias content out there. The ansgt? Delicious. The end? Scrumptious. That being said- can I please request a Kallias x Reader fic where the reader is from the Dawn Court and she is part of the Peregryn, so she has wings, I was thinking mainly white with splashes of yellows, reds, and oranges, and while there is a meeting held in the Dawn Court with the other high lords, the mating bond clicks into place for the reader the moment she sees Kallias, but it doesn't click for him until a while later, maybe another meeting, when she is roaming the gardens and he spots her in the moonlight, specifically noticing her wings because they're such an uncommon feature? :O lots of angst please, I love angst so much, but a happy ending, too? Thank you 🫶🫶

A court of Wings and Frost- Kallias x fem!reader oneshot

Summary: Y/N, a warrior from the Dawn Court, feels the mating bond click into place when she meets Kallias, the distant High Lord of Winter. But while she’s certain, he’s not—and the distance between them only grows. When the truth finally shatters everything under the moonlight, Y/N must decide if it’s too late to claim the love that was always meant to be.

A/N: sooo sorry for the delay in posting this!! I had a hectic month with all my assignments and projects piling up😭 But now that I'm free at last, I had to deliver this! Hope you enjoy it lovelies <3

see masterlist

Warning: SMUT!! (I will mention when it starts and ends), angst, slight miscommunication (gets resolved) I'm sorry I made Viviane the villain in this one😔, happy end!!

The sky in the Dawn Court always looked like it was just waking from a dream. Soft gold brushed across pale clouds, warm light spilling over marble spires and flowering terraces, as if the world itself stretched lazily into morning.

Y/N had seen a hundred sunrises here, and still, none ever felt quite the same. Maybe that was why she always rose early--before the courtyards filled with nobles and scholars, before politics began whispering through the halls. She liked the quiet. The clarity.

From her perch high on the edge of the palace’s western tower, she stretched her wings wide. The wind caught them instantly, tugging playfully at her feathers--white, with firelit streaks of orange and yellow and red. The colors of her court. Of her blood.

Of her freedom.

There were few Peregryn left in the Dawn Court. Fewer still who served as emissaries. Fewer still who flew at all. Most had settled into stillness, content to serve from balconies and council seats. But not her.

She didn’t care much for stillness.

They called her the Dawnbreaker. Wingmarshal. Not because she craved power, or glory--but because when the first light hit the sky, she was already gone. Already flying.

Titles had never mattered to her. Glory was something others liked to throw around at banquets and formal reports. What mattered--what had always mattered--were her wings. The way the wind moved through them. The way the world looked from above, quiet and endless.

She had earned a place beside her High Lord. She had spoken in foreign courts, fought on foreign soil. Her name carried weight now.

But none of it compared to the moment her feet left the ground.

No crown, no command, no silk-lined praise would ever mean more to her than the sky.

“Wingmarshal.”

She turned at the sound of the title, her boots echoing against the polished stone as she stepped through the sunlit corridor. One of the aides--young, always slightly too nervous around her--offered a shallow bow as he approached.

“The High Lord asked me to remind you--he’s waiting in the eastern solarium. Breakfast.”

Y/N nodded once. “Tell him I’m on my way.”

The aide hesitated, then darted off again, robe whispering along the floor behind him.

She didn’t hurry. There was no need to.

The palace was already beginning to stir--the halls humming with quiet footsteps and low voices, sunlight dripping like honey through every arched window. Florals from the courtyard had begun to bloom in full, casting a soft, sweet scent across the halls. Preparations were well underway for the arrival of the other High Lords. But the meeting itself wouldn’t begin until later, after the sun reached its peak.

Which meant--for now--she could still enjoy the calm before the storm.

As she moved, several courtiers inclined their heads. Not in fear, but in acknowledgment. Respect. She wasn’t noble by blood, but title and legacy had forged something more lasting. Wingmarshal of the Peregryn. Emissary to the High Lord of Dawn. Guardian of the skies.

And still, none of it meant more to her than the wings at her back.

She glanced toward the window as she passed, caught her reflection in the glass--her wings fanned just slightly behind her, feathers glowing with traces of sunrise. White streaked with warmth, flame tucked into every edge.

They were her pride. Her tether. Her greatest freedom, and her most vulnerable truth.

She didn’t let anyone touch them.

Not even those she trusted.

The eastern solarium was flooded with light--its ceiling high and domed with golden glass, casting warm amber across polished marble and soft velvet lounges. Vines of blooming star-roses climbed the pale columns, and fine silk curtains fluttered in the open arches that let in the morning breeze.

The air smelled of citrus and sun-warmed blossoms, the soft hush of wind brushing through the wide space like a second breath.

Y/N stepped inside, her footsteps muted against the mosaic floor--a depiction of the first sunrise, if the lore was to be believed. She had walked across it a thousand times and still found new colors hidden in the design.

At a low table set beneath a canopy of flowering vines, Thesan sat in quiet contemplation, a steaming cup of tea cradled in his hands. He didn’t wear a crown--he never did--but his presence filled the room more than any gold could.

Warm robes of deep coral and cream fell around him, his dark hair pulled back in a loose knot, sunlight catching faint glints of gold woven into the threads at his collar.

“You’re late,” he said without looking up. His voice was smooth as silk and just as hard to read.

“I was flying,” Y/N replied, settling into the seat across from him. “Didn’t think punctuality was required for breakfast.”

A small smile touched his mouth. “It isn’t. But I know you avoid company when you’re brooding. Which made me wonder if something was already bothering you.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“You’re always brooding.”

Y/N huffed, but a quiet laugh slipped from her anyway.

A servant approached, silent as sunlight, and placed a delicate plate of sliced fruit, cheeses, and warm flatbread in front of her. She nodded in thanks and took a sip of the tea already waiting--sweetened with honey and citrus, just the way she liked it. Of course he remembered.

For a moment, they ate in silence. Outside the solarium’s open arches, birds sang softly in the hanging gardens. Sunlight filtered through the blooms above, scattering tiny drops of gold over the table like the sky had spilled a secret.

“You flew longer this morning,” Thesan said finally, still not looking at her. “Lower, too. Skimming the towers.”

“You were watching?”

“I always do. You’re one of the few things in this court worth watching.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. But he didn’t elaborate, simply took another sip of tea.

She studied him for a moment. “You’re calm today.”

“I’m always calm.”

“Even with seven High Lords arriving by midday?”

“I’ve hosted gods and monsters in this solarium, Wingmarshal,” he said with a faint smile. “A few brooding males are hardly a challenge.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, the corners of her mouth lifting.

Still, her gaze drifted toward the open archway--the wind brushing over her face as she stared out at the sky. The storm was coming. She could feel it in her bones.

Thesan watched her, quiet now.

“You’ll be at my side today,” he said after a moment, not as a question. “As emissary. And as something more.”

Y/N’s jaw tensed slightly. “I know what’s expected.”

He leaned forward, setting his cup down with a gentle clink. “No. I don’t mean politics.”

She looked at him then, really looked.

And he smiled--a little sad, a little knowing.

“You have a way of sensing things before they arrive,” he said softly. “Storms. Shifts in the wind. Let’s hope whatever you’re feeling now is one we can weather.”

Y/N didn’t respond. Just let the breeze move through her feathers as she looked out over the sun-drenched world beyond.

The peace wouldn't last much longer.

After breakfast, Y/N made her way through the lower halls of the palace, the quiet part of the Court where the hum of voices and bustling footsteps hadn’t quite reached. Here, the world felt slower, softer--a contrast to the chaos that would follow once the High Lords gathered.

Her routine was simple but sacred.

First, she checked on her warriors. The Peregryn had always been more than just a military force; they were the eyes and wings of the Dawn Court, sent where others couldn’t go, moving unseen across borders and through the shifting tides of diplomacy. And Y/N, as their Wingmarshal, was both leader and protector. It wasn’t a position given lightly. Her reputation among them was earned through blood and time.

She passed the training grounds, where several Peregryn warriors were already in motion--sparring, testing each other’s strength, refining their flight patterns. They greeted her with respectful nods, but most didn’t speak. Not unless there was something that needed fixing.

Her mind wandered as she watched the familiar rhythms of their practice--how they fought, how they moved in sync with one another. The Peregryn were always fluid, like water, like wind. Even in combat, there was beauty in their precision. And Y/N took pride in that.

Her wings stretched slightly, itching for the wind again. The restlessness was always there, pressing at the edges of her mind. No one else seemed to notice when she needed to fly--not even Thesan. But the moment she stepped away from the palace’s limits, the sensation was different. As if the very air became hers to command.

She stopped before one of her senior warriors, a tall woman named Amara, who was adjusting the straps of her armor.

“Have you noticed anything odd about today?” Y/N asked, keeping her tone light.

Amara glanced at her, then lowered her voice, eyes flicking around to make sure no one else was close. “The air’s thick with tension. No one’s saying it, but I can feel it. Something is coming.” She paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you sure about this meeting, Wingmarshal? The others--the High Lords--they’re… not like us.”

Y/N studied Amara for a long moment before replying, her gaze distant. “I’ve been a part of this court longer than most of them. I’ll be fine.”

Amara looked like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t. She only nodded once before turning back to her task. Y/N lingered a little longer, watching the training unfold. There was comfort in the simplicity of it--no scheming, no politics, just the truth of movement and discipline.

After a time, Y/N made her way back toward her chambers, passing the corridors where servants were now preparing the great hall for the High Lords’ arrival. Several attendants were polishing the silver chandeliers, and others were arranging an elaborate spread of fruit, pastries, and delicacies that would undoubtedly be devoured before the meetings even began.

It was strange, sometimes, to walk through the palace while preparations were underway. Every piece of furniture, every decoration, every carefully placed vase seemed like it was all meant for someone else--someone who belonged in this world more than she did. The gilded edges, the fine tapestries, the ever-present hum of a court that couldn’t slow down for anything or anyone.

She was one of them, and yet, not really.

Her feet carried her to her chambers, where her armor lay waiting--gleaming silver, the sharp edges of her wings outlined in the polished metal.

But as much as the high courts demanded poise, elegance, and grace, her body was built for something else. And for a moment, she allowed herself to stretch, to breathe deeply, to close her eyes and feel the weight of her wings. It was a strange comfort--her wings, so much a part of her that she couldn’t remember life without them.

She reached for her training sword, not for any need to fight, but to remind herself of what she was. Who she was. The weight of it, the steel in her grip, the way it felt familiar in her hand, like the feeling of the wind tugging at her feathers.

It wasn’t a power of the court that she wielded. It was a different kind entirely.

Before long, there was a soft knock at her door.

Her second-in-command, a wiry male Peregryn named Eryk, stepped in with a respectful nod. He was one of the few who would call her by her rank without hesitation.

“The High Lord has requested that you join him before the others arrive, Wingmarshal,” Eryk said quietly, his voice measured. “A private word.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, already half-dressed in her armor. “What’s it about?”

“I don’t know, but he’s been waiting for some time. Seems urgent.”

She didn’t hesitate, despite the uneasy feeling stirring in her chest. “I’ll be there.”

The tension was beginning to coil in the air, tighter now, like a bowstring pulled too far back.

Y/N took one last look at herself in the mirror--her face unreadable, her wings carefully folded against her back. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for whatever came next, but she’d never been one to back down from anything.

The High Lord of Dawn would wait. But only for so long.

As Y/N walked toward Thesan’s private study, the familiar hum of palace life faded behind her.

It was always the quiet moments before seeing him--the ones where her mind wandered to the past--that left her feeling both grounded and unsteady, as if time itself had bent into something both far away and near. She’d always been able to feel the weight of memories when it came to Thesan, their history laid out like a map in her mind, sharp and vivid.

She wasn’t the only one who had climbed to her current position through sheer will and grit. Thesan had his own journey--his own battles to fight. But she hadn’t known him as the High Lord back then. He had been just Thesan, a young male learning the ropes of leadership, with a crown still in the distance.

And she had been Y/N, a girl barely old enough to even understand the weight of the wings at her back.

They’d met, at first, as two fledglings, barely over a hundred years old, running wild across the Dawn Court’s fields like anything was possible. Y/N had never cared for the pomp and circumstance of the court, and neither had Thesan. They’d been rebels in their own ways-too bright, too loud, too full of ideas. But they hadn’t been the right kind of rebels--not yet.

Back then, their friendship had been a quiet, unspoken thing--no titles, no expectations. Just two souls caught in the same world, both seeking something more. She’d trained with him, laughed with him, and--though neither would admit it--held each other up when the world got too heavy.

Thesan had never been the kind of High Lord who wore his power openly. But even when he was young, Y/N could see it in his eyes--the quiet strength that didn’t need to be declared. And she had always respected that.

But they hadn’t stayed young for long. The years pressed on, and so did their duties.

For Y/N, it had been the Peregryn. She had risen through the ranks quickly, her skills as a warrior unmatched. But it had been Thesan who had helped her, always by her side, whether she needed a patient ear or quiet advice. When she had learned the true weight of leadership and the battles that came with it, it was Thesan’s calm guidance that helped her hold her ground.

He had become her anchor when everything else felt like it might crumble. And in return, she had helped him with the burdens that came with ruling--sword in hand, but wisdom in her heart. In the way they stood together, formal in their roles, but always something more--brother and sister, even if no one else saw it.

It was something unspoken. A bond that had grown between them naturally. There was a comfort in their silence--something about the way he could look at her and see beyond the armor, beyond the rank. And in turn, she could look at him and see not just the High Lord, but the quiet, thoughtful male who had once laughed at the ridiculousness of court life with her.

It wasn’t always easy. Politics were never kind to friendships, especially not in the courts. But there had always been a knowing in their eyes when they spoke, a kind of language built from years of shared experiences. Sometimes it felt like their roles had only complicated the bond they shared, but they had managed to make it work.

She had earned her place in the court through battle, through bloodshed, and through years of tireless work. But her loyalty had never wavered. And Thesan knew it.

Y/N smiled softly to herself, the echo of memories brightening her heart. There were days when she wished she could return to those early years, when life had been simpler and the world less burdened. But she had learned, over time, that it was the hardships that shaped them both. The challenges. The weight they both carried, separately and together.

As she reached the door to his study, her hand resting on the cool wood, she paused for just a moment. Brother, High Lord, confidant. Thesan had become all of these things in her life--and more.

But in this moment, as she stood on the cusp of yet another meeting, she felt the strange familiarity of their relationship more acutely than ever.

She hadn’t been his equal when they first met. She had been a wild, unpolished thing, her wings too large and her heart too eager. But now? Now, they stood at the same height in the court’s eyes. He was a High Lord, and she was Wingmarshal of the Peregryn, the emissary of Dawn. But the strength of their friendship remained the same.

She knocked, lightly.

“Come in,” came his soft reply, the voice she knew better than her own.

With one last glance at the sun-dappled hallways outside, Y/N stepped inside, the air cool and crisp in the study--just as she remembered it.

The midday sun had barely reached its peak, yet the Day Court throne room gleamed as if it held its own star. Marble floors reflected the soft golden light streaming in from the arched windows above, but it was the figure beside Thesan’s throne who outshone it all.

Y/N stood tall, adorned in ceremonial armor crafted from the rarest dawnsteel--an alloy that shimmered with subtle pinks, golds, and opalescent white, like the first light breaking across a stormy sea. Her pauldrons glinted with magic, curved like wings ready to unfurl, and the sigil of the Day Court blazed faintly across her chest. The sword at her side was sheathed, but its quiet hum echoed the charged tension in the air.

Her presence was silent but striking, a blade standing beside the throne.

Thesan sat with his usual composed grace, dressed in layered gold silks and white robes, a circlet of hammered light around his brow. His gaze drifted to Y/N as the first ripple of shadows announced an arrival.

“Let them see you,” he murmured, voice soft but firm enough that only she heard. “Not the weapon--you. They will wonder how you stand so still. Let them.”

Y/N inclined her head once, jaw tight but gaze forward, betraying nothing. Her thoughts flicked through the list of High Lords like a silent tally.

