#& i did not say a single unkind word to them

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 17

Pairings: Bucky x reader AU 🥰🥰

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Sad steve, a little angst, fluff 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

A/N: ugh finally is all i gotta say

Masterpost

Steve stepped into the apartment quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. The living room was dimly lit, a single lamp casting a soft glow. Sam was sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, the TV playing a muted rerun of an old sitcom. He looked up as Steve entered, his brows knitting together in concern.

“Did you find her?” Sam asked, sitting up and setting the popcorn aside.

Steve nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. She was sitting on a park bench not too far from here.”

Sam leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “And? She okay?”

Steve hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before walking over to the couch. He sank down beside Sam, exhaling deeply. “She knows,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with resignation.

Sam froze, his jaw tightening. “Knows what?”

Steve looked down at his hands, clasping them tightly as if trying to hold himself together. “That I’m in love with her.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sam sat back, his expression unreadable as he processed the weight of Steve’s words. Finally, he cleared his throat. “And what did she say?”

Steve let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “She said she doesn’t love me back. I asked her if she thinks she ever could, and…” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before continuing. “She said at one point, maybe. She believes she could have. But now, with everything going on with Bucky…”

Sam nodded slowly, his eyes softening with sympathy. “Man, I’m sorry.”

Steve leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes as the ache in his chest deepened. “It’s eating me alive, Sam. Knowing that if I’d just made a move sooner, she could’ve been with me. Maybe she wouldn’t be so hung up on Bucky. Maybe we could’ve been happy.”

Sam let out a slow breath, choosing his words carefully. “Steve… you can’t do that to yourself, man. You can’t sit here and play the what-if game. Trust me, it doesn’t help. And honestly? If I’m being real with you, this was always going to happen.”

Steve frowned, his eyes opening to meet Sam’s. “What do you mean?”

Sam gave him a sad smile, his tone gentle but firm. “The universe was always gonna have it be her and Bucky. You’ve gotta know that. They’ve got that messy, complicated, meant-to-be kind of thing. And yeah, it sucks for you—it sucks for anyone standing on the outside looking in—but some things just… are.”

Steve looked away, his jaw tightening. “It doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Sam nodded, understanding the weight in Steve’s voice. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared at the muted TV. “No, it doesn’t. And it’s not gonna for a while. But you’ve gotta find a way to live with it, man. Letting it eat at you? That’s not gonna do you any good.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a heavy sigh. “I thought… I thought maybe if I just held on, if I waited long enough, she’d see me. But she never has, not like I see her.”

Sam leaned forward again, his tone firm but not unkind. “Steve, you can’t do that to yourself. I know it hurts, but you’re stuck in a shitty situation. The universe has always been rigged for her and Bucky. That’s not on you.”

Steve’s lips twitched in a faint, bitter smile. “You think so?”

Sam nodded. “Oh, I know so. Hell, I figured it out back in college.”

Steve glanced at him, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Sam gave him a pointed look. “Remember when I asked her out that one time?”

Steve’s eyes widened slightly, the memory rushing back. “Of course, I remember. You came back, said it wasn’t gonna work, and then you two were best friends from then on.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, that’s because thirty minutes into the date, I realized she wasn’t just talking about Bucky—she was glowing every time his name came up. I sat there thinking, ‘How the hell did I not see this before?’” He paused, his voice softening. “Doesn’t matter what she says or doesn’t say about him. She’s always been his, Steve. And I think he’s always been hers too. They’re just too damn stupid to admit it.”

Steve sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. “You’re probably right.”

Sam smirked, shaking his head. “Oh, I know I am. You should’ve seen Bucky that night I took her out. He didn’t say anything, but the guy didn’t sit still for hours. He kept pacing around our dorm like he was waiting for her to come back. And once I started hanging out with you and Bucky more, it was even clearer. Bucky looked at her like she hung the stars, and she was over there looking at him like he was her entire world. You couldn’t miss it.”

Steve leaned back, rubbing his hands over his face. “So why didn’t he do anything? Why didn’t she?”

Sam shrugged. “That’s just who they are. Stubborn as hell, both of them. And I think part of it is fear, you know? They’re both so scared of losing what they have that they’ve been too chicken to reach for more. But, Steve, that’s not on you. It’s not your fault they’ve been stuck in this endless loop.”

Steve’s lips pressed into a thin line, his blue eyes clouded with doubt. “Doesn’t make it easier to watch.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Sam agreed. “But here’s the thing—you’re not second best, Steve. You’re not just a fallback option, and you shouldn’t let yourself feel like one. If it wasn’t meant to be with her, that’s on the universe, not you.”

Steve let out a small, bitter laugh. “That’s easy for you to say.”

Sam gave him a pointed look. “Not as easy as you think. But I’ll tell you this—there’s a world of people out there who would give anything to have someone like you in their corner. Someone who sees them the way you see her. And maybe one day, you’ll find someone who looks at you the way she looks at Bucky. She may be closer than you think….You deserve that, Steve. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Steve’s chest tightened at Sam’s words, but he nodded slowly, the truth of them settling in. “Thanks, man.”

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a warm, reassuring smile. “Anytime. And hey, remember—there’s plenty of fish in the sea. You just gotta let yourself cast the line.”

Steve let out a weak laugh, but there was a hint of hope in it. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Sam said firmly. “Now, ill grab us a beer and lets figure out what the hell we’re doing tomorrow because I’m pretty sure the group’s about to implode.”

Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Sounds about right.”

The two friends settled back into the couch, the weight of the conversation still lingering but lighter now. And as Steve stared at the muted TV, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Sam was right.

College First year

It was a crisp fall evening, the kind where the air had just enough of a chill to make you wish you’d brought a scarf. The campus was alive with chatter and laughter, students hurrying to and from the dining halls or bundling up for late-night study sessions. You’d agreed to go on a date with Sam, mostly because Wanda and Natasha had been relentless about it.

“Come on,” Natasha had said, practically throwing your coat at you. “He’s great. He’s charming. And let’s be honest, he’s got arms that could carry you out of a burning building.”

You’d rolled your eyes but agreed. Sam had always been easy to talk to, Steve said he was the better roommate out of him and Bucky, so that was a good sign and you figured if nothing else, it would be a fun night.

When he showed up to pick you up, he greeted you with his signature warm smile, a casual button-up, and a bouquet of flowers that was just the right mix of thoughtful and not overly formal. “Ready to go?” he asked, offering his arm.

The two of you ended up at a cozy Italian restaurant just off campus. It was charming, with string lights and the soft hum of an acoustic guitar playing in the background. The warm glow of the string lights outside the building made it feel like a scene straight out of a rom-com. Sam opened the door for you with a playful bow.

“After you, milady,” he said, flashing that signature grin that had most girls on campus swooning.

You rolled your eyes but smiled back. “Don’t push your luck, Wilson.”

Sam was, as expected, funny and kind, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. You laughed about your classes, swapped embarrassing stories about your friends, and commiserated over the sheer insanity of trying to balance everything college threw at you. He was cracking jokes and telling stories that had you laughing so hard you nearly spilled your water more than once.

“So, let me get this straight,” you said, trying to keep a straight face as Sam recounted an embarrassing story from his freshman year. “You really thought sneaking a chicken into your dorm room was a good idea?”

Sam held up his hands defensively. “In my defense, it was my chicken. His name was Nugget, and he was a gift from my uncle. You don’t just abandon family.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I don’t think a chicken counts as family, Sam.”

“Clearly, you’ve never owned a chicken,” he quipped, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin.

As the food arrived, the conversation shifted to classes, mutual friends, and campus gossip. Everything felt easy—until Sam tilted his head, his playful smile fading slightly.

But somewhere between the second course and dessert, Sam tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “You know, I’ve noticed something about you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh no. What? Is it the way I hold my fork? Natasha said it’s weird.”

Sam snorted, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s just… you talk about Bucky a lot.”

Your fork froze mid-twirl, and you blinked at him. “I do not,” you said quickly, your voice a little too defensive. “Do I?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant as your heart skipped a beat.

Sam nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. I mean, I get it—you’ve been friends forever. But it’s not just that. It’s the way you talk about him. And the way your eyes kinda… linger when you bring him up.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you quickly looked down at your plate, twirling spaghetti around your fork. “It’s not… I mean, Bucky and I, we’re just friends. Best friends, that’s all we’ve ever been.”

Sam gave you a look, one that was both knowing and a little amused. “I'm sensing that maybe someone, not naming names, is feeling a little more than just friends?” He paused, his smile fading into something more serious “Does he know?”

Your stomach twisted, and you set your fork down, your appetite suddenly gone. “No,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “And please don’t tell him. I don’t even know what I want, and the last thing I need is for him to know that I’m…”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “In love with him?”

Your head shot up, and you glared at him, though there wasn’t much heat behind it. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Sam said gently, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know how I didn’t put two and two together before, but it’s written all over you.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your temples. “Well, great. Now you know my secret. Are you gonna tell him?"

Sam laughed, reaching across the table to gently tap your hand. “Hey, I won’t. But… you should probably figure out what you want. For your sake, not his. I don’t think I’m the guy you’re supposed to be out with tonight.”

You felt a pang of guilt, but Sam’s easy grin quickly soothed it. “Sam, I’m sorry—” You sighed, your fingers gripping your fork tightly. “It’s not that simple, Sam. Bucky and I… we’re complicated. And I’m not even sure he thinks of me like that.”

Sam let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Man, you’re both blind as hell. But hey, that’s not my business.” He reached across the table giving your hand a squeeze “Don’t be, I’m glad we did this. I mean, it’s not every day you go on a date and realize the person you’re with is completely hung up on their best friend. But hey,” he added, his smile widening, “I can already tell we’re gonna be the best of friends.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing from your shoulders. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” Sam said with confidence. “You’re stuck with me now.”

He leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Now, if you’re done breaking my heart with all this Bucky talk, I have an important question for you.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “What question?”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asked, completely serious.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “What?”

“Ghosts,” Sam repeated, his grin widening. “It’s a make-or-break question for me. We can’t be friends if you’re one of those ‘ghosts aren’t real’ people.”

You laughed, the tension from earlier easing slightly. “I don’t know, Sam. I’ve never seen one.”

“Classic ghost-denier response,” he said with mock disappointment. “But it’s okay. I’ll convert you.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “What are you, the Ghost Whisperer?”

“Exactly,” he said, winking. “And by the end of the semester, you’ll be a believer too.”

The rest of the evening was spent walking around campus, talking about everything and nothing. Sam made you laugh so hard your sides hurt, and by the end of the night, you felt lighter—like you’d gained not just a friend, but someone who truly understood you.

As he walked you back to your dorm, he gave you a warm hug, whispering, “Don’t wait too long to figure out what you want, alright?”

You nodded, feeling both grateful and a little overwhelmed. “Thanks, Sam. For everything.”

“Anytime, Ghost Denier,” he teased, pulling back and giving you a mock salute. “Now go figure out your complicated Bucky situation before I have to knock some sense into both of you.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you opened your door. “Goodnight, Sam.”

“Goodnight, Y/N” he said , turning and walking down the hall. “And remember—ghosts are real!”

As you closed the door, his words echoed in your mind. Figure out your Bucky situation. If only it were that simple.

The city was quieter now, the usual hum of nightlife softened as you made your way back to your apartment. It was late, the chill in the air biting at your skin as you wrapped your coat tighter around you. Natasha’s words echoed in your head, their weight pressing heavily on your chest. Stop wasting time.

When you reached your building, your hands were shaking—not from the cold but from the uncertainty of what waited for you inside. You hesitated for a moment, staring at the door, before finally gripping the handle and pushing it open.

The apartment was dark, save for the faint glow of the lamp in the living room. Bucky was still there, sitting on the couch in the same spot you’d left him hours ago. His posture was slouched, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. But now, his eyes were red and puffy, the streaks on his cheeks betraying the tears he’d shed.

His head snapped up when he heard the door close. For a moment, neither of you said anything. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, your gaze fixed on the floor as you tried to steady your breathing.

You swallowed hard and turned back toward the door, pressing your back against it as you shut your eyes tightly for a moment. You inhaled deeply, gathering the courage you needed, and when you finally opened your eyes again, you faced him.

“Do you mean it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the weight of everything unsaid.

Bucky blinked, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He stood slowly, his hands hanging at his sides, and took a tentative step closer. His voice was hoarse when he spoke, raw with emotion.

