#ANY GARMENT WOULD HAVE CAUGHT FIRE

[marzipanandminutiae]

Misinformation I burned to death several times as a teenager due to the long skirts I wore

sounds legit

just like how I've literally snapped in half while wearing a corset, every single time, and now my midsection is held together by a complex network of zipties

(in all seriousness, before anyone starts in with the Um Actuallys, yes your clothing can catch fire if it's too near an open flame. but I seldom see anyone talking about the 18th- or 19th-century fire risks of frock coats, tailcoats, capes, long sleeves, long scarves- I nearly caught a perfectly normal blouse sleeve on fire once while frantically trying to unplug a sparking extension cord at the museum -or indeed anything that's not a primarily feminine-coded garment)

(so...)

(also obviously Wool Smolders, You Tend To Be Better At Fire Safety If Fire Is An Unavoidable Part Of your Daily Life, Show Me The Reliable Primary Source Death Statistics; I'm Waiting, etc.)

[d1s1ntegrated]

I just read your shigaraki fic with him stealing readers clothes and

First: loved it he’s such a little freak and I love him

Second: part 2? Maybe where reader goes into his rooms well he’s doing his thing with our clothes and gets caught red handed and just pretty much braces down and reader doms him or something I don’t know I just think a part 2 where reader walks in on him doing it would be fun

I’m sorry if this is against any rules you have you can ignore if you want

Im just an idiot 🙃 ok goodbye

shhhhh ur not an idiot and this is hot af so YASS

laundry pile (nsfw)

tomura x fem!reader

tags: stealing clothes, masturbation, stalker behavior, heavy petting, dacryphilia, p/v pen, swearing, degradation, dom/sub dynamic implied, fem reader, hardcore smut, light comfort, sub/switch! tomura, humiliation, oral (m&f rec)

A/N: i'm getting caught up on my asks finally 🫶 so sorry for the weird inactivity i love u all! also this isn't proofread sorry ill prob edit it later lol!

"For fucks sake" you threw your door open in frustration, storming down the hall to Shigaraki's room. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the worst. You didn't really want to ask him of all people, but you were desperate and flustered now.

You knock gently, and before hearing him respond, you turn the handle.

"Hey, Shigaraki, have you seen my-" You open the door of Tomura's room prematurely, the light knocking not alerting him fast enough as he scrambles to yank his covers over him.

"SHIT, fucking, GET THE FUCK OUT," the man's voice heightens in pitch with every word, straining to speak. He's gripping his blanket with four white knuckles, ring finger held above the blue fabric. His hands shake and beads of sweat are flattening his fringe to his forehead, and his breathing even from the doorway looks erratic. It's no mistake, you walked in at the wrong time. Your jaw hangs open slightly at the image of him and begin backing up slightly.

"I'm sorry, I'll...well, while I'm here," you start with a sheepish smile, "have you seen my black sweater? The one with the..." Your fingers twiddle around as you describe the well-loved garment, and he groans.

"...No," he wipes his hair from his face, "Go ask the girls."

"Sorry. Yeah, I'll do that." You reach for the door handle with a curt nod, and turn to head out, when something catches your eye. On the floor, next to a pile of used towels and dirty laundry, you notice the familiar lace trim, a delicate pink bow...

You reach for the piece as Tomura shoots up on his bed, still covering himself. "What are you doing??" His voice is anxious, and as you come back up, you hang the fabric delicately between your fingers in front of him.

"Are these my fucking underwear?" With a fire hot enough to burn his room to the ground, you storm closer to him, standing over him now with fierce eyes, able to really take in the sight of him now. His eyes are heavier than usual, his back flexed and his arms tense against his chest as he plasters the sheet against his snowy skin. He looks up at you with a feverish glint, avoiding contact with the skimpy bottoms hanging in front of his face. He shakes his head, unable to speak.

The sheet leaves little to the imagination, as you look him up and down in his bed. You bite back your rage as you notice a strap peeking out from under one of his pillows, and you shove him back and lean over to yank it out from underneath. Your pink bralette, that you could've sworn you lost for good, was now in your hands, waving dangerously close to Tomura. With wide eyes, he gives the equivalent look to a dog who got caught with a slipper. Cowering was a new look for him. As you stare him down, you notice the sheet twitching, an unmistakable silent pleading. Your face, now mere inches above his, sends his heart sprinting out of his body.

If it weren't for your discovery, it would've been almost...charming, to see him like this. Lips pink and puffy, as if they'd been bitten raw, and the remarkable sheen of sweat and lust glazing his scarred face. A heavy breath, halfway to climax and halfway to anxiety attack. You couldn't tell if he was turned on or terrified at this point. Your mind preferred the latter, but somewhere deep inside, you liked the idea of the former.

There was also something already charming about his actions. Your clothes were scattered all around him, around his room. Part of you felt enthralled by the idea of your fearsome leader, your boss, the dangerous villain doing something as depraved and perverted as stealing your clothes. Especially after all of the shit you guys fought about, how many times he told you to fuck off and that he couldn't stand you. It was like an unwritten confession, and it made your heart flutter for a moment. You stood there, thinking about what he was doing to them exactly, with a frivolous process. It didn't take much for your mind to conclude the thought, knowing you just caught him doing precisely what you could have imagined with them. It felt almost elementary to catch him in the act of something so vulgar, and despite your scornful expression, you had to fight the instinctual curling of your lips.

"What else do you have of mine?" You kept your face flat, curiosity driving you further. He shrank down a moment before raising a shaky arm towards his door.

"Close that, please" his brows furrowed as you both looked toward the wide-open door, giving whoever walked by a full view of the situation. You padded towards it and slammed it closed, locking it behind you before re-approaching him with the same fervor as before. You toss the two garments at him and ask him again.

"What else did you steal from me?"

He swallowed and took a deep breath before raising his hand up in defeat, "I'm sorry". His eyes glossed over as he looked away, blinking rapidly. He lifted the pillow behind him and began removing things from the pile of things. Multiple pairs of underwear, two bras, three shirts, a pair of lounge shorts, and a few random socks. Your jaw dropped as he handed them to you, sniffling with embarrassment and disturbance. You shook your head slowly, partially in awe and disbelief. How did he even manage...and why? How long had he been doing it for? Your mind raced as you compiled everything at the edge of his bed. He sat there dejected as you counted everything.

"Fourteen. FOURTEEN things of mine. Just under your pillow. What, why?? Where else do you hide it all? Is this where all my clothes have gone?" Your voice rises in frustration and confusion as he falters.

He shakes his head and quavers, with the smallest voice you've ever heard from him.

"I don't know. I'm sorry". He shows remorse, no doubt. But the movement underneath the thin sheet doesn't help to convince you of his guilt. Some part of him likes the fact he was caught, surely. It's easy to see it, with the faint flush of his complexion.

You lean down more and lift his face with a finger on his chin, directing his eyes to meet yours. You don't say anything, which scares him more than anything. At any point, you could run out of his room, screaming about how he was a freak, or a coward, or a stalker. Even him, your notorious leader, was scared of being exposed so viscerally. You recognize this, his crimson eyes welling with shameful tears as you look into them.

You wanted to be so angry. You wanted to be disgusted, freaked out, and you wanted to hate him. You could let him being murderous slide, but being a loser? It boiled your blood. But you couldn't tear yourself away from his wet gaze, the tears falling heavily now as you gripped his chin between thumb and forefinger. He didn't pull away, either, he just accepted his loss. There were so many reasons why you should hate him.

But you don't, you realize, as you lean in and pull him into a hungry kiss. His lips are rough, but wet with tears as you press yours into them. Maybe it was pity, maybe it's because you know he's pent up and stressed out and most certainly a virgin. It's possible he just needs comfort. Perhaps you're encouraging him, and for all you know, maybe you like that.

You stop yourself from thinking and just let your body move. You push him back, taking his hands away from the iron grip on the sheets and lifting them above his head. He doesn't argue, and complacently loosens his body with a light whimper as you touch him. You climb onto his lap, still pinning his arms down as you snake your tongue into his mouth. He tastes so sweet, so addicting. It was unlike anything you could describe, like apple and spices and sweet mint. You cave in to him, allowing yourself to feel the rush of endorphins swell in your core. Your mind goes blank as you feel his length between your legs, twitching and jumping like an eager animal.

You finally pull away from the kiss, only to bite down his scarred neck and shoulder.

"You're a fucking thief" you say between bites, and he whimpers.

"I know" he shakes as you sink your teeth in. He groans out as you bite down harder at his response.

"You're a fucking freak" you spit. He nods, trembling.

"I'm sorry" he cries out as you sink your canines into him.

"You like that, hm? You like being a sick fuck?" you tighten your grip on his wrists.

His whimpers and moans drive you crazy. You fight the urge to take him all at once, even if it tortures you as well. Your lips curl sadistically as you lick his wounds, tongue grazing over not only the bites, but the torn skin of his neck from his incessant scratching. The faint taste of blood stings in your mouth, the metallic fragrance soaking your senses. You feel your core liquify as tears spill from his eyes, the thick lashes sticking together. He sobs, clenching his jaw.

"Please, I can't take it". His heavy breaths buckle in his chest, and you bring your free hand up to caress his face.

"You're so pretty like this, Tomura" your voice is slick with hunger, a newfound lust from hearing his pathetic noises. He blinks up at you in a daze, his pupils blown wide as you release your grip on his wrists.

"Please" he whispers, and you laugh.

"Please what? You seriously think you're getting rewarded? For being a fucking pervert?"

Tomura bites his lip and shakes his head.

"No, I'm sorry".

It was a sight to behold. Your fearsome leader, now crumbling beneath you, begging to be touched. Pleading for forgiveness, admitting fault with fat tears soaking his cheeks. Everything you swore he would never be capable of, he was doing. And it made you feel so powerful. It was well overdue- someone eventually would've put him in his place- you just never thought it'd be you to do it.

You retreat from his lap, standing swiftly. You watch his face fall a bit, then relight as you slide your top and bottoms off, leaving you standing nearly naked in front of him. His eyes soak in the image of you, his hands clenching. You reach for the sheet and yank it off of him, finally, to expose his naked body completely.

His cock stands proud, already leaking and throbbing as you grab it. He gasps, the air hitching in his chest as your thumb slides down the tip, admiring his length as you squeeze it gently.

"You're such a desperate little bitch," you start demeaning him further, fingers trailing to wrap around his balls. He mewls as you continue, "I always knew you were a pathetic loser".

