The gates shook again.
"I SAID LET ME IN! I KNOW HE'S HERE AND HE SMELLS LIKE SMOKE, LIGHTNING, AND BAD DECISIONS!"
Everyone in the great hall stood frozen as Sasha's voice crackled overhead.
"So… do we let the tiny menace in or what?"
Rhiannan, half laughing, half ready to blast the hinges off, waved her hand.
"Open the gates. Let's meet fate."
The giant doors groaned open, and in she came.
Tiny. Fiery. Covered in glitter and attitude.
She had bright pink hair in chaotic buns, wide glowing eyes, a corset made of woven rose petals and vine, and combat boots that clomped like a war drum. Wings like spun sugar twitched with impatience behind her.
"WHERE IS HE?" she demanded, hands on hips. "I feel him. He's tall, growly, probably scowling. Probably shirtless. WHERE IS MY SOUL CONTRACT?"
Soris Whisperblade Viren had been standing silently in the shadows. As always.
Until now.
His dark wings flared slightly. His breath caught. And then he stepped forward, slow and silent, eyes wide like he'd just seen the gods reach down and slap him across the face.
"No," he whispered.
"YES," she shot back, pointing right at him. "YOU."
He blinked once, twice, like a man short circuiting from divine impact.
"I… what?"
She stomped forward, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and yanked him down to her level.
"You are mine," she growled, tail flicking. "I don't care if you're celibate, traumatized, immortal, or allergic to glitter. I claimed you. And now I'm gonna love you until your wings fall off."
Soris opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"I thought… I thought I was done. Too far gone. Too late."
"Tough," she smirked. "The goddess disagreed."
He dropped to his knees, overcome.
His forehead touched the floor.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you, my goddess."
Rhiannan smiled softly from where she stood, her hand on her belly glowing.
"You've always been worthy, Soris. Now you're not alone anymore."
The pixie crouched beside him, stroking his hair back, suddenly soft.
"Hey. I'm yours. You're mine. We've got time now, okay? I'm not going anywhere."
He reached up slowly, trembling, and cupped her cheek like she was starlight.
The whole room held its breath.
And then Mo whispered, not so quietly:
"IF HE DOESN'T SOB AND KISS HER IN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS I'M GONNA.."
Soris did. A soft, reverent kiss. One that shimmered with divine promise and ancient pain unraveling.
FaeNet? Obliterated.
💬"PIXIE CLAIMS FALLEN ANGEL???" 💬"THE WAY HE KNEELED I'M CRYING" 💬"This man thought he was too broken for love. Then she rolled up in boots and fixed his soul." 💬"Someone make this a ballad. Or a tattoo. Or both."
And somewhere above…
Nythera smiled softly.
"The circle grows. And fate dances faster now."
Soris barely knew how they made it to his chambers.
One second, her tiny fingers were laced with his, the next, he was airborne, carried by instinct and bond fueled adrenaline. The castle blurred beneath them. His heart thundered in his chest. His wings trembled like a stormcloud ready to break.
She kicked open the door to his tower suite like it owed her money.
"You're mine now, angel boy," she purred, her wings fluttering with giddy menace. "And I've waited long enough."
Before he could even answer, she shoved him back onto the bed....hard, and pounced.
His armor clattered to the floor as she stripped him, her wild pink curls bouncing, eyes glowing with feverish intent. When she dropped to her knees, he thought he might ascend all over again.
And then....she took him into her mouth.
All of him.
Hot. Wet. Tight. Devouring.
Soris gasped, body arching as her throat flexed around him, moaning so sweet and loud it vibrated through every inch of him. His hands shot to her hair, fisting the strands as he growled her name.
"What...what are you...
gods...."
She grinned around his cock like a sinner with a secret.
When she finally pulled off with a wicked pop, spit glistening down her chin, she smirked like she owned the sky.
"I knew it," she whispered. "You taste like war and redemption."
Then she climbed him.
Her hands traced every battle worn scar, every divine muscle carved by centuries of grief. Her tiny, glowing body hovered over his cock, slick folds brushing him, before she slowly, deliberately, sank down.
Both of them moaned.
"You're so big," she gasped, "gods, you're splitting me open."
He could only clutch her hips, breath ragged as she began to ride him, slow, teasing rolls that left him aching, desperate.
And then she slapped her own ass.
"C'mon, angel. Don't just lie there. Fuck me back."
That broke him.
Soris growled, reaching down to pinch her clit just right, firm, relentless. She cried out, grinding harder, faster, her thighs shaking as her pace quickened. The sound of her skin meeting his echoed in the room, slaps and gasps and holy sin.
"Mine," he snarled.
"Yours," she moaned. "Forever, fucking, yours."
Their orgasms hit like divine earthquakes, bodies writhing, wings flared, breath stolen from their lungs.
But he wasn't done.
He flipped her.
Bent her over.
And took her again, deep, unrelenting thrusts that made her scream his name, over and over.
He gripped her hair in one hand, the other teasing her nipples, until she was trembling, begging, laughing, sobbing with pleasure.
"You drive me mad," he panted.
"Good," she gasped. "I came here to ruin you."
When they collapsed, tangled in sweat and magic, she lay on his chest, purring like a forest creature basking in moonlight.
"I guess I should tell you my name now," she murmured.
"Only if you want me to whisper it while I worship you again," he said, fingers already teasing between her thighs.
He kissed her slowly. Reverently.
Then bent her over the edge of the bed and made her see stars again.
And when she came, loud and shaking, the castle heard it.
Servants paused. Mo grinned. Sasha said, "Well damn."
"That's my pixie," Soris whispered, holding her as they rested.
Their bodies were still tangled, sweat drying on skin kissed by moonlight and stardust. Soris held her tightly, like she might vanish if he let go, his hand lazily tracing the curve of her back, his breath finally steady.
She sighed happily, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I guess I should tell you who the hell just wrecked your sanctified soul."
He chuckled, low and warm. "Please do."
She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her pink curls a wild halo around her flushed face.
"My name is Liora Sparkwhistle. I'm a light weaver from the Emberglade. Raised by grumpy orchard witches and one overly dramatic talking cat. I'm too loud, too chaotic, and I hexed my old village priest for calling me 'overenthusiastic.' I left because I knew there was more. And I found you."
Soris blinked slowly, eyes shimmering with something like awe.
"You're incredible," he whispered.
"I know," she grinned. "But thanks for saying it."
He kissed her, slow and soft this time. Sacred.
"You're mine now, Liora Sparkwhistle," he murmured. "And I will never deserve you. But I'll spend forever trying."
She nuzzled into his neck, tail lazily flicking over the sheets. "You already do, Whisperblade. You already fucking do."
And just like that, a fallen seraphim and a wild little pixie fell asleep wrapped in fate and feathers, glowing softly beneath the stars.