Bucky’s voice cracked as he answered, “It’s the only thing I’ve ever meant.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them wrapping around you like a second skin. You stared at him, your breath hitching as every wall, every defense you’d built, threatened to crumble under the sincerity in his voice.

He stepped closer, his movements slow, like he was afraid any sudden motion would shatter the fragile moment between you. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “I’ve loved you since the day you tied your shoe in kindergarten and told me you’d be my best friend forever.” A hollow, broken laugh escaped him. “I think I loved you even before I understood what love was.”

Your lip quivered as tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over. “Bucky…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I mean it, doll,” he said, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. “Every girl, every date, every time I tried to move on—I couldn’t. Because none of it felt right. None of them were you.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the sheer honesty in his gaze cutting through every doubt, every fear.

Your voice broke as you finally said, “You can’t just say this now, Bucky. Not after everything.” You wiped at the tears streaming down your face, frustration mixing with the flood of emotions. “Do you know how hard it’s been? To watch you with other girls, to convince myself that what I felt didn’t matter because you didn’t feel the same?”

He winced like your words physically hurt him. “I know,” he said softly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve been such a coward. I’ve spent years too scared to say it, too scared to ruin what we had, and instead, I ruined it anyway.”

You shook your head, tears spilling over as you looked away, your voice rising. “You didn’t just ruin it. You hurt me, Buck! You let me believe I was just your backup, your best friend who didn’t measure up to everyone else.”

His voice cracked as he took another step forward. “You were never my backup. You’ve always been my first choice—always. I’m just an idiot who didn’t know how to show it.”

You let out a sharp laugh, the kind born from heartbreak and exhaustion. “And Steve?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Did you ever think about what telling me about him would do? How I’m supposed to face him now, knowing what I know?”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “I know I shouldn’t have said it. I know it wasn’t my place, but I was desperate. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you again—to Dean, to Steve, to anyone.”

“Steve doesn’t deserve this,” you said, your voice softening, your heart aching for the friend who had loved you quietly and selflessly for years. “He’s been nothing but good to me.”

“I know,” Bucky said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s why I hate myself for saying anything. But I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I couldn’t watch you slip away again.”

You pressed your hand to your chest, feeling the frantic beat of your heart as his words washed over you. “You don’t understand what this does, Bucky. To us. To all of us. What if this destroys everything, friendships...”

He closed the distance between you, his hands reaching out but stopping short, hovering near yours. His voice was low, desperate. “Maybe it will. Maybe we’ll burn everything to the ground. But I can’t lie to you anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t feel this—don’t feel you—like a part of me I can’t live without.”

The dam finally broke. You couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I love you too,” you cried, the words spilling out in a rush, raw and unfiltered. “I’ve loved you for so long it hurts. But I don’t know how to trust this, Bucky. How do I know you won’t hurt me again?”

“You love me” He breathed out like it was his last breath, he blinked away the tears of relief his hands finally found yours, his touch warm and grounding. “You don’t,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “But I swear to you, I will spend the rest of my life proving I won’t.”

The tears were falling freely now, both yours and his, as the weight of everything settled between you. His hands tightened around yours, and he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. “I’m all in, sweetheart,” he whispered. “No more games. No more running. Just us.”

The room felt like it was spinning, your heart pounding so hard it hurt, but when your eyes locked with his, everything else disappeared. In those piercing blue depths, you saw it. The truth. The love. The promise. The years of unspoken feelings and tangled emotions were laid bare between you, and for the first time in so long, you let yourself believe it—believe him.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up, surging forward, your lips crashing into his with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of you. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a release, a culmination of years of pain, longing, and unsaid words. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, clutching him like a lifeline, while his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in so tightly it felt like he was trying to meld you into him.

The kiss was messy, frantic, and raw. His lips were warm, firm yet trembling with emotion as they moved against yours. His hands roamed, one tangling in your hair while the other settled on your waist, holding you steady against him. You could feel the desperation in the way he kissed you, the silent plea for you to believe him, to stay, to never leave again.

You broke the kiss for a second, gasping for air, but Bucky didn’t let you go. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours as you both stood there, trembling. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn’t even realized were still falling.

“Doll…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You and me… we can make this work. We have to.”

The intensity in his voice, the sheer vulnerability in his gaze, made your chest tighten painfully. You nodded, your tears blurring your vision, but a soft laugh escaped you—shaky, but real. “You and me, Buck. Always.”

A flicker of a smile broke across his face, small but genuine, as if he could barely believe this moment was real. His arms tightened around you, pulling you so close that you could feel the steady thrum of his heart against your chest.

“I’m never letting you go,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. His lips brushed yours again, this time slower, softer. It was as if he was trying to memorize the feel of you, the taste of you, as if he couldn’t quite trust that you were truly his.

Your hands slid up to cup his jaw, your fingers grazing the faint stubble on his cheeks. You deepened the kiss, letting it linger this time, savoring every second. His lips were gentle yet unyielding, like he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into the way he kissed you. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise.

When you finally pulled away again, your breathing uneven, he rested his forehead against yours once more. His voice was soft but resolute, every word laced with a quiet, unshakable certainty. “We’ll be okay. We’ll always be okay. It’s us.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you, and for the first time in years, you felt truly whole. “It’s us,” you repeated, your voice a whispered vow.

[aropride]

this post was a game changer for me. thank you ryan reynolds

[beneathashadytree]

A TASTE OF HONEY - SYLUS QIN X READER

Warnings : insecurities & body image issues, chubby & curvy!reader, mentions of stretch marks, body worship, praise kink, marking, very mild breast & nipple play, implied cunnilingus, reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns!

Genre : smut n loooots of comfort☹️🫶🏽

Word count : 1.4K words

Additional notes : This was a paid commission I made of a lovely OC with Sylus, and this version is just the slightly more non-specific version I took permission from my commissioner to post, so that all fem!readers can see what my commissions are like! If you’re interested let me know💗

Commissions are open here!

Tip jar!

Masterlist

“Another event, another dress with your name on it, sweetie.” Sylus’ grin as he walked into their bedroom would’ve almost been infectious, had her mood been entirely different than it currently was. Right now, though? His words seemed to have cast a curse onto her.

She had to fight against her growing irritation. It’s not his fault, he didn’t do anything to deserve it—unlike the majority of the times he’d earned her ire. This time, the dismayed feeling in her chest at the sight of the exquisite dress draped onto the back of the dresser’s chair was entirely because of her own racing thoughts.

“Skipping out tonight,” she simply mumbled under her breath, collapsing onto the bed with weary bones and an exhausted expression like she’d run a hundred miles. And she really had, just inside her head.

Sylus—ever perceptive Sylus—frowned at that, taking a seat at the edge of the bed beside her. “Tired?” Concern filled his eyes, and it only grew worse as she seemed to curl in on herself and burrow deeper into the mattress. “I could cancel.”

With a sigh, she shook her head “You’re Onychinus’ leader. You have to be there. My moods shouldn’t dictate whether or not you go.”

“You have the privilege of commanding me to do whatever you want. I say you abuse that right.” It was clear from his teasing tone that he was trying to get a lighthearted reaction from her, and upon receiving none, his voice turned softer. “Seriously, what’s wrong, darling?”

Her grip tightened on the bedsheet, blinking back the tears as she trained her gaze on her fingers. “I just… don’t want to wear that dress.”

Sylus was silent for a few moments, before he nodded. “Okay. Is it not to your liking?”

“Not really.” With a shuddering breath, she sniffled a little, trying to calm herself down as Sylus’ hand gently stroked her calves in a soothing motion. There was no point in getting so worked up after all, it’s always been the same. “Those types of dresses always show my stretch marks. They’re… kind of short. And tight. And weird-looking on me.”

Screw not getting worked up; her tears were dripping down her face at this point, her vision blurry and her heart heavy with each word that spilled forth. “It feels like every single one of these outfits makes my thighs look big, and my body’s not made for wearing them. It’s just… wrong, like I’m unworthy,” she choked on the last word in despair.

She could hear Sylus sighing, a twinge of sadness she’d never heard before lacing his words. “You couldn’t be more wrong.” Firm in tone, yet not unkind, her boyfriend leaned in and rubbed her forearms gently, making sure to meet her watery eyes as he did. “These dresses only show just how breathtaking you are, and how you belong by my side.” A crooked grin made its way on his face. “If anything, it feels like I have to earn my place next to you.”

“No! You—”

“See how absurd it sounds?” His deep voice was soft as he gently nudged her on her back, climbing in on top of her as his fingers delicately brushed back her hair. “I can never get enough of you. Of every inch of you. I almost refuse to believe you.” His gaze grew impossibly softer, voice even quieter, and his hand even gentler as it traced down her ear, rhythmically stroking at her neck. “But I know that really is what you’ve driven yourself to believe. And I can’t blame you for that.”

Wiping at her own cheeks, she tried her best to make herself feel less sorry. “It’s no one’s fault but mine. It’s not like anyone else has been telling these things to me.” What on earth was she doing, crying to him over dresses? Or her appearance at some stupid events? Or was it simply her body? She didn’t know at this point. All she knew was that she wanted to stop feeling so distraught over something so…

Before she could continue that train of thought, Sylus had silenced her rushing brain with a slow, open-mouthed kiss and a steady grip on her waist. Even now, he was ever the tease, nipping at her lower lip and huffing out a fond laugh as he heard her breath hitch, before pulling back. In half-defeat, he said, “Maybe I’m the one to blame for neglecting to remind you of what I think of you.”

He peppered kisses down her jaw and to her neck, his teeth grazing and sucking at the warm skin there. With a hiss, her hand reached out to pull him closer by the back of his head, and all he could breathe out against her was a stilted, “How often I think of you.” Practiced hands almost blindly pulled down the strap of her silk slip for more access, as he left his bold marks across her neck. His hair tickled her, but she reveled in the feeling even more as he traced a path down the top of her breasts.

They were heaving with the effort of having to pretend she wasn’t falling apart at the seams with his mere touch, and he let out a half-groan as his hand reached out to cup one, while he sucked more hickeys onto the flushed skin of the other. It was too much, but somehow not enough to ease the growing ache between her legs. “Sy,” she whispered, a plea in his name, quickly turning into a whimper of pleasure as his tongue boldly flicked at her nipple through the silk. “Don’t be cruel.”

“Mm. I could never. My pretty girl likes it when I indulge her, I know,” he muttered, ruby eyes flicking up to meet hers and pinning her down with just a gaze as he kneaded at her soft breasts through the thin fabric, his touch burning through her like wildfire. “Tell me where you want me. What you want me to do, to show you how I could never stop wanting you and your body.”

Swallowing thickly, her fingers dug into his silvery hair, like it was second nature, guiding him where she needed him the most. “Want your lips on me, please,” she whispered, as if it were explanation enough for the sudden dizzying heat of the room, and her eyes swimming with unwrought desire. “Tell me you want me like this. I… I need it. Need you.”

The chuckle that spilled from Sylus’ lips was lovesick, and then his large palms pushed her smooth slip up to her waist and expertly tugged down the ruined lacy underwear. “As if I could stop wanting someone so divine.” He sweetly kissed her navel, then completely diverted from his path for a second to squeeze at her thighs, hooking them up on his broad shoulders.

Even between her legs, he looked invincible—more so when he maintained their intense, passion-riddled eye contact as he suckled at the skin of her inner thighs. “So sweet, so perfect right in front of me,” he sighed, almost in just as much pleasure as she was while he brushed his thumb back and forth near the apex of her thighs, mapping out every stretch mark under his adoring touch, and giving her hips a firm squeeze as his hands wandered everywhere they could reach.

Her head was filled with cotton, all her senses consumed by him and all he was. “I can spell out just what you want me to say with my tongue instead.” The very prospect of it sent even more molten heat pooling to her core. Sylus’ tongue would be her undoing. She knew it, her body knew it, and his grin that turned wicked meant that he could see perfectly well just how dripping wet the idea made her.

That smirk was almost predatory; like she was his prey, all prepped and prettily pinned for him. It shouldn’t have aroused her so badly, knowing that he’d torture her with sheer blinding pleasure and a sinful tongue, and yet she could feel herself clench around nothing. He was her undoing, and always would be, especially when his voice was such a low purr. “And you can ride my face until you can translate every filthy word. What do you say, sweetie?”

