#look at those fluffy tousled curls

[y2kuromi]

⭑ : 呪術廻戦 ❛ 𝗔𝗠𝗕𝗜𝗩𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 : satoru gojo x fem! reader

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 synopsis: you can’t shake the mixed feelings you have about satoru, but first impressions don't always reveal what a person is like

contents: crack? sashisu! dynamic. profanities. teen! gojo being cocky (what else is new?) second & third person pov

summer isn’t over yet! collection, can be read as a stand-alone

your first day at jujutsu tech was anything but insipid. the sun was at its peak, golden rays reflecting off the gray asphalt and dousing the foothills of mount mushiro in pure light. the wind subtly tousled your hair and the crimson torii gate cast shadows on your face.

summer, was indubitably your favourite season. it came with fun. smiles. laughter. adventure. meeting new people. and most importantly freedom.

the days got longer, school got shorter and you were typically free to do whatever you pleased. however, that wasn’t the case this year. the taiyo clan leaders had forced you to accept the offer to attend tokyo jujutsu high and you stood impatiently beside masamichi yaga —your new teacher — while you waited for your classmates in the courtyard

"sorry about this" he says sheepishly, running an exasperated hand over his face "i told them to be here as early as possible, but i can barely keep them in check”

“what are they like?” you asked, smoothing your fingers over your pleated skirt, “do you have a photograph”

“i do oddly enough, shoko’s into photography so she takes these polaroids of everything and everyone” he sifts around in his pockets until his fingers graze the crumpled picture. "these are your classmates — suguru geto, satoru gojo, and shoko ieiri”

your eyes skimmed over the three first years, the first boy had deep violet eyes and long black hair scraped into a bun. he rested his chin in the divot of his palms, his ear smushed against his lithe fingers. his black pearl earrings reflected the fluorescent lights. "suguru" the name checked out. he did look like he was famous

the second boy "satoru" was his polar opposite with fluffy white hair that defied all forms of gravity. he was slumped against the wooden table, blacked out sunglasses propped against his nose.his bright blue eyes peered curiously over the lenses. they were almost startling, something about their intensity felt like he could see everything, everywhere all at once

the girl "shoko", balanced them out with her brown chin length hair and the mole underneath her right eye. an ivory unlit cigarette was nestled between her plush pink

“they seem… nice”

“shoko’s the nicest of the three, she’s a sweetheart so you’ll get along just fine” he muses, “suguru is usually a gentleman compared to satoru. satoru’s too full of himself and he’s a terrible influence, please try to keep on the straight and narrow”

“i will” you said, shifting from one foot to another. you were very nervous about meeting your classmates— especially the esteemed strongest whose birth alone shifted the balance of the jujutsu world. it almost seemed unreal that he went to the same school as you

hell, this whole thing seemed unreal. tokyo jujutsu high was bigger than you’d imagined. it was surrounded by the forests and was spread vastly over the mountain. there was no way you’d learn your way around.

you could see a figure approaching you from the distance. you figured it was ieiri, although her photograph didn’t do her enough justice. shoko was even more beautiful in person, her dark brown hair grazed her shoulders and curled around her ears. her eyes radiated sunlight, the colour of honeyed caramel and she smelled like jasmine and sandalwood. she waved at you, and you smiled in response.

“finally” he sighed, “ieiri what time do you call this? and where are those knuckleheads?”

"sorry i'm late sensei!" she says, bowing slightly, "i couldn't drag satoru and suguru out of bed, they stayed up late playing video games again"

"i'll have to confiscate the wii" yaga sighed, shaking his head before glancing at his watch. he seemed to visibly turn pale as he registered the time, "shoko could you take (y/n) on a tour of the campus?"

"aren't you supposed to be be the one doing that?” she asks, thumbing at the cigarette slotted between her lips, “not that i mind, i just hope you’re not slacking off again”

"kids these days," he mutters under his breath "i would be the one giving you a tour, but i need to head to kyoto for a meeting”

“if you say so” shoko hums, she squeezes your forearm gently before looping her arm through yours, “c’mon (y/n), you’re much better off with me anyways”

“funny” yaga deadpans, “i’m off now, try and introduce (y/n) to the others” with a final glance at his watch, he hastily makes his way down the foothills and out of sight

“i’m so glad we finally have another girl” shoko says, eyes twinkling, “you’re from the taiyo clan right?“

“yeahh i’m from the taiyo clan” you nodded. the two of you walked over the cobbled floors in sync until shoko came to a stop in front of one of the huge buildings

“can i take a photo for my album” she asks, plush pink lips moving around the cigarette slotted between them, “the uniform looks so good on you”

despite being reluctant to come here, you were glad the uniforms were customisable and yaga had perfected your requested alterations.

your asymmetrical navy blue jacket had the sailor suit style and a silky white bow hanging slightly above your chest . your jacket was tucked into a black skirt that hung above your knees, and you wore black knee-high socks and loafers.

“you can” you grinned, without wasting a mere second she angled her camera and attempted to capture your beauty to memory.

“i wish those idiots came with me, it would’ve been so cool to get one of all of us” she pouts, “you’ll meet them later, whenever they crawl out of their rooms”

she trudged nimbly up the cobbled stairs with splatters of fuzzy moss and into the traditionally built building you stood before.

“these are the classrooms” she gestures to the vast corridor lined with wooden sliding doors. some of them are pristine while the others have cracks lining the chipped wood

“there’s so many” you gawk, “y’know i thought jujutsu tech was really small, yaga said there were barely any students”

“it is really small” she laughs, “there are two second years and three first years, four now that you’re here. jujutsu sorcerers are rare so class sizes are really small. we only use two of the classrooms”

she slid the door to her left open, the classroom was filled with wooden desks and had a blackboard behind the podium you assumed was the teaching area

the windows were open and gusts of airy summer breeze wafted through the panes. you trailed in after her and noticed that most of the desks were upturned except three in the front row

“this is our classroom” shoko said, trailing her fingers over the desk in the middle. it had scribbled kanji and cartoony digimon sketches on it. “we come here for homeroom and regular classes”

“like math and science?” you asked, raising a brow. yaga hadn’t mentioned anything about formal education when he’d picked you up from the station that morning

“we do english too” she sighs, “it’s honestly such a pain. anyways, the school has training grounds, courtyards, dormitories, common rooms and a bunch of other stuff, what do you wanna see first?”

“the dorms” you hummed, tucking your hands into your skirt pockets, “they’re probably the closest to us”

essentially, you were right. the dorms were less than a minute away from the classroom block. the hallway was wide and had less doors than the classroom’s corridor. the wood looked freshly polished and cardboard signs hung on the sliding doors.

“so these are the dorms” shoko said, “they can be reorganized and decorated as you see fit. like the classrooms, there are many empty rooms”

you can hear the faint sound of heavy metal music and the sound of videogames seeping underneath the doors on your right

“the second years are further down the hallway” shoko says, “satoru and suguru are on the right and this is my room,”

she creaks the door open and you see a flash of pinky and earthy tones. it looks nice, although it’s rather messy. there are piles of clothes beside the window and old soda cans littered on her dresser

“i’m not really the neatest person ever” she giggles sheepishly, before sliding her door shut, “this room is yours, yaga put us next to each-other”

your hand rests on the doorknob, just as you’re about to slide it open you hear footsteps coming towards you.

your eyes fall on a girl with long blackish-purple hair in a traditional miko outfit. she seems mildly irritated and a girl with long blue-grey hair scraped into a ponytail trailed languidly behind her.

“shokoooo” utahime squeals, bounding joyfully towards her favourite first year. her long blackish-purple curls hang loosely in ringlets down her back and her brown eyes sparkled “have you seen that nuisance gojo?”

“no he's not out of his room yet” shoko said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “what has he done now?”

“what hasn’t he done” utahime muttered under her breath, “‘m gonna fucking kill him this time i swear”

“that so?” mei-mei chuckles, “quit swearing in-front of the new first year utahime-san”

“is this the new first year?” utahime asks, snapping out of her angry daze and finally her brown eyes flicker over to you, “sorry about that, that imbecile brings out the worst in me”

“(y/n) this is utahime and this is mei-mei” shoko says, pointing at them respectively, “they’re the second years”

“nice to meet you taiyo” mei-mei hummed, her red painted lips stretched into a lazy smile as she held out her freshly manicured hand. you took it tentatively. “do you mind if we join your tour ieiri?”

“i don’t mind but you should really ask (y/n)” she shrugs

mei-mei shoots you an expectant look, you reciprocate with a nod, “i don’t mind, the more the merrier”

“yes!” mei-mei grins, “i love giving tours, let’s go to the common room and get something to eat”

“can you make us pancakes utahime-san” shoko pleads, batting her eyelashes and clasping her hands together, “or french toast”

“i will, as long as that moron doesn’t get to have any” utahime says, cracking her knuckles, “when i get wind of him i’ll-”

“so the school mainly fronts as a buddhist temple, which is why it has the traditional architectural style and several statues of deities, shrines, and torii gates around campus” mei-mei explained, interrupting utahime who looked very bristled

the quirk in her eyebrow faded into nothing but pure bliss as shoko looped her arm through hers. the pair trailed slowly behind you as mei-mei transversed down the hallway and up the stairs

the rest of the morning is a slow sugary blur. utahime makes her famous pancakes and mei-mei happily explained jujutsu regulations to you while shoko showed you her photo album.

( it was a quarter full, with pictures of suguru and satoru goofing off or utahime and satoru in the midst of some altercation with a few rare photos of yaga sleeping)

“normies can’t see us because we’re hidden by a protective barrier held by tengen-sama, he lives under the school in the tombs of the star.” mei-mei says, after taking a bite of syrupy pancakes, “that’s pretty much everything you need to know”

“thank you for the pancakes utahime-san” you said between bites of fluffy goodness, “and thank you so much for the tour”

“don’t mention it” utahime grins, “consider this your official welcome to jujutsu tech”

the saccharine serenity shatters as satoru — and suguru — make their way into the kitchen. the blue eyed boy is still in his pyjamas while suguru’s dressed in what seems to be his uniform

“yooo” satoru yawns, “ouu hime you made pancakes? don’t mind if i do”

you peered at him curiously. was this the satoru gojo? the esteemed strongest whose birth alone shifted the balance of the jujutsu world? he seemed like an ordinary teenager. gangly legs, pale veiny hands, white unkempt hair, and blue eyes hidden behind weird sunglasses.

he didn’t look like much, childishly swiping a piece of pancake off utahime’s stack and quickly stuffing the sweet batter into his mouth

“you have some nerve-” she grumbled, throwing her fork at him. it bounces off some sort of invisible wall and falls beside his feet, “be more polite to your elders”

“is this the newbie?" satoru asks waving her off, you notice him take off his round sunglasses and his infinitely blue eyes are fixed on you

“i’m pretty sure she has a name” suguru says, nudging him with his elbow, trying and failing to salvage what was left of a good first impression.

“the rookie from the taiyo clan?” he asks, raising a perfectly arched brow “is this the girl yaga was talking about”

he was trying to make headway of your face, to see what you looked like. he was unsuccessful, your eyes were trained on your pancakes and the syrup pooling on the blue ceramic plate

“it’s (y/n)” shoko sighs, “and you were supposed to meet her earlier but you two refused to get out of bed”

“sorry about that (y/n)” geto offers, his apology seemed genuine and heartfelt, “we were up pretty late last night, otherwise we would’ve been there”

you finally looked up from your plate and shook your head before flashing suguru a heart-stopping smile, “you’re all good don’t worry”

for the first time in all fifteen and a half years of his life, satoru seemed to be at a loss for words. he knew he should probably apologise and try to make you view him in a better light. but he couldn’t find the words.

not that it mattered now. you shot him an icy glare as you stalked past him and dropped your plate in the sink. he feels shivers run down his spine.

"i want to show you the morgue and the cursed warehouse!" mei-mei says, throwing an arm over your shoulder, “we can pick out a tool for you”

satoru’s cerulean eyes snapped to yours, he saw a flicker of something he couldn’t quite place passing through them. it didn’t look positive. he sensed aversion, dislike, maybe even hatred?

"see you in a bit" you wave to your upperclassman, and shoko and suguru as mei-mei led you out of the common room. the friendly gesture doesn't extend to satoru. he blinks. once. twice. and then he finally snaps out of it

"she's beautiful holy shit" he whispers incredulously, shaking suguru by his shoulders. then his infinitely blue eyes are fixed on shoko "i would've gotten up if you told me that"

suguru shrugged him off, “you’ve ruined any chances you had of getting with her, i told you you needed to stop being so rude”

“i can fix this surely” he sounds panicked, “do i go after them? or should i wait until she’s alone-”

"what an imbecile" utahime bursts out laughing , slamming her fist down on the table as she shakes with laughter, “can you believe him?”

“you’re too full of yourself” shoko says, shaking her head, “rookie? newbie? that’s really bad even for you i’m sure she hates you now”

“can you blame her?” utahime quips, “it’s only natural to hate gojo” she pushed her chair back and smoothed a hand over her neatly pressed clothes, intending to start on the dishes.

“hate is a strong word” suguru pipes up, pulling out a seat, “they just got off on the wrong foot, classic satoru”

“not you too suguru” he whines, pooling into a puddle of despair and anguish on the tiled floor

“so dramatic” suguru mutters, scooping an untouched pancake off shoko’s plate. they exchanged glances as they watched satoru have an existential crisis beside the counter. summer was going to be interesting

© Y2KUROMI 2024. please do not plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

#𓂃˖ letters from: satoru #❛ 五条悟 ❜ #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo series #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader

[reobsessed]

Forgotten Embrace

Pairing: Tav X Astarion, Reader X Astarion, tried to make it as gender neutral as possible. Content: Just a short fluffy fic I had milling about in my head. Fluff, comfort, kissing, spooning and absolutely no sex! Less than 1000 words. Summary: Your nights shared with Astarion under the stars had been numerous, but something had changed since he confessed to you in the Shadowlands. The two of you lay restless until finally Astarion approaches you for some comfort in the night.

Hope you guys enjoy! Sorry if it's not the best, just wanted to pump out something short and Astarion related =') Thanks again to Suri for reads and edits and massively helping with the name!

Like embers spat from the flames, fireflies hovered above the campfire. Not a soul stirred, besides the two fidgeting restlessly in their respective bedrolls. They lay in tense silence, unaware yet suspecting the other was still awake. Finally the elven man broke the tension and rose from his bedroll. He tiptoed towards you, much like a mink sizing up its prey. 

You’d been on the cusp of falling asleep when he’d made his move.

“Room for one more?” he inquired coyly, already knowing the answer. With a soft grumble and a resigned sigh you held open the covers. An invitation for him to nestle against you. “Such a generous offer, I would be remiss not to-”

“Astarion, getunderthegodsdamnedcovers,” you snapped in a hushed whisper. Despite doing your best to sound serious, a crack of laughter betrayed your demand.

“And I thought I was supposed to be the one who bites,” he jeered. Another brief pause followed, as he stared at the welcoming spot in front of you. 

Now that you thought about it, this was to be his first time being the ‘little spoon’, a detail that was no doubt apparent to him, as he eyed your bed suspiciously. Thankfully, no further coaxing was needed, as he lay down rigidly beside you.

He was still adjusting to intimacy- or rather the kind that didn’t precede or act as a follow up to sex. The two of you were going steady and he was now free to make his own decisions, but sometimes you felt it necessary to push him in the right direction; this was one of those times. As he shuffled uncomfortably next to you, you draped an arm across his chest, letting it rest over the firmness of his stomach. He froze and you too began to panic. 

Even without looking at his face you could see the animalistic fear that flashed across it. You prepared to back up and pull away from him, when all of a sudden his body went slack and his hand came up to meet yours. A deep sigh escaped your lips and tousled the tips of his hair.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” he began.

You sprang to attention, craning your neck so you could see his face. “What is it?”

“You’re terribly hot, and I do mean that in both senses of the word. I mean honestly, you could rival Karlach with temperatures like these.”

“I think you’ll find I’m a normal temperature, I’m just compensating for the both of us,” you reasoned, pulling yourself in closer to his icy back.

“Oh I wasn’t complaining” That was a first, you thought. “Just making an observation.”

You let your head fall back into his curls. He smelt wonderful, his hair in particular had an unknown, yet alluring aroma. Despite not being able to pinpoint the particular scent, you couldn’t get enough of it. Perhaps one day he would share it with you.

“Careful my sweet, don’t mess up my hair.” You pulled away reluctantly, earning yourself a twisted glare. “Well? I didn’t tell you to stop. Keep going.”

You snickered in disbelief, there really was no pleasing him sometimes. Eagerly you did as you were told and resumed nuzzling his scalp. After about five minutes of this affection, Astarion had turned around and now had his forehead pressed firmly against your chest. Your fingers were still intricately woven into his silver strands. Every now and then one of your fingers would snag on a tiny knot, you were sure he’d scold you for such an action, but shockingly he didn’t seem to mind.

“Astarion?”

“What is it my sweet?” he mumbled against your chest.

“Can I kiss you?” you asked timidly and much like his earlier question you already knew the answer.

Silently he pushed himself onto his elbows and planted his eager mouth onto yours. The fatigued fumbling of lips was imperfect and clumsy, but remained as earnest as those shared in daylight. 

He collapsed again, his face obscured by a mess of hair and buried beneath your clothes. Despite your positions you could feel the smile that curled his mouth upwards, his now exposed teeth pricking at the tender flesh of your bosom.

The numbing ache of your arm became apparent, you tried to move it out from under him, but when you looked down your heart melted. He’d fallen asleep. There’s a first time for everything you thought to yourself, and hopefully this was the start of many more unexpected things to come. 

As you looked out over the campfire, you reflected upon all you’d been through and all that still needed to be done. The fireflies with their lights burning bright wouldn’t live much longer, was that to be your fate too? His hair shining in the light reminded you of them. There’s no way you could let go of him now, not when his extended life had been deprived of joy and any actual ‘living’.

He stirred softly in his sleep, incoherent murmurs mingling with the chirping of insects. A melody of your own was added to the chorus, an almost silent promise that he could have this for as long as he wanted. 

Thoughts and fire began to die down. Lost in the stillness of one another, your mind finally found peace, no more words or actions were needed as the two of you drifted off into tranquil slumber.

#Astarion #Astarion x tav #astarion x reader #reader x astarion #tav x astarion #tav #fanfic #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #my fic #bg3 fic #vampire

[stevesbestgirl]

Phases of the Moon - Part 1

Steven Grant x f!Reader, eventual Marc Spector x f!Reader

2796 words

Warnings: poor imitations of British speaking habits, not much else in part one, maybe a few curses but I���m not sure

A/N: This was my attempt to write a slow-burn. It’s long, self-indulgent, and obscenely fluffy. Reader is specified as American, but mostly so I can avoid pretending I know anything about living in the UK. Steven and Marc are aware of each other and trying to find balance in their relationship in this fic, but keep in mind that I am not a system and am not an expert. All of my information about their relationship comes from the Moon Knight show and I use that as my reference point. 

*Bold type is spoken by Marc when Steven is fronting.*

Masterlist

“Go talk to her.”

“Well I can’t, can I?” Steven sent a furtive glance at you, toying absently with your phone while you examined the glyphs inside a display.

“Why can’t you?”

“She’s got earphones in.”

Marc scoffed in the glass of one of the display cases, “Always an excuse.”

“I can’t just interrupt her, that’d be rude!”

“Not if she’s interested.”