Helion was the first to enter. A storm of silk and charm, resplendent in robes of deep emerald and gold. His laughter preceded him, but there was nothing humorous in the sharp glint of his eyes. He swept a bow that was too grand to be humble and took his seat, his attention grazing over Y/N with the appreciation of someone who recognized power when they saw it.

Next came Beron.

The Autumn Court lord strolled in with fire trailing in his wake and contempt stitched into every line of his face. Y/N kept her gaze forward but noted the tension that crept into the room with him--unwelcome and sour.

Thesan’s posture never shifted, but he gave Y/N a barely--there look. Do not rise to him.

The other courts filtered in slowly.

Tarquin, young and noble-eyed, entered with calm dignity and a quiet nod to Thesan. Viviane, not Kallias, stepped in on behalf of Winter, her expression tight but courteous. She offered Thesan a quick apology, voice clear.

“He had a matter that couldn’t wait,” Viviane--Kallias’ emissary--said, voice carrying across the throne room. “But he sends his word that he will be here soon.”

Thesan inclined his head. “The meeting can begin without him. The Winter Court is welcome.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed slightly, just enough to betray her curiosity. What matter could keep High Lord Kallias from something like this?

She schooled her expression before Viviane’s gaze swept to her. Their eyes met for a second, and Y/N gave no reaction, only the impassive calm of a soldier who had been trained too well.

Still, her mind turned.

Viviane was not the type to lie. Whatever it was--this delay--it wasn’t a game. But that didn’t mean it didn’t concern her.

As the other High Lords came in, the court began to settle into their appointed seats, Thesan shifted slightly and spoke without turning.

“Watch their eyes. Not their mouths. The truth lies in what they try not to see.”

Y/N’s lips quirked, just barely.

“Yes, High Lord,” she murmured.

Her gaze swept over the gathered lords and ladies, some bored, some tense, some entirely too smug.

The formalities began slowly--measured greetings, stiff posturing, and the subtle pissing contests that passed for diplomacy among High Lords. Y/N stood still, her armor glowing faintly in the light of the throne room, eyes quietly scanning each figure as the conversation unfolded around her.

Rhysand was the first to speak, voice like smoke wrapped in silk. He leaned back in his chair, utterly at ease, his violet eyes gleaming with lazy interest that didn’t fool anyone.

“We’re missing two,” he said, glancing around the room as if he didn’t already know. “Shall we proceed anyway, or wait for the ones who tend to be the most dramatic?”

Beron sneered. “You calling anyone dramatic is laughable, Rhysand.”

A smile touched Rhysand’s mouth. “You flatter me, Beron. I didn’t think you knew how to make jokes.”

Helion snorted from his seat, golden rings clinking as he folded his arms. “It’s not a proper High Lords meeting unless someone insults someone else before we’ve even begun.”

Thesan, ever composed, raised a graceful hand. “Let’s keep things civil. We have more pressing matters to discuss than egos and wordplay.”

Y/N said nothing, her gaze flitting from one lord to the next.

Tarquin sat straight-backed, young but not naive. His eyes flicked to each speaker, calculating. Viviane, though here in Kallias’s place, didn’t speak unless addressed, her expression calm but distant--keeping Winter’s secrets to herself.

Y/N observed it all.

Beron’s distaste, Helion’s casual power, Rhysand’s smooth confidence. She noted who leaned forward and who leaned back, who avoided whose gaze. Each movement told a story, each glance another thread in the tangled tapestry of court politics.

She wasn’t just standing beside Thesan. She was studying a battlefield.

Thesan’s voice filled the chamber again, poised and direct. “We’ve gathered because something is coming. Not a war—not yet. But something is shifting, and if we pretend not to feel it--”

He paused as murmurs rippled through the room. “--we’ll find ourselves unprepared. I have reports of movement in the northern isles. I have messages that speak of strange magic resurfacing. Not just in Day.”

“There’s always strange magic,” Beron muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed slightly. She watched the way Rhysand tilted his head, the quiet way Helion went still. These lords had seen too much not to take subtle threats seriously.

She let their words wash over her. She stood still, tall, carved from morning light and forged silence. She thought of the world, of the warnings she’d helped intercept, of the magic they didn’t yet understand.

And then--

The doors opened.

And everything changed.

She didn’t see him at first. Just a rush of cold air, sharp and sudden, like frost biting into summer skin.

Then--him.

Kallias.

High Lord of Winter.

He entered not like a man but like a storm barely held at bay. White hair gleamed beneath the skylight, catching every fragment of gold and bending it into ice. His armor was of snow-steel and arctic light, trimmed in wolf-fur and etched with silver runes that pulsed faintly as he moved. His eyes--pale, endless blue--swept across the room like the hush before an avalanche.

And when her eyes met his--

Something shattered.

No--ignited.

It wasn’t just heat or cold. It wasn’t pain or pleasure. It was everything. Every nerve lit up, every sense sharpened to unbearable clarity. Her breath caught--no, vanished--swallowed by the violent rush of energy that surged through her, crackling under her skin like lightning breaking through the dawn.

Her knees nearly buckled. Her fingers twitched at her sides. She could taste snow on her tongue, feel wind in her lungs, even though the room was still. And her heart--her heart slammed against her ribs as if trying to break free.

Kallias walked calmly into the room.

She couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t hear anything anymore.

The voices of the High Lords were distant echoes, like sound submerged underwater. She watched Kallias greet Rhysand with a brief nod, clasp Helion’s hand, brush a whisper of a smile at Tarquin. But none of it registered.

Her body was not hers. Her thoughts were not her own.

Something ancient and inevitable was calling to her blood, to her bones, to the very core of who she was.

She stared, frozen, as if her soul had recognized something long before her mind could comprehend it.

Then--

A hand touched her shoulder.

She jolted.

Thesan’s fingers rested gently against her armor, grounding, firm. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been gripping her sword hilt until now. Her hand eased open, trembling.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured, calm and unshaken, his voice a balm. “Breathe, Y/N.”

She forced a breath into her lungs.

Another.

Swallowed hard.

Her armor was too warm. Her skin was too tight. But she nodded--once. Cool. Detached. No one else needed to see the chaos inside her.

Kallias moved to sit beside Tarquin, his posture straight, unaware of the storm he had unleashed with his mere presence. Or maybe not unaware. Maybe he felt it too. She couldn’t tell. She dared not look at him again.

But she felt him now. Every breath he took, every flicker of power beneath his skin--like her body was attuned to him. A mirror. A tether.

And then, the truth struck her like a dagger to the chest.

Her mate.

Kallias was her mate.

Y/N forced herself to breathe, each inhale coming too sharply, too ragged, as though her lungs couldn’t quite fill with air. Her skin was flushed, her heart hammering in her chest. And yet, it felt as if she was drowning, as if something far too massive for her to grasp was unfolding inside her with a force she couldn’t control.

She glanced at Thesan, standing tall beside her with the usual composure of a High Lord. His golden eyes flicked over the room, assessing, calculating. Y/N could feel the steady pulse of his calm in the air--a safe presence, a constant that she’d relied on for over a century.

But now, standing next to him, she felt--wrong.

No, not wrong… just… disoriented. It was like her entire body was out of sync with her mind. A force of nature pulling at her every movement, like she was being yanked in one direction while her will tried to keep her grounded.

Her gaze flicked toward Kallias again--stop--but her body refused to obey.

The High Lord of Winter sat there, the coldest presence in the room, not even acknowledging her. His sharp blue eyes were fixed on Helion, who was speaking now, his smooth words slithering through the room like honey dripping from a golden comb. But Kallias didn’t even glance her way--not once. His posture was composed, too perfect--too cold--his expression unreadable, as if the words that slipped from the other High Lords didn’t matter to him at all.

A wave of something thick and hot--betrayal?--flooded her chest. Her jaw tightened. Kallias hasn’t even looked at me.She swallowed, hard.

Her heart, which had just moments ago been slamming against her rib cage, froze. Was she losing it? Was the bond a product of her imagination? Could she be imagining the pull? Could it be all in her head?

She glanced back at him, watching his cold gaze fix on Helion as he spoke in that casual, bored tone. Was he really that uninterested in what was happening? Was it that easy for him to ignore her? To ignore this?

No. It couldn’t be that simple. The bond wasn’t something she could fabricate. She’d felt it. The way her body burned with heat and cold, how the world felt too sharp--too raw--when he entered the room. The instant connection when their eyes met. The crackling pulse that had shivered through her. She couldn’t pretend that away.

So why wasn’t he reacting?

Why wasn’t he feeling it too?

A bitter taste crawled up the back of her throat as she realized that maybe Kallias--her mate--was as good at hiding his emotions as she was. She could keep her face impassive, could bury the chaos swirling within her, but Kallias--he wasn’t even looking at her. Was he so cold that this bond didn’t even stir something in him?

Her gaze flicked to Thesan for just a moment. He was speaking softly with Rhysand now, exchanging quiet words as the meeting wore on. His presence was like an anchor in the storm--steady, reliable--but even that wasn’t enough to calm the tremor that racked her body every time she glanced at Kallias.

Does he even know?

She couldn’t make sense of it. If Kallias was truly her mate, why wasn’t he feeling it too? The bond was a living thing, a tether between them, and if he was unaware… then what was it?

Her chest tightened. What is this? What am I supposed to do with this?

Kallias. Seriously?

Her thoughts spiraled. The confusion only deepened. He’s so different. She didn’t know him. She never had. Sure, they had crossed paths in passing--at court events, diplomatic exchanges--but they had never shared any personal moments. He wasn’t like Thesan, who had been there for her through everything. Thesan was her brother, her closest friend. They had fought beside each other, bled together, and shared more than enough quiet moments of understanding.

But Kallias?

She hadn’t seen him more than a handful of times, and those moments had been fleeting--cold stares, polite but distant pleasantries. She didn’t know anything about him. What made him tick, what he wanted, what he cared for.

And yet now she was supposed to--what?

Claim him?

No. The very thought of it made her stomach churn. The two of them were as different as night and day. She was fiery, a warrior who had dedicated herself to the Peregryn, to the mission of protecting the Dawn Court with every breath in her body. Her wings--her power--had been honed through years of bloodshed and sacrifice. She had no time for the softness of the bond, no patience for the idea of it.

But him? Kallias was Winter--distant, calculated, a creature of ice and silence. The very thought of his cold indifference burned through her. He stood there, so untouchable, as if nothing could breach that solid wall of ice he had built around himself.

Could he even be her mate?

Could I even be his?

A bitter laugh nearly escaped her lips, but she quickly bit it back, keeping her face neutral, her posture perfect.

But inside, the turmoil roiled.

Thesan glanced over at her. His expression softened slightly, and for a moment, the sharp tension in her body eased. He could see it—the way she was on edge, the way her gaze kept flicking to Kallias. He knew something was wrong, but Y/N had always been good at hiding the truth, at concealing emotions behind a mask of professionalism. She could hold her ground beside him without saying a word, but right now, her head was spinning.

She let out a slow breath. The air in the room had become stifling. She couldn’t look at Kallias anymore--not like this.

She had to focus. There was work to be done. There was no room for this--this bond--to interfere with her duty. Not now, not when so much was on the line.

But how long could she keep ignoring it?

How long could she stand beside Thesan, her trusted ally, her closest friend, while her heart pulled her in the opposite direction?

She glanced at Kallias again, almost daring him to meet her gaze. To acknowledge her, to show some sign that he was feeling the same pull.

But he didn’t.

And that truth, the truth that she was alone in this, sent a sharp pang straight through her chest.

The meeting was drawing to a close, the tension in the room shifting from the weight of serious matters to the lighter, almost hollow formality of goodbyes. The discussions had been exhausting, riddled with politics, subtle jabs, and unsaid words that felt far more important than the ones spoken. Everyone had said their piece, or at least, the ones that mattered had. The lesser court representatives had already begun to file out, their movements quiet and deferential as the High Lords and their closest emissaries made their rounds.

Beron, predictably, had been the first to leave. His disdain for the entire process was written on his face like an open book, his eyes never resting on anyone too long, as though the very sight of those around him was beneath his notice. He’d stormed out the moment the meeting had wrapped, his arrogance and contempt hanging in the air long after his departure.

Y/N stayed close to Thesan, her posture perfect but her mind too restless to focus. The words of the High Lords swirled in her head. She had only heard half of them--if that. The weight of the bond still gripped her, made it hard to keep her attention focused.

She glanced at Kallias again, standing across the room, exchanging polite words with Rhysand, the two of them quietly discussing something, but there was nothing in Kallias’s face. His gaze was distant, indifferent, and not at all like the storm she had felt when their eyes first met.

But now, as the final greetings were being exchanged, as High Lords and emissaries alike began to exit the hall, something shifted in the air. She couldn’t put her finger on it at first, but she felt it--a crackle of movement. Kallias was rising, making his way across the room toward Thesan and her.

Her pulse quickened, and she forced herself to stay still, to calm the fluttering in her chest. There was no reason for her to get hopeful. It had been hours since their brief eye contact, hours since she had felt that connection so clearly, and yet, nothing had come from it. She had convinced herself that it was all in her mind, a product of too much stress and too many strange feelings swirling inside her.

Thesan turned to her, sensing the shift in her mood, but she gave him a quick nod. He knew her well enough to let her keep her space. He simply stood beside her, watching as Kallias approached with that perfect, composed air of the High Lord he was.

The room seemed to quiet, the other High Lords already having taken their leave. The conversation had trickled down into the hum of polite, final farewells, but Y/N couldn’t tear her gaze away from Kallias. His form was so imposing, his presence so stark against the warmth of the Dawn Court. He was a force of nature--calm, cold, a barrier of winter against the sun.

Kallias came to a stop before them. She met his gaze, trying her best not to betray the turmoil twisting inside her.

Kallias looked down at her--eyes pale, inscrutable. A faint flicker of recognition crossed his face, though it was gone almost before she could catch it. His mouth pressed into a thin line, his posture perfect, as if nothing in the world could disturb his poise.

“Thesan, my apologies for coming late and gratitude for hosting the meeting in your court.” His voice was deep, controlled, like the frost he carried with him.

Thesan nodded in response, a polite but warm smile flickering on his face. “We all have urgent matters that come up unexpectedly, do not worry yourself over it Kallias.” He extended his hand, shaking Kallias’s in that graceful, cordial way he had mastered over centuries of court diplomacy.

Kallias nodded in return, his eyes sliding to Y/N for a fraction of a second. The moment felt like an eternity, but there was no change in his expression--no sign of recognition, no acknowledgment of what had just happened. He simply turned his gaze back to Thesan.

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

He hadn’t even noticed her. Not really. He hadn’t seen her, not in the way she had seen him. Not in the way she knew he should.

His indifference was a slap to her already fragile hope, deflating it faster than the coldest winter wind.

“Wingmarshal,” Kallias said, his gaze never lingering on her face as he spoke the formal title she held in the Dawn Court. It felt like a polite, distant acknowledgment--a passing word meant to give no more than the necessary respect.

Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she nodded her head. “High Lord.” The words came out cold, detached, her tone a little sharper than she intended, but it was the only shield she had left. Her chest tightened with an emotion she couldn’t quite name, her fingers curling into fists by her sides.

Kallias turned on his heel, his footsteps echoing through the room as he moved away, not sparing her another glance, not even a flicker of curiosity. He had already moved past her, already leaving her with nothing but the hollow echo of the bond she was so desperately trying to ignore.

For a moment, all Y/N could do was watch him go, her heart sinking with each step he took, each second that stretched the distance between them.

The second he was gone, Thesan's voice filled the room. "Well, are you planning on telling me the cause of your clear moping now or later?"

Y/N turned around to see her high lord staring at her with a small smirk on his face as he expected her answer.

Y/N's brows furrowed. "What- I was not moping."

Thesan only chuckled as he pushed past her, heading towards the open balcony "Of course, my apologies. Come talk to me when you are ready to admit that you were in fact moping."

Y/N gasped as she run after him hitting him playfully on the shoulder as they descended the stairs from the balcony "That is an absolutely false claim! I am totally fine! see," she put on the biggest yet fakest smile she could possibly muster, causing Thesan to laugh loudly "Remind me why I talk to you again?"

Y/N smirked as she nudged his shoulder "Because you love me and can not stand to live without me?"