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[charmedreincarnation]

When I say that this journey is real, and our struggles are not in vain, I am shouting it from the rooftops. A month ago, I woke up with my dream life. Obsessed with the "void state", I woke up one day being the same person but with an entirely new life. All because I chose it.

Your efforts aren't going unnoticed. The universe is always on your side. You are the universe. It's been a month, and I still feel overwhelmed with joy and wonder every single day.

I was once poor and battling depression, a reality many can relate to. But we found the law because we knew we deserved more. You can be ordinary, flawed, even unkind, but you can choose to transform and have it all. And I did just that. My parents, who were illegal immigrants working underpaid jobs, are now wealthy and respected figures. My last name alone garners recognition, and I am a socialite earning money just by being me.

I used to live in an attic infested with cockroaches. Now, I reside in a four-story mansion, complete with exotic cars, house help, cooks, drivers - all treated and compensated fairly. We also own three other houses across the United States.

I was once insecure, severely underweight, and bullied. Today, not only am I stunningly beautiful, but I am also praised for my fashion sense. I was once a dull person, but now I am radiant with positivity.

I attended an underfunded school where I was bullied, and teachers lacked resources to intervene. Now, I study at a prestigious private school that assures my entry into an Ivy League university. Finally, I am respected and appreciated.

I was lonely and uninteresting. Now, I am vibrant with a close-knit group of friends and a man who seems straight out of a Wattpad story. He's perfect, and he's mine.

This transformation happened overnight. And I've been on this journey since 2020. But how??? I surrendered to my imagination!

The void was overwhelming, but now I can easily navigate it. I was tired of giving my power away. So, I gave in to myself, to my dreams. I knew I deserved it. Even if I didn't believe it at times, I made the choice. If you desire something, it's already yours. It's done.

I didn't have a list or anything of my desires, just a vision of happiness. I didn't know what it looked like, but I knew how it felt. Now, I embody that feeling every day. My life is a series of plot twists. It's not perfect, but my worst days now are what I once prayed for. That old life? POOF It's gone. All I have is now, and I'm living it to the fullest.

My advice?

Stop seeking proof. If you're looking for proof, you'll never manifest your dreams because the only thing that needs to change is self. Doubt is a reflection of your disbelief in yourself. When I surrendered to my imagination, it didn't matter who was lying or telling the truth, because I had my truth. The burden of proof lies within you. It's called the law of assumption. You might harbor some doubt, but you must have faith like the devout. They believe without proof. You can too! We all can! Believe in yourself, and the universe will conspire in your favor!!!!

I agree! Your words resonated with me a lot. Faith, particularly self-faith, is such an important tool in shaping our realities. The ability to trust ourselves, our desires, and our potential is essential in manifesting our dream life, and it’s only so beautiful to slowly see yourself give yourself all your trust when you’ve never even liked yourself.

You're spot on about the issue of seeking confirmation from others. It's an unnecessary hurdle that we give ourselves but it’s human nature. Our truths and dreams should not be validated by anyone else but us. As you said, why should it matter if someone lied or told the truth? We are the creators of our own lives and thus, the only validation we need comes from within.

And I wholeheartedly agree with your point about deservingness. We don't have to earn our desires or prove ourselves worthy of them. If we want something, that desire alone makes us deserving of it.

More importantly I am very proud and happy for you !!!! You’re a testament of what our own imagination can do for us and I hope you only keep getting happier and happier <3!!!!

[yuki2sksksk]

[ Trollhunter Guardian (Y/n) ]

Centuries ago

" There's a saying somewhere, to be careful when making deals with witches. " Angor Rot twirled the blade in his hands, sheathing them with a swift motion. " Lest one's fate be doomed. "

You raised your eyebrows but said nothing. The bodies of fallen knights around the two of you went ignored.

Angor continued. " You need something. " His firm, but not unkind tone indicated he was doing his role as the warrior of his village trolls, a protector he was.

His eyes trailed over to the mountain of sacks slumping over the roots of a tree behind you, the mixed scent of animal blood and greens could be detected easily with his enhanced scent. You shifted on your spot, tightening your grip on your magical staff.

" I bring animal coats that can be used for clothing material. " You offered, voice low. " Various herbs that can work on trolls too. You may find usefulness in my magical ability as well. "

Angor Rot turned his eyes back on you. Half a year since he last saw you, but the sharp and yet gentle gaze in your eyes still stirred something in him. He couldn't remember if he had ever seen you falter. Not now, even if you were just surrounded by men brandishing their weapons on you. You didn't falter at the slightest as you pierced their hearts with beams of magic, rendering them to a pile of corpses to be taken by the forest sooner or later.

He didn't need to ask what happened; not when the rims of your clothing were smeared with pinches of black, dusty ashes, and the loosely bandaged hands of yours that had charcoal like smell. Not when he recognized the kingdom symbols on the knights' armours, worn so proudly as they rode down to villages in search of their targets.

Certainly not when he knew of the fate that had befallen witches and magic involved creatures alike nowadays.

He walked over to you. " I'll put in good words for you with the elders. Lucky you, I have a room to spare. "

His steps paused at seeing the wave of relief washing over you so clearly. You exhaled a large breath, your knee buckling slightly and you ducked down your head.

" I didn't know where to go. I apologize for the trouble -- "

" Don't, " he said, kneeling down, " apologize for surviving. You did well. "

Angor Rot wouldn't mind if you cried, but the smile appearing on your face as you looked up at him rose a single thought that flickered in him even if it was just for a second; that he would do anything for you.

[originallandlockedmariner]

I’m nothing special.

I’m just flawed and weak as the next person. I let my emotions get the best of me at times. I’m not perfect. I read old messages looking for clues. I listen to old playlists of sad songs when I’m sad. I swear too much. Drink too much. I can be selfish and impatient. I’m a sarcastic asshole for alarmingly long periods of the day. I regret choices I’ve made, words I’ve said in anger, people I’ve let down. I’m no role model. Wow, there’s an understatement. But every day I own my shit. I’m accountable and humble. Every day, I try to just be a little bit better than yesterday. Becoming who you are is a life long journey, baby step after setback after stumble after lesson learned. Forever forward. Green and growing as they say.

I wake up and look at those four framed sentences. “Be impeccable with your word. Don’t take anything personally. Don’t make assumptions. Always do your best.” Simple and yet powerful.

Every day, I’m trying to see things differently. Gain perspective. Embrace not taking every single thing personally. Getting cut off in traffic, not personal. Waiting forever in line for coffee, not personal. It is an uphill climb getting comfortable with the concept that nothing others’ do is directly because of you or to upset you. People do what they do because of themselves. That’s it. Even when they treat you awfully or take you for granted, it has more to do with what’s going on with them than you. *insert lecture about Attribution Error.

As for assumptions, I kinda have a PhD in that field. Never met a situation, never had a conversation, never waited for a text, that I couldn’t attach an assumption to. Assumptions are generally born from misunderstanding and a fear of asking questions. Fear of what might be said. We lack courage to inquire so instead we stand back and fill the void with the worst. Draw from our past pain and create a narrative. I’m trying to break that cycle. Ask more questions. Communicate. Be clear and upfront. I can no longer assume others know what I mean or want and then get upset when they don’t act accordingly. It’s unfair to them and only serves to hurt me in the process.

I’m making integrity part of my daily practice. Speaking with integrity. Actions with integrity. And above all, avoiding the trappings of believing my own landslide of bullshit, being my own worst enemy, and justifying every blunder. Be better. Sidestep gossip and small talk. Apologize when you hurt someone. Accept that you’ll be wrong sometimes. Or in my case, a lot. Do what you say you’ll do. Character isn’t built upon what you said you’d do, but what you rolled up your sleeves and actually did.

As for always doing my best, I’m still figuring out what that animal looks like. I strive to be helpful, but sometimes when you’re always available, they take you for granted, not because they are selfish or unkind, but because they think you’ll always stay. Let them miss you for a while. This goes against everything I am but makes sense. I’ve also learned that there is no shame in being broken and anxious and sad. Be whatever you are right now. No need to make excuses or try to minimize the hurt, deny the confusion. You cannot learn about yourself if at first you aren’t frustrated and confused, the hard questions are born from this. You cannot heal without first being damaged. So be broken and anxious and sad. Cope however you need to; as long as you need to, for there is no instruction manual for this, we all make it up as we go along. Day by day and more often, minute by minute. So as for my best, I guess it is just knowing that when I put my head on the pillow, I gave all that I could, was kinder than I needed to be, inspired a few, and made sure the garage door is closed.

I’m nothing special. But I didn’t lose my shit on the drive into work, didn’t assume sporadic texts were anything but a busy day, and a couple people told me that they are grateful for me - so I’m gonna just go ahead and chalk today up as a win.

@originallandlockedmariner

[yo-yo-yungi]

MY LOVE, MY GRATITUDE - JEONG YUNHO - SFW

Yunho x reader

Genre: angst

Warning list: Angst- so you know, it ain’t happy. Mentions of a fall (no serious damage), mentions of a scar on the readers knee, mentions of food

Word count: 583

Summary: sometimes letters are made to be sent. Other times, letters are for the words we regret never saying.

Dear Yunho,

I wish I had sent this letter years ago, now it's too late. How am I supposed to confess when you look at her the way I look at you? Why did it take you only 2 months to ask her out, when I've been waiting for 10 years? Yunho, I've known you for so long, seen the good, the bad, and the ugly (yes, like the cowboys - yes, I'm a dork). We've known each other since we were 12 - is that the issue? Do you see me as a sister? I doubt it, especially since you kissed me at the Halloween party. Yes, you were drunk. No, I never mentioned it. But have I been thinking about it every second of every day since then? Yes.

I frequently revisit the photos of you stored on my phone. There are over 1,000 of them... you always had a habit of taking selfies whenever I left my phone unattended. Oh how I long for you to do that again.

When I look at photos, they can't compare to a single glance at you. Your beauty cannot be fully captured in an image; it's not the same as seeing you in person. Could you walk past me one last time? No need for a sly wink or even a glance my way, just walk... I'll be watching.

Did you watch the sunset with her as you did with me? I should have confessed my love to you then, should have expressed how those moments meant everything to me.

The little moments with you are etched into my memory like sacred scripture. I can’t look at a tulip without remembering the time you got me some for my birthday, I can't look at a toothbrush without remembering all our childhood sleepovers. Yunho, even my own desk brings back memories of you falling off the chair. But… worst of all, the one that bothers me the most… I can’t look at myself without thinking of you. You changed me, both physically and mentally. Like that scar that graces my knee from when you pushed me a little too hard and I fell to the concrete… I’m sorry by the way, that was my fault… I shouldn’t have said the cupcakes you made were ugly. I loved them… truly. Every time I see that mark on my knee I think of you. It’s not fair…

Whenever someone mentions my considerate nature, I think of you, because you were the one who taught me that. Before I met you, I was unkind and harsh. Why did you give me a chance? You, this beacon of positivity, why did you give me a chance? Is it selfish to wish you hadn't? Because now I'm left with an emptiness in my heart. It stings like a fresh wound - I understand this may not be the best metaphor, but I don't care.

Yunho, I'll put it simply-

I am absolutely, desperately, unconditionally in love with you and everything that you are. If I can turn back time and tell you how I felt before you met her- I would- but I can’t do that now… it’s selfish. You taught me that selfishness isn’t a good look on anyone.

Since I can't express my love for you, I'll express my gratitude instead. Thank you for shaping me into the person I am today. I'm also grateful for the lessons you've taught me about love. I'll cherish these memories forever.

<3

[dragon-kazansky]

Symphony of dreams

Morpheus x Female Reader

Once upon a time, a loving sister gave her brother a gift. That gift would be the most important thing he ever had, but it took a while to get there. Dream had no intention of falling in love, but when he fell, he fell hard.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Cuteness overload. A single use of Y/N.

Chapter Six - When the stars aligned

☆☆☆

Loneliness was not something Dream thought much about. He was very much focused on his role as the Dream Lord. There was not much else he took pleasure in.

Death was fond of humanity. All their quirks, wishes, and pleas. Each one was unique and different. They reminded her of her own family. Each with a different role to perform.

When Death looked at Dream, she saw the loneliness buried deep within but knew better than anyone, not to mention it. Yet, she couldn't ignore it. How could she pretend her brother was not suffering in silence.

Death swore to herself she would change this. She would help dissolve his loneliness. At first she attempted to simply spend tike with him, but she soon realised it wasn't enough.