His cock convulses as you speak, and you lose you patience. You take him in your mouth, pressing your tongue flatly against the thickness. You graze your teeth against the sensitive skin, and he hisses out a string of curses. You speed up, fingers still teasing him with lazy tugs. You reach underneath and press two fingers against the untouched skin, massaging it gently. The action causes him to clench his fists mindlessly against the sheets, and they immediately disintegrate into nothingness. He grumbles out a "Fuck", but is swiftly redirected back to the multitude of sensations below. You laugh, his thick cock still in your mouth, and he throws his head back. He begins mindlessly thrusting into your throat, causing you to choke a bit on the size of him. He spreads his legs open further as you massage the neglected spot, clearly enjoying the newly discovered sensitivity.

Before he can finish, and god is he dangerously close to doing so, you pull off of him. He groans and silently begs for more, but you shake your head and get back on top of him.

"You think I'm doing this for your enjoyment? You owe me, not the other way around." you spew out. "It's my turn, loser."

He doesn't have time to argue it as you slide your underwear off and bring yourself to his face. You speak, knowing his can't respond, enjoying his compliance. "Have you ever done this before? No? Hm..." You chuckle out sinfully as his mouth falls wide, dragging his tongue up your dripping cunt to your clit. "Do a good job, and maybe then I'll let you have more."

He's clearly inexperienced, the way his tongue explores your folds and curves, but he's starving regardless. He presses his tongue deeply into you, moaning at the taste as you grind against his mouth. He gains confidence as he grips your hips with a four-fingered grip, keeping his pinkies as far as anatomically possible from your soft skin. He kneads his slender fingers into the fat of your hips and ass, his nails digging in as his tongue picks up speed. After a minute or two adjusting, he's eating you like a dog, licking and sucking and nipping at everything he can, with a determination previously unseen. It feels unforgettable, the way his teeth graze your clit and his tongue licks at you like you're candy. The poor depraved man laying under you, finally graced with the taste of you he's only ever had in dreams. You tasted much better than the underwear he stole. It felt holy now, so dirty and urgent that it felt like prayer.

You can't avoid the hastily approaching orgasm as he flicks his tongue on the throbbing bundle of nerves. You grind down on his face, coating his mouth and chin with your heat as he sends you over the edge. You drive your hips down, nearly suffocating him, as you clench and shiver on his face. You can feel him panting and smiling and swallowing every drop of your climax thankfully, which sends you even further.

When you finally come crashing down, you pull off of him and slide back down his chest and position him right in front of your needy hole. But you can't give into him just yet. It's his punishment, not reward, to fuck you and please you and make you cum.

He looks positively elated, his pupils still swallowing his ruby irises and his hair tangled around his pretty face. He's smiling, with a tired breath, but he's nowhere near done. He's completely aware of his consequences.

"Good boy, Tomu" you praise him with a gentle kiss on the cheek, his face still soaked from you. He smiles a bit more, but is still silent as you continue, "I almost forgive you for being such a disgusting slut".

He nods and silently mouths out an "okay". You trail a finger up his jaw and press a kiss to it. But his response isn't enough for you. You want more, you want to press the subject deeper before allowing him to have something so sacred.

"Tell me, pretty freak; why did you steal my clothes?"

He takes a moment to bite his lip, looking away as he responds. "I like to".

Not good enough. "And?" you pry.

"It...feels good. To smell you. And taste you. It feels so good..." he bleats out pitifully, and you can't help but feel a little bit enamored at his answer.

"Yeah? Was it worth it?" You tilt your head slightly, loving his plaintive admissions.

He nods and smiles, "Definitely".

Tomura's slight defiance stirs something inside of you. At the end of the day, he always gets what he wants. And if he wanted to steal your clothes, soil them with a weeks worth of cum, he fucking would. He did. He wasn't an entirely too demanding person, but he was, at his core, determined to have everything he wants. Including you, in every way he can.

You can't wait any longer as you take his length inside of you. You gasp out a bit at the size, feeling it stretch your walls with a burning sensation. He immediately moans out, unable to even slightly quiet down as he feels how wet you are around him.

"You're so fucking tight," he cries, and you clench around him, causing him to spasm a bit. His eyes roll back and he begins thrusting into you from below, the friction driving you crazy. "You feel just like I imagined" he confesses, words heavy with desire.

You grind into him as he thrusts, both rutting against each other fervidly. The tuft of baby blue hair drags a bit against your clit and you can't help as his name spills from your lips like honey.

"Fuck, Tomura, you're so big" you lewdly cry out as he grips you again. His cock slams against your cervix, sliding in and out of your entrance rapidly. His moans and whimpers become intangible, a never-ending slew of crude noises just leaking from his pretty pink lips. You nearly forget being angry, you throw your inhibitions to the side, because it feels far too good to not focus on entirely. The way he whines and keens melts you like the sun.

You both get closer with each frantic thrust. Months of pining and pretending to hate each other paid off well enough, because the feeling of his cock inside of you, plowing you filthily, locked in the satisfaction of meeting him in the first place.

"And I thought you hated my guts" you moan out as he slams into you, folding a bit. He wraps his arms around you and you tuck your head into his neck as he takes complete control from beneath.

"No, I just, fuck, couldn't stand not having this" he breathes out, his hold on you intensifying. "I want you".

His speed shakes your mind, leaving you fuzzy as you reach your final breaking point. He's close behind, his thrusts becoming less coordinated as he moans out your name like a broken record.

"Tomura, I-"

He cuts you off with a whine, "Please, let me cum inside of you". You completely shatter around him, the heat inside of you finally snapping in half as you grind into him mindlessly, the sensation of your orgasm tearing through you like a full moon's tide. You cry and gasp out into his ear, and he decides he can't wait anymore. He spills into you with a howl, twitching and sputtering as he finally fills you up. The pearly strings coat your sore insides, gumming you up. He sinks his teeth down into your neck as he ruts into you, pumping his seed deeper inside as he rides out his orgasm. You feel the suffocating wave of euphoria wash over you, unable to form a coherent thought as he pulls out slowly.

He lolls his head back and keeps you wrapped in his arms, unwilling to release you.

"I'm sorry" he finally speaks. The silence in the room dissipates with his raspy voice, and you nod.

"Do you at least wash them when you're done?" You ask, and he nods back.

"I return them when you aren't there.." he admits.

"Okay" you don't have the energy or even the space inside of you to actually be mad. If anything, you were more upset before cause for the most part, you were missing a lot of your favorite pairs of underwear, and you thought you were losing your mind.

"I promise I'll stop" he whispers into your hair, "I'm sorry".

You shake your head against his chest. "Don't. It gives me an excuse to come back in here and do this again".

His heartbeat speeds a bit as he processes your words. A part of him wants to tell you you don't need an excuse. But the other part of him wants you to keep catching him. The chase, the raw desire, he'd been playing the long game, and you fell right for it. His silly little game he'd been playing worked out perfectly in his favor, and he relished in that fact.

He doesn't respond. You close your eyes on his chest, and he pulls up the other blanket that was unscathed from his torrential grip. He smiles to himself as you slowly fall asleep on him, your breathing slowing. Lying there with you, he finally felt content and full for once, and that scared him. But he laid there still, soaking in the feeling of completing his goal.

But he no longer wanted to play this game. He wanted to win it.

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part One

Summary - As the ways of the world shift, you find yourself torn between those who have always cared for you and the life you feel like you were made to live.

Warnings - none right now really, some angst, harmless flirting, tension, slight fluff, mention of wing loss

Hauntingly beautiful was one of the few ways to describe the High Lord Eris Vanserra.

There was a rake-ish look about him, like he belonged in one of Nesta's regency era romance novels that had her eyes widened and bottom lip caught between her teeth. It was rather infuriating.

Tension continued to linger, one of doubtful trust. Rhys wanted to trust Eris, he wanted to trust that the new High Lord of Autumn knew what he was doing, but something was stopping your brother from investing into the change fully and you weren't quite sure what.

Eris sat opposite you in the meeting chamber, eyes trailing down your figure approvingly, a crown of golden leaves dipping to his brow and accentuating those russet eyes that always sought to burn you with their intense glare. It had been strictly forbidden for you to leave Velaris on your own after what had happened to your elder sister at the hands of Tamlin, you understood it of course, Rhys wouldn't survive if he lost you too, his youngest sibling but by far the fiercest creature in all of Prythian's history.

War was scoured into your bones, hellfire raged in your soul, and you were very well known for your tactical prowess and outspoken nature, from your quick wit to your dry humour. Some said that you were the reason that Prythian still stood, you had worked very hard to undermine Amarantha right under her nose, feigning innocence and naivety that she drank from like a fountain of youth, you had been instrumental in the war against Hybern too, and Eris had watched in stoic awe as you wielded your sword like it was an extension of yourself, gracefully cutting down your victims and using your power to decimate hoards of males into ash.

Eris wouldn't admit it, certainly not in front of Rhysand and Cassian who made it his mission to keep Eris as far away from you as possible, but he thought that you were the most incredible thing he had ever witnessed. And as you sat before him, draped in a sheer black dress adorned with white crystals that allowed him to relish at the picture of your full breasts, it was taking him a lot of will power to not fling you on that table and take you right there and then, even if your brother was watching, he didn't care.

The meeting was simple, Rhys wanted to know how the politics between the courts were to improve with Eris now at the helm and steering the Autumn Court ship. Feyre sat to the left of your brother, dressed in her usual ethereal pale blue, another garment made by your mother, but less impressive than the items you owned. You sat to his right with Azriel to your side, Mor, Cassian and Nesta occupied the seats to Feyre's left in that order, and Lucien lingered somewhere between, still on the side of the Night Court, put just an arms length away from his brother.

Eris was stoic and cruel, power radiated from him, but you seemed the be the only one who saw what lingered beneath that façade. The occasional split second glance he would direct to Lucien when he thought no one was watching, one full of regret and sadness. It seemed that there were many more layers to Eris Vanserra than any of you realised.

"How do we know that you won't rule like your father did?" Rhys had craned forward in his seat, his jet black crown glistening in the darkening sunlight that poured down through the domed windows.

Eris' jaw ticked, a clearly sensitive subject for him, your chin dipped in examination and for a moment, he glanced to you, fire in his eyes that mirrored the very faint sphere of orange that curled around pupils, "Would I have bothered to overthrow him to only rule like him?" Eris replied with his own question and you felt Mor scoff from where you sat, your older cousin not enjoying the sentiment one bit.