Steven’s reply was cut short as a pair of boys came rushing around the corner, laughing and shoving each other- Steven wouldn’t have placed them at older than twelve. He watched helplessly as one firm push sent the smaller of the two reeling into your backside. Completely oblivious to their noise, you went sprawling, headphones disconnecting as your phone hit the ground and was sent skittering across the polished floor, coming to rest at Steven’s feet.

Inhibitions gone, Steven scooped your phone up and rushed over, offering a hand to help you up, “Are you okay?” You nodded, feeling a little embarrassed. “You lot,” he called out, locating the pair sidling off behind a diorama, “C’mere.” 

They looked like they were considering bolting, but the smaller of them located Steven’s badge and took a reluctant step forward. By the time they stood in front of you, they were looking rather cowed, like puppies who’d been caught gnawing a slipper. 

“Shape up, you hear? You could’ve really hurt someone.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Now listen, down that corridor there, there’s a bunch of old weapons; spears, cudgels, daggers, the like. How about you go give it a look?” You watched him speak to the two boys; his enthusiasm seemed very genuine, not the fake kind adults often used with children.

The taller boy hesitated before leaving, “What’s a cudgel?”

Steven smiled a little, “Why don’t you go on and find out?” Then the two rushed in the direction he’d indicated and he called after them, “Slowly, hm?”

Once they were out of sight, you finally spoke, “Are you sure that was a good idea? Sending them in there with a bunch of weapons?” You couldn’t help but smile as he unconsciously smoothed his dark, nearly sleep-tousled curls back from his face.

His intent had been to chuckle, but it came out as more of an empty puff of air, “They’re all under glass- should be alright.” He added, “Maybe I’ll pop in to check on them, just in case.” Nervous now, he looked down at his hands, still holding your phone, “Oh, there you are.” Your expression fell and only then did he notice the spiderweb of cracks in the bottom corner where it had hit the floor, “Oh no.”

You shook your head, accepting the phone and dropping it to your side, like putting it out of sight would make him forget, “It’s alright. Just a screen protector. I’ll get a new one eventually.”

“Sorry about that, love,” he insisted, his earnest gaze finally meeting yours just in time for your face to go warm. You’d thought you’d been ready to hear the term of endearment used so casually when you came to England, but apparently not.

“It’s alright,” you rushed to speak. “Definitely not your fault. Thanks for helping me-” you glanced at his name tag, “-Steven.”

“No problem- it is my job after all,” he cracked a halfhearted smile.

“You were great with those kids too.”

Rosy warmth tinged his cheeks and his gaze shifted away, “Thanks.” A small pause, “Your accent- you’re American?”

You nodded, “Needed a change of scenery, so I’m staying with some family for a while. Just got in yesterday, actually.”

His gaze eagerly lifted to yours again, but flicked away over your shoulder and he went slightly pale. Glancing back, you saw a stocky woman with dirty blonde hair gesturing impatiently at him.

Returning his gaze to you, he looked a bit panicked, “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go. I- ah-” He tripped over his words and almost tripped almost his feet as well, veering around you and backing away toward the woman beckoning him over. 

You raised your hand in an uncertain farewell as he stammered his way backwards, gesturing faintly over his shoulder with his thumb in a faint attempt at an explanation. Once he was within range, the woman seemed to be lighting into him a bit, though his gaze hadn’t yet left you. It wasn’t until she snapped her fingers that he looked at her. 

Not wanting to spy, you turned away, checking your phone for the time. When Steven glanced your way again, he only caught your retreating form disappearing out the entrance. For once, Donna’s criticisms didn’t affect him since he was already kicking himself for not asking you out. Or getting your phone number. Or even your name. He’d blown it. 

*

The following day, you had a bit more time to explore the museum, so you returned. And you noted with dismay, when the cabbie called you “love”, you didn’t so much as blink, let alone blush. Maybe it had been a one-off thing. Now you would be immune. 

Walking in and spotting the woman from before at the front desk, you plucked up a bit of courage and approached. Her name tag read “Donna” and she prompted with visible disinterest, as though she were reading off a script, “Welcome. Is there something I can direct you to?”

Deciding to push forward, you said, “Actually, I was just in here yesterday. I ran into a bit of trouble with a couple of young boys and one of your tour guides helped me. I wanted to let you know that Steven was very polite and just lovely with those kids-”

“Stevie? He isn’t a tour guide,” Donna interrupted, wrinkling her nose. “In his dreams, maybe.”

“But he does work here?”

“Yeah, he’s the gift shoppist.” She was still being very flippant; it was clear that she’d barely had interest in this conversation to begin with and now that it was about Steven, it had dwindled to none. 

“Right. Thank you.” You forced a smile and nodded before heading off in the direction of the gift shop.

The counter was empty when you first walked into the room, sending a tiny shoot of disappointment into your chest. You wanted to thank him, since it didn’t appear that you could score him any points with his boss.

You wondered for a moment if you should come back later, but then a shaggy, brown mop of hair sprung up from behind the counter, triumphantly brandishing what appeared to be a large, amber-colored marble with a bone inside it, “Got ya, you little bugger.”

His gaze fell on you and he tucked the marble behind his back, like it was something to hide, “You- you came back.”

You reached into your bag, pulling out the brochure you’d picked up yesterday, “I was only passing through yesterday.” You unfolded the brochure and showed him the notes you’d taken on the map, detailing where you wanted to go first and which exhibits had caught your eye, “I like to plan a little bit.”

He followed the line you traced with your finger intently, raising his gaze to your face when you pulled away, “That’s a good way to go about it. The tour is pretty good too.” Steven’s heart skipped as your lips pulled into a slight frown; had he said something wrong? 

“Speaking of the tour, I tried to put in a good word for you with your boss- as thanks, for yesterday- she doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

“Oh, yes. Donna and I have got a bit of a rocky history.” He added quickly, “Not a history, mind you. More like a boss/employee history. I’ve got a bit of a bad track record with my punctuality, actually,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, I think you’d make a lovely tour guide, for what it’s worth.”  

There was another one of those long pauses; you were about to offer a meek “Thanks again,” and cut your losses when he spoke up, “If you like, I’m on a break in ten minutes. I could show you around.”

You’d insisted to yourself that this wasn’t why you came back here, but you found yourself nodding, a faint smile on your lips, “I’d like that.”

Steven seemed even more surprised than you were, nodding quickly, “Great- that’s- great.” He nodded again, “I can meet you in the ‘King’s Tomb’ exhibit.” He pointed, “Right over there-” He checked his watch, “-in nine minutes.”

Your smile widened, “See you in nine minutes then.” You moved off in the direction he’d indicated, the temptation to look back gnawing at you. 

“Wait!” he called after you. You turned back, “I haven’t got your name.”

“You haven’t needed it, have you?” 

Now you were teasing and you knew it. But you could feel his eyes on you as you disappeared around the corner and you smiled to yourself. So much for doing your own thing. The whole reason for coming to London was to get away from men- although you supposed it was more one man than men in general. But something about Steven just caught your eye.

So you waited out the impossibly long eight minutes remaining until Steven walked in, looking in a bit of a rush. You watched him scan the exhibit, almost like he’d expected you to have left by now.

You raised a hand, “Steven.” He positively lit up at the sight of you, relief visible in the heavy exhale he released- like he'd been holding his breath. 

You met him in the center of the room, clasping your hands behind your back in anticipation. Steven still had the remnants of a grin on his face, though he mirrored your posture, a bit of enthusiasm escaping as he bounced on the balls of his feet, just once, “What do you want to see?”

“You’re my tour guide, you tell me,” you teased. 

Almost instantly, his face flushed, “Well, I wasn’t sure if there were specific displays you wanted to look at or certain subjects you were interested in, you know? Since I've only got fifteen minutes on my break.” 

“Well, I’m interested in everything, but since we only have fifteen minutes; how about you show me the way you’d start your tour if you were a guide?” His cheeks darkened further and you had to bite the inside of your cheek not to smile again. But he surprised you, recovering quickly and placing his hand on your arm. He steered you over to one of the displays and you glanced at him, “The Ennead?”

The Ennead,” he corrected your pronunciation. “The Egyptian Gods.” He wheeled around so his back was to the exhibit, his gaze meeting yours with ease. “Everything about Egypt comes back to the gods one way or another, so to understand Egypt, you have to understand them.”

He walked you through the exhibit, one god or goddess at a time, his hands moving animatedly as he talked. And he was good at it, in a different way than you’d expect. He had such a wealth of knowledge- you felt comfortable asking questions because you expected him to have the answers. And he answered many of your questions before you could even ask them; his explanations were pretty comprehensive. 

It was all strangely charming, actually. His enthusiasm was so genuine, it was as though he invited you inside it with him. It was a nice place to be- like sharing a secret. It was also putting you in dangerous territory; a magnetic field that would be hard to pull yourself from.

Once you were about halfway through the eleven, you tentatively raised your hand. Steven faltered slightly, giving you the chance to speak up, “Two things- I just want to check the time, I’d hate for you to be-”

“Late-” he checked his watch faster than you could pull out your phone.

You grabbed his hand, pulling him back toward the gift shop, “Well, come on then, I don’t want you getting into trouble!”

Steven’s long strides quickly outpaced you; you had to hurry to keep up, a laugh at the ridiculousness of it slipping out. Steven glanced back- nearly shouldering a display case. Right before impact, his back straightened a bit, like he sensed it coming, and he just twisted out of the way. It was so smooth you wouldn’t have noticed the deft movement if you hadn’t been anticipating the collision.

By the time you skidded to a halt in front of the gift shop counter, you were full-on giggling; you couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed so hard over almost nothing. “Sorry about that,” Steven offered meekly.

You took a breath and collected yourself a bit, though you still felt the warmth of the laughter in your cheeks, “Don’t be- it was fun.”

“What was the other thing?” he asked, shuffling back behind the counter.

“Hm?”

“You said there were two things, the time and what else?”

“Oh! Well that exhibit was called the ‘King’s Tomb,’ right? Why are the gods in that one?”

He leaned on the counter, some of his timid demeanor vanishing, “Well, the pharaohs were considered to be gods by their people. So they put them in a room together. And since the mummies are what brings in the crowds, they get the-” he clicked his tongue, framing a little marquee with his fingers, “-title spot.”

“I suppose you know quite a lot about those too?”

He gave a chagrined smile, “Did I go on a bit much then?”

You shook your head, “Not at all- I wasn’t teasing. I wish we’d had time to do the whole exhibit.”

“I’d wager with me giving it, that tour would take all week,” he joked, feeling like he’d done too much talking during your time together.

You shrugged, “I’m on vacation.” Smiling, you added, “Or holiday, you’d probably call it.”

He smiled weakly at the joke, seeming to be working out what you’d meant. He scanned your face, as though nervous he was misreading you, but you just smiled at him. “I’m scheduled again on Thursday, I could- if you like, I mean- I could show you some more. Of the exhibit. Obviously. If you want.” 

You were here for freedom. You’d come all the way to another country so you could do what you wanted, when you wanted, no strings attached. But, you reasoned, this wasn’t dating. This was an exclusive tour, on Steven’s break. It wasn’t like he was taking you out to dinner.

You were bargaining; whittling away your rules to nothing because they no longer suited your purposes. You knew that. And you also knew that you only did so because Steven was, very clearly, a large string. A large string with lovely, brown, puppy eyes and enough passion for Egypt to make a pharaoh blush. But you nodded anyway, “I’d love to come back. Same time?”

He seemed stunned by your acceptance, but he nodded rapidly to overcompensate for the moment of hesitation, “Yeah. My break is at three.”

You smirked, “How many minutes from now?”

He stared at you for a moment- you almost wondered if he was trying to do the math, but then he flushed and gave a weak chuckle, “Right, I’ll work on that one.”

You pulled out the brochure you’d picked up yesterday and a pen from your bag, “Since I won’t be needing this anymore-” You scribbled down your name and number and slid the brochure across the table, “Text me when you figure it out.” No strings, you reminded yourself.

He gave another hurried nod, “Okay, I will, I-” 

You got a sense of deja vu as Steven glanced over your shoulder and paled in nearly the exact same way he had yesterday. “Is it Donna?” You quickly scanned the counter, grabbing a stuffed hippopotamus, “Because I’d like to purchase this.” You deliberately moved it across the counter where Donna would be able to see and pulled out your wallet.

Now Steven looked back to you, “You don’t have to do that. Most of this stuff if junk-”

“I want to. This one is kind of cute.” You held out the money, “And you’ll tell me all about it next time?”

He nodded, a small smile returning to his face, “Yeah, I will.” He handed back your change and the plush, speaking up so Donna could hear, “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

You smiled, “Same to you.”

You left the other way so Donna wouldn’t see your face, hoping she wasn’t descending on Steven for being late from his break. You held the little hippo plushie to your chest and thought ahead to Thursday.

#moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon knight fluff #steven grant fluff #phases of the moon series

[nowritingonthewall]

Wake me up before you go-go

Fandom: Moon Knight

Pairing: Steven Grant / gn!reader

Word count: 600

Summary: A little fluffy Steven morning blurb because I miss him 🥺

Steven is not a morning person. Even though his sleeping schedule has improved immensely after his life-altering adventure in Cairo, there still seems to be a part of his body convinced that the time when the moon is out is not a time for resting.

Or maybe it’s because he is usually way too excited to tell you about all the new interesting facts that he has stumbled upon during the day. And since you hardly ever have the heart to ask him to stop, your discussions often take up more than half of the night. Which doesn’t exactly increase your motivation to get up again only two hours later.

As lovely and soft and sweet as Steven is during the rest of the day, the best that you can hope for when you try to persuade him to get up, is a disgruntled groan and two loving yet uncooperative arms that refuse to let you get out of bed.

Sometimes you can convince him to let you go for a few minutes if you promise that you’ll be right back with a fresh hot cuppa. But today clearly isn’t one of those days. Upon your proposal, he lets out a sulky huff and burrows his face even deeper into your shirt.

As much as it breaks your heart, you come to the realization that more severe measures will be required today. Like stealing his warm blanket and taking it with you into the kitchen after skilfully winding yourself out of his embrace. And telling him that he would have to come into the kitchen to get his morning cuddles.

It doesn’t take long before you can hear him shuffle into the kitchen. At least you assume that it is him hidden somewhere under that walking pile of blankets. You are convinced that he looks even more adorable than usual, with his sleepy eyes and his curls sticking out in every possible direction and it takes all the willpower that you can muster up to restrain from taking him back to bed immediately. You won’t give Donna that satisfaction, not today.

Instead, you try to turn your attention back to preparing breakfast for the both of you. Though you can’t keep yourself from smiling as you feel him hugging you from behind burying his face in your shoulder. Clinging to you like a koala, he shuffles along with you as you keep scuttling around the kitchen. And you don’t mind bathing in his warmth a little while longer.   

While he may not be capable of more than a grunt here and there, he obediently follows your instructions whenever you tell him to walk left or right. That is, until he gets the instruction to “Let me turn around, sweetie!” Letting out a final grumble, he reluctantly lets you go, allowing you to face him and put a large cup of tea into his hands.

Gently brushing his tousled curls out of his face, you place the softest of kisses onto his forehead. As his curls fall back into an even wilder pattern and start to tickle and make him scrunch up his nose, you can’t stop yourself from leaving a few kisses on its tip.

These are followed by a few obligatory and very important nose rubs before you begin to cover the rest of his face in soft smoochies, tenderly kissing the last remnants of his sleepiness away. You don’t stop until his grumpiness gives way to his very first crinkly-eyed smile of the day.  

“Good morning, sleepyhead!”

“Mmmmhhmmmmorning, love!” 

#steven grant #moon knight #steven grant x reader #steven x reader #steven grant fluff #steven grant blurb #reader insert #fanfiction #chrissie gifs #chrissie tries to write #oscar isaac

[virgoilluminati]

Hello, I just wanted to say that I love love love your page and I love how you write. It is so beautiful and deep. Belongings has me on the edge of my seat and I can’t wait to see where it goes.

Can I get a Harry Styles one shot with the prompt 23-25. I had in my head like him maybe helping the reader to stay up and look after their children because he’s always away on tour and he feels guilty he always has to miss out on their milestones. Idk I thought it would be so sweet 🥹🥹🥹❣️

Sweet Cocoa

A/N: so my original plan was to do all 3 of those prompts but then I realise I was going overboard and I much rather this fic with just prompt 23. I love this fic it’s so cute and fluffy and ahhhhhhhhh I love these imaginary children ❣️

Requests: Yes - Prompt 23 “How about something warm? It will help you sleep.”

Word Count: 2.1K

Prompt list here

——————————————————————————————

The stage lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted in thunderous applause as Harry finished his concert, pouring his heart and soul into every note. With a smile on his face, he waved goodbye to his adoring fans and walked backstage, feeling a mix of elation and exhaustion. He couldn’t wait to see his wife, Y/N, and their two young children, Abel and Elliot.

Elliot, their eldest son, had Harry’s unmistakable resemblance, with his tousled brunette curls and adorable freckles that adorned his face. At four years old, he had been fortunate to experience the early years of his life with both Harry and Y/N always by his side. They treasured every moment, cherishing the precious memories they had created together.

Abel, on the other hand, arrived during a whirlwind phase in Harry’s life. She was born amidst the chaos of album creation, touring, and even Harry’s foray into the world of movies. Harry couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for missing out on most of Abel’s life and the significant milestones that shaped her early years.

For example: whilst Harry had been there to witness Elliot’s first steps, he couldn’t be there for Abel’s.

The magical spirit of Christmas filled the air as the family gathered in their cozy living room. Twinkling lights adorned the Christmas tree, casting a warm glow on the scene. Harry, Y/N, Abel, and Elliot were surrounded by their loved ones, creating a joyful atmosphere.

Amidst the festive cheer, Elliot, with his bright eyes and contagious smile, stood in the middle of the room, wobbling on his tiny feet. The excitement was palpable as Harry, holding Y/N’s hand, watched their eldest son prepare to take his first steps. It was a moment Harry had eagerly anticipated.

With a burst of courage, Elliot took a few unsteady steps, his little hands reaching out for support. The room erupted in cheers and applause, celebrating this monumental achievement. Harry’s heart swelled with pride and joy as he quickly moved closer to his son, his eyes shining with love.

“Elliot, you did it!” Harry exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement. He knelt down, his arms outstretched, waiting to catch Elliot in his embrace. And just as his little boy stumbled forward, Harry scooped him up, spinning him around in a joyous dance.

Elliot’s laughter filled the room, a symphony of pure happiness that resonated in Harry’s heart. In that moment, surrounded by their loved ones, Harry felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for his growing family.

However, halfway across the world, while Harry was immersed in filming his new movie, “Don’t Worry Darling,” he received an unexpected FaceTime call. With a mix of excitement and apprehension, he answered the call, only to find Y/N holding her phone and pointing it towards Abel, who was standing unsteadily on her own two feet.

Harry’s eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat as he witnessed Abel taking her first steps. Even though he was physically distant, the surge of emotions he felt mirrored the exhilaration of that Christmas day when Elliot took his first steps.

“Abel, my love, you’re doing it!” Harry exclaimed, his voice laced with awe and pride. Despite the distance, his eyes never left his daughter as she wobbled and toddled, finding her balance with determination. He couldn’t help but feel a bittersweet pang, wishing he could be there in person to witness this milestone.

Y/N smiled warmly, her own eyes filled with a mixture of joy and understanding. “She’s been practicing so much, Harry. We wanted to share this moment with you.”