As humanity began to grow, and learn, and love, she saw what he needed.

What could be more romantic than dreaming of love? Human or not, every living being was capable of such an emotion, even if they denied it.

To deny love was to deny yourself the pleasure of experiencing such feelings.

Dream pushed such feelings away.

Not any more.

Death was determined to find someone special. To find him his soulmate. He would know what happiness was in its purest form.

Death gave him a gift.

You.

A woman so warm and pure. You were not judgmental. You did not hold ill feelings without reason. You were not cruel, unkind, or dishonest. You were pure. You were true. You were perfect.

Death visited you with a wish.

"My brother is lonely. He does not know love. I want you to show him."

You had listened to her request.

☆☆☆

Dream had no idea why he had been summoned by his sister. When he came to her, he was not expecting to see her with anyone. His eyes lingered on you for a good few moments before he sat down in front of his sister.

"Brother."

"Sister."

The two looked at each for a moment. The silence was strange, heavy. Death smiled. You relaxed.

"What is it?" Dream asked.

"This is Y/N."

Dream turned his blue eyes back to you. You stated back at him. He was not quite what you were expecting. Long dark hair, sharp eyes, and sharper cheekbones. His skin was pale and smooth looking. His lips turned down in the corners as he looked at you.

"And?"

"I am giving her to you."

"I do not require a slave."

"Not a slave, brother."

"Then what?"

A few moments of silence pass between them. You remain quiet, watching.

"A companion?" He asks.

"A friend," Death smiles.

"I do not need friends."

"No? She is quite something. I think you'll grow fond of her. Quite fond of her."

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing," Death says, looking at him.

"You do not fool me, sister."

"Nor am I trying to."

Dream's eyes glide back over to you. You have not said a word. You have been watching, listening. He looks you up and down, not so subtly. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

He was so intimidating.

How were you supposed to show him love? This would not be easy.

"My answer is no."

Death sighs and looks at you. "I'm sorry about my brother. He is a moron. He will see sense."

Dream narrows his eyes slightly at you both.

"I understand." That's the only thing you say. You do not speak again. Dream does not want you. He knows Death knows he does not want you.

However, his sister was nothing if not persistent.

☆☆☆

"What are you doing here?" He asks, seeing you standing in his throne room.

"You sister let me come here."

"That was not her decision to make."

"I am sorry."

Dream looks at you. You avoid his eyes. Your hands are entwined in front of you. You look guilty.

"Jessamy will show you the way out."

"Jessamy?"

"My raven."

The raven in question came flying in and landed by your feet. She looked up at you with curiosity. Her master gave her a look, and she understood.

You looked back at Dream.

"Your sister told me you would try to get me to leave. She said to hold my ground. So I shall stay."

Dream narrowed his eyes at you.

"And who are you to defy what I want?"

"No one. I am no one of significance, but your sister is kind, and she asked me to do something. Do it, I shall try." You stand there determined.

"Do what?"

"Show you love."

Dream goes quiet. Your words go round in his head. Show him love? Nonsense. What would Death get out of that?

"Pity."

"Hm?"

"Does she pity me?" He asks softly.

"I do not think so. I think she worries."

"Worries? What for? I do not ask for such pointless things. My realm and I are doing just fine. She need not interfere."

"I do not see it as interfering," you say.

"Then what do you see it as?"

"An experience."

Dream falls quiet again. He regards you cautiously. A few moments of silence pass before he turns around and walks away.

☆☆☆

You stand on the bridge to the palace, looking out at The Dreaming. You have never seen anywhere so beautiful before. All these magical and wonderful things.

Dreams. Adventures. Stories.

It was wonderful. It's just simply wonderful.

"You may leave. You need only keeping following this road."

You do not turn around as he approaches from behind. You keep your eyes on the wonderful things around you. The bright sky, the dragon above you, the fairies flying over the bridge.

"I have no intention of leaving."

Dream looks at you. His face does not give away anything, but if you look hard enough in his eyes, you may catch a slight glimpse of amusement.

"No?"

"I was given to you by your sister as a gift. It would be rude to return a gift."

"People are not usually gifts," he says firmly.

"I'm special."

"How?"

"I shall live forever."

He looks at you curiously. Immortal? You truly were a gift then. One his sister intended for him to have forever. How interesting.

"I see."

You turn to look at him. "Can I explore?"

"The Dreaming?"

"Yes." You smile. "Can I see your realm?"

"Fine, but be careful. Dreams are not the only things that roam my kingdom. There are plenty of nightmares too."

You stare at him. "I am not afraid."

His lips twitch. "No?"

"Will you not guide me around your kingdom?" You ask.

"No."

You appear to deflate slightly. His rejection puts a damper on your mood. For some reason Dream does not like that look on you.

"Do as you wish."

With that, Dream walks away.

☆☆☆

You walk into the throne room and look up at the tall stained glass windows. Just below them sits a throne. You stop at the bottom of the steps to see the king sitting in his throne with a book in his lap.

"How was your walk?"

"What are you reading?" You avoid his question.

"A book."

"Yes, but what book?"

His eyes lift from the pages and focus on you. He closes the book carefully and holds it up in one hand. "Your book."

"My book?"

"Your life. I wanted to know where my sister found you and why she brought you to me."

"I told you."

He says nothing. Dream puts the book down and stands up. Slowly, he descends the stairs. "Do you know what I am? What my sister and I are?"

"You are Endless." You confirm. Death had told you all you needed to know. "There are others too. You are siblings."

Dream says nothing as he comes to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

"You are Dream. The lord of dreams and nightmares. When people go to sleep, they come here. You keep their dreams alive."

He remains silent.

"I think that's wonderful."

Dream looks like he wants to say something, but his attention is drawn to something behind you. You turn to fine Lucienne waiting to talk to her king.

You excuse yourself.

His eyes follow you.

☆☆☆

You have been in The Dreamkng for a little while now. Dream has since stopped suggesting you leave and find his sister. He just let's you be. He does not spend much time with you.

Dream works a lot, you have discovered. He puts a lot of his time into his realm and his duties. You do not see much of him. Just fleeting moments here and there.

One day, you find yourself in a gorgeous field. Grass so green it looks impossible. Trees so tall they do not look real. Life thrives in this meadow.

"How did you get here?"

You turn slowly and find the Dream Lord watching you. He looks so out of place here.

"I was walking and then... I was here."

"Impossible."

"Hm?"

"This is Fiddler's Green. Not just anyone can be here." Dream looks at you curiously. His mind is running with thoughts.

"I told you. I'm special."

Your smile stirs something deep inside him. As he looks at you, he feels like he is seeing you for the first time. True beauty in its purest form. He has never felt anything quite like it.

"What are you?" He asks.

"Human, or I was."

"Why did my sister grant you immortality?"

"So you would never be alone."

"Why?" He asks. He almost sounded like he was pleading.

"She wanted me to show you love."

He stares at you. He feels... lost.

"What is love?"

You smile again. Dream can not look away. Your smile is... beautiful. Why was something so small affecting him so much?

"Let me show you."

☆☆☆

Everything you did was unexpected to him. You had reached for his hand and did not let go. There was a smile constantly on your face as you walked with him through his palace.

He had never just walked through his realm before. He normally walked with a purpose, a job to do. You were walking with him simply because you wanted to.

"What are we doing?" He asks, not once taking his eyes off of you.

"Just walking."

"Where to?"

"No set destination. We're just going to walk together."

Your hand was smaller than his. So soft. So gentle. So warm. He glances down at your entwined hands, fascinated by the way they looked together.

"Sometimes you just need to walk and see."

He doesn't say anything as you both keep walking.

"What do you wish for?" You ask him.

"I have no wish."

"Everyone has a wish."

You look at him to see his expression as stoic as ever. Those eyes were hard to read, but somehow, you could understand him.

"Do you want to know my wish?"

"I feel you will tell me either way."

You giggle.

"I wish you were happy."

Now that caught him off guard. Of all things he thought you might say, that wasn't one of them.

"Who says I am not?" He asks you, his voice stern.

"Your sister. I also see that loneliness in your heart. Is it such a bad notion to let someone in?"

He stares at you.

Perhaps not.

"I don't need someone."

You smile.

Yes, you do.

☆☆☆

Dream sits with his back up against the tree. Your head rests in his lap. He's not sure how he came to this, but here he was. You were looking up at him with bright eyes.

"Do you not believe in love?"

He looks down at you. His lips slightly parted. You ask him the most strange questions sometimes.

"Of course I do. It is a fundamental part of human life."

"What of the Endless?"

"We do not need it."

"Is that what you think? I don't agree with you. I think you're scared of falling in love with someone."

"Scared?"

"Yes. It's foreign to you. You're not used to receiving it, nor giving it."

He states at you silently.

"I have so much love to give," you tell him. "Can I give it to you?"

Dream finds himself unable to think. He feels his heart racing in his chest. Why do you keep making him feel like this? What is this spell you have cast on him?

"Why?" He asks.

You smile. "Because I want to."

Dream states at you, breath caught in his throat, thoughts running wild in his head.

What if he let you?

What would happen?

☆☆☆

You smiled as you ran up behind him and hugged him from behind. He was startled by your sudden hug. Your arms wrapped around his torso and settled on his chest. He could feel you hide your face in his back.

Slowly, he reached up and placed his hands over yours.

"You sound happy."

You smile and look up, but remain behind him where he can not see you.

"I am."

"What happened? Why has such happiness befallen you?"

You chuckle.

"Jessamy told me something."

"Did she? What did she tell you?" He asks, curious about what his raven was sharing with you.

"She told me you were jealous when I left to visit Death. She said you were lonely without me."

Dream says nothing. He does nothing.

"Did you miss me?" You ask.

More silence.

"I'm back now. We can spend some time together. Shall we visit Fiddler's Green again?"

His hands remain enclosed around yours. A small smile appears on his lips.

"Yes please."

☆☆☆

Dream was in love.

You were dancing among the flowers singing a happy tune. You were so carefree and happy.

He was falling in love with you. Hard.

You took a deep breath, taking in the fresh air. The sun was shining down on you. This was your dream. It was beautiful, just like you. You looked... phenomenal.

You stop when you catch him looking at you.

You have been living in his realm for quite some time now. You had made this place your home. You belonged here, with him.

He loves you.

His heart yearns for you.

"What is it?" You ask, looking at him.

Dream walks over to you slowly. You stand there watching him. You're trying to read the expression on his face, but it is unlike any you have seen on him before. He reaches out and gently pulls you closer by your waist.

Your cheeks tint pink. You can feel your heart racing.

"Marry me."

Your eyes widen. You stare at him. Did he say what you think he said? You're not quite sure. He's staring at you intensely.

"Huh...?"

"Marry me," he says again, even more firmly.

You stare at him for a moment before you smile and wrap your arms around his neck. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes.

You take the chance to kiss him.

He loves you.

☆☆☆

You look up at your husband with a smile. He smiles back at you. His arm is snug around your waist as she holds you close to him. The light filters through the stained glass windows, casting you in a beautiful glow.

"You're beautiful."

You blush softly.

"You're beautiful," you tell him.

Dream paused. He had never been told that before. He began to smile again.

"I love you," he whispers.

You smile and caress his cheek. "I love you too, Morpheus. Now and always."

Dream leaned into your touch.

The Dream Lord did believe in love. He believed in your love. He would have to make sure to thank his sister when he saw her next.

For now, he was going to show you just how much he loved you.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @mischievousvillainy - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy - @emarich7 - @lollipopsandlandmines - @mouth-whore -

[scaryspears]

Earth 42 Miles x Telekinetic Autistic (Black) Reader

Notes: The Reader was inspired by Carrie. Why? I wanted to do a black reader with super powers, but I didn't want to write her like other black readers have been written with 42 Miles. I just can't relate with how they speak or the situations. This isn't to say she will be a sweet, precious thing, just odd.

You had a bunch of issues. First, you were a target for harassment, verbal most of the time. Vandalism was rare, but it did often happen. Your locker would be painted with unkind words, and a pencil would be missing from your pencil case and you could never point out who took it but you always had a suspicion. It wasn't too bad, depending on who you compared yourself to, but it still hurt. It was still bothersome.

You had to wonder what made you such a great and easy target in the first place. Your habit of wearing the same clothes everyday, sleeping in class, and taking things too literal. Even worse, you were too gullible. A genius would've just said these were your autistic traits, but too bad you didn't know that at the time. The many times you attempted to be different didn't work out, always setting a standard. So you gave up, counting the days until graduation. Hoping that it would come sooner than expected.

