#past a flap that tips over when something steps on it

[adoreddestiny]

ೃ⁀➷ WEARING HIS CLOTHING — rafayel, zayne, xavier x gn!reader

“c’mere it’s starting to rain harder,” rafayel says, huffing as he closes the door behind you. the scent of wind and rain stains your clothing as you look around his studio. he sighs, running a hand through his wet hair. his fingers soak up the raindrops before he turns to you.

though he stumbles a bit as he spots the white shirt you're wearing growing more and more sheer from the rainy weather. rafayel feels the tips of his ears and his cheeks burn before he tears his gaze away from you. "you're probably getting cold in that," he spits out, "wait here. i'll get you a change of clothes in the meantime."

you barely have time to reject his offer before he darts towards his room. he returns hastily with new shirt and a beige and red cardigan of his. any chance of your denial is shot down with his arms crossed over his chest. "just change into it," he mutters, still avoiding your gaze.

you shrug, stepping into his bathroom to slip out of your soaked shirt. the shirt fits decently but the cardigan is much larger than you realize. the sleeves cover your hands and feel like flaps. but it smells like the bothersome painter you've grown fond of.

stepping out of the bathroom, you find rafayel sitting in front of the fireplace. it seems he's changed as well but it's difficult to tell from the large blanket he's enveloped himself in. but he pauses, looking you up and down.

"what?" you laugh, "cat got your tongue?" his cheeks burn once more but he scoffs, pulling you down into his lap under the blanket. "don't you dare say that devilish name in my home," he mutters, burying his face into the crook of your neck. you smell like him now and there's a tenderness he finds himself embracing when his hold on you tightens.

“i’m home,” zayne calls out, shuffling out of his shoes. he pauses, expecting you to come rushing out from somewhere to greet him. but when nothing arrives, he feels his chest tighten. perhaps it’s a little silly to have been looking forward to your welcoming smile.

he finds himself looking around your apartment in all of your usual spots. but he doesn’t need to look too hard when he finds you in your room. you’re curled up atop a layer of laundry in deep sleep. it’s warm to the touch and the scent of linen is fresh in the air.

zayne feels the edges of his lips tug when he spots you wrapped up in a large coat he’d worn on a date with you last week. it engulfs you as you snuggle deeper into its depths.

he reaches out for you, pulling back your hair and cupping your cheek. there’s something both ravenous and adoring in his gaze as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. perhaps he’ll let you wear his clothing next time you need a little nap.

your name escapes his lips for a moment and your eyes flutter open. “z-zayne..!” you stutter out, sitting up quickly, “i didn’t realize you’d be back this early.”

“i am back on time,” he murmurs, bending down on a knee to meet your height on the bed. “i believe you are the one that lost track of time. doing the laundry, i see. did that coat give you a hard time?” the look on your face warms his heart as his arms reach under the coat to wrap around you.

"you're cold, aren't you?" xavier murmurs. a silvery autumnal breeze whirls past the two of you and another curious shiver curls down your back. xavier chuckles fondly, hand still enveloped in yours. it's likely the only thing providing you warmth save for the thin jacket you thought would do its job more properly.

"i'll be fine," you said quickly, "the apartment's just another block." your words don't exactly convince xavier. he pauses, dragging your hand back a bit to pull you into his chest. "i don't really have a use for my jacket right now anyways. how about you take it for now?" he says with a smile.

you avoid his gaze, unwilling to admit he might have been right earlier about the chilly weather. but you don't reject his offer when he slides his jacket off and wraps it around your shoulders. "there," he chuckles, "feel a little better?" you decide not to indulge a reply.

back at the apartment, you immediately float to the heater. xavier's sweater is still lovingly draped over your shoulders. his warmth remains despite everything. from the kitchen, xavier watches you wrap the sweater even tighter around you. it suits you.

a lingering smile tugs at his lips before you slide back over to him. "you can have it back now. i can grab one of my thicker jackets now," you say, though not exactly stripping it off yet. he shakes his head, tugging the sleeve slightly to pull you closer to him.

"i prefer if you keep it for now," he says with a gentle expression, "i had heard from someone that offering someone your jacket was a pleasant sign of affection." he pauses, admiring the way you're bundled tightly in his clothing. "i just wasn't sure how to bring it up..." then, he smiles knowingly. "i figured a nice walk out give me an idea."

#ੈ♡˳ aurora's writing #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel fluff #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x y/n #love and deepspace zayne #zayne x mc #zayne fluff #love and deepspace xavier #xavier fluff #xavier x mc

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Younger Gods: I

Younger Gods Master List Dream x fem!reader (unnamed)

Dream is protective of his ravens after Jessamy, and he's still bad at listening. The reader finds this out the hard way.

Warnings: extremely mild gore/injury to animal, language, Dream is his own warning

A/N: Playing a little fast and loose with dream physics, but we're just here for a good time, right? I read the comics an age ago, and thought I might as well pop back into the fandom for a quick swim after falling in love all over again via Netflix. Aiming for 5 chapters, but we'll see where this takes us.

*Remember, to like is kind but to comment/repost is divine.

**If you'd like to join the taglist, please let me know in the comments!

Chapter 1: Just don't bite me

“How did you get here?”

She stared at the injured raven hopping across her garden like it might open its beak and speak. Give her some answers. It’s eye fixed on her, pinning her even as it fought gravity and pain, flapping with a wing bent the wrong way.

Glossy black feathers hid the blood it left on the long grass. If it didn’t move like something hurt, didn’t struggle to hold up its broken wing, she’d never guess it had crashed into her little world by accident. Which brought her back to the question.

It fluffed the feathers around its neck in an attempt to look bigger, croaking as it shuffled farther away. Soft thunder purred in the clouds, and the steady rain dripped from the tip of the raven’s beak. She held up her hands. Sank low on her heels, as near to the raven’s level as she could reach without falling flat on her belly. If that’s what it took to earn its trust, though, she’d get a little muddy.

For all that it was uninvited, the bird was her guest now, and if she didn’t take care of it, it could never leave. Maybe it would haunt her. Maybe she’d just feel guilty as hell.

“You’re hurt.”

The raven twitched, its head tilting three different ways, studying her expression from varied angles, like it would reveal malicious intent in the right light. He could look all he wanted, but she needed to get him out of the rain.

She started unwinding the thick, knit scar from around her neck, speaking low in an effort to keep the bird calm. “I have something that can help. It’s just a salve, but you’ll heal much faster, and I’m sure you’d like to be on your way as soon as possible. But I’m going to take you inside first, so you can get warm and dry. The rain never really stops.”

Prepared with the folded cloth, she crept forward a few steps, giving the bird time to move away. When it didn’t, she closed the distance and muttered, “Just don’t bite me, okay?”

“No promises, witch,” the raven said.

Her hands stilled an inch away from his feathers. So, he was magic. Magic and rude as fuck.

She spluttered, “I’m not a witch.”

“Yeah?” The raven looked up at the clouds and down at her cottage. “Well, this place is weird. And so are you.”

“It was the best I could do.” She carefully wrapped the scarf around him, mindful of the bad wing – and the beak. “Sorry it doesn’t live up to your standards.”

Her first guest, and all he could do was insult all her hard work. He scoffed but held still in his swaddling as she pulled up to her chest and tramped back inside.

It wasn’t her fault it rained all time. Well, technically it was, actually, but she liked it. The water looked beautiful running down the windows, and the cozy fire glowed bright enough to warm a soul when the trees rustled in the wind. With rain hushing over the roof and a whisper of distant thunder to keep her company, she never felt lonely.

Tasteless corvid.

She set him down by the fireplace while she chose a good blanket to craft a makeshift nest. Only when she’d stripped off the scarf and moved him to the softer resting place did she tug off her own drenched sweater, shivering until she found a good replacement. Her wet hair clung to her neck as she pulled a sweater three sizes too big over her head. The sleeves dangled past her fingers, and she shoved them up past her elbows in thoughtless habit.

The bird hadn’t taken his eyes off her, but he still mustered enough faith to thank her. Sort of.

“This is… nice.”

It sounded like an olive branch, so she took it as one. The one room cottage was her haven. Even if it looked small and worn, she found it warm and soft, kind in the way a home ought to be.

“I like to think so.”

She moved to the workbench under the window that looked out to the garden, where she’d been sitting when the raven dropped out of the clouds with an all too human cry. Her fingertips ghosted over herbs and pots and potions as she looked for the little vial she wanted. She only finished it a week ago. It would take three months to make another. But that was alright. No one else really needed it.

When she knelt beside the bird, vial open and ready to drip over his injuries, he clacked his beak at her.

“Not a witch, huh?”

The wing felt so fragile in her hand. She couldn’t let him distract her. “My mother was. I’m… weird.”

“You can say that again.”

“This might hurt.”

“What do you -?” He broke off in a sharp caw, instinctively jerking away as she pulled his bones straight.

“Sorry, sorry. The worst is over now, I promise.”

He had a wonderfully colorful vocabulary for a raven, and he shouted a few rainbows while she wrapped his wing in the best position to heal. The white gauze practically glowed against his onyx plumage, and he looked just a little more pitiable.  

“Sorry,” she repeated.

The bird shook himself, stretching and folding his good wing three times to push away the pain.

“Son of a bitch,” he hissed. “Fucking damn. Teach me to pay attention. Kids and their fucking rocks.” He’d been staring into the fire as he recovered his equilibrium, but once he could pause his cursing, the bird looked back at his host.

“Name’s Matthew. What do I call you, weird girl who isn’t a witch?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you like.”

“I was asking for your name, lady.”

“I don’t have one I can give you.”

“That’s not helpful.” He looked around the room, probably on the hunt for something to critique, and although his beak opened, it snapped shut again when he looked back over his shoulder. He stared at her in the firelight, but not at her face. “What happened to your neck, lady?”

Her hand flew up to cover the scars, a landscape of smooth, raised, and sunken marks ringing her throat. She’d forgotten when she took off the scarf. Horror and humiliation twisted in her stomach, and she was wildly aware of being ugly and vulnerable in the same breath. Instead of answering, she rushed back to her closet, pulling out an even longer knit piece than the one she’d wrapped the bird – Matthew – in outside.

He picked up on the subtext, deflating a little and pointedly changing the subject.

“How long will this magic potion of yours take? I need to get back to the Dreaming. My boss is waiting for me.”

The scarf’s tail dropped from numb fingers, one loop short of her goal, left to trail on the ground as she wondered how the fuck her day could get any worse.

“The Dreaming?”

“Yeah. Know of many other realms with talking ravens, lady?”

“No,” she admitted, cursing herself in the privacy of her own thoughts. “It will take a couple days for you to fly again, I think.”

“That’s no good.” Matthew pecked at his bandages, and she rushed over.

“Stop that. You’ll make it worse.”

“Can’t fly with this,” he said, mouth full of gauze.

“You can’t fly without them, either,” she said gently.

Giving up with an enormous sigh, the raven wriggled down into the blanket and glowered through the window at the continuous rain. A little bolt of lighting reflected in his gleaming eye, like an idea sparking to life.

“Your weird little house is pretty close, you know,” he said. “To the Dreaming, I mean. I bet you could walk there.”

“It takes a day to walk in or out.”

“Why?”

“Because I made it that way.”

“Oh, you’re definitely weird.” He paused, like he was finally noticing the blanket nest and the empty vial glittering by the warm flames. When he spoke again, he sounded the slightest bit contrite. “Weird but nice. And I still need your help.”

“I don’t want to go to the Dreaming, Matthew.” She couldn’t bring her voice to carry more than a whisper. She was so afraid of her dreams she didn’t even sleep anymore. Not much. Walking into the fertile fields of the Dream Lord’s imagination…

“You don’t have to go in,” the raven insisted. “Just get me to the gates and I’ll be someone else’s problem. I promise.”

She couldn’t answer. She really didn’t dare. The laws of hospitality urged her to pick up the bird and carry him wherever he wanted to go, and he made it all sound so reasonable, so easy. Just a stroll and a hand over to a friendly face eager to welcome him back. It wasn’t, though. Oh, the walk was fine. She came and went from her hideaway world all the time, but her heart thrummed in terror to even think of the Dreaming. Was she really so close? Her home didn’t feel as safe as it had that morning. The security of the cozy storm left something wanting now. None of this was designed to keep other entities out. It was just… out of the way. On the other hand, if she left the bird – one of Dream’s ravens! – here to recover and his master came for him, it would never be a sanctuary ever again.

Maybe… if she was quick…

“I’ll –” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’ll try. I’ll walk you to the gates.”

“Thank you.” At least he sounded like he meant it. Lack of gratitude wouldn’t change her mind at this point, but she appreciated it. Walking twelve hours with a rude bird muttering under his breath didn’t sound like the fun kind of adventure.

None of this sounded like the fun kind of adventure.

Fun adventures involved late night diners and questionable life choices after two bottles of wine.

“My master needs me,” Matthew said, like he still needed to prove his point.

That was fine. That was great. Dream would be missing his raven soon. She was tempted to take a faster mode of travel, but she wasn’t sure what that would do to the raven, so she hurried to gather everything she’d need for the walk instead. Tall rainboots, a hooded jacket, and two shawls. She wrapped one around Matthew to keep him warm and tied the other around herself like a sling. With the bird nestled close to her natural warmth, she charged back into the rain. She didn’t even take the time to bank the fire.

Matthew, apparently, decided her rush was entirely for his benefit. “Thanks for this. I mean it.”

She paused at the edge of the garden, standing in the gap in the stone wall as she studied the horizon, looking for something to tell her where to go.

“Which way to the Dreaming?”

Matthew fidgeted and jerked his beak at a random point. “There. I can’t see it, but I can feel it, you know?”

She didn’t know or she wouldn’t have asked, but her breath was better saved for walking. Nearly running, she sped through the emerald green grass and low white flowers in the verdant moss. She didn’t look. Didn’t appreciate. Didn’t stop to touch, or pick, or smell. If she had the stamina to run the twelve hours, she would.

Pattering rain sounded louder inside her hood, and the sky broiled with clouds promising a real storm.

Maybe he could hear her heart pounding by his ear, or he finally realized she was moving awfully quickly for someone who didn’t want to go on this trip in the first place. Whatever his inspiration, Matthew dragged their conversation back from the dead to persuade her she’d made the right choice as she forded a narrow stream.

“You don’t have to be afraid of Dream,” he said. “If he’s upset, it will be with me. You’re doing me a favor.” He paused, struck by a new through that almost immediately spewed out his beak. “You’re not old enemies or something, are you?”

“No. I’ve never met him. I’d rather not meet him today.”

Matthew croaked. “Why not?”

Sometimes the truth was the simplest path to peace, and she’d like the bird to shut up for a while. “I have bad dreams. I don’t want to get any closer to them. Thanks.”

“You know, he could do something about that.”

“I don’t like favors.”

“But I’d argue he owes you one.”

“I’d argue that I don’t care.”

More croaking, this time accompanied by rustling from his safely bound wings. She remembered ravens were in the business of knowing things, watching and listening until they could deliver a secret whole and unbroken to their master. Her cagey replies must bother him on some deeper level.

“So why are you doing this? You clearly don’t want to.”

“Because you were hurt. You needed help. And I don’t want your master to come looking for you here.”

He cast incredible side-eye for a creature wrapped in home-knit outerwear strapped to a stranger’s chest.

But at least he shut-up.

It was the perfect landscape for long walks. She’d designed it that way. Gently rolling hills melted into copses of trees just too small to be forests but deep enough to lose the daylight below the tangled canopy. Any other day, she’d enjoy this trek. But now she wondered if she’d ever be able to enjoy it again, knowing which direction the Dreaming lay and how close it pressed to her border.

She slogged up the hills and slipped down the muddy sides, careful not to tumble and crush the fragile bird she carried against her chest. She slipped through the woods, ignoring the sweet smell of old loam and dried leaves. When the heavy rain came down in a curtain as the crested the last hill, she pushed through that, too.

The raven stayed awake for the entire trip. She shaved a full three hours off her usual time, and she reached the end exhausted. She should’ve packed a stimulant. Maybe an energy drink. Maybe a potion. Something. She had to get herself back home after this.

A field stretched to the cusp of oblivion, a black void at the edge of the turf her mind fought not to notice. She walked to the edge, slowing until she came to the brink, and then she had no ideas.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Well, you’re not a raven,” Matthew said. “I see where we need to go. Just trust me. There’s a path a few feet to the left.”

She shuffled obediently to the side, but she still saw nothing.

“Just take a step,” the bird insisted. “I’ll guide you through it.”

She didn’t want to. Every instinct from every element of her pedigree screamed that this was a Bad Idea. Relying on blind faith and a raven’s intuition might lead her into the Dreaming, but she bet she’d have a long fall someone with wings wouldn’t consider a problem. Some little oversight would swallow her whole, and nightmare would eat her alive, or she’d be trapped in her own night terrors.

“Why don’t I just leave you here?” She could hear the panic in her wobbling pitch, and her trembling hands banished any doubt as she reached for the knot in the sling.

“I thought you didn’t want Morpheus to come looking for me in your weird little bubble realm.”

She closed her eyes. Drew a shaky breath. No, she didn’t want that, but would it be worse than voluntarily stepping into that darkness? The raven couldn’t protect her. He wouldn’t even know what was safe for her, really. He was flying on a lot of assumptions, and she didn’t want to pay the price for his optimistic naivety.

“I don’t know what the void will do to me,” she confessed. “I’ve never actually… touched it.”

“It won’t do anything,” the raven said. “And it’s so thin you won’t even notice. The Dreaming is right there.”

Fucking hell. Her hands seized air, opening and closing like she could snatch courage out of thin air. Damn it all.

She lunged into the thing she didn’t even want to look at, and for the barest moment, she felt it. Nothing. No pulse. No breath. No thought or feeling at all. A gap stretched between past and present, like she’d been snuffed out – or never began to exist in the first place.

Then her momentum carried her through in a boggling mess of physics, and she was somewhere again.

Air punched into empty lungs, and she stumbled, nearly falling to her knees as light, sound, and her own heartbeat returned.

“Whoa! Hey! Watch out for the water!”

Matthew’s shout brought her eyes down, and she saw dark waves lapping at her feet, sucking them into the black sand as the foam tried to climb up and over her rain boots. The fact that sea foam was trying to do anything clued her into the water’s threat, and she darted away with her newly-beating heart in her throat.

“Well done. You see? Not so bad. You’re fine.”

It had been one of the worst experiences in her fucked-up life, and she might’ve told him so if she had the breath. Instead, she barely managed to mutter, “I think I hate you.”

“Nah.”

She stopped to push the last of the void from her lungs, sucking in oxygen like she’d never tasted it before, and the sensation stirred several memories she couldn’t take time to stop and fight. Not on the shores of the Dreaming. Not so close to the Lord of Nightmares. She wrestled them down, threw other thoughts and needs over them like a rug over a stain. Her horrors would have to wait until she slept again, and she planned on putting that off for a long, long time.

When she felt ready and able to move again, she asked, “Where to now?”

“The gates,” he said, like he thought she was the stupid creature alive.

She looked away from her feet and finally noticed the looming doors further down the beach. Silently, she had to agree that she was, in fact, incredibly stupid. They were hard to miss, taller than a skyscraper, carved over in faces, beasts, and scenes she didn’t recognize, gleaming like aged ivory. Beautiful and awe-inspiring in the way an angel or the Milky way inspired reverence and respect. Something a little too vast for her to grasp, but towering over her regardless.

Yeah. Time to get this over with.

As she power-walked across the cold sand, shadowed by the rocks piercing out of the waves, she unknotted the sling and pulled Matthew out of his cocoon.

“This bus has come to the end of its route,” she said. “We hope you’ve enjoyed your trip.”

The raven cackled, trying to stretch his wing in spite of the way she still cradled him. “You find a sense of humor in the void?”

“No, just a sense of relief. Seriously. Watch where you’re flying next time. I won’t have another healing salve like a gave you for several months, so if you do this again, you’re fucked.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.” He was all but straining forward in her hands, eager to get home, to complete his mission and reassure his master that all was well. “You sure you don’t want to meet my master? Or Lucienne?”

It didn’t matter she didn’t know who Lucienne was. She didn’t need to meet any more dreams – or servants of dreams. “Very.”

“So, you’re just going to ding-dong-ditch Dream of the Endless?”

“Yup.”

“Suit yourself.”

The sand made it harder to keep her pace, sliding away under her heels, sapping her strength as she hurried to drop her guest off at his front door. Waves of power rolled down from the high wall, and she felt trapped against the tide of Dream’s domain and the dark ocean lapping up the shore behind her. Everything looked grand and stark. She didn’t belong with her green boots and her rain-slicked jacket. The hood had fallen back, and a damp strand decided to stick on her cheek. With her hands full of bird, she had no way to pull it off.

Cold, wet, disheveled.

Tired.

Afraid.

She was ready for this adventure to end.

“How are you going to get back through the void?” the bird asked.

She shook her head, amazed. “You just thought to ask that? Never mind. I have a shortcut.”

“What kind of shortcut? Why did we just walk for nine hours in the rain?”

She plucked at the end of the second shawl, the one she used to keep him warm on that nine-hour trip through the storm. Such gratitude.