Harry’s heart swelled with love and gratitude for Y/N’s thoughtfulness. He blew a kiss through the screen, sending his love and pride to his little girl. “I’m so proud of you, Abel. Daddy loves you so much.”

As Harry closed the FaceTime call, he couldn’t help but reflect on the parallels of these two precious moments. Both Elliot and Abel had taken their first steps, marking a significant milestone in their lives. While he had missed Abel’s steps in person, he was grateful for technology that bridged the physical distance, allowing him to be present in some way.

Opening the door, Harry was greeted by the sight of Abel and Elliot, their eyes shining with excitement. They rushed into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Daddy, you were amazing!” Abel exclaimed, her voice filled with admiration.

Harry chuckled, feeling the warmth of their love surround him. “Thank you, my little stars. But now it’s time for me to be your superhero and help Mommy, okay?”

Abel and Elliot nodded eagerly, their faces beaming with enthusiasm. They understood that Daddy was tired, but they also knew he was always there for them when they needed him the most.

As Harry stepped into the living room, he found Y/N sitting on the couch, a tired smile on her face. Her baby bump was prominent, a beautiful testament to the growing life inside her. Harry’s heart swelled with love and appreciation for the incredible woman he had married.

“Hey, love,” he said softly, making his way over to Y/N. “I’m here now, and I’m ready to help.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with gratitude, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “You don’t have to, Harry. You’ve had a long day.”

He gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch filled with tenderness. “Nothing matters more to me than you and our children. I want to be here for you, every step of the way.”

A mixture of relief and adoration washed over Y/N’s face as she realized the depth of Harry’s commitment. “Thank you, Harry. I’m so lucky to have you.”

Together, they devised a plan to pamper Y/N and alleviate any worries or guilt she had been carrying. Harry fetched a cozy blanket and helped her settle on the couch, making sure she was comfortable. Abel and Elliot scurried around, eager to assist their parents.

Elliot ran to the kitchen, returning with a tray of Y/N’s favorite snacks and a glass of water. Abel picked up her toy toolbox and declared himself “Daddy’s little helper,” ready to take on any task assigned to her.

As Y/N reclined on the couch, Harry sat beside her, his hand resting on her belly. The little kicks and flutters beneath his touch reminded him of the new life they were about to welcome into their family. He felt a renewed sense of purpose, vowing to be present for every milestone and precious moment.

Together, they watched a movie, their laughter mingling with the soothing sounds of the television. Abel and Elliot snuggled close to their parents, their eyes growing heavy with sleep.

As the movie came to an end, Y/N leaned her head against Harry’s shoulder, a peaceful smile gracing her lips. “Thank you for tonight, Harry. This means the world to me.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his voice filled with sincerity. “I love you, Y/N. And I’m sorry for the moments I’ve missed. From now on, I’ll make every effort to be there, for you and our children.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with love and forgiveness. “You’re already an amazing father, Harry. We’re a team, and we’ll navigate this journey together.”

In the dimly lit room, surrounded by the warmth of their love, Harry and Y/N knew that no matter the challenges they faced, their bond was unbreakable.

As the two children lay nestled on y/n, Harry’s gaze wandered over to Elliot, peacefully asleep. With a tender smile, he turned his attention back to y/n, a silent understanding passing between them. It was time to reminisce on Elliot’s birth, a story they held dear.

“I can’t believe how much Elliot has grown,” Harry whispered, his voice filled with awe.

Y/n nodded, her eyes shining with affection. “He’s become such an amazing young person, Harry. It feels like just yesterday.”

Harry reached out, gently clasping y/n’s hand. “I remember that fateful day vividly, my love. It started with our car breaking down, right in the midst of your contractions.”

A wistful smile graced y/n’s lips. “Talk about timing, right? I wasn’t about to let a broken-down car stop us, though. I remember hopping on that bus, holding onto you tightly as the contractions came in waves.”

Harry chuckled softly, recalling the bus ride. “You were so strong, y/n. Despite the discomfort, you never lost your focus or determination. I was in awe of you.”

Y/n squeezed Harry’s hand, gratitude shining in her eyes. “And you, Harry, you were my rock. Your unwavering support gave me the strength to keep going. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They fell into a moment of silence, their memories intertwining. The warmth of the room seemed to envelop them, creating a cocoon of love and nostalgia.

Finally, Harry spoke, his voice filled with tenderness. “Once we arrived at the hospital, everything felt like a blur. The nurses and doctors were incredible, guiding us through every step of the way.”

Harry’s voice lowered, his words carrying a hint of awe. “And then, in the midst of it all, Elliot arrived. The room filled with overwhelming joy as we held our precious baby for the first time.”

Y/n’s eyes glistened with tears of happiness. “That moment is forever etched in my heart. Seeing Elliot’s tiny face and feeling that indescribable love—it was pure magic.”

Their hands remained intertwined, their hearts connected by the profound bond they shared. In the quietude of the room, Harry and y/n found solace in their memories, grateful for the journey they had embarked upon as parents.

Harry’s gaze shifted to Abel, their youngest, her delicate form a reminder of the challenges they had faced during her birth. A mixture of concern and remorse washed over him as he thought back to that difficult time, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

“Abel’s birth… It still weighs heavily on my heart,” Harry murmured, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and sadness.

Y/n’s hand gently reached out to touch Harry’s, a gesture of comfort and reassurance. “Harry, you mustn’t blame yourself. We couldn’t have predicted what would happen. It wasn’t your fault that you weren’t there.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, his guilt evident. “But I should have been there, y/n. I should have been by your side, supporting you through it all. I beat myself up over it, even though I know it wasn’t within my control.”

Y/n’s voice softened as she squeezed his hand, her eyes brimming with understanding. “Harry, listen to me. We faced unforeseen circumstances, and it was a difficult and frightening time. Truth be told, even I struggle to recall much due to the medication I was on.”

A mixture of relief and sorrow flashed across Harry’s face. “I remember how scared I was to see you in so much pain, y/n. And yet, I didn’t want to miss a single moment. I wanted to be there for you.”

Y/n’s gaze met Harry’s, filled with compassion. “You were there in spirit, Harry, even if you couldn’t physically be present. And when we were finally allowed visitors, we both knew Abel was a fighter. She was so tiny, so fragile, but she had a strength that amazed us all.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled with a mix of pride and adoration. “Our special Abel. She proved time and again how resilient she is. She overcame those early struggles and grew into this incredible little person.”

“I love our family.” Y/N states as she admires all three of her children, including her bump. Y/n’s words filled the room with a tender warmth, echoing the depth of her love for their family. Harry’s heart swelled with gratitude and affection as he looked at their children and then at the bump that held their future.

“I love our family too, y/n,” Harry replied, his voice filled with sincerity. He gently placed his hand on her stomach, feeling the gentle kicks from within. “And I’m so grateful for these precious little ones, including the one growing here.”

Y/n’s eyes shimmered with a mixture of love and understanding. “They adore you, Harry. Even in their own unique ways, they feel your love and presence. You are their father, and your love shines through in everything you do.”

A soft smile touched Harry’s lips as he absorbed her words. He knew he couldn’t erase the guilt he carried for not being present during Abel’s birth, but he also realized that forgiveness and acceptance were vital for their family’s growth.

As the comfortable silence enveloped the room, a slight shiver ran through Abel, stirring her from her peaceful slumber. Y/n, ever the attentive mother, moved to pick her up and carry her to her bed, wanting to ensure her comfort.

However, Harry’s protective instinct kicked in, and he gently interjected, “I’ll take care of Abel, love. You’ve been holding her for a while. Let me handle this one.”

Y/n paused, her eyes meeting Harry’s, filled with gratitude for his willingness to step in. She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Thank you, Harry. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

With careful precision, Harry cradled Abel in his arms, feeling the warmth of her small body against his chest. He held her close, gently whispering words of comfort as he made his way to her bed.

As Harry tucked Abel in and adjusted the blankets around her, he couldn’t help but marvel at her peaceful expression. His heart swelled with love as he watched her, silently vowing to always be there for her and their entire family.

Y/n stood by, observing the tender moment between father and daughter. She couldn’t help but feel a surge of affection for Harry, appreciating his dedication and the deep bond he shared with their children.

In that gentle exchange, a silent understanding passed between y/n and Harry. They were a team, supporting and nurturing each other and their children through the ups and downs of parenthood. Their actions spoke volumes, reinforcing the unbreakable connection that bound them as a family.

As Abel settled into her bed, her breathing steadied, and a contented sigh escaped her lips. Harry stood by, his hand lingering on her forehead, before turning to y/n with a soft smile.

“Our little warrior is back to dreamland,” he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. As Abel whispered her plea for warmth, her small frame curled against Harry’s back, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly at her adorable request. His heart melted at the sight of her, and he nodded, understanding her need for comfort.

“How about something warm, it will help you sleep?” Harry suggested, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Abel’s face lit up with anticipation, her playful nature shining through. “Hot cocoa?” she asked, her voice filled with cheekiness, fully aware that sweet cocoa on a weekday was a rare indulgence.

Harry smiled warmly, knowing how much she enjoyed the occasional treat. He nodded, feigning seriousness. “I think we can make an exception tonight. Hot cocoa it is.”

Carefully, Harry settled Abel back onto the bed, making sure she was comfortable. He draped a soft blanket over her small body, tucking her in snugly. Then, with gentle strides, he made his way to the kitchen to prepare their special bedtime treat.

The aroma of cocoa filled the air as Harry carefully prepared the warm drink, stirring in the chocolate powder and adding just the right amount of sweetness. He poured the steaming liquid into a cup, watching the swirls of rich chocolate with a sense of satisfaction.

Returning to Abel’s room, Harry found her still nestled in bed, her eyes drooping with fatigue. He settled himself beside her, his free arm cradling the cup of cocoa.

“Here you go, my little one,” Harry whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. “Enjoy your hot cocoa. It’ll warm you up and help you drift off to dreamland.”

Abel’s eyes sparkled with delight as she took the cup in her small hands, blowing gently to cool it down. She took a cautious sip, a contented sigh escaping her lips. “Mmm, thank you, Daddy.”

Harry smiled, his heart full. He leaned back against the pillows, carefully cradling Abel against his chest as she settled in, the warmth of the cocoa and their shared embrace lulling her back to sleep.

In that quiet moment, Harry’s heart swelled with love and gratitude. He treasured these precious moments with Abel, cherishing the bond they shared. As he watched her, cocooned in warmth and love, he knew that being a father meant embracing both the role of caregiver and occasional indulgent treat-giver.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic rec #one direction #harry styles concept #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harrystyles x y/n #harrystylesxreader #harry styles x reader #harrystyles cute #harrystyles fanfic #harrystyles fluff #harrystylesfanfiction

[artficlly]

lady of the ghosts [chapter 8]

After a great plague ravages your city, you are looking to marry to secure safety for your people. With a war finally ending, the nearby kingdoms are looking to celebrate. King James "Bucky" Barnes decides to continue his family's tradition of hosting a courting season. A medieval courting marvel AU.

Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader

Warnings: FLUFF, sexual tension, some angst, mention of sex work, mention of war, mention of funeral, tiny amount of anxiety/doubt, swearing, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 3.5

A/N: i wanted to make this a smaller chapter before shit hits the fan, very dialogue heavy and fluffy. please let me know what you think and reblog/like! sorry for any typos - enjoy!!

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

It was said that Neume once dwelled in the waters surrounding Faliene. As a guardian of the city, she waited beneath the waves. If she detected malice on the ships that entered her waters, she would rise from the ocean floor, her body hulking and blue with seaweed and barnacles entangled across her flesh. She would seize the ships with an iron grip, the wood splintering and cracking under the strain. She would drag the sailors to the bottom of the dark, sandy sea, where they would either drown or perish in her crushing grip. 

She was a protector in more ways than one; her presence wasn’t only to instill fear in those who ventured into the Falienean waters but also to aid those who worshiped her. They claimed she would herd the fish towards the fishermen who sailed off the coast, easing the giant schools into the hand-woven nets. On quiet, empty nights, some claim you could hear her singing. Her hums were reminiscent of whales, eerie and lonesome as they reached across the vast, vacant waters. Her song would lull the creatures to sleep, and only then could she be at peace. 

According to legend, Nemue's deep sleep, brought on by her own song, is what caused Faliene's misfortunes to start. As her children waited for her to return, disease and evil crept into her beloved city and slowly poisoned those who remained. Faliene held her breath, waiting in anticipation for the return of her song. The north had been stuck in a slumber for too long; it was time for her to come alive once more. 

The breeze was stronger than usual up on the rocky cliff of The Fishhook. The slowly rising sun partially melted the snow and ice below, where the waves pounded mercilessly along the exposed coast.  

James squinted his azure eyes against the whipping wind, his hair tousled, and his cheeks pink. The two of you had decided to hike up the southernmost point of Faliene’s coastline before it turned to mountain and sea. You had taken the daunting and winding path upward to the peak of The Fishook, a large curved outlook that had been creatively named due to its shape. Halfway up the path, Steve and Peggy had left you behind in favor of exploring a tiny, frozen cave. You knew it was so they would have a moment alone to continue their activities from the Pass; it was harder to do so with King Harrison’s ever-watching eye. 

“Do you see it?” The winds hurtling along the coast have left your lungs burning, and words are nearly stolen as your breath is ripped from you.

“You might have to point it out to me.” James’ admits sheepishly, eyes darting as he surveys the blue, glacial waters below. You step closer to him, careful and slow on the icy rock below, as the two of you are close to the dangerous edge. If the plummet didn’t kill you, the freezing waves crashing against the rocks certainly would. 

With a gloved hand, you point at a darker patch of water, where presumably the ocean floor is deeper than the rest of the bay. James ducks his head, his eyeline following along to where you point. Your gaze is on the side of his face, watching each emotion cross while studying every twitch of his eyebrow or jaw. 

“It’s supposed to look like a woman curled up on her side.” You explain, watching as he tilts his head ever-so-slightly, as if trying to see from a different perspective. James had been insistent on his prior promise of falling in love with the ghost city. Unlike the other guests, who mainly remained in the warmth of Fort Faliene, drinking and laughing their days away, James required endless exploration. 

Sometimes you wondered if it was somewhat of a ploy to get you alone, as even if Steve and Peggy came along as ‘escorts’, the two of you frequently found yourselves abandoned by the pair. Steve and Peggy had more interest in each other's mouths and bodies than the sights of Faliene, unlike James, who remained enraptured by every story and sight you showed him. 

You had toured him through the docks, the city, and the surrounding areas. The people of Faliene watched on with knowing smiles; even Brannigan seemed chuffed by your apparent familiarity with the King of Galanta. From what you gathered, the Falieneans were secretly pleased and were growing to forgive you for your lack of engagement. Why pester you about marrying a lord when you were actively seducing a king? 

“I see it.” James speaks up from beside you, his confused expression melting into a grin. “Her head is facing the east.”

Your eyes flickered over the now familiar planes of his face, watching as he rubbed the stumble across his jaw out of habit. A small smile plays across your face, words leaving you despite your attention being nowhere near the shape of Neume in the waters below. “I know it’s silly, that it’s just the shape of the seafloor, but Falienean’s have always said it looks like Neume sleeping on her side.” 

“You know, everyone always talks about how superstitious the north is, but I think it’s simply that we Southerners are too boring.” He replies, his eyes abruptly cutting to yours. There is a small smirk across his features as he notices your stare, and you look away, cheeks pink, now not only because of the cold. 

“I don’t think you’re boring.” You hum quietly, your words nearly stolen by the next gust of wind as you look to your feet. 

“We definitely are.”

You sucked on your teeth for a moment, tilting your head so you could see him through your peripherals. A smile crosses your face as you realize he’s been watching you the entire time, gloved fingers reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. You finally pluck up the courage to look back at him. “Tell me a story about Galanta, then. I will be the judge of whether it is boring or not.” 

James lets out a long sigh, looking upwards at the horizon in thought. “They are all stories of war and death, I’m surprised I didn’t die of boredom as a child having to listen to all those tales–”

“You know that I like history.” You cut him off, playfully pushing at his chest. Your cheeks warm up more, realizing that the hard muscle beneath doesn't give under your touch. James chuckles, running a hand through his hair as he looks down at you. “Tell me a story about when you were at war then. Maybe that will be more exciting because you were actually fighting–”

“People who tell their own tales are always bragging.” James grumbles with a hard look, which quickly softens as he catches your pleading look. He shakes his head with a sigh, humming as if in thought. His hands mindlessly come to your cloak, gloved fingers twisting through the fur trimming.

“During the war,” He begins. “Steve and I stumbled upon Prince Micheal in a whorehouse. He was so drunk on ale that he could barely see, let alone walk. The girls were sick of him, so we offered to take him back to camp. The trip was short-lived, though… We grew tired of dealing with him, so we left him passed out in a pig pen. He didn’t return to camp until the next day, it was lunch when he stormed in. He was all covered in filth. He didn’t remember a thing, but he knew Steve and I had something to do with it, we could hardly keep a straight face due to the stench.” 

A laugh bubbles in your chest, and you shake your head at the brunet. Steve had often mentioned how he and James tormented the Prince when they could. Those were tales that Steve would whisper to you over dinner, while Michael bragged and boasted about exaggerated stories further down the table. Though this was not a story you had heard before, you quickly learned that Steve was not as open with you about his secrets as you first assumed – his and Peggy’s affair being just one example. You wondered how many tales from the war were lost to you due to Steve's reluctance to share. This story seemed to have a glaringly obvious reason why.

“You and Steve frequented whorehouses?” You ask innocently, and you hear James suck in a sharp breath, his head tilting to look away guiltily. A teasing smile plays across your lips as you lean closer to him. “The good King James and his knight Sir. Rogers getting their cocks wet? How scandalous.” 

You could imagine the girls in the whorehouses would have loved to be visited by James and Steve – rich, handsome war heroes? They would’ve been snatched away before they even put their foot in the door. You didn’t have envy or malice for the whores, unlike some ladies of court who bickered about the ‘filthy harlots roaming the war fronts’. You imagined James and Steve would’ve been a welcome break from the usual soldiers who would’ve wondered their way. 

Beside you, James swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing, and he looks back at you with surprise in his guarded eyes. You wondered if he had ever heard you speak in such a vulgar way before — Steve definitely had, especially when he schemed and got you a few drinks in. His hands reach out, gripping your waist to tug you even closer to his body, and you oblige with a satisfied sigh. 

“It’s just the way of things during war.” He says, his voice husky and low as he looks down at you. His words hesitate, his tongue wetting his lower lip as he scans your face. “You’re telling me you didn’t bed a knight or two during the war? While you were all alone in Haiford Castle?”

Your smirk spreads. “You think King Harrison would’ve let me stay if he had any inkling that I wasn’t a virgin?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

You allow your eyes to roam over his face as you take your time answering his question. You note the way his pupils have dilated and the subtle strain in his jaw, as if silent worry was clawing behind his cool demeanor. 

“No. I didn’t.” You reply honestly. “You really think I would invite one of your knights into my bed, or even worse, a Haifordian knight?” 

James grins at that, as if secretly pleased by your answer. You could imagine he made assumptions about you, considering your affinity for finding trouble and irritating authority. Even if you often made it your mission to irritate Prince Michael or King Harrison, you had never fallen to the depths of sleeping around with men you despised.

“I must be good then if you’re willing to have me.” He replies, his voice still low and rumbling in his chest.

“And who said you were invited into my bed?” Your eyes flutter upwards as you look at him through your lashes, a coy smile forming in response to his smirk. 