He rolled his eyes and was about to say something when one of his men called him.

Thesan sighed, "The newly appointed treasurer is coming in, I need to go see him. Remember to check on the new weapon designs for the 5th legion and give me your thoughts."

Y/N nodded, turning more serious the closer they got towards the main entrance of the western wing, "Of course, High Lord."

As Thesan's footsteps faded into the distance, Y/N stood still in the hall, her gaze fixed on the floor beneath her. She could still feel the echoes of Kallias’s presence in the room, a chilling reminder of the storm that had passed through her when their eyes met earlier. The bond that had ignited inside her was still raw--still burning--but there was no release, no resolution. Just that cold emptiness where something had been ripped open, and she had no idea how to patch it back together.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, her fingers trembling just slightly. The warmth of the Dawn Court seemed to press against her, too bright, too alive. It made her skin feel too tight, her thoughts too heavy.

Focus, Y/N. She repeated the words like a mantra, as though the steady rhythm could anchor her mind.

She could pretend, could push it all down into the deepest corners of her mind where no one could see the chaos, but that would only work for so long. She knew this--had done it for years. Years of burying the cracks, of playing the part, of living a life dictated by duty and responsibility.

But this... this was different.

She glanced up at the empty hallway, the distant echo of her footsteps almost mocking her. She should be back in the forge with the weapon designs. She should be reviewing the strategies for the 5th Legion. There was work to be done. The words were familiar--comforting. They were all she had ever relied on.

But even as she turned her feet toward the meeting rooms, she knew the truth. The bond wasn’t going away. She couldn’t pretend that it didn’t exist. The crackling energy in her chest, the sharp clarity in her senses, the way she could feel Kallias across the room as if their souls were bound together. It was real.

And that made it worse.

Y/N shook her head, trying to clear the fog, but the dizziness only deepened. She wasn’t prepared for this. Not now. Not with everything else in motion. She had no time for the softness of the bond. She had no patience for it.

Maybe it’s just a trick, she thought. Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe it’s just stress, or proximity, or whatever weird thing happens when two powerful people are in the same room.

But she knew better. She had felt it. Felt the heat and cold fuse together in an explosive rush, a force of nature that no amount of logic or self-discipline could explain away. It wasn’t just the bond itself--it was the fact that Kallias wasn’t acknowledging it. Or worse, he was choosing to ignore it.

A bitter taste curled in the back of her throat. She couldn’t help but feel... rejected.

She was familiar with cold. With isolation. With silence. But never, never had she been left so utterly adrift. She had built walls around her heart, had learned to isolate herself when things got too close, too personal. But now? Now, she was starting to wonder if those walls would even be enough to keep her from shattering under the weight of the bond.

A flash of movement in the corner of her eye snapped her out of her thoughts. It was a servant, passing through the hall with a stack of papers. Y/N quickly straightened her back, forced a neutral expression on her face, and continued walking.

She would bury it. Just like she always had. Keep moving. Keep working.

The bond would have to wait.

It didn't in fact, wait.

No matter how much she tried to push it down, to not care, to keep focusing on what matters, her duty, her honour, Y/N still couldn't move on from that gnawing thought that just kept festering inside her, not giving space for anything else.

She thought that it would go away with time, that because Kallias had no idea or would most likely not even accept it, the bond would just disappear at some point.

Well, it didn't. On the contrary, it just kept her from properly functioning. Y/N couldn't sleep, couldn't properly be present in the moment, or do anything really.

And worst of all, it has made her think of Kallias more often than needed. What is he like? Does he enjoy being in that freezing cold place all the time? Does he find her attractive at all? What does he think?

She shook her head, focus Y/N. What would Thesan think if he found out?

What would anyone think?

You and him can't be together, you hate the cold.

"If you keep staring at the poor scriber like you want to burn her, I'm afraid Tarquin will think we are planning some kind of an attack on his court."

Y/N looked to her side, at Thesan, who was staring straight ahead as they went to take their seats.

Y/N sighed and moved her gaze away, none of the other high lords were here yet. "Well, we might as well start planning because what kind of a treatment is this? Tarquin hasn't even appeared to welcome us in."

Thesan chuckled quietly. "Well, you know how things are with Tarquin. Always fashionably late--or perhaps just strategically late. Never one to rush into anything he can approach with calculated grace." Y/N raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “Calculated or not, it’s bordering on rude. He shouldn't have offered to have done the second seasonal meeting then."

Thesan shrugged, the golden sheen of his robes catching the filtered sunlight streaming through the open pavilion. “Perhaps it’s a test. Or a message. He’s had... complicated relations with the rest of us since the war.”

Y/N tapped her fingers against the edge of the table, her mind already spinning through potential motives. “Still. If he’s trying to play games, he should remember we’ve all grown tired of court theatrics.”

Thesan gave her a knowing smile. “And yet here we are, sitting at a table in another’s court, preparing for more of them.”

She smirked slightly at that. “Touché.”

There was a pause, the warm breeze brushing through the pavilion, stirring the silk curtains.

Footsteps followed, rhythmic and deliberate.

Y/N rose slowly, eyes locked on the arched entrance across the courtyard.

“Finally,” she muttered.

Thesan stood beside her, his expression unreadable. “Let’s see what kind of welcome we’ve earned.”

A tall figure emerged through the archway, sunlight haloing around him like he was part of the very sea and sky. Tarquin--High Lord of the Summer Court--approached with graceful, unhurried steps. His robes were a shimmering cascade of seafoam and sapphire, and the jeweled circlet on his brow caught the light with every movement.

Y/N stiffened but held her tongue. Let him speak first.

Thesan offered a polite nod. “Tarquin.”

“Thesan,” Tarquin returned evenly, before turning to Y/N. “Y/N. Welcome to the Summer Court.”

Y/N inclined her head, lips tight. “You’re late.”

A wry smile flickered across his face--barely there. “I know. And I owe you both an apology.”

He stopped a few paces from them, hands clasped in front of him--not in defense, but in openness. “There was unrest in the southern isles this morning. A small village flooded when the tides shifted too rapidly overnight. I went myself to handle it. I did not mean to keep you waiting.”

Y/N’s expression softened, just slightly. A natural disaster--not politics. “Is it under control?”

Tarquin nodded. “For now. But the sea gives as it pleases, and takes just as easily.”

Before Y/N could respond, a ripple in the air split the quiet.

A sudden gust of wind swept through the pavilion—cool and edged with shadow—and with it, Rhysand winnowed into view.

Dressed in deep midnight blue, hair ruffled slightly by the breeze, Rhysand surveyed the space with a relaxed, far-too-knowing smile.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, though the amused sparkle in his eyes said he didn’t care either way.

Tarquin’s jaw tightened for the briefest moment before he masked it with diplomacy. “Not at all. You’re the second to arrive.”

Rhys’s gaze flicked to Y/N, his expression unreadable, and then to Thesan. “Well, at least I’m not the last. That would’ve been embarrassing.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You say that like you haven’t made a habit of grand entrances.”

“I only do them when there’s an audience,” Rhys quipped, then turned to Tarquin. “You look tired.”

“And you look exactly as smug as I remember,” Tarquin returned evenly.

The air shifted again--warm this time, the scent of jasmine and something unmistakably decadent drifting in like a whispered promise.

Golden light shimmered in the far corner of the pavilion, swirling into an elegant spiral before depositing Helion, High Lord of the Day Court, onto the polished marble with all the drama of a thunderclap in a sunlit garden.

He arrived in full regalia--robes gold-trimmed and flowing, an ornate circlet resting atop his curls like it had been kissed by fire. Helion’s arrival was never quiet, and it never failed to command attention.

“Darlings,” he drawled, flashing a brilliant smile as he strolled toward them, arms wide as if greeting old friends at a festival instead of a fragile meeting of powerful allies. “Apologies for the delay. I was detained--a charming distraction, but a distraction nonetheless.”

Thesan sighed. “I don’t want to know.”

“You probably do,” Helion replied, unbothered. “But I’ll spare you the details. For now.”

Tarquin gave him a curt nod. “Welcome, Helion. You’re just in time.”

Helion flicked a glance toward Rhysand and smirked. “Rhys, still dressing like the shadows themselves stitched your coat?”

“And you’re still wearing enough gold to blind the sun,” Rhys shot back smoothly.

Before Helion could retort, a chilling gust of wind swept through the pavilion—colder, sharper than any of the arrivals so far. The laughter died, the warmth vanished.

A swirl of smoke-black mist bled in through the edges of the open courtyard, coalescing into the sneering figure of Beron, High Lord of the Autumn Court.

He stood apart from the others, arms crossed and mouth twisted into a faint scowl. His reddish-brown cloak clung to him like dried blood, and his presence sapped what little ease had begun to form among the others.

“Well,” Beron said, gaze sweeping over the gathered lords like they were beneath him, “I see the preening has already begun.”

Y/N didn’t bother to hide her disgust. “You’re late.”

“So are most of us,” Beron replied with a cold smile. “But unlike some, I don’t feel the need to apologize for it.”

Rhysand chuckled darkly. “And just like that, the mood’s ruined.”

Thesan, ever the diplomat, stepped slightly forward. “Now that four of the seven High Lords--not counting Tamlin--are present, perhaps we can begin to establish terms for—”

“Not without everyone,” Beron cut in. “I’m not wasting strategy on people who can’t bother to show up.”

Y/N’s temper flared, but she bit it back, exchanging a glance with Thesan and Rhys.

“We wait, then,” Tarquin said, tone tight but controlled.

Helion yawned. “Lovely. Nothing like standing in awkward silence with Beron to set the tone for a productive summit.”

The tension crackled again.

Y/N didn’t say it aloud, but the thought was shared across every narrowed gaze:

This was going to be a very long day.

The polite chattering among the High Lords droned in the background--Helion’s flirtatious teasing toward Thesan, Rhysand’s half-serious remarks about Beron’s wardrobe, even Tarquin’s attempts at diplomacy--but Y/N heard none of it. Not really. Her thoughts were elsewhere, pulled taut by something no one else could see.

The bond.

That damn bond.

She could pretend all she liked--that it didn’t weigh on her, that it wasn’t a constant hum in the back of her mind--but the moment the cold air shifted in the pavilion, a draft sharp and sudden as snowfall, her body tensed.

She knew before she saw him.

Kallias.

The tall, glacial High Lord of the Winter Court stepped into the room like a storm clothed in elegance. His silver-white hair was perfectly combed back, robes pristine and edged in deep sapphire. Frost followed in his wake--not literal, not today, but something colder, more haunting. A quiet power that made the very air crystallize.

Y/N’s heart twisted in her chest.

She kept her posture still--shoulders square, chin high--but inside, something cracked.

His eyes swept the room with practiced indifference, that same cool mask he always wore, the one that gave nothing away. And when his gaze brushed over her--brief, flickering--he didn’t so much as pause. No recognition, no shift. Just the same calculated glance he gave all of them.

And it hurt.

Y/N clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus on her breathing, on the warmth of the Summer Court sun that did nothingto thaw the ice lodged inside her.

She hated that it made her weak. Hated that her sleepless nights were full of him, that the thought of his hands, his voice, his everything haunted her. What was he like, really? Did he ever laugh--truly laugh? Did he enjoy the solitude of the Winter Court, or did it press down on him the way this bond pressed down on her?

Y/N swallowed hard, her nails digging into her palm beneath the table.

Kallias took his place at the far side of the pavilion without a word. His posture was perfect, composed. Unreadable.

Thesan greeted him gently. Rhys offered a nod. Even Beron muttered something faintly acknowledging.

And Y/N--Y/N said nothing.

Because if she did, her voice might crack. Because no matter how much she tried to focus on her duty, her court, her honour, none of it seemed to matter in the presence of that unanswered thread between them.

It had never snapped.

And gods, it should have.

But there he was, seated in front of her, mere feet away, as if he weren’t slowly destroying her just by existing.

The air inside the pavilion had shifted from tense to suffocating.

With all six High Lords now present, the meeting had begun in earnest--and it was every bit as heavy as Y/N had expected. Discussions of border tensions, the instability of magic in certain regions, trade disputes between courts, the still-unhealed wounds of the war… Each topic bore weight, each voice fighting to be heard without sparking a fresh feud. Everyone danced the line between diplomacy and domination.

It was exhausting.

Especially with Kallias sitting just within her peripheral vision--silent, composed, and utterly unreadable. As if the bond between them didn’t exist. As if she were nothing more than another voice at the table.

So when Tarquin finally lifted a hand and said, “We’ll take a brief recess--fifteen minutes. Food and refreshment have been prepared,” Y/N didn’t waste a second.

She leaned toward Thesan, her voice low. “I’m stepping out. Just for a moment.”

Thesan blinked at her, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” she lied with a smile far too stiff to be convincing. “I just need a breath.”

Thesan hesitated but eventually gave her a slow nod. “Don’t take too long.”

Y/N slipped away before anyone else could stop her, her footsteps light but quick across the marble. The moment she passed through the arched doorway into the garden, she inhaled sharply, as if surfacing from underwater.

The gardens of the Summer Court were everything the name promised: lush, vibrant, alive. Blossoms of every color spilled over stone planters and winding trellises. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine, sea salt, and sun-warmed citrus. Palm trees swayed gently overhead, and golden koi glided through narrow streams that curled like silver ribbons between the flower beds.

But even here, surrounded by life and color, Y/N couldn’t shake the hollowness inside her.

She moved deeper into the garden, until the sound of the others faded behind her, replaced by the gentle rush of a small waterfall spilling into a crystal-clear pool. She stopped there, gripping the edge of a carved stone railing, and let her eyes close.

The bond tugged faintly, a pulse at the edge of her mind. Not strong enough to pull--never strong enough to pull him toward her--but always there. A reminder. A curse.

It should’ve faded.

She had told herself again and again that it would. That the bond couldn’t hold forever if he didn’t feel it too. That maybe, if she kept ignoring it, if she kept pretending… it would dissolve. Fade like mist in the morning sun.

But it didn’t.

And it made everything harder. Every decision, every conversation. Even her sleep was plagued with half-formed dreams of silver-blue eyes and cold, calloused hands she’d never felt on her skin.

She hated that she was thinking of him even now. Out here. Free for a moment--and still not free at all.

Y/N exhaled shakily, tilting her face toward the sun. The warmth helped. A little.

She could hear faint laughter from one of the nearby balconies—Helion, probably. And she heard footsteps coming from behind her in the gravel path. Her body stiffened.

But she didn’t turn.

Not yet.

Then-

"I always thought that wings like yours were mere fantasy."

Y/N’s breath caught.

The voice was unmistakable--low, smooth, touched with the chill of winter itself. And far too close.

No. Not now. Not him.

She turned slowly, heart thudding against her ribs, to find Kallias standing just a few paces away, his pale hair like starlight against the shadow-dappled path. His expression was neutral. Curious, maybe. Calm, collected--as always. Of course.

His gaze flicked from her face to the outspread wings behind her--white feathers laced with streaks of amber, gold, and deep, smoldering red, like sunlight bleeding through snow.

"But," Kallias said after a pause, eyes lingering, “I see now they’re real.”

Y/N blinked, her throat tightening. “I--didn’t know you were following me.”

“I wasn’t,” he said simply, and there was no arrogance in it, no intention to intimidate. “I came out for air. Just as you did.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly all too aware of how exposed she felt. Of how easily the wings gave her away, made her different. How they glowed in this light.

And how he was looking at them. At her.

“They’re rare,” she said, quieter now. “The wings. It’s… an old bloodline. Not common anymore.”

“They’re beautiful,” he said, with such quiet finality that it almost didn’t sound like a compliment--more like a fact.

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that. So she said nothing.

The silence stretched between them, awkward and heavy and painfully loud beneath the chirping of garden insects. Kallias shifted his weight, the subtle movement drawing her attention back to him.

“It’s odd,” he said after a moment. “I’ve sat across from you in meetings. Heard your voice. Watched you speak. And yet I never noticed.”

Y/N tried to school her face into something unreadable. “Most don’t. I keep them hidden during court business.”

“You shouldn’t.”

She gave a bitter smile. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re a High Lord.”