“Because I didn’t know what it would do to you.”

“I can survive the void, lady, you think your shortcut’s tougher than that?”

How far away was the damn gate? Would this beach never end?

“All that matters,” she panted, “is that you’re going home. I’m going home.” She turned the bird in her hands so they were eye-to-eye. “And we will never have to see each other again.”

Sounding more human than ever, the bird tutted, but whatever he wanted to say was swallowed in a sudden, sharp wind.

The austere stillness consumed itself in a rage, lifting black sand and sea spray into an impenetrable haze. One second, she could see the gate. The next, she could barely see three feet in front of her. Shielding her eyes from the sand with one arm, she instinctively tucked the bird close, bending over him protectively. The grit gave the wind claws, and it lashed her bare flesh raw.

What have you done with my raven?

The question pressured her from all sides, a crushing, physical weight ringing in her ears as it forced her to cower in on herself. She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t breathe. Matthew squawked and fluttered in her arms, flopping free with half a scarf still wrapped around him, tangled in his claws. “Sir, wait! Sir!”

The raven’s call settled the hurricane, but the overwhelming pressure remained. The lingering effect of the voice pressed against her soul like a death knell as a figure gathered itself, standing between the two travelers and the gate. The raven struggled towards the tall, dark shape, and she all but slapped herself in the face in her fight to get the dust out of her eyes, nose, and mouth.

Matthew called the newcomer sir.

She was peering up at Dream of the Endless.

He knelt to accept the bird, face dark as a nightmare. Long, pale fingers explored the broken wing. When they pulled away, a few rusty crumbs of blood clung to the pads, and eyes burning with angry stars lifted to pierce her.

He asked again, “What have you done with my raven?”

This time the voice was a voice, not a force of nature. He sounded like smoke and sand, deep and sure as the ocean at her back. That voice might scour her away like a rough patch in his perfect Dreaming, and nothing in his tone said she was welcome.

Now she felt like the raven – a little bird with a hoarse cry and hollow bones all too easy to snap.

“You hurt something of mine.” A snarl carved into his face, and even as Matthew squawked for his lord’s attention, the Dream Lord reached out.

His shadow stretched long and dark from his feet, against the light. It crept towards her, darker than the black shore, and she stumbled over her own feet as she backed away, landing hard on her hands.

“I didn’t,” she whispered. Her voice was long gone. It fled and left her to die whimpering and pathetic, the traitor. Scrambling back as the shadow approached, she shook her head. “Please, don’t.”

Cawing and flapping, Matthew shouted, “Sir, stop!”

The shadow slowed, just for an instant, and she leapt to her feet. Tears burning her eyes from fear and grit, she ran three steps back, never daring to take her eyes off the threatening Endless. She clawed into her own mind, grabbing for the half of herself she preferred to leave wandering the sky over her cottage. A rumble drew Dream’s eyes to the dark clouds gathering at the edge of the Dreaming, and she saw his eyes flick back to her just as the lightning struck.

Her summoned bolt traced down to catch her up in a flash of burning light. The crackle was almost unbearable, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and Dream’s shadow was still snaking after her.

She wasn’t there when the shadow reached the place she’d stood. The lightning blast reached through her to the ground and then back up into the clouds. It took her with it.

An echoing strike deposited her in the cottage garden.

She fell to her hands and knees as the power zapped away into the sky. Mud squished up between her fingers, and she shuddered in place, too busy shaking to move. Rain rolled down her face, cleaning the salt of sweat, tears, and sea. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy after weightless, electric travel, and she bowed to the animal urge to just freeze in place for a while. She needed to think. Maybe then she could remember how to stand.

An Endless wanted her dead. Dream, no less. She had more reason than ever to stay awake. Maybe she could find a trick to avoid sleep forever.

But his raven knew where she lived, and it wasn’t a long trip.

She needed to run.

Chapter 2

#morpheus #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #fanfiction

[fishnets-fingers]

Out by the Docks

“Did you um- have you… touched yourself more to the thought of me?” She asks him quietly.

“What do you think, hmm?” He responds with a smile. He had come on his stomach and hands an embarrassing amount of times replaying that night. It was pathetic how much she had him in a chokehold.

“I would like to kiss you,” she says, scooting forward to slot her knees between his. “Would you like that too?”

He nods, tongue licking his lips in anticipation as his heart kicks up again. The butterflies start flapping about in his tummy as she leans in with puckered lips.

“I said that I’d like to kiss you not that you could,” he explains when she looks at him with furrowed brows. “You gotta ask me nicely, if you want me to kiss you,” he teases, kissing the tip of her nose.

“You want me to beg?” She scoffs.

PAIRING - spy!harry x princess!y/n

a/n - the long awaited part two to forbidden hours. it was initially supposed to be a small blurb that somehow became twice as long. thank you for waiting and i hope you like this part as much as i do. if you have any requests or ideas for the next part, let me know. as always, like and reblog. feed back is not only appreciated but much welcome. happy reading!

Word Count - 6.2k (not proofread)

MASTERPOST 

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பரிசோதி. Examine. Harry runs a check of his catamaran for the fourth time in the past hour. Sailing was something he grew up doing and that did not mean he took it nonchalantly. It was not an easy task in the slightest; if one was not cognizant and five steps ahead of every single aspect of it, the sea would consume them. In a lot of ways it was an intricately woven tapestry of mastering the control of being at the mercy of the ocean. Two completely opposing beliefs somehow meshing together - like acrobats swinging from one side to another, it might seem like they are at the mercy of gravity and the ropes beneath them but they spend their lives mastering and learning how to taunt the inevitable forces without succumbing to it.

“The sea is a cruel mistress, Harry,” his father would often bark at him when he got one of the knots wrong. Which would then result with him doing a plethora of knots over the next few days until his father was convinced he could hold his own with the crew. He looks around, one more time, for good measure. His oars were greased up, the fabric of the sail - albeit dirty - was without tears, he had more ropes than necessary, a smaller set of paddles in case he’d lost it, food to hold him over, and a can of water. 

Late, he sighs, sitting in his boat that was bobbing along with the lazy waves. The sun was over his head shining radiantly casting small shadows. It was past noon and no one had come to hand him the message from Princess Y/N. Did she forget? Can’t be. Maybe the stupid guard is lost, besides, the docks were vast. He reaches into his bag grabbing a fistful of puffed rice and throws it in the water, making the fish - that were previously eating the algae from the sides of his boat - flounder up and nibble on the white flakes. He looks over at their streamlined moist bodies flipping over others as they ravenously eat the floating white specs and his hands absentmindedly tightens the knot that was anchoring his boat to the side of the docks.

“Took you long enough. Have you no regard for people’s time,” he grumbles, as a shadow blocks the beam out light illuminating the iridescent scales of the fish.

“That’s no way to speak to the Princess,” she replies, with a hint of mirth in her tone. He whips his head around to find Y/N towering over him on the wooden dock. 

“I apologise, your highness. I did not know it was you,” his cheeks tinge with pink as he vaults over to the wooden structure.

Y/N did not look like a member of the royal family today. There were no silks or expensive jewelry adorning her body, her hair was not done up high with flowers. It didn’t make her any less captivating in the slightest with her raven hair slicked back in a low bun, a red cotton saree with the long end twisted around her waist to make a belt to keep the top half of the saree intact since she was not wearing a blouse, and a small black dot in between her eyebrows. She had clasped an oxidised silver ornament around her neck and a small ring around her septum. She looked like she’s spent her whole life here out by the docks rather than the giant mansions with sprawling gardens. 

“You - um - look-” Harry starts.

“I’m in disguise, Mr. Styles.” She answers, pulling out a blank parchment paper and hands it over to him. “I apologise for being late. I had stopped by the bazaar.”

“The bazaar, Princess Y/N,” he repeats, looking over her shoulder to find it empty.

“Having guards following me sort of defeats the purpose of the disguise, Harry.” She catches on as his eyes scan behind her.

“Of course.” He looks at the parchment in his hands turning it around. “It’s blank.”

“It is.” 

“I thought I needed to sail to Lanka to deliver a message, ma’am,” he mumbles, looking down at the sheet of yellowed pulp running his thumb over to feel for any creases or indentations.

“Ma’am,” Y/N snorts out. “Really? You’re calling me a ma’am after what happened the other night,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief.

“It’s protocol,” he tells her blankly.

“Was it also protocol to crowd me against my desk in the middle of the night?” She arches her brow, enjoying the way his face flushes with colour. “The message is intended for the recipient’s eyes only. Karthi will know what to do.”

He nods, folding the paper and slotting it into a small zipped pocket of his dhoti pants. “I should set sail soon,” he informs her, making his way into his vessel. “Looks like a storm’s heading this way.”

“How can you tell, Mr. Styles,” she asks, stepping forward to look over at the horizon to find rain laden grey clouds but is instead met with tiny fluffy cotton akin ones dotting the powdery blue skies.

“I can smell it. There was a ring around the moon last night and red skies at dawn. It probably won’t break ground until a few days.”

“Very impressive,” she praises, looking down at him. “Here, I bought you some food for your travel,” she shifts through her linen bag that was draped over her shoulder. She pulls out a box of rambutan and some partially cooked spiced lentils.

“Thank you, Princess.” He stashes it next to his metal box of food supply. “Do you come to town often in your disguise?”

“Not very-” she is interrupted by the sound of people marching and a loud whistle followed by a booming voice asking the soldiers to fall in a single file. “That’s the admiral,” she whispers, eyes bulging out of her head. “Fuck. If he catches me I’m so dead.”

“Hop on,” Harry tells her.

“What?!?” She whisper shouts at him. “I have to head back.”

“I’ll take you to the palace. I know a way - right behind your garden. Get in,” Harry offers, coming over to the side and holding onto the side of the dock.

Y/N balks, looking down at his rickety catamaran. The structure looked like it was going to wither away in a few days - calling it old would be an insult at this point. Prehistoric was more so the right word. The ropes were frayed and seemed used. She is pretty sure the thing was built before she was born. No way in hell, she shakes her head.

“Princess,” he urges, as the sounds of footfall grow closer and closer.

“I’ll walk back. Maybe I can slip past them,” she tells him.

“It sounds like twenty men, how are you going to slip past all of them,” he shakes his head. “You’ll only be dragging me down with you.”

“I’ve slipped in and out of the castle loads of times,” she reasons.

“There’s only one way out of here, unless you fancy swimming,” Harry points out. “Y/N,” he insists, holding out one of his hands. She lets out a sigh and grips his palm as she climbs into the bobbing catamaran. Once she gets situated, Harry grips onto the oars and starts speedily rowing from the dock, away from the bay. 

Harry looks over her every so often at Y/N as he steadily paddles his boat away. She was curled into herself, looking very unsure with her hands wrapped around her arms as she looked back at the disappearing docks. When the vessel bobs due to a sudden current she pales, gripping onto the wooden plank of her seat firmly, eyes never drifting back to the pier. He’s never seen her like that, and he certainly did not peg her to experience trepidation, uncertainty, and fret. The memory of the first time he met her was etched into the deep recesses of his brain. 

It was eight months since he’d seen her for the first time. He had quickly become fast friends with the Crown Prince - her older brother - who had invited him to train within the palace grounds. He made his way into the halls of the building in wonder of tall ceilings and intricately carved woodwork and artwork and was led to the sparring arena. Vikram was waiting for him sans armour - he believed that having armour on while practice lets one have a certain air of nonchalance with the training thereby removing the stakes. His moves and close combat skills were immediately applauded by the members there with the Princes - Vikram and Karthi - asking a guard to take him to the stables, so he could pick his own horse and learn how to ride. That’s when Y/N walked into the arena, dressed immaculately in a cream silk saree and a colourful pashmina wrapped around her shoulders. There was no jewelry on her body other than a pearl choker and her hair was pulled back into a loose braid. There were four other handmaidens following her, who’d stopped at their tracks by the opened double doors as they giggled at the sweat laden covered men.

“What?” She stalked forward and snapped at her brothers.

“Good day to you too, little girl,” Vikram mocks.

“I have far more important things to do than entertain you, Vikram.”

“Don’t get snippy with me because I pulled you out of philosophy class -”

“A class you should be attending,” Karthi notes, throwing his arm around his sister’s shoulder. “One word to the Queen Mother and you won’t see the outside of the library for the next month,” the two giggle together.

“Books don’t teach you anything, combat does. Anyway don’t go ganging up on me,” Vikram raises his hands in submission. “I just called you to meet my new friend,” he cocks his head to the side. “Y/N meet Harry Edwards Styles.”

Harry feels her gaze pierce right through him, her eyes roamed up and down his body. Being scrutinised made him straighten his back upright - mostly in a way to show off his stature. After a few moments her hickory eyes finally settled at his jade orbs. “Mr. Styles,” she greets him with a polite smile. “You must be the sea merchant who’d bought the crates of berry seeds.”

“Your highness,” he bows. “The sea merchant is my father.”

“Ah, makes sense. You seem awfully young to master navigating the treacherous waters of the Pacific.”

“Thank you, Princess,” he mutters, cheeks heating up at her calling him young.

“That was hardly a compliment, Mr. Styles. I was simply noting your lack of experience,” she lifts up her chin, keeping it parallel to the floor. “I understand from what my brothers have told me you plan on riding to battle with Vikram.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“As noble as your intentions are, how are we to know your allegiance lies with the flag of Chozhamandalam? You landed here seven- eight months ago, am I wrong? I don’t doubt that you’ve seen many kingdoms in your father’s quests, why are you choosing to devote your life to mine? Why not the Crown of England, the land of you and your forefathers?”

“Y/N,” Vikram states firmly. “You are insulting my friend by insinuating things.”

“I’m not insinuating anything, Vikarm. I’m simply doing the grunt work for you like always,” she bites back.

“Stop th-”

“Well she’s not wrong to ask this, brother. Especially after what happened the last time,” Karthi notes. 

“You two never stop throwing what happened ten years ago in my face every single time,” Vikram gets frustrated.

“Your highnesses,” Harry interrupts their squabble. The princess staggered him in a lot of ways, she just met him but it seemed that she had some sort of an upper hand with him and it didn’t stem from her lineage. She seemed to know a lot about him from growing up in different parts of the world to the seeds his father’s crew arrived with. Surely royalty had no business knowing inventory of all the consignments at the ports; he’s sure they had people for that. His accent once thick and pronounced - resembling the dialect of his mother’s village - had now got muddled up spending time with his father’s crew men and it’s settled into a transatlantic hybrid; is that how she pegged him to be English? 

Unlike most women he’s met, Princess Y/N looks directly at him - through him in a manner of speaking - holding eye contact until their exchanges come to a halt. It felt as if she was giving you her utmost attention at all times, but it was also unnerving because Harry felt like she was also playing a game of chess. Slotting individuals in their designated squares after she thoroughly sized someone up. She was still breathtaking as the day he first laid eyes on her but seeing her up close with her gaze trained on him, made him gulp down the nerves that made him feel like she was a step above him, as he spoke, “I understand the need for Princess Y/N to ask me those questions… If I may,” he looks at her brothers flanking her sides for approval.

“Please do, Mr. Styles.” She motions with her hand for him to continue. 

“You are right, Princess Y/N, I have spent very little time in your dynasty as compared to everyone in this room but it does not take away my love for the people. You see, I have seen many places sailing with my father but almost all of them considered me a passerby - especially countries where people looked different to me. I have seen people treat people like sewage based on the colour of their skin, the faith they practice, or the wealth they’ve inherited. The first day I came to these shores, unloading heavy crates at the port, an old woman - who was walking off with a basket of fish - came up to the crew and noticed that we looked worn out and offered up some of the fresh catch so we could cook and eat. The captain denied it, but she insisted we must eat and somehow managed to have my father and the crew over to her house. She cooked for us. A woman who we did not know up until that day, invited strangers into her house and made us a hearty meal. So, to answer your question, my allegiance lies with the people, not a flag.”

“Satisfied?” Vikram smirks, taunting Y/N by bumping his shoulder on hers.

“And as for England, I haven’t been there in forever. I don’t have any ties that bind me other than it being the country my mother resided in.”

“Seems like you have your way with words, Mr. Styles,” she smiles up at him. Harry can’t help the way satisfaction brews in his chest in response to her smile.

“Oh, Y/N, Harry is good with swords, too,” Karthi tells her. 

“That so?” She arches her brow. “Now that is something I need to witness,” she says, walking over and picking one of the swords that was mounted on the wall. 

She unsheathes it, swishing it once to get a sense of its weight, before stepping into the circle. “I like a good challenge. Hope you deliver,” she tells him.

“I don’t quite understand,” he says, looking around the room for signs that it was an elaborate plan, only to be met with none. “Princess Y/N, I’m not going to fight you,” he steps back.

“Why not?” She arches her brows, pulling off the pashmina that was wrapped around herself and tossing it onto the readily waiting hands of a scurrying handmaiden.  

“Because women do not fight, ma’am,” he mumbles, and both Princes snicker at his response.

“Do not? Or not allowed to.” She challenges him.

“It is not what I mean-”

“Do you dare disobey my orders?” Y/N cuts him off. “Now fight. Don’t let up easy because you think women can’t hold their own. If you do, I’ll make you disappear without a trace.”

He nods, squaring his shoulders and hoisting up his own sword. Far be it for him to disobey the Princess Royal. He’ll give her the fight she was asking for.

He advances first, much to his surprise. He expected her to charge at him but she gilded around the periphery matching his moves, unwilling to attack. She swivels his sword to the side and from then their duel mimicked a dance They moved harmoniously, almost like each move was choreographed, both matching each other moves, the sharp end of the blades kissing each other only to be redirected elsewhere. He can’t help but get distracted by the way her supple skin feels when she brushes past him, and the way her scent niggles his heart. He wonders if she feels it too, but no cues that signaled him. They were synchronized - strike for strike, manoeuvre for manoeuvre, a sharp turn for a turn. But when Harry notices, her eyes darting to his feet, he figures out her next move and backs away when she advances forward trying to trip his feet with her own as her sword swivels around. It happens seamlessly, Harry twists around to trap her arm that’s clutching the sword and lunges forward to press the tip of his scimitar to her side of her throat.

He expects her to look up at him with surprise and even a hint of admiration - both looks he was no stranger to from women - but there was no sense of defeat in her face. Instead, her eyes glinted at him as her lips tugged up in a smug smile. His brows knit in confusion and he follows her eyes, feeling a pointy object push against his sternum - harder this time. Y/N’s holding up a small shiv, which she tugged from its sheath tucked against her waist, angled directly for his heart. 

“A stalemate,” she informs him. 

“How?” He asks, suddenly very aware that he’s got her pressed against him in front of a dozen people. She looks even more beautiful up close, with a bead of sweat running down her temple, her honeyed skin flushed from exertion, her full cheeks, flecks of gold in her eyes under the sunlight, a tiny crescent shaped birthmark on the corner of her chin, lips like a flower petal.

He’s almost reluctant to let her get away from his grasp when she steps backward, immediately missing her warmth on him. A soldier collects the sword from her, before she tucks her shiv away in its holder. She explains, while draping her pashmina the handmaiden scurried over to give, “You got cocky. You thought you figured out my next move and thereby acted in a manner that made your vision tunnel to the sword in my hand. While you celebrated your victory before your sword even touched my throat, you failed to realise that I had a shiv pointed at your heart.”

Her loud exhale of relief snaps him out of his reverie, her shoulder relaxes a smidge but Harry notices that she’s still tightly wound. Her arms are crossed protectively around herself with her knees towards her chest. She should look out of place in the catamaran he’d bought a few months ago at a bargain - bear boned structure unlike the things she was used to - but she didn’t. Almost like the wooden plank in front of him was made for her. She didn’t look out of place, just a tad nervous. “We’re in the clear,” she declares, once the pier completely disappears from view as he rows over to another bay nearby. It was rocky and jagged, lined with palm and coconut trees, dense with shrubbery sprouting all over the sand with an odd dollop of violet flowers breaking the monotony of green.

“Told you I knew a place,” he smirks. “Besides,” he remarks, leaning backward to get more movement with his row as he navigates away from the rocks and towards the shore. “It’s the least I could do. Disguising yourself and coming all the way to the docks to give me food and bid me farewell.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Y/N scoffs. “I didn’t sneak out of the palace for you.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“Stop being so cocky,” she admonishes him as her eyes fall on the way the muscles on his arm flex and bulge as he moves the oars. The veins on his hands looked delicious with the way he gripped the oars as he tugs and pulls back as he moves. 

“Can’t help it, Princess.” He chuckles. “Especially with you drooling over my arms.”

Y/N feels the heat scorch her cheeks from his comment, immediately tearing her eyes away. “Shut up, Harry.”

“How was your trip to the capital? Did you confront your Uncle?” He inquires, asking her about the incident that led him to break into her chamber. 

“Busy. The capital is never not busy. Dad’s sick,” she adds the last part quietly.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” There has been a hushed talk among the people about the King’s decline in health. Stories of people coming down from the far East and embedding needles in his flesh, and letting leeches draw impure blood spread like wildfire.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. People contract illnesses all the time. I’m sure it will pass.” She turns to the shores, eyes scanning to see if there are people around and Harry does the same, even if he knows that this area of the bay is always deserted. “I didn’t talk to my Uncle,” she answers. 