James hums, his hands squeezing tighter as he presses a soft, gentle kiss to one of your exposed collarbones. His grin is cheeky as he raises his head once more, his expression near ravenous as he watches your breath hitch slightly, goosebumps raising across your skin. Everything about his touch and scent is intoxicating, and you nearly forget you are standing on an exposed cliff as you lean heavily into his touch. 

“I am going to speak with King Harrison tonight.”

“About what?” You manage to stutter out. Your mind is hazy and confused as you try to focus on something other than the pattern he is tracing across your ribcage with his thumb.

“Us. Peggy.” James begins, and you stiffen under his touch. “I am going to gift Steve land and make him a lord – maybe a duke or a count. Something high-ranking enough for him to marry Peggy.” 

“I haven’t even agreed to marry you.” You say through narrowed eyes. “Don’t you think this is too early?”

James looks down at you with a frown. “Where else will you go now that the funeral is complete? You can’t return to Haiford… If we settle this issue with King Harrison, you could return to Galanta with me–”

“What if I want to stay here?” You interrupt, and James snaps his mouth shut.

There is a long pause between the two of you, with James sighing slowly through his nose as his grip around your waist eases, his fingers no longer tracing delicate circles.  

“Well…” James begins hesitantly. “Once we are married, you will have to balance your time between Faliene and Galanta, as will I. If you cannot lead Faliene until our marriage, it would be wise that you return to Galanta until the ceremonies–”

“I want to be married in Faliene.” You interrupt once more.

“I thought you said you hadn’t agreed–” He starts with a grin, only for you to cut over him again with a huff.

“Hypothetically. If there were a hypothetical marriage between us, I would want it to be here–”

He is still grinning as he speaks, as if amused. His eyebrows arch as he speaks. “You do realize the Galantaians would riot, right? Robbing them of a wedding celebration–”

“I am only just winning back the trust of my people, they would be insulted if I snubbed them–”

“Well, it is tradition for the wife to be married in the husband's–”

The playful tone that had built through your exchange quickly snaps, and a scowl crosses your face as you take a step back from him. “Please don’t tell me you’re under the assumption that a husband should be the only one in charge simply because he is male–”

“No – Y/N. No.” James gasps, exasperated. His gloved hand raises up, cupping your cheeks as he looks down at you with a frown. “If we are married, Faliene would be run by you and only you. I will sign whatever papers you ask me to, and I will not interfere unless you ask my opinion.”

You blink at him slowly, exhaling sharply out of your nose as you lean into his touch despite the stubborn look across your face. A small part of you is anxious; you have been hesitant and cautious to trust all of your life. What if, like Rumlow, James was trying to fool you into marriage so he could control the seafaring of the continent? 

“Are you telling the truth?” Your voice is quiet, nearly lost to the winds. Thankfully, James doesn’t seem insulted by your wariness.

“Of course I am. I know that if Faliene is to flourish, it can only be under your rule, not mine.” James hums, his thumb gently swiping over the skin of your cheek before he pulls away. “Maybe it is best we leave the talk of weddings until after I deal with King Harrison. Deal?” 

He offers his hand in the small distance between the two of you. You chew on your lip for a moment, nodding your head as the apprehension in your gut eases. You reach out, grasping his forearm near his elbow. The muscle is bulging and swollen in comparison to your small hands. His fingers wrap around your own forearm, engulfing the clothed skin entirely as you both shake hands on this new agreement. 

“Deal.” You mutter back, though you can’t fight back the smile that has formed. 

There is a new feeling growing in your gut. 

Hope.

—

“Does King James always fuck you with his eyes?” Wanda asked from behind you, her nimble hands expertly washing the soap from your hair. Your strands were lazily dangling over the side of the tub, the water trickling off into the bucket below. Your eyes rolled back into your head, a small huff leaving your lips as you leaned harder against the warm metal. 

Once returning from The Fishhook with Steve and Peggy in tow, Wanda managed to sneak you back into your rooms before your presence was requested elsewhere. Tonight there would be one final feast before most of the guests returned home, and it seemed everyone wanted your attention or opinion on the most mundane of subjects. You had been practically assaulted with questions about dining displays and menus, while the Asgardian Princes, Thor and Loki, somehow managed to trick you into showing them the wine cellar. 

As if sensing your rising stress levels, Wanda had pulled you away, declaring she needed to help you bathe and dress for the dinner to follow. 

“You can act all coy, but we’ve all noticed it. Brannigan is biting at the bit to start organizing a wedding.” Wanda continues, and you groan loudly, slipping deeper into the warm water.

“Do not let him organize anything.” You grumble, and the woman chuckles behind you. 

“When you said you knew the Galantian’s well, I didn’t realize it was because you had invited them into your bed–”

“He has not been in my bed.” You protest, sinking even further into the water until it reaches your chin.

“Ah. Matter of time. You can see it on his face that his cock gets hard everytime he looks at you–”

“Wanda.” You cut over her sternly, wrapping your arms across your chest as you turned in the tub to face her with a scowl. The water sloshes around you at your sudden movements, Wanda withdrawing as a small wave departs the tub. “I have already upset King Harrison enough, I can’t upset him more by having rumors spread around.”

“I am sorry.” Wanda sighs, elbows braced against her thighs, as she leans over to look at you. “I am just excited for you.”

You can’t help but let a small smile grace your lips at her words. As much as you wanted to be annoyed, there was always a sincerity and sweetness to Wanda that made you cave. You move forward through the water, your breasts pressed against the metal as you cross your arms over the lip of the tub. 

“I am sorry for keeping secrets… It is just that to keep the peace between Haiford and Galanta, we have to be careful.” You mutter softly. Wanda gives you a sympathetic look, ringing out the damp cloth in her hands. 

“King Harrison is still expecting Princess Peggy to marry King James?” She asks quietly, abandoning the cloth over the lip of the tub. You press your lips together tightly, watching as Wanda fetches you a dry towel. 

“Unfortunately.” You grumble in return, standing. You allow most of the water to cascade off your skin and hair before wrapping yourself in the towel and carefully stepping out of the tub as Wanda readies your dress. 

You quickly dry yourself before the cold sets in, scoffing as Wanda speaks up once more from across the room. “He must be blind if he has not seen the way Princess Peggy and Sir Rogers dance around each other.” 

“I think I may have accidentally helped Peggy by distracting King Harrison.” You admit sheepishly.

Wanda snorts. “He seems to be looking everywhere but at Princess Peggy. Gods, he spends more time enamored with Lord Rumlow than–”

“What do you mean?” You cut over her abruptly.

Wanda arches a brow at you. “King Harrison and Lord Rumlow, they’re always constantly muttering away in the corner, haven’t you noticed?”

“I have.” You say it with a frown. At least you had noticed it more back in Galanta, but these past two weeks between the funeral, James, and organizing, you had barely had time to play spy. It was harder to notice the small things of court when you were now the center of attention rather than a ghost slinking around on the outside of conversation.

“Maybe King Harrison has grown bored of wives – Maeve says that the two of them remain locked up in King Harrison’s rooms most days and nights. She scarcely has time to clean!” Wanda says as she helps you pull on your dress, a thick, dark material with fur trimmings and silver beading around the waist. 

“Does she know what they are doing in there?” You pry cautiously, tugging the sleeves in place and shooing Wanda away as you begin to lace the front. 

“No. They always grow quiet when she knocks, and they send her away. The staff are making bets over what date they’ll announce their affair.”

You don’t reply, instead pondering over this newfound information. Wanda begins muttering about the hairstyle she will craft for you tonight. You are barely listening as you sink into the seat in front of your mother's old vanity. With any hope James’ and King Harrison’s chat goes well tonight, you felt a pit of dread growing in your stomach at the thought of what Rumlow might be scheming.

taglist | @liter4ti @just-someone11 @champagnejoker @scooobies @queerqueenlynn @fanfictionjunkie1112 @themotherof10 @diaries-of-a-hopelessromantic @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @riffstorm

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes series #james bucky barnes #marvel au #marvel fic #marvel #royalty au #medieval au #fantasy au #lady of the ghosts

[ineffablemossy]

Flufftober / Good Omentober Day 1

Mashing up the fluff and GO prompts because I love my fluffy celestial beings <3 Posting on AO3 tomorrow as its late now, I'm as tired as a hard-working angel

Prompt: I got you / Pre-Fall

Words: 2419

Rating: Teen I guess (SFW, kissing only)

---

They padded down the long, bright corridor, the white flagstones cool under their feet. Leaning round pillars and corners as they moved lightly on the balls of their feet. A shock of ruby curls bounced around their ears as they half-ran to and fro.

"Stars, where are you? Uhh, I hate these offices, go on forever and ever just boring white, white, pale white, off-white, bone white, bright white..." Raphael stopped and sighed, planting their hands on their hips. "Aziraphale! Where are yo.. oh!" They called out and turned, spotting an opening in the sheer white wall. Through the doorway, they could see a desk piled high with parchments and scrolls.

Grinning, they approached the entrance slowly, dragging their fingers on the smooth surface of the wall as they peered in. On the desk amid the stacks of documents, soft white curls peeked out. Something fluttered in their chest. Oh, now that's a nice white, white as the brightest star. They let out a soft hum, the heart beating in their corporation suddenly feeling twice as big as a moment before.

Raphael took only three steps to reach the desk, their long gainly legs almost dancing across the room. They knelt down to better see the chaos around the Principality and chuckled softly. Some of the papers had toppled, falling over the angel's head which lay unmoving, cheek pressed against the translucent surface. Aziraphale was half sprawled across the desk, one hand still holding onto a quill. His back rose and fell slowly. Raphael rested their forearms on the edge of the desk and leaned towards the peaceful, sleeping face of their beloved. Aziraphale let out the softest of snores, and Raphael scrunched their face in delight.

"Look at you," they whispered, "you're gorgeous."

They raised a hand to move the fallen bits of parchment from Aziraphale's sleeping form, then gently plucked the quill from his hand. The angel snorted a half-snored intake of breath then let out a long, low moan of displeasure, brow furrowing. Raphael moved to smooth the brilliant curls, making soothing noises.

"Shhh sshhh, it's alright Angel. You fell asleep, you must be exhausted," said Raphael. They didn't habitually sleep, but sometimes these new corporations they'd been issued with seemed to get very weary. It would all settle down in time, they'd been reassured, just a matter of getting used to it.

Aziraphale huffed and moved his forearms under his head, glaring up at Raphael through tousled hair and dust motes from the papers. He closed his eyes and pressed his head into the redhead's palm. And huffed again.

"What have you been up to? I expected to see you ages ago. I guess you've been buried in plans for Earth, hmmm?" Raphael grinned and wiggled their eyebrows. Aziraphale moaned in response, but they could see his ears move with a smile hidden behind those robust arms.

Raphael bounced up and circled the desk, placing a delicate hand on the other angel's back, between the shoulder blades. Aziraphale felt warm, even through their robes. He always felt warm, it made it feel so cosy being next to him. He was like a tiny Sun all for them, and when he smiled at them, well. It made them feel all shimmering and liquid inside, like a brand-new nebula shifting and twinkling in a perfect sky.

"So...much...paperwork..." Aziraphale's voice was muffled by his sleeves. Raphael slipped their hands down and around his waist, giving a gentle tug.

"Come on Angel. You need some rest. The paperwork will be here later," their voice dropped to a mumble, "s'not like anyone else is going to do it for you."

Aziraphale either didn't hear it pretended not to, and pushed himself up off his arms. He turned towards the tall angel, eyes hooded and dark with sleepiness. Raphael giggled and reached up to peel a scrap of parchment that had stuck to his cheek. Aziraphael cleared his throat and half smiled up at them.

"My dear, what are you doing here? Has so much time passed already? I am sorry if I missed our rendez..." he yawned widely, "vous."

"Oh don't be a silly angel, I knew you'd be here," they gestured widely towards the long corridor, "somewhere. Come on now, let's get you up." They tugged at Aziraphale's waist again with one arm, holding out the other to catch his hand.

Aziraphale pushed back in the chair and rose, enveloping the angel's slender hand in his own. Raphael saw him blush and turn towards the doorway.

"Oh no. I don't. I don't want anyone to see me taking my leave on work time though. That's why I stayed here, I was only going to rest my eyes for a moment. I should stay, I really MUST stay." He turned back towards the desk. Raphael tugged on his hand and bit their lip to stop the exasperated sigh that rose unbidden.

"Oh no you don't! You are coming with me!" They said firmly. Aziraphale spun back around, eyebrows knitting together and lips pursed in annoyance.

"Raphael it's not so simple! You know the rules, we..." he stopped as Raphael placed a long finger against his lips.

"Sssh, now, tired angel. Stroppy angel," they winked at him mischievously and rubbed their thumb across his knuckles, feeling the wide strong bones found there. "I know a place. No one ever goes there, I promise." Aziraphale sighed heavily them met their gaze, all the fight and heat drained out of his face.

"Promise? You're sure?"

"Absolutely! Just a couple of..." they looked up and waved their spare hand around, "Ngh I don't know. Units of time, we've not really nailed down a name for them yet. But you know, a couple of units let's say. Then you'll feel all better, and no one will have noticed a thing."

They looked down at him, tilting their head forward with wide eyes, and blinked a few times in succession. "Pleeease..."

Aziraphale blushed again as he met their gaze. "Alright then, but just for a little while!" He rushed out the words.

Raphael wiggled on the spot, feeling very pleased with themself. Squeezing that big, strong hand they led Aziraphale to the doorway before popping their head around the edge and looking both ways. The corridor was empty in both directions.

"All clear, come on!" Raphael said. They rushed through the doorway, hopping along the shiny floor as though it prickled their soles. They turned back the way they'd come in, heading in the vague direction of the stairwell.

They turned around, feeling Aziraphale's hand heavy in theirs. The angel was yawning again and they couldn't help tilting their head and letting out a soft sound of adoration. When they turned back, the door to the stairwell was suddenly in front of them.

"I'll never understand your offices, Angel." They pushed through the door and the two angels found themselves in a white and grey space, with stairs spiralling up and down. Raphael looked over the railing and shivered when they saw the gloomy blackness swallowing up the stairs far below.

"Right, we're going up. Come on Angel! It's not too far."

"I do hope not or I might just fall asleep right here on the stairs," Aziraphale said tritely. They started up the stairs together, side by side.

"Mm, don't think that'd be too comfy. What I've got in mind is much better." They flashed a smile at their companion.

After a few turns around and up the spiral, the stairway narrowed. They ascended one more flight and found themselves in front of a nondescript grey door.

"This is it," Raphael fizzed inside. They loved showing their Angel new things, little secrets they found here and there across the Universe. It made them feel something divine when they shared these moments. They raised their hand to the door and pushed, leading Aziraphale in by the hand.

The door closed behind them, and it was dark. A warm, velvet dark that lapped over them.

"Let there be light," Raphael whispered and made the tiniest motion. It was important that no one find this place, so they used the tiniest miracle they could. A small orb appeared in their hands glowing just enough to show them the floor and close surroundings.

They started forward again with Aziraphale trailing very close behind. They could feel his breath on the back of the neck. It sent tingles down their spine.

The shape of a doorway materialised out of the shadows and they stepped through. There was more light here, and Raphael snuffed out the light. They drew Aziraphale forward and snugged their arm around his waist. He was looking at them quizzically.

"Angel, look up," said Raphael and they both craned their heads back. Aziraphale gasped then.

Above them, the ceiling was not high. But it was entirely made of glass. Beyond the transparent canopy, the Vaults of Heaven were laid out in all their glory. The dark sky shifted through shades of dark blue, to purple, to almost black, with ribbons of lilac and pink and green meandering across the firmament. Golden stars twinkled, scattered across the vista like thousands of tiny lamps straining to shine the brightest. It was a singular, ethereal beauty. Despite all the work Raphael had done creating star systems, nebulas, and novas; there was still something a bit special about that view. The light coppery hairs on their arms prickled and stood up at the sight.

"Whaddya think?" They whispered.

"It's.. it's.. just divine! Beautiful!" Aziraphale paused for a moment. "Gorgeous, even!" Raphael grinned from ear to ear.

"I hoped you'd like it."

"Oh, I do. Very, very much." Aziraphale turned towards them, a contented smile creasing his eyes. "Thank you so much dearest! It really is wonderful!" Raphael felt their cheeks heating up.

"Aha, and that's not all!" They moved further into the room, easier to see as their eyes adapted to the low light. The room didn't appear well kept, strewn with a variety of oddly shaped dark shadows. Some of them looked like boxes.

In The middle was a particularly large shadow. Raphael smiled and reached down, clutching a large piece of fabric and pulling dramatically. They spun round and let the fabric flutter down to the ground, revealing a dusty, but soft-looking chaise longue with plush navy blue velvet.

"Now, come over here Angel," they stretched out their hand. Aziraphale took a few steps and then lurched forward, arms flailing.  Raphael rushed towards him a step and felt the full force of the angel slam into them. They toppled backwards, tripping in turn against the end of the bed.

"Ouf!" Aziraphale said as he fell on top of the fiery-haired angel, who had instinctively wrapped their arms around his shoulders. "Oh darling, I'm so sorry. I tripped on something." He tried to raise himself up but Raphael tightened their arms around him, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

"S'alright Angel, I've got you," Raphael whispered into Aziraphale's ear and nuzzled into his soft curls. The smell of him was intoxicating. They felt him relax into their embrace, their breath rising and falling together.

"We should probably move a little dearest," Aziraphale's voice was muffled again, this time by Raphael's robes. "Shame to not make full use of this lovely spot you've found."

"Mm, I suppose you're right. I was just, you know, enjoying this for a moment." Raphael unwrapped their arms to release the angel, then scooted up onto the recliner which was practically a bed. Conveniently sized for two angels in fact. They leaned back and beckoned to Aziraphale with wide open arms.

Aziraphale climbed onto the bed on both knees and almost crawled upwards towards them. The sight made them feel giddy and glad to be lying down already. The Principality leaned over, planting a thick arm roped with muscle on each side of their fire-crowned head. They licked their lips, taking in as much detail as they could in the dim half-light. Looking up, they found Aziraphale's gaze. His eyes sparkled, shifting tones of grey and dark blue. Feeling his tender smile beaming down at them Raphael thought they might just discorporate there and then.

Aziraphale shifted and Raphael felt his hand against their cheek. Their breath hitched in response to the touch.

"You never cease to amaze me, my dearest darling Raphael." The angel's voice was warm. "My existence wouldn't be nearly as interesting without you."

Then they felt their lover's breath hot on their face, and they reached up to swing their arms around his back.

"Come here Angel."

Aziraphale dipped and they felt his soft, plush lips meet theirs. Sparks shivered through their limbs as they kissed, contented sounds escaping them. They closed their eyes, losing themself in the moment, in the warmth and love rolling off of their Angel's mouth and tongue. When Aziraphale broke their touch Raphael sighed into the space between them. They brushed noses affectionately, and they couldn't help but grin lazily when their beloved shifted to place a soft kiss on their forehead.

"I do love doing that you know," Aziraphale murmured into their hair.

"Mm, me too. S'great" Raphael replied. "But you should be getting some rest now. Come and lie down here." They patted the velvet beside them. "We can kiss some more next time you're free and not falling asleep under paperwork!" They teased.

Aziraphale shifted to lie down and they both looked up at the star-lined vista above them. Raphael wriggled closer, nestling into Aziraphale's shoulder and breathing deeply, trying to inhale the very scent of him, to capture the olfactive memory of the moment.