“And you think I’ve never had to hide anything?”

That surprised her--enough that she finally met his eyes.

They were bluer than the Winter Court sky. And just as cold.

Y/N forced her gaze away again. “I don’t need approval for how I present myself.”

“I didn’t mean it as approval. Just... an observation.”

Another pause. It was unbearable. Why was he still standing here?

“Was there something you needed?” she asked, harsher than intended.

Kallias’s jaw flexed slightly, but he only said, “No.”

“Then why are you still here?”

He didn’t answer. And that silence--that silence--felt like a blade drawn between them.

Finally, he nodded once, a slight, regal gesture. “Forgive me for interrupting your moment.”

And then, with the same cold grace he always carried, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the garden’s shadows.

Y/N stood frozen for long minutes afterward, wings trembling slightly with the weight of everything unsaid.

The moonlight didn’t feel cold enough. Not anymore.

Kallias moved through the garden paths like a ghost--silent, composed, detached. On the outside. Inside?

He was unraveling.

He didn’t even remember half the walk back to the pavilion, only that the silence between the hedges and the dark paths felt louder than anything he’d ever known. Louder than the war. Louder than ice cracking beneath his boots in the deep winters of his court. Louder than the scream of power when he’d once torn through a legion to protect his people.

Her wings.

Gods, her wings.

White streaked with amber and flame--sunlight bleeding through snow. That’s what he’d thought. And then she had turned toward him, face bare in the moonlight, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion and strength, her voice carrying that familiar edge of restraint.

And it had slammed into him like a tidal wave against frozen cliffs.

The bond.

It had been a whisper at first--weeks ago, maybe longer. A strange pull when she entered a room. The way his attention always shifted toward her without meaning to. He’d written it off as something political, something instinctual. She was powerful, poised. Important. That was all.

But in the garden… seeing her like that--unshielded, radiant, real--it clicked. It snapped into place.

And he had said nothing.

Kallias clenched his jaw, his boots hitting the marble of the Summer Court corridor with barely a sound. The hum of conversation grew louder as he neared the meeting chamber, but he barely heard it. Barely felt anything except that gaping echo inside his chest.

She’s my mate.

The words rang over and over in his mind, louder than any logic, more undeniable than any doubt.

She’s my mate.

And yet…

What if she didn’t know?

No, she knew. He’d seen it in her eyes--just for a flicker. That hint of pain, of something buried so deep he almost missed it.

What if she had known for a long time?

What if she didn’t want it?

Kallias’s breath caught.

He had lived a life of restraint, of cold silence. The High Lord of a kingdom locked beneath ice, where emotions were dangerous, vulnerability a liability. He had buried affection beneath duty. Tempered warmth beneath centuries of war and politics. He had given his people strength and safety, but never himself.

And now--

Now this.

Someone like her--all flame and quiet passion, wings born of skyfire, loyalty etched into every movement, every breath.

And him? He’d barely known what to say to her. Had made her feel interrogated, seen too late.

What would she think? That he’d ignored it? That he’d refused her?

He had. In a way.

Kallias reached the doors to the meeting hall and paused, gripping the edge of the carved frame with white-knuckled fingers. He didn’t go in yet. He couldn’t. His mind was still spinning, his soul still aching from the realization. From the fear that maybe--

Maybe she doesn’t want me.

Why would she? He was cold. Distant. A fortress of ice and rules. And she--she had looked at him like she’d already tried to forget him. Like she'd already grieved something he hadn’t even realized he'd lost.

The thought sent a wave of nausea rolling through him.

Kallias drew in a deep breath. Composed his face again. Rebuilt the mask.

The others couldn’t know. Not now. Not yet.

He stepped through the doors with practiced ease, sliding back into his chair at the far end of the table.

Rhysand was saying something. Beron scoffing. Helion sipping wine. Tarquin eyeing the room like it was a powder keg. Y/N wasn’t back yet.

He didn’t let his gaze drift toward the door. Didn’t let his hands shake.

But deep inside, behind the years of discipline and frost-hardened walls--

Kallias was coming apart.

And he had no idea what to do next.

“Y/N is my mate.”

The words still tasted foreign, unreal, like something torn from a dream and spoken into the wrong world.

Across the table, Viviane froze.

“What?!”

Kallias looked up from where he had been staring into his untouched tea, his eyes catching hers. She was sitting perfectly still, porcelain cup suspended midair. Her expression was a strange mixture of disbelief and--what was that? Shock? Displeasure?

He couldn’t tell.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Y/N. The Wingmarshall of Dawn.”

Viviane blinked, slowly lowering the teacup to its saucer with a muted clink. “You’re certain.”

Kallias nodded once. “I felt it a few nights ago. In the gardens when we were in Summer for the meeting. She looked at me, and it was... undeniable.”

“You didn’t feel anything before?”

“I did,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But I ignored it. I thought it was tension from the court meetings. Political instincts, proximity. I didn’t know until I saw her--really saw her.”

Viviane leaned back slightly, her arms crossing. “And she?”

“I think she’s known for a while,” he said, the guilt curling in his stomach. “She said nothing. Not even when I stood in front of her. I think... she doesn’t want it.”

Viviane’s lips twitched, not quite a frown, not quite a smirk. “Maybe she doesn’t.”

Kallias’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

Viviane shrugged, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve. “Y/N has always been ambitious. Loyal, certainly, but strategic. Being tied to a High Lord from another court might not be ideal for her. And besides... she hides her wings during meetings, doesn’t she? That says something.”

“It says she’s careful. Not ashamed.”

“If you say so,” Viviane said softly.

Kallias frowned but looked away. He didn’t want to argue. He hadn’t come to her for criticism. He needed clarity, support—guidance. Viviane had always been his sounding board. His second. His oldest friend.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I feel like if I reach out, I’ll drive her further away. But if I do nothing, it will only fester. The bond is—gods, it’s constant. I can barely sleep.”

Viviane tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Why do you care so much? You barely know her.”

He hesitated. “Because it’s not just about knowing her. It’s what I feel because of the bond. It’s like... like something in me has been missing, and now it’s not. Now she’s here. And I can't stop thinking about what it means. What I could ruin.”

Viviane’s mouth tightened. “You’re sure it’s not just the magic talking?”

Kallias didn’t respond right away. He stared at his reflection in the surface of the tea, dark eyes clouded with uncertainty.

“No,” he said at last. “It’s not just the magic.”

She stood then, too abruptly for someone who had been so calm moments ago. She walked toward the window, her fingers trailing along the edge of the sill.

“She could reject it,” she said, not looking at him.

“I know.”

“She could break the bond.”

The words struck him like ice to the chest. “I know that too.”

Viviane turned to face him. Her smile was gentle. Too gentle.

“Maybe that would be best.”

Kallias stood, too fast. “Why would you say that?”

Viviane stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm, her touch familiar and steady. “Because I care about you. And I’ve watched you lead for centuries with so much on your shoulders. You don’t need more uncertainty. You don’t need someone who keeps secrets from you, who hides something this important.”

He flinched. “She didn’t hide it out of cruelty.”

“No,” Viviane agreed. “But she still hid it.”

Her hand lingered on his sleeve, but Kallias pulled back, gently but firmly.

“I can’t just walk away.”

Viviane’s smile faltered for a split second before returning, sweeter this time. Sweeter and far more dangerous.

“Of course not. I just want you to be careful.”

He nodded, distracted again. His thoughts already drifting back to Y/N. To the look in her eyes. To the bond humming like a heartbeat beneath his skin.

He didn’t see the way Viviane’s fingers curled tightly into her palm. Or the way her eyes followed him as he left the room, lost in thought, unaware.

Unaware of the storm brewing just behind him.

Y/N wiped the sweat from her brow, wings tucked close behind her as she watched two members of the Solar Legion run the final round of combat drills across the sun-drenched field. The training yard was alive with motion—armored Peregryn gliding overhead, ground units shifting in formations below, and the low, rhythmic chant of commands being called and answered. The scent of steel and sand filled the warm air.

She hadn’t noticed the quiet footsteps until one of the guards approached her, slightly breathless.

“Wingmarshall, Viviane, the Winter's emissary is here to see you.”

Y/N blinked. “Viviane?”

The name alone set something in her chest twitching.

“She says it’s a personal call. She came under lord Kallias' orders to speak to Ambassador Lioran and was on her way out when she asked for you.”

Y/N rolled her shoulders, forcing her expression neutral. “Tell her I’ll be with her in a moment.”

When she approached, Viviane was standing off to the side of the courtyard in a sea-blue cloak that didn’t quite belong in the sun-drenched Dawn Court. Her platinum hair was braided elegantly over one shoulder, a familiar sweet smile gracing her lips--one Y/N instinctively didn’t trust.

“Lady Viviane,” Y/N said, voice even. “A surprise visit.”

Viviane tilted her head, hands clasped delicately in front of her. “I was here on court business for Kallias. Thought I’d say hello before I left. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked to the training legion behind her, then back. “Not at all.”

“Do you have a moment?” Viviane asked, soft and pleasant. “To speak--just us.”

Y/N hesitated. The entire squad was still mid-drill, but she nodded once. “Of course.”

She led her down a shaded garden path toward one of the alcoves carved into the hillside courtyard. Quiet. Private.

Viviane turned to her the moment they were out of view.

“Kallias knows.”

Y/N stopped. “What?”

Viviane’s expression was gentle, almost regretful. “About the bond.”

Y/N’s blood went cold.

She tried to keep her face composed, her voice steady. “And?”

“And I thought you should know,” Viviane said, her tone soft and falsely kind. “He’s been struggling with it. With you. It’s been... difficult for him.”

Y/N’s heart twisted painfully, but she didn’t let it show. “I’m sure it has.”

“He didn’t take it well,” Viviane added, stepping closer with that same sugar-sweet voice. “He’s always held himself to such high standards. You know how deeply he feels, even when he doesn’t show it.”

Y/N didn’t respond. Her throat was too tight.

Viviane’s eyes scanned her face, too carefully. “And he worries, of course, about what this might mean for your court. For your command. It’s all very complicated, isn’t it?”

Y/N inhaled slowly. “Viviane, why are you telling me this?”

Viviane blinked, her smile never wavering. “Because I care about him. Deeply. We’ve been through everything together. I know how much pressure he puts on himself, how hard he’s worked to maintain the stability of the Winter Court. This kind of... distraction, it isn’t easy for him.”

Y/N stared at her, pulse thudding in her ears.

A part of her--some tired, frayed part--almost believed it. Almost accepted that maybe Kallias did regret the bond, that maybe this was his way of distancing himself. That Viviane was only here to be kind. To offer comfort cloaked in concern.

But another part--sharper, instinctive--watched the way Viviane’s eyes didn’t quite meet hers when she said distraction. How her voice was too smooth, too careful. How her words cut, even though she spoke them like silk.

Y/N’s voice came quieter now, but firmer. “Did he ask you to tell me this?”

Viviane hesitated. Just a flicker. “He confides in me.”

That wasn’t an answer.

Y/N folded her arms, her wings tucking in behind her as she tilted her head, meeting Viviane’s gaze head-on.

“And what do you want from me, exactly?”

Viviane’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes cooled. Just barely. “Nothing at all. I simply thought, if there was confusion between you, it might be kinder for you both if expectations were... managed.”

There it was. The warning beneath the charm. A line drawn.

Thesan had taught her better than this. Court politics had taught her better than this.

Y/N nodded slowly, every muscle in her body taut.

“I appreciate your concern,” she said, voice clipped. “But I don’t manage expectations. I meet them. If Kallias has something to say to me, he can say it himself.”

Viviane’s lips parted, just slightly. Not with surprise--more like realization. That Y/N wasn’t going to wilt under sweet smiles and vague warnings.

“Of course,” she said at last. “You’re right. I was only trying to help.”

Y/N smiled then, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “And I’m sure he’ll be grateful for it.”

They stood there a moment longer. Viviane bowed her head, offered another polite farewell, and turned, her cloak trailing behind her like a shadow fleeing the sun.

Y/N didn’t move until she was gone.

And even then, the words clung to her like thorns.

He knows.

But he hadn’t come. Hadn’t written. Hadn’t said a single godsdamned word.

Y/N stared out over the cliffs, the sea shimmering far below, her wings flickering once in the wind.

So that was how this game would be played.

Fine.

She could play too.

Since Viviane’s visit, Y/N had perfected the art of pretending Kallias didn’t exist.

In meetings, her gaze never drifted to him. She spoke past him, around him--never to him. If he asked something directly, she answered in the briefest, most clipped way possible, all professionalism and poise. No emotion. No weakness.

Even when he was standing a mere breath away.

Even when the bond throbbed like an open wound beneath her ribs.

Inside, it shredded her. Piece by piece.

But Viviane’s words clung to her. The way she’d said “he’s struggling... with you”, so carefully, so sweetly, as though Y/N were the problem to solve. A complication. A mistake.

She’d buried it. Buried him. Swallowed the pain and thrown herself into her role until her body burned from it.

“More,” she had said to Thesan, voice frayed from exhaustion. “Give me more to do.”

He’d narrowed his eyes at her, the concern in them deeper than anything he said aloud. At first, he only complied. Extra meetings. Additional correspondence. Policy drafts, strategy proposals. She’d devoured them all like a woman starved for anything but thought.

But eventually, he’d asked.

She still remembered the moment.

They’d been in his study, the curtains drawn against the afternoon sun, scrolls stacked high. He was reviewing battle maps for the border updates when he suddenly set his pen down.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “how long do you plan on pretending?”

She stiffened, fingers pausing on the edge of a report. “Pretending what?”

“That you aren’t bleeding internally every time Kallias walks into a room.”

Silence.

Then, almost inaudibly-- “How long have you known?”

Thesan studied her. “Since the last seasonal meeting. You think I wouldn’t notice how your eyes followed him like gravity? Or how you can’t sleep anymore?”

Y/N didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

“And now,” Thesan continued, “you’re more ghost than general. You’ve built a fortress so tall no one can reach you. Not even yourself.”

Finally, she whispered, “He doesn’t want it. He knows about the bond--and he doesn’t want it.”

Thesan’s brow furrowed. “Did he say that?”

“Viviane did.”

His silence was telling.

“You trust her?” he asked quietly.

Y/N gave a weak laugh, bitter. “It doesn’t matter. If he wanted me, he would’ve said something by now.”

Thesan’s voice was gentle but firm. “Don’t destroy yourself because someone else couldn’t speak.”

She looked away.

He rose from his seat, circled the desk, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I can’t tell you how to face him,” he said. “But if you keep hiding in your duty, you’ll wake up one day and find you’ve erased yourself.”

The ballroom shimmered with soft, enchanted icelight--glowing from chandeliers sculpted out of winter stars. The frost-laced walls of the Winter Court sparkled as music floated through the air, light and lilting like snowfall on glass.

Y/N stood at the far edge of the ballroom, spine straight, goblet of mulled wine untouched in her hand. She had been here for two hours and hadn’t said a word to Kallias.

Not once.

Not even when she had felt him arrive, felt the shift in the air like a drop in temperature, that familiar pull between them yanking at the thread of the bond until it ached.

She didn’t look at him. She wouldn’t.

Thesan hadn’t been well enough to attend. She had offered--begged--to stay behind, to assist him, to make excuses on his behalf. But he’d only given her that quiet, patient look and said:

“You’ll go. You’ll wear something beautiful. And you’ll remember that you are more than what hurts you.”

So she had gone.

The gown she wore was a blend of sun and storm--deep crimson velvet that swept to the floor in soft waves, gold embroidery curling like flame across the sleeves and hem. Her wings were fully on display, feathers braided with tiny threads of bronze and rose-gold. Not hidden. Not tonight.

She’d never felt more exposed.

More exhausted.

The conversations drifted by her, but she barely listened. Courtiers flitted past in glittering swirls. Foreign dignitaries raised glasses. Laughter echoed. Somewhere, someone was playing a harp.

But all she could feel was that empty part of her chest that pulsed with something she tried so hard to kill.

She hadn’t looked at him.

Not once.

But she felt him.