"Who knows what you males strive for," Mor bit, more like growled, at him, you face remained distant and cold, you didn't remove your gaze from him, everyone knew that they couldn't hide from you, you were too observant.

Guilt had swirled in your gut at the sight of him, under examination by a group of people he longed to be somewhat friendly with, to work with to better the lives of his people, and Velaris was rich in knowledge and power, it was a court that you would want on your side if you walked a second in his shoes.

It wasn't often, if at all, that you would speak at meetings, it was an unspoken rule for you to be seen and not heard, your presence was powerful enough, and you did have the knack for making things worse with your jabbing words, "Raise your hand if your father is a piece of shit," the room fell silent, and Azriel had his head dipped low to conceal his smirk, his knee nudging yours gently in warning.

Slowly you raised your hand and looked to Rhys who rolled his eyes, but didn't raise his own, he didn't want to indulge you. In turn, Cassian raised his hand, Azriel lifted a finger as did Mor, Lucien's hand raised with his elbow still firmly plastered on the arm of his chair, and Eris didn't dare partake, but you all knew his answer already. Counting under your breath at the souls that had answered your call, you relaxed into your seat, "I don't know about you Rhys but I don't think you're anything like our dear old dad. Mor is nothing like hers, nor is Cassian or Azriel or Lucien. If we were all held accountable for the actions of our fathers then we surely would live in the most tyrannical world possible, no?"

Rhys raked down the iron clad walls of your mind and you gave him a pointed look, refusing him entry and smirking at the twitch that pulled at the corner of his lip, "There is no evidence that Eris will be like Beron, and refusing him alliance only makes such possibilities more likely," you picked at an invisible thread of your sheer black garment and feathered your fingers down the bargain tattoo that curled around your upper arm, one that matched the mark Azriel bore in the same place from a stupid bargain you had made what felt like eons ago.

"In simple terms, brother," you fluttered your eyelashes at him, ignoring his clear fury, "Get over yourself and give it a chance. Prythian can't be a land of harmony when males with big egos can't see the opportunity before them."

Feyre had confined herself to looking at the wall, shifting uncomfortably at the colliding forces of power between you and her mate. It was never something she had the courage to stand between, she'd perish if she even tried. Nesta was smirking at you, the only one who would hold Rhys accountable and live to see another day, relishing in the fury of the High Lord.

Another nudge prodded into your thigh and you snapped your gaze to Azriel, "Will you stop nudging me?" You swatted at his thigh, "This world has been through enough already, Amarantha, Hybern, Koschei... It's time that we made a world to be proud of and we can only do that if we work together."

"Who knew that the fawn had a voice?" Eris spoke and you sent him a satisfied grin, Rhys looked to the High Lord and snarled at the name he had dared to direct to you, but quickly composed himself with a warning glace to you that meant he would deal with you later.

Matching is tone, you teased, "Thank you. My campaign for High Lady is imminent," Cassian let out an audible low chuckle, his shoulders shaking next to Nesta who was doing her best to contain the amused smile that fought its way onto her lips.

Typical y/n.

Looking to Rhys, you smiled and waiting expectantly, he seethed out his answer, "Fine," he moved his attention to Eris who was still smirking at you, eyes blazing with curiosity, "We will work with you, Eris. Let's call this the start of a long lasting alliance between our courts," Rhys rose to his feet, "Please feel free to stay the evening and join us for dinner. I will have a room prepared for you."

An olive branch, one that made you avert your gaze to Eris to see him nod in shocked agreement.

Rhys lowered himself so that his head lingered by your ear, his fingers curled around the back of your chair, and he growled, "My office. Now."

A chill slithered down your spine and you smiled thinly at no one in particular before rising from your seat and following Rhys from the room. The pair of you didn't utter a single word as he led you through the halls of the House of Wind, walls that seemed to shrink away from your pulsating energies as he led you to his office and shut the door behind your entrance.

"What in the name of the Mother do you think you're doing?" Rhys seethed as he rounded your smaller figure, towering over you to the point that he shrouded you in the shadow of his figure and flexing wings.

With a raised brow, you spoke calmly, "I highly suggest you take a step back and stop trying to intimidate me," his gaze softened slightly and he obeyed you, stuttering back a couple of feet and tucking his wings out of sight.

"Eris is not someone that we should have an alliance with," he leaned against his desk and watched as you turned around, lifting the heavy glass lid to his whisky decanter and pouring two glasses of the amber liquid before extending one out to him which he took without question.

You waited until he had taken a sip before talking, "Regardless of what you think, you know I'm right," you took the seat opposite the desk and nestled into the deep brown cushions, leaving him standing before you, "Rhys, you wear a mask to the rest of the world, in everywhere other than Velaris. Cauldron, you even make us follow suit. Has it ever entered your limited mind that Eris may do the same, that he too is hiding behind the mask he has created for himself?"

Rhys frowned, "Did you just call me stupid?"

Scoffing, you sipped the amber liquid and enjoyed the delicious burn that sank down your throat, "All you're doing is proving my point."

Rhys threw his head back and inhaled deeply, clenching his eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose, "You know that I love you," he lowered his gaze to wash over you, but you didn't falter, you had never faltered under Rhys' glare, you were perhaps the only one who wasn't impacted by it, "You have to understand that I will always do what is right to protect our home, to protect you."

"And you have to understand that I will always do what is right to better the continent, not just our people."

The relationship between you and Rhys was a complicated one. There was a lot of love and respect between you, but his fear of losing you often clouded his mind. His word was law, but your word was the final judgement. The reckoning. There was nothing even he could do to change that.

Many males had attempted to get close to you, but none were good enough to appease the expectations of the High Lord of the Night Court. It wasn't as if you cared. You required an equal, someone who wouldn't diminish your power, and males had the tendency to attempt to control you.

Rhys had even refused your hand to Helion, much to your disappointment, and before the acts that led to the demise of your sister, he had refused to extend a thought to Tamlin who had clearly been besotted with you. Thank the cauldron for that at least.

"You have a strong will, y/n," a backhanded compliment if you had ever heard one, you rose from your seat and placed your empty glass on the bare surface to his left, "It will get you in trouble."

"Good. I can't wait."

Leaving Rhys alone in his office had filled you with far too much smugness and serenity.

The golden tainted pink hue from the sunset poured through the large windows, trickling up the walls and coating your skin in its soft shimmer as you paced before them.

Black fabric chased after your steps from your dress sweeping in the breeze you had created in your movements, you could feel the comfort of your chambers, you could almost taste it as you rounded the corner and entered the room without a second thought.

The familiar skitter of cool kisses swirled around your ankles and you didn't need to look up to see who was splayed across your cream comforter, "I know what you're going to say," you disappeared behind the thin clouded dressing screen and peeled your dress from your body, rifling through the railing full of ornate pieces whilst Azriel examined your silhouette from his place on your bed.

"Then I don't need to tell you how stupid you are," you looked over your shoulder at his words, like he could see your expression which was one of confusion and annoyance, "I swear you get more defiant each day."

Peeking your head around the corner of the screen, displaying your face and shoulder to him, you spoke, "It's the only exciting thing I have to do around here."

Azriel quirked a brow to you, his shadows dancing around his shoulders at the sound of your voice, "That's not true," you scoffed at his words and disappeared back behind the screen, continuing on your quest to find a dress for dinner, "There are plenty of things to keep you entertained in Velaris."

"Azriel," you deadpanned, not stopping your movements in plucking dressed from the railing and holding them up to your body, "Rhys doesn't let me do anything other than train and sit and look pretty and intimidating. I'm Velaris' glorified trophy."

A particular garment caught your eye and you smirked, taking it from its hanger and pulling it up your form. It was a stunning piece, one you rarely wore. An ornate solid gold bodice of blooming roses and ivy that connected to a red wine skirt that possessed a high slit, cream lace poked from the highest point of the slit and kissed your thigh.

"That's not true. He let you fight against Hybern," Azriel told you pointedly, seemingly becoming lost for words when you stepped from the screen and soothed down the skirt of the dress before bending down to secure golden heeled sandals to your feet.

"I fought against Hybern because there was no choice to do anything but that," you hadn't spared the Shadowsinger a glance but smiled softly at the shadows that curled lovingly around your ankles, you held two sets of earrings up to your ears and tilted your head in the mirror, "I'm sure if there was an option to stay home then Rhys would have gladly assigned the position to me."

Azriel rose from the bed, moving behind you and resting his hands on your hips, his hazel eyes boring into your reflection, "He worries about losing you. He couldn't stop what happened to your mother and sister, I think he just wants to be able to stop anything from happening to you," Azriel smiled at you and your orange ringed violet eyes softened at him, "Wear the red ones, they match the skirt."

"Thanks, Az," he hummed in response and took a step back, the place where his hands once lay turning cold and begging for more, "Shall we go to dinner then? What an exciting evening we have ahead of us," Azriel chuckled and offered his arm to you which you gladly took, allowing him to pull you from the room.

There was an unspoken attachment between you and Azriel, like it could be something more if you were both willing to risk your already perfect relationship on the notion of it. You both knew that feelings lingered, but if Rhys ever found out it would surely cause a civil war within your family, and you'd hate to think where everyone would stand in that battle.

The dining room had been beautifully dressed, a black tablecloth and tall golden candles, gold plates and coated silverware, ornate but expensive goblets and an array of blood red and orange flowers, no doubt a nod from Feyre of respect toward Eris.

Azriel left you at your usual seat with a subtle squeeze of the hand before rounding the table and taking his spot opposite you, scuffing the chair against the stone and sitting in it as you did in yours. Family members trailed in one by one, Nesta took her seat beside you and Cassian sat to her left, Mor took the spot beside Azriel and Elain took the other, then Amren entered, then Rhys and Feyre, the former of which nestled into his spot at the head of the table.

Then Lucien and Eris entered, and the High Lord eyed the last two remaining spaces, the one at the head of the table opposite Rhys or the one next to you, and Eris strode beyond his brother to steal that option. He teetered at the edge of it and peered down on you questioningly, "May I?"

Feeling Rhys' eye on you that you didn't dare to acknowledge, you nodded gently, "Of course," he took your answer in the palm of his hand and used it to pull the chair out, his scent of mulled wine, candied orange and pine filling your lungs as he sat.