They shook out their wings then and draped one across the both of them. Aziraphale slid an arm under their neck and reached down to stroke the downy feathers st their shoulder blades.

"That you my dear, that's very nice. Very, what was it that word you found again? Cosy?"

"Mm, yeah, cosy," they sighed, tingles running through them as the angel's fingers stroked their feathers.

They both looked up in silence at the celestial skyscape, their breathing gradually slowing.

"I think I might quite like to come here again, with you darling." Aziraphale's voice was thick and heavy with sleep.

"Me too Angel, me too."

Raphael heard gentle snores and smiled happily. Then, tucked up warm and cosy and loved, they closed their eyes and slept.

---

tagging @disaster-dog thank you for the pre-Fall prompt!

#flufftober #flufftober2023 #flufftober 2023 #good omentober #day 1 #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fic #no beta we die like the song of the nightingale in ep6 #writing prompts #writing challenge #challenge mashup #pre fall crowley #angel!crowley #crowley was raphael #the long corridors of heaven #soft angels #they're soft for each other #so fluffy #only fluff #and a kiss #but mostly tooth rotting fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #and now sleep #to dream of starlit sleepy angels

[nixie-writes-aot]

Cuddle Pile

Warnings: fluff, pre-s1, polyarmory, crass language, suggestive language, implied sex, nonbinary Hange

Characters: Levi Ackerman, Hange Zoe, Erwin Smith

Prompt: Shy and Blushing // Affections and Fondness

Author's Note: This one goes out to my girlfriend who adores the veterans so. Here three of em are. All fluffy and shit instead of hurt/comfort or angst like the last two prompts have been hdndndm

Levi opened his eyes, staring towards the ceiling. On one side, there was arms clinging to his arm and curled up fetal position beside him. On the other, an arm draped across his chest. Hange's head was against his shoulder whereas Erwin's was on his chest. Levi could probably untangle himself but the idea of doing that made him feel ever so slightly guilty. Even if all three of them had things to do that day, Levi had a feeling Hange didn't want to get up and neither did he but Erwin? The only reason Levi could see him sleeping in like he was today was probably exhaustion.

Levi didn't often just lay there and enjoy moments but today he couldn't see himself doing anything else. The brunette to his right hummed, "You're finally awake." Levi turned his head towards theirs, staring at the sleepy expression that was somewhat obscured by their messy brown hair. It was a mess, let down and beyond messier than normal even.

"Tch. Not all of us can be early risers after last night." Levi retorted.

Hange snickered, "Erwin was exhausted. We did a number on him." They pointed out.

Levi only sighed, "Shut up, shitty glasses. We shouldn't wake him."

"Ever the dutiful one." Hange teased.

Levi rolled his eyes, looking to Erwin's sleeping face. His blonde hair was tousled and messy, for once, lips parted just barely as he lightly snored. Levi couldn't help but smile, ever so slightly. He enjoyed taking in these moments, after the nights of passion where the three exhausted one another. Last night was just Erwin's turn as the main recipient. Levi curled his arm around Erwin, ruffling the Commander's hair and earning a low grumble. Erwin opened his eyes, those pools of stunning blue, staring into Levi's own silvery grey eyes.

"Good morning, Levi." Erwin grunted, his voice deep and raspy, "And Hange."

Hange grinned, "You both are such late risers today!" They exclaimed, sitting up and stretching out before flopping back down on Levi.

Levi only sighed, "Morning, shitty brows."

Erwin chuckled deeply, "I love you too, Levi."

Taglist: @leviweek2023 @yourthoughtsjim

#attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #nix writes #nix dreams #levi ackerman #erwin smith #hange zoe #eruri #levihan #eruhan #leviweek2023

[enchantmentandshadows]

Elriel Month | Shy Glances & Unrestricted Touches

Word Count: 2,413

Content Warning: None

Theme: Fluffy & Sweet

Song Suggestion: “Tell Her You Love Her” - Echosmith Featuring Mat Kearney

“And just HOW do you know I was watching?” She asked haughtily, very aware that his warm hands still rested on her waist.

"What kind of Spymaster would I be if I DIDN'T notice?" He asked, looking down at her, the green in his hazel eyes looking especially vibrant in the garden. Elain's heart raced at his nearness, his touch, his scent.

Elain closed her eyes and smiled, tilting her head back to let the warm sun kiss her face. She didn’t fret when a gentle breeze took her sunhat, letting it fall to the grass as she dabbed a handkerchief over her neck. Today was a good day, they all were lately, each better than the last. She’d stopped counting the good days months ago, when they far exceeded the bad but she hadn’t stopped appreciating them. Every day she found something to be grateful for, something special, beautiful.

The quiet rustling of paper had the corners of her mouth quirking up as she turned to her normally very quiet companion. Today, she was grateful to have Azriel in the garden keeping her company. He sat back, one booted ankle crossed over the other as he read through a stack of reports. Though, presently, his eyes were on her instead of his reports, a faint blush creeping over his cheeks as his eyes darted back to the pages in his hands.

Elain couldn't help but admire the way the sun shone through his outstretched wings, filtering through in dark reds and golds. If she had Feyre’s talent, she thought, she’d paint him just like this. His wings shifted slightly and she quickly turned her attention back to the peonies she’d been tending lest she be caught staring. He was so easy to admire after all, so beautiful.

Elain blushed, mentally scolding herself for how often she thought of the Shadowsinger. Of his thick hair, always perfectly tousled as if even the wind couldn't help but run its fingers through it. She thought of his handsome face, his kind smile and eyes that seemed to see straight to her soul. She though of the strong arms that had carried her as if she were light as a feather and she thought of his hands. Strong but gentle hands she found so beautiful, hands she’d imagined on her bare skin more than a few times.

A light, that's exactly what Elain Archeron was. Even in the darkest of her days he’d seen it, an undying ember of hope that lived within her. It made her positively radiant beyond her obvious physical beauty.

Like calls to like. Maybe that's why even the sun seemed to worship her, bathing her in it's light while it basked in HER glow. The rays making her strands of honey gold hair glow as they wove through the soft brown curls cascading down her back. How many times had he dreamed about running his fingers through those thick tresses? More than he'd ever admit and too many to count.

He smiled to himself when his shadows whispered that she'd been watching him. Now he watched as she turned to the light, eyes closed as she let it warm her. He could almost imagine what it would feel like, to stand before her and press his lips to hers. How soft and warm that kiss would be, how sweet she would taste and what a kiss like that might mean. That maybe, Elain cared for him as much as he'd grown to care for her.

He took one last look at her before turning back to his reports, watching her weave through the garden in his periphery, listening to her soft footsteps and occasional humming, sometimes quietly joining her though he doubted she could hear.

"How are the new additions faring?" Azriel asked, his smooth voice drawing Elain's attention once more.

"Well," she began, clearly happy to have been asked. "The wisteria is positively thriving and the tulip bulbs you were kind enough to bring me from the continent are nearly ready to bloom. I've planted so many, it'll be like a sea of colors."

She went on about all her latest changes to the garden, pausing only when she thought she'd perhaps talked too much and had begun to bore him.

"I had no doubt they would thrive in your care." He offered with a smile, forearms resting on his knees as he listened to her with rapt attention. "Until we can get you to the continent, I'll bring the continent to you."

"One day." She said, offering him a shy smile and a nod of thanks. He knew what it meant to her, how long she dreamed of seeing the continent with her sisters. How she'd always imagined her father joining them. True, it wasn't the same as going, but the gesture was no less thoughtful, especially when he was likely away on important court business. That he'd thought of her at all touched her more than she would ever be able to tell him.

Azriel stood and stretched, his sun warmed wings extending before tucking back behind him. Elain admired his lean form, the wide sweep of his wings and the way the sun glinted off his cobalt Siphons and his eyes, eyes that were looking straight at her. She saw the faint color on his cheeks and Elain knew he'd caught her staring this time. Quickly, she turned her attention to the rose in her hand. Carefully, snipping it from the bush and laying it with the rest she'd collected.

"As usual you are too kind." She said nervously, snipping another rose. "I haven't planted the seeds you brought me from the Winter Court yet, I'm hoping I'll have better luck them when the weather cools."

Met with silence, she looked up to find him watching her now. She couldn't stop the blush she knew was creeping over her cheeks under his soft gaze. Her heart fluttered every time he looked at her like that, and lately that had been quite often.

Azriel took one step toward her, then another and another, his eyes never leaving hers. Those warm brown eyes, full of so much understanding, hope and love.

"And the roses, how are they coming along?" He asked, watching her delicate fingers trace along the edges of the petals before leaning in to take in its sweet scent.

"Perfectly happy here." She answered softly. "They had a bit of trouble at first but now their roots are strong, they're flourishing beautifully.

He couldn't help but think the same about her. How happy he was that she lovingly called the Night Court her home now. Even if in the dark recesses of his mind that fear still existed, that one day she might accept the bond and make a home for herself elsewhere. Far from Night. Far from him.

Her eyes flicked from the rose back to him and he took another step, as if waiting for her permission, as if she willed it so. Each step brought her into better view, no longer so hidden by the lush greenery of the garden.

"Az!"

She started as he froze, just close enough to spot the freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose.

"Cassian." He answered, turning toward his friend as he made to meet him halfway. So close.

Elain's heart sank as the distance between them grew, even as his shadow seemed to try to stretch to meet her before his retreat.  It was nothing, she told herself. A simple conversation like many they'd had before, there was nothing remarkable about today, nothing different...aside from that look.

She tried to busy herself with her roses again but it was no use. She hung on his every word, listening to him and Cassian discuss looming problems with the Illyrian forces. Selfishly, she hoped he wouldn't be sent away to help with those problems. As it was, she found that she already missed him on days he didn't turn up for family dinners.

Judging by his tone, Azriel didn't wish to oversee the Illyrians either. Not wanting to eavesdrop further on what seemed to be a tense conversation, Elain found herself wandering deeper into the garden until she could only faintly make out Azriel's voice. She let the timbre and cadence of it soothe her as she wandered and wove through, snipping and collecting blooms as she went. Eventually, she settled in a spot a safe distance away that allowed them privacy while she admired the garden and the Shadowsinger.

Azriel half listened to Cassian, in the end he knew Cass would unload all the mounting issues, but be the one to go. The one to face the Illyrian's ire for bothering to help. Azriel just didn't have it in him to pretend to play nice for long enough to get anything accomplished. He found he'd much rather be here, staring into the lovely brown eyes that now peered at him between flowering branches in the distance.

"Fine, I'll go." Cassian said without argument, "But next time you're coming with me. It'll be good for you." Cassian said, clapping him on the back.

"Next time." Azriel agreed with a nod, like he did every time they had this conversation.

Elain knew he'd seen her but she couldn't bring herself to look away, not until she pricked her finger on a thorn as she carelessly reached for another rose. She gasped, snatching her hand back and cradling it, a bead of crimson blood resting at her fingertip. She watched as the small wound quickly healed and used a clean handkerchief to wipe the tiny ruby of blood away.

She stilled for a moment, suddenly realizing the garden had gone quiet. She looked up, searching for any sign of Azriel, but he was gone. Likely back inside the manor with Cassian. She craned her neck, hoping he might have returned to his reports but his seat remained empty.

“Damn.” She breathed, not wanting their moment to have been cut so short. Not when it felt like some new version of what they were was ready to bloom. They regularly caught each other staring, shared secret smiles when no one else was watching. So many times he’d brushed by her, and she’d reached out, fingertips lightly brushing over his hand as he passed.

"Have you lost something?" Azriel's voice asked playfully from behind her.

She gasped and spun to face him, Azriel's hands gripping her waist, stopping her before she backed into the thorny roses she'd been hiding behind.

“Azriel,” She laughed, playfully scolding him. “You scared me half to death!"

“I apologize, Lady.” Azriel chuckled, not all sorry for catching her staring or for having an excuse to touch her.

“Yes, your laughing sounds very regretful.” She scolded, laughing herself.

“It’s difficult to have any regrets in my current position.” He admitted, his heart aching over how right this felt. Still, he had to be careful, Elain wasn’t just anyone, not to his family and not to him.

“I DO wonder,” He started, “How you could be startled at all.” A mischievous grin played at his lips. “You were watching so intently."

Elain narrowed her eyes even as a pretty blush colored her cheeks.

“And just HOW do you know I was watching?” She asked haughtily, very aware that his warm hands still rested on her waist.

"What kind of Spymaster would I be if I DIDN'T notice?" He asked, looking down at her, the green in his hazel eyes looking especially vibrant in the garden. Elain's heart raced at his nearness, his touch, his scent.

“Translation, YOU were watching ME.” She smiled up at him, looking too proud of herself.

“Every chance I get.” He admitted, the confession surprising them both.

"You're hurt." He said, before she could respond. His eyes resting on the hand she still cradled to her chest.

"Yes-no, I was." She clarified, stumbling over her words as he took her hand in his own, carefully looking it over.

"I pricked my finger is all." She says, sheepishly extending her now healed finger for him to see.

"Dangerous business, gardening." He said, heart thundering in his chest as he raised her hand, pressing a kiss to her fingertip. He didn't know what possessed him to be so forward, but neither did he regret it.

The softest touch of his lips on her skin sent a sparkling energy coursing through Elain.

Slowly, her lips parted as she silently watched him, wishing to feel his lips against hers next.

"But worth the risk." She breathed.

Unthinking, she stepped forward, resting her free hand on his chest, beside his glittering Siphon. If she were braver, she would pull him in and kiss him herself instead, she let the rhythm of his heartbeat steady her nerves as he pressed another kiss to the palm of her hand.

She couldn't stop herself then, from tenderly caressing his cheek as his hand ghosted down her forearm and came to rest on her waist again.

"The best things usually are." He answered, as he held up a freshly trimmed rose, no doubt magicked into his hand with the help of his clever shadows.

"Is that the one that pricked me?" She asked with narrowed eyes, settling into the comfort of their closeness.

"It had to be done.” He said, smiling as he carefully tucked it behind her ear, the soft peach rose looking perfect nestled in her golden brown curls.

Elain felt it then, that bravery she'd lacked earlier as she leaned forward. Azriel didn't dare back away, not even as his shadows whispered that the High Lady was fast approaching. No, he too leaned in, Elain’s fearlessness catching.

"Elain?!" Feyre called out.

 Elain's eyes widened as she turned to her sister's voice before glancing back at Azriel who was already backing away toward his shadows.

"Tomorrow?" He asked, offering an apologetic smile.

Elain nodded. "Dinner?" She asked, smiling as he nodded before disappearing into the shadows completely.

“Elain!  There you are!” Feyre called, smiling as she approached.

“Here I am.” Elain breathed, pulse still racing and skin flushed.

“I don’t know what you do out here for hours, everything looks perfect to me.” She said, gathering the flowers Elain had collected.

“Oh, just planting seeds, seeing what grows.” Elain answered quietly.

“Well, you’re as red as a rose, come inside and have lunch with me.” Feyre asked, nodding toward the house. Sensing she wouldn’t take no for an answer, Elain nodded, looping her arm through Feyre’s as they headed back.

On the way, Elain noticed Azriel’s stack of reports missing from his usual spot, her discarded sunhat sitting in its place. Tomorrow, she would see him again tomorrow and perhaps that boldness they both seemed to feel today would return tomorrow too.

#elrielmonth #elrielmonth23 #elriel #proelriel #elain #proelain #azriel #proazriel #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #elriel fic #elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #shyglances #unrestrictedtouching #elriel month 23 #elriel month

[outpost51]

— The Unlikely Adventures of Bitchface and Go F*ck Yourself (18+)

And oh, how it burns.

Chapter WC: 8,996

Warning(s): explicit sexual content

{READ HERE ON AO3} or below the cut ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

9 months, 7 days remaining

Zadimus woke with a dry mouth, fluffy hair up his nose, pins and needles in multiple limbs, and a very small, very cold foot pressed threateningly into his hip. Even in her sleep, Dillon was feisty. Thankfully she was curled up high on his chest, a pillow saving her cheek from the bony ridge of his clavicle. The evidence of how much he enjoyed her ever-present attitude would need to be taken care of at some point, but he imagined she wouldn’t be as happy to see it as it was to see her.

And what a sight she made — her black-and-blue mop of curls framing her face, for once at peace and not scowling; one little hand tucked protectively over her heart and the other wrapped around three of his fingers, her surprising strength clearly the reason for that particular extremity’s numbness; naked as the day she was born, and if he moved the wing he’d tucked around her like a security blanket, he had an unobstructed view of the bats flying over her hip, the soft creases of her belly, looking for all the world like a painted cherub edited to look edgier.

Dillon, however, woke up far too hot in some places, and so cold it hurt in others, and her blanket felt weird, and wouldn’t move, and yelped when she roughly yanked and shoved it away from her.

“Those are attached, I’ll have you know,” a deep, husky voice groused next to her ear.

She punched blindly toward the direction of the sound, hoping to hit whatever it was attached to. Hard.

And then she remembered she had, in fact, gone to bed with Zadimus — though not in the same bed, and she’d address that eventually — and had half an apology formed before something firm, velvety, and a little damp prodded her hip.

Another part attached to Zadimus. Also hard.

“I’m no longer sorry for punching you,” she huffed.

“You wound me. What have I ever done to you?”

“Besides slamming me against multiple walls and slapping my ass to make a joke about turning the lights off?” Dillon simpered.

His eyes were drawn directly to her bare chest when she leaned forward.

She hit him again.

“I distinctly remember there being a clause about bodily injury in our contract,” Zadimus chuffed, grabbing her tiny fist in his hand when she moved to hit him a third time. He yanked her forward into his lap. “You forget the part where I ravaged you against those walls, little one, and on the table, and in the very bed which you seem to have vacated during the night. ” Maybe it was the soft gasp that obliterated the last vestiges of his self control, or perhaps the way her pupils flared, or chills spread over every inch of her, or the subtle twitch of her hips that dampened his bare thigh.

He almost caught her free hand, thinking her sudden move heralded another swing towards his face, but she grabbed the tousled braid at his left temple instead, and the move surprised him so much, he loosened his grip on her other fist; it did the same, going right for his braid, an action he decided he quite liked when she yanked his head forward. Her inexperience showed plainly in her hesitation a breath away from initiating a kiss. Her heart fluttered frantically in a vain attempt to escape its cage.

He was to teach her, after all, was he not? Making love carried its own sort of magic, the initial stages especially so. Zadimus closed the distance between them, grunting in surprise when the gentle swipe of his tongue over her lower lip to request entry was met with a bite to his own. She was a quick study, it seemed. She tugged his braids again — anyone else probably would have lost their hands for the transgression, but he was quickly finding he liked when the little human got a bit bossy — towards her bed, and he didn’t blame her; the trundle might break if they went at each other with half the vigor they had the previous night.

Dillon didn’t fight him as he lifted her onto her rumpled pile of blankets, for which he was grateful. His effort to make her more comfortable, however, was met with a sharp bite to his nipple when he leaned over her to grab one of her pillows.

“Do you not remember what I told you last night about starting things you don’t intend to finish?” he chided, slipping the pillow under her head despite the click of her teeth as she snapped her jaws at him with a giggle that he didn’t know if he could be angry at if he tried.

“Who says I don’t intend to finish?” Her eyes glowed radioactive green with the challenge. He wondered if she knew, if anyone had noticed it before, or if she was reacting as much to his proximity as he was hers. “I intend to finish at least twice.”

“Oh, do you?” Zadimus clucked his tongue. “Such a demanding little thing,” he teased, “and she doesn’t even know what she’s asking for, does she?” The rapid blush was all the answer he needed. “No, I don’t think you do.”