Every time he moved. Every time he passed too close. Every time that unrelenting pull of the bond whispered across her skin, begging her to just turn around.

But she didn’t.

Because Viviane’s voice still echoed in her mind.

Because he hadn’t come.

Because she was tired of bleeding for a silence that wasn’t hers.

So she stayed in the corner of the Winter Court ballroom, radiant in red and gold, armor made of fabric and pride.

And pretended not to hurt.

She didn’t even see him coming.

One moment Y/N was staring numbly at the rim of her goblet, trying to remember how to breathe, and the next--a hand closed firmly around her arm.

She gasped as she was pulled away from the ballroom crowd, spun slightly by sheer force.

“What--”

The towering form beside her didn’t speak. Didn’t even look at her. But that grip, cool and strong and far too familiar, was unmistakable.

Kallias.

“Kallias--what are you--?” Her voice rose, twisting with panic. “Let go of me!”

She shoved at him, dug her heels into the marble, but he didn’t stop. He was leading her--dragging her--through a side door tucked between frost-carved pillars. A cold corridor swallowed them whole, dark and echoing.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snapped, yanking against him.

Still, he said nothing. His face was stone. His jaw locked.

“You can’t just manhandle people out of your little snowball party!” she shouted, slapping at his shoulder, twisting her arm in his grip.

He didn’t flinch. He just reached the end of the corridor, unlocked a heavy silver-inlaid door with a sharp flick of magic, shoved it open, and pushed her inside.

The door slammed. The lock clicked.

Y/N spun, breathless, livid, hair askew from the struggle. “You are insane! What gives you the right--?”

“You’ve been ignoring me,” Kallias snapped, his voice low and fierce, cracking through the cold like thunder.

She stared at him, stunned.

He was breathing hard. Not from exertion--but from fury. From whatever storm had been building in him since the moment this bond had snapped into place.

“You dragged me into a room because your feelings were hurt?” she hissed, stepping forward. “You don’t get to be mad at me.”

“Oh, really?” he growled. “Because you knew about the bond. You knew and said nothing.”

Her eyes went wide. “I knew?”

Her voice rose into a shout. “You knew too! You figured it out! And you did absolutely nothing. Not a letter. Not a word. Not even a look.”

“Because I didn’t know if you wanted it!” he exploded.

The room was silent for a moment, save their ragged breathing.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me,” he said, quieter now. “You never looked at me. Never said anything. You just disappeared behind your rank and your reports and--”

“Because I was scared!” she cried. “Do you even understand what it meant to me? To feel that bond click into place and then realize that the one person it tied me to--the one person fate chose--wanted nothing to do with it?”

Kallias’s mouth opened. But she cut him off.

“And then Viviane showed up. She told me you were struggling. That this was too complicated for you. That I was--what? A distraction?”

His expression changed. His brow furrowed, ice-blue eyes darkening in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“She told me you knew and didn’t want it,” Y/N said, voice trembling. “That you were trying to be kind. That it would be easier if I just... faded out.”

He stared at her.

Then: “I never told Viviane anything like that.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“I never said a word to her about regretting the bond,” he repeated, voice tight and low, his fury simmering now with something colder.

“But she said--”

Kallias turned away from her for half a second, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“That lying bitch,” he muttered. “I’ll deal with her later.”

Y/N watched him, heart still racing. The wall between them was cracking--splintering under the weight of everything unsaid.

Kallias turned back to her, slower now. Quieter.

“I didn’t come to you because I was terrified of doing it wrong. Of ruining it. Ruining you.”

“And I didn’t say anything because I thought I wasn’t wanted,” Y/N whispered.

“I wanted you,” he said hoarsely. “I always wanted you.”

She took a step back.

Then a step forward.

So did he.

And then--

The space between them shattered.

His hands were on her face, in her hair, pulling her toward him like gravity had finally won. Her arms wound around his neck, her fingers tangling in the white strands as their mouths crashed together with a desperate, aching need.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft.

It was rage and longing. It was hurt and relief. It was every unspoken word, every silent ache, every sleepless night--

Their kiss burned through the cold of the room like fire in a snowstorm.

And neither of them pulled away.

Not this time.

(smut starts here)

Kallias pulled away for a second, leaning his forehead against hers. "I want you."

Y/N, still breathing heavily, replied. "But the ball-"

Kallias shook his head, his grip on her tightening, voice becoming more desperate. "My officials can handle it for me. I don't care about the damn ball. Not anymore. Just answer me please, do you want me too?"

Y/N smiled. "Yes."

And that one word, was his unraveling.

A raw sound escaped him, somewhere between a growl and a plea. His mouth was on hers before she could speak again, devouring the confirmation she’d given him. One hand cupped the back of her neck while the other slid down her spine, pulling her flush against him--no more hesitation, no more formalities.

He could feel her wings shift against his chest, trembling slightly.

His hand slowed as it trailed downward, brushing the base of her wings--testing, curious.

Y/N gasped against his mouth, hips twitching forward at the contact.

That sound. That response. It went straight to his core.

Kallias pulled back just enough to look at her, lips swollen, breath shaky. “There?” he asked, brushing the spot again with deliberate slowness.

Her eyes fluttered shut. “Yes,” she exhaled, voice barely a whisper, already wrecked.

He wasted no time.

With one hand supporting the small of her back, the other began exploring every inch of her wings--light touches at first, then more pressure, mapping out the places that made her whimper, shiver, clutch at him. Each time she moaned, he felt her magic brush against his like sparks. Her wings were twitching, open and arched slightly now, helpless to the sensations he was coaxing from her.

He kissed his way down her jaw, then to her neck, tongue flicking against her pulse. “I’ve thought about this,” he murmured into her skin, “about you--spread out beneath me, wings trembling, moaning my name.”

A shudder ran through her.

“You feel everything there, don’t you?” he whispered, fingers gliding down to the sensitive edge where feather met flesh.

Y/N let out a broken sound, hips grinding against him. “Kallias-”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a thought, frost bloomed across the door, locking it. Curtains drew themselves closed. The chill of his magic mingled with the heat between them, a delicious contrast.

“Bed,” he said hoarsely. “Now.”

Kallias didn’t wait for her to walk.

He swept her up into his arms like she weighed nothing, his mouth crashing down onto hers with the kind of hunger that made her bones melt. Her wings, delicate and trembling from the charged tension between them, flared open behind her, brushing against his chest and dragging along the chilled air he left in his wake.

Each graze only made her cling tighter.

The moment her back touched the bed, his hands were in her hair, his lips trailing fire down her throat. “This dress has been driving me insane all night,” he growled, voice rough as gravel, fingers already tugging at the back of her gown.

Y/N gasped as cool air kissed her bare back, the fabric sliding down inch by slow inch. Kallias dragged the sleeves off her shoulders, letting it slip away like water until it pooled under the bed.

She sat there in nothing but her delicate underthings--lace and shimmering detail--and those trembling wings. And Kallias… he just looked at her.

Like a starving man at the altar of a goddess.

“I want to taste you,” he rasped. “Lie down.”

She backed up slowly until her back hit the headboard. The sheets were dark velvet—lush and cool to the touch. Her wings fanned out behind her, fluttering with anticipation as she lstared at him, breath coming fast.

Kallias followed.

Ripping off his formal robes, followed by his tunic and pants, he crawled over her like a predator, slow and deliberate, eyes fixed on her as he knelt between her spread thighs and lowered himself until his mouth hovered just above the damp silk of her panties.

He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh first--then licked a slow, heated line up the sensitive skin.

She whimpered, hips twitching.

He inhaled deeply. “You smell like sin.”

With careful hands, he peeled her panties down her legs, eyes never leaving hers. Then, without warning, he dipped his head and licked her in one, slow stroke.

Y/N let out a strangled moan, her back arching off the bed.

He looked glorious like this.

Kallias groaned in response, hands tightening around her thighs. He licked again--this time slower, more precise. His tongue circled her clit before he sucked lightly, and she cried out.

“Keep your wings still,” he murmured darkly, blowing cool air against her soaked heat. “Or I’ll make you come like this over and over until you can’t breathe.”

Her wings twitched violently.

He smirked.

Challenge accepted.

He dove back in, devouring her with all the cold, relentless precision of a Winter Lord. His tongue moved in practiced strokes, alternating between soft flicks and rough pressure, and when he slipped two fingers inside her--curving them perfectly--she broke.

Her moan was loud, wild, her body shattering as pleasure crashed over her like a wave. Her wings snapped open, arching off the bed, and her magic sparked under her skin.

But Kallias didn’t stop.

Even as she trembled, overstimulated and wrecked, he dragged his tongue slowly along her again--drinking in every sound, every twitch of her hips.

“Kallias--please--”

He looked up at her from between her thighs, lips slick, eyes glowing. “Say it again.”

She swallowed. “Kallias… I want you.”

That was all he needed.

Kallias stood above her, completely bare, bathed in moonlight--and he looked like a god carved from snow and shadow.

Tall and broad-shouldered, his body was a sculpture of pale, toned muscle--elegant but powerful. His chest was firm, lightly dusted with silver-blond hair that caught the light like frost. Ridges of muscle lined his abdomen, tapering into defined hips that flexed with every movement. Veins traced the lines of his forearms, strong hands now worshipful and possessive.

His cock was thick, long, and flushed--hard and heavy with need, already slick from the aftermath of her. It curved upward toward his taut stomach, a promise and a threat, crowned perfectly and veined with control barely held in check.

But it was his face--sharp cheekbones, that silver-white hair tousled from her fingers, and eyes glowing like a blizzard in motion--that made her shiver. Not just from lust, but from awe.

He kissed her again--slower now, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

“Are you sure?” he whispered against her lips.

“Please,” she breathed. “I need you.”

He lined himself up and pushed inside her--slowly, agonizingly deep. Both of them groaned, breath catching as he filled her completely.

Her walls clenched around him, and her wings trembled in the open air.

“Fuck--you feel…” he gasped, jaw tight, “so good. So fucking perfect.”

He gave her a moment to adjust, his forehead pressed to hers.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first--long, deep strokes that made her eyes roll back. Then harder, rougher, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room.

His hand found the base of one wing, fingers stroking just right.

She gasped, body jolting. “Kallias--don’t--can’t--”

“Yes you can,” he growled, rutting into her deeper. “Come for me again. Come with your wings trembling.”

She was already there.

With a cry, her entire body convulsed, her second orgasm crashing through her as he fucked her through it--wings spasming, magic bursting under her skin. Kallias followed seconds later, slamming into her one final time and groaning her name as he spilled deep inside her.

But he didn’t stop.

He didn’t even slow.

Still buried inside her, Kallias growled low in his throat--a wild, raw sound—and pulled back only to thrust into her again, harder.

Y/N gasped, her body twitching beneath him. “Kallias--I--” She couldn’t even form words. Her thighs shook, her nerves already frayed, her wings fluttering helplessly against the bed.

But Kallias was gone. Not gentle, not composed--consumed.

His lips found her throat again, biting down gently before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “Can’t stop,” he panted, hips slamming into her relentlessly. “You’re mine--you feel too good--I need more.”

Her hands clawed at the sheets as she cried out, another orgasm already building too fast. Her clit ached, her walls clenched, overstimulated and unbearably sensitive--but it only made it worse. Better. Everything.

Kallias shifted slightly, angling his thrusts to hit that spot deep inside her with brutal precision, one hand reaching under to circle her clit with maddening pressure.

She screamed--head thrown back, body writhing as pleasure and pain collided.

“You love this,” he growled against her skin. “Being fucked until you can’t think. Until your wings won’t stop shaking.”

She sobbed out something like his name, her magic sparking uncontrolled now--frost and light flickering across the sheets as she shattered again, her body convulsing violently.

And still--he didn’t stop.

Kallias was lost in her, drunk on her sounds, her scent, the way her body responded to every thrust. His pace turned ruthless, primal—driven by a hunger that only seemed to grow with each orgasm he gave her.

“You’ll take it,” he snarled, voice thick with need. “As many times as I want. Until you can’t walk. Until you remember whose you are.”

Y/N couldn’t speak--only moan, cry, come, her mind blank and her body a trembling, overstimulated mess. Tears pricked her eyes, her legs numb, her wings spread uselessly as wave after wave of pleasure tore through her.

And Kallias?

He kissed her fiercely, then whispered, “I’ll ruin you before the night ends.”

And she wanted him to.

(Smut ends here)

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the bedroom’s icy walls. But the bed--luxurious and draped in furs--was warm, tangled with limbs and blankets and lazy contentment.

Y/N lay half atop Kallias, her wings tucked carefully behind her as she traced idle patterns across the bare skin of his chest. His pale hair was a mess, cheeks slightly flushed, lips still kiss-bitten. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he looked... happy. Peaceful.

She exhaled a long breath, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. “You know... I’m pretty sure dragging someone out of a ball and locking them in a room isn’t the traditional way to confess your feelings.”

Kallias chuckled, low and deep in his chest. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, poking at his side. “Barely.”

He caught her hand, kissed her knuckles. “I’ll refine my methods. Next time I’ll just write a strongly worded letter and send it with a polite raven.”

She laughed softly, lifting her head just enough to look down at him. “So what now, Winter Lord?”

Kallias turned his head, eyes gleaming in the dim firelight. “Now… we sleep. Then we have breakfast. Then, maybe, we talk to Viviane about her urgent transfer to the Summer Court.”

Y/N snorted, covering her mouth with one hand.

His smile faded into something quieter. More serious. “And then… you move to Winter. I’ll name you High Lady. My equal in every way. My mate. If you’ll have it.”

Y/N blinked. “Whoa, whoa, wait a second.”

Kallias raised a brow. “What?”

She sat up a little, sheet sliding down her bare back as she gave him a look. “I just accepted the bond. You think I’m ready to toss my entire life in Dawn out the window tomorrow morning?”

“I mean,” he said with a straight face, “we could make it a mid-morning decision.”

“Kallias.”

He sighed, dramatic. “Fine. Noon.”

She slapped his chest, but he caught her hand again, kissing her palm this time, slower.

Her voice was softer now. “I need to talk to Thesan. I still have responsibilities. My legion. My people. I love my court.”

His eyes didn’t lose their warmth. “Then we’ll find a way. A way that lets you be with me and still be you.”

She stared at him for a long moment, chest aching in a different way now. The good kind.

“I want to be with you,” she whispered.

A smile crept across his face. “That’s all I need.”

Y/N leaned down and kissed his forehead, wings shifting gently behind her.

“Forever,” she murmured.

And Kallias, without hesitation, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, the beat of his heart steady beneath her ear.

“Forever,” he said, eyes closed, content at last.

He had found his mate.

And she had chosen him back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Can we erase the idea that low-wage workers being visibly human on the clock is "unprofessional." It does not hurt customers to see cashiers drinking from water bottles or sitting on chairs. But water deprivation and forced standing are both established forms of torture. Hope this helps 😘

Thank you for the tag, we love these games so much!!

Taglist: @bunnis-monsters @livelaughlovesubs @lexirosewrites @the-witty-pen-name @aspenmissing

I saw this on Instagram and had to try... Don't know who started it, I'm sorry!

Type "literally my characters" on Pinterest and add 6 photos

Honestly... It's really accurate!

Tagging (no pressure): @bubbles-for-all-of-us @fieldofdaisiies @moonlightazriel @thelov3lybookworm @kennedy-brooke

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You like the color green as a random fact that's probably true

This is 100% true!! 👏👏

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I don't usually repost but holy shit. Get me a man like this irl.

Hey, Venom Boy! - C.K.

Synopsis. Venom’s had enough of his host’s racing heartbeat and tíghtening pants around you. So he does what any good symbiote would do - help Choso lose his vírginíty, of course!

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, Venom!Choso, best-friends-to-Iovers, PlNING, héats, he has tattoos and piercings, Venom in bold, first times (for Choso), PÚSSYDRÚNK CHOSO, oraI (fem. rec), spítting, ínappropríate use of the symbiote, LONG tongues, ríding, dúmbifícation, making it fit, size kínk, tummy buIges, creampíes, cúmplay, MARATHONS, matíng presses, overstím, squírting, cúmming dry, proposals, biting marks, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.5k

A/N. Inspired by this ask and this post by the lovely @/screampied.