“Why not? Won’t it be best to put a stop to it right now?”

“Why would I let him know that I know what he’s plotting?” She shrugs. “It’s not about putting a stop to it, it’s how you do it. I didn’t talk to him. I asked to meet with the governors instead. Told them it was  time we start looking for brides for the future King. With Dad’s health, we must be prepared for Vikaram’s coronation and it would not be a good look, if he did not have a queen by his side at age of twenty five.”

“That helps how?”

“Easy. While they were busy squabbling over what kingdom to approach for talks of courtships, with fear brewing in their chest about the possibility of the Dynasty having added support from another kingdom. I’d simply said that I do not wish that and I would much rather prefer that the Crown Prince marry a Chola woman of nobility - one that knows our ways and our people. I’d pointed out that many of the governors - especially the ones who were meeting with my Uncle - themselves have daughters who were fit to be the future queen,” she smiles, satisfied with herself.

“Smart. There’s no way they’re going to support your Uncle now. Pitting swindling tax money and being the power that comes with being father of a future queen. Why would they not want to be the in-law of the Crown?”

“Exactly. You seed the idea of climbing up the ladder, and they are putty. There’s nothing more seductive than power. My Uncle’s support ought to dwindle.”

She is a good politician and the thought makes his chest swell in pride. Harry will never understand royal life. He covets the glitz and glamour that comes with hitting the genetic lottery but the more he spent time with the heirs the more he learnt that it was all exhausting mind games, endless duties to fulfil along with conducting yourself the way people deemed fit. It must suck. Uncle who doted on you growing up is the same one that's planning to overthrow you all this time, he thinks. He pulls the oars in when he feels the boat make contact with the sand bed, jolting the two in the wooden structure. 

Y/N lurches forward from the sudden movement, hands coming to grip his forearms to brace herself. “Sorry,” she mumbles, straightening up and squaring off her shoulders. 

“Are you sure you didn’t come all the way to the docks to not see me, Princess?” He teases. 

“You think highly of yourself, Harry,” she laughs, reaching in her linen bag and shifting through it. 

“How could I not? Besides look at where you got me,” he gestures to the scenery around them. It was just the two of them on his catamaran by the shore, the sun shining high up in the sky, and a cool breeze makes it way to them making the leaves and branches of the trees dance in its rhythm. Awfully convenient, he wonders as they bask in the solitude of the crashing waves and the screech of birds. 

“I got you?” She scoffs, raising her eyebrows. “If I recall correctly, it was you who pulled me into your boat. So, who got who alone?” 

A right menace, he shakes his head. “Why are you here then, Y/N?” He hopes it’s to continue where they’d left off that night, his body pressed up unbelievably close to her. He doesn’t miss sparing a glance - when she tucks a stray stand of hair behind her ear, inadvertently moving the fabric of her saree exposing the soft skin of her belly rising and falling as she breathes.  Even without all the fanfare around her appearance, she never looked less gorgeous.

She opens her palm, revealing a few brown candies wrapped in thin butter paper. A candy he knew all too well. It was popular in the port town. Sweet tamarind candy. “For these,” she admits. “My family thinks I should not be eating peasant treats. So, whenever I come to town to check on how the people are doing and how the children are responding with the school’s curriculum, I make sure to buy this in bulk from the market and stash it in my room.” 

“You do it often?”

“Not as often as I like,” she admits, stuffing them back in her bag. 

“Didn’t peg you as a sneak. Why not come to check on the people as the princess?”

“Because people don’t talk to me. They talk to the Princess. The crown. If they know I’m coming, they don’t see me, they see the ostentatious display of wealth and put on the best version of themselves. I want my people to talk to me, unfiltered as possible.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t been caught,” Harry claims. “It’s not the best disguise, Y/N. I can see right through it.”

“That’s because you actually bother to look at me. You’d be surprised how little people actually look into my eyes. People don’t pay attention to people they don't care about, especially ones that are from a lower caste and don’t draw too much attention to themselves. You’d be surprised how many people bumped into me today without so much as an apology.” She laughs, the tinkling sound cutting right through the monotonous sound of waves carding against the shore. “Besides, I’ve got my lady-in-waiting covering for me and my guards are standing outside the door, thinking I’ve taken to the bed,” she shrugs. 

“Next time let me know.” The words tumble out of Harry’s mouth before his brain can comprehend. “Can’t have people bumping into you.”

A smile blooms across her face. “I’ll survive. Thanks for the offer though,” she replies, pursing her lips together in an attempt to refrain from telling him how cute he looked. 

“You know,” Harry starts, taking one of her hands in both of his. “I was kinda hoping you came here and demand that you continue where we left off,” he confesses, green eyes flicking up at hers to gauge her reaction. 

Y/N can’t help but reel at the sensation of his slightly calloused thumb drawing circles on the back of her hand. “What if I did?”

“I think I would like that very much.” Harry gives her a shy smile. “Was kinda beating myself up for not kissing you that night.”

“I didn’t know you liked me. Much less in a sexual manner-”

“I think it’s more than lust, Y/N,” he confesses, bringing her hand up and brushing his lips against her knuckles. 

“Did you um- have you… touched yourself more to the thought of me?” She asks him quietly, hoping that he did not bed other women in town after that night.

“What do you think, hmm?” He responds with a smile. He had come on his stomach and hands an embarrassing amount of times replaying that night. It was pathetic how much she had him in a chokehold.

“I would like to kiss you,” she says, scooting forward to slot her knees between his. “Would you like that too?”

He nods, tongue licking his lips in anticipation as his heart kicks up again. The butterflies start flapping about in his tummy as she leans in with puckered lips. He backs up in the very last second when his lips were an inch away from hers, making her headbutt him in the process.

“I said that I’d like to kiss you not that you could,” he explains when she looks at him with furrowed brows. “You gotta ask me nicely, if you want me to kiss you,” he teases, kissing the tip of her nose. 

“You want me to beg?” She scoffs.

“Not necessarily but it won’t hurt to throw a please in there,” he mutters against the flamed skin of her cheek as he trails wet kisses up to the corner of her eye.

Her breath washes over him as she sighs, “Fine. Just this once though, don’t get used to it. Kiss me, pl-”

He cuts her off, smearing his lips with hers. Her lips were softer than he could have dreamt. His hands immediately move to cup her cheeks, tilting her head, so their noses weren’t smushed. He holds her delicately, like she was made of the finest crystal. Their eyes flutter close as their body relaxes into each other, lips moving in sync like they were destined to do this. Her palms slowly creep up his chest, resting firmly at the crook of his neck, grinning at the way she pulls a pleasured hum from him. Kissing someone never felt this right to Harry. They do it once, one more time, and another time before their lungs force them apart to pull in air. He leans in to peck her swollen lips again, silently thanking the ocean for bringing him to her.

Harry was right, he doesn’t think he had it in him to stop now that he had a taste. He reaches forward, wrapping a strong arm around the small of her back, while the other cradles her bum, pulling her onto his lap eliciting a quiet gasp from her. Y/N doesn’t waste time connecting their lips again. Only this time, Harry swipes his tongue across her bottom lip - seeking permission. His hands grip her in place at her ribs, resting right below her breasts. She opens up for him willingly and he wiggles his tongue into her mouth, licking hers hesitantly. She moans into his mouth, fingernails pressing crescents on the defined muscles of his back. He grunts out, feeling the heat pool from his chest and making its way south to his throbbing cock. They slot together perfectly, Y/N can’t help but grind down to help relieve the pressure building up in her tummy. 

“Do you like it?” He pulls back checking in, talking against her lips as they pant against each other.

“Very much,” she answers, fluttering her eyes open as her forehead rests against his. “Am I satisfactory in this kissing ordeal?”

Harry lets out a boyish laugh, the one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle and the dimples in his cheek deepen. “You are heavenly, Princess.”

Y/N gives him a satisfactory smile. “You have a scar here,” she notes as her eyes focus on the small cut under his left eyebrow.

“Got it from a fishing hook when I was nine,” he tells her. They’d been on this ship for a month now and Harry was getting restless, so he’d convinced one of the crew men to teach him to throw a line. Instead of waiting for the instructions, he simply grabbed the pole and whipped it around, resulting in a gash and his father incessantly yelling at him for being careless.

Her fingers feather over the mark, ghosting over the skin. Her touch was so gentle that Harry wondered if she was afraid that blood might ooze out if she put any pressure. He goes to tease her but she beats him to it, pressing her lips to the scar. She lingers breathing in his scent - a musky woody one underlying the smell of the salty sea.

Y/N’s gesture makes his breath hitch, a lump forming in his throat. The delicate nature of her action, knocked the wind out from his solar plexus. He didn’t realise he craved tenderness until now, there was no one to kiss his boo boos on the boat. He barely registered the pain back when the fish hook tore through his flesh, instead he was apologising to his father telling him that he’ll be better while pressing a muslin cloth to the wound. No one has been this tender with me. “Y/N,” he breathes out as a single tear rolls from his eye, “Thank you.”

She doesn’t understand why Harry’s crying as he thanks her but she gives him a comforting smile thumbing away the tear as he sniffles. He kisses her again, slipping his tongue into her mouth as they both sigh in satisfaction. That’s how they stay for the next hour, tangled together as desire simmers in their nerve endings. Lips caressing each other, as their tongue prods and rolls around in each other's mouth. Harry’s hands rests on her hips, fingers finding the skin of her stomach rubbing circles into them as Y/N tests Harry by making him moan as she tugs on the curls at the nape of his neck. The catamaran lazily bobs in the water not wanting to disrupt  the two, like the ocean understood that they were going to part with each other soon. But the sky had other plans, a distant rumble of thunder jolting them apart, reminding them of reality. Y/N shuffles back to her seat despite his grumbled protests, reaching in her bag to hand him some copper coins, “For your trouble,” she explains. 

“You’re paying me for kissing you?” He chuckles.

“No! It’s for rowing me here from the docks.”

“I didn’t do it for the money.”

“I know but I insist,” she states firmly.

He examines the coins in his palm and laughs. “I don’t understand how you haven’t been recognized in the markets. These are the shiniest copper coins I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he comments. 

Harry’s right. The Princess had no use for copper coins, she only used gold. The coppers denominated smaller values of money and had no place among royalty. She usually goes out of her way to request some from the mint in the capital, telling her father that she needs them to throw into wells when she makes wishes. Y/N thinks wishes were lame and if her father knew her any better, he’d catch on to the fact that she had been using the coppers to visit the markets. People rarely had brand new coins because it dulled and discoloured from use. No would have so many on them at once.

Their farewell was brief. Harry helps her to the shore, telling her how to sneak back into her castle. She interrupts him when he lets her know that there's a spot  - one that’s covered in vines and deceptive to the untrained eye - low in the stone back wall of the butterfly garden of her grounds, telling him that she was the one who designed it to aid in her sneaking out. He pulls her in a long tight hug, breathing in her floral scent as he mumbled goodbyes against the column of her throat he was busy trailing kisses on. It wasn’t lost on Harry that Y/N was trying to sneak some of the candy she’d purchased into his pockets.

“Show this to the soldiers,” she pulls out her golden ring, which bore the sigil of her family. “You won’t need to sneak in. Tell them I sent you and show them the ring, they’ll take you to Karthi.”

He nods, slipping the ring on his pinky, before kissing her with reckless abandon as his hands move down her back, grabbing a fistful of her bum and squeezing it. Y/N laughs, poking his side before getting on her toes again, to plant a kiss on his cheek. He wades into the waves, pushing the boat further out into the open water.

“Be careful, Harry,” she calls out from the shore when he hops on the boat. “You know with the storm and all. Don’t want you getting lost in the middle of the ocean,” she jokes weakly but even from far Harry could tell that her eyes were full of concern.

“Promise,” his voice rings out with sincerity. “Got someone to come home to now, haven’t I, Princess?” He teases one last time, giving her a wave.

“Promise,” his voice rings out with sincerity. “Got someone to come home to now, haven’t I, Princess?” He teases one last time, giving her a wave. 

#harry syles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles yn #harry styles x you #spy!harry #princess!reader #princess!y/n #fishnets-fingers #COME SAY HI #please leave tags if you reblog #out by the docks

[dailydragon08]

The Edge

Pairing: Luke Skywalker x F!Jedi!Reader   Summary: After a harrowing ordeal where you and Luke barely escape an inquisitor's sinister plans, the tension between you and Luke finally snaps--with the Force acting as his ally (Luke’s POV). Rating: E Warnings: smut, implied past drug use (forced on reader and Luke as a form of torture), implied past torture, reader is wearing a bit of a revealing outfit (bralette and maxi skirt with a slit), masturbation, sexually frustrated Luke, no one is around but still doing the do in a public setting, hand jobs, mutual pining, slight angst, using the Force in sexual ways. A/N: "Remnants" is a series of one shots in no particular order (but can be read in chronological order on my masterlist) about the budding relationship between you and Luke as he trains you in the ways of the Force. This takes place immediately after "Temple of You” (I keep tormenting Luke in these, I’m so sorry). See my masterlist (linked in pinned post) for more. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

***

The cliff's edge loomed ahead, the vast ocean below it thrashing violently against the rock face. Several birds struggled against the gale of the coming storm, flapping frantically against the gray backdrop of the clouds. The grass danced beneath Luke’s feet as he blew a slow breath out his puffed cheeks. He felt your soothing presence strengthen through the Force and closed his eyes, letting the calming sensation wash over him as you drew closer.

His eyes widened when he finally turned to look at you. You were in a favorite outfit of his: the black bralette you usually wore during training, the lace tracing an intricate pattern over your skin, and your gray maxi skirt with flowers. The wind blew the slit open and he couldn’t help but stare as the fabric billowed behind you, giving him flashes of your toned legs. He remembered when he first began training you, not only watching but feeling your muscles develop and grow stronger as he’d gently held and guided you into the correct stances, similar to how he fought the urge to hold you now. 

You stared at each other for several long moments. He took the opportunity to memorize the color of your eyes, unable to resist taking several steps closer to you to ensure he could envision every layer of your iris on command if needed. It felt like something foreign had a hold of him as he moved away some hair that had blown in your face, gently tucking it behind your ear and letting his fingers linger on your jaw. Your Force signature was more powerful than he’d ever felt it—even standing this close to you—and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was an effect of the drug’s half-life running out. He didn’t wonder for long, closing his eyes and leaning into your hand as you brushed some hair away from his eyes. 

He pressed his forehead to yours, relishing how you stepped closer to bring your chest flush against his. A shaky breath escaped him as his hands settled on your waist and he gently bumped the tip of his nose against yours. 

He held his gloved hand out to you, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “Help me take it off?”

You nodded and he watched, mesmerized, as you gently loosened each finger before revealing the blaster hole in his hand. He shuddered as you put the glove into his pocket and your fingers brushed against his hip. 

“Are you okay?” you murmured, close enough that he could almost feel your lips brush against his. 

He nodded, his own flesh hand gently digging into the fabric of your skirt while his cybernetic traveled up into your hair. “More than okay…You?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, leaning closer to ghost your lips over his. 

He tilted his head and finally kissed you like he’d always wanted to—soft to start, but growing bolder and unabashedly needy as he relished your taste. Your lips were everything he’d always pictured and more: soft, warm, pliant, and addicting at a level he hadn’t expected. His cybernetic gently fisted in your hair and he couldn’t help the swell of pride in his chest at the soft moan it elicited from you. He could feel your pleasure flow strongly through your connection, still much more potent than usual, and moaned in return. He broke away long enough to suck in a gulp of air, feeling his stomach flip at how the weather fully exposed your legs. His flesh hand traveled downwards of its own accord to grip at the skin of your thighs, gently walking you back several steps until he had you pinned against a nearby boulder. 

Your fingers found their way into his hair and he couldn’t help the whine that escaped him as you yanked. He tentatively dipped his tongue into your mouth and had to force his knees to continue working as yours bumped against his. You gasped against each other’s mouths and he forced his own noises down to better revel in yours as his lips traced a line across your jaw and down your neck, committing the way your chest pushed against his at every pant to memory. Once he reached the juncture of your neck and collarbone, he sucked, feeling his own arousal grow at your resulting gasp. Your grip tightened on his shoulders and he groaned against your skin as you yanked a fistful of his hair again. He alternated with teeth, lips, and tongue until you were in such a state that he was the only thing keeping you on your feet. 

He couldn’t deny he loved the way you held onto him for support, submitting and trusting him fully in a way you hadn’t before. He relished the moments when you let him be your shelter and solid ground beneath your feet and took the opportunity to let his fingers dig, stroke, and wander in equal measure. He could feel something building in the bottom of your stomach and it only fueled his own want. It almost felt like a defiling of the Force to use it in this way—sense what excited you and would pull the most gasps and moans while using it to heighten his own experience. But only almost. Your connection was something beautiful to him, and moments like this only added more credence to the fact that you were made for him and he would cherish and worship you at every opportunity you gave. After all he’d lost, all his regrets about chances not taken, he wouldn’t dare let this one slip through his fingers. 

His name tumbled from your lips in a combination of gasps and moans that only made him want to further his efforts. He moaned yours back to you before steadying your hips with his hands, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses across the thin layer of fabric that hid your breasts from him. He worked a path back up to your lips, wishing more than anything he could make an alter for you in all your glory. His hand slipped from your hair to gently wrap around the front of your neck, sliding down the middle of your chest and coming to a hesitant stop at the top of your skirt’s slit. 

He met your gaze, your pupils blown, hair in disarray, and sighed as his hand hovered. “Maker, you’re so perfect.” He saw himself through your eyes in a quick flash through the Force: his own pupils blown so wide, the blue was barely visible, his hair that wasn’t still captured in your fist blowing from the incoming storm, lips parted as he breathed heavily. Although he wanted to wince at the laser focus he couldn’t help but attach to every scar, every line, the crooked shape of his nose from the Wampa attack, and the fact that his body was vastly different than it had once been—would you have liked him better when he was 19, fresh-faced, and still had both hands?—he could sense how mesmerized you were, the unbridled joy and excitement in the pit of your stomach from being this close to him, the absolute devotion you had for him. As your hand moved from his hair to rake your nails lightly down his neck and chest, he shuddered through what was almost a weak sob as he pressed a desperate kiss to your lips. 

Your hand stopped at the sash near his waist. “Can I…?”

He managed a breathless yes, followed by an oh, Maker as his shirt fell open and your fingers wandered over his lightning scars. It was like you were seeing the ocean, snow, or a rainstorm for the first time, and his knees nearly buckled when you pressed a featherlight kiss to his collarbone. 

In an attempt to steady himself against you, his hand touched your lower abdomen where it had been hovering. You gasped, pressing your face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He gently played with the waistband of your underwear, tilting his head to murmur, “May I?” in your ear. 

You nodded against him and he slowly hooked his finger under the fabric as he nuzzled into you, bumping your hair out of the way with his nose and sucking a light mark into your neck. As he slid your underwear down your legs with your help, he couldn’t help but fall even more in love with how easy and natural it was with you. He had never done this before—not just with you, but with anyone—because no one had captured his interest the way you had. It was as if his body knew what to do of its own accord, because falling for you was not falling—it was rising, watching the foundation lay itself while the walls of the home he found in you gently revealed itself through the fog of pain and loss, already built and ready and waiting to welcome him. 

You turned to kiss him, your hands cradling his face in a way that sent a chill through him as you stepped out of your underwear. Unsure what to do, he pressed them into your hand, groaning when you slid them into the same pocket as his glove. A smile played on the edge of his lips as he carefully slid a digit into you. “Are those mine now?”

You nodded, leaning your head back against the rock and moaning so loud he felt his cock twitch in his now-straining pants. His own head tilted back and his eyes rolled back into his head at the feel of you around his finger. He again felt you projecting to him, felt your pleasure, felt the tension build even more in the bottom of your stomach as he pumped his hand in and out. 

“Maker,” you mumbled as his thumb circled your clit. 

Putting his lips next to your ear, he whispered, “I love your noises.” He nibbled and sucked lightly on your earlobe, releasing you long enough to shake his head and swallow a moan as you palmed his growing erection. “Not yet. This is about you right now.”

“But—”

“Let me take care of you.” He left a lingering kiss on your lips as he brought his finger out to play lazily with your entrance. “Please.”

You nodded, letting your hands roam over his bare chest. “I…need more, please.”

He felt your disappointment and emptiness as he removed his hand completely. He hoisted your legs up onto either side of his waist, watching with hungry eyes as the movement made the skirt part even more and he could finally see just how perfect you were. He held you steady, sandwiching you between himself and the rockface before kissing you again. “You’re so beautiful…You have no idea how perfect you are.”

“I can—” he cut you off with another kiss as you played with his hair, “I can feel you…through the Force, it’s—”

“I know. I can, too.” He searched your eyes for a moment before leaning into the feeling even more. Your skin tingled all over your body, your entrance throbbing and in need of him as the butterflies built in your stomach to a maddening pace. He could tell you wanted him to take the lead and he was more than happy to oblige. “Now,” he took the finger that had been inside you into his mouth, closing his eyes and sighing at how you tasted against his tongue, “tell me—please—is this for me, too?”