“I know exactly what I’m asking for, Zadimus, I’m not some sheltered little wallflower, and we did plenty—”

“No, but if I wasn’t your first, I’m certainly on a very short list.”

Dillon shut her mouth in a scowl. It deepened when the victory split his face in a smug grin.

“And we barely did anything at all, Dillon,” he rumbled, his mouth pressed against her ear. “I’ve done things that would make a sailor blush, but you? My dear, sweet little thing, you would melt right through your sheets.” To prove his point, he snapped his own jaws and reveled in the shiver that traveled all the way to her curling toes. She squirmed beneath him, every movement only serving to get her more and more tangled in her blankets. “Shall I tell you a few?” She squirmed harder, grumbling under her breath. “I think that’s a yes—” Zadimus raised his voice in a mocking falsetto “— ‘oh, yes, Zadimus, you bastard, please ravage my sweet mind with tales of your lewd and lascivious escapades!’ Oh, Dillon, I’d love to, but are you sure you can handle it? I’ve been a very nasty boy.”

A glare was his answer. A glare and a fruitless attempt to fight an involuntary jerk of her hips. “I’ll bite your nipple again,” she hissed.

“And I’ll bite right back,” he sneered in her face before traveling lower, nipping at her clavicle, kissing between her breasts, grazing his teeth over the left one in a silent threat. “Eventually, you’ll learn, but for now, I think I’ll let you keep lighting those matches.” Zadimus nipped a trail down her side. “Anyway.” He flipped Dillon’s legs over his shoulders. “If we didn’t have places to be, perhaps I could spend more time fulfilling all my nasty promises.”

Dillon gasped as he yanked her hips higher until her shoulders rested on his thighs. She wondered why he bothered with the pillow at all, then, or if he just didn’t have a plan in the first place and wanted her to be comfortable in case she didn’t antagonize him immediately.

Clearly he didn’t know her that well yet.

The new angle had the fan blowing directly between her legs, and that was as good an excuse as any to explain away her tremble. It was just the breeze cooling the flood, not the heat of his gaze raking coals down the soft line of her body. Not the proximity of his mouth to where she wanted it but was too stubborn to say so. Not his breath, so much hotter on every ragged exhale than the chill wafting over her, lingering between breaths like smoldering embers. Not the overwhelming evidence he was clearly as affected by her as she was by him, namely his length roughly jabbing her in the kidney. It was just the fan. Not him.

“As it is,” he drawled, and she swore internally when every breath made her twitch and squirm, “you’ll just have to settle. Pity.” That particular puff of air was nearly her undoing.

“You keep stalling like this I’m, I’m gonna start thinking maybe, maybe you’re the shy, inexp— oh, fuck.” She couldn’t help it, her eyes rolled all the way back and somewhere on the edge of her awareness, she thought she might have kicked him when he shut her up with a rough drag of his tongue through her center. Her throbbing heel and his offended grunt confirmed it. “S-sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for and you aren’t sorry, regardless,” he rumbled. Every word sent a jolt of white-hot lightning straight up her spine. “But as I was saying—” he flicked his tongue stud across her bud “—if we didn’t have places to be, I could take my time here—” He closed his mouth over her and sucked hard, like he was trying to mark her again; the sting of his teeth dragged a sound from her throat she’d never heard before, halfway between a groan and something deeper, darker, older. It was agony of the purest kind when he released her to speak again.

“F-fuck you,” she whined. It wasn’t her most graceful moment, but she didn’t imagine she could manage much more from her current position, upside down with a demon between her legs.

“That could be arranged, but I think we’d have to get creative,” he teased. “As you’ve pointed out previously, you are quite small, and I think you’d need a step stool just to— ack!” Zadimus lunged then, once his head stopped spinning from her kick, and for a breath she was almost afraid, but then her chest was compressed by her own legs and his weight. “Such a violent little thing,” he hissed.

“It’s not my fault you’re such a good punching bag,” she snapped back.

“Forgive me if I’m not very intimidated by your indignant display.”

“Forgive me if I’m a little cranky you’re doing nothing but teasing.” Dillon struggled to free herself, but it was useless.

Zadimus clucked his tongue, giving her ankles the final push they needed to be fully pinned to her pillows. “Oh dear, has the violent little thing forgotten how to ask nicely for things she wants already?” Zadimus ground his hips against her, nowhere near where she wanted, and the small, angry sound she made utterly delighted him. “Has she forgotten how patient I can be?”

Dillon’s mouth turned down. “I thought you said we had places to be.”

“We do.”

“So why are you wasting time?” His smile sent icy chills down her back.

“I believe every interruption so far has been your own doing,” he purred. “And I have no intention of delaying our plans. I don’t think you’ll get two before we leave if you keep it up at this rate, so if you’d like to get even one, you’ll stop being such a brat and politely ask me to stop talking and fuck you properly.”

Oh, if looks could kill. Dillon’s face tacked on additional charges after the initial murder with every second he chuckled at her displeasure. He supposed it was that preoccupation that kept him from noticing her hands weren’t bound like her legs, and further that it was his own fault she managed to wrap her hand around his shaft and twist. It didn’t stop the surprised yelp, the groan, the shudder, or the quiet command to continue that escaped him.

“Sorry, didn’t hear that,” Dillon goaded, repeating the twisting-squeezing motion. “If you want me to keep going, you’ll have to ask nicely.” She returned his cold smile. “I’m also open to trades.”

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Maybe that’s the plan.”

Unable to stand it any longer, Zadimus lifted up just long enough to give the little shit what she wanted, lining up and pressing in with a little more care than she most likely thought she needed. “And then who will teach you how to harness your abilities?”

In an instant, she had his braids firmly wrapped around her hands and yanked him down to meet her gaze. “I’ll just bring you back.”

That wasn’t at all how things worked, but in the moment, his dick didn’t care and, quite frankly, neither did he; he held her stare as he pumped his hips harder, faster, refusing to look away and let her best him again. It didn’t take long to chuck her bodily over the edge of climax with how close she already was, and watching her come undone had him leaping over after her. They fell hard and fell together and he didn’t stop, couldn’t — he shouldn’t make it a habit to give her what she wanted when she stomped her little foot, he thought, but goddammit, he liked the sound of his name when her voice cracked around it.

She was close again, right there, his wings flared out of some deep-rooted instinct and what he expected — more screaming, another wave of endorphins, drowning in the hazy afterglow — was instead replaced by a loud crash and a sudden sharp, throbbing pain spider-webbing across the membranes.

He’d forgotten about the fucking ceiling fan.

And Dillon, the merciless, bloodthirsty little shit she was, cackled as he crumpled to the ground in a heap of frustration and wounded pride. “If you broke my fucking fan, you’re replacing it,” she wheezed from her pile of blankets like an utterly unsympathetic emperor, only upset her coliseum was damaged, not her favorite gladiator.

“Not an ounce of pity,” he scoffed.

Her face appeared over the edge of the bed, and through the frame of his twitching wings, he saw the eager gleam in her eye. “Nope!” The fluffy curls framing her face no longer looked like a halo.

“You’ll regret that.”

“That’s a problem for future Dillon,” she quipped. Her clammy, bare toes dug into his hip as she climbed over him. “I’m getting in the shower.”

Zadimus wasn’t sure if it was a statement or an invitation. He laid on the floor for a little longer before his unsatisfied erection decided on the latter for him. It wasn’t fair, and he didn’t very much care if that reasoning made him sound like a petulant child who’d gotten a smaller piece of cake.

He yanked the shower curtain back and watched her eyes blow wide and follow the rod to the floor as it clattered against the tile. Another protest, perhaps, or another threat of financial penalties bloomed and died on her tongue with his approach. For a moment, he thought he’d gone too far, but rather than shrinking back, she rose to the challenge. Defiance flared to life in her eyes, goading him to follow through, to finish what he started.

He wouldn’t make it a habit to give her what she wanted when she stomped her little foot, perfect pert tits be damned.

The angry stream of swears he got for shoving his wings under the spray, completely blocking the water from rinsing the suds from her hair, went a long way towards healing his emotional distress. She was rather precious with her eyes screwed shut to keep the soap out and her nose scrunched up in annoyance, but he wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t take pleasure in her agony, so he parted his wings just enough for the blast of water to hit her right in the face.

“You dick!” she screeched, sputtering water out of her mouth.

“Oh dear, and not a drop of sympathy in sight,” he drawled as he undid the braids at his temples. The benefit, he supposed, to moving in with three women was the overwhelming amount of choices regarding toiletries; he took his sweet time perusing the options, sniffing each one, blissfully ignoring the pitiful little slaps to his abs. He had the forethought, at least, to angle his hips away from her wrath – he might have liked it when she got a bit rough with his little buddy, but smacking it about like a pepped-up kitten wasn’t exactly what he considered a good time.

Dillon’s attempt at a growl was endearing. “We have places to be! I can’t bathe efficiently with you in the way!”

“Mm, perhaps you should have thought of that before being so cruel and laughing at my grievous wound,” he simpered, working the lather through his mane. “I need the extra heat, Dillon, my poor wings are injured.”

“The only thing you hurt is your pride, you overgrown bat,” she snapped as she shoved his wings out of the way like an unruly umbrella.

“That isn’t a very polite thing to say to an injured person, Dillon.” The water suddenly shut off before Zadimus had finished rinsing his hair. He heard the splash of little feet landing in whatever hellacious puddle his melodrama created and the quiet rustle of Dillon toweling off just outside grabbing range. “Really?” he scoffed.

“You’re the one that said we were on a time limit,” Dillon quipped, rubbing the towel vigorously through her hair. It was pointless trying to do anything with it until it dried; the curls would just fight against the brush and leave her with a worse headache than she already had from dealing with the demon grousing in her shower. She tossed on her shirt from the night before and a pair of pants from the clean hamper in the hallway and went downstairs to eat breakfast, trotting along to the rhythm of a blinded demon slapping the wall in a poor attempt to find the water controls.

Dillon had already wolfed down two slices of cold pizza by the time Zadimus sauntered downstairs, a towel twisted atop his head in a monument to his vanity.

“There’s a ley line not far from here,” he said, stealing the third slice of pizza from her hand for his own breakfast. “A few minutes by car, at most. What are you staring at?”

“How is the towel staying up?”

Zadimus blinked slowly. “I’d imagine the same way your mother and sister manage it, since they too have long hair.”

“But they don’t have horns.”

“And I’ve had mine long enough to understand how to work around them. Car?”

Dillon shook her head. “My mom took hers and McKinley picked Daisy up.”

“We could call—”

“No!” Dillon cleared the outburst from her throat. “I mean, no, I don’t want to bother Moira this early in the morning if it’s not even that far. We can walk.”

At least Zadimus didn’t acknowledge the explosive defensiveness. She wasn’t ready to tell her best friend what was going on, nor was she ready to deal with how Moira might react.

She should have known he wouldn’t just let the rest of the morning slide, however, as ten minutes later she found herself clinging to his chest like her life depended on it — and it did — several hundred feet above the neighborhood. “I thought your wings were injured!”

A snort was all she got in response. Dick.

He landed with far more care than she expected; she barely felt his feet hit the ground. She was less pleased about her lack of footwear, soft ground or not.

“Most beginners cast barefoot,” he explained before she could ask. “Some don’t wear shoes even after they’ve advanced. You’ll be able to feel the ley line if you focus. You’re going to use that to ground yourself.” Zadimus gently brushed his fingers over her eyes to close them. “Try it. I have your shoulders parallel to the line.”

Dillon took a deep breath and held it, trying to picture the line in her mind. Her toes wiggled and dug into the cool, damp earth. Another breath, and she thought she felt a faint hum of energy beneath the arches of her feet.

“Good,” the demon’s voice echoed on the edge of her awareness.

“Can you… see it?” Her voice felt distant.

“I put you on it, did I not?”

“My connection to it, asshole,” she snapped.

“If you weren’t doing so well concentrating, I’d switch you for the attitude.” Something stirred in Dillon’s belly at the idea. “Try to pull it up to your feet.”

Dillon’s brows furrowed as she tried to do what he asked, but the energy didn’t budge.

“You look like you’re constipated,” Zadimus chided. “Stop straining so hard, you’ll get nothing but a burst vessel. Energy follows the path of least resistance. Relax.”

Taking another breath, Dillon pushed all thoughts of Zadimus being an asshole out of her mind. He was right, not that she’d admit it out loud. The line of energy glowed a dull violet as it stretched on and on, deep underground, as far as she could sense. She flexed her fingers towards her feet, then closed them, trying to feel the hum solidifying in her hands as she guided it upward. The less she strained, the easier it got to pull, and the higher it rose, the stronger the buzz became until finally she felt it right beneath her feet, tingling her arches where she balanced on it like a tightrope.

She opened her eyes, smiling so wide it hurt. “I did it,” she whispered as she glanced down at her feet. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see, but she found herself a little disappointed it was just her bare toes dug into the soft dirt. There was a fleeting ghost of an emotion crossing the demon’s face when she looked up; it was gone as soon as she blinked, carefully schooled back into its usual smug mask.

“That was the easy part,” he said, and she thought she heard a tiny waver of awe in his voice. Before she could question it too much, he lifted his hand and summoned a palm-sized ball of energy. It was a deep black that all at once sucked the light from its immediate vicinity and emitted an eerie glow from within. “Catch.”

Dillon put her hands up to block the impact, but it never came. There was a jolt when the ball connected to her hands, a slight vibration in her palms, and when she opened her eyes, there it was, hovering over an invisible barrier.

“Well done,” Zadimus purred. “Now hold its form.”

She shook off the bubbly feeling his approval left behind, wondering why she cared in the first place. “What do you mean—” The ball started wobbling, blurring at the edges, and before she could try to pack it back together, it dissipated into the air. “A little instruction before throwing a ball of unstable energy—”

“Magic*,”* he corrected gently, and it was the gentle part that made her forget everything else she wanted to say. “I created it from my own reserves. Energy is summoned, magic is created, and regardless, it wasn’t unstable, it just was. It won’t come to you in conveniently prepackaged forms and stay that way until you use it. You have to manipulate it.”

“But I—”

“I don’t care if you liquefied that ball of toxic masculinity and pomade,” Zadimus chided. “Using it isn’t the same as controlling it, and you learned that the hard way, didn’t you?” The corners of his mouth followed her gaze to her feet. He sighed, moving closer and lowering himself to her level. “It isn’t a toy, and before you get defensive and tell me you know that already, understand that you’re no good to your sister if you melt your own brain.”

She flinched when he put his hand on her shoulder. It awoke something nasty, an oily ichor that made his mouth taste bitter and overloaded his senses with a desire for vengeance. It was excessive, unnecessary, and wasn’t at all conducive to teaching. “Settle yourself. If you try to cast while you’re angry, it will control you rather than the other way around. That’s why you get headaches and nosebleeds.” He gently guided her left hand up and placed another ball in her upturned palm. “Try again. Pack it together with both hands.”

“Like a snowball?”

Zadimus chuffed. “Yes, something like that.”

Dillon sniffled once, then waved her right hand over the little void. The edges condensed further and it hummed a little less. The corner of her mouth twitched. She moved her left hand over and around it, then her right, and with each pass, her smile grew.

“Now try giving it a different shape. Use your will, not your hands.”

The first thing Dillon could think of, and the easiest, she thought, was to make a stick. It was simple enough to stretch it out in her mind. When she opened her eyes again, it was… well, she stretched it out at least. It was less of a rod and more of a long, fat jellybean, and she was proud of it until she looked up.

He got points for attempting something adjacent to tact, but Zadimus wasn’t subtle at all trying to hide the laugh fighting to come out; his eyes were watering with the effort of pressing his mouth into a thin, twitching line. His efforts lasted three breaths. “Dillon, I’m flattered, but mine isn’t quite so thick.”

There was a flare at the bottom edge of her vision. The void had formed itself into a hand making a rude gesture.

The demon’s brows nearly shot off his face. “Impressive. See what you can do when you don’t try to force it?”

“You’re an asshole,” Dillon huffed, letting the energy dissipate.

“I’m actually quite nice compared to the rest of my kind.” Zadimus looked around the empty lot for something Dillon could lift. The old car was probably a bit too much for her first try, he didn’t want her to hurt herself. The barrels were a bit too small, and — “Aha, you see that disgusting couch on the edge of the lot?”

Dillon squinted, then frowned when she saw the state of it. “Bit too early for victory sex, and we’re sure as fuck not fucking on that.”

“The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind,” he drawled. It wasn’t a complete lie; the thought hadn’t crossed his mind until she reminded him what awaited him when they got back to the house. “You’re going to lift it.”

“With… energy?”

“No, with your tiny arms, yes, with energy.” Zadimus held his hand palm-up and made a lifting motion, and the couch floated right off the ground, hovering a few feet in the air. Stagnant mud and things Dillon didn’t want to think about dripped from the sagging bottom. “Now you try,” he said as it dropped back down with a squelch.

Dillon braced herself and mimicked the motion. Nothing happened. She tried again. And again.

“Focus, Dillon.”

She took a deep breath through her nose, then tried with both hands. The couch didn’t budge. She tried again, and again, and she felt like a fucking idiot. Her face heated with embarrassment and frustration, she’d just made him proud and now she was struggling to do something he made look effortless.

“You aren’t focusing,” he chided. “You’re just waving your arms about like a fledgling sparrow that’s fallen from its nest.”

Dillon whipped around to face him. “Are you fucking serious right now? You tell me not to strain so hard and let go and then you tell me to fucking concentrate,” she snapped. “Which one is it?!”

“Focusing isn’t the same thing as straining. You can be calm and focus at the same time, the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

She stared extra hard at the couch and made her lifting motion even more aggressively.

“Calm down and focus.”

“I am!” she screamed, slicing her hand through the air. There was a whoosh just out of her line of sight and a loud crash in the distance. A car alarm chirped in distress. When she turned to look, the couch was gone.

“Well, would you look at that, I do believe that’s the class bell,” Zadimus rattled off, grabbing her roughly around the waist. “Time to go, little one!”

The sudden takeoff snapped an ache into her neck and punched the air from her lungs, but it didn’t stop her from shrieking as loud as humanly possible. She didn’t stop when Zadimus clamped a hand over her mouth, or when he carefully rolled her around to cradle her head to his chest, or when he softly begged her to be quiet, pressing kisses and apologies into her wind-tousled hair.

Zadimus thought for a moment the ripple in the air current he rode was just a spot of turbulence, until his panicking passenger’s screaming reached another crescendo and the current nearly buckled his wings with a sudden downdraft. He doubled his efforts trying to soothe her, frantically singing a lullaby against her scalp while looking for a safe place to land.

At least his theory was more or less proven, but it would all be for nought if Dillon sent them both flying into the sun.

They were so close to the house, and he almost got his feet under him when an updraft sent him ass-over-tea-kettle a hundred feet in the air. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hissed as he pushed through the pain searing his wing anchors, finally resorting to expending the last of his reserves pushing back against the wind.

He wanted to kiss the ground when he skidded to a halt in the backyard, but that would require dropping Dillon, and from the wet pinpricks on his back, he wagered she wouldn’t let go any time soon. “Little one, look at me,” he urged, trying to pry her from his chest. “Dillon, we’re on the ground, it’s fine, look.” Zadimus dropped to his knees and doubled over so her back touched the grass. It only made her cling tighter, and she definitely broke skin with her little nails.

And she was definitely hyperventilating.