There was only one worthwhile thing in school and that was art class. Not too many people present. You weren't amazing with drawing or art in general, fairly decent, but it was the only class with any peace in it. The least judgemental lesson. In every art class you sat behind Miles Morales, and you would find yourself staring at his back. At his pretty braids.

You always liked boys with long hair, and Miles was no different. This day was no different, quiet as always and slow. It would be most preferable if you didn't make your crush obvious.

"Are you going to keep staring at me or are you gonna look away?" You heard him speak. He didn't even have to look over his shoulder.

You blinked hard, "Hmm?"

"You're staring. Stop." he didn't sound angry from what you could hear, but his tone wasn't pleasant either.

You immediately did as he asked. You tried to focus on your sketches, drawing pictures of magical girls from your favourite childhood cartoons, then drawings of more serious things. The Prowler had been on the news again, reporters painting him in good and bad light. He saved two teenagers from a burning building, others say he caused the fire. But teenagers always did stupid things, and you would know from being one. Just thinking about it made the windows crack a little.

"Look at the windows!" one of the boys spoke, pointing.

Everyone else, except Miles, either got up to have a closer look or sat in wonderment from their seat. You feigned surprise as best as you could, you've long since learned that you weren't good at faking expressions. The teacher ordered everyone to start packing up, safety being the number one priority. There was no reason for the windows to break by themselves, and you contemplated if you should stop.

As you stared at the window you slowly started packing your equipment, watching the cracks reach the corners and edge until every single one of them smashed entirely. It was like lifting an eyebrow, some could do it naturally and others couldn't.

"Alright, everyone out!" the teacher called.

Your classmates were already rushing out of the room, but only Miles remained sitting while you stood looking at the broken glass on the ground.

"[LN], Morales! Time to go!" the teacher called.

You left the room, but halfway through the door you heard Miles say behind you, "Serena had a party last night."

You started fiddling with your top, dreading what he would say. "Okay."

"What were you doing that night?" he asked coolly.

That party. That damned party.

"I got invited, and then I left." that was the truth.

"So you weren't there, when Jordan..." he grabbed your arm, "Threw his drink at you."

That's not all that happened. They threw food at you, and your clothes became stained. You dressed special for that day, hopeful, unfortunately expectant.

"I..." you tried to pull your arm away.

"How did that fire happen?" he turned you to face him. You averted your eyes. Miles' eyes were beautiful but the way they bore into your soul was most unkind.

You had heard that artists were weird. They either did weird things or had something weird about them. Maybe this was another occasion. You tried to forget about these powers. Even though you have embraced that there was something wrong strange about you.... you couldn't help the need to be decently normal deep down. Now these powers just had to bite at your behind.

"What fire?"

"Don't play stupid, you've seen the news. Serena and Jordan are now in the hospital, the others might still be in a coma."

"How is that my problem?" you asked, your cruel side demanding attention.

Miles was mildly impressed with your response, the grip on your arm loosening. "It isn't," he admitted, "I just know the fire wasn't natural."

"I don't know what happened to them."

He let go of your arm, "Fine."

You walked away.

If you ever wanted to grab the attention of Miles Morales, you didn't want to grab it like this. You weren't sure if your classmate suspecting you of arson should be something to worry about.

"I can't blame her if she did do it, I mean I don't think I should go around killing my classmates, but can you believe they decided to live stream it?" Miles removed the screwdriver from his claw.

Miles' uncle, Aaron, sighed, "Kids as old as you run wild, boys most of all. Girls are different, they go out of their way to plan stuff. I don't know what to tell you."

"I worry about her, tio. She really didn't do anything to... warrant that behaviour."

This, Aaron knew what to say to. "Sometimes people don't need a reason to do something, they'll just do it. That hazing thing was a classic example of that." he tossed a drill to Miles, "Was there a chance she got any clue what they were planning?"

Miles shook his head aggressively, "I don't think she understands basic human interactions even if she tried, I've seen how she is. All they did was smile in her face when they invited her. Smiles are a good thing, and it takes her a while to pick up on the fact that she's getting made fun of."

"Look out for her, then. If she really has something to do with that fire like you suspect, then this could turn bad. Women can be crazy, Miles."

"Okay. I will, tio."

Some days passed since the minor interrogation with Miles, and though he seemed to pretend you no longer existed, you could feel his eyes on you. You tried to be on your best behaviour, and you've had better control of your powers ever since he brought up the incident. You didn't want to be suspected of a single crime.

Upon this suspect-tion came sleepless night, which led to sleeping in class.

"[Name]." sounded faint, like the screams that only felt regret from fear and not guilt.

"[Name]." it was louder this time. A warning for your attention. You search through the heat for where it was coming from.

"[Name.]" This time there was no mistaking it, this voice was not from the dream.

Wherever you were, there was no escaping that fire. Although you had gotten so used to the dreams, you couldn't help your eyes tearing up. You made sure to turn your face away from whoever had shook your shoulder.

You weren't sad or scared, but you couldn't help it. Something about being unable to regulate your emotions.

"[Name.]" the person hadn't left, and now that you were no longer as sleepy you recognised whose voice it was.

"Hey, Miles."

"Hey." he greeted.

He hadn't moved back to his seat, so you looked up to his face, waiting for him to potentially say more, this time not averting your eyes.

He did have more to say, "You're a Tokyo Mew Mew fan." he looked down at your sketchbook, which was still open.

You quickly covered it with your arms, glaring at him. Daring him to say something about your long lasting interest.

"I'm going comic con this Saturday. Do you wanna come?"

His face, and his eyes, were kind. But you couldn't help suspiciously being on edge.

"I don't know." left your lips quicker than it usually did.

He didn't appear disappointed, judging by the lack of expression on his face. He glanced to the side, "Class finished five minutes ago, by the way."

So that's why it was so quiet.

"Can I walk you to lunch?"

Yes. No. What was the correct answer?

"I don't know." you couldn't come up with a better response.

For whatever reason he smiled, or smirked(?). For better or for worse.

"Come on, I'll make sure you get there safely."

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Feeling cute, might do a part 2.

[yumekittyships]

♡ an in depth analysis on floch forster's character ♡

{ very tired of people treating floch like a fascist nxzi, so i have decided to write this. please note that i am not agreeing with the things he did. this is an examination and analysis of a fictional, non-existent character. you do not have to agree with me, but please keep any hateful or unkind comments to yourself! }

- First and foremost, I'd like to address how I feel that Floch reached the point of the man he'd become in the events of the final season. I'd like to note that, when the events of the final battle at shiganshina happened, Floch was only 15. In addition, he is the ONLY person from that mission that lived to remember Erwin's final speech. It's also important to note that Erwin is not meant to be a good person. He is written as a man who sends child soldiers to their deaths on suicide missions for "the greater good". This is not an attack on Erwin's character, but I firmly believe that this detail is important in Floch's development.

- Now, I'd like to touch on Erwin's character a bit. Anyone who knows Attack On Titan knows that it is a story that is not meant to paint any one side as good or bad. The moral grounds of any given character are more or less very grey, and open to interpretation by the viewer. Erwin, despite being a commander, is not meant to be a good person. That said, I'm not saying he is meant to be a bad person either. That is entirely up to viewer discretion. What i will state about Erwin are the facts. He has sent hundreds of soldiers on suicide missions, he has used his soldiers as bait, he is 100% the type of man that treats his soldiers as sacrificial lambs for a greater cause. Commander Erwin can be viewed as an island devil with justifiable reason. I believe that this is what Floch saw him as.

- Now, before anyone gets mad and says Floch never thought Erwin was a devil, I encourage you to continue reading and/or give Floch's arc a rewatch. He and his comrades learned of the Marleyans, and learned how lowly they thought of Eldians. He learned that Marleyans viewed Eldians as "filthy island devils". This is where Erwin's influence comes into play. The final battle at shiganshina was a MASSIVE turning point for Floch, because it was likely the single most traumatizing and life changing thing he had ever experienced. He was the singular, sole survivor, having watched every last one of his comrades AND his commander die at the hands of one of the Marleyans. Now I will leave Erwin's speech here for reference.

Everything that you thought had meaning: every hope, dream, or moment of happiness. None of it matters as you lie bleeding out on the battlefield. None of it changes what a speeding rock does to a body, we all die. But does that mean our lives are meaningless? Does that mean that there was no point in our being born? Would you say that of our slain comrades? What about their lives? Were they meaningless?... They were not! Their memory serves as an example to us all! The courageous fallen! The anguished fallen! Their lives have meaning because we the living refuse to forget them! And as we ride to certain death, we trust our successors to do the same for us! Because my soldiers do not buckle or yield when faced with the cruelty of this world! My soldiers push forward! My soldiers scream out! My soldiers RAAAAAGE!

- These final words are something Floch carries with him, and even references later on in the show iirc. Even later during Erwin's memorial service, Floch says something along the lines of "I know I'm just titan fodder, that my life is meaningless,". This shows how much Erwin, and his time as a solider affected him. He has internalized the belief that he is an expendable body in the field, that it is his duty to die for the cause. Floch decides later on that the cause worth dying for is protecting Eldia, at ANY cost. He does not have any regard for the lives that will be lost, because he has been taught and shown that death is inevitable, and has internalized the belief that everyone must sacrifice themselves for the greater good. If not everyone, then at least himself. This is proven by his sheer resilience and the way he fought until the bitter end, even knowing he wouldn't make it out alive.

- Why did Floch choose to become a yeagerist instead of being part of the alliance? That much is simple. We can assume from canon interactions between him and Eren that the two were close when it came down to the final years before the rumbling. Not necessarily close as friends, but as comrades. We can also assume that Eren passed on his beliefs to Floch, that Eldia would fall if it did not defend itself against Marley. I believe it's during this time that Floch decides that, in order to save Eldia, he must become the devil that the Marleyans say he is. This belief is only solidified by looking back at Erwin, and the sacrifices he made, the soldiers he sent to their deaths, all for the sake of Eldia's future.

- Floch grew to be ruthless towards the enemy and anyone who stood in his way, because in his eyes, it was the only way to save Paradis from falling into a sea of blood. He believed that Paradis NEEDED to become the devils they were perceived as, because if they didn't, they would all die. In his eyes, it was either "submit and die, or become the devil and win". He was willing to sacrifice anyone and anything if it meant fighting for his home. While it's not canon that Eren manipulated Floch, it can certainly be perceived that way. Whether Eren manipulated him or not, there is no denying that Floch was heavily influenced by Eren. This was not because of some personal bond or connection, this is because Floch viewed Eren as a savior for Eldia. He believed that Eren's plan to start the rumbling was the only way to save Paradis, even if it meant killing everyone else. Because to him, everyone outside the walls was an enemy. In Floch's eyes, this was a fair sacrifice if it meant a safe and sound future for Eldia.

- Now, once again, I am not telling you that Floch's way of thinking was correct or justified. This is an analysis of how he reached that point, and why he did what he did. I may have missed some things, so if I did, feel free to let me know.