Eris was dressed well, a red waistcoat adorned with golden swirls, a cream shirt that was tucked into the waistband of his black pants, like he knew to match your own attire, something that not only you noticed.

Idly, decanters of wine floated about the space, pouring themselves into the empty goblets placed at every seat, and food began to appear, dish by dish, on the long table. Platters of roasted vegetables, silver dishes piled with meats, bowls of fresh salads, boats of sauces, and most importantly, towers of desserts that made your eyes glisten, wanting to skip the main course entirely and help yourself to a slice of cake.

Clearing his throat, Rhys raised his goblet, tearing you from your salivating thoughts, "A toast," he smiled thinly at Feyre whose gaze shifted to you and then to the male at your side, "To new alliances."

The room repeated the sentiment before digging in, doing their best to ignore the swirling tension caused by Eris choosing to spend the evening sat beside you. Though, that soon vanished when Cassian started telling his many tales of his escapades throughout the years with the intermittent corrections from Rhys and Azriel.

"I should thank you," a low voice spoke from your right and you craned your head toward Eris, his hypnotising russet orbs were fixated on you, dark and full of wonder as they raked over your face, "For what you said at the meeting. I hope you weren't scolded for helping my cause."

Eris' voice was low, only loud enough for you to hear and you alone, his eyes were soft and stare void of that stoic cold that usually possessed it. He looked like a completely different person, there was actually kindness bubbling within him, genuine sincerity in his words.

"Rhys can scold me all he wants, it'll never change anything," you replied in the same tone, the orange ring in your eyes burning like wildfire, "Anyhow, it's a cause worth supporting."

From the corner of your eye, you caught Lucien watching you with intrigue, his fingers encased with Elain's atop the table with a knowing glitter lingering in his expression, he grinned as his brother spoke and leaned toward Elain to whisper something beyond your realm of hearing, "I can't remember the last time I saw you before Hybern."

Smirking, you asked, "Have you been thinking about me, High Lord?"

"It's not hard to," he replied honestly, watching the faint blush creep up your cheeks, "When was the last time?"

Humming, you thought about it, it wasn't often you actually left the confinements of Velaris thanks to your brother's protective antics, your eyes glazed over slightly, "It was Under The Mountain, at the beginning, after she," you rolled you shoulders, coiling them in the memory of that night.

That's right, the last time he had seen you before the war had been the night after Amarantha had stripped your wings from your body, carving them off with her talons to punish Rhys' reluctance. It had taken everything within Eris to not set her alight on the spot, if he could have, after he had seen your shaking pale form wandering the halls like a ghost.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up."

"It's fine," you insisted, sighing deeply, "It's a fading memory now, I've adjusted well."

"I'm glad to hear it," the genuine tone to him was confusing, but you always knew there more to him than what met the eye, and part of you was proud to have been correct about it.

Eris had grown up listening to the stories about you and Rhys, two formidable winged warriors that exuded darkness and power, who held the capacity in their fingers to shatter kingdoms if they so wished it.

It didn't scare him. You had never scared him actually.

"Make the most of this alliance, Eris. It's very rare that I speak up on such matters," you told him, sipping from the wine in your cup and placing it back onto the tabletop under Rhys' watchful gaze.

There was an elegance about you, Eris noticed, the poised shoulders and perfectly slender pointed ears, the violet eyes with the speckles of Autumn orange, the grace laced in your words. It was a spectacular thing to witness up close.

"Then why did you?"

There was a moment of contemplation and you furrowed your brow in thought, "I can't sit by and be part of the reason why people suffer," very unlike Rhys, "Other than that," you trailed off, looking deep into his eyes like your violet pools were drowning in his soul, "I'm not quite sure."

Author's Note

Part one to the series I've been planning for awhile.

Prepare yourselves for a pining, needy slow burn with a hint of forbidden love x

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊◜ a kiribaku x reader scenario that’s lived in my head for awhile now! it’s not really a formalized…anything. just fleeting thoughts. ♡ ✿ tangled hearts modern au masterlist ✿ ｡‧˚ʚ wc; ~2.6k ɞ˚‧｡ next entry: delicate (isn’t it?)

Thinking about a modern day AU with Kirishima and Bakugo settling down in the countryside for a quiet life away from the hustle of the city. They’re in their early 30s, married and happily tucked away in their own little paradise - until they meet you.

Bakugo works with his parent’s fashion agency as the director of the design department, and is a designer himself. He went to the highest credible fashion institute in Tokyo and graduated top of his class - as expected.

Kirishima is a personal trainer and owner of the local gym. He took a few business classes after high school and general fitness courses to learn all about it. He loves getting to help people and knows almost every single person in town. He also volunteers with the local fire company.

It was the ideal place for them, not too big and not too cramped. Bakugo had his own garden that he cherished while Kirishima loved the backyard for home exercising. Their home was spaced out from their neighbors and gave them the perfect amount of privacy.

The town is only an hour and change outside the city, still remaining close for friends and family by train. Bakugo mostly worked from home and only went into the city office for important meetings and press conferences. He preferred to work in his own space while designing instead of in a buzzing office where anyone could bother him - especially his parents.

Their morning routine was simple: Bakugo would wake up anytime between 6 and 6:30am, rolling out of bed to start breakfast and coffee. By the time he’s done cooking, Kirishima stumbles into the kitchen with his eyes half closed, sleepily making his way over to kiss his husband good morning. They’d sit at the table together and casually talk about their plans for the day or in silence as they enjoyed each others company.

That was all disrupted the morning Kirishima spotted you outside the gym, waiting for it to open. He didn’t recognize you like he did everyone else in town - that immediately caught his attention. Once inside, you introduced yourself and told him how you moved from the city for a new job. The two of you got to talking longer than anticipated and ended up bonding over you being new to town. Kirishima signs you up for his yoga classes the following week, excited to see you mesh with his regulars.

Bakugo’s on his lunch break later in the day at the local market to pick up his usual fresh vegetables and fruits when he spots you browsing the aisle behind him. He peeks over his glasses to see his design logo on the small tag at the hem of your tshirt. He simply smiles to himself, proud to see a garment of his in the wild, and finishes his own shopping.

───

A few weeks go by of getting to know Kirishima as you attend his classes. You’d stop and talk with him afterwards each time, slowly developing a friendship. One day after class, he casually mentions to you that his husband is a great cook and how his food rivals any five star restaurant from the city. On a whim, he invites you to dinner with him and Bakugo at their home - you agree happily. You didn’t have any friends in the area, what’s the harm in meeting people?

You arrive at their cozy home and are greeted heartily by Kirishima at the door as he puts a hand on your back and welcomes you inside. Bakugo turns his attention from the stove to the door, nodding in your direction as he continues cooking. You can’t help but think he looks…familiar.

Their place is gorgeous, tidy and clean, yet homey. There were pictures of their family and friends hung up all over alongside some simple art pieces and knick knacks. You could already tell who decorated versus who didn’t - Kirishima is definitely not the type to decorate so eloquently.

You’re gazing at one of the pictures when the realization smacks you in the face.

He’s responsible for half the clothes in your closet.

Kirishima is married to the Katsuki Bakugo of the fashion world? And you’re in his house for dinner that he’s serving to you?!

The thought makes you dizzy as your face flushes, desperately trying to hide your sudden excitement. And you chose to wear one of the dresses he designed for a collaboration years ago. What are the chances? Kirishima never told you what his husband’s name was, just that he was married.

“Y/N, I want you to meet my husband, Katsuki!” Kirishima excitedly says as he’s walking you to the kitchen. “Kat, this is Y/N. She’s the one I told ya about from my yoga class!”

The two of you lock eyes for a moment before Bakugo looks you up and down, calculating his first impression of you. He wasn’t about to tell you that he’s seen you around town before, he had to play it cool and not make it seem like he already knew you existed.

“Nice ta meet ya,” he greets before returning his attention to the stove. “Dinners just about ready. Ei, can you set the table?”

You all sit down for dinner, and it’s absolutely delicious. Kirishima was not joking about Bakugo’s cooking, every single thing you ate was delightful. You honestly don’t know if you’ve had a better meal than his.

“This is absolutely amazing, Ba-”

“Jus’ call me Katsuki.”

Him cutting you off to correct his name before you even finished saying it made your heart skip a beat.

“Oh, sure. Katsuki, this is honestly one of the best meals I’ve ever had,” you repeat, picking at that last of your vegetables on your plate. “I saw a garden outside. Do you grow them yourself?”

Bakugo grins, glowing at your compliments. “Yep. Anythin’ not in season I grab from market.”

Kirishima watches the two of you interact, happy that he was right about the three of you getting along seamlessly.

You shuffle in your seat at the next pause in your conversation before deciding to ask the burning question on your mind.

“So, Katsuki…what do you do for work?”

He laughs, motioning to your sundress. “Ya don’t have to beat around the bush about it. I can spot my work from a mile away.”

That broke the ice and allowed you to relax, knowing he didn't think you were trying to impress him by wearing his own design. The night went on, way past dinner, where the three of you talked about any and everything. It felt as if they’d already known you their whole lives, the conversation never feeling forced and flowing naturally.

“Shit, I’m sorry for staying so late!” You exclaim while looking at your phone. “Didn’t mean to keep you guys up.”

“Don’t apologize, y/n! You’re welcome here anytime,” Kirishima assured, slinging his arm around Bakugo on the couch. “We’d love to have ya over for dinner again soon!”

You’re about to head out the door when Bakugo gets up from the couch and stops you. “It’s dark, lemme walk you back to your place.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you insist, but he wasn’t having it. He was already changing out of his slippers and into a pair of sneakers. He held the door open for you as you waved to Kirishima, thanking him again for having you over and that you’ll see him for class in the morning.

You and Bakugo are walking down the dimly lit street toward your apartment complex, hands in his pockets, when he strikes up another conversation about your dress.

“You didn’t need to act so shy about the dress,” he comments. “Looks good on ya.”

You can feel your cheeks get hot again, praying he can't see your reaction in the street lights. "T-thanks! I love your work. I actually have a lot of the clothes you’ve designed…what are the odds?” You trail off at the end out of nervousness, playing with the fabric of the dress.

“Yeah? Good to know.”

The two of you approach your building and he says a simple ‘good night’ as he waves, turning to head home.

There’s a weird feeling in your chest, one that you haven’t felt in a long time. A warmth that floods your body with…you can’t pinpoint it. It makes you sweat, but comforts you at the same time.

Little did you know that the boys were feeling the exact same way.