The visual only pushed you further toward your edge as you nodded vigorously. 

His fingers hovered over your entrance, almost touching, but not quite. “I wanna hear that sweet voice say it.”

You stuttered out a breath. “Yes—yes, it’s all yours.”

“Good girl.” He kissed you again, this time inserting two fingers and pushing you further and further, occasionally rubbing your clit with his thumb before adding his ring finger. “Let me hear those pretty sounds.”

You let your body take control, not worrying about the noises escaping you as you bucked against his hand, bumping his cock in the process. 

He groaned, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses against your neck between pants and nibbles, moaning after every noise he evoked from you as he pumped his fingers faster. “I’ve thought about this so long—so many times, you have no idea,” he began to ramble and could sense you wondering if he was also closer to his own orgasm than you thought just from your pleasure alone. “I am.” He took your earlobe between his teeth before licking a strip just beneath your ear. “This is what you do to me, how much you mean to me, how much I love you.”

You gripped him as hard and close as your hands would allow. “M-maker, Luke, I’m…I’m…”

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

You climaxed with a noise that surprised even you. Luke kissed you again, desperate to feel even closer than he was now, sinking further into your Force bond in a desperate attempt to wrap himself up in you so completely that he couldn’t tell where you stopped and he began. 

As you came down from your high, gasping for breath and holding him ever closer, he ignored his own need to fully take in your blissed-out state as you collapsed against his chest. He gripped your legs tighter against his waist, burying his face in your blowing hair and letting the familiar smell wash over him. He pulled back to look at you, gently stroking the backs of his fingers against your cheek, letting his thumb graze over your temple. “Are you all right?”

You nodded, pressing your forehead against his. “That was…” You met his eyes and laughed breathlessly. 

He smiled. “Perfect.”

You laughed and the sound sent a shockwave through his body. “Yeah.” He leaned into your touch as you cupped his face between your hands, groaning against your lips and pressing his midsection further into yours as you kissed him. “Now let’s take care of you.” You yanked his hair to lean his head back, mouthing at the warm skin of his neck. “I wanna feel you.”

He gasped. “Are you,” he swallowed hard, weaving his fingers into your hair and holding tightly to you as he took a few steps away from the rocks, “are you sure?”

You met his gaze and nodded, making a bolt of pleasure shoot through him. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours before reaching his hand towards his nearby pack. Using the Force, he spread out his cloak on the soft grass, gently moving to lay you down on top of it. He climbed over top of you, brushing your hair away from your face in a gesture so tender, he could feel your body tremble both against him and through the Force. “Maker,” he sighed as your nails lightly raked down his chest again, moving his shirt open more to give you easier access. 

It took all his strength and restraint not to collapse into you as you undid his belt, pulling it free from the loops and throwing it to the side. As your hands made quick work of his buttons, he stuttered out an I love you, breathing in your returned I love you, too like air for a drowning man—

—A sharp series of whistles and beeps snapped him out of his slumber so hard, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Luke panted and looked around the walls of his bedroom in the Redeemer and screwed his eyes shut, throwing his head against his very lonely bed in frustration. One of Artoo’s socket arms was pushing against Luke’s bare abdomen where it hung precariously over the edge of the bed. 

Luke rolled so he was no longer at risk of falling out. “T-thanks, Artoo,” he breathed, his voice a pitch higher than usual. “Can—can you, um…” he swallowed hard and panted, “just give me a minute?”

Artoo tittered before wheeling out the door. 

“Shut the door behind you!”

As soon as he was safely alone, he frantically undid the button of his pants, shucking them down his thighs as reality sprung back to him with startling force. The two of you were aboard the Redeemer, returning to the rebel base with several Force artifacts in tow after escaping a deranged inquisitor who had tortured and drugged you to cut off your connection to the Force. Based on Artoo’s findings during the journey home, the drug caused powerful hallucinations as a side effect. The Empire had been experimenting with it just before its fall, so the effects of the cool-down period weren’t entirely known, but “possibly includes temporarily heightened Force sensitivity.” 

Before he could worry too long about whether he’d accidentally projected any of his dream to you—or whether this was even originally your dream that you had projected to him—his need took over. He took himself in his hand and began pumping up and down furiously, biting down on the forefinger of his cybernetic to stifle his noises. Your name escaped him several times in a strangled whimper as he led himself to his finish, releasing more than he ever had before. 

As he released his hand from his teeth, he could see bite marks against his tanned skin and realized he still felt you just as strongly through the Force—more specifically, still felt your pleasure. As he realized what you were likely doing, he pulled back and did his best to shut himself off from your connection. As much as he hated doing so, he could feel his own arousal trying to climb yet again at the feeling of yours. Did this mean you had shared the same dream due to your heightened Force sensitivity? Or were you just taking care of yourself of your own accord?

He was almost tempted to tap back into your connection to see if he could figure it out—but only almost. He wouldn’t invade your privacy that way. However, no matter how much he tried to separate himself, your intensified connection was too strong. He raced over to his pack lying against the far wall, took out the Force suppression cuffs you had nabbed from Tangzhen’s things, and slapped them on his wrists. They were originally only intended for use if the drug didn’t work, but they would do for his current purposes. 

He let out a breath as he fired them up and felt them take effect, simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief and hating the emptiness he now felt in the spot you usually occupied. It reminded him almost too much of the ordeal you’d both survived and he shuddered, forcing himself to grab some tissues from his dresser to clean himself up. He peeked his head out his bedroom door, rushing to the refresher once he confirmed the coast was clear. He splashed some cold water from the sink on his face, running his damp fingers through his hair. Leaning his forehead against the cold mirror, he sighed—this was going to be a long night cycle. 

#star wars #star wars smut #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #luke skywalker #luke skywalker smut #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker imagine #luke skywalker fanfiction #luke skywalker x fem!reader #luke skywalker x jedi!reader #star wars remnants #my writing

[blackcatsnstrawberries]

Azriel One-Shot

A Kiss in the Dark

This is an extended scene from ACOWAR after Azriel brings Elain back from Hybern’s camp. I am hoping this to be the first in a series of one shots from the SJM universe. I can even do requests if people have something they want to see from any of the series.

Elain goes to visit an injured Azriel after he and Feyre saved her from Hybern’s camp. The two share and short but intimate moment when they allow the other to see how they feel about each other.

Word Count: 1175

We landed on the outskirts of camp, the siphons on Azriel’s hands were dull and the patches of blue that were holding in his blood vanished. His powers were spent, but still he held onto me.

Briar, the human girl he saved from the cliff, wandered off into the camp. I hope she found safety among the Fae, a healer to address her injuries and clothes to cover herself in. 

Before Azriel could put me down there was a sob, a sob I would know from anywhere. Nesta’s form was a blur as she ran past the bodies around us and threw her arms around Feyre’s neck. I could hear her saying thank you over and over as she sobbed.

Azriel swayed, and strong hands were around me, lifting my bound arms over his neck. “We need Helion to get these chains off of her.” He said to Rhys, as the High Lord helped me stand steady. Azriel’s voice was so strained, he was in so much pain.

Rhys gently placed my feet on the ground, his hands then going to steady his brother. I immediately got on my tip toes and gently placed a kiss on Azriel’s cheek. I could see through his pained expression, his cheeks grow red, but he managed a quick smile before I walked away.

I heard Rhys mutter something to Azriel about Thesan as I slowly walked away form them towards my sisters.

Nesta released Feyre and grabbed my shoulders, as though examining me for any injuries. When she was satisfied I wasn’t in any danger, she pulled me into a strong hug with her and Feyre.

As we embraced and cried, I opened my eyes to see Rhys with Azriel’s arm slung over his shoulder, almost dragging the Shadowsinger to his tent for a Thesan to heal him. I didn’t know much about Illyrian wings, but I could tell those injuries weren’t going to be easy to heal.

A healer came to check Feyre and myself over, my sister having been hit with an arrow in her shoulder. She was healed quickly, Helion came in to remove the faebane chains around my hands and feet, muttering about how awful Hybern was the whole time.

Feyre and I lay down together on a bearskin rug, her arms wrapped around me once more as we tried to sleep off the horrible night we had. Eventually Nesta joined us, and for the first time in  a while, I slept comfortably in the safe embrace of my sisters.

---

When my eyes opened the tent was silent and empty, except for Nesta who was sleeping soundly with her arms still wrapped around me. It was evening again, I slept through most of the day.

I carefully removed myself from Nesta’s grasp and climbed off of the rug, tiptoeing out of our tent and across to Azriel’s. The inside looked a lot like mine, beige walls flapping in the wind, a worn rug on the ground, though his had weapons throughout.

I first saw Cassian sitting on a chair, eyes watching the corner of the tent. My eyes followed his gaze to a sleeping form on a cot.

Azriel lay on his stomach, his chest rising and falling with quiet rasps as he slept. His lower half was covered with a blanket, his bare torso was wrapped with white bandages. His wings were still torn with red patches of Cassian’s powers on them. His complexion was pale, lost was the beautiful olive hue.

“He hasn’t woken up since Thesan healed his back.” Cassian said quietly.

I nodded my head and took a few steps closer. Azriel’s face was pinched in pain as he slept, “What will happen to his wings?” I asked softly.

Cassian breathed out deeply, “Thesan wasn’t sure about healing Illyrian wings, Rhys sent for Madja, she will be here by tomorrow.” Cassian looked at me and smiled, slowly he stood up and gestured towards his chair, “Sit, keep him company, I’m sure he’d like to know you came to see him.” The hulking warrior gently squeezed my shoulder before leaving the tent.

Leaving me alone with a sleeping and injured Azriel.

I pulled the chair close enough to the bed that I could reach out and take Azriel’s hand, which was hanging off the cot almost lifeless. I gently took his rough and scarred hands in mine as he slept.

“I know you can’t hear me,” I said softly to his sleeping form, “But I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for coming for me, thank you for risking your life to bring me back.” I looked at his ravaged wings and winced, “I am sorry about your wings. I know if Madja was about to heal Cassian’s wings after the last run in with Hybern, she will be able to heal yours.”

I ran my fingers up and down his hands, feeling every beautiful scar as I gently caressed them.

His eyebrows pinched together, and a low moan escaped from him before his hazel eyes cracked open just enough to tell he was awake, “...Elain…” He rasped, eyes struggling to focus.

I smiled and slid off my chair so my face was level with his, “You’re awake.” I said softly, still holding his hands, “You should sleep.”

He groaned, “I heard you…talking…to me…”

I winced, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’ll go-”

“No.” His voice was forceful, though he used what little strength he must have to speak that single word, “No, stay. I like it when you’re close…” His eyes were more open now, he turned his head on the pillow so he was looking at me more clearly.

I smiled at him, at his beautiful face, “You saved me. Thank you.”

“I’d do it again, I would risk my life for you again, and again.”

“I hope you don’t have to.”

He smiled and a soft chuckle escaped his lips, making his chest bob up and down. Azriel winced before letting out a long, winded breath. “Feyre? The other girl?”

“Feyre is fine, and Briar has been healed and brought back home. They are both safe thanks to you.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes again. I could see that his strength and consciousness were waning and I would lose him to sleep again soon. I gently placed my hand on his shoulder and brought my face down closer to him, “Sleep, heal more before you start dealing with this war again.”

He nodded his his and gently moan in agreement. I leaned in and placed another gentle kiss on his cheek, his eyes opened and he turned to me. I stared at his beautiful face, his lips that were gently parted.

Using whatever strength he had, he pushed himself up slightly on his forearm and kissed me on my lips, the feeling sending bolts of electricity through my body. I returned the kiss as his rough hand gently cupped the back of my neck, pulling me in closer. 

When his lips left mine, he slowly lowered himself back down on the cot and sighed deeply. His eyes closed as he smiled gently, “You’re worth everything, Elain.” He muttered as sleep finally took him again.

#acotar oneshot #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x elain #azriel and elain #elriel #acotar #rhysand #cassian #feyre #nesta #archeron sisters #acowar #whump writing #writers of ao3 #acotar fanfiction #pro elriel #pro elain #azriel #azriel chapter

[pherelesytsia]

How could you….

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female/sister/Reader

Summary: A rumour turned into truth, and the brothers are incapable of forgiving the youngest among them.

Warning: fear, anxiety, Angst, Fluff, argument

Word Count: 1.5k      

a/n: Requests are open.

Thomas Shelby Masterlist

Part Two

The moment Y/N entered the building, she called her sanctuary, she knew something dreadful had happened. The coat flapped in the stiff wind and the door fell shut. Heels clicked against the floor, but the men towering above the table by the warming flames of the fireplace were oblivious to the noise.

A sound, words of fear resounded. Glances shot up, knew who had entered, but neither joy nor happiness adored the brothers' faces kissed by the beam of the lamp swinging above the middle of the table. Emotionless, cold as a heartless night, they lifted the eyes from the letters they had received over the last few weeks, wanting to confront their youngest sister, nearly unable to read the words written in barely legible script, but they made sense and nearly none of brothers dared to question them a tenth time.

Thomas turned away from Arthur, John and Michael, gazing with the same expression at Y/N entering hurriedly the dim room. Gravely, the men exchanged sour glances. Her hair was damp, not shaped into delicate curls, partly glued to her features. Questions ignited in her eyes. Motionlessly, she stood in the shelter of the shadows. Y/N gulped, had heard hundreds and trillions of stories about the hatred the eyes could bear, but Y/N had never faced hatred and anger.

Flashes flashed, wrinkles deepened, but Y/N was convinced when the sun had escaped the depths of the oceans and shrouded the world in a reddish haze that everything was alright. Astonished, Y/N stopped, did not take another step and tried to discern the answer in her brothers' eyes, but no one answered, no one spoke or even appeared to take a step.

Greetings did not escape.

Y/N had taken off her shoes, graced and coated in a layer of mud. Water dripped from the hem of her dress as if Y/N were a cloud. The once light blue dress, as blue as the cloudless sky, was dark as the raging sea, the eye of the storm. Questions lay on the tip of her tongue, but the fear of the answer was too great, but relief spread when she saw nobody was lying in pain on the sofa begging for a doctor and medication or the darkest of brews.

How long the terrible silence lasted, Y/N did not know, but it felt like an eternity, like hundreds of years of torture. Michael gazed upon the papers spread out on the table and he wanted to start a sentence, but he swallowed as if he remembered something that was once said. A low laugh escaped his throat, did not and was not willing to believe the words.

Arrows pierced her heart, saw the sadness in his eyes mingling with hatred and Y/N knew no one was injured, alright, but she had done something. Despair welled in her eyes, lost in the depths of memories, trying to remember the past, thinking about the last days, weeks and the last month, but Y/N was convinced she had done nothing wrong. Guilt, a foolish taste, didn’t spread nor gnawed at her heart and she could say with a clear conscience she had done nothing to deserve hatred, but the looks breaking through the darkness let her know she must have done something terrible, something unforgettable, unforgiveable.

            "Are you alright?" whispered Y/N loud enough to know the brothers had heard every word.

Y/N could no longer be silent, had to speak, could no longer bear it. The brothers exchanged all-saying looks and the pain in the chests deepened with each passing moment.

            "We should ask you this Y/N," spoke Thomas in a tone sending a cold shiver down her spine.

Y/N swallowed, not understanding what had happened. Thomas never called her by her full name, had hundreds of other names from little one to Y/N/N, from my dearest sister to you are me in a female form with wit and strength, knowledge.

            "I don't know what you are talking about," Y/N answered.

            "How come you don't know what I am talking about. You have betrayed us! You betrayed your family!" he sneered, poisonous.

Y/N's eyes grew vast, about to launch a sentence but Thomas compelled her silence with his gaze, uninterested in weak excuses breaking his heart evermore.

            "I don't get it, why would I betray you? Why would I do such a thing? We are family after all." she breathed desperately, couldn't keep quiet, had to speak, couldn't let those words sink in.

            "Exactly what I am saying. Go I need to talk to Y/N alone.", "Get out of here. Didn't you hear me!" he shouted angrily.

Y/N flinched, never having heard such rage in his raging voice. Tears obscured her vision. She flinched, fearing his rage and hatred, and took a step back. Michael starred down at Y/N/N, saw the water welling in her eyes, wanted to go to her, take her in his arms and talk to her calmly about it, convinced she would never sell the family, the knowledge she possessed, to a gang to harm and destroy, but no matter how many times Michael had said the words, no one wanted to believe them.

            "Go too, the others are waiting for you," Thomas added imperiously, like a king to his servant.

Michael flinched, noticing the others had already disappeared, that they had gone upstairs and it shocked his heart, not wanting to leave Y/N alone with the man capable of many things and for the first time he feared for his sister, feared Thomas would hurt her. Michael braced himself, was not frightened nor intimidated, needed to be strong and went to his sister.

            "Why? We're family, I have a right to stay here.", "Fuck off Michael," yelled Thomas.

Furious, he grabbed Michael by the collar, pulled him nearer, and shoved him in the direction of the stairs. Shocked, Michael turned, stumbled and threatened to fall. Thomas cursed like a sailor at the gods, chased him away. Michael dropped his gaze, pressed his lips to a fine line as he realised, he was not strong enough and he resented his weakness. Y/N flinched, took a step back and tried to put as much space as possible between Thomas and her, feeling the anger seething in every fibre of his body, but then as the footsteps quietened and slowly faded into nothingness disappointment spread within him.

            "How could you?" his voice broke like a ball of glass.

He shook his head.

            "Tommy, I don't know what happened. I don't understand you and if it's supposed to be a joke, then please stop. You're scaring me." Y/N breathed desperately.

Furious, he shook his head, not understanding how wrong he had been about his sister, thinking foolishly he could trust her. Angrily, Thomas faced the desk, staring at the papers, the letters and the pictures. Leaning forward, Thomas propped himself with his hands. He leaned forward.

His eyes wandered from one image to another, saw the familiar faces, recognised the wicked faces, and wished to blow a hole in each of them. Glasses lay on the round tables. The men laughed, shouted loudly and played with the tattered and mudded cards. Hatred washed over him and he threw the papers on the floor, couldn't look at them anymore, didn't want to see his sister in the company of those existences.

            "You met with a gang, you talked about us, you sold them information. How could you betray us?", "Who says so? Thomas, you know me all my life. How could you even think I would do such a thing? Why would I sell you, our brothers and my family to anyone? I would rather die than sell you. I would rather be tortured all my life, lose nails and hair and be thrown to the dogs than betray you. You are my brother. You have always been by my side, and you are the one I trust the most." Y/N cried in agony.

Thomas emptied the glass of whiskey in one big gulp.

Y/N tried to get a glimpse of the letters, but Thomas towered high above her, forbidding her to inspect the pictures bearing no faces. She wanted to curse and cry at the same time. Y/N swallowed and saw the tears welling in his eyes, but the dams did not break. Thomas had never cried before, Y/N thought to herself, but then she remembered the night he was at her side, tending to the deep wounds.

            "You should leave, you are no longer welcome. Get the fuck out. Traitors are killed but I can't do that, not yet, go, take your car and I don’t want to see you ever again." Thomas said.

The lake had dried. Y/N staggered back, stumbled, she wanted to speak, to convince him of something else, but then the eyes met and Y/N realised not even the words of truth would convince him of anything else.

#cillian x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #michael gray x reader #thomas shelby x you #tommy shelby x reader #arthur shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby x reader #john shelby #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby fluff #michael gray #tommy shelby one shot #thomas shelby imagine #arthur shelby #peaky blinders x reader #john shelby x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder headcanon #tommy shelby fanfic #cillian murphy imagine #peaky fookin blinders

[fantasyinallforms]

I won't lie. I was really nervous about this one. I've never written Thranduil/ Bard or even read fics with them as the main ship. That said, I'm SO SO proud of myself for this one. In my opinion, at least it turned out to be much better than I thought it might, and I was really feeling the moment when I finished writing it.

I will put this on AO3 as a one-shot, not because it's super long it's about 1.3k, but because I'm genuinely proud that I stepped out of my comfort zone to work on something I normally wouldn't. Thank you to the Anon who suggested it! Thank you to @tolkienpinupcalendar for hosting this event! ~~~~~

Day 6- Bard/ Thranduil- Body Worship/Blowjobs

Title: Where All Others Failed

Thranduil never spent much time lingering on the forms of men. Why should he? Such small-minded creatures who lived such a short time. Just enough time to impact the world, yet not enough time to fully understand the weight of their choices. He had not even treated with a human until the second age of this world after the fall of his first home, Doriath. Yet the strength and determination of one Bard, the dragonslayer, had captured his attention where all other humans had failed.

Bard walked through the tent's open flap and threw down his quiver. “Another fight over supplies. People tire of the cleanup and the smell of dead orcs. I can not blame them, for I tire of it myself.” 

“Yet you do not look or smell as if you’ve been hauling orc bodies out of your new town all day,” Thranduil replied 

“I’ve been too busy settling disputes, and now I’m hoping to hide here if only to have some peace.” Bard closed his eyes and smiled as he leaned against the center pole of the tent. Thranduil’s fingers itched to touch as he stared at the strong frame of Bard's body. He remembered himself a moment too late as their eyes met. Quickly, he got up to pour himself wine and think of anything else. He only made it a step past the pole before Bard's arm caught him around the waist and dragged him back. 