[vonpharma]

ok, well, this is kind of ridiculous and sad, but the husband of one of the sicktember mods is now harassing me on my personal blog for giving some pretty lukewarm criticism of the event in the past few years. i have not picked fights with anyone or tried to incite any kind of ire myself, just been professional and upfront with how much it's sucked to fall out of love with my favourite writing event. i sadly deleted the more vitriolic response i got from them, but here is what they left on my post:

again, i cannot stress enough, i have not contacted the mods in any capacity! i have not left any tags on their posts, i have not interacted with them except last year to ask permission for a spinoff blog, all my thoughts & feelings have just been on my personal blog.

in 2022, i filled every prompt for sicktember, totalling at 92 thousand words total. in 2023, i did the same, at 118 thousand words. i adore this event, so much so that i complete it every year despite my busy work schedule. it has always been my absolute favourite--the accessibility of it, the community, the prep time, writing with people who love the fic trope as much as i.

i am not just some rando. i am not just some bad actor, here to incite drama. i am a fan of this event who has been consistently supportive and celebratory, using my large following to both plug said event and rope my many servers and friends into it. in fact, in 2022, my friends and i wrote more fills for our fandom than any other:

that is us. i counted, and only 4 of the fills in the aa tag are by people not in my immediate friend circle.

i love this event enough i have physical books of all our fills:

...and this isn't even all of them, this is just how many i could afford to make at the time. i don't know how to prove that i am a savant for this event, and a passionate supporter. not from day one, as i didn't know of it until 2022... but definitely for the long-haul.

it is really unfortunate that this is the response the fans of this event are getting. in my initial post i talked about how resistant to feedback the event runners are are, but now we are getting full-on attacks if we don't blindly worship every aspect of said event and kiss the event runners' feet.

a word to the wise: when you run an event, it is not so black and white. it is not just two sides, where one is "i am spending time and effort on this thing i love and how to best share it with others, so i do not owe them anything." and the other is "i must bend to the whims of everything my fellows ask!" there is nuance in the middle, where you can keep firm in your ideals, protect your free time, and still listen to what your community is saying. compromise is a wonderful skill to learn.

either way, sending your friends & family to pick fights with the disappointed or barely critical fans of your event on their personal blogs is wretched behaviour regardless. i am not interested in petty internet arguments with people. i am interested in making my feelings known with the hope that maybe something can be changed. whether that be that the mods loosen up to community feedback & try to open a dialogue, or some folks who feel similarly to me take it as inspiration to make their own sickfic-centric prompt event, or nothing happens at all--it doesn't matter.

but this is literally my personal blog. where i post my personal feelings. if you don't like them, ignore them, scroll past them, block me if you must.

i have 3000 words of sicktember prep in another window and wholeheartedly plan to attempt my best to stick to my record of doing every single fill and having a blast. but if another event comes along, and the mods of this one don't intend to change how they interact with their fans, it won't really be a contest where i go from there.

this is not a call for harrassment, please do not act unkind or bother anyone involved here, i'm just sad man. and i figure if people are gonna start attacking more outspoken members of the community, y'all might want their usernames to block.

as always, i will keep on writing for you guys.

[feralbutfluffy]

49: Aziraphale

Chapter 49 of Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

******

Aziraphale watched Muriel leave with a growing feeling of anticipation and dread.

He was going to kill him.

He was going to kill him.

The room was quiet as they both listened to Muriel’s footsteps disappear down the corridor. They heard the front door close, and then there was total silence.

Actually, Aziraphale thought, probably better to first let the silence stretch until Crowley was writhing in discomfort, and then kill him.

He stared straight ahead and tapped his fingers against his thighs.

The silence drew out…

There was a rustle of fabric from Crowley’s corner as he adjusted his position.

… And out....

A soft thump on the back of the sofa as Crowley let his fist fall against it.

… And out… 

More uncomfortable shifting. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows slightly and bit back a small smile. He knew Crowley well enough to identify the obvious signs of the former demon’s increasing agitation.

It had barely been two full minutes when Crowley cracked. “Did you have something to say?”

“Absolutely nothing,” said Aziraphale primly.

“Well you’re being weird. And you’re making me uneasy.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows slightly higher. 

“Ah. Right. Making me uneasy is the point. Got it.” A pause. “Bit unkind of you, really. Didn’t you hear Muriel? I’m injured! ” The last word was said in an exaggeratedly pained voice.

“What you are,” muttered Aziraphale, “is insufferable.”

“Oh relax!” Crowley scoffed. “All I did was tell the truth. Although I understand your discomfort; I know historically that’s been quite difficult for you-”

Aziraphale refused to rise to the bait. “You and I both know you only said it to make trouble!”

“Troublemaker, that’s me alright,” he said, and Aziraphale couldn’t identify the tone in his voice. Then- “ ‘Silly .’ Really?” 

Now he sounded irritable.

“I was downplaying it for Muriel’s sake.”

“Thought we were making progress.”

 “We were. We are!” He exhaled. “You’re overreacting.”

There was a loud rustle, and Aziraphale glanced over to see Crowley’s wings were out, fluttering and fluffing and finally settling, falling over the armrest to drag on the floor. The iridescent accents of his sleek black feathers were in stark, beautiful contrast to the plush softness of the suede. Crowley was craning his neck, trying to examine them as best he could without standing or using a mirror. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” he said roughly. “Just wanted to take a quick look.”

Killing him would have to wait.

Aziraphale got up and approached Crowley. “I could look at them for you?” he said delicately. “The contortion required for you to see them is probably quite beyond what you’re capable of at the moment…” He reached out-

Crowley flinched. 

The movement was minute, but Aziraphale caught it. And Crowley caught him catching it.

“Sorry,” Crowley said quickly. “Didn’t mean to. Reflex. Sorry.” He swallowed hard. A tinge of colour appeared high on his cheeks. 

Of course.  

Last time Crowley had seen Aziraphale near his wings, some sadistic angel had been wearing his physical form and causing him a great deal of pain. Of course he was skittish. Aziraphale looked down at his friend’s uncomfortable, unhappy expression and his heart twisted in his chest. 

“It’s me, Crowley,” he said. He reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, then thought better of it and let it fall to his side. “I won’t hurt you. I would never…”

Crowley slid him a wry look, making Aziraphale reconsider what he had been going to say. He modified the sentence, adding a single word to make it honest.

“I would never hurt you intentionally.”

“Yes. Sure, I know that. ' Course. Thing is…” Crowley unclenched the fist on the back of the sofa and flexed his hand, looking frustrated. “I know that, I do, just...” He gestured towards his chest looking faintly chagrined. “Bloody heart rate doesn’t seem to be getting the message.”

His breathing was looking rather shallow. 

Aziraphale wavered for a moment, then rounded the sofa and stood right behind Crowley.

“Is it better or worse if you can’t see me?” He asked, not knowing which answer he'd rather hear. Would it be worse if Crowley had lost so much trust that he needed to see what he was doing at all times? Or worse for him to not want to see him at all?

There was a moment of hesitation before Crowley murmured, “Better.”

Aziraphale ignored the sting he felt at the word. He consoled himself with knowing that there had probably been no good answer. He miracled a glossy black stool out of the ether and sat, examining Crowley’s wings for the first time since Saraqael had healed the bones and stemmed the flow from the blood feathers.

The outline of Crowley’s wings now looked like an unfinished puzzle. There were great, gaping, jagged spaces where feathers should have been, and Aziraphale hated to think how long they would take to grow back. There were also half-plucked feathers still caught up in the ragged, tattered mess that would probably need to be pulled.  

From where he was sitting, Aziraphale was looking straight at the nape of Crowley’s neck, and he had the sudden urge to run his fingers from the hairline down to where the skin disappeared under black fabric.

He didn’t, of course.

Instead, he reached out with both hands and started to gently groom Crowley’s right wing, fingers meticulously checking and rearranging each feather before sliding down to the next. He worked in silence for some time, glad to see the tension in Crowley’s shoulders disappear by degrees.

“Is this alright?” Aziraphale tried to make his voice as soft and warm as possible, hoping not to remind Crowley of whatever the angels had said or done while using his form. He highly doubted they had been affectionate or spoken to him with fondness, and so he endeavoured to do just that. He would remind Crowley that he was not them, that they were not him. He would help with this, at least.

Crowley hummed in affirmation. 

Aziraphale continued gently combing through Crowley’s feathers. Every time he reached a dangling feather he braced a hand flat against the wing to protect Crowley before -  slowly, slowly, painstakingly slowly - tugging it loose and placing it in his lap. 

A shiver went through Crowley every time.

“Thanks for…” The back of Crowley’s head bobbed as he trailed off. “Wings’re probably an eyesore.”

“Don’t be silly,” Aziraphale kept his voice soft. He ran a reassuring hand over the downy covert feathers near his shoulder. “Still beautiful, just temporarily… incomplete.”

A noise that could have been an attempt at a laugh, then, “Flatterer.”

Aziraphale carefully manipulated the wing up and out to reach the longer feathers.

“Do they hurt, your wings? Saraqael said that they-”

“Nah. ‘S fine. They sting a bit in places, but I’ve had worse.” He turned so Aziraphale could see the right side of his face and pointed at himself. “Have worse, I suppose.” The corner of his lips curled up and he said, “Now that’s an eyesore!”

Without thinking, Aziraphale leaned forward and placed the fingers of his right hand on Crowley’s temple, pushing him to face forward again. “Don’t be silly,” he murmured, and instead of removing his hand and continuing his task, he dragged his fingers through the hair on the back of Crowley’s head until he reached the skin on the back of his neck. “Still beautiful.”

Crowley made an incoherent sound. 

Aziraphale knew he should remove his hand, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to do so.

His other hand threaded through the feathers of Crowley’s left wing in repetitive soothing strokes, but Aziraphale no longer knew who it was soothing; his own heart seemed to be throwing itself at his chest wall with something approaching actual panic.

Crowley reached up to the back of his neck and wrapped his long fingers round Aziraphale’s hand. He tugged lightly and then he tucked Aziraphale's hand in against his clavicle, and Aziraphale was very close to Crowley actually, and-

“I can’t do your other wing from this angle, Crowley,” he said, trying to sound sensible.

“I don’t care.” 

“Let me groom the other!”

“Nah,” said Crowley, and then his wings were gone, instantly folded into another plane, and their absence made Aziraphale lose his balance and topple forward. He grabbed hold of the armrest to steady himself as his other arm moved down across Crowley’s chest, and when he had regained his equilibrium Aziraphale froze; his lips were just behind Crowley’s ear. If he tilted his head he could place a kiss on his friend’s neck. He let a deep breath out. 

The breath must have tickled Crowley’s ear because the former demon shuddered and moved closer to Aziraphale’s lips while turning his face away, leaving his neck exposed and inviting. Aziraphale could see Crowley’s rapid pulse just below the angle of his jaw and his mouth watered with the desire to kiss it. He couldn’t help himself. He laid his lips on it like a prayer, and Crowley stuttered an exclamation.

Aziraphale wanted to swallow it down and coax more noises out of Crowley, wanted to consume his every tiny sound. 

“Is this alright?” Aziraphale asked.

His voice was low and hoarse, thick with hunger for something he hadn’t yet tasted, and he hadn’t felt so ravenous in a long, long time.

[januaryembrs]

APPRENTICE | Kylo Ren x force user!reader

Request: Hi! Can you do a Kylo Ren x Reader, where the reader is a wielder of the Force who begs Kylo to be her teacher and to learn more about it. Imagining she’s heard about him and The First Order, & knows that he’s a powerful force user.

@obsessionprofessional says - Congrats on almost 1000 followers! I hope it IS 1000 by the time you read this! May I please request a Kylo Ren x female reader piece in which he finally admits his feelings? And maybe they snuggle :3 Again, congratulations on this milestone!

description: You realise your slight quirk is actually much more than you ever imagined when you meet an Empire commander who asks you to become his apprentice.

word count: 2.5k

trigger warnings: swearing? slight angst? feeling of being unworthy?

main masterlist

Some people said you had a kind of magic touch when it came to fixing machines. Call it a dull way of living, but being plunged into a world where it was thrive or die, being a useful hand at repairing droids proved incredibly beneficial.

When the order ransacked your village, in need of a crew to fix up a ship that had crash landed nearby. It wasn’t until they started pulling out blasters and yelling threats that someone threw you into the line of fire by claiming you were the best in town at engineering. It was true of course, but the candour had meant you were dragged at gunpoint to the ship and forced to work. 

You quickly realised this was not just any ship, but an officer's vehicle. Important, sleek, complex machinery. Not only that, its pilot looked royally pissed as he caressed a bleeding forehead and black eye. 

His cold near-black eyes flicked to you as the troopers thrust you forward. “The villagers said this one could fix it,” They said, nodding a head in your direction. He looked you hard in the face, and you jutted your chin up to give some impression that you weren’t afraid. 

Truthfully, you were shitting your cargos the moment you saw the saber on his hip. 

“You know how to build ships?” He barked, almost as if he was tired of you already, despite the fact you hadn’t dared breathe yet. You swallowed heavily, the stone in your throat not quite dislodging itself.

“Some, yes,” He seemed displeased, as told by the slight tilt of his head, “Most actually,” you corrected yourself, warily. “I’d have to give it a look but with the right tools proba- yes,” You stumbled.

You had no clue what he was thinking as his eyes narrowed into slits. He nodded his head for you to approach the ship, which you did so promptly.

One small mistake and you just knew your heart would be ripped from your chest cavity in seconds. 