───

Months go by as the three of you become inseparable - dinners, movie nights, shopping at the market, going into the city together, meeting their friends, walking around town at sunset, picnics in the park, you name it. Kirishima and Bakugo never knew they could feel so comfortable with someone so quickly - it was as if the three of you were meant to find each other.

While the two of them are lying in bed one night, Kirishima decides to open up about his feelings. He rolls over to face Bakugo, his usual pointy hair fluffed around his face against the pillow.

“Kats, I got a question for ya. It’s kinda…weird?” He starts, fiddling with the hem of the comforter. “Do you…uhh, shit. Do you have any feelings toward Y/N?”

Bakugo flips to his side to face him. “What do y’mean?”

“Oh don’t be like that. I think she’s…really cute,” he admits, his cheeks turning rosy. “I enjoy having her around.”

Bakugo grumbles in embarrassment, pulling the comforter up to cover his face. He feels like a high school boy all over again - he just didn’t want to admit it.

They’d both fallen for you simultaneously without even saying a word. Neither of them knew why, they’ve been together for over a decade now - since their college days. No one has ever made their hearts race in sync like you do.

“I’ll take that reaction as an agreement,” Kirishima teases, poking Bakugo’s forehead through the covers. He groans again as he throws the blanket off his face.

“It’s been confusin’ the shit outta me. I love you, Ei and that doesn’t change shit, but goddamn. She’s fuckin’ gorgeous,” Bakugo admits, face and ears burning hot.

“Aw, you’re so cute when you have a crush!” He scoots closer to Bakugo and kisses him on the forehead. “Haven’t seen that side of ya since college.”

Bakugo bats at him playfully, pushing him away as he whines, “Shut the fuck up!”

“So…what do we do about it?” Kirishima’s question hangs in the air between them, heavy…but alluring.

───

The next few times you hang out with the boys, you can tell that things feel a little more…intense? If that was the right word, the feeling was foreign. You found yourself becoming more physical with the two of them, and each time gave you butterflies. You weren’t quite sure what was going on until that fateful night.

It was a dreary night, the remnants of the storm passing through the town. The rain was no longer a torrential downpour and had tapered off into a sprinkle, enough to allow you to walk home safely. You’re heading for the door as Bakugo catches up to you, umbrella in hand.

“Y’know the drill, I’m not lettin’ ya walk home alone. Especially when it’s still raining.”

“Kat, you hate the rain, it’s fine,” you argue, but know it’s pointless. Bakugo waves at Kirishima and you notice Kirishima’s smile is extra wide tonight…and did he wink?

He closes the door behind the two of you and opens the umbrella on the porch, slinging an arm around your shoulders to huddle you under its protection.

The walk to your apartment is silent, an unknown tension lingering in the air. The subtle flexing of Bakugo’s fingers on your shoulder is driving you wild, a simple touch was enough to ignite the fire in your gut. Reaching your apartment complex, you stop to thank him for walking you home like always, but something else spills from your lips instead.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Bakugo’s taken aback by your question, confused where this has come from. “What? No, not at all. Why?”

“I…just don’t wanna make you two uncomfortable,” you whisper, eyes cast to the ground. “I really like you two…and don’t want to come between y-”

The umbrella clatters to the ground as Bakugo throws it to the side, letting the rain pelt against the both of you as one hand pulls you into him by the waist and the other under your chin.

“That’s right where we want ya,” he speaks against your lips. He hesitates, tilting his head back and looking directly in your eyes. “Tell me to back off, and I will. We can act like-”

This time, you cut him off by putting a hand on the back of his head and one on his chest, pulling him to meet your lips. The world stops around you as the rain trickles down your faces and vaguely into your kiss. You tangle your arms around each other’s bodies, illuminated by the soft street lights as your clothes become heavier with rainwater. After what feels like ages, you part, catching the breath you’ve stolen from each other’s lungs.

No words are spoken as Bakugo takes your hand, tugging you back down the road toward their place. You giggle and begin to run with excitement, skipping through the rain with him all the way back. Throwing open the front door, you both take a step inside, soaking wet from the rain. Kirishima glances over from the couch, shocked to see you return with Bakugo.

“Woah! What happened to you two?” he asks, concerned yet intrigued. He then notices you’re holding hands, and it clicks.

You’re stripping the wet clothes from your body faster than you can chicken out of doing so, letting them plop on the floor of the foyer until you’re left in your bra and underwear. Bakugo follows suit and trails behind you as you make your way over to Kirishima on the couch. You take a deep breath before placing a hand on each of his shoulders, sliding into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. He places his hands on your waist anxiously, scared you’ll shatter under his touch.

“It’s okay, Eiji,” you coo, leaning down to his ear. “You can touch me.”

You turn back to Bakugo as he’s sitting next the two of you on the couch, reaching a hand out to stroke his cheek. “Katsuki can, too.”

That’s all the permission they need to devour you all night long - over and over again like a drug they couldn’t get enough of. Brief naps in between, each time better than the last. Hands tangled in hair, lips kissing skin in sinful places, and noises only the three of you could orchestrate together.

That was the night their lives changed forever, thanks to you. Things were easy and simple between the three of you - you blended into their routines perfectly as the weeks progressed. Waking up between the two of them each morning was heavenly, especially when they fought over who got to cuddle you through the night. Bakugo usually won that fight until he would go make breakfast, then Kirishima would tuck you under his arm and hold you close.

Everything was so easy between you three, you were the missing puzzle piece in their lives that they didn’t know was absent.

You were theirs, and they were yours - simple as that. They wouldn’t trade their newfound goddess for the world.

i immediately think of @pastelbakugou & @kweenkatsuki-fics when it comes to kiribaku x reader, thank you for being my inspirations! 💜

[svtoose]

Palace Rendezvous ft. Joshua Hong

pairing: joshua x fm!reader

word count: 1.2k

F : pretty fluffy

warnings: palace au, reader is a worker, kissing

summary: you and josh are two staff members at the palace. how will you keep your relationship a secret?

a/n : i made a banner hehe. ps. I'm sorry if u read this before I proofread bc gosh what was wrong w me!!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"We're going to get caught, Shua." You whisper into his ear. He continues to kiss your neck, moving his lips freely among your skin.

"Please, baby. I can't risk it." You plead. He finally releases you from his arms and frowns at you. You and Joshua both work at the king and queen's palace, but are forced to date in secret cause of a 'no dating' policy for the palace staff.

"I have a dress to sew, and you have a prince to tend to. Don't let the prince find out his right hand man is violating a rule." You whisper against his lips in a teasing fashion. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. Before he lifts his lashes, you sneakily slip out of his grip and start speed-walking down the dimly lit hallway.

"This isn't over, Y/N," you hear him threaten as you giggle, continuing on your path to your quarters, where there is a garment waiting for you to complete.

With quick steps, trudge to the basement, fearing your boss's dismay at your tardiness.

"That's two in a row, Miss Y/N," your boss says after you enter the premises. Her eyebrows are raised, and a subtle smirk sits on her lips. It's almost as if she knew what you were doing just a few minutes ago.

"I apologize. I'll be extra early tomorrow." You speak guiltily, avoiding eye contact.

As you scurry toward your workplace, her next words make you stop at your place. "It's a boy, I presume. He must be the reason you're always late."

'Oh, no. This could be the end' you think to yourself. Is it that obvious? Well, you can't really admit it to your boss. Both you and Josh could get fired and sent home. Worse yet, you guys could be injured in front of all the staff to "set an example."

"No Miss. I just lost track of time while getting ready," you reply to your boss, hoping she believes your lies.

"Sure, you did. Just get to work."

You nod your head and quickly walk to your station, continuing to pin the hem of a dress you're working on. The gown is sheer pink, with an intricately embroidered bodice and a tulle skirt. It's absolutely perfect for the 16-year-old princess. It's definitely one of your more extravagant pieces.

Your hands steadily prick needles into the ragged hem of the dress as your boss walks around, critiquing and admiring your and the rest of the girls' work.

She finishes her rounds and takes a seat beside your isolated workspace as you mentally prepare yourself to be berated some more. Your boss was a kind woman in her fifties, but she did not appreciate any misconduct. Nobody ever wanted to be on her bad side.

"Exquisite Miss Y/N. Very elegant. I'm sure the princess will be delighted. Do you plan on adding straps?"

"Thank you. Yes, I do. I could also leave it strapless, but I know the princess prefers the support."

"Perfect then." She's about to leave before she pauses and looks at you.

"Miss Y/N. I know you know there are rules about personal affairs in the palace.

"I'm not having any personal affairs." You cut her off, lying through your teeth. You are usually not this abrupt, but the anxiety of her finding out about your relationship is surely terrifying.

"A chance to finish, Miss?"

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry."

"You're a terrible liar, you know. As I was saying, I know there's a boy. I know you're scared right now that I might get you in trouble. But I'm not looking to ruin your life. As long as it doesn't interfere with the quality of your work, which it obviously hasn't, then there's nothing to report. Even if the queen were to find out, she's a complete sucker for a good love story. She would be more than glad to turn a blind eye. And as for the king, he barely notices the staff. I'd be surprised if he knew my name. All I ask is that you come on time so you don't raise any suspicions among the rest of the staff. Does that sound reasonable?"

Do you hear her right? You and Shua won't have to worry about it anymore.

"It sounds far better than reasonable. Thank you so much. I promise I won't let you down, and I'll be on time from now on."

"Alright then. I'm glad this could be resolved. Get back to work. The dress is due in a few hours." She winked at you and walked away to her own station.

'I've got to tell Josh the news!' you think to yourself.

Though you are quite distracted for the duration of the work day, you successfully complete the dress, straps, and all. You quickly hang the completed garment on a rack and speed your way to your room, where you hope to freshen up for your date with Joshua.

You remove your hair tie, allowing your locks to lay freely, before you swipe a sheer shade of rouge over your lips. 'He's going to be so happy.'

You take steady steps toward the rooftop, where you know Josh will be awaiting you, imagining the smile that will adorn his face after you share your news with him.

After a few seconds, a beautiful scene reveals itself. Your dear boyfriend stands against the railing, admiring the acres of green that are accompanied by the sunset.

"Shua?" You call out with a peaceful smile on your lips.

He perks up, turning around to walk toward you with open arms. No matter how many times you see him in his uniform, it never fails to take your breath away; the suit is just tailored so perfectly to his frame.

"C'mere, sweetheart." He calls you in for a warm embrace, while you just cannot wipe the smile off your face.