“You like her.”

“Shut up.”

“You want to fu-”

“Shut up.”

“Heh- loser.”

And Choso was genuinely contemplating smashing his head against the nearest wall, if only it would yank out that damn parasite- “Oi, I can hear you.” -he had the misfortune of picking up.

Weeks - though, it felt like years - weeks since he’d wandered into his usual hiding spot at the abandoned Lady of Saint’s Church for a moment of peace and quiet; except, he wasn’t alone that day. Too busy poring over yet another sketch of your dazzling smile to notice-

“Your pulse rate spiked- you’re thinking of her, boy. You want her.”

But it’d been weeks since he’d had peace and quiet after this…alien symbiote had forcibly attached itself to his body that day. 

And the worst part was that he wasn’t even wrong. 

“S-so what?” Choso hisses out. “She deserves better than me anyway.” Wincing at the sheer predatory amusement in Venom’s voice as he purrs— 

“I have a plan…”

.

.

.

Your best friend was acting strange.

Given, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for his fawn eyes to linger on you just a little more than what’s considered appropriate for a “friend”, or for him to burn with the prettiest blush whenever you caught him. 

But these days it was almost like he was avoiding you on purpose. 

Taking the longer routes after lectures, being struck pale as a ghost mid-conversation, always muttering away underneath his breath. 

Hell, one day you even had half the mind to jokingly ask him whether he was talking to someone you couldn’t see - to which Choso had sputtered and all but sprinted away from you. 

And here he was right now - towering right at your apartment doorway in just a snug undershirt and the sexiest grey sweatpants.

“Ch-Choso?” Your jaw drops slightly at his disheveled, heaving state. 

Milky skin simmered with a sheen of sweat that made his dark tank top glue to his broad chest, chestnut strands of his bangs falling out of his bun to hide his eyes from you, almost…feverish.

Frantic gaze bouncing off the beefy arm he’d kept leaned over your doorframe for support, “What happened- are you sick? Are you drunk?” A quick glance at the clock showed that it was well past 12AM, “Are you okay, Cho-”

And then he flinches.

Fuck- he flinches as if the sound of that very nickname falling from your cute lips made his entire body shudder with a thousand bolts of lightning. 

Baritone voice hot and murky once he utters, “Baby…”

Oh. 

You could feel the goosebumps starting to slither down your spine already, and you tug nervously at the paper-thin pyjama shirt you had on. Too-aware of the fact that it was the only thing you were wearing other than your thin panties- damn.

Noticing the way that every minute movement of yours seemed to make Choso’s pants grow heavier; you dare to take a step closer, and it only makes him grip onto the mahogany doorway until it splinters. 

Teeth grit. Nostrils flaring. Barely holding himself together.

Gasping, “Cho?”

“I need you.”

“Wha-” And it’s the last thing escaping your mouth before Choso surges forward like he’s being jerked, movements twitchy - desperate - he falls a few steps forward until he’s in your heated proximity. 

Your saccharine scent so sweet that he’d be on his damn knees if you hadn’t clawed a hand on one of his flexing biceps- a gruff whimper departing from Choso’s plush, pink lips. “K-kiss me.” 

Oh, fuck.

You watch with a carnal sort of desire at the way that he scorches with a breezing blush all the way from the tips of his ears, down to his collarbones. Fisting your dominant hand in the flimsy cotton of your best friend’s undershirt, just the tiniest, weakest tug makes him gulp.

Now that he started, he couldn’t stop.

“Kiss me- kiss me, p-please.” He’s finally darting his hazy peripheries up from the floor to look at you, you, and only you. Dragging in a deeeep breath of your air, his half-lidded pupils were begging- “Kiss me, baby.”

You’re humming, the curved edges of your fingertips curling ‘round Choso’s nape and pulling him in. 

He’s melting.

He’s melting and melting into the kiss - as if he’d been dreaming of this for just as long as you have. Even longer. 

Strong, sturdy hands wrapping around your waist to tug you against his hardened front, you gasp at the sweltering hot temperature he was radiating. Already feeling beads of perspiration starting to form across your forehead-

He’s sucking in a sharp breath, “Need to- need to tell you something.” 

Words huffin’ out through glides of his berry-pink lips across yours, each one wrenching out like it pained him to part from your candied mouth with each sloppy mwah! Blindly, he slams the door shut with the heeled back of his foot. “There’s- a- a thing-”

You’re grinning once his voice breaks - breaks, as soon as you’re sipping on the cold spherical piercing homed at the edge of his tongue like your favorite gummy candy. “A…thing?”

Through a slightly-cracked eyelid, your gaze sinks down between Choso’s thick, meaty thighs. Instantly feeling a wave of sap flood your mouth at the massive cylindrical bulge that tightened his sweatpants uncomfortably.

He was just too cute. 

“A ‘thing’, hm?” You’re breaking off to smirk, twisting a silky lock of his hair around your index in a way that makes the looming man in front of you shiver. Chasing and chasing your lips- he was so weak for you. 

Giving in, you’re just about getting ready to kiss your best friend silly once more - but what meets your ravenous mouth isn’t his soft, plump lips anymore. 

No, it doesn’t even feel human. 

What instead greets you is something frigid and slimy. Something that crushes you to him with a strength tenfold of what Choso had been using - almost animalistic - until you’re lurching back and gaping at the fact that your feet were now dangling almost two whole feet off of the ground.

Snapping your head to his face and- 

What…the…f-

“Don’t scream!” In a startling split-second, that black mass of goop masking Choso’s face slithers away in tiny tendrils to reveal, well, Choso. 

And honestly, you’re not sure if that wants to make you scream even more or just shuts you up completely. But whilst you ogle whatever it is in front of you, Choso keeps plowing on. 

“This- ah, this is what I meant by a…thing.” He’s stammering out nervously, dark brows crinkling with nervousness as he watches on for your reaction. “Basically- a few weeks ago- my body got infected by this alien thing- a ‘symbiote’, it said, and I-”

“Improved.”

You’re feeling that temptation to exhaust your lungs with yells once more as Choso’s swallowed up within that dark matter. 

Muscular and big. 

Except this time it was formulating a mouth - all wide and decorated in tiny, jagged canines - and slanted white eyes with not a pupil in sight. A dexterous tongue gliiiides down the crevice of its sharp mouth, glittered with strands of slobber. “We are Venom, pretty girl. And you smell…”

Venom’s voice was deep. Coarse. A rumbling bass that made the very bottom of your stomach quiver- you’re distracted only by the growling sniff he lets out. Monstrous ivory eyes locked right between your heated core-

“-delicious.”

Oh…he was reaching well near eight feet and twitching from the inside out once Choso fights to regain control. 

“A-as you can see-” Smiling sheepishly down at you - you blink, and your best friend was suddenly back. Eyes hooded, mouth snarling, looking ruined. What the fuck. “-he really seems to like your scent and it’s driving me-”

“Stop talking, boy, and mate the girl.”

“Shut up.” 

You blink almost owlishly in disbelief, and in something…else, as you feel your thighs clench together. A slight motion that Venom surely doesn’t miss, if the way that Choso’s lungs heave with more gulps of your sweet, sweet leaking pheromones was anything to go by.

And then, you’re finally piping up– “Let…let me see that tongue of Venom’s again?”

.

.

.

“A-are you sure? W-we’re best friends, and I’ve never…”

You’d be rolling your eyes at the repeated question if it wasn’t for the fact that Choso Kamo just looked so pretty when he was knelt obediently at the very foot of your bed. 

A thin sliver of sweat sliding down his temple, breaths coming out in heated gusts, slender hands balling into a fist and shivering once you smear your legs open just a fraction more. Twitching, white-knuckled like he was forcing himself to not just ruin you right then and there. 

“Mhm.” You’re nodding, and the very action is enough for him to snap his eyes down where your cotton panties were starting to dampen and swallow. “Please, handsome- don’t be coy.”

It was almost too good to be true. 

But, fuck, Choso wasn’t waiting around ‘till he wakes up from this dream.

With so much pent-up eagerness that he felt his lips twist into a sleazy grin- Choso’s crawling himself the few inches it was to stuff himself nose-deep between your pretty legs. 

“O-oh.”

First it was the tiniest tug on your restless hips, then it was a sniff- and then it was a bite of his honed, glossy pearly whites over the lacy lil’ bow homed on the hem of your underwear. A throaty groan snarling through his teeth– “Oh, baby…”

That did it-

Quick as a flash, he’s snagging his teeth on the flimsy fabric of your panties and all but tearing it off of you. Rip-rip-ripping to simply push its tatters to the side, Choso doesn’t even fully take it off before he was simply drooooling. 

Gulping and gulping the scent of your leaking hole. 

“Sweet.” He gasps out, words taking on a dark edge. And you swear the chocolate color of his irises looked as if they were almost glowing, “So sweet.”

“Hurry, the symbiote hungers.”

Sharp jaw ticking as he ignores Venom’s request, the fattened pad of his thumb spanks down on your swollen pussylips and spreads you all wide open. Cock twitching at the deafening wet squelch! that chimes once he gathers copious wads of saliva and spits. 

All over your lustrous cunt, slicking out a mess so great that it was already starting to form a puddle underneath your silken sheets. 

“And mine.”

“Tch.”

And Choso wasn’t just greedy - he was outright gluttonous. 

“You…you taste this sweet, baby?”

“Oh- ohhhh fuck–!” You’re shrilling out a syrupy moan once his chilly tongue piercing flicks at the tippy-top hood of your clit like a lollipop. Taking extra care to press down hard so that it has you thrashing-

“There? S’that good?” He’s roaming his mouth over your puffed-up lips eagerly, yearning. Not knowing what he was doing, just addicted. “You’re so wet, baby- s’this for me- r-really, really f’me?”

He just couldn’t believe it- and the only answer he’s getting is a few soft gasps of oh! and yes! Spit n’ whines overflowing your tongue with every slap of his textured tastebuds. You couldn’t help but nod your head down and admire just how drunken Choso was as he’s suckin’ away on your perky clit. 

The hollows of his cheeks sucked-in and flushed red, spit-glossed mouth wrapped snugly ‘round your sensitive nub. 

You’re whimpering, head thrown back at the grunts he muffles out between your legs. 

“M-more, Cho–” You mewl out in a tone that makes his tensed hips rut forward like an animal, immediately grinding against the firm base of your bedframe. Fuck. Snaking a hand down to intertwine with his mussed-up bangs, and tugging them free of his bun- “Wan’ more.”

“More.”

“Hear that? I wanna taste.”

His tongue’s so thirsty - throat so parched - that it lets out the most sinful sluuuuurp at the very first slobbery drag from the dewy base of your quivering pussy, openin’ up your plump folds so widely agape to lather down on the very top of your clit. 

Nodding and nodding and nodding- grinding up to tease the mushy tip of his tongue past your slippery folds just the tiniest bit. “More- please.”

And it’s not like Choso didn’t hear you - fuck, it’s that you’d broken him.

Because it happens in a singular nanosecond, it happens so fast you’re seeing cartoonish stars in your vision when he’s hauling you halfway across the bed like some glorified ragdoll. 

Thighs thrown over his shoulder, trembly hands guided through his sweaty scalp, mouth wolfish- 

“Keh. No wonder you’re a virgin, boy.”

“Sh-shut up.” He’s answering out loud, sending the most electric buzzes down your spine as he nips on the fleshy slope of your pussylips. His own ears pop! as the pointed curve of his chin hits your treacly cunt with a smack of skin-on-skin, so deep. Nose-deep till those lined tattoos on his face. 

Ready to suffocate if he has to.

“Oi- give me a taste, and I’ll give her…more.”

Upper lip glueing to your pussy, Choso’s making you scream every time the sharp ends of his fangs snag on your clit. “Shut up shut up shut up-‘

“Ch-Cho?” Fuck, it takes you every ounce of strength in your body to lift your head up from your creaky bedsprings. Glassily eyeing the way that his grip on your hips turns bruising with semi-circular claw-marks of his, “Everything hah! alright?”

And shit- he breaks off slightly from your dripping wet pussy once- twice. Thrice, each n’ every time letting off a pained grunt that forces him back to stuff himself at his favorite spot between your legs.

He couldn’t even break off to speak. To breathe.

Still murmuring his response at the outer edges of your saturated core, with so many numerous strings of slick dangling from his rovering, swollen lips. Gingerly, “It’s V-Venom, he…wants a taste too.”

“Oh.”

And shit- Choso didn’t need Venom’s superhuman abilities to notice the instant that you’re growing so much wetter. A silky torrent of sap gushing out of you to lacquer your inner thighs like a fountain, already making him lurch- and suck and suck up every pearly droplet.

“I…” You’re starting off, lip chewed underneath your teeth in a way that almost makes him jealous. The memory of his extravagant tongue still fresh in your mind, “-wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh? Well…”

“-about time.”

As Choso lets Venom take over, you can’t help but gasp.

Oh, you were never getting used to this. 

He was about two feet taller, hulking, monstrous. And the only thing more lecherous than that toothy grin he wore was his tongue - sliiiiding out all its endless inches and swaying teasingly to n’ fro in midair. Big. 

So, so big. 

“Eyes…” He’s looming over until scalding hot breath humidifies your features, tonality so gruff that it rumbles your very bones. Oh, he already knows of his effect on you - can flick his tastebuds out and taste it in the saccharine air. “Lungs…pancreas…”

The curly, reddened end of it stingingly slapping down on your thigh, Venom’s tongue is oh-so-long enough that he can lace it all over your shivering leg and wrench them further and further open–

“Pussy.”

And then it feels like you’re being split apart- just a few solid, thorough inches of Venom’s slimy tongue burrowing past your puffy folds, keeping your jolting legs pinned firmly by a few of his Stygian spirals. 

One taste. One taste is all it takes. 

You’re being rendered utterly stupid by the swashing flicks of his pointed muscle stirrin’ up your insides, wriggling in circular slurps around and around and around your gummy walls. Scarfing you down until his tongue reaches the very gooey bottom of your cunt and kisses your cervix. 

So hard that you’re pushed up the mattress and he’s forced to wrap a few tendrils that reel you back down again. 

“Heh, finish line.”

“What- oh…oh my god-” Tears drip down in constant rivers from your heavy lids, wailing whimpers breaking off from your larynx at every smack-smack-smack he left on that spongy end. Further pushing aside your panties, retracting aaaaaalll the way back to thruuuust- “Y-your tongue is sooo big.”

“So many snacks. How good.” He’s tittering out with a thundering pant, spiked ends of his canines littering your skin with gnawing bites. “How delicious. How…”

He’s sloshing his tongue almost aggressively inside, whacking your g-spot in-between his barreling journey to fuck you with his tongue just as much as he wanted to with his cock. 

Lolling sloppily, thrusting, dragging the ridges of his tastebuds across your g-spot. 

And it takes you a few more vulgar strokes, it takes you the sound of that familiarly melodic voice for you to flap your tear-heavy lashes open and finally look once more between your legs. “-mine.”

It’s almost as if both Choso and Venom couldn’t decide on who wanted to make out with your soft, candied pussy more. 

Because it was your best friend’s pretty upper half of his face peeking out from between your splattered legs, but Venom’s mouth that was pumpin’ addictively past your rubbery entrance. Over and over. 

“N-ngh pleeease!” Comes out your repeated record of whines, every mushy gyration so good that you can’t help but rock into every second of his frenzied cadence. Creeping down one of your hands to smear your pussylips wider with a soppy slurp so that he could go even deeper, “I-it’s so good- don’t stop don’t stop.”

And the look in Choso’s dark eyes is the most raw glint of disbelief that you’ve ever seen.

Unsteady thighs clenching as he hits his v-line against the wooden board of your bed and grinds, unwilling to angrily fist his raging cock the way he ached n’ leaked to, unwilling to take his hands off of you for a mere second.

“N-no no, move that hand, baby. Lemme see her- Please.” You’ve never seen your cute best friend dare to be so rude- urgently swatting away those few fingers of yours to replace with his own knobbly, greedy ones. 

Pressin’ on your weeping, swollen clit with the flat end of his digit - you’re coating his chipped black nail polish with so many layers of goopy slick that it trickles down to his wrist. 