“It always surprises me how light elves are. I would think you might float on air, but I have seen you walk atop snow drifts, so perhaps I’m not far off.” His smile was blindingly annoying, but Thranduil made no move to get away. Bard’s arms were warm and comfortable.    

“Do you forget that I am a king, and this is my tent?” He quipped back stubbornly. That only seemed to make Bard adjust to get a better grip on his waist. 

“Forget? How could I when I seem to always find said king's eyes on me.” Bard pulled him into a kiss, and when Thranduil was sufficiently distracted by the warm mouth now on his, he felt himself get walked back until he fell into his ornate high-backed chair. 

Elves were strong in a graceful way, but humans were brutish and clumsy. There was no room for patience or measure in such a short lifespan. It was new. It was terrifying. Perhaps that is why he craved the touch of impatient fingers struggling to undo the clasps on the front of his robes or why he involuntarily gasped when those strong, bruising fingers finally reached his skin. Bard had moved on from his mouth and was now nipping at his jaw, slowly making his way to his ears. How long had it been since he let someone touch him with such reverence? How long had it been since someone wanted to? A question with its answer hidden in the age of his son. He returned the affection, bringing his hands up to peel away the many layers of Bard's clothes until, finally, his hands could freely roam the strong, scared flesh of the man who was rapidly becoming too dear to him. 

He felt himself grow hot as Bard continued his assault. He tried not to whimper as the tip of his ear went into the man's mouth, and felt his pants grow tight. 

“They speak of the beauty of the elves, but they never tell you how stubborn they can be to let themselves fall apart. I can feel you resisting my temptations. If you wish me to stop, I will.” Bard leaned back, using the arms of the chair to brace himself so he could meet his eyes in question. Thranduil did not want this to stop. He still wanted to touch and to be touched. He pulled Bard back down to him. He let himself fall into this short-lived dream that could only end in heartbreak. Right now, he didn’t care. He wanted to let Bard worship him with his mouth and take pleasure in his body. Bard took this as consent and pressed on with renewed vigor until the robes fell off Thranduil's shoulders, revealing how painfully hard he had become.

Bard tucked the hair that had fallen in front of his face behind his ear with an affectionate smile before kissing him soundly. The next kisses were placed along his chest and down the planes of his abs and stomach until Bard was kneeling on the floor in front of him, eyes level with his cock. Without much of a second thought, Bard placed his hand on Thranduil’s hip and took him in his mouth. A shattered cry left him as the pleasure raced through his core. Bard’s mouth was warm and wet and hot. He was taking him right to the back of his throat with little issue. He buried his hands in the dark locks and let his head fall back in ecstasy until he felt the warmth pool in his body. He tried to give a warning about what was to come, but Bard’s only response was to place his hand on his chest and push him back with surprising force. He came with a shout that turned into a long, shaky moan as his body seized, then went lax. Bard stood with a smile, wiping his mouth and looking incredibly pleased with himself. One look between his legs made it clear he was still very hard himself. Thranduil rose from his chair and grabbed Bard, kissing him hard, not caring that his mouth tasted like his own spend. He used the shock of it to trade places and drop Bard into his chair before sinking to his knees. 

“Thranduil, wait! This is your tent, and you are a king. You do not need to-.” Thranduil cut off Bards' protests. 

“Do not tell me what I can and can not do.” He freed Bard’s cock from his pants and strangled a moan in his throat. Bard was thick and big enough he might not be able to fit all of him in his mouth. He would still try. Thranduil licked the tip and tasted the salty precum coat his tongue before swallowing what he could. His reward was getting to look up and see Bard falling apart. He was panting and moaning. He looked down at him through half-lidded eyes as Thranduil looked up at him through long, elven lashes and began caressing his hair and whispering sweet words of encouragement. He couldn't help but preen at his handy work, and soon he felt Bard tense. 

“Thranduil, please, you should stop. I’m so close.” Bard grit out. With a wicked smile, Thranduil rested Bard’s cock on the tip of his tongue and opened his mouth wide in invitation. He tried not to let a drop fall from his lips but failed and felt some slide down his chin. He felt too wobbly to stand immediately, and when he looked up, Bard was staring at him with wide-eyed adoration. He slipped off the chair to meet him on the floor and, using the cuff of his discarded jacket, wiped the corners of his mouth and chin before kissing him lovingly. The adoration was still in his voice when he whispered.