"What's got you so happy?" He asks, releasing you from the hug. You grab his hand and walk back to the railing, pulling him behind you. While his arms enclose you as you both stare out into the sunset, you begin to reveal the news.

"I was late to work today... and..." He lays his chin on your shoulder, leaving sweet pecks on your neck.

"Well, my boss had an inkling that I was with a boy and told me that... it was okay. She wouldn't tell anyone we were together as long as I came on time." You feel his kisses pause as he lifts his head.

"Does that mean..."

"Yes, Josh. We don't have to fear for our lives anymore. We can be together."

"Oh, baby, that's so great." His arms tighten around you as you turn around to hold his face in your hands. The happiness in the atmosphere is blooming as your lips inch up toward each other in a deep kiss.

"I'm so happy, Josh."

"Me too, Y/N." You turn back around and continue to admire the nature that surrounds the palace. You can just feel it in your bones that life is about to get better.

[nonsensenook]

Chapter 3.5 | Moment of Respite

Synopsis: In which Bajie kindly gives you some time alone with the Destined One. An optional and indulgent chapter in this unapologetic take on you, the reader, accompanying the Destined One on his journey. 

Word Count: 3,129

Warnings: 18+/Explicit Content/Smut/N.S.F.W, Female Reader

Author’s Note: Though I say unapologetic, I am very much nervously sweating. I will soon find a nice rock to hide under. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!

Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The snow covered landscape turned to dense forest once again. With Bajie now completing the trio of a group, any sort of affection you showed came sparingly. Whatever you could show comfortably in Bajie’s presence was quick and subtle. It didn’t take long for you to begin struggling with the confines of this restriction. As time went on you would do what you could to distract yourself, but more than once Bajie had caught you staring at the Young Sage. This made the Pig Guai pelt you with seeds while counting how many it took until you were broken from the spell. He had also begun to stack things on you, laughing when his pile would tumble once you were out of your daze. On his less patient days he’d purposely scare you back to reality by shouting loudly near your ear. Even while you were standing he’d find something to hop onto to do this. 

The Destined One wasn’t doing any better. He didn’t seem to fully understand why you were quicker to separate from him in the mornings before Bajie woke up. Sometimes he’d pull you close or try resting his head in your lap, however these moments were quick to end when you moved away after seeing Bajie approach. You saw how this annoyed the Destined One by the way his tail lashed back and forth behind him. Your little explanations didn’t stop that tail of his either. He had recently started to walk away from Bajie mid-conversation to see whatever unimportant task you were up to. This earned him plenty of choice words from Bajie. More often now you would see Bajie knock the Destined One on the head with the back of his rake when he caught his gaze wandering off. Needless to say, Bajie’s temper seemed to be getting shorter these days. 

Tonight, the Destined One had found a suitable cave to set up camp. The half-moon in the sky shined brightly as your group settled down for the night. It was an evening full of unfinished chores. You were doing what you could, having picked up sewing to mend various articles of clothing while the Destined One worked on crafting a new staff. You sat near the fire and worked by its light. Across from you, Bajie stood up and dusted himself off.

“A lovely night like this is meant to be enjoyed with alcohol,” he announced, brushing past you to pick up the spare bottles of brew. “I’m going to finish these off by the waterfall we passed earlier. Do not expect me until morning and do not expect I’ll be sober,” he said with a chuckle. You weren’t really paying attention. The thread wasn’t going through the needle and the dancing firelight wasn’t helping. 

“I said,” Bajie emphasized loudly right next to your ear, making you jump and drop the needle, “I am going and to not expect me till morning.” 

You moved garments aside trying to find the needle with eyes squinting in the firelight. “Yes, yes, we heard you the first time, Bajie. Did you want company?” 

“Not from either of you! I’ve had enough of the two of you to last me several lifetimes.” Bajie began walking down the path through the trees. “If a lovely lady passes by here, send her my way!” he called back. You heard him singing loudly as he walked away, his voice slowly receding until it disappeared in the regular hum of nature around you. 

Thankfully, you found your needle again and managed to successfully thread it. You worked quietly on patching up your clothes. The night was cool, the air was filled with the soft croaking of frogs and crickets in their tunes. The fire next to you crackled softly as you worked. A breeze rustled the trees surrounding your little camp. You paused for a moment to listen to the leaves flutter on their branches. Bajie was right, it was a lovely night. You glanced up and saw the Destined One taking apart an old staff to make anew. His gaze was concentrated, you watched for a moment as he extracted the needed materials. You returned to your own work feeling content. 

Being alone with the Destined One had you reminisce on the beginning of the journey. Unlike this comfortable silence, the silences then were awkward and prolonged. Small accidental touches had you apologizing or him stepping back. Though you pride yourself in reading what he means to convey at a glance now, you remembered those perplexing games of charades you used to play with him. Then there was the bathing spring incident. You inwardly cringed. Even with everything you’ve done with him till now, that moment still pulls you back to those same feelings of panic and embarrassment. You shook your head, forcing the memory back to the corners of your mind. Then you felt your body stiffen as you finally realized: You were alone with the Destined One.

You felt a sudden sharp pain on your finger making you inhale through your teeth. You had accidentally poked yourself with the needle. The air around you moved, a pair of strong hands gently held yours open. The Destined One examined your finger closely. It was only a small dot on your index where the skin was barely broken. You looked at his face, his expression was full of focused concern. 

“I’m okay,” you said quietly, not even looking at your hands. He brushed his finger onto yours. Satisfied that you weren’t bleeding, he made to move away. You held onto his sleeve. 

“I-” You began to speak, then felt your mouth dry up. Embarrassment shot through you, quickening your heart and tying your tongue. How depraved were you that you’d jump at this opportunity the moment Bajie stepped away? Pretty depraved, you thought. 

“Could-” you stuttered, trying and failing once again to fully transfer incomplete thoughts from your mind to your mouth. You couldn’t find a way to say you wanted to touch him without sounding perverse. The Destined One looked closely at you. He reached his hand up to brush strands of your hair aside, fishing out a stray leaf. His hand traced along your face, lingering on your cheek. You leaned into his touch, placing your hand over his. You then turned your face to brush your lips against his palm. Usually, this action alone was enough to have him lead the rest of the way, but he made no motion. He simply looked at you with a shadow of amusement on his features. He slowly moved his hand to your chin where he tilted your head upwards to look him in the eyes. This damn monkey. 

As if reading your thoughts, you saw the corner of his lips twitch. You glared at him. He gave an innocent tilt of his head. You could so easily read what he was saying as if he’d whispered it into your ear. All you needed to do was ask.

“Could you please-” you started again, your breath hitching as he brushed his knuckles against the heat of your cheeks. You stared into his eyes. That same look of kindness, that same boundless patience, and something else. Something ravenous, waiting just beneath the surface. You just barely managed to whisper out the next words, “Touch me…” 

The Destined One looked more than pleased as he leaned forward. His lips touched yours in a gentle kiss. His warmth always seemed to envelope you. How long has it been since he’d touched you like this? How long have you wanted this? How long have you needed this? Long enough to know that this wasn’t even nearly enough. Your hands came up to his robe, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. You sealed your fate in this one bold move. This you knew: The Destined One wasn’t one to abandon something once started. Soon enough, he showed you just how famished he’d been. 

You felt his tongue greedily taste you as his hands traced your frame. You welcomed him to consume you, wrapping your arms around his neck as he sucked on your tongue. You moaned against his mouth as his hands trailed down to grope you in all the right places. He proceeded to lift you up as he trailed kisses and bites from your neck to your chest. He carried you easily into the cave where he held you against its walls. You stood there, your head thrown slightly back as he slowly descended down. His sharp nails snagged and tore at your clothes, still being careful not to push too hard into your soft flesh. 

You felt his hot breath on your chest. His tongue traced the area around your nipples, tasting you. You heard your cries echo in the cave when he began sucking on one while groping and flicking the other. The hand you held against your mouth did little to mask the sounds he pulled from you. He played with you until you were quivering in his hands. Satisfied, he continued trailing his tongue downward. He continued tearing at your clothes to make way for himself. By the time he was kneeling, your clothes were but scraps barely hanging onto your body. 

He slowed down, listening to your small whimpers as he slowly moved his hands up your legs. His nails softly scraped at your skin sending shivers down your spine. Slowly, painfully slowly, he made his way up to your thighs. He stopped just before he reached your entrance. Closing his eyes, he began planting slow, gentle kisses on your inner thighs. Then he opened his mouth and took a bite, making you cry out in surprise. You saw his tail flick behind him. He loved that sound you just made. He cruelly continued to do this, getting so close but never touching you where you wanted most. He took another bite which he licked once he let go. While holding your legs apart, he looked up at you. This Gods damn monkey. Mischievous doesn’t even begin to describe him anymore. 

This was his revenge for all the times you’d pulled away from him before. Knowing he was depriving you on purpose made you stubbornly bite your lip. Yet simply seeing him stare up at you while he traced your inner thigh with his teeth already cracked something in you. Just as you knew what he was doing, he knew what you were thinking. Frustration coursed through your veins as the Destined One watched you in playful amusement. It was unfortunate, you were up against someone who’d never lost a battle. You saw him use his knuckles to hover ever so close to your folds. You watched as he pulled away, then spread out his fingers to show your fluids sticking and dripping down them. You outwardly cursed at him this time. The Destined One wasn't listening, he’d started licking his fingers. You felt your pride and shame crumbling down as you watched him. The last embers of your stubbornness were snuffed out by his tongue.

Your lips quivered as you breathed out your next words. “Please,” you begged, “Please…” Again, you saw that same pleased look on his face. He'd gotten just what he wanted. You threw your head back as his tongue tasted your entrance. You felt his breath pant against you as his hot tongue slid into your pussy. From everything he’d done, there was so much of you for him to hungrily lap up. Your hands went to the fur on his head, gripping them to steady and ground yourself from the stimulation. He pushed his tongue in further, making your grip tighten on him. You felt him slowly traced back to your clit, flicking his tongue against it. You flinched and buckled each time he did this. His tight grip on your thighs held you still as he greedily devoured you. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, your shaking legs began to give out from under you. In response, the Destined One placed one leg over his shoulder. 