And oh, you’d almost forgotten just got many frigid metal rings that Choso wore on his hot fingers. Sappily nuzzling the inside of your left thigh the very moment he’s slipping his middle past your widely messy hole and curling–

 “How could I? How c-could I stop?” He’s muttering away - octaves higher than you’re used to, hitting and hitting your bruised and battered g-spot at the very same tempo that Venom was, too.

Double whack after whack that made your spine arch curvaceously off of the dampened mattress, icy edges of his rings scraping your walls. Choso just salivates at the heavenly sight of you below him, “How could you even- think- I’m-”

“-addicted.”

And Venom chooses just this precise moment to make your stupidly muddled mind remember his presence until you can’t think at all. 

Prolonging his plumply constricted tongue - using his symbiotic powers and extending it even more feet stuffed inside your tightly cozy walls, slashing the very tip to become split-ended. 

“Pretty. Pretty pussy.” He’s groaning out carnally, and your throat rips with a scream once he’s starting up a thrusting pace that flicks at your weeping cunt with those two slithering ends of his monstrous tongue. “Don’t know who’s prettier- you or…”

You’re shivering then - shivering at the windy gust of air inhaled once Venom tugs you even closer by his black coils and sniffs. Breath hot, his French kiss on your pussy hotter. “-her.”

“Fuck- fuck, you’re making such a mess, Choso.”

“Mhmmmm—”

Shifting between both his tongue and Venom’s - every transformation had you dizzy. Alternating between Venom’s hard, almost violent thrusts with his split-end tongue to Choso’s sensual tickling of his piercing into your most favorite spots. 

Glittery slick and spittle dripping down like a glazing polish, Choso’s swallowing down every sweet gumdrop like he’s a man starved. 

Like a damn dog in heat, every pant of the honeyed pheromones between your legs was driving him fucking mad. Making his hips thrust-

“Sh-she’s drooling almost as much as ngh- me, baby.” He’s fighting back that damn parasite for more more more of you- for every squelch! once he’s mazing his second, third lengthy finger inside. 

Searching for your g-spot like treasure trove - hitting and hitting, you’re so pretty and gone that Choso’s chuckling. “Ride it.” Pap-pap-pap goes his hits to your delicate, most tender spots, faster. “Ride it- yeah, ride m’f-face like it’s yours, baby- ride it.”

“S-shoooo much–” And you don’t know whether it’s the torrents of slicked saliva falling from your mouth or the sheer overstimulation that has you jumbling up your syllables - but it’s enough to make both Choso and Venom grin. “It’s so ngh- haaaa–”

“She’s close.”

“Fuh-fuck.” He’s spitting into your drooling lips, right above your pulsating nub. Ringed digits so thick that it makes your knees shake and weaken. Sloppy. “Faster. Harder. Use me, baby-”

Again and again and again.

Your brain’s fuzzily stupid by the time you finally recognize that familiar twist at the bottom of your tummy, too. Blubbering out an unsteady, “P-please! M’not gonna- ngh! last, Cho.”

“I know- I know I know I know– make a mess.” He’s spitting out once more, letting a wad of saliva stream straightly down your slit and liiicking it all up before Venom overtakes him to keep on probin’ your entrance fully. Swirling every speckled tastebud until it was like the symbiote was trying to brand you–

And with a gluttonous swipe at the fresh beads of slick homed on top of your nub, Choso wastes no time before pinching your clit- 

“Cum. Cum on my tongue, baby. Mine.”

-and making your field of vision simply shatter with tears once you’re crashing into that built-up high. 

“Shit- shiiiiit. I-it feels so good, Cho- I’m- nghhh I’m…” It was an orgasm like no other- fuck, any of your toys were paling in comparison to Choso and his…parasite. 

Fully himself now, you gawk with your mouth unlatched into a sagging oh! at the primal way that Choso’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs with each eager swallow. Thin lines of sappy slick falling from the pink, puckered corners of his lips and waterfalling all down the side of his damn throat. 

“Th-tha’s it-” His sopping wet tongue drags uuuup n’ down your open folds to trawl you through your euphoria, every lolling flick of the curled end jostling against your thoroughly-stuffed folds.

Pumping, pounding your glutinous walls until they’re sticking to his barreling digits like adhesive, the metallic band curving his fingers smooches your g-spot softly. Dimly-lit molten eyes widening at the sheer ribbons of sap you’re letting off with every white-hot bolt of pleasure.

“This- this is all f’me–?” He’s crooning out, dazed. Letting his jaw fall open with every quiver you’re instinctively clenching with your cunt, “All for me- me. More- more, baby.”

“For me, you mean.”

Choso- Venom- Choso just keeps on alternating their slobbering drags of your hips until you’re completely wrung dry. Even the tiniest spank of their rugged tastebuds making you squeal with overstimulation, tears pinpricking behind your eyes. 

“Aw, c-c’mon–” Your best friend slurs out in a tingling, pussydrunken tone - so gone that his perspired head falls n’ cuddles your thigh. Begging, “M-more…?”

“But Cho…m’sensitive.”

And he’s perking his head up like the thought didn’t even occur to him - only then do you get a final, filthy look at your best friend after so long. 

Grinning, he sucks on each of his polished, soppy fingers. Each and every one - looking right into your dilated pupils, “That was my first time.”

Fuck.

He was pretty. 

Granted, you always did know that, but right now - with Choso’s dark strands of hair hooding his half-opened gaze, what little you could see of his eyes gleaming, cheekbones burning scorched red - he was dreamy.

He’s wearing your saccharine wads of slick like a medal of honor. 

Thickly coating everywhere from the tattoo on his nose, to the lower half of his face, to bubble all down his jaw. A slippery wire of it spills from the corner of his mouth as it starts moving, an almost airy tone seeping into his voice. “I-I’m never wiping this off- hey!”

Before he knows it, Venom’s tendrils dart out to filthily lick off the remnant excess his host cherished so much.

Grinning, “Delicious.”

Fighting back his damn alien acquaintance, you stifle a giggle as Choso’s rosy lips jut out into a pout. Lifting his knee onto the bed- well, grindin’ it right between your legs so that he’s putting pressure on your throbbing slope. 

Fleshy thumb and index squeezing your cheeks together, “Spit in my mouth.”

“Wh-what?”

“Spit-” His sweaty forehead sticks against yours, humid breath clouding up your senses. And you could count every long lash, every smudge of his dark eyeliner. Hiccuping, “-in my mouth.”

And the moment you do- fuck, the moment you’re pursing your spit-glued lips to let out a saccharine web of saliva that slops right down his pinkish tongue with a splat! So loud and filthy and sinful that Choso only as the time to breath out a shallow ‘fuck!’ before he’s cumming.

Burning hot and feverish. Right then and there to create a dripping damp spot in his trousers- “Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit- you’re t-too-”

“Great going, virgin.”

“Shut up-” Choso grits through clenched teeth, desperately trying to heave his breaths back into some semblance of normalcy. Failing, once you immediately reach over and tug his sweatpants down-

He was cumming and cumming so much that you’re met with a white, streaming wet mess that gleams down both of Choso’s meaty thighs. They’re shivering with each ribbony string of seed that oozes down his long limbs, “O-oh, so pretty, Cho.”

“Oho? She’s an interesting one.”

“I-I know…”

And you’re not just talking about his orgasm.

Because when you’d imagined - on those long, lonely nights - that your best friend would be big…you didn’t expect that he’d be big. 

Damn near ten- no, maybe even eleven inches of fat, hot girth that swelled his mushroomy tip to be as cutely pink as a strawberry and just as thick. 

Your mouth waters as you follow the winding lightning patterns of his puffy veins, oh-so-prominently bloated that you swear you could count every throb-throb-throb. 

And what- what was that?

No, you weren’t imagining it. Choso Kamo had a tiny studded Prince Albert’s piercing right near the tip-top of his bulging cockhead. Cold and sparkling underneath the dim bedroom lighting. 

Mindlessly, you’re darting over to swipe one of your thumbs across a creamy bead of cum that’d started drenching his dark happy trail.

“O-oh.” Choso grunts at the look on your gorgeous face once he’s letting his chubby balls twitch n’ soak your skin with yet another splurging streak of seed. Again. Just from you touching him. “No one’s ever touched me like this- fuck!”

And you just had to find out whether he tasted as sweet as he looked.

Planting your mouth over his juice-capped head with a wet plop! you hum with utter delight at the caramel salted taste of him. Aching and pulsing underneath his piercing with just the tiniest kitten lick to his leaking orifice. 

“Do it, boy.”

“Wh-what?”

“Do it. I’m inside your mind, do it.”

And Choso really wouldn’t have considered being that rude - really. 

He really, really wanted to take his time slow n’ sultry with the one person who’s been the girl of his dreams from the moment he met you.

But fuck- Venom was jerking his body so that with the slightest rock, he’s rutting like a fucking animal deep inside the hot cavern of your mouth. Staining a milky white lipgloss around your plumpened lips, pushing his seed inside—

Venom wanted to see you choke.

“M-mmpf—!” And you can’t lie about the way the sheer force and heady musk of Choso’s v-line made your thighs squeeze.

“That’s it- cry. Cry on my cock- atta girl.”

“Fuck! I’m sorry-” He’s panicking from above as your pretty nose detaches from the curly black tuft of hair at his toned pelvis. “I’m sorry I’m sorry, baby. Are you-”

Only…for all his concerned apologies to shrivel up on Choso’s tongue when he catches the way you’re smiling. 

Cockdrunk and stinging at the back of your throat with the way that Venom had actually elongated Choso’s already-massive cock just a few more centimeters by accident. Oh, fuck…

The hazed look that’d crept into your eyes as you look up makes the towering man shiver. Striking him to his very cock, “C’mon- fuck me, Cho.”

“C’mon. Don’t wanna disappoint the pretty girl.”

Choso doesn’t even remember getting rid of his undershirt, his sweatpants, everything but his silver rings and necklace - but what he does remember is the way your eyes had widened just the slightest fraction as you took in all of him.

Shit, was he sculpted by the Greek gods or what?

You could count every one of his eight, toned washboard abs - making the broad width of his pecs look so thick. So engulfing as they tense n’ ripple once your best friend slouches sexily on top of you to pull off your cotton t-shirt.

“Oh.” He’s gasping- you’re not wearing a bra. Completely naked underneath him except for the lecherous remnants of your torn panties still hanging on. 

Ones that he keeps on - even when you try to shuffle them down with a whine - once he’s flipping the two of you over to let you straddle his slenderly sculptured hips. 

“Keh- this position.”

“Shut up and watch.”

Blushing and pretty.

Choso’s teary lashes knock against the apples of his cheeks as he blinks furiously up at you, throat scratchily raw. Gulping more of your scent, “R-ride me, baby.”

“Cho–” You’re sliding the mounds of your ass gingerly against his aching hot length, shudders skittering down your spine at the sheer size of him pressing up into you. “Y-you’re so big, though- don’t know if it’ll fit.”

“I’ll make it fit-”

“A-am I actually that big?” He’s whispering, in awe. Watching with damply bated breath as he’s spanking his cock against your right ass cheek with a wet smack! smack! smack!

Pointing that curved, bulbous tip right between your pussylips and sliiiiiding it up n’ down so that you’re coating him in all your sweet juices, Choso’s guiding his girth until your hole was quivering for something - anything. 

Him him him. 

Panting at the first squeeze of his reddened, blushing tip- “Oh, you feel like th-this?” His pitched voice wavers almost as much as his heavy eyelids, falling apart with just that first taste of your perfect cunt. “Fuh-fuuuuuck fuck fuck fuck! Baby- you feel like this?”

This was heaven.

And he’s spurting out a few stray wads of cum just from feeling your velvety walls, letting it thwack! against your goopy innards n’ stick to your trembling folds. 

“You got it- you got it.” Choso’s voicebox cracks with a lil’ whimper at that snug resistance, “You can take it- you can take it. I’ll make it fit.”

“Oh- oh my god- Choso- Cho–!”

“S’it too biiig for my girl, hmm?” Croaking out in unison with the aged bedcoils of your mattress, each and every time Choso jerks his hips off the bed and pushes. Just to fit in. “Baby-” Choso gasps as you throw your head back with a mewl at the sheer size of him.

His painfully-aching cock was so big that just the stoutest inch being bullied inside was enough to make your vision blotch with white. Rounded circumference stretching n’ stretching your slick-flooded walls stupid- “I’m sorry, baby- sorry s’big. But you’re my girl- my girl can take it- you can…you can take it.”

It’s inch by overlarge inch.

Choso’s scraping his way down your walls so sensually that you could feel your fuzzy brain sparking every time one of his prominent veins was draaaagging a zig-zagging pattern along.

Curled toes twitching with each passing second, “S-s’it almost all the way in, baby–?”

“Mhm—” And you’re just letting out the cutest cry once he finally eases himself all the way in, practically impaling you. Head throwing back, tits bouncing, cunt overspilling. 

“Hmmm…maybe this position isn’t so bad.”

Choso didn’t disagree, but it took every single shred of rationality left inside of him to push back Venom’s rasping voice and wrench out a desperate thrust. Allll the way from the globular ends of his ruby-red tip till your sensitive pussy tickled against his soaked-through happy trail.

Tenderly caressing your palm down his hardened front, “I-it’s in–?” Your hitched tone makes his eyes roll back, and yet- and yet, he’s fighting to bring them back down n’ watch your gaped bounces back into his sloppy pace. “It’s in. O-oh my god, c-can feel you all the way in hck! here.”

He’s just so big.

And you’re swearing that Choso only fattens himself even bigger, fatter, wider once you slide your hand about halfway up your tummy. Feeling for that one spot he was bruisin’ right into your spongy cervix.

Biting his lip not to cum again, “Yeah-” You’re jostled ever-so-slightly on top of him as he’s sucking in a deeeep breath, “Yeah yeah yeah- you got it. Y-you better take all of it hngh! Take every. Single. Inch.”

Every vein, every sliding ridge, every throb that was bucked into your readily-awaiting entrance- Choso wasn’t just mazing open your cunt- 

He was spearheading you with such thorough thrusts that made your back curve backwards just so.

“Tch- I’d fuck her even better.”

“No you w-wouldn’t.”

Lazily weaving tendrils start tickling your outer pussy, threatening to slip n’ slide their greedy way past your lips. “Is that a challenge? Summon Venom, if you dare.”

“What’s he saying, Cho?” You coo, tear-shimmered lashes blinking adorably down at his internal argument. And as if he could ever say no to you - hell, the response is dripping from his tongue before he even realizes it.

Grouching out, though he couldn’t deny the way his own cock was jolting at the very idea- “H-he wants a try, too…says he’ll be even better.”

A cockdrunk smile plasters itself onto your face- “Prove it.”

And you were right in your prediction - Venom didn’t just make Choso meaner, it made him bigger. 

So big, in fact, that the bawling tip gently kissin’ your g-spot was instantaneously skidding past to give your cervix a longer, harsher probe. 

So hard that you’re sure there’s now a permanent crater of his exact meaty circumference. And you’re being filled with the distinct feeling that Venom could’ve gone bigger - he just didn’t want to break you…yet. 

Draping across his oversized pectorals, you’re nothing against his over eight foot height. “Y-you…”

Those slimy raven molasses covering his half-fucked face once more to form a rude Cheshire-cat smile. “Me.” Planting an Earth-shattering, mind-numbing ram you’re feeling all the way in your lungs, his pulsing length is so widely thick that Venom has to bite down on his lips and manhandle you for his thrusts to move to and fro. “I am inside your pussy, greedy girl. Me.”

Flicking his dexterous shaft to brush your tingling g-spot, he’s using his powers so much that you could almost feel yourself bonding with the symbiote, with Choso.

“I know every inch, nerve, and spot inside of you. I can make you scream-” Coiling mass contracting to barrel your elastic walls even wider, you’re rightfully crying out at the way he molds himself deliciously into your very walls. 

“Nghhh- fuck! Fuck, y-you’re in sooo deep-”

Stealing your sweetened scent, making him heated. “Hmmm, kiss me.”