“I think you might be the most beautiful being in all of Arda.” 

~~~~~~

Find the kinktober list here!

#TPCkinktober #kinktober 2023 #the hobbit #barduil #bard the bowman #thranduil #smut #body worship

[theresawritesstuff]

I'd love to see 24 and 7 of the 3 word sentences list if you feel like it (either one or if you're feeling daring, both! but its up to you! <3<3)

Hawaii 1973

"I think I'm gonna throw up."

Midge smiled patiently, adjusting the flower on her manager's lapel. "You're not going to throw up. You're just nervous."

"Fuck nervous! I'm having a panic attack. Feel my heartbeat."

Susie took her hand, planting it firmly over her chest, her eyes wide with fear.

"Susie, it's okay. Just breathe," Midge coached gently, modeling deep breaths.

"Hey are you two just about–"

The pair looked up to see Lenny smirking in the doorway.

"If you're looking for tips for the honeymoon I've found that move is more successful a couple inches lower but I'm willing to defer to the lady in this case."

"Did you need something?" Midge wondered patiently.

"Just checking to see if you're ready," he replied. "Jim's been keeping everyone entertained but the guy only has so many songs in his repertoire that aren't about melancholy heartbreak or a fistfight."

Susie forgot her panic for a moment, her face shifting to confusion. "Jim who?"

"Oops."

Lenny covered his mouth with his hand, glancing towards Midge apologetically.

Susie turned back to look at her expectantly.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Midge sighed.

Susie waited, dropping Midge's hand to put her own expectantly on her hip.

"We got Jim Croce," the comedienne admitted finally.

"You got Jim Croce to play at my wedding?"

"Yes."

"Miriam I fucking love Jim Croce!"

"I know. That was kind of the reason we went with him."

"Miriam!" Susie squeaked her eyes growing watery.

"Susie."

"Fuck…"

Susie began to pace, her hands flapping as she blinked back overwhelmed tears.

"I think we broke her," Lenny quipped to his wife.

"You couldn't just get us a new toaster or something?" Susie cried in exasperated joy.

"We got you a slow cooker too," Midge replied softly, watching her friend work through her feelings.

"That's so thoughtful of you! I never want to cook after I'm at the office all day and I'm always starving," Susie wailed.

She took a deep breath, calming herself down.

"Feeling okay now?" Midge wondered. "Or do I need to remind you there's cake later?"

Her manager shook her head.

"What if she gets sick of me?

"She won't," Midge assured her.

"But what if she does?"

Midge let out a sigh, putting her hands on Susie's shoulders, looking her in the eye. "Then we'll get drunk and go down to the Gaslight so you can flash someone and then I'll help you pick up the pieces."

Her manager smiled, shaking her head.

"How the hell have you done this three times? This is terrifying."

"I've only been married twice."

Susie raised a brow about to contradict her but Midge quickly held up a finger.

"The one in Vegas doesn't count," she insisted.

She let out a deep breath, giving it some thought, glancing over at Lenny.

"Yes the idea of taking this big of a step can be scary. Especially when you've been hurt by love in the past. But when you find the right someone… Someone who loves you for you, someone who celebrates your big wins and picks you up when you're down. Makes you laugh at the breakfast table…Taking that leap can feel like flying."

"What about the landing?" Susie wondered.

"Well that's why there's two of you. You've just gotta trust the other person to catch you," Lenny offered from his place in the doorway.

Midge looked over at him softly, a tender smile on her lips.

Susie groaned. "God how are you two still this goo goo eyed after being hitched for five years?"

Lenny chuckled. "Just lucky."

Midge blinked, the number sticking in her mind. "Huh."

Lenny quirked a brow in question.

"I just realized we've been married longer than I was married to Joel."

"You sound surprised," he smirked.

"No, no! Just…" Midge smiled, processing the emotion. "It's freeing in a way."

Lenny nodded, looking a little smug. "You do realize what this means…"

"Please don't tell me you've decided to hire a secretary," Midge huffed teasingly.

Lenny shook his head. "No. It means I am now the reigning champion of being Mrs Maisel's Mister."

Midge shook her head, grinning.

"You already had that in the bag."

"Are you two done?" Susie asked impatiently.

"That depends. Are you ready get non-state recognized hitched?" Lenny batted back.

Susie smiled, flipping him off as she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Just give us five more minutes," Midge told him softly.

"Can do." 

He gave her a thumbs up.

"Hey Susie?" he added doubling back.

"What?"

"You look great."

Susie smiled softly.

"Thanks. Now leave, will yah?"

Lenny smirked, leaving the two of them alone.

Susie let out a deep breath, collecting herself. 

Once she was back to herself, she barked "Alright. Work your magic so I don't look all puffy. I've got a lady waiting for me to put a ring on her finger."

#Midgelenny #midge x lenny #tmmm #midge and susie #A different destination wedding

[springdandelixn]

Against the Tide - Part V

Summary: Your life takes an unexpected turn as the leader of the biker gang that took over your town sets his eyes on you.

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, physical abuse, graphic violence, coercion, manipulation & death. Some may be added in the future but always prepare your flashlights.

Characters: Dark!Biker!James Conrad x F!Reader, Michael from Legion, Billy Lee from Bad Times at the El Royale, and Thomas Sharpe from Crimson Peak (biker au)

A/N: Was finally able to update this and my arm is still sore.

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope you guys enjoy!  💙

Against the Tide Masterlist

The wind blows roughly against your face and the deafening roar of the engine fills your ears as you ride behind James on his bike well into the night. You look around and try to see if the surroundings are familiar, to give you an inkling of where you’re headed and where you have been. But you see nothing, only the expanse of trees on either side of the road, another prison despite being out of the previous one.

You tried to ask Thomas for any information when you caught up to him climbing the truck outside of the home. Yet, just as you expected, he was once more tight-lipped and simply gave you a shrug of apology before James grabbed you by the arm and away from your friend.

“No talking to the runt.” He warned and you nodded wordlessly, knowing better than to disobey.

James then speeds up on the asphalt, your arms tightening around him and cheek pressed against the leather fabric of his jacket for fear of falling off the speeding vehicle. You feel his back rumble, his laugh echoing through the noise and you’re filled with irritation in an instant, knowing he’s done it on purpose to most likely add to the fear that’s already clinging to you. 

“Gotta hold on to something hard, sugar,” Billy shouts when he levels himself with you, his head turned in your direction and sending you a malicious wink before howling into the open air when he revs his bike and speeds up past the group. 

You can’t tell how long you’ve been riding but James slows down by a dirt path, your eyes widening in surprise when you see the glow of red and blue lights against the branches of the trees. Curiosity takes the best of you, peeking past the gang leader in front and you stay still in your seat when you see a police cruiser up ahead, the symbol of the sheriff painted on the side of the door. 

“Took ya fellas long enough.” A familiar voice calls out when the engines of the bikes quiet down. Sheriff Bodecker stands before James, toothpick rolling in his mouth as a smirk plays on his lips, tipping his hat over to you when his eyes meet yours. “And I see ya brought your damsel with ya.” He slithers. “How ya doin’, missy? Face all healed up?”

“We have no time for small talk, Bodecker,” James grunts, the sheriff’s attention leaving you and focusing on the gang leader. “Where is he?”

“In the grave, just like you said,” The sheriff says. “But hurry up with it—asshole’s been screamin’ since he fell in and my boys be itchin’ to shut him up themselves.” 

“And everything’s been set? No trails to follow?”

“You don’t have to worry ‘bout nothin’.” Sheriff Bodecker waves his hand at James before framing his wide hips with his hands, the look on his face turning serious. “All you gotta think about is the deal.”

“Very well,” James nods and snaps his fingers. You see Michael step off his bike and walk to where the sheriff stands, a thick envelope in his hand before slapping it against the palm of the officer. “Count it if you want, it’s all there.” 

The sheriff does just that, opening the flap of the envelope and running his thumb against the contents before closing it back and tucking it in the back of his pocket. 

“And the other deal?” He asks. 

“Yeah yeah. What else do you fucking want?” 

“Calm down now, Conrad. We just doin’ business here, that’s all.” Sheriff Bodecker chuckles before taking a step closer to James’ bike. “There are these new people in town, a mother and his son. Moved to the corner near my place.”

“And?”

Sheriff Bodecker glances at Michael who scowls in his direction, the latter’s wrist resting casually against the gun nestled in his holster.

“Tell your lackey to come by their place tomorrow, roughen up the boy a bit.”

“Why?”

“Bastard’s been sweet talkin’ my wife and since there’d be an election comin’ up soon, I can’t be seen getting my hands dirty, y’know?” He explains. “And with me bein’ the sheriff, no one gonna stop your business from comin’ through the town.”

James laughs at the sheriff’s words, leaning his elbow against the handles of his bike. “What? The big bad sheriff is having a hard time keeping his wife on a leash?” He scoffs and the sheriff’s face looks displeased, anger flashing in his eyes. “Why the hell would I have my men do your dirty work?”

“‘Cause I had mine do yours.” Sheriff Bodecker spits. “But I didn’t come here with nothing.” He continues. “You do this and the sheriff in the neighboring town will let you do business in theirs. Widen your territory.”

James seems to consider the offer, silence looming over the men. “Just the boy?” He asks.

“If he fights, fuck his mom or kill her. I don’t give two shits s’long as he leaves my wife alone.”

“Deal.” James agrees and the man before him smirks, slipping his thumb and forefinger between his lips and whistling, several uniformed officers walking out from the woods and gathering around both men. “Your problems will be solved by morning.”

“Perfect,” Sheriff Bodecker grins. “Nice doin’ business with you boys.” He calls out before tipping his hat over at you. “Miss,” He bids you goodbye and walks over to his cruiser, James and his men staying put and waiting til the officers pull up and drive away.

James kicks his bike back to life and you move to grasp the bar behind your seat as he drives past the dirt road and into the thick forest, the tall trees secluding you from the open. You feel a tinge of fear creeping up your spine as you face the darkness once more, your knuckles going white as you grip tight on the handle behind you upon hearing a man screaming up ahead. 

The headlights of the bikes are the only source of light against the dark. Billy’s silhouette is the only form you see at the front, his laughter bouncing against the trees as he points his gun at the ground. He shoots at something—or someone—as the shouting from the ground resumes, flinching in your seat when the sound reverberates through your ears. 

“Alright. Off the bike.” James instructs and you quickly comply, standing at the side and keeping your eyes up ahead while he kicks down the stand of his bike and climbs off just the same. 

He grabs your arm and pulls you to stand in front of him, your feet reluctantly walking forward to where you hear the shouting. You try to pull away when your eyes see the hole in the ground, turning to be free of his grasp and run away from whatever sinister plan he’s prepared for you. But his grip is too strong, keeping you in place before wrapping an arm around your neck and urging you further, hearing him laugh as you stand over the edge. 

“Shine the light, runt!” He calls and you look at your side to see Thomas quickly staggering to where Billy stands, fumbling with the flashlight in his hands. 

You gasp when the beam shines down on the ground, the hole looking more of a grave than a ditch and inside is your father, bloody and covered in grime, his hands gripping on the sides of the dirt wall and pushing himself to climb out. But each attempt he makes fails, Billy laughing at the pathetic scene when your father falls on his back.

His eyes then meet yours, taking a step back from fear when you see the rage burning within. He barrels over to the side of where you stand, angrily pulling at the soil as he pushes himself to climb out. 

“You fucking bitch!” He shouts. “You put me here! You fucking put me he—”

You scream and turn your head away when a gunshot rings through the woods, followed by a cry of pain coming from the man in the grave. When you look over, you see your father once more on his back, his hands cradling his thigh as blood seeps out of him, staining his clothes and his hands. 

“Shut up, you old bag!” Billy sneers before spitting into the ground. “You keep whining like a bitch and I’ll kill you myself.”

“What’s going on? Why did you take me here?” You say in a rush, panic surging through your veins and you try to turn your head to look back at James but stop when his hand frames your jaw, forcing you to keep your eyes forward. 

“This is my surprise, sweetheart.” James snickers, feeling his hot breath on your cheek and his chin resting on your shoulder. “Vengeance.”

“I—I don’t u-understand.” You mumble, tears brimming at your eyes as confusion mixes with your fear. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not stupid, baby. Don’t you want to seek revenge on the man who beat you to a pulp and humiliated you in front of the entire town?” He drones while his fingers caress your face, the act only adding to the anxiety building in your chest. “He wished you dead, maybe he even killed your mother so he could kill you off next when you were nothing but an innocent child.”

Despite being scared, anger suddenly fills your senses as the memories of the past begin flooding back; how you were forced out of your home and sought refuge from strangers for fear that the man who was supposed to care for you and protect you would kill you after your mother breathed her final breath. Dread never leaving you and constantly looking over your shoulder each time you left Sammy and Eleanor’s house just to be sure that your father wasn’t there to end your life. 

“He harassed you, sweetheart, and kept asking for something that he wasn’t owed.” James continues to speak, the shock from earlier dissipating and is soon replaced by rage. “I heard he even followed you one day back home, staking out and waiting for you to come out. If that surrogate parents of yours didn’t call for help, who knows what he could have done to you.”

You remember that day well. Sammy called his friends over after several days of hiding in your room, the old men scaring your father with axes and pitchforks in their hands, threatening him to never show his face in the neighborhood ever again. Sammy made it a point to drop you off and pick you up from school after the incident. 

“Maybe you wouldn’t even be standing here right now, having the privilege to watch him suffer.”

You feel something cold and metallic being pressed to your hands and you look down to see James tucking a gun between your palms. He eases his arm off your neck and cradles both your hands in his, slipping your finger through the trigger and extending your arms, aiming the gun to your father writhing in the dirt. 

“Just one shot and all your problems will come to an end.” He whispers against your ear and you stay perfectly still when he presses a soft kiss against your cheek. You make to look around, to face Thomas to at least find a semblance of reason to latch on to but James tuts and frames your chin once more, keeping your eyes on the target. “Eyes forward, baby. You wouldn’t want to miss.”

He then lets you go but you feel his presence looming over you, his shadow cast before you from the headlights shining behind. You feel a battle ensuing between your conscience, telling you that it's wrong to take the life of another, and your emotions, dictating that this is what you must do, to kill the man who wants your dead before he can lay upon you such a tragic fate. 

Indeed, you hate your father. Hate him with a passion, but is it right for you to stain your hands with his blood? He’s done such terrible things, yes, but killing him? 

You think of what your mother would say if she saw you right now. Would she be happy? Or would she be disappointed that you’d be killing off the last of your kin. 

“I’m going to kill you when I get out of here!” Your father shouts and it’s as if his words locked something in your head, pushing away the voice of reason and pulling forward the hatred that’s been simmering in the depths of your soul. 

He ruined your life. He killed your mom. So, it’s only right that you do the same. 

Without thinking twice, you shut your eyes and pull the trigger, flinching and dropping the gun when the shot rings loudly in your ears. You keep your eyes closed as you feel the adrenaline running wild through your veins, your chest heaving as you breathing turns heavy, opening your eyes when you hear James’ command from behind and gasping when you see your father’s lifeless body on the ground, his eyes wide open with the blood trickling from the wound on his forehead. 

You cover your mouth and stagger back in shock, your body going rigid as you couldn’t believe what you’ve done. You try to turn away, to leave the place all the same when you feel your surroundings closing in on you, suffocating you. But James catches you, his arms wrapping around your frame and you don’t care that he’s held you captive for days, weeks, months—you don’t know—and cry against his chest when the tears begin springing out from your eyes. 

He says something but words are muffled in your ears, only a distant ringing and several voices playing in the background as your world spins and renders you numb from everything. You feel yourself move but you’re unsure if you’re walking or being carried away. His chest is then pressed at your side and you look up to see the seriousness painting on his face. A loud roar resounds through the woods and the cool breeze of the night once more brushes against your face when he finally drives away. 

I no longer hold a tag list but if you wish to be updated with new fics I release, follow my archives blog, @springlibrary​ , and turn on the notifications. For more of my dark fics, follow @shadeysprings.

#james conrad #captain james conrad #james conrad x reader #dark james conrad #dark!james conrad #biker au #against the tide #james conrad au #dark fic #tom hiddleston characters #coconut bun stories #kong skull island #kong skull island au

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest Day 6 - IN BLOOM

The door to the tower room is much too heavy – that’s the next thing Efri needs to try to get them to change. She has to shove her whole weight against it with her shoulder to budge it, which is a dangerous game with her hands full of books and paper and an inkbottle and pen with a chewed nib. She doesn’t drop anything, luckily; but she does bash her ankle on the hefty slab of wood, which is almost as bad.

She doesn’t bother to knock, because why should she – she entered very audibly. Instead she just marches, vaguely irritated, past the entryway – almost slipping on the silky blue rug (honestly, she’ll need to make them remodel the whole place at this rate) – and into the room proper. One of the chests has been moved, she notices at a cursory glance; the Archmage is watching her from the desk, twisted around in his seat, brows knitted. He doesn’t have his hood on, which startles Efri far more than the change in furniture. (She can see his whole face. It’s weird.)

His lips press tightly together inside the little window left by his facial hair. It’s an expression she normally would not be able to see so clearly and does not make it any less weird. But Efri’s not one to be rude – when she remembers to try not to be, at least – so, very politely and with no small effort, she says, “Hi,” and doesn’t mention it.

The Archmage’s lips go even thinner.

“Hello,” he replies slowly. “You didn’t bring your friend.”

Efri shakes her head. Hair tumbles in her face – she cut it just a mite too short when she gave it a trim last week, and now it’s doing all sorts of silly things – and she purses her lips funny-like to blow it away. “Sissel’s talking to one of the teachers,” she informs him. She frowns. “And Kazari’s resting, but you didn’t ask, because you still haven’t met them, because you still haven’t fixed the stairwells.”

(The stairs are too narrow, the turns too tight, and Kazari – taller than Efri standing on four legs and at least twice as long – doesn’t even want to try to climb them for fear of getting stuck.)

(She didn’t want to come up today, anyway; something about being bothersome. But she has wanted to come up before – like two weeks ago, when they had to explain the Saarthal thing, and a week and a half ago, when they had to ask why no-one was telling them why the College doesn’t have books about Saarthal anymore – and besides, it’s the principle of the thing.)

One of the magic lights fizzes and bobs. The Archmage’s eyes flicker away. “We’re not widening the stairwells,” he says, voice dry, hands beginning to fuss with something on the desk.

“Yes,” Efri tells him, “you are. It’s not fair otherwise.”

He tips his head so she can’t see his face. (It might actually be a more comfortable arrangement for both of them.) “These are my rooms. I’m the only one who needs to be able to access them.” A page slips from his hands onto the floor and he mutters something. As he’s bending over in his chair to pick it up he adds, “If you didn’t need anything…”

Efri shifts on her feet, balancing her books as carefully as she can. She says, “I wanted to look at the garden.”

Silently, the Archmage picks up his paper and smooths it with careful attention over the surface of his desk. He doesn’t sigh exasperatedly, but he certainly has the posture of someone who would like to.

“I’ll be quiet,” Efri says. (Because she’s polite. And because she really wants to look at the garden.)

The Archmage, who doesn’t seem to be much concerned with politeness, flaps a hand. Efri takes it as approval, and goes to set herself on the low stone steps by the bed of soil.

(To be fair, he doesn’t have to be polite. He’s the boss. If Efri was in charge she probably wouldn’t be as polite. She still would be when she liked the people, or when she wanted to – but she’d be much less polite to him, because he’s ridiculous.)

The garden is as bright and wonderful as it always is, a strange little pocket of life bowered by cold stone. It looks a bit like a moon set into the slate-grey sky of the flagstones. (A rainbow moon. Incandescent moon. Are there plants on the moons? Almost certainly not, but it would be very cool if so.) Efri sits carefully at the edge, her books and things arrayed around her, pen set over the paper of her word-book and inkbottle uncorked and ready. (She’ll have to make sure not to spill it.)

She takes a good minute, first, just to stare; the Archmage lapses into quiet scribbling, with only the faint scrape of the nib or rustle of the page to remind her that he’s there, while she eyes the odd pointy-tipped flowers, the sprawl of spiky roots, the tasselled mushrooms. She wants to touch it all really badly but the Archmage told her that some of it is poisonous and she doesn’t yet know well enough to know which ones.

But that’s what she’s here to learn, isn’t it? She picks up the heavy book she’d wheedled out of the Arcaeneum. It’s nice, bound in smooth leather, the pages thick and old-smelling. And it’s illustrated. She flips through, the dense words interspersed with printed pictures of plants she doesn’t recognise any better than the ones in the garden. Lumpy fungus, prickly fruits, tangled vines. Finally, there it is – one of the garden plants, the straggly little bush with its toothy yellow flowers, printed in plain ink on the page. Efri checks the picture against the real thing several times, just to make sure they match.

Satisfied on that front, she sets the book down, holding it open to the right page with the heel of one hand, and begins the lengthy process of sounding out the name. “D – R – A –”

It’s not one of the quicker words she’s worked out.

It’s also a bit frustrating. Normally Sissel helps her with these things – she didn’t anticipate it being so much more difficult on her own. Much harder to focus. But she sticks with it, manages the first word (it’s dragons – what dragons have to do with anything, she has no idea) and begins to tackle the second with a determination that disregards the increased sighing and rustling of paper from the desk a ways behind her.

Somewhere in the middle of her heroic effort to parse vowel forms and plosive consonants, the Archmage says, “I can tell you what it is.”

“Shh.” Efri flings up a hand, twisting around in her stone-step seat to glare at him. “I’m learning.”

He is not appropriately impressed by her academic commitment, but at least he shuts up. She turns back around and squints at the word.

After a moment, she adds, “Besides, I already know what it says.” She stabs at it with her finger for emphasis, reaching for a slip of the spare paper she brought to mark the page. “It’s ton-g-you.”

(It might not be, actually. She hasn’t accounted for the E at the end. But those aren’t always there to make sound, Sissel told her – although now that she thinks it might make more sense. It could be said like gooey, which she knows is a word.)

“It’s dragon’s tongue,” the Archmage says, and she hears the legs of his chair scrape against the stone floor.

Efri peers at the printed letters. “Oh.” It’s a stupid way to spell the word, but a lot of words are spelled stupid. She tucks her slip of paper in anyway; as she reaches for her word-book, a hand taps her on the shoulder.

She looks up. The Archmage looks down, eyes red as the snowberries in the garden (she knows those ones), a hand held out, palm up, waiting. When she doesn’t move he gestures, impatient, to the book in her hand. She passes it up.

It’s a good book. Nice paper. She likes the sound it makes as he flicks through. “Urag gro-Shub let you borrow this?” he asks doubtfully.

Efri leans over the paper of her word-book, dipping her splodgy pen in the inkpot. “I wheedled it out of him,” she says, voice bright, and marks down a careful D. “I have to bring it right back, though. And I can’t take it outside.”

“Hm,” the Archmage says. He turns another page.

Ink drips from the pen nib to spot the page. Efri swears under her breath and blots it with her thumb. (It doesn’t help. Now her finger is just black.) Not looking up from her work, she asks, “What’s it say about the dragon flower?” She hopes it’s interesting – its name was far too difficult to decipher for a boring plant.

“Hm,” the Archmage says again, and flips back. Efri manages an impressively neat G. “It’s native to Black Marsh –”

“Ooh. I’ve never been there.” She’s barely even heard of it – knows it’s down south, and warm, and wet, and that’s about it.

The Archmage pauses, continues, “– but it also grows in, among other places, the volcanic tundra of Eastmarch’s Aalto.” Another pause. “It looks like that’s the only place it grows in Skyrim at all. Interesting.”

“Maybe it’s because they’re both wet,” Efri suggests. Swamps and springs are close enough, probably. Her pen goes a bit awry on the T, and she frowns at it. “I mean, so I hear. I’ve never been to Eastmarch either.”

The Archmage hums. “Neither have I,” he says passively. When Efri looks up, she sees him fixed on the page, engrossed, his eyes leaping over the text like jumping fish.

Brow wrinkled, she asks, “Really?” Eastmarch is only a hold over, and he’s a wizard. He’s nominally in charge of the whole College. “I would have thought you would’ve been all over.”

The Archmage glances down at her, head tilting. “Why?” he asks.

Good point. Efri shrugs. “I don’t know. I just feel like wizards go places. Make expeditions. They’ve at least been to the next hold.” All her wizard friends have gone far and wide. It’s what she’d do. It’s what she has done, and plans to continue to do.

Though she supposes it makes sense that the Archmage wouldn’t have gone many places. He barely leaves his tower, let alone Winterhold.

He’s still looking at her. (He does that sometimes – normally he doesn’t even meet her eye, staring at his desk or his book or the walls or his hands, and then every now and again he just looks for ages at a time. It’s weird. She can never tell what he’s thinking.) “I’m not overfond of travel,” he tells her. The skin under his eyes, in the weird look of the lighting from underneath, looks like it’s smudged hollow with ink.

Efri shrugs. She looks back at her page, marks down the best O she can. (The circle turns all wobbly by accident – but oh well, she did her best.) “How do you think they had to change the flowers so they could grow here?” she asks.

(He told her all about it, last time – in so many too-long words she’s mostly forgotten it. But she remembers the gist; the plants that grow in the Archmage’s garden are the descendants of plants collected by Archmages long before, precious few of which naturally grow in weather like Winterhold’s. So the wizards of yore, with some esoteric botanical magic, had altered each plant’s characteristics so it could survive in the relatively controlled – but still chilly – environment of the Archmage’s tower.)

(He’d talked about it more, something about microclimates and innovation and it’s fascinating, really, but by that point she’d just been looking at the shrubs. He stopped talking in the middle of a sentence and didn’t speak for another ten minutes.)

The shadow the Archmage casts over the garden is long and spindly as a wintertime tree. He replies, “I don’t know.”

Efri draws an N, a G, a U.

“I know what had to be done to that one,” he says. Efri looks up and follows his pointing finger.

She squints, asks, “The spiky one?”

“No, underneath. The little mushrooms.”

Efri outlines an E and sets her word-book aside. The mushrooms he points to are flat and pale, tucked under the leaves of a bigger shrub. “What had to be done to them?”

The Archmage wears silver in his beard, she’s just noticing. It flashes when he moves. “Ordinarily, they grow in caves –”

“I met my friend in a cave,” Efri tells him brightly.

He blinks. “Not this sort, I’m assuming,” he says. “They only grow deep underground, and often out of decaying matter.” There’s a pause; then, “Dead things,” he adds, for clarification.