“Wait-” you cried out more in shock than command. He placed the other leg over too until your whole weight was fully supported by him. This new angle had him reaching deeper into you. With his hands on your waist and forearms resting on your thighs, he began sucking on your clit. You gasped then moaned uncontrollably loudly, pulling hard at his fur. Your twitching legs tried to come together but were held firmly in place by his immeasurable strength as he thoroughly ate you out. Your cries echoed back at you in the cave. You felt something build up, tightening inside of you. You cried out a string of curses as you came hard, your body twitching and convulsing against the cave wall. 

The Destined One slid his tongue against your pussy, lapping you up slowly as he helped you ride out your orgasm. When you settled down, he gently moved your legs from his shoulders. You leaned against the cave wall for support. Out of breath, you watched him wipe his mouth as he took off his robe to lay on the ground. In the dim light of the cave, you drank in the sight of his body. Your eyes stared at his muscles, his lean figure covered in fur, and the veins trailing from his arms to his hands. The Destined One helped you over to his robe where you laid down on your back. 

He hovered over you, admiring the absolute mess he’d made of you. He then went to your neck and started sucking on your skin, one hand reaching to pull down his pants. He tossed them aside. As you twitched below him you felt the tip of his cock brush against your folds, spreading your wetness all over himself. You felt yourself pulsing in anticipation. Your hands went to his chest. You felt hard muscle beneath soft fur as you slid your hands down. You hear his breath catch when you brush along his lower abdomen. Your hands then went to his back where you slowly scraped and pulled at him. He shivered at your touch. As he continued to mark your skin, you felt him start to enter you slowly. You felt his tail wrap around your leg. One of his hands held yours, pinning you down to the ground. His other hand shot up to grip the cave wall. As eased into your soaked pussy, you heard the sound of something cracking above you. 

You let out a low moan as he went deeper, stretching you out, until you had taken him fully. You felt yourself tighten around him as he let out a sigh. Again, you heard that same cracking noise above you, like stones scraping together. He began moving slowly, cautious of you adapting to his size. Your breath was coming up short again. When he quickened his pace, you could not stop the sounds that erupted from you. The Destined One’s breathing was heavy and labored in your ear. You heard more cracking from above as he let out a low, husky moan. You clawed at his back, making him snarl. He let go of the cave wall, scraping his nails down your back as he gripped your hips, digging deeply into your skin. You cried out, arching into him, your chest meeting his as his thrusts came harder. You could only whimper and moan as he pulled you in by your hips to meet each of his thrusts. Growling in your ear, he pulled back, then slammed into you hard. You choked out another cry which became mewling whimpers as he fucked you harder. You were begging for him, but the sounds were indiscernible to your ears. The cave walls had you deafened by your own voice drenched in ecstasy and the sounds of his body slamming into yours. 

You felt yourself tighten up, that same peaking feeling getting closer. Moaning fully into his ear you came again, twitching hard as your pussy tightened around his cock. His thrusts quickened, becoming frantic, desperate. You felt him bite down hard into your shoulder as he came in you. Both his teeth and nails dug deep enough to draw blood, but the pain felt delicious as he twitched and filled you. 

For a moment he stayed still, breathing heavily, then he let go of your shoulder and pulled out of you. His hand unlatched itself from your hip, he moved his arm up to support his weight. The other hand was still firmly holding your own. Both of you were still out of breath as he closed his eyes to rest his head against yours. You reached up to hold his face, giving him a tender kiss. He returned the kiss as you wrapped your arm around his neck. He pulled you up slowly, delicately. You closed your eyes as he carried you out of the cave.

~

In the morning, Bajie returned the way he’d left: singing. True to his word he held many empty jars of drink and walked like a sailor towards where you and the Destined One were having breakfast. Before he’d made it to you two, however, Bajie face-planted into the ground. You heard the distinct sound of him snoring as a jar rolled towards you. The Destined One stood up to carry Bajie over to the light bedding you’d prepared for him. 

The Young Sage then returned to you and pulled you into his lap. The Destined One wrapped his arms around you, tail pleasantly thumping the ground. You leaned into him, feeling your sore body ache. Your clothes just barely hid the bruises and bites he’d left all over your neck and chest. The bite on your shoulder along with the scratches down your back and hips still stung. He’d done well to help tend and clean you up last night. He was initially a bit worried at the wounds you sustained, but you reassured him that he hadn’t hurt you in any way you didn’t want him to. He seemed quite happy to trace over the various marks he’d left on your body afterwards. 

You were glad to take a day off from traveling today. The Destined One still had a staff to remake and you had more clothing to repair. Yes, both were quite reasonable explanations to validate this moment of respite. That and how your legs were fully out of commission. You kept your eyes away from the mound of rock and stone behind the two of you. You hoped that by the time you were on the road again Bajie would be too hungover to ask what happened to the cave. 

[escespace]

Merthur prompt

Or rather, a long concept that has been going around in my head since I saw a tiktok but that I don't have the energy or time to write:

BUT LISTEN TO ME, I HAVE NOT FOUND ANYTHING LIKE THAT:

The king who seeks his warlock, the warlock who seeks his king. Two halves trying to become a whole again through two parallel growth journeys and a convergence between duty and hope.

So...

Merlin pretends to be heading for Camelot but he definitely isn't going there. I mean, IT'S THE KINGDOM KNOWN FOR ROAST BUNNY ON FIRE SEASONED WITH SORCERERS (he loved his mother but is that woman out of her mind?!)... However, he understands why she came up with the idea and agrees that his magical outbursts are becoming harder to conceal, so he wants to seek help (other than that of an ex-sorcerer who remains under the command of the chief butcher of his kind). He wants to find druids but he knows it will be a difficult journey, druids never stay in one place long enough and they distrust outsiders. Either way, he's already made up his mind and he never backs down when he does that.

Meanwhile Arthur's taking Morris to Gaius because the idiot moved at the last minute while he was practicing throwing knives.And it's totally his fault and not Arthur's. How dare him doubt the ability of his prince? Ha! As if Arthur could fail.

He knows he's going to be late for the banquet and his father will look at him in that way he does and well, it better not be that late, right? So he takes other routes and somehow ends up near where that magnificent entertainment is staying, that Morgana kept talking about but that he didn't listen to at all...

He hears the commotion in one of the rooms and ends up stopping a crime and finds evidence of a possible assassination attempt on the royal family. More or less, Arthur stops the whole fiasco with Lady Helen before it happens.

While they take her to the dungeons to burn her the next morning, she growls, attacks and curses the Pendragon ancestors... Above all, that night Arthur does not stop listening to her again and again claiming for the life of her son, burned that same morning :

«It wasn't Him, it was my magic, it wasn't Him »

And for the first time in his life Arthur asked himself a question related to magic...

Weeks go by and for Merlin things may not be going the way he thought they would. He has been living on just one meal a day and sometimes manages to pick up work in passing villages in exchange for lodging for a couple of nights; but mostly he tries to stay in the woods. It's not that he know much about living off the wild, but He has been through tough times before, not big deal, and for some reason there's something very comforting about being constantly surrounded by nature too.

Almost any discomfort would be acceptable if it weren't for the freaking unicorn that never stops following him. And aren't they supposed to be a sign of good fortune or something? Then why has it been the cause of all his calamities so far? First the overestimated horse tore one of his shirts while dragging him across the grass, and it's not like he's in a position to lack of anything without having money and with the cold nights he usually faces. Then the animal he fought with him until push him into a river whose watercourse rolled him around like a lady's garment during the wash. The last encounter ended when I lead Merlin towards some bandits Merlin did what he could. He knocked most of them down, causing branches to fall on them and their feet to get caught in roots. But one managed to get close enough to knock him until leaving him confounded, then the others who were not so bruised joined in the beating and Merlin could do nothing.

Intense emotions, deep reflections on his identity and self-worth until he is finally saved by an blonde woman. The lady said at most three words and all the bandits fell asleep.

An exchange of words that I can't come up with but ends with the woman telling him that she didn't do it for free, that he should pay with her neckerchief. Merlin doesn't understand but he's hurt and tired so he no protest

(Pause to say that in defense of the unicorn, he was just looking to steer Merlin in the direction of his destiny coughcoughArthurcoughcough, and Merlin didn't make it easy for him)

Days later the thing with Valiant and nobody suspects anything, nobody is there to save the ass of our favorite brat. But a Old lady follows him around like a duck all morning treating him like a adorable and helpful young man (much as a grandma style) until he bends to accept a ☆favor☆, yes that one... You and I know where she got it, Arthur doesn't and he doesn't know how unique and special that little piece of cloth can be.

No one sees anything strange in this favor because the old woman gave it to him in a very public place and everyone assumes that the prince is just being chivalrous

But the scarf ends up being what protects Arthur from Valiant's shield just because I say so and the magic of fiction stories and Merlin and his neckerchiefs have a special connection so its essence or whatever is still there

The story would extend to the first encounters between Merlin and the druids, Merlin and his father (a meeting before time to give them their due quality time and badass moments). He having the opportunity to forge his own identity and an independent path. On the other hand, Arthur discovering aspects of magic on his own to create his own criteria and value system. HE COULD EVEN BE THE FIRST TO TALK TO THE GREAT DEAGON!!!!

Forget that, Arthur is definitely the first to talk to the great dragon and learn of the prophecy. And listening to how it sounds, without many details and as critical as only Kilgharrah can be, plus the fact that he is only told about a certain Emrys and not about if is a wizard or witch or sorcerer or him or her...he comes to the same conclusion as us: That Emrys is his other half, "SHE" IS HIS SOULMATE... Oh man when they meet...

[nervousd]

Drabble— Longing

→ Infatuation | m.list

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Before setting fire to the hooches, Quaritch had decided to pay your little hut a visit. He was curious as to how you lived— eager to know more about you. There was clothing scattered around along with trinkets. A picture frame of you and Grace along with other science pukes posing for a picture. He took his time in tinkering with random objects that caught his curiosity— ornaments scattered here and there. It was homey— decorated just the way you like it. He inhaled softly, eyes hazing as your smell comforted his tense muscles. He sluggishly went over to your makeshift bed; it dipped under his weight as he sat down.

His fingers dragged along the fabric, rubbing it between his fingers. He gripped the garment tighter, pressing his nose against the fabric. It smelled just like you— he clung onto the fabric tighter; wrapping it around his body. It was as if you were embracing him. Just like how you used to— wrapping your arms around him and whispering sweet words in his ear. Tracing his scar with soft caresses— he stands up abruptly, chest heaving and heart thumping. His tail slapped numerous items to the ground as he pawed aimlessly at a pile of dirty clothes in your hamper.