He gently worked his arms between them and cupped his hands over her mouth. “Breathe slow,” he directed, kicking himself internally when she didn’t. He pinched her nose shut until she started struggling and batting at his hands, then released. She took a deep breath. Exhaled. “Again.” He released her after a few repetitions, once her breathing was back to normal, albeit a bit shaky, and her trembling had mostly subsided. “I won’t promise I’m not going to get us out of a sticky situation as quickly as possible again, but—”

Dillon silenced him with a hand on his mouth. “It’s not that,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. “I just don’t like heights.” A wrinkle appeared between her brows and she moved her hand lower, over his pounding heart. “Were you… worried about me?”

“Yes,” he lied. “I’ll be sure to carry a few emergency paper bags to our next lesson.” She snorted and hit his bicep. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. He was worried, that part was true, but he couldn’t tell her how she’d nearly killed them both. Luckily, she’d been too lost in her panic attack to notice how rough the flight was. “I do believe there are a few slices of cold pizza left with my name on them, shall we?” He rolled to his feet and helped her to hers before ushering her inside, away from the deep gouges his landing had left in the ground.

As it turned out, there was, in fact, an entire pizza left, and Zadimus gleefully piled half of it on a plate destined for the microwave. The slices wouldn’t heat evenly at all, but after his near brush with death, he didn’t particularly care. He turned to see what had held Dillon up — she was ravenous any time he’d offered food and he half expected to have to fight her off with a stick just to get a single slice — and found her slumped over the table. “Tired already?” He frowned when his teasing tone didn’t get so much as a twitch.

There was still half a pizza left. He set the plate he already heated in front of her and ruffled her hair before returning to the counter to claim the other half.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. She sounded like shit, even to her own ears, and if she focused on that and the pizza in front of her, she wouldn’t have any brain power left to dissect why Zadimus had given her the plate he meant for himself.

“I pushed you too hard,” he replied quietly, barely audible over the steady hum of the microwave and the pounding in her head. “We can take tomorrow—”

Dillon cut him off. “No, I want to keep going. You don’t quit working out just because the pushups made you a little tired.”

“You can’t get a brain hemorrhage from doing too many fucking pushups, Dillon,” he sighed as he made his way back to the table with his own food.

“You played pranks on us for like, an hour the other night.”

“I’ve also been alive for over a millennium and defy this side of the Veil’s laws of physics,” he countered, pausing only to wolf down a slice of still-steaming pizza. “I have pants older than your mother’s mother and you can’t even direct the energy you cast in any sort of controlled manner. I’m not saying it to get a rise out of you, I’m stating facts.”

Dillon tore a small piece off one of her slices and washed it down with a soda she didn’t remember — “What, and this isn’t rubbing it in my face?” She held up the can he’d willed into existence.

“It’s called kindness, Dillon, I’m not incapable of it.”

“So, what, you just… care about me that much?” She gestured to the food, the drink, herself.

Zadimus pinched his mouth shut around an answer, then let out a breath. “Eat, it will help the headache.”

For a few more stressful breaths, he worried he’d have to hand feed her, but then she broke her silence with something that sent his head reeling. “You controlled the wind, didn’t you? When things got rough, so we would land safely.”

“Yes,” he said, voice tight. “I did.” And so did you. She’d just almost killed them both in the process.

They ate in silence, Dillon keeping unwavering eye contact with the demon’s face while she waited for an elaboration, and Zadimus doing his level best to look anywhere but at her. He would be faced with questions he wasn’t ready to answer and answers he wasn’t ready to receive.

She loudly dusted crumbs from her hands. “I suppose I should fulfill my end of the deal, then.”

Zadimus jolted from his trance. Despite his best efforts to hide the mild hurt crossing his face, his wings still drooped behind him, dragging across the floor as he stood from his chair. “I’m not going to force you into anything.”

“You’re not forcing me, I brought it up.” She tossed her plate in the recycling bin.

“Oh yes, and you sound so very enthusiastically consenting,” he drawled.

“Maybe you should do something about that,” she challenged, slapping his ass on her way out of the kitchen. She thought for a moment she’d crossed a line, actually hurt his feelings, but three steps into her room, her door slammed shut and a large, clawed hand spun her around to face the demon attached to it.

The heat in his gaze was unmistakable. “Strip.”

“No,” Dillon huffed, crossing her arms.

Zadimus’s face screwed up in offense. “What do you mean ‘no?’ You were just—”

“Yeah. Was. You wanted enthusiastic consent rather than a business transaction, and you did a piss poor job just then of boosting my enthusiasm.”

“You—!” Zadimus assumed a mockery of her stance, though the defiance she exhibited was replaced with the indignant pouting of a man used to getting his way with little to no resistance. “You know I can just—” he made a gesture towards her and let out a breathy whistle “—poof!”

“Oh, I’m so fucking drenched right now,” she deadpanned. “Really? Those are my choices? Strip like you’re gonna hand me a paper gown and inspect my bits or you’ll—” she snapped twice and found out she couldn’t whistle “— poof my shit out of existence?”

“You’ve got a mouth on you, little miss,” Zadimus chided.

“And you seem rather fond of running yours, big man.” Dillon dropped her hands to her hips. “Why don’t you come over here and strip me yourself if you’re so inclined? Where’s the seduction?”

“I’m a demon,” he spat.

“And I’m a lady.”

“You’re a saucy little appetizer who took that ‘great power’ line straight to your head and think you’re untouchable.” Zadimus smirked, knowing from the tick of her jaw he’d hit a nerve. “Don’t you forget why I’m even here in the first place. You need me. That great power is useless if you can’t even tap into it consciously and consistently, and I have half a mind to teach you what happens to little girls who tangle with forces unknown.”

Dillon’s brave facade flickered for just a moment, but it came back tenfold. Good girl. “What’re you gonna do, spank me?” she goaded.

Zadimus considered his next move for a moment. He shouldn’t push her. He said he wouldn’t, but he wanted to find out if it was a fluke — needed to find out — and it wouldn’t be the first time his curiosity overtook his sense of reason.

Besides, she was cute when she was angry.

His hands went into his pockets and his stance loosened as he sauntered a few steps forward.

Dillon took a few back, but if she was afraid, he’d need a microscope and a doctoral degree to find it. Even with sweater paws in her oversized hoodie, she still painted a formidable picture. Zadimus was almost impressed.

With a casual flick of his hand, a wall of air blasted towards her. Dillon didn’t even react as her will sliced it in two. It ripped the posters off the wall behind her, knocked a pillow from her bed, shook the window on the opposite wall, but had all the effect of a light summer breeze on her, merely tousling her curls a bit.

Theory confirmed, then. She was quick, her instincts impeccable; it wasn’t just fluffy, meaningless pillow talk when he told her what he felt lurking just under her skin. He knew she’d counter it. He’d counted on it, in fact, because while she was busy silently gloating, he flashed behind her in a crack of energy, grabbing a fistful of her hair before she could blink. “That’s exactly what I plan to do, yes.”

He didn’t count on her reaction. Sure, she matched him wit for wit in a verbal spar, and she had no problem getting a bit rough in bed, but he wouldn’t have pegged her for a fighter.

He was dead wrong, and that underestimation cost him.

Dillon grabbed his wrist and pushed off the carpet, swinging her legs around to nail him right behind his knee. Her feet may have been little and bare, but she knew her pressure points. It buckled beneath him. The takedown had forced him to release his hold on her hair and he barely got his hands back up to catch her as she lunged. He let her momentum topple him onto his back, managing to fold his wings around her to reduce the impact of the fall on the more delicate ribs.

“Asshole!” she barked as her fist made contact with his palm. He barely blocked it in time, and had he not, she might have actually hurt him a little. Broken her hand, too.

“Ah, the little arsonist likes lighting matches, but still doesn’t expect the consequences, I see,” he goaded. Better she tired herself out now rather than ripping his wings off mid-coitus.

Dillon released a sound halfway between a shriek and a snarl, and very much not something he’d expect out of a human, as his tail snaked around her ankle and tried to yank her up and off him. At the last moment, she caught his braids and drew a slightly less intimidating sound from him. The brief stab of pain in his scalp was nothing compared to her toenails clawing at the tender underside of his tail; she’d wiggled her other foot into the coil and dug in until he had no choice but to release her if he didn’t want to bleed.

“You were saying?” she taunted, squeezing her knees on either side of his chest. Someone smaller might have been winded by the move, but as it was, her knees didn’t even reach the ground.

“Oh dear, you’ve foiled my plans,” Zadimus drawled. He brought his wrist to his brow in a mock swoon. “How compromising a position I have found myself in, on my back and at your mercy! It would be so very terribly unfortunate if someone small and angry were to ravage me!”

“You’re an ass.”

“How does the human adage go? ‘You are what you eat’ isn’t it?” The light blush flashing across her ears and all the way down to the swell of cleavage peeking out from the gape of her hoodie was well worth the light slap that did nothing more than stir his loins further. “You have a brilliant point, actually, riding me is quite enthusiastic. Do carry on.”

Dillon blushed impossibly deeper. “I thought you were worried about my health,” she deflected.

Zadimus tsked. “You parted that wind like the Red Sea with a look, little one, I think the time for worry is long since past.” He sat up, sending her tumbling into his lap, her knees splayed awkwardly by her ears. “You want seduction? Fine.” Grabbing her waistband, he jerked her pants to her knees and followed shortly after with her underwear. He relished her gasp, the way her pupils dilated as he loomed over her, slowly leaning in to puff a breath over her glistening flesh. “What do we say when we want something?”

He expected a fight, a biting remark or a thinly veiled threat with which they both knew she wouldn’t follow through. Between the exaggerated rise and fall of her chest, the gentle part of her lips, and the lazy droop of her eyes, he wasn’t sure why he expected anything other than the half-sobbed ‘please’ she whimpered between her shins.

It threw him off. Apparently, he’d been still for too long, however, because the familiar indigence to which he’d become accustomed manifested in the form of grumpy squirming and cold toes on his ear. “Why?” he sighed.

A petulant whine was his answer.

Her foot melted away when he finally dragged his tongue through her cleft. “Better?”

“You ate pizza without a single smug remark,” she huffed.

“Oh, my sincerest apologies, Princess Dillon of Kingdom Monroe, how dare I displease Her Highness by checking on her well-being. I shall rectify this grave offense at once.” She managed half a rebuttal before he plunged his tongue deep inside her. Zadimus was having a grand time playing her like a soundboard with his teeth and tongue, relishing how she writhed in his hands. He chuckled when she grabbed his horn, and again when she tried in vain to kick. “That good, is it?”

“What the fuck is that?!”

His smug grin sank into a scowl. “You liked when I used my teeth on your clit last—”

“Not that!” she screeched, struggling until she escaped his grip. “I like that a whole lot, please do that every time, look behind you, dipshit!” She scrambled backwards and tripped over her pants tangled around her knees as he turned to look at the door.

A tendril of greasy black slithered under the door. “Ah, that’s just a soul.”

“That’s just a soul,” she mocked from across the room.

“Yes, it’s a nasty one, but it can’t hurt you. It’s probably looking for a way out, please come back, my cock is cold.”

Dillon whipped around with a wild look in her eyes and a lamp brandished like a weapon. She’d done away with her pants entirely, and wearing a hoodie as a dress did nothing to make her look less feral.

Zadimus rolled to shield his groin between his body and the bed. “On second thought, I have two hands, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

She ignored him in favor of hauling ass across the room and yanking open the door. Without hesitation, she brought the lamp down on the vaguely human-shaped shadow, again and again and again. Thick, oily ichor splashed across her face like battlefield woad. She thought for a moment the soul was screaming, but she caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror, mouth open in a war cry and eyes burning with rage. A trick of the light made her think for a moment they were glowing, but when she blinked, they were back to normal, albeit a little unhinged.

A deep rumble rattled her bones as a monstrous shadow stretched over her. Dillon spun on her heel to nail that one with the lamp too – it was just Zadimus, so she lowered the lamp slightly, but the big teeth and black eyes stopped her from dropping it altogether. “Zaddy? You good, big guy?”

He shivered from head to toe, emerging from whatever spell he’d been under. “Fine, fine, just… hungry, I think.”

“You ate half a pizza.”

Zadimus laughed, and only then did Dillon finally feel safe. She never thought she’d be glad to see the lackadaisy asshole persona surface. “You really don’t know anything about what you tried to summon, do you?” He held up a hand when she took a defensive breath. “I’m not mocking you, it’s a genuine question. Not everything is a targeted attack against you, Dillon, I’m not some snotty teenager with a grudge against the world and neither are you, stop projecting your general distrust in people onto the Veilborne who, might I add, could swat you like a fly and clearly hasn’t.”

Dillon opened her mouth to reply, but a crash in the basement launched her into the air and right into Zadimus’s waiting arms.

“Not exactly the trust fall I expected, but—”

“More important things to worry about right now, Zadimus, like figuring out what the fuck is in my basement,” she snapped, wriggling around like a displeased cat until he released her.

She took up her lamp again and it took every remaining ounce of his willpower not to take her again and again and again. The picture she painted — shoulders squared and ready for battle, dark, smoky tendrils rising like signal fires from the ichor war paint slashing across her eyes — stirred something in his loins that hadn’t been awakened since he’d last hunted souls on ancient battlefields. Flashes of leather and metal, a sword sparking on his claws, a long red braid he’d wrapped around his hand while her hands wrapped around his throat—

He cleared away the lingering ache with a cough. “Your mother keeps a perfectly good baseball bat in the hall closet, what did that poor lamp ever do to you?”

Dillon looked down at the device in her hand; the neck was bent at an awkward angle, the head dangling loosely by a single wire. “It’s a piece of shit from SWEDE, I can get another one.” She retrieved the bat from the closet on her way to the stairs anyway, just because it was more practical, not because Zadimus was right. “My mom is gonna be so pissed if that motherfucker broke anything.”

“Doubtful,” Zadimus scoffed as he trotted ahead.

“That she’ll be pissed?”

“No, that it broke anything, I have no doubts your mother will skin us both alive if there’s a mess she has to clean when she gets home from vacation.” He snapped and the basement door swung open, and shortly after, he dove into the darkness with a single beat of his wings.

“Showoff,” Dillon huffed under her breath. “At least turn on the light, not all of us have super demon vision.” She hit the switch at the top of the steps.

Something oily and black was leaking out of the deep freeze.

She turned the lights back off.

There was a flash, a growl, a crash, and a series of wet crunching sounds that, like a train wreck, Dillon didn’t want context for, but she couldn’t stop her curiosity. She turned on the lights.

Zadimus ripped into the soul’s abdomen, spraying ichor across the wall and ceiling beside him. It faded to vapor almost immediately, but it didn’t stop the visceral fear holding Dillon’s heart in a vise.

Maybe she could be afraid of him.

She turned the lights off again and shut the door, then went to the kitchen to get a drink to nurse at the table while she waited for Zadimus to do his thing. Clearly he had it handled. It was easy to forget what he was while he was smug and smarmy and being so very good at sex. “I thought you said it was immediate,” she said softly as his claws clicked quietly on the tile with his approach.

“I have to chew, Dillon, I’m not a snake.”

She glared at him.

“I said your soul would get sucked into the Holy Holding Tank immediately,” he corrected, picking her up to steal her seat and set her in his lap. She didn’t fight it; the way he held her close to his chest and buried his face in her hair felt vulnerable, like he needed it more than he was willing to admit. “Evil souls are… sticky.”

“Sticky?”

“They don’t get put back into the reincarnation cycle, so there’s nothing to hasten their natural detachment from their corpses.” He tilted her chin up so he could give her a wry look. “Cutting them up and shoving them in a freezer makes that process take even longer.”

“Yeah, well,” Dillon huffed, “waste not, want not.” She shifted around until she could lay her head on his chest. “So, what, the good ones get yoinked right up? Who does that, demons?”

Zadimus snorted. “Absolutely not. Angels are in charge of creating and caring for the souls, we’re responsible for cleaning up the nasties before they wreak too much havoc.”

Dillon’s brows crinkled in the middle. He wasn’t sure why, but he had the overwhelming urge to kiss it away, so he did. The furrow came back deeper, but at least it brought a subtle smile with it. “I thought you said they couldn’t hurt anybody.”

“As souls on this side of the Veil, yes,” he explained. “But they’re very much corporeal on our side of the Veil, and they can just as easily slip into an empty vessel that’s recently been vacated and make an Abomination that can absolutely hurt a lot of people.”

“And the angels don’t do anything about it?”

Zadimus grimaced against her scalp. “Not until they start hurting people. They’re creators and caretakers of souls first, defenders of Life’s most precious creations second. Demons are just Death’s loyal janitors.”

“You sound bitter.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re a bad liar for a demon.”

“And you’re terribly brave for a human.”

Sensing the end of Zadimus’s willingness to divulge information for the night, Dillon slipped off his lap and stretched. “It’s late,” she announced. Her eyes drifted to the locked basement door. Fat lot of good that lock did earlier. “Do you think maybe… you could stay here tonight? In case another one leaks out.”

“It’s doubtful, but I was planning on staying anyway.” If he heard the little tremble of fear in her voice, he didn’t indicate it.

“Awfully confident in ourselves, aren’t we?”

Dillon wasn’t sure she liked the sneer she got in response. “Yes, but I already moved in before we ever struck a deal.”

“Excuse me?” she shouted at his back. He was already a third of the way up the stairs and she had to scramble to catch up.

“I claimed your house as my lair, you’re welcome. Now no one else will come sniffing along to feast on the endless souls, salads, and breadsticks your mother creates.” He snickered at the statue she’d become in the hallway, frozen in shock and sputtering in offense. “Would it make you feel better if I wore heels and an apron around the house? I’ll be the perfect housewife for my lovely little breadwinner.”

Dillon shoved him into her room. “It would not, and I’m not your anything. We have a contract, and we’re roommates with benefits, that’s it.”

Her dismissal almost stung. Almost, because when he quickly blinked the disappointment from his eyes and turned to face her, she was red from her shoulders to her ears. “Oh, come now, at least admit you like me a little bit. Just a smidge. I ate a soul for you.”

“You ate a soul for you, and I don’t completely hate you,” she huffed, crawling under her blankets in a solid sulk.

“How romantic, I’m swooning.” He fluffed up his own nest of pillows and blankets on the trundle mattress. Zadimus extinguished the lights with a snap and ruffled his wings until he was comfortable. “Goodnight, wifey,” he simpered.

There was a muffled grumble from the mattress above. For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t respond at all, but just as his eyes were closing, he heard a soft, “Night, asshole.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. She definitely liked him.

Arsonist Chronicles Taglist: @sparatus @thetrashbagswasteland @writernopal @tabswrites @starknstarwars @sparrow-orion-writes @captain-kraken @teamdilf @void-botanist

Ask to +/- in the tags, replies, inbox, or HERE!

#the arsonist chronicles #unlikely adventures #my fic #paranormal romance #chapter update #working on the latest chapter of brhp it's just a major slog so have zadimus being a smarmy fuck in the meantime

[princessfbi]

Buck loves to sit on counter tops and when he is at home with eddie and sitting on one waiting for something to finish looking at his phone eddie sees him sitting there and just slots right in between his legs and higs him just because

You mean like this?

The coffee was brewing into the perfect dark roast Eddie loved so much with the scent of the beans wafting through the loft until his mouth nearly watered. His skin tingled with the anticipation of the caffeine but it was his heart that pounded in his chest with a swift double tap against his ribcage that really beat away the early morning exhaustion.

Who could blame him when he had the perfect morning view in the kitchen?