Breathing in deeply through your nose, you lifted a gentle hand to the body of the ship. It hummed under your touch, as if groaning in pain from the damage to its body, and you let out a deep exhale, removing the control panel to at least pretend to be looking at the damage in the conventional way. You knew you didn’t even need to move an inch to discover the problem thanks to your superpower.

The parts of the ship flickered through your mind, each ticking over in their correct tune until your mind found the source of the problem. You had no clue how you’d always managed to feel the machines, feel every part of them with a single touch, as if they had a life or soul of their own; it was what made you so practical at your job. 

You quickly assessed the engine was shot, along with part of the wing’s wiring needed rebuilding. You turned back to the unkind commander with the answer ready in your mouth, only to see him staring at you with something in between fascination and confusion.

“The wings-” You started only for him to cut you off.

“How did you do that?” His sneer shut you up. Normally people just took it that you were talented at your job, no one had ever caught onto what you were actually doing. 

“Do- Do what exactly?” You stammered, chest puffing out in faux confidence.

He looked over you a moment longer, before igniting his saber and drawing it to your neck. You could feel the heat washing over your windpipe, the crackling of the weapon echoing in your ears. 

You gulped, the bravery slipping with no heistance. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I felt the disturbance in the force. Are you really so stupid you thought I wouldn’t notice?”

Your face screwed up. “The force? What’s a force?” You asked, eyes flicking to the saber as he brought it closer to your jugular. It was then you crumbled, “Please! I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s just something I’ve always been able to do, it’s how I fix machines so quickly back home-”

“So you have no idea what you are?” He mutters, his eyes dark as they took you in whole. He saw the sincerity in your puzzled expression, saw how your eyes showed nothing but fear and helplessness, like a wounded animal in need of a mercy kill.

He grunted, thrusting out a hand to his ship. You thought he was getting ready to strike you with his bare hand, drawing in on yourself. It was then that you heard a loud groan of metal work, and your head snapped to the ship behind you. You watched as something strong began crushing the vessel, as if the air around it was betraying itself and began squeezing. The metal dented, falling under the weight of the traitorous force. 

Force. He had said it himself. 

Your head whipped back to meet his eyes, dark and ravenous for the truth. “Do you see? We’re the same, you and I.” Your mouth dropped open, settling for a nod. 

He took a step closer to you, a gloved hand coming up to hold your temple, fingers gentle caressing your head. “You think I could do that?” You whispered, feeling something heavy settle over your brain, as if a bug had crawled into your ear as he touched you. You daren’t move away, something about his sharp eyes stunning you into place.

You wished to know what it was he thought you were capable of, the blind faith he was putting in you and whatever this force was you had. 

Of course you’d always wondered what it was that made you special, and here he was offering you an explanation. 

“You don’t know just how special you are,” He said clearly, dropping his hand. His black eyes flicked over your face that drew back in shock. It was as if he’d heard every thought you’d had, surely he couldn’t have. “I could show you just how remarkable you could be, just say the word.”

You gaped at him, stuck for words. The Empire were evil, they tore everything good up from the root and left the rest of the world to rot. You could never be one of them, never succumb to their ways. But you yearned to know what it was that gave you this power, yearned to wield it, perhaps even then use it for good; wanted to learn how to become as powerful and strong as he was. You saw how the troopers cowered around him, perhaps you could even hold that fear over them. 

You looked up at him, his eyes calculating as they took you in. He could give you all that.

“Teach me,” You murmured back. 

“Again!” He commanded, your chest constricting in an ache now familiar to you. It had been six months since he had found you and while you had come on leaps and bounds than simply testing machinery, you were even able to move objects with your powers now. 

The Force as you had come to understand it was peculiar in how it presented itself in each user. Kylo, who you spent most days with as his new apprentice, had told you some were better at healing while others specialised in combat, though you were pretty sure he was trying to comfort you in his own way at the fact you struggled some days to so much as lift blocks than move people like he could. 

Today being one of those days, where no matter how hard you pushed yourself, how hard you willed your hand to grasp the metal block and bring it to yourself, the damn thing would not budge.

“Kylo, I’m trying,” You grunted between attempts. You wouldn’t be surprised if you burst a vessel at this point with the exertion on your brain, “I can’t-”

“You are much more capable than you know,” The man retorted, and you felt his snake-like eyes watching as your face crumpled in effort. It was supposed to be supportive, but the way he said it was cold and plunging to your chest, as if he was tired of your dramatics. 

It only served to dishearten you further. 

“You expect too much of me, I’m no better than any child trying to learn this stuff,” You snapped, lowering your hand with a slap to your leg. You were tired, tired of all of this. “Maybe-” You willed yourself not to cry, “Do you ever think maybe I’m just not good enough?”

The past six months had truly taken your spirit out of you. Kylo woke you up early most days for the two of you to eat together before you had training. From there it was four hours in the morning, a break for lunch, then studying the texts he gave you on force users that came before you. Then more training like today's session, usually about object manipulation but he had been trying to get you to learn how to read his mind for the past few weeks. That alone was proving difficult since you were constantly on edge wondering if he was doing the same to you, the way his eyes darkened and jaw clenched making you believe he knew exactly what you were thinking. 

It wasn’t so difficult to see with one look into your head that your every thought revolved around him these days. How handsome he was, how he occasionally would caress your arm when helping you to focus, which only worked to send you spiralling. How pretty he was when he laughed if you said something particularly witty over first meal. 

You stopped trying, looking up at him tiredly. “What if I’m not as special as you want me to be?” You asked emptily. Seeing how talented he was only rubbed salt in the wound of your failures and had you wondering if you were cut out to be here for weeks now. 

He stopped, looking across the room at where you stood looking hopeless. “You’re being stupid,” He said, but the way his eyebrows quirked upwards slightly told you he wasn’t as annoyed as he sounded.

“No!” You protested, shrugging your shoulders and rubbing your neck, “You keep saying I can be great, I can be so much more- but you don’t get it. I’m trying, I’m bleeding myself dry to please you and I just know I’m never going to be as powerful as you want me to be,”

He was losing you, he could feel you slipping between his fingers as you stepped away from him. He knew he was pushing you but it was only because he saw the fire burning inside of you, the energy growing day by day, because he wanted you to be able to defend yourself if the worst should happen, if he couldn’t be there to take care of you. 

Kylo had not known any feeling like this before, as if the day he saw you fix his machine he had met himself in the form of another. Someone who could understand, who he could shape into an equal. His fondness only grew once he realised  how funny you were, how your mind ticked in an entirely different way to his own, how you were not another version of him but your own in an entirely unique way. 

He loved how kind you were, and gentle. Something he never was in this life. He saw how you looked at him, and he simply longed for you to realise just how much he cared.  

“You are,” Kylo whispered, finding his voice before you could turn away from him for good. You looked up at him, hearing him mumble under his breath. “You can be so powerful if you keep trying,” 

You shook your head, feeling as if this were the same thing you had heard time and time again, “Maybe it’s best if I just go home,”

That had his heart plummeting, “No, don’t-”

“I think that would be best for both of us. I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time,” You turned to exit the training room, wondering how you would get back to your home planet. 

“Wait!” He tried calling, and with three simple strides he had caught up to you and grabbed a tight hold of your arm, willing you not to go, “Please,”

That was a shock. He had never used such a word in the time you’d known him. You eyes snapped to his to see him staring down at you like a vulnerable creature. 

“Kylo-”

“You can’t leave me, please,” He begged, pulling you closer, “I know I don’t tell you, I haven’t told you but you are already spectacular. You never needed me to be special,”

You frowned at him up at him, head drawing back in frustration. “Don’t take pity on me, Kylo. I don’t need it,”

“No, it’s true! It was never me that made you amazing,” Kylo said, drawing you into his embrace further, as if scared you would flee like a scared sand rat, “You were all that on your own,” He went quiet, as if debating whether to talk more before his eyes flicked to your sneering lips, “It’s one of the things I like most about you, actually,” 

Your chest stopped, mouth struggling to choose between hanging open and remaining clamped shut as you tried to formulate words. 

He liked you. He liked you, and he no doubt knew just from one touch alone you liked him. Of course he must know. Should you tell him how you feel despite that? He must know, you must make sure he knows its mutual-

“Just,” Kylo’s begging cut through the tangent your brain sent you into as it always did when you thought of him, “Please don’t leave. I don’t want to be alone again. You mean more to me than I know what to do with,” His voice was quiet now, each word breathing over your lips.

Anything. You would do anything for him if it meant he would keep looking at you like that, begging you like that. 

You didn’t need to read his mind to know he was being honest, to know you needed each other more than either of your had ever realised. 

[plainlo-inthemorning]

Thranduil’s secret

Pairing: Tauriel x Kili Rating: 16+ Warnings: Mentions of violence, emotional hurt (but fear not …!) Words: 1.800 k.

Disclaimer: Canon what canon? This is for all the lovers out there.

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“They want to bury him”.

Snowflakes fall silently around them.

Nature attempting to softly smooth over the carnage.

“Yes”.

Her king remains standing a few feet from where she reclines on the frozen rock, hunched over the still-warm body of a future that has been so cruelly taken from her.

From both of them.

She could rage against Thranduil.

Blame his indecisiveness, his selfishness, for the death of the dwarf.

Had the king only dispatched his soldiers to the mountain, as both she and the wizard so implored him to do, trying to appeal to the heart he has forgotten how to use, much could have been different.

But grief has pushed the fight out of her. In its place is only hopelessness and a pain the like of which Tauriel has never felt before.

Legolas, her old friend, has left.

She did not notice when, or if he said something to her before turning away. At this moment, she has no space for him, either.

“If this is love, I do not want it”, she cries, hearing how desperate she sounds, as she looks to her king. “Please, take it from me”.

Thranduil does not move, but the icy unkindness from earlier has melted from his features. If Tauriel’s own eyes had not been filled with tears, she might have recognized her sadness mirrored in the king’s.

“Why does it hurt so much?” She cannot seem to stop herself, clutching Kili’s gloved hand in hers.

“Because it was real”.

Thranduil’s unwavering answer takes her aback.

She looks down upon the dwarf’s bloodstained face again. A single tear streak has painted a faint silver trail from the corner of one eye and down the side of his face.

She saw it fall when he died. When the orc’s blade pierced his chest.

Flecks of snow cling to his thick brown lashes. He is so beautiful to her, she thinks sorrow will tear her apart if she has to let go of him.

They just found each other. He gave his life defending hers.

Slowly, she bends her head and does what she has ached to do for days, what she should have done on the lakeshore when he pressed the rune stone into her hand.

She touches her lips to his.

They are still soft.

His are the first she has ever kissed.

If this were a children’s bedtime story, she would breathe life into him with her longing.

Only when Thranduil kneels on the other side of the body, does Tauriel remember the king is still there.

She thinks he will ask her to stand and come away, and is ready to protest, to cling to Kili. She will stay right here until his kin returns to claim him.

But Thranduil does not speak.

Instead, he does something very unexpected, his face suddenly a mask of concentration.

His strong brows have come together in a frown: He raises a hand and lets it hover over Kili’s head.

“What … what are you doing?” Tauriel has to swallow her sobs for the words to come out right.

The moment drags out.

The king lowers his palm to place it lightly on Kili’s chest.

Tauriel, wholly confused, idly wonders through her grief if this is the first time in all his many, many millennia that king Thranduil has touched a dwarf with anything but the pointy end of a sword.

“He is a fighter”, the king says quietly. There is wonder is his voice. “And he fights, still. So stubborn …”.

“W-what?!”

Thranduil looks up, meets her shocked eyes.

“His heart has stopped, yes. But his soul is still here. It is holding on …”.

Now it is Tauriel’s heart that nearly stops.

“How do you…how can you-”.

Her king’s attention has returned to Kili.

He answers Tauriel without looking at her.

“I have certain … gifts”.

In typical Thranduil fashion, the king does not elaborate, and his matter-of-fact tone does not invite questioning.

Yet for once, Tauriel is too gripped with emotion to be deterred.

“Can you bring him back?”, she blurts out. “Please, my king, please? If there is any chance … I … I would do anything. Please!”.

Bringing someone back from the dead is reserved for the most nightmarish, ancient evil magic.

Until recently, Tauriel had only heard nonsensical tales of the practise whispered, and even in those, the someones that were brought back, were dangerous, mindless shadow apparitions of their former selves.

But if what her king is saying about Kili’s soul is true …

Thranduil appears to hesitate before speaking but when he does, Tauriel feels as if he is reading her mind. She has sometimes suspected that that is indeed a secret gift of his. Another one.