Efri peers at them. “So they had to make them able to grow in the light, out of dirt.” It’s interesting. She’s interested. But the closer she looks –

It just looks familiar, is all. (Old dust and corroded metal and blue, blue, blue.)

The mushrooms grow very low to the ground, broad and wrinkled and papery. She thinks of touching one, to check the texture, but the idea makes her fingers flex, hands gripping hard at her scrunched-up skirt.

“Precisely,” the Archmage says.

Efri clasps her fingers together and jams her hands between her chin and her chest. With some difficulty – it’s hard to talk when she’s using her jaw to pin something – she says, “I think I’ve seen them.”

The Archmage’s feet shift beside her. “They grow very deep underground. I can’t imagine –”

“On the dead man.” Efri’s face is getting all scrunched up. “In Saarthal.”

She doesn’t think she likes the dead-man-mushrooms. She’ll look at something else, next.

The Archmage says, “Ah.”

She scrunches up her face harder, looking over all the bright colours of all the other things in the garden. There is a moment’s silence.

When the Archmage speaks again, his voice is careful. “I doubt it,” he says. “The fungus derives some of its names from its resemblance to withered flesh.”

“Oh.” That actually is very interesting. Efri wriggles her fingers. Maybe it’s like a sort of camouflage – though why a mushroom would need camouflage she has no idea.

And when she thinks about it, her dead man would have been embalmed, so there wouldn’t have been much decay for mushrooms to grow from anyway. She squints at them, the little cluster of shrivelled-looking things. Still doesn’t really want to touch them, but her stomach isn’t lurching like it did when first she made the connection, so it’s fine.

She hears the Archmage’s coat rustling. He says, “Efri?”

Efri glances up at him out of the corners of her eyes. “Have you ever seen a dead man?”

The Archmage’s face creases; he sighs, a quiet exhale. He tilts his head away again so his face is in shadow and holds out her leather-bound book, his body already angling back towards his desk.

Efri looks at it. She says, “You can tell me the other ones, if you want.” He clearly knows his garden well.

She thinks he frowns, though he’s still at that odd angle so it’s hard to see. “I’m rather busy at the moment.”

The magelights flash. Efri knows she frowns, then. “No, you’re not,” she points out, because he isn’t. Mirabelle does everything. The Archmage sits around being important.

He twists his head to look at her again, his face all lordly and severe. He does that sometimes, looks down his nose all haughty. Efri’s not sure if he does it on purpose or not, but just to be safe, she tips her head way back so she can look down her own nose back at him. Beside them, the garden shimmers, a rainbow bouquet of plants and textures and smells, a round motley moon set into the cold flagstones of the floor.

The Archmage sighs again (at some point Efri should start counting, make a game of beating the record) and folds his hands, with their heavy book, behind his back. Efri’s eyes crinkle, victorious. “If you look there,” he says, “at the base of the tree trunk, you can see the grapevines…”

#I love them so much. this is their entire dynamic #efri barges in interrupts all his work (read: moping) says something unintentionally wildly upsetting (because I think it's funny) #tries to goad him into botany infodumping on her #tells him he's a weird loser (he is) #etc #I haven't gotten to The Part of the college of winterhold questline in my reimagining and I'm ALREADY fucked up about it #honourable mention for this piece goes to wispstalk's Magically Augmented Microclimates in the arcane university. #didn't end up ripping off the phrasing of it wholesale bc I realised that my thing is like. the exact opposite actually. #but it still motivated me to edit this piece!! and I alluded to it!!!!! #anyway #tesfest23 #oc tag #efri #savos aren #college of winterhold #the elder scrolls #tesblr #skyrim #tes #my writing #fay writes

[bazzpop]

The First Perfect Day

My first time doing FFF! I meant to post this last night but I accidentally saved it back into my drafts instead of posting it @flashfictionfridayofficial

A veritable sea of sand, far as the eye could see, stretched out before them.

Aziraphale was getting so dreadfully tired of seeing it, and even more tired of needing to rub the grittiness out of his eyes and shake out his crude sandals every couple of steps. Crawley, on the other hand, seemed to be greatly enjoying how warm the sand felt against his belly as he glided along the endless expanse of dunes in his serpent form.

They’d each had orders from their respective head offices to keep tabs on the first humans when they were kicked from the garden, and so, for the past two days, they’ve been trekking along after them through the desert.

The sun beat down on the top of Aziraphale’s head as he tiredly trudged up and over a particularly large dune. While he wasn’t exactly one to question the Almighty’s choice of design, he couldn’t help but conclude that sand and sun had proven themselves to be a rather horrible combination. It was far too hot and much too bright to be hospitable for long, the sun baking everything in its sights to a crisp.

Something wet trickled down from his temple, and he wiped it away. Sweat. He was sweating like a human, though maybe that just came with donning a corporation.

He turned to his left, a question on the tip of his tongue, but it died when he saw that Crawley was gone. Perhaps the demon had had enough of the endless expanse of sun and sand, Lord knows Aziraphale was nearly at his limit too.

But that was when a squiggly black creature made itself known by sliding down the side of the dune next to him, sending a torrent of sand up into the air as he raced down. Aziraphale wrenched his wings up in an attempt to shield himself from the rain of sand.

“Are you quite done?” He snapped.

But Crawley just scaled right on up the dune again. “Nah. It’sss fun, you ssshould try it.”

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale chose to keep one of his wings up, the better to block out some of the sun. It didn’t help much, and he still found himself squinting, but it was better than nothing.

Crawley gave the serpent equivalent of a shrug before sliding down the dune again with a “wahoo!”

Aziraphale shook his head and wiped at his brow. While Crawley had a bit of fun, he took the opportunity to try and catch his breath before they continued onwards. But during his little break, he hadn't realized just how close he was standing to the edge of his dune.

The soft edge gave way and he lost his balance as his center of gravity suddenly shifted, sending him careening forward into a presumably very sandy ditch. He yelped, wings frantically flapping to compensate for the sudden lack of solid ground under his feet.

And before he had the chance to brace himself, a hand covered in quickly retreating black scales shot out from behind him and grabbed hold of his heavenly robes, pulling him back onto semi-stable footing.

“Woah, there. Careful, angel.” Crawley said teasingly, though the next bit came out a touch too sardonically for Aziraphale’s liking, “Wouldn’t want you to suffer a fall, now would we?”

“No, no, we— I, I wouldn’t want that.” He managed to catch himself, though he was embarrassed by the turn of events. Crawley gently let go of his robe, leaving behind a wrinkle to which Aziraphale brushed away with a mere thought. He took a calming breath, trying to soothe his obviously ruffled feathers. “Thank you.”

“Save it. Look, I think I saw an oasis a few paces back. What’dya say we go check it out and get out of this sun for a bit?” Crawley asked, already turning on his heel in the direction he apparently saw signs of vegetation in, and grimaced when his foot immediately sank into the sand. The first few steps he took were wobbly and riddled with grunts of effort, but he managed well enough. “Oh wow, I can see why walking through this put you in such a bad mood.”

“It’s not the most pleasant experience.” Aziraphale huffed, stumbling after the demon. Oh, he really did hope there was an oasis. One with plenty of shade, and maybe even a refreshing pool of water would be lovely. But then, what about his duty to watch over the humans? “Do you think the humans will be alright on their own for a little while?”

“I’m sure they will.” Crowley grinned back at him, his smile somehow brighter than the sun. And then, to really sweeten the deal, he gave an innocently tempting sway and added, “I didn’t mean to get a bunch of sand in your wings. I could take a look at them when we get there. If you want, of course, but I can only imagine how much they must itch.”

“I’d…” Aziraphale trudged up next to him, looking into the surprisingly sincere eyes of an even more surprisingly kind demon, “I’d like that very much.”

“Good, it’s just back a little ways. Let’s go.”

—

Sure enough, there was a small oasis with a delightfully cool pool of clean water and verdant plant life surrounding it.

Crawley settled Aziraphale on a low boulder in the shade and settled in behind him, motioning for him to spread his wings. Gentle fingers combed through his coverts down through to the tips of his primaries, freeing the annoying grains of sand, causing Aziraphale to hum and sigh in pleasure.

They then spent the rest of the afternoon soaking in the pool, scrubbing away the accumulated dust and sand of the desert from their skin, before moving on to lounge against a couple of rocks in the shelter of a cluster of palm trees. Crawley even pulled out some of the fruit that he pilfered before leaving The Garden, and shared it with the angel.

Since leaving The Garden, this had felt like the first perfect day in history.

#good omens #flash fic friday #bazz writes #crowley good omens #aziraphale good omens #good omens fanfiction

[madhattervanessa]

Kinktober 2022 - #9

Kinks: Outdoor Sex, Almost Getting Caught

Words: 1439

Pairing: Benjamin “Benny” Miller x f!Reader

Uhh, this kind of got away from me, it was supposed to be a short one but... I really like it! I hope you will, too -

also thank you thank you so so much, the past few days blog activity has been on a soaring high and I’m so overwhelmed - HI everyone!! Welcome! I hope you’ll enjoy your time here!

Kinktober Masterlist

You wake to birds loudly chirping… A few stray critters run through the undergrowth close to you, ruffling the leaves and twigs on the ground. You rub at your eyes, your body feeling feverishly warm and it takes you a moment to unzip your sleeping bag.

When you turn, you find Benny’s sleeping bag empty. 

You sigh and get up, reaching over towards the zip around the entrance of the tent. You regret opening the flap almost instantly when cold air rushes in. You immediately scramble for one of Benny’s hoodies still strewn around the inside of the tent and slip into the cozy fabric to fight the chill.

When you finally manage to get outside, you see that the sun has barely come up- yet the camp seems empty.

You frown but just as you straighten up outside of the tent, you hear a rustle and a low curse from the bushes behind you. 

“Benny?”

“Yeah, babe, right- right here.” He calls back and you tilt your head as you wait for him to emerge.

When he does, you breathe a sigh of relief, dropping your hands to rest in the hoodie’s pocket.

“What were you doing?”

“Just washing up really quick. Nice hoodie.” He grins and slowly approaches. He envelops you in a hug and you hum. There’s that clean soap smell and you inwardly flinch as a stray droplet of water dribbles onto your own head from Benny’s.

He presses a kiss to your temple as he draws away from you, his eyes quickly giving you a once over.

“You okay?”

“I woke up cold and alone. I’m also hungry.”

He fake pouts at you and you smash a shoulder against his solid chest only to be caught against him in another hug.

“Sorry babe. Want me to make us breakfast?”

His breath is hot over your ear and you shudder when his hand dips down the small of your back until he can squeeze your ass. You turn your head, ready to reprimand him but are caught in a kiss instead.

You grumble into his mouth and he grabs your waist to tug you closer.

“I’m hungry for pussy, I think”, he murmurs against your lips and this time you smack him square in his shoulder before dragging him into another kiss. You make a step backwards and he follows immediately, half carrying you to the tent as you half drag him.

He is biting your bottom lip as you make it to the hard mats of the tent and you laugh, letting your head fall back against the soft sleeping bags as he kisses down your neck.

“I love it when you wear my hoodies.” The groan makes you shudder and you push at his cargo pants until you manage to get them off. He laughs against your cheek before dragging your hiking leggings off of you.

“Fuck, you make me so happy, you know that?”, you whisper and he hums, before kissing down to your thighs, his hot breath blowing over your core.

“Yeah, you make me really fucking happy, too”, he mutters before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your pussy. His tongue follows suit as he focuses on your clit and you moan loudly, fully relaxing. His hands squeeze your thighs where he is holding you open for him. You sigh, enjoying the gentle caress over the inside of your thigh as he devours you, rubbing the flat of his tongue over you before circling your clit with the tip of his tongue slowly.

"Oh, Benny… that's so good-", you groan, your hand coming up to rest in his still wet hair.

“Hey! Is anyone out here?”

You jump and Benny groans at the intrusion before leaving off. You gape at him, mutely asking him to do something. But he just leans upwards, stretching over you and you gape at him as he shrugs off his shirt, leaving him naked in your tent.

“Benny-!”, you hiss and and he kisses your temple.

“Just be quiet, it’s probably just a lost hiker.”

“Then we should help them”, you grumble but he kisses you, gently cradling your jaw and you melt against him. When he parts from you, you feel dizzy. You open your eyes to find him already staring at you.

“Do you want me to help a random person on our get away trip? When I am about to fuck you?”

You bite your lip and you do feel bad about it but...

“No...”

“That’s my girl”, he grins and the rush you feel as you hear another call from the woods while Benny spreads your legs over his forearms makes goosebumps erupt over your skin.

You bite the back of your hand when he lets the tip of his dick slap against your clit, the sound seeming incredibly loud all of the sudden. You whine in the back of your throat and receive a boyish grin from him, blindingly bright and smug before he drags the tip of his dick down to your opening, slightly pushing forwards. His eyes are fully focused on your pussy as your hole flutters around him. His tongue is caught between his teeth and he furrows his brows as he slowly fucks into you. His hands fall down to your hips to drag you closer. You squeal, pressing your hand over your mouth harder as he takes your breath away with the feeling of him filling you to the brim.

He huffs and strains his jaw as he rolls his hips into you, his eyes jumping back and forth between your wet pussy and your face.

You hear a twig snap close to the camp and your panicked eyes meet Benny’s who just smiles before hushing you with a teasing smile before leaning in close, completely covering you with his body.

He grabs your hand off of your mouth and grabs both of your wrists to pin them to the mats. Your noses nudge and you can’t help the whine breaking free as he fucks you - despite it being slow and you lean up, trying to smother your sounds but he kisses your cheek, lightly biting into the skin as he chuckles.

“Gotta be quiet, baby.”

You giggle and this time he kisses you for real, tongue tangling with yours. You roll your hips down against his, enjoying the slow, lazy fucking as he keeps holding you. One of his hands dips underneath his hoodie and you gasp when his fingertips close around one of your nipples, rolling it between them.

He muffles your cry with his mouth, licking up against the roof of your mouth and stealing your breath.

“Hello?”

You keep grinding your hips against each other and you murmur a short “I’m close” into his mouth, kissing him desperately as he keeps the pace and a blunt fingernail catches against your nipple, making you clench down around him.

You both grin as you hear footsteps around your tent- first, approaching, then apparently seeing the ‘empty’ campsite and leaving again.

“Hold it, baby, just a minute, then you can scream all you want, yeah?”, Benny whispers and you nod, furiously clenching your jaw shut as he murmurs soft praises against your ear, how good you are, just a few more seconds, you feel so perfect baby.

But then you hear footsteps, multiple, again, too close. Your panicked looks meet and Benny covers your mouth with his hand before your moans can spill out - the action alone makes you cum, falling over the edge you had been teetering on.

He curses under his breath and your brows furrow as you feel him spill into you, his forehead falling to rest against your sweaty collarbone as he grinds his hips into you deeper. You squirm, a warm shudder running up your spine and you feel faint, all of the strength leaving your muscles.

“Is anyone here? This is Forest Ranger Morrison-”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-”, Benny quietly grumbles and pulls his pants on while you’re melting into the sleeping bags. A brief ripping sound and Benny’s low voice make you perk up as much as you can and you watch him step out with that charming grin ready.

“I’m sorry, we just woke up - is there a problem?”

“Oh, sorry to disturb, we just had a colleague report an abandoned campsite- you really worried us, there, pal!”

Benny laughs and you can hear that awkward relief - you grin to yourself, feeling his warm cum ooze out of you slowly as he quickly reassures the ranger everything is perfectly fine and normal.

Best camping trip, ever.

#kinktober #kinktober 2022 #kinktober2022 #benny miller #benjamin benny miller #benny miller x reader #benny miller x you #benny miller x f!Reader #triple frontier

[lifeofkaze]

Owl & Eagle

Even though you're not celebrating, I want to wish you a very merry Christmas, @pathofstars! You're one of the most kind-hearted, genuine, lovely and caring people I've had the honour of meeting this past year.

Every time I see your artwork on my feed - may it be this fandom or another - it makes me smile from ear to ear, and I feel in awe of your talent. You've made me so happy with the two amazing gifts you made me, so it is only right and proper to give you something back.

I'm sorry I had to spoil the surprise early for you, but you know why.

Merry Christmas! 🎄❄️

There was a cold wind coming from the East, bringing with it the smell of snow. It blew across the frozen grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, making the dark surface of the Black Lake ripple in the afternoon sun.

Kiara Fair had no eye for the beauty of the frosty landscape below. She set her feet carefully on the stairs leading towards the Owlery, so as not to slip on the thin layer of snow covering the steps. Stopping to catch her breath, Kiara tipped her head into her neck, her eyes wandering over the long icicles hanging from the protruding roof of the tower above her. 

Shuddering at the thought of what might happen should they fall on her, Kiara clutched the bag of bird treats she was carrying tighter to her chest. Ignoring the burning in her thighs from making the long journey through the snow, she continued her way towards the top.

"What a great idea to get attached," she huffed to herself, her breath forming in front of her mouth and nose in clouds. "Perfect weather to go outside and feed a bird that's not even yours. Why stay by the cosy fireplace when you could freeze to death over some owl treats?"

Her muttering ceased as she took a quick step to pass beneath the icicles and dived into the dim half-light of the Owlery. As soon as she did, the howling East wind ceased, and quiet wrapped around her, only broken by the soft hooting of the owls and the occasional rustle of straw and feathers. 

Wary amber eyes watched Kiara from all sides as she made her way to the big table in the middle of the room, which was perpetually covered in feathers, bird food, and a thick layer of droppings. She sat her bag down onto it and softly clicked her tongue.

"Hello, it's me. Come on, I brought you something."

No sooner had she spoken than a small barn owl floated into view from up above. As it landed on the table before her, Kiara’s face split into a smile.  

"Hello, beautiful."

The owl hooted absentmindedly, curiously eyeing the bag of owl treats. Kiara chuckled to herself.

"It's alright," she said and opened the bag a little wider. "Tuck in." 

The little owl lost no time burying its beak in the sack of bird treats. Her lips still curved into a smile, Kiara watched it gulp down beak after beak of food, when suddenly a big shadow perched on the wooden beam above them caught her attention.

Directing her gaze upwards, Kiara froze. There in the woodwork, an eagle was sitting. It was looking down at them with mistrustful golden eyes, and even from a distance, Kiara could see how sharp its beak and talons were. She furtively moved to the side, and the eagle's eyes followed her, the only thing about it that seemed to be moving at all. Shuddering, Kiara’s eyes flicked between the happily munching barn owl and the bird of prey.

"Hey buddy," Kiara whispered in a cheerful but urgent voice. "Look, there's a great spot to snack over here. Let's move a little, shall we?"

The only reply she got was the rustle of the bag as the owl dipped its head back into it. Stifling a sigh, Kiara tugged on the sack of treats.

"Come on, we really need to go eat somewhere else now."

Not the slightest bit impressed with having its food taken away, the owl hooted in protest and flapped its wings. One of them hit Kiara in the face, and on instinct, she stumbled backwards. 

A stir went through the Owlery as more and more owls began to shuffle on their perches. Kiara swallowed heavily. If the owls woke, there would be chaos. She didn't want any of them to get hurt, so she had to get this eagle away from the Owlery somehow. She gave the bird of prey a stern look. 

"Shoo," she told it, her words accentuated by a wave of both her hands. "Shoo!"

Its golden eyes now fixed on her, the eagle remained right where it was. A frown crossed Kiara's face. If she didn't know any better, she could have sworn that it almost looked amused.

"Shoo!" she repeated, louder this time, wincing as the flutter around her intensified. The first owls were leaving their sleeping nooks and making their way outside through the openings in the walls. The eagle watched after them before returning its unnerving stare to Kiara. She gritted her teeth. 

"Shoo, I said!" she yelled, grabbing a fistful of bird treats and - under the protest of the little barn owl - hurled them at the eagle. 

Upon being hit square in the face, the eagle let out a scream that cut through Kiara's eardrums, and flapped its impressive wings. Thinking it was about to tear down on her and the little barn owl, Kiara did the first thing she could think of. She reached for her wand and pointed it at the eagle.

"Stupefy!"

The spell hit the eagle right in the chest. Its wings froze mid-motion before it went limp and dropped from its beam, hitting the ground with a dull thud. As the dust slowly settled around it, Kiara took a cautious look at the motionless bird. She inched closer, a sigh of relief leaving her lips as she saw the eagle's chest rising and falling, if only slightly.

"Hey," she said, carefully touching the bird with the tip of her boot, "it's alright. You can get up now. I'll just turn around, and you go and flutter off."

As expected, the eagle didn't react. With a jolt of worry, Kiara knelt before the animal, lifting one of its wings with her finger. When she retracted it, the wing slumped to the ground again.

"I hit it pretty hard, didn't I?" she muttered to the little barn owl, who sat perched on her shoulder and hooted in confirmation.

Reaching a resolution, Kiara scooped the eagle up into her arms. Hagrid and Professor Kettleburn were out to hunt for Christmas trees and escaped Chimaeras, respectively; that left only one person capable of helping her. 

***

Professor McGonagall was in her classroom, poring over the latest assignments of her N.E.W.T class when the door crashed open and Kiara stumbled in. Her eyebrows rose over the rim of her spectacles when the flustered Ravenclaw student dropped what she had held cradled to her chest onto the laden desk. 

"Miss Fair," she said and drew a deep breath, "what is your explanation for… this?"

She pointed at the bird, whose feathers were now sprawling over the half-corrected essays. Taking a closer look at it, she paled and rose to her feet in an abrupt motion. The eagle gave a miserable squawk as she examined it. Kiara watched her quietly. If she hadn't known better, she could have sworn that McGonagall was talking to the eagle. 

"I must ask you to leave, Miss Fair," she presently said, her lips pressed together in a fine line.

"What?" Kiara spurted out, half in fear for the eagle, half in indignation at being sent away.

"This bird requires my immediate attention. Thank you for bringing it here, but there is no further reason for you to linger. Five points to Ravenclaw."

Kiara was too confused to thank her. "What are you going to do with it? Hagrid and Professor Kettleburn are somewhere on the grounds."

"Believe me when I say that I'm perfectly able to handle this bird myself."  

She pointedly looked at the door, making it clear that it was time to go. Once outside of the classroom, Kiara paused. Not feeling like returning to the Ravenclaw common room just yet, she looked around the half-lit corridor. Something gleaming on the ground by a suit of armour caught her attention. Wandering closer to inspect it, Kiara found the source of the reflection to be an old yet well-polished key. A smile of delight forming on her features, she bent to retrieve it for her collection when the door to the Transfiguration classroom opened and someone stepped outside.

The moment Talbott Winger saw her, he froze. Kiara stared at him with wide eyes, her new key momentarily forgotten.

"Winger," she said in astonishment, "where did you come from?"

"None of your business," Talbott replied curtly. He tried to push past her, but Kiara moved in his way.

"You weren't in there when I was just now," she said, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Were you hiding?"

"Don’t be ridiculous."

"I'm not!"

They continued arguing back and forth until the door to the classroom swung open once more and Professor McGonagall appeared in the doorway. Upon seeing Talbott and Kiara, she glanced left and right before placing firm hands on both their backs and ushering them back inside. 

"What's going on, Professor? Where has Talbott come from?" As soon as she saw that the desk on the raised dais was empty, Kiara turned to Talbott with flashing eyes. "Where has the eagle gone? What have you done with it?" 

"Nothing," Talbott rolled his eyes. "Tell her that I didn't do anything," he added in McGonagall's direction, but she shook her head at him. 

"It's not my responsibility to get you out of the trouble you summoned, Mr Winger."

When it was evident that there was no support to be gained from her, Talbott raised his hands in exasperation. 

"Alright, Fair. Promise that what I'm about to tell you is going to stay within this room."

"I'm not promising anything," Kiara replied angrily. "What happened to the eagle?"

"Nothing," Talbott repeated. "The eagle is me."

Silence followed his words. Her mouth having dropped open, Kiara blinked in confusion. 

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"I can assure you, it’s not. I am the eagle. I'm an Animagus." 

Still dubious, Kiara looked Talbott up and down. Upon closer inspection, she thought his nose looked slightly swollen, a bruise forming around it right where the eagle’s beak had hit the ground. She swallowed heavily. 

"You really are an Animagus?"

Talbott nodded. "I'm not registered with the Ministry. No one but Professor McGonagall knows. And you," he added, giving Kiara a taxing look, "so don't go blaring it out to the whole school."

Kiara felt her cheeks grow hot, partly from his assumption that she would do any such thing, and partly from knowing that she didn't have anyone to tell such a secret to even if she wanted. As much to show Talbott that she wasn't intimidated by him as to push away the feeling of loneliness rising in her, Kiara crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"How does one become an Animagus anyway?"

"By performing the proper rites and spells."

"And how do you do that?"

Talbott raised an eyebrow. "Not like I'm going to tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because it's bad enough that I had to trust you with my secret. No way that I'm going to let you share it." 

Kiara opened her mouth to protest when McGonagall cleared her throat. "Mr Winger, Miss Fair, I believe you can continue your discussion on your way back to Ravenclaw Tower. Miss Fair, I expect you to honour Mr Winger's wish to remain quiet about his… abilities. Mr Winger, you will come and see me after class tomorrow. One more thing," she added as the two of them turned to leave. "Until further notice, both of you are banned from visiting the Owlery."

Talbott and Kiara froze.

"But why?" 

"Professor!"

"I didn't even do anything!"

"I was only protecting the owls!"

"Mr Winger, you chose to transform without need despite me telling you not to. As for Miss Fair, did you really think I didn't notice I was short an owl?"

Kiara felt herself blush. "I don't know what you mean, Professor." 

"I assure you, you are neither the first student to take a liking to an animal from this classroom, nor will you be the last. Do try to refrain from coming for the ferrets next, please. There's a reason they've been banned as pets."

"But about the Owlery…"

"Good evening, Miss Fair."

Hanging their heads, Talbott and Kiara trudged from the room. They walked to their common room in silence, where they found quiet corners for themselves as far away from each other as possible.

They did their best to avoid crossing paths for the next few days, but eventually, Kiara decided that her punishment had been enough. She missed her little owl friend, and what had she done wrong, anyway? She had wanted to protect the birds, nothing more. Surely that wasn't a reason to condemn her?

When she made her way to the Owlery, at last, her spirits lifted with every step she climbed towards the top. Once she ducked through the doorway, however, her good mood vanished when she saw who was standing at the table in the middle of the room. 

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," Talbott said, narrowing his eyes at Kiara. "You're forbidden to enter the Owlery."

"As are you," Kiara raised her chin. "I could report you to McGonagall."