Because there, swinging his miles and miles of legs from his perch on the counter with his socked toes wiggling around, was his boyfriend.

And wasn't that just a trip to say?

His boyfriend.

Eddie wasn't sure he would ever get tired of that.

Buck's hair was everywhere with fluffy curls tousled in an impressive case of bed head and the hoodie he'd fallen asleep in---and left Eddie boiling alive when they had been pressed against each other but he would go to his grave before he admitted that--- looked soft and comfy against his still sleep pink skin.

Buck shoved the back of his hand against his mouth as he yawned, his attention lost to whatever it was on his phone he was reading, and whatever. Call Eddie needy and clingy but the space between them was too far and Eddie had a perfectly cozy looking, adorable boyfriend that he had all the permission in the world to hold onto and touch whenever he wanted.

Buck didn't even look up from his phone, settling for humming in acknowledgement, as Eddie slotted himself in between his legs and pressed against his chest. Those miles and miles of legs that had been swinging wrapped around Eddie's waist to hold him close while Buck's arms curled around his shoulders to rest on while Buck read over his shoulder.

"Morning," Eddie murmured against Buck's throat, kissing his pulse point where he watched the skin flutter.

Buck croaked out a sound as he sighed but it was okay. Eddie had learned it took a lot of coffee or adrenaline to get Buck coherent enough to speak in the mornings and well... they had all day.

There's also a bunch of great artists who have drawn counter encounters (hehe get it).

This one by @demonmojo

This one by @calyssmarviss

This one by @lieselfh-art

AND this one by @calyssmarviss also

#911fic #sorta #evan 'buck' buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #how are people so talented #we need more kitchen counter interactions #evan buckley #my fic writing #anon #answered #royal fic writing #writing talk

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

I am Spidey swinging into your inbox to request beg for

the way their hair looks in the morning :')

with Rowan please 🥰

Sev!! darling!! thank you so much for this ask, I've been dying to write something for Rowan but haven't had the energy to pick what, so this was a perfect excuse to write for them <3 I hope you enjoy this and that it intensifies the brainrot for you as much as it has for me

Lazy Morning

Summary: You can't help but admire Rowan's morning hair.

Warnings: implied sexual content and as always this is an 18+ blog; so much fluff it's actually a little nauseating lmao; nb!oc x gn!reader; Rowan is actually so hot you guys oml

Word Count: 699

Weak sunlight streams through your large bedroom windows, slotting between the vertical blinds you forgot to fully close the night before. One beam settles perfectly across your face. Rising through the layers of sleep, you scrunch your eyes and, with a huff, turn your head in the opposite direction. You burrow back down into the warm, comforting sheets, eyes sliding shut once more. It’s your one day off this week, and you’d really like to spend most of it dozing in bed.

It seems, though, that the bustling skylane traffic beyond the windows has other thoughts. Now that you’re awake, your brain seems to latch onto any external stimuli: the way that whining speeder engine needs new belts before it explodes; the way the sunlight has left greenish after-images on the backs of your eyes; the faint, lingering scent of last night’s takeout; and, closer at hand, the soft breathing of the person in bed with you. 

At least that external stimulus is a pleasant one. Eyes fluttering open once you realize you’re not falling back asleep, your gaze lands upon your companion. Lover. Partner. Whatever you’re calling yourselves these days. Regardless of what you are, the warmth that settles deep in your chest has nothing to do with the slowly sliding ray of sunlight across your back. 

Rather, it has everything to do with how peaceful Rowan looks like this. Sheets pulled halfway up their back, you let your gaze roam the broad, tanned expanse, connecting freckles with your eyes like a child draws lines between the stars. Their toned arms both disappear underneath the pillow cradling their head. Though half their face is buried in the pillow, you can’t help the soft smile that caresses your lips as you study the way they look without all the worry lines. How much younger. How much happier. This close, you could count the freckles that dot their nose if you really wanted.

But what really draws your attention is their hair. You’ve always enjoyed their hair: big, fluffy, wavy locks that you wish they’d grow out if only so you had more material to run your fingers through. You’re not sure why, but this morning, all you can think about is doing exactly that. Maybe it’s the way that Rowan’s hair is currently sleep-tousled, not to mention sex-tousled, both of you having collapsed into bed after finishing last night. Maybe it’s the singular stubborn little curl that sticks out just behind their ear that you so love to fidget with. 

Or maybe it’s just the way your heart nearly bursts with affection for the Jedi Knight lying beside you, you of all people.

Your fingers nearly itch with the anticipation of feeling those silken, umber strands. Reaching gently, so as not to make too much movement and wake them, you brush a few strands out of their face. A sigh passes your lips at the comforting motion. 

Ivy green eyes flutter open to meet yours. Rowan smiles, dimples appearing on their cheeks.

“Morning,” they croak, voice scratchy with disuse. 

“Hey,” you say softly. 

“What you doin’?” they ask. 

Body flushing with embarrassed warmth, you start to withdraw your hand—but Rowan shifts, lifting their head so that your palm presses into the side of their face, and they hum with delight.

“Feels nice,” they murmur. “Go back to sleep, sweetness.” 

“Can’t,” you admit. “Too awake.” 

Rowan hums, the sound sending goosebumps over your skin. “Maybe I can help with that.” 

They roll onto their side and open their arms. Giggling, you curl yourself up within their embrace, their body heat searing into your back as they fold around you, playing the big spoon. Rowan presses a kiss to the crown of your head, then tucks you under their chin and wraps you up tight.

“That better?” they ask, voice edged with sleep. 

With a contented sigh, you let your eyes slip closed once again and nod. “Always better with you.” 

Rowan chuckles and tries to say, “I’ll remember that,” but a yawn draws their words out. 

You shush them gently, kissing the curve of their bicep. “Sleep.” 

“With pleasure.” 

Ragu: @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @bobaprint @thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @cw80831 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl

#oc sundays #my ocs #oc: Jedi Knight Rowan #oc x reader #star wars oc #jedi oc x reader #rowan x reader #rhiwrites #rhiplies #thiq with a queue

[timewoundes]

AESTHETICS:   THE   DAEDRIC PRINCES.   part   one.   please   repost,   not   reblog!

𝗶.   𝖆𝖟𝖚𝖗𝖆.   fluffy owls.   flowers blooming at night.   drowsiness.   the daintiness of dawn.   the heaviness of dusk.   a golden rose.   the glimmer of sunlight over waves.   morning dew.   crescent moon.   pointed ears.   bathed in rosy hues.   shades of violet.   silk & satin.   do not test my fury.   an air of haughtiness.   intricately-designed daggers.   will not stand for mockery.   reds, purples, & blues.

𝗶𝗶.   𝖇𝖔𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖆𝖍.    darkened grapes hand-fed.   the art of manipulation.   a lamb led to slaughter.   fingers crossed behind back.   broken oaths.   blood leaking from in-between fists.   sacrificial altars.   bloodsport.   fighting for your life in an arena under the watch of a thousand spectators.   survival of the fittest.   an animal backed into a corner will fight with its all.   sharpened daggers.   betrayed by those you thought loved you.   death under the blood moon.   deep, hollow eyes.   icy glares.   unbearable cold.   unbearable heat.  spilled wine.

𝗶𝗶𝗶.   𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖈𝖚𝖘 𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖊.   tousled hair.   too good to be true.   immaturity.   two-faced.   hiding behind a full-face mask.   freckled skin.   ringlets of curls.   loyal hounds.   risking it all for one simple thing.   was it worth it, in the end?   stolen coins.   a deal gone south.   dark humor.   superiority complex.   be careful what you wish for.   childish pride.   trickery.

𝗶𝘃.   𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖊𝖚𝖘 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖆.   something lurking deep within waters.   black seas.   all-seeing eye.   sickly skies.   knowing too much.   deal with the devil.   brass towers.   pitch-blackness.   a warning.   master of the tides of fate... or wants to be.   solitude that breaks the mind.   always watched.   deep, dark waters.   where sunlight does not reach.   time that moves too slow but feels too fast.   a thousand eyes watching from nowhere.   green velvet.   the decay of nature.   losing your identity.  

𝘃.   𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖊.   running barefoot through the woods.   hooting owls.   sharp features.   elongated canines.   dirtied hands.   the scent of pine.   mist over the treetops.   wolves howling through the night.   the sensation of being hunted.   are you the prey or the predator?   snarls in the shadows.   the heavy scent of blood.   de-evolving to your basic instincts.   flight or fight.   the killing blow.   excellent tracker.   pawprints in the mud.   footsteps that do not look human.   long, harsh winters.     

#MISC: mine. #MISC: to keep. #STUDY: daedric princes.

[iteats]

AESTHETICS: THE DAEDRIC PRINCES. part one. please repost, not reblog!

𝖆𝖟𝖚𝖗𝖆. fluffy owls. flowers blooming at night. drowsiness. the daintiness of dawn. the heaviness of dusk. a golden rose. the glimmer of sunlight over waves. morning dew. crescent moon. pointed ears. bathed in rosy hues. shades of violet. silk & satin. do not test my fury. an air of haughtiness. intricately-designed daggers. will not stand for mockery. reds, purples, & blues.

𝖇𝖔𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖆𝖍. darkened grapes hand-fed. the art of manipulation. a lamb led to slaughter. fingers crossed behind back. broken oaths. blood leaking from in-between fists. sacrificial altars. bloodsport. fighting for your life in an arena under the watch of a thousand spectators. survival of the fittest. an animal backed into a corner will fight with its all. sharpened daggers. betrayed by those you thought loved you. death under the blood moon. deep, hollow eyes. icy glares. unbearable cold. unbearable heat. spilled wine.

𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖈𝖚𝖘 𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖊. tousled hair. too good to be true. immaturity. two-faced. hiding behind a full-face mask. freckled skin. ringlets of curls. loyal hounds. risking it all for one simple thing. was it worth it, in the end? stolen coins. a deal gone south. dark humor. superiority complex. be careful what you wish for. childish pride. trickery.

𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖊𝖚𝖘 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖆. something lurking deep within waters. black seas. all-seeing eye. sickly skies. knowing too much. deal with the devil. brass towers. pitch-blackness. a warning. master of the tides of fate… or wants to be. solitude that breaks the mind. always watched. deep, dark waters. where sunlight does not reach. time that moves too slow but feels too fast. a thousand eyes watching from nowhere. green velvet. the decay of nature. losing your identity.

𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖊. running barefoot through the woods. hooting owls. sharp features. elongated canines. dirtied hands. the scent of pine. mist over the treetops. wolves howling through the night. the sensation of being hunted. are you the prey or the predator? snarls in the shadows. the heavy scent of blood. de-evolving to your basic instincts. flight or fight. the killing blow. excellent tracker. pawprints in the mud. footsteps that do not look human. long, harsh winters.

tagged by: no one :3 i grabbed it from @timewound who created it!! tagging: anyone everyone all of you!

#𝒊. ᵉᵃᵗ ... 〔 a study of rot. #LOOOOOVEEEE THIS #very clever very good i SHALL be keeping an eye out for part two!

[crushng-a]

Swaying fields of flowers as far as the eye can see. A brilliant starry sky with constellations he can’t recognize. When he watches it for long enough it seems like it’s breathing. If he focuses he can even match his own breaths to it, steady and sure.

Is this the dream, or is it the Invincible that’s all pretend now?

He wanders through the flowers and they never seem to end. The stars shift and reshape overhead sometimes. Is he being watched?

He drags his hands over the open, swaying blooms and tells himself they don’t shudder like they feel the physical touch.

When he closes his eyes, he’s usually on the Invincible II. It’s another boring day. When he goes to bed that night he’s back here. Where is he now?

Sometimes it’s not the Invincible. Sometimes it’s crumbling cities or oceans deep and dark as pitch or raging funnels caught on fence posts like lassoed ponies.

So this must be real, and those must be dreams.

Does the goldfish feel the same fondness for the owner, looking at their face reflected back through the glass?

Just don’t forget me.

He could be patient. He could. It’s safe here.

He’s going to lie down in the flowers again. His head hurts. When did his breathing get so fast? He hadn’t even been running.

Too needy and they don’t want to bother with you anymore. So be grateful instead.

His chest aches when he inhales, but he forces himself to hold it.

Breathe with the sky.

I’ll be here.

when charlie wakes again, there’s a canopy of branches woven around him. sway of each bough in time with the wash of an invisible tide. one enormous tree hangs overhead, roots drinking from the sky, thick, gnarled trunk stretching up for a finite eternity.

it’s raining. soft patter on the underside of emerald leaves, beads in iridescent violet and shimmering acid green, drizzling like honey, caught like gems. they glow faintly, bequeathing streaks of scorch in their wake — the leaves blacken and curl under their touch, flush with orange ember. even so, white sun splashes between the boughs, puddles of jagged light like driftwood in an endless lush sea. perfume of warm cinnamon and delicate citrus. (smell of burnt flesh.)

nothing touches charlie, each droplet rolling off the foliage and collecting in the gaping mouths of the blooms, powder blue and blush pinks. tufts of soft clover and wild grasses make his bed. how long have you laid here? sleeping beauty in a cage of overgrown brambles.

AND HOW LONG HAS HE LAID NEXT TO YOU? starlight eyes peek out over crossed arms, chin tucked in the makeshift pillow. gin's on their belly, soft muss of hair and wrinkled engineer's uniform, barefoot, jumpsuit cuffed to the calves.

"i didn't mean to leave you alone for so long," gin says. their voice is gentle, but something in the dirt trembles with it. "i missed you." honey and clove, fingers reaching out and tracing each of charlie's knuckles. it's precise — hummingbird wings, gossamer gold, skin on skin.

you weren't alone, anyway. you're never alone anymore. is that frightening? is that freeing? (here you are in the palm of my hand. there's nothing left to be afraid of.)

gin combs their fingers through dark, thick locks, stroking from root to tip. long, loose hair spills over charlie's shoulders in every direction, fluffy and tousled. he's beautiful. i never want to give you up. you'd let me keep you. i could leave you here until you were me, and you'd never once complain.

unreality clings like a choking fog. this dream feels like swimming in molasses. slow, heady, sweet on the surface and bitter all the way down. gin smiles, and it's bright like day.

"would you rather come with me? i can take you anywhere in existence." do you want to go?

the meadow is just a shadow, a fantasy. fleeting, evanescent. it'll vanish in the dark. so will you. perfect, hopeless thing. YOU’RE THE SUGAR IN MY TEETH! if i close my mouth you'll dissolve.

#[ ɥʇɐǝɹq ǝuo ʇsnɾ oʇ sʇunoɯɐ ɓuıʎɐɹd ɹnoʎ ɟo llɐ ] asks #[ suʍoɹp ʎʇılɐǝɹ ɹnoʎ uǝɥʍ ǝɹǝɥʇ ǝq ll‚ı ] charlie | charofthestars #charofthestars

[llewyndavissmuse]

How I Think The Star Wars Sequal Trilogy Characters (As Well As My Other Star Wars OCs) Would Style Leo’s Hair

I wanted to make this because Leo has absolutely luscious, long, beautiful black hair it’s actually unfair (teehee that rhymed.)

Rey: Now, me personally, I love Rey. I just think the creators could’ve idk NOT made her a Mary Sue character?? But anyways, I think Rey would style Leo’s hair with space buns. Like the long-haired style space buns. Idk I just think Rey loves space buns, but she could never try it on herself. She has to try it on other person, and what better person to try that hairstyle on but Leo?

Finn: Pigtail braids. No questions asked. Though, I think Finn would be nervous to style Leo’s hair because he’s so used to his short hair, so he wouldn’t be used to their long hair. He would constantly ask if he’s pulling Leo’s hair, and they would have to reassure him that they’re not in any pain.

Poe: Literally would just curl it to match his “tousled” hair. What I mean by that is that he wets it with a spray bottle, and even sprays Leo when they complain about being soaked, and dries it, and calls I a hairstyle. The funniest part will be that he would be so proud of it, showing off his “masterpiece” to almost everyone in the Resistance. Like, “Yeah, I can style hair! I’m the best!” type of situation, when all he did was two steps. He’s trying his best…

Kylo Ren: WAIT WAIT WAIT BEFORE YOU SAY, “Doesn’t Leo hate his guts?” JUST HEAR ME OUT ON THIS PLEASE. I think Kylo would give Leo a emo/scene kid hairstyle LMAOOOO THAT WOULD BE SO CUTE, BUT SO FUNNY. And like while he’s doing their hair, they’re both just silent and awkward because their first interaction with each other was when the First Order killed Leo’s parents. Eventually when Leo is done, they mutter a soft, “Thank you,” and Kylo nods.

Rose: I know a lot of the fandom don’t like Rose, but just hear me out (again.) I think Rose would give Leo a half up and half down ponytail. She thinks the hairstyle would look cute on them, and once she’s done, she’ll put stickers on Leo’s face (she seems like that type of person to put stickers on her own face.) Leo would complain for a little bit, but eventually shut up once Rose starts putting the stickers on them.

Han: I know he died in the first movie, but if he were to meet Leo, and do their hair, he would probably give her an 80s rocker head hairstyle, with a lot of water, drying, and hairspray. He’ll probably say something like, “Lookin’ good, kid. Robyn will really swoon over you, now,” which would make Leo’s face turn bright red.

Leia: Leia would definitely give Leo her Original Trilogy double bun hairstyle. Leia definitely has mom hands, and it would definitely have Leo shouting in pain. It doesn’t anger Leia, it just amuses her. After all, her son did grow up to be a tyrant, turning him to the dark side and all. All she ever wanted was a child, and Leo maybe, just maybe, might be that child.

Luke: Luke would probably give a simple yet pretty hairstyle. Probably like a low bun with a braided headband on the top. I think he likes to keep things easy, and hairstyles are no exception. Leo would ask why, and he would just shrug and say some wise Jedi stuff like, “Being simple does not equal laziness, Leo Xi,” and leave Leo giggling at his Jedi mindset (not in a bad way.)

Robyn (OC): Ah yes, Leo’s childhood friend turned love interest. She would definitely give Leo a fluffy hairstyle like she has, but for longer hair, of course. Her tender hands would leave Leo a flustered and stuttering mess. Why can I say? They have such a sappy, teenage romance that makes Poe and Finn’s romantic tension (if it’s even at that point, I would say beyond romantic) look good, not that it isn’t good. Those two just love being around each other. You think they’re attached to the hip? You haven’t even seen Robyn and Leo’s relationship.

Zak (OC): Zak has killer dreads, so Leo has to match him with box braids, right? Zak, being a POC (Black specifically), grew up with his scalp being sore and swollen after his mother pulled his hair in tight braids. So, he kinda feels slightly bad when he hears Leo complain almost in tears because he knows how rough his hands are because of watching and experiencing his mom do his own hair. I mean, come on. Leo is white, like ghostly white, and their hair is as dark as night. They were in so much pain, that they pleaded Zak to take the braids out. Zak apologizes so many times when he takes out the braids, and Leo winces. Leo then respects Zak for growing up with the most beautiful hairstyles, but asks how he dealt with the pain, to which he laughs and says, “I’m used to it, Leo.” (Btw I know and respect Black hairstyles and their history. If I made any mistakes, you guys can politely correct me on them. Love my POC folks too mwah mwah.)

Woah, that was a lot to write, but it was so fun! Anyways, I hope you have an amazing rest of your day/afternoon/night! Byeee!!!

#star wars sequel trilogy #star wars oc #original characters #rey skywalker #poe dameron #finn star wars #rose tico #han solo #leia organa #headcanons #hairstyles