“The kind of magic required to awaken the dead is not only forbidden, it is destructive to the natural order of the world. However, if the soul has not yet left the body-”

He pauses. Decides.

“It can be done, if done quickly. No matter the strength of the warrior, the soul will be forced to leave this plane soon after death has occurred. I do not know how this one is still here”.

Love, thinks Tauriel. She does not know if it is actually true, or if it is her hope speaking. He is still here because of love.

Then the other elf gasps. Thranduil regards Kili’s face with disbelief.

“Of course …”, he whispers. His palm flattens on Kili’s pierced armour, fingers spread out. “Elvish blood runs in his line. Many years back …”

Tauriel stares at her love. Her mouth opens and closes.

His finely defined face, the shape of his cheekbones, so different from most of his kin.

Except for his brother’s, and the dwarf king’s …

Impossible. Yet suddenly it makes sense.

Did Kili know?

No, Tauriel does not think so.

As for Thorin …?

“Tauriel”, the elfking says. His voice is even but insistent. It commands her full attention. “If I succeed in bringing him back to you, you must never speak to anyone of what happened here. Not a word, do you understand? Not to his kin. Not to him. Certainly not to the wizard … And not to Legolas”.

Something flutters beneath the deep timbre of Thranduil’s voice. A bottomless despair struggling to surface, to be recognized.

And Tauriel remembers what Legolas told her at Mount Gundabad. About his mother’s death there.

She draws in a breath as she looks into Thranduil’s blue, blue eyes, but the king holds up a hand, reading her like a book.

“No”, he says simply but firmly, and it is a no that silences her. A warning.

No.

The king then touches Kili’s forehead and closes his eyes.

Tauriel is squeezing the dwarf’s hand so hard her knuckles are turning as white as the ground.

Stillness.

And then the air seems to shimmer and fizz around them, thick with swirling magic.

The snowfall has stopped. Or it can no longer touch them.

Thranduil is muttering words under his breath that Tauriel cannot make out. He leans forward, long blond hair falling around his set face. The tips pool on Kili’s shoulders like a veil of fine silk engulfing him.

Time stands still, and Tauriel forgets to breathe.

She has no idea how many moments go by.

And then Kili’s chest rises, and his lips part.

And the dwarf gasps for air!

His whole body shivers as his eyes fly open to the sky, wild, wide, alive.

He is alive!

“Kili!” Tauriel cries out and takes his face in her hands.

Their eyes meet.

He blinks rapidly, like he has been pulled out of deep water. “Tauriel…” Shakily, he raises his hands to her face as if seeing her for the first time.

“Are you okay?”, he asks. His voice is hoarse but urgent. “The orc, is … is he-”.

“He’s dead. It’s over. We’re safe, we’re both safe”. Tears are streaming down her face. “I thought I’d lost you!”.

“I thought so too …” Kili looks at her with utter wonder and bafflement. Then he grimaces and reaches for the wound in his chest. “Ugh, this one hurts, though …”.

“He needs tending to and fast”. Thranduil stands. A tiny droplet of sweat glistens on his brow. Or perhaps it is a snowflake. Are they falling again?

“Tauriel, I would advise you to take him far away from here, and never look back, but …”

He speaks as if Kili was not there.

“What is-”. Kili tries to focus on the tall figure towering over him, but is too stunned, and in too much pain, to fully register what is being said.

Tauriel shakes her head at the elf king.

“He will want to stay with his kin. They have suffered enough loss”.

She thinks of Thorin. The dwarf king is dead.

Thranduil sighs.

“Yes, I anticipate he will want to do that …”

“Tauriel…”. The dwarf winces. She looks back at him. She will never lose him from her sight again.

She brushes locks of soft hair from his forehead.

Does not notice her elf lord leaving. She will never see him again.

“I had a dream that you kissed me”, Kili whispers, his eyes searching hers. “A kiss of love …”.

She smiles through her tears.

“It wasn’t a dream … my love”.

Despite his agony, a smile spreads on his face. A bright, wonderful, boyish smile amidst the hurt and loss. He will face them later.

“…Love”. He grins, actually grins, and tries to sit up, but Tauriel gently puts a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Do not move too much. You are badly wounded. We have to call on the others to come help, and patch you up…”

“Then come down here to me”.

He shakes off a glove. Weaves his fingers through her hair.

She dips her face to his.

He gasps when she recaptures his mouth.

His lips are still soft, but now they move, as well. Melting into hers.

He pulls her closer, his other, gloved hand finding the curve of her waist, and she has to remind herself not to crush his wounded chest.

She wants to drown in his arms.

When their mouths part, they stay nose to nose.

“Never leave”, Kili whispers. His warm breath tickles her skin.

All of him is warmth.

Home.

“I won’t. Never”.

High in the sky above them, eagles cry triumphantly.

She takes his hand. Presses the smooth, oval shape back into his palm.

“It worked, Kili”, she whispers against his lips, before kissing him again.

Deeply, hungrily.

For the third time out of a million more kisses to come over their many, many years together.

“It worked”.

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Thank you for reading!

[adhd-merlin]

“Merlin… Does it even occur to you that what you just did is not mortal magic?”

“Of course, it’s mortal magic. I’m doing it.”

Carefully – slowly – Arthur told him, “I have read almost every book on magic in Geoffrey’s vaults over the past year, and not a single one of them mentioned what you just did. The only other time I saw that was in the cave of the disir. And I’m pretty sure that those senile women weren't the ones that did it.”

Merlin drew back on his feet. “What are you accusing me of?”

“I’m not accusing,” Arthur placated. “I’m…suggesting.”

“Suggesting,” Merlin sneered. “Suggesting what?”

Arthur realized too late, the conversation he’d led them into, but he couldn’t backtrack now. Merlin would only hound him, either verbally or with glares across rooms for the next fortnight, or for however long it took Arthur to capitulate. “You implied it before, yourself. At the wellspring. You don’t die mortal deaths. It took an enchanted blade to stop your heart. Dorocha can touch you, and not kill you. Mortal poisons didn’t kill you. You’re not even the only person who's said it. Even Hubert suggested it.”

Merlin’s face wasn’t really doing anything, and neither was the rest of him. He could have been blank parchment, or an unused wax tablet. “I’m not human? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted. The cold nothing of Merlin’s voice disturbed him, but not as much as the glint in his eye that spoke of smothered storms and affront. Arthur felt as if saying the idea out loud were unwise, or perhaps it was only unkind. Forbidden words best left in the dark reaches of the mind where inconvenient suspicions lay fallow, unspoken for the good of all. “Are you?”

The only indication of something amiss was that Merlin tried to hide the amber glow of his eyes by lowering them and letting his hair obscure part of his face. Arthur blinked, felt a lightening-tinted brush of air past his ear, and then he was standing alone in an empty hall.

“What – Merlin?” Arthur went to uncross his arms, but they seemed stuck. When he fumbled his cuffs around, he found them buttoned together. “That…sneaky little – childish – Merlin!” He had every intention of pursuing Merlin through the castle somehow, never mind that he hadn’t the slightest idea where to start looking, but the moment he tried to take a step, he came to his second realization. He tripped and pitched forward, thankfully not near the stairs, caught himself on his tangled hands, and rolled up against the wall. “He tied my bootlaces together, the poxy – ”

“Sire?”

Great. Yes. Witnesses to his embarrassment. That was all Arthur needed. He shoved himself to sit upright as two of his castle guards ran over to him in alarm, and grabbed at his boot laces. There were at least a dozen knots in them, which…yes. Wonderful. Point taken. 

— from The Dust of Hope, Chapter 5 by fourleggedfish

[sotwk]

6th Day of Yule: “Six Geese A-Laying”

Prince Gelir Thranduilion x Reader

Third Age 614

Dant-en-Aras, Southern Greenwood

As you trudged through the heavily falling snow in the pitch-black hour right before dawn, from far off you were alerted to a presence in your cottage by the light flickering through the open window. You immediately hastened your steps, alarmed by the idea of an intruder, but would anyone of ill-intent give themselves away by lighting a fire? 

The concerned frown melted from your lips when your nose picked up two scents wafting through the chilly winter air: breakfast--eggs and sausage and tomatoes. Had one of those strange little folk from the Ningloron wandered into your home to seek refuge from the storm? 

The second scent replaced your frown with a sudden smile as recognition broke through your confusion. No other elf in Eryn Galen carried the fragrance of the woodlands quite like the Lord of Dant-en-Aras. 

At least, not in the manner that made your heart flutter with joy. 

You opened the cottage door and the warm air saturated with those enticing smells rushed forth to meet you. But he did not. He did not move from where he crouched by the hearth, poking at a laden skillet with a fork, his back fully turned to you and the doorway. 

You wiped all signs of bewilderment from your face as best as you could, determined not to grant him the satisfaction of falling for his teasing. You shut the door to the freezing wind and calmly relieved yourself of your burdens: hanging up your sentry cloak and stowing away your bow and quiver and knives, and finally sitting on a bench to doff your wet boots. Meanwhile, neither of you spoke a word, and only the crackle of the fire and sizzle of the hot pan saved the room from total silence. 

But finally, a grunt came from the prince squatting by the fire. “Sausage or eggs?”

You bit on your bottom lip to stifle a laugh. Gelir was stubborn, but impatience was his even stronger demon. Perhaps it was unkind of you to beat him at his own game, when he had clearly made some effort to set up this surprise for you. 

“Pray tell, why is my lord in my home, cooking breakfast, when he should be at the King’s palace with the rest of his family, as his father has summoned him?”

He rose slowly, and at his full height the Thranduilion always seemed too tall, too big inside your little cottage. “I recommend the eggs,” he said, stepping toward you with a plate of two large fried eggs, with yolks round and golden as the sun. Goose eggs--your favorite, as only he would remember. “Especially after I managed to carry them all the way from the King’s pantries.”

“Gelir…what is going on?” You sighed, for you wanted your questions answered, even with his compelling methods of distracting you, both with the food and with just him. Standing close to you, towering over you in a way that never felt menacing or intimidating, but rather made you feel safe and precious. Like nothing in the world could hurt you while he was around, so you did not have to be strong for yourself for a change. “Why are you back here? Yule has started; you should be with your family. ”

“I was with them,” he responded. “And not more than a day after I arrived, I went to my parents and told them I had to turn back, to collect something I left behind but desperately needed.”

“W-what?” Your heart gave a sudden leap in your chest, then proceeded to run at a wild pace, causing a furious blush to paint your cheeks. There was no sense in feigning ignorance of what he was trying to say. “But you said it is not yet the right time.”

“And I was wrong.” He had put the plate down, freeing his hands to cradle the sides of your face, and the glow that bloomed within you could have borne a blizzard ten times worse than the one outside. “I may say and do foolish things on occasion, but I try not to be a fool.”

He smiled and tapped the pad of his thumb on the single teardrop that had escaped your eye, to your own surprise and chagrin. You were not the sort to weep out your emotions, but these--your love for him--overwhelmed you like nothing ever had. 

“Will you come with me, meleth? And be properly introduced to my family?”

You could not recall what you said, or whether you even said anything, but you nodded vigorously and sank into his embrace, where he held you so tightly and for so long you started to giggle.

“Might not the eggs get cold?” you teased, voice muffled against his tunic. “We cannot let all your cooking go to waste.”

“That is true,” Gelir admitted, pulling away to glance at the table where he set down the plate. But he did not move further, so you gently extricated yourself and went over to the cook fire to save the sausages from being burnt. 

Just a few bites of the hot meal rejuvenated you after your long shift on border patrol. You looked across the table at your beloved, who had barely eaten anything and seemed content to merely watch you. “Shall we set out at once then, if your whole family is already waiting for us?”

“Oh, they can wait a while longer.” Gelir pushed back his chair and walked around to tug you up from yours. “Surely you noticed the blizzard outside? We cannot possibly travel such a long way in such frightful weather.”

“No, I think the worst of it has passed,” you said. “Once the sun rises--” The rest of the words dissolved into gasp as the prince's warm lips traced a soft line down the side of your neck. 

“Not. Just. Yet.” he murmured against your skin. Your gasps suddenly turned into a shriek of laughter when he lifted you off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed in the corner of the cottage. 

Indeed, no need to rush off anywhere just yet. 

Yuletide Series MASTERLIST

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