"Not without admitting you were here, too."

They stared at each other until Talbott dropped his eyes. "Looks like we're both flouting our punishment. How about you go and do your stuff, I do mine, and we both pretend this never happened?"

After a moment, Kiara nodded. "Fine. But no weird tricks, you hear me?"

Talbott rolled his eyes for an answer and returned to the parchment he had been scribbling onto. Kiara turned away to find the little barn owl already sitting behind her. With a smile, she ran her hands over the owl's soft feathers, trying to ignore the scratching of Talbott's quill behind her. 

They spent several minutes in silence until Talbott eventually cleared his throat.

"Thank you for not telling anyone what you saw the other day."

Kiara didn't look up from where her fingers were resting on the owl's back. Her shoulders tensed. "No need."

"No, really. Anyone else would have shouted it from the rooftops, or told their friends, at least."

"I'm not like anyone else."

"Not a gossip, you mean?"

"Not a person with friends." 

Her snappy reply was met with silence. Talbott nodded his head.

"I see."

When he didn't continue, Kiara raised her brows. "That's all you have to say?"

"What more is there? You're a loner, just like me. Nice to know there's others who prefer not to be babbled at all day." 

Despite herself, Kiara's lips curved into a smile, albeit a small one.

"I guess so." 

When Kiara packed up her things and made her way to the exit, Talbott sighed and called her back.

"Hey Fair, wait. Did you really mean what you said about wanting to be an Animagus?" 

Kiara frowned. "Of course."

"I could show you if you like."

"Really?" Kiara called out, her mouth suddenly dry. She must have spoken louder than she had realised because the little barn owl almost tripped over its own two feet. Talbott pulled a face. 

"Lesson number one - don't screech at me like a rabid owl. Once I have everything we need, I'll contact you."

He answered a few more of Kiara's questions, and by the time she was ready to leave, she was giddy with excitement. As she was about to pass through the doorway, Talbott called after her.

"Just so you know, it's not going to be easy. I hope you're not afraid of a challenge."

Kiara flashed him a grin over her shoulder. "Here’s a lesson for you, Winger. I'm never afraid of a challenge."  

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #talbott winger #kiara fair #au version #christmas 2022 #merry christmas lee

[chrysthemiss]

Cal-Amity AU, Amity can't seem to tell Luz she actually likes the empanadas she brings. @minlein 's Cal-Amity au, go check it out!

Another day, another visit. Amity looked to the clock, turned, and walked off. "Just got here." Hunter looked to Amity before passing her.

Amity walked to the giant doors, Luz sitting on a bench, legs swinging under her, basket in hand. Pretending not to notice her, Amity kept walking down the hall. Yet Luz didn't notice. Pausing, Amity turned and walked down the hall again.

Yet again, Luz didn't notice. Amity cleared her throat, walking over to Luz. The human perked, and smiled widely. Softening, Amity hummed, "Still not leaving me alone are you?"

"Nope!" Luz giggled. "I know you love me~"

Amity reddened at the words, ears flapping, "How utterly wrong." Amity mumbled, brushing back her hair.

Luz cooed, standing up and holding out the basket, "I made more empanadas for you! You probably burned my other basket, so I'll just leave--"

"I still have it. The basket is made of non-flammable wood, Human." Amity blurted, taking the basket. "The food inside was burned."

Luz paused, gently taking the basket back, confusing Amity. "You could have told me you didn't like them.." Luz mumbled. "And maybe a little nicer.."

Amity tilted her head to the side. Why would she not like them? They were warm, had cheese and meat, what was there not to like? A few had burned when she tried to warm them up, not knowing what temperature would fit and– Luz didn't know that.

The human nervously smiled, "No gift today then, sorry." Luz stepped back. "I'll..I'll make something else next time."

Without saying another word, Luz left. Uh-Oh. "My empanadas.." Hunter whispered from around the corner.

Two days later, Luz came in the afternoon, Amity's lunch break. "Heyo!" Luz smiled, basket in hand. "Brought you lunch~"

Amity turned, smiling slightly as she examined Luz's attire. Dark blue overalls with a frog on the chest pocket, a white flannel like shirt with a collar, and a blue hair pin pinning her hair behind her ear. "Hm.." Amity hummed.

She missed the cat ears. But this was just as rewarding. "Here you go~" Luz cooed, holding out the basket.

Amity hesitated. There were empanadas. She took the basket, setting it on the table and pulling out the small box of delicious empa– MY EMPANADAS! Luz took the box, "Sorry, forgot you didn't like these--"

"I do!" Hunter snatched them. "Thank you, farewell!"

Amity clenched her fist. "Oh, at least those won't go to waste. Unlike the last batch.."

'What? You wasted my delicious empanadas??' Amity huffed, growling softly before shaking her head. "Human." She tipped her head forward before walking away.

Luz drew back, lowering her head. The basket was left alone, free for everyone who wasn't Amity to take. Luz bit her lip, flinching when she felt the scar, "Ouch.."

Amity rushed over from around the corner, lifting Luz's head up, "Are you hurt? Human, are you injured anywhere?"

Luz shook her head, leaning into Amity's touch. The witch flinched, and stepped back. Amity pulled a face of disgust, Luz letting out a soft hum. "Sorry--" Luz gulped, wiping her face quickly. "Sorry, sorry--" She turned, scampering off.

"Human--" Amity tensed. "Luz-"

Luz did not return for her second basket that week.

Tuesday, four days after the incident, Luz returned. With a box of cookies. "Human." Amity perked, her worries drifting away. "You returned."

Luz nodded, walking past Amity into the break room kitchen, setting the cookies down. "You don't eat what I give you, so I just figured I'll give it to the guards." Luz shrugged. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable the other day, Amity..I..I shouldn't have done that, and I'll stop bringing you food if you don't like it.."

No more free food? Scratch that-- No more delicious free food from Luz? Amity, speak now or forever hold peace without Luz's food. "Human, about the food.."

"It was gross, I know." Luz air pat Amity's shoulder. "I'll see you tommorow so I can bug you, hm?" She smiled, then walked past her.

Amity reached back, grabbing Luz's wrist. She pulled the human back, and caressed her cheek, "You were leaning into my palm..The other day I mean. You never do that. What changed?"

Luz softened, biting her lip and leaning into Amity's palm. "Because you never care for me as much as you did that day.." Luz sighed, kissing Amity's palm. "You push me away, and that's okay. But when you don't, I always forget you hate me, and everytime I wish you would stop disliking me.."

Amity moved her other hand up, gently caressing Luz's face. She was warm. And squishy. Amity squished Luz's face for the fun of it, earning a cute adorable giggle from the human. "Do..You want me to do this more often..?" Amity asked, ears flapping.

Luz nodded, sighing quietly and nuzzling Amity's right palm. Though it had light cuts, it didn't bother Luz. "Poor Witch of Mine.." Luz kissed one of Amity's old scars on her palm. "They work you too hard.."

"..Luz.." Amity swallowed. "I do like your empanadas..I realized when you left that you must have thought I burned all of the ones you had given to me. I only burned four, to test out how hot it needed to be..I do eat what you give me, because you know what I like and what will keep me energized..Your food tastes wonderful, and I..Apologize, for not expressing it sooner."

Luz perked, "You do like my food?"

"Yes. I do." Amity leaned in. "You enjoy kissing my scars, Human of Mine, now it's my turn."

"Wait, what-" Luz flushed red, then giggled when Amity kissed a faint scar on her chin, then over her eye. "That tickles!"

Amity moved her hands down to grab Luz's waist, holding her gently and pressing her lips against the Human's. Then she did it again. And again. And a few more times before settling Luz against her. "I do not dislike you, Luz. While I act as if I want you to leave and never return, I look forward to your visits..And would ask if you could make me lunch tommorow.."

Luz giggled, wrapping her arms around Amity, nuzzling into her chest, smiling softly. "Anything for my grumpy kitty."

Fin.

#CAL-Amity AU #toh #lumity #luz x amity #amity x luz #amity blight #luz noceda

[narcissa-black-supermacy]

wolfstar prompt 35 for @veriableflowers

“Everyone keeps saying that this is all in my head, but I know it’s not, I know it’s real!”

I have no idea how this got to 2K? It was supposed to be short and angsty but they basically demanded a happy ending to this drabble.

“What’s going on? Where is he? What happened?”

Sirius pushes through the crowd of Gryfindors gathered at the entrance to the infirmary, not caring how many first-years he has to elbow to get past them. His eyes scan the scene until he finally finds the familiar head of Remus’ ruffled brown locks.

Sirius breathes out.

He looks fine. There is no blood, or wounds, and he looks perfectly healthy and- he looks fine. He’s a little wet, and there’s a blanket wrapped around his shoulders with Frank standing by his side, an arm on his shoulder, looking as tall as ever-

Something is off. Frank looks taller than usual, although the rest of them look fine in comparison to him.

He pushes a group of curious first-years away and makes his way over to the hospital bed.

“Show is over! Out! All of you!” He yells angrily at the crowd, throwing a dirty look at the younger students.

“Prongs, what’s up?” He asks James, stepping inside and closing the curtains of the bed around them to shield them away from curious eyes.

“Oh god.” As soon as Remus’ eyes find him, he flushes brightly and turns around, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head to hide his face.

“James, get him out of here, he is going to be so awful about this-”

Sirius frowns. “What happened?”

James sighs and turns to face Sirius, effectively blocking his access to Remus. “We were at the hall, and some arshole from Slytherin cursed him with-”

“What?!” Sirius’ eyes dart back to Remus, but James is in the way, standing between him and the bed. “Who was it? What did they do?” He grabs James’ shoulder, trying to push him away, but the other won’t let him. “For fuck’s sake, James, let me see him!”

“It was a height diminishing curse.” Peter’s smug voice sounds from behind. James and Sirius both turn to find him stepping through the curtains, pushing them close behind him once he’s inside.

“A what?”

Sirius pushes James again, and this time he gives in. He walks over to the bed slowly, and crouches down next to Remus’ face.

“Moony.” He whispers softly. “Moony, what’s wrong?”

Remus shakes his head and mumbles something incoherent into the pillow.

Sirius reaches out his hand to stroke his back gently. “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

Remus turns his head halfway to the side and squints at him with narrow eyes. Sirius gives him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, whatever happened, the guys who did it will have it so much worse, I can promise you.”

Remus flaps his eyelashes at him slowly, then finally sighs in defeat and rolls over. He sits up on the bed first, pulling the hood off of him. Then he hops off the mattress to the floor, and slowly straightens up.

Sirius’ jaw drops open.

He is about Peter’s height now, almost an entire head shorter than Sirius.

Sirius blinks, gaping at him, mouth wide open.

He feels the laughter building up in his chest, making its way up his throat.

“This is hilarious!”

Remus shoves him at his chest forcefully and flops down on the bed, pulling the hood of his oversized cloak over his head and face. “I knew you would be insufferable about this.” He mutters into the sheets.

Sirius jumps onto the bed and drops down next to him in a half-lying position.

“Aww, look at him.” Sirius cooes. He pokes the side of Remus’ face with a finger, then tugs on the hood until it starts sliding off. “So small and adorable.” He reaches his hand out to pinch the other’s cheek, and Remus turns his head sideways, biting the tips of his fingers in return.

Sirius laughs. “I want to hug you all day until you get back to being a tall gloomy dracula again.” He glances sideways at Frank. “When is he going back to his normal height?”

Frank shrugs. “About a day or two. There isn’t anything we can do, just wait for it to wear off.”

“A day or two?” Sirius exclaims loudly and Remus groans in annoyance. “This is amazing.”

Remus glares at him. “I hate this.”

“I love this.”

“I hate you.”

Sirius leans in closer, his lips curling up in a sly smirk. “What are you going to do about it, small guy?”

Remus hits him with a pillow.

After that, Madam Pomfrey comes in and rushes them all outside of the Hospital Wing. Sirius pulls away reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder one more time at Remus’ unusually small form.

Remus is right, he absolutely intends to be insufferable about this.

And he makes sure to keep his promise.

“Moony!” Sirius exclaims loudly as he sneaks up on him in the library, throwing his arms around Remus’ small frame, snickering when the other tries, and fails, to squirm out of his tight embrace.

“Moony.” He whispers as he places his chin on top of his head when they wait in line during class.

“Moony,” he hums teasingly as he reaches up for a higher shelf that Remus is trying to get to, secretly enjoying James and Peter’s hollering laughter at the dirty glare Remus sends him when he snatches the book out of Sirius’ hands and smacks him on the back of the head with it.

Remus keeps swatting at his arm, and squirming away, and sending him annoyed glares, but Sirius does not really think much of it until they get to the dorms at the end of the day and Remus snaps.

“Moony-”

“Will you cut it out already?” Remus spits angrily, turning to glare at him. “God, I can’t stand you sometimes.”

Sirius pulls his hand back.

“Oi, come on, I’m just-”

Remus does not wait for him to finish, storming off to his side of the dorm. Sirius watches him kick off his boots in one swift motion and crawl inside, pulling the curtains around his bed frame tightly shut.

Sirius is left standing there, blinking in confusion for a moment, until the initial shock of the outburst passes. He quickly slides out of his own shoes, leaving them abandoned by the door of their dorm, and follows Remus inside.

“Does this really bother you so much?”

Remus is laying across the bed, propped up on his elbows with a quill in his hands, twisting it around in his fingers. He does not reply, but the answer is clear in the way his entire posture is tense, like he is expecting a personal attack. He grabs his wand and levitates the quill next to him in the air, quietly murmuring a charm under his breath to sharpen the tip.

Sirius sits down next to him and leans against the wall.

“Why?”

Remus’ brows pull together, forming a frown at the question. “I just-” He glances over his shoulder at Sirius, taking him in for a moment, then huffs out a breath and turns back to fixing his quill. “Forget it. You won’t get it.”

Sirius cocks his head to the side. “Try me.”

Remus drops the levitating quill and rolls over to his side. He watches Sirius carefully for a moment, and Sirius can see the thoughts running around through his eyes before he speaks up.

“I.. I always feel like people are.. looking at me. With the-” he makes a vague gesture with his hand, “the scars and everything and I just- every time I get back to class after a full moon, it always feels like everybody’s watching, and I’m so scared that if you and Snape managed to figure that out, it’s only matter of time until others will as well and then-”

Remus drops back onto his back with a frustrated huff and brings up his hands to his face to rub at his eyes. “Everyone keeps saying that this is all in my head, but I know it’s not, I know it’s real!”

Sirius watches him silently, and his hand reaches out on instinct to his knee, rubbing soothing circles into it gently.

“I don’t know.” Remus lowers his hands, letting them drop onto the mattress, and turns his head sideways, looking at the fluttering curtains around them absentmindedly. “It’s probably stupid, but when I’m tall it feels like I have some kind of- upper hand?” He glances over at Sirius tentatively, as if to check if what he is saying makes sense to him.

“People are less likely to stare. Now that I’m short everybody is touching me and looking at me, and I know it’s only for two days, but I hate that- Merlin, I hate it so much.” The fingers of his right hand clench into a fist by his side and he hits the covers of the bed with it in frustration. Even in the dimmely lit dorm, Sirius can see the slight flush of embarrassment over his cheeks, and the way his eyes glisten a little more than usual as he blinks rapidly at the ceiling.

Sirius suddenly becomes aware of his own hand, which is still massaging the muscle of the other’s leg, and he hurries to pull it away.

“I-” He glances hesitantly between his own hand, which feels so out of place and useless just lying in his lap doing nothing, and Remus, who is now looking at him. “Sorry. I’m just-” Sirius makes a movement to pull away so they are not so suffocatingly close to each other, but Remus sits up abruptly and then his hand is on Sirius’ wrist, stopping him.

“I- I didn’t mean you.” He says quickly. “You can.. You’re okay. You can look and.. and touch.” His eyes are dancing between Sirius’ face and their hands, where his fingers are still wrapped around Sirius’ wrist. “If you want to, I mean.”

Sirius feels something warm spread through his chest. There is something infinitely rewarding about not just being allowed to look and touch, but being the exception to the rule.

Sirius Black always did love being the exception to the rule.

Sirius feels the smile tug at his lips and before he has a conscious say in the matter, his body throws his arms around the other boy and he tackles them both onto the soft mattress below them.

Remus groans, but lets him nonetheless. They both lie down on their side and Sirius wraps his arms around him tightly while their legs interwine together over the covers.

“You know what,” Sirius pulls away a little and cups Remus’ face between his hands, forcing him to meet his gaze, “you’re right- people do stare. But it’s not because they’re suspicious or anything. It’s because you’re bloody gorgeous.”

Remus lets out a huff, like he does not quite believe that, and Sirius presses his hands further against his skin, running his thumbs over his freckled cheeks gently. “Especially now that you’re so tiny and adorable.”

Remus gives him an annoyed look and squirms out of his hands, shaking his head in a way that makes the longer locks around his ears bounce.

“I’m not tiny.” He protests. “I’m Peter’s height.”

“Peter is tiny.”

“He’s really not, you’re just being annoying.”

Sirius feels his grin widen. “Tiny, tiny Moony.” He teases, watching the flush on the other’s cheeks increase with every word.

Sirius throws his arms around him, pulling him closer once more, and tucks Remus’ head safely under his chin. It does feel strange having him be able to fit in his arms so easily, but Sirius is going to enjoy it as long as he can. He’s going to enjoy Remus in any shape, length and form he can have him.

#send me more! #ill get to all of them eventually #wolfstar #my writing

[sinvulkt]

Angstpril: 19. BREAKING Down - evil au, clipped wings aftermath

TW: Suicidal thoughts

@whumpril - 19. "I'm worried about you."

Everything hurt.

I tossed and turned on the too-comfortable cot, unable to find a resting position that wouldn’t feel like torture to my overwhelmed senses. I was drugged up to oblivion, and yet, everything felt too clear, too much, too empty. 

Everytime I shifted, air brushed sensitive skin, one that should have been protected by layers over layers of thick feathers but wasn’t, and it felt like my wings tips were put on fire. 

The door opened, revealing a bunch of fiery fur. I snarled at the newcomer.

“Leave.”

Pat flinched, but stayed. My feathers fanned in warning, but the sight likely was too pitiful to seem anywhere near threatening, and it made no effect. On the contrary, it pushed the Togorian to step closer, a crease on his forehead.

“Master. I’m worried about you-”

I lunged at the Togorian, all too aware of the absence of pull I felt from the air. Of the absence of movement from my tips. My flap should have been powerful enough to send me flying, and yet, the surface covered by bandages was far too small to find any purchase on the air. It lacked the vital part that should have spread and grabbed, that should have folded and dive. 

They were gone, gone, gone-

I sprawled on the ground, knocking my chin on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Pat whispered. “It was for your own good.”

How I loathed the guilt in his voice.

I gathered back on my shaking feet, and charged again. But I was slow, too slow, and by the time I arrived at the Togorian’s level, he had more than enough time to prepare. I landed in soft fur and strong arms. Trapped.

I wasn’t made to walk. What would I do?

“It’s alright,” Pat brokenly smiled. “Everything will be better soon. I promise.”

No. It wouldn’t.

I opened my mouth to retort, but my tongue stayed of stone.

For once, Pat wasn’t the mute one. Words felt too slow, too little, to explain the neutron star collapsing in my chest.

Cayan had once been mute as well, but he was dead, a forgotten remnant of the past. Everyone was dead. Only twisted shadows that had lost their corporeal light haunted this broken galaxy now.

I snarled again instead.

Nothing was alright.

My hook extended, I scratched at the thick fur and used the momentum to escape his embrace. I retracted to a safer distance, unable to repress a sigh of relief when he didn’t follow me.

When he did try, I scurried further back, hackles raised. My wings hurt from their half- spread state, (from what had been done to them), but I didn’t fight my instinct to fold them down. The ache was a sign there was still something behind me, even if that something wasn’t whole, and right now it felt like that thin thread was all that held my sanity together.

Guilt rang from Pat’s presence at my reaction, and he looped his mind around mine in a makeshift hug. The Force cared not for physical distance. A chill ran down my spine as it touched me. His presence felt slippery and cold. It felt false. 

I jumped back, and rushed to the fresher. I barely had time to lock the door before throwing up. Only yellowish bile escaped my throat.

I hadn’t eaten since-

I bent back over the sink, shaking. 

When my insides finally stopped trying to become my outsides, and my tremors reduced enough I could weakly stand, I looked up. In the mirror, purple feathers covered by white gauze met my gaze. They felt foreign. Too light and too small, with a third of their fluff missing.

They were gone. Why were they gone?

I closed my eyes, unable to bear the sickly face glaring at me from the mirror.

Why did it have to happen?

Someone knocked at the door.

“Master? Are you alright?”

I flinched, then laughed. Alright? How could he ask me that? How could anyone believe the answer would be yes? 

My knuckles turned white from how hard I had clenched them over the sink, and I realized my eyes were crying. One some planets, water was worth more than gold. Perhaps I could go there and become very rich. This seemed funny, too. 

More knocks rumbled from the door. 

The hilarity left as fast as it came, replaced by white hot terror. I tensed, dilapidated wings flattening as much as they could against my back. Pat’s worried presence behind the door felt like sandpaper to my over sensitive senses. 

I couldn’t stay.

I couldn’t stay, but I couldn’t leave. Leaving was what had brought me to this situation in the first place.

It was why they were- they were-

“Master?”

I stumbled back, sliding under the sink when I couldn’t retreat further. My hands clamped around my head, covering my ears until I couldn’t hear the intruder’s voice.

I didn’t want to hear.

I had always been good at hiding in small spaces. It was even easier, now that I was lacking— 

I curled further inward, escaping the thought before it could be born. Would they find me here? If I closed my eyes tightly enough, would I disappear?

I didn’t want to be.

I reached out to the Force. Unlike a few hours ago - had it really been so little time? - it answered my brush, curling under my control, changing shape to my will. It felt strangely obediant, as if it knew it had missed the crutial moment that would have saved me, and was begging for forgiveness. Or perhaps it was simply the Dark purring in contentment from all the suffering that had bloomed that day.

The Force never answered when I truly needed it.

I shifted my hold on it, trying to connect the same way I used to in The Room, back when I was still a weak, pathetic slave.

What had changed, truly?

I called to the various animals populating the planet, tried to drown my sense of self in their warm, unaware mind. Yet instead of welcoming me like they used to, they scattered under my presence. 

I froze, puzzled.

How long had it been since I Force-dreamed into a non-sentient mind?

…

I couldn’t remember.

Aheka and Pat’s voices rising up from outside the door broke my trance. They called, but I didn’t answer, still half-sunk into the Dark’s currents.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

Not anymore.

My breath turned even as I fell deeper and deeper into the Force. When they first discovered deep meditations, Initiates would often find the Force frighteningly bottomless. I had as well, once, when the word “hope” still held a meaning other than pain and deception. I had felt like drowning in the wide emptiness that had opened before me, and refused to meditate for weeks after the event.

I had learnt better during my years as a slave, although I was always cautious to keep an anchor during my Force explorations. I still burned with desire to live, then. Furthermore, it wouldn’t have been good for the slavers to come back, and find me in a deep trance. Back then, there was many threats my ’keepers’ could hang over my head. Now… Now it didn’t matter.

I sank, anchorless, into the infinite expense. 

Unlike my memories, the Force was dark, cold and empty. It chilled my remaining feathers to their roots, iced my bones to their core, shocked my breath away from my lungs. It was the price every DarkSider paid for the power they wield, and even today, I still considered it worth it. I melted into the void, far away from mortal sense and inescapable realities. I couldn’t die, not with Aheka on the lookout like she was, but… There were many ways for talented escapists to be gone.

From time to time, foreign minds brushed my own. Dark creatures, born into the wrong side, that grew curious about the daring stranger adventuring so far deep, so close to them. I ignored most, unwilling to be thrown off my blissful stasis if our presence came to clash. Habit soon took over however, and soon, I was a tuk'ata, running freely in a dark forest while acid rain fell from the sky. The next instant I was a strill tracking my prey, then I traveled slightly sideway and became a fyrnock. I almost became a reptavian, but the air barely brushed my/their wings that I flinched away, almost thrown off my trance.

I musn’t fly.

I couldn’t.

I sank deeper and deeper, throwing any anchor to the hungry mouth of the Dark, not caring about ever going back.

After all, I had no reason to: My body had lost its use. It was worthless, flightless.

Was it even still alive? How long had I spent here, wandering in the Dark?

I couldn’t tell.

I didn’t care.

Compared to the vessel I gave up on, the tuk'ata’s body was much more enjoyable. It was healthy and powerful, its heart racing as we dodged roots and giant leaves daring to block our path. We let our tongue hang from our mouth to cool down, our muzzle proudly raised to hum the air. There was a jungle worrt nearby, and it didn’t know it yet, but it would soon become our dinner. The acidic air teased our taste buds, and the humid breeze felt good on our coat. Our paws beat the soft ground into compliance with ease, each jump larger and faster than the previous one. In this form, we were strong. We were free.

A leash curled around my neck and yanked me back.

I whimpered, disoriented, still half-phased with the tuk'ata’s sense, before a blue Togruta’s face came into focus.

Immediately, I shut my eyelids close and tried to rush back into the safe folds of the Dark. I bounced back on an invisible wall. I mentally paced it, to find no break, no default. A cradle perfectly circled my mind. A mental charge did nothing to affect it. I resisted the temptation to growl and whine at it.

I yearned to sink back into the tuk'ata’s simple mind. The cradle kept me to a surface level of access to the Force, however, ensuring that I couldn’t travel back to it. Ensuring I couldn’t leave. I recognised Aheka’s twisted Force signature in it. She was powerful, and it was likely I wouldn’t be able to break the layer of protection she wove around my mind. The soft callused hand caressing my cheek as Aheka called me back assured me of it.

I smiled, knowing they were too late anyway.

By now, most of the drugs had left my system, evacuated by my hard-at-work organs. And yet, when I opened back my eyes to face my former Master, the scene felt fuzzy, far away. It felt disconnected, as if I was seeing the confused room through dark lenses, hearing the worried words directed at me with dampeners. It was like a blinking screen whose wire had been pulled out, then plugged back in but wrong, and now the connection was off.

Perhaps a good technician would have been able to fix it, but all the good technicians were dead. For an instant, I was very glad to have ensured that. Then the thought sank back underwater, disappearing into the black hole of my past turmoil. My sense of time must have joined it as well, for everything seemed to move strangely fast. Aheka had left my side already, leaving to do who knows what, and Pat was now the one trying to get answers from me. I felt numb, uncaring in a way that made me blissfully floaty.

They tore me away from the Force, but little did they know…

They never fully brought me back.

I didn’t want to be.

So I stopped.

#ANNNNNGST #the best kind #the one i love to read and write xd #(sorry Pat) #(and thanks again for your sacrifice) #(without whom i'd have never been able to play like that with my character) #angstpril2023 #fanfiction #starwars #day19 #breaking down #whumpril2023 #whumprilday19 #the amazing adventures of excentrics jedi #taaoej #star wars #sinvulkt fics #star wars fanfiction #suicidal thoughts #I guess #it's not explicitly so #but evil au sin post-pinioning is passively suicidal so better safe than sorry