But that didn’t mean that your best friend- your…Choso was going down that easy.

In a few more brushstrokes of his ravaging cock against your softest spot - before you can kiss him - Choso’s blinking back the cobwebs of his symbiote so that his face spies out. Only the lower half of his body - his length - partially-covered–

“Keh- annoying.”

“Should’ve- should’ve done this sooner-” He hisses out through a narrowed pant, flecks of spittle flying angrily across the non-existent space between your two faces. “-done this muuuuch sooner- you h-have no idea.”

“O-oh nghhh fuck fuck fuck–” The backs of your thighs ache after every slamming pap! you’re bouncing back into his swervin’ hips. 

Pounding away like he was crazed, every jackhammer only makes Choso grow more feral. Every swab of his prolonged cock inside your silken pussy feral-

His rummaging, fat-tipped shaft was so large that you could feel the way his ridged cockhead scraped your cervix with his studded Prince Albert’s, roaming like a searchlight to spot your most favorite angles.

Eyeliner practically staining down his cheeks now, “Should’ve fuh-fucked you the moment I ngh- met you. Should’ve fucked you r-right there on the lecture table in front of everyone- sh-should’ve—” You’re squealing once his doughy, ringed fingertips dart down to toy with that pretty lil’ clit of yours. “-should’ve let her drive me hck! crazy sooner, baby.”

Oh, he was babbling. 

Cooing, you slither one of your hands through the dampened valleys of his dark hair, “Awww– d-drivin’ you crazy, Cho–?”

“Yes.” He’s seething, he’s heaving. Saturated pheromones driving him mad, he can’t help but flop his pierced tongue across your lips and suck. “S-s’not even that damn parasite anymore-”

Pace growing sloppier by the minute, barely even noticing when those same digits coddling your clit had started to twist and turn in shape. Overtaken by Venom and his meeeean tendrils that alternate between dragging on your overstimulated clit and slipping inside…

“Sh-shit– Venom?”

“Sayin’ another man’s name when I-I’m here- ngh–” Choso’s nosebridge crinkles as he teases you, watery honeypool eyes dropping down to where your glossy hole was swallowing him whole. 

Mouth falling into an ah! at the way Venom’s wisping vines were still wrapped snugly to smooch your walls wiiiide open. And fuck- fuck, the sight. The sight of you bulging with all of his staggering cock still taking in more, more, more of him.

“I see…” He’s giggling - giggling, glassy eyes boring dead-on up at you through his curtained bangs and oh- they were shaped into hearts. Baritone voice rasping as one of his veins itches your walls, snagging past your underwear. “Greedy girl.”

It’s almost as if you didn’t know whether it was Choso or Venom taking over now, only fucked dumb with every sharp jut. Both his cock- his tentacle-like strands spreading you open, targeting your g-spot over n’ over with his plummy, split-ended tip. 

Digging inside, scouring so wetly.

Spread twice as open that the squelch! squelch! squelch! of it resonating each nanosecond was quickly becoming Choso’s favorite song. 

You were damn near shattered.

“I-I’m so close-” You’re hiccuping through your salty tears, brows scrunching at the stormy wave of bliss that was surely oncoming. “-f-fuck! Choso m’gonna cum.”

“Fuck- fuck, m’not gonna last either–” His response comes out guttural, and it’s just so sexy the way that he’s forced to gnaw on the strawberry gummy texture of the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from filling you up right then and there. 

Tender, aching balls squeezing dangerously before-

“Breed her.” Venom’s voice thunders out enough for the both of you to hear, excitement spiking down your spine and straight to where your pussy was drooling. “I know you want to. I know you both want it.”

Shocked, Choso sounds as if he could still barely even believe this was all real. “I-is that true, baby?” Tentatively craning you over to drag his lips softly against yours, “Can I really…inside…my girl?”

“Mhm– please- please, I wan’ it all inside—!” 

“G-get ready.” 

The plush, cushy tip of his cock outlines a water-logged line straight down your cervix as Choso leans further into the bed. Feet planting down flatly so that he can pressurize his powerful, inhuman hips to thrust-

“She’s about t-to be full- so full.” You can feel such pangs of desire as his teeth pull back into a primal snarl, tear-glinted eyes locked permanently where his red, swollen cock was disappearing between your legs. “So full that you won’t even remember what it ngh- feels like w-without me stuffed inside this cunt.”

Squirming with a yearning for sweet, sweet release once he hovers a fingertip over to about halfway up your tummy and draws an invisible line there.

“H-here.” Deepening it with the pressure of his rude digits, Choso’s right hand still rolls over your clit with a few shapes of hearts. Once. Twice. Thrice. “Get ready here–”

Whining, “I’m- I’m gonna-”

Before Venom’s slimy tendrils pinch it once more and you’re cumming- and so is he. 

But Choso doesn’t even realize it - doesn’t even remember to breathe the very moment you’re creaming all down his pummeling cock. Such cute twitches taking over your body as you shut your eyes and riiiide it all out. 

Using his sloppily saturated shaft like a dart that was pokin’ the bullseye of your pussy again and again. Every brushing skid straight across slapping your g-spot repeatedly to drag out your high with a squeeeelch.

And Choso’s licking his lips at the glossy lathering that glued to your folds, then - and only then - catching sight of the dollops of creamy white that was frothing out of your glistening entrance. 

Thick and hot. 

Every splat! of his ribbony sap hits the back of your pussy like heavily condensed cream, swashing inside of you like a sizzling second skin. It feels so filthy to have his mess beading down your walls and forming such a soaking ring ‘round his bulky hilt. 

Your meaty folds spread to smear the puddle that was forming up his happy trail, “You- you feel so good inside.”

“O-oh-” Almost thankful as Venom’s dark strands push aside your torn, sullied panties further for his host to take a better look. Blushing all the way to the tattoos across his nosebridge, “A…a creampie.” 

He’d cum- he’d really, really cum - inside of you. Pressing down on the prettily jiggling tummy bulge he was fucking into you- and it’s enough to make you scream. “Want more.”

And you’re just tapering off from your own orgasm, eardrums nearly popped yet still managing to register those words. Clenching, “Wh-what? Will it- hngh- even fit, Choso?”

“No- nononono it will- it will.” Urgent, rapidly he’s flipping the two of you immediately over to hover on top of you and rut- like an animal. 

You’re gasping once your head plops down on the soft mattress, heels struggling to cling onto Choso’s sweat-laminated hips until he’s trekking his beefy arms underneath and hauling them over his shoulders. Bending, bending, bending into a–

Oh, a mating press. 

He had you manhandled like some lawnchair into a mating press. The sloppiest of its kind, he’s using Venom’s tendrils to lock your ankles together in just two blinks of his eye.

“I can make it fit–” Growling through the tiniest gaps of his grit pearly whites, he kisses his forehead to yours and inhales that sweet scent of yours still permeating the heady air. The chilly heard pendant of his necklace hits the front of your chin and makes you keen. Rough, rugged through punctuating rams, “I will- I will I will- it’ll fit- It will.”

Shivering and shuddering. 

He struggles to even focus his eyesight on you properly - and Choso’s heated maw droooops at the deafening squelch! your pussy pushes out once he sinks all the way back in.

A thick capping of white syrup rising all the way to the top once his massive girth once more fills out your every nook and cranny. He’s still so ravenous that the sight down there is enough to make his mouth water. 

And this position, this angle made Choso’s elongated shaft lean into your g-spot so bruisingly that with only a few more strokes you’re cumming again. 

Fleeting, and faster than you both know it.

It’s only once Choso sniffs at the air and grins that he realizes the rapidly pulsing ba-dump–! of your velveteen walls was because you’re bein’ his good girl and cumming once more. 

Heavy breeder balls striking the treacly slope of your cunt until they were raw and red - you’re sure that the both of you are bruised everywhere. His thighs on your own, your ass on his pelvis, you can’t even wriggle your ankles free because Venom’s keeping a firm grip on them.

Rendering you at the full mercy of Choso’s thrashes dragging out your high, “P-please- fuck- it just f-feels too good, Cho-!”

“S’good- s’good-” He’s flushing out in something that looks like a mix of relief and need. No sooner milking himself on your tightly clenched pussy until you’re being filled all over again.

This time with white, wispy ropes of seed that ache his sensitive shaft to spray out, still coating your gummy walls with viscid layers upon layers. So much.

“So good f’me- so good. Look how much sh-she’s ngh- suckin’ in, sooooo full and- and warm…” He was practically twitching right now, trembling. “Jus’ look at that greedy girl.”

You couldn’t even be moved without feeling all its wads splosh inside of you.

And he still wanted more. 

Yelping, your legs struggle to shut once his sloppy cadence turns even sloppier. Lazier. 

“O-one more-” Choso’s puffing out in a clouded pant, “Keep- keep those pretty legs hck! open f’me- I beg. M’begging- take it, baby.”

Vein-covered forearms placing attractively upon either side of your head to lace right on top of your crowned scalp and push- Weaving wines of the symbiote winding down to furiously pump his cock.

To bloat himself up oh-so-thick straight after two whole orgasms, flying up and down up and down up and down to make his cherry-red divot start weeping once more. “One more- one more.”

“Nghh fuck fuck- Choso–!” Your lower lip wobbles cutely at the carnal glissade of his washboard abs down your own front, he was so strong that you could count every flex and ripple. “S-shooo sensitive-” Eyes shuttering tearfully, you can only jerk your hips up weakly. “-so much. Too much.”

“Never too much.”

Venom’s voice speaks up from somewhere, and you’re feeling the snaking, slimy journey of his tendrils twistin’ around your tits to grope. A greedy handful that teases your hardened nipples so–

“Less talking. More fucking.”

“W-woah-” Choso breathes at the sight before him. You were ruined in only ways he’d seen in his wettest dreams - and it’s not like he was doing any better. Because the way your hips were moving…“B-birthing hips- look at h-her take that big fuckin’ cock. So pretty- so pretty so pretty so pretty.”

You’re so overstimulated that even the slightest brush of his lightning bolted veins makes you gasp- tears springing up to your eyes. “F-feels so…oh.” So good, his stamina was maddening. 

“Yeah? Yeahhh? S’all for you- only for you-” Purposefully pressing up close so that your poor clit gets rubbed over by that patch of tawny brown at the base of his abs. 

And by now, even Choso’s swivellin’ cold piercing was molten hot and drawing wet slides of cum across your walls. Fervently. 

He was fucking you like he couldn’t get enough - would never possibly be able to get enough. Every thrust had him pushing you down once more after the papping recoil, gliding your feverishly sweat-slicked bodies against each other because Choso couldn’t bear to part. “Only for you only for you only for you-”

So gone that he almost doesn’t even register Venom’s deep tone muttering in his ear– “Three.”

Every heated bang of his mushroomy tip plummeting to the back of your overspilling cunt was meant to milk himself. Over and over, he’s tempting out just one more orgasm - just one more to fill you up with more cream. “Two.”

And in your rambling stupor, you’re being drilled into the mattress so spellbound that you don’t even notice the way your unfastened mouth nibbles on Choso’s sexy silver necklace. 

“One.”

Gnawing on for dear life as you squirt.

“Oh.”

Simply spraying him with a voluminous heap of your sweet, sappy juices - Choso has the mindless audacity to crane his head even further downwards and catch whatever stray remnants hit his awaiting maw.

“F-fuck…” You feel like you’ve just been put through ten thousand wringers and milked dry from your poor, tingling core. Gushing and gushing- it’s almost embarrassing how much you’re leaking around Choso’s meaty base. 

Well, embarrassing for everyone but Choso…and Venom.

He was mesmerized - he was hypnotized. A glistening few droplets of pussydrunken drool slipping from the corner of his mouth as he just watched himself get drenched in all your torrential orgasm whilst he emptied out for the third- fourth, fuck he doesn’t even know - inside you.

Raw, and messy - milking himself until he’s hitting a damn dry orgasm. 

“O-oh.” Choso doesn’t even know what to fucking say above your cutely trilling mewls, every languid pump of his flinching cock sending massive shockwaves through both of you. He blushes, “Oh.”

“That was fun. Now, make her yours or I will.” Venom grumbles, the symbiote already starting to take over Choso’s body with its blackened mass. 

And the man jolts- remembering all at once that this was you you you underneath him. Thumb absent-mindedly reaching down to write his last name over the mess spurted across your tummy. 

You, who he’s wanted all his life- 

“M-marry me, my girl.”

The smile that breaks across your face is one he’ll remember for eons. 

“I love you, too, Cho–” You’re purring, tucking one of the mahogany strands plastered onto his forehead behind his ear. 

“I love you.” He’s bursting out at once- rose-pink lips wobbly and wet against your own. He’s kissing you like he needed you to breathe, “I love you- oh, how I love you.”

“Satisfying. But we need more.” 

“Dammit.”

And Venom doesn’t care - Venom cackles to himself as he seethes in yet another gust of your honey-dipped scent and pulls out. The sensitivity startling through your body is so shocking that he’s shooting out a dark web that attaches your hips to the bed. Unmoving. 

But, of course, he takes his leisurely time to stroll near the edge of your bed. Monstrously hulking over it to sweep apart your bloated pussylips and watch the way Choso’s cum driiiiips out.

Now completely encompassing his body— “A three course meal. Yum.”

He was far from done.

You’re sobbing at the sloooooow draaaag of his glistening, large tastebuds down your weeping hole. Unapologetic and primal. “F-fuck! Your stamina…” It was truly monstrous just how pent-up that he was right now, being pushed off by your new boyfriend- fiancé? for so long now.  

Holding you tight with a few tendrils ‘round your waist to keep you from running—

“We’re going to keep this one.” His long, venomous teeth sink into your inner-thigh, not toxic to you. Not at all, but claiming; and the feeling was as good as cumming again. “You’re ours now, pretty girl.”

A/N. RAHHH I TOLD Y’ALL I’D DO IT MWAHAHAHAH-

Plagiarism not authorized.

saying ao3 needs to censor certain content is like saying a museum can't have still life art that includes strawberries because you don't like them.

these are not real strawberries. you do not have to, and in fact cannot, eat them. no one with a strawberry allergy will be harmed by looking at them. no migrant workers were exploited in the picking of these strawberries. there were no questionable farming practices or negative environmental impacts from growing or transporting them.

because - and i cannot stress this enough - they are not real strawberries.

if you don't like strawberries, you don't have to look at the paintings. in fact, you can get a map of the museum that lists what works are in what rooms and just. not go in there. if you see one by mistake, you can look away. just keep walking. there's plenty of other stuff to see.

yes, real strawberries can cause real quantifiable harm to real people.

but again. these are not real strawberries.

you may have whatever feelings you like about strawberries, and so can i. you can draw and write about whatever fruit floats your boat, and so can i, even if that happens to be strawberries. and we can hang our art side by side in the same gallery, provided you understand that my strawberries are not about you (and your kumquats are, shocker, not about me) and that - and this is true - neither are real.

and when the fascists break down the doors and grab all the strawberry paintings and heap them in the street and set them on fire, please know that they are coming for your kumquats next.

so if you want a place where you can show off your beautiful kumquat art safely, you're gonna have to tolerate having some strawberries in the next room.

and that's okay. because the strawberries aren't real.

This is a reminder to:

Never mention a possible pregnancy/abortion to anyone, especially not through a social media app messaging service such as messenger, WhatsApp, Instagram DMs, Snapchat, etc.

Delete all period tracking apps and to start tracking using a planner or physical calendar

Book appointments for a form of birth control if possible, or to always carry condoms for yourself and other

Look into sterilization options if that is the route you want to go down (here is a list of 1000 doctors willing to sterilize you without a fight)

Protect your fellow person, protect the women in your life, the queer people, the disabled people, everyone will be affected by this

Form communities. Tell your people that you love them. Protect one another. Check in on one another. None of us are alone.

Does anyone else remember Maximum Ride? Just started rereading it and our friend put it very elegantly, saying it is very fanfiction-y. Still love it tho. We wanna write for that too, some Fang x Reader, maybe. Or Fang x Iggy or Nudge, or Iggy x Reader... Or make an OC???????? Idk we just know we used to adore the series haha 😅

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