His hands moved to their own accord— finding socks, shirts, bras and underwear. He snatched the clothes up smashing them against his face. He inhaled aggressively, his muzzle pressed against your soiled underwear. A low groan escaped his lips— tongue dragging across its surface. He could taste the tangy taste of your cunt on his tongue. His eyes rolled to the back of his head— saliva coating the fabric as he continued to suck on the piece of cloth. It wasn’t enough for him— but not to panic. Now that he has you waiting patiently for him back in his room where he ordered you to be placed; he’ll finally have a proper taste of you.

He dragged the pile towards the mattress, spreading the clothes across the bed. He laid down on the pile, nuzzling the clothing with the tip of his nose. He reached down grabbing his cock, lewdly squeezing the protruding bulge. He groaned in relief, his cock was swollen and desparte for much needed attention—without hesitance he shoved his palms down his pants; wrapping his hands around his length. With your panties shoved against his face his imagination runs wild. Short snippets of memories of your whorish moans come to mind— you sprawled on his bed with your legs spread out and him feasting on your drooling cunt.

His fingers pressed on the bulbous tip of his cock, pre-cum leaking out. His hips thrusted up, frantic to get any sort of friction he could get. His eyes rolled to the back of his head— ❝ shit— sweetheart, you’re driving me crazy ❞ he moaned out your name. He stroked himself with fervor, picturing you on top of him and riding his cock desperately like the good slut he knows you are. His hips stutter as he neared his high, lost in the intoxication of his desires for you. He wonders just how much your cunt can take— would you squeal and whine? Whine about how big his cock is? Push against his shoulders as you wiggle beneath him hoping for any mercy he can give— would you get drunk on cock— babbling nonsense as you go stupid. Fuck— what he would give to see you fall apart on his dick. Would he take you face down ass up? Mewling and whimpering as he bullies his cock into your cunt

He stroked himself with fervor, picturing you going stupid on him— having the full advantage to use you like a flesh light. His own personal hole for him to fuck— his teeth clenched down; eyes rolling to the back of his skull. He couldn’t cum now— not with his balls swollen and full of cum. He couldn’t waste his seed on his hands— his breath was labored as he released his cock from his grip. Not yet— not when he has access to your body, he’ll make sure to fill you up. He could picture it— your cunt messy and swollen, filled with cum— hell maybe you’ll pop another kid for him.

His hands trailed lower towards his swollen balls, fondling them with care as he imagined you on your knees; basking his balls with your tongue. He released a deap, grutal groan from his lips. Drool leaking at the corner of your lips with tears glistening in your eyes— messy— just how he likes it. He shudders at the thought— a wave of lust washes over him. He quickly gathers himself, shoving a couple of panties inside his pockets. He’ll have you soon— real soon

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━━━ : © NERVOUS.D

[forever--darling]

the princess of bakura

summary: you are faced with reality finally catching up with you as you are at risk of falling with your planet amidst the clone wars, yet your father the king of bakura refuses to let you stay within the burning city, thus contacting his old-time friend and jedi he was in training with to come and take you from the city.

pairings: anakin skywalker x princess!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings/notes: mention of war, of death, mention of clone of wars, the start and beginning or rather where it all ended for the princess of bakura but not for y/n.

series masterlist | 00

The fires appeared, reflected from the great towers in waves of orange and red. The very sound of buildings collapsing into fines of dust and ash was the only attention-holder you had from the high floors of the capital. Locked away within a side room, the gold dress pooled in heaps at your feet, as the handmaiden undid the clasps from the tops of your shoulders. The raging sounds of gunfire no longer had the ability to make you react in the form of a jump or to shiver out of fear — it was too normal, too accustomed to this life that had become Bakura. As if there could be any room for it — for the fear, that surely the evil would succumb to and never let go of. 

“Princess we must hurry,” your handmaiden Sora cried, tears welling up within her innocent green pupils. She wasn’t much older than you, in fact maybe no more than a year or two, and yet her life was sealed, sure to never escape the ruin that would become. 

“Why? They’re coming. I’m sure my escape won’t be deemed successful,” you could barely recognize your own voice, so void of hope, of a greater good but rather defeat.  

“We must not say things such as that.” 

“And why not?” you asked, turning to find a pair of tight black pants hanging in her arms, sure to not get caught on anything as if your father was expecting you to run, “It’s not as if they aren’t true.” 

She gave you the piece of garment, and you took it, aware almost as if you could sense that there was something she wasn’t telling you. Rather, was withholding as the intruders marched to the gates of the capital, their sabers and guns fully loaded. Hesitantly, you pulled the garment on just as she offered a long black tunic that was tight around the chest and shoulders, with short sleeves and bracings where the belts would go. She bit down on her lip, and you knew it then. There was something she wasn’t telling you.

“What is it?” 

“It is nothing to be concerned with. We just must hurry, to ensure your safety.” 

“My safety?” You repeated brows furrowed as her innocent face refused to meet yours. “Tell me what it is you know. I ask of it. No, I demand of it. Sora, this is perhaps our last moment in the same room together so please.”

She tried to offer a smile, one of encouragement, as the tunic slipped over your frame and tightened at the back, just like the rest of the corsets you had been wearing since you were no older than thirteen. But it was only sad, her face painted in dried tears as the corners of her lips barely managed to lift.

“The Jedis have come.” 

Hurriedly, the belts were wrapped around your mid-drift and tightened as you waited impatiently, with the sounds of soldiers’ large boots echoing off the floors outside of your room like a steed of chariots. “Go on.” 

“The king will ensure your survival, princess. One of the greatest and his padawan has been sent to ensure your departure will be successful.” 

“Departure? He wishes for me to leave?” you asked, almost in disbelief as her hands dropped from your back. 

The war only got louder, the walls seeming to shake as the fires only grew outside, catching your gaze once again. The screams were inescapable as Bakura burned to the ground. 

“He wishes for you to survive,” she said, tone firm. 

Your fists loosened, falling to your sides in the devastation that you were expected to flee to survive while the rest of your people burned and were killed… their existence sure to mean nothing by the end of the war. The Clone Wars had claimed far too many planets and innocence at that point. An anger, a sense of guilt squelched at your possibility of living while your father, the king, went down with his people, his empire. 

You didn’t wish to be a coward. You didn’t wish to flee, even if with it was the promise of survival. 

It was not fair, yet exactly how the ex-Jedi would deem to have it. 

They had too much hope for their own good, you thought with a permanent furrow in your brow, tucking the long strands of hair back behind your ears and out of the way. Lips pulled into a fine line, you felt the energy and the particles align as if the force itself was speaking to you, to the Jedi blood coarsing within your pulse. 

A Jedi must not have any attachments. 

A Jedi must put others needs before his own. 

A Jedi must not partake in anger, in fear, or aggression. 

You bowed your head then, a series of guilt appearing at the mere thought of the Jedi code that still no doubt laced upon the king of Bakura’s back. 

In that moment, you hated him for that. 

With anger suddenly reverberating within your veins and a huff along your parted lips, you took the long black cloak from Sora and wrapped it around your shoulders, slipping your arms in each sleeve. Taking the hood within your nimble fingers, you pulled it up and onto your head, concealing what you could in case the halls had been invaded already. 

Turning, you shared one last longing glance with the handmaiden, one who had devoted her young life to being a caretaker as well as your source of company. You nodded solemnly, “I thank you for your service to the royal family.”

At that point far aware of the glassiness in her eyes and the loss that had already been stained upon history, you felt the chokeful dread that had a hold of you at that moment. With so much uncertainty, you turned away, fingers grasping the cloak tightly, and left the room. Chambers that once had been yours, but now never would be again.

The brick-tiled floors of the capital’s hallways were flooded with soldiers of Bakura, the most trusted, all dressed in armor, grey and blue helmets concealing their faces, their identities. A simple nod was sent their way as you turned down the spiraling hallway, feeling as if doom was upon you, a slow march to death though you had been told otherwise. The building shook, the walls quaking with despair as you followed the army up and into the main corridors of the capital, separate from the royal family’s chambers. The brick turned to grey stone, white towering walls made of metal, and the windows were all concealed behind large doors of steal. 

You came upon the war room, the place of perpetual decisions, the place you knew he would be the most protected in the capital’s final moments. Pulse quickening, eyes dazed, you felt it again — the frustration, the immense anger — a type you didn’t realize you could ever feel. With narrowed eyes, your hands released around the cloak and up into the air. Waving in the direction of the doors, the doors flung open, slamming loudly. It was almost as if the force was apologetic, leaning into your feelings. 

Sure enough, as you stepped through the threshold, the king stood near the table, a shield of dark grey armor covering every part of him but his face. A face wrinkled in nothing but despair. Silence overcame the bustle of protectors, and suddenly, you found the eyes of the man at his side. 

There he was as if like a savior. 

The Jedi — one of the greatest, and the very man who happened to be your father’s closest confidant. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

A savior with long hair and pale eyes, dressed in tan tunics of his own, his saber held securely at his waist. 

You hadn’t seen the man since you were a mere child, a man who could’ve very well been an uncle to you and a protector at the headway of your mother’s death only a few years before, and yet he stood there a bewildered look on his face as if he had felt it. Felt your anger from a few rooms away. 

The king faced you, a look of grief evident, and regret as he noticed the betrayal upon yours. He didn’t look away from you as he leaned over and spoke to Obi-Wan. “My dear friend, I ask of you to take my daughter. You haven’t much time as the rebels have just managed to break through the front gates. Time can only be in our favor for so long.” 

As Kenobi moved near you, his palm outstretched, you stood your ground, “No!”

“My sweet daughter—”

You shook your head, that tightened expression refusing to let up, “I will not just abandon my people, abandon you, my king.”

It was as if the look he gave you then was one of disappointment rather than pride. As if he had wished to raise you to be a coward. Jedis, don’t run, you thought. Queens don’t leave.  “Father, please.” 

“Y/N—” 

You interrupted again, “I cannot leave you to die.” 

His face fell, the great and powerful king deflating just at the single look on your face — from his greatest love. Sadness swirled within his irises, and though it could have very well been the very last time you would ever look your father in the face, you couldn’t move. You couldn’t grasp his hand or pull him in for one last embrace. You were far too stubborn. Far too angry, then. 

He stepped closer, but you only took a step back because this was a fight you wouldn’t be able to win as time was wading by each moment; it wasn’t something that was in your favor then. He sighed, “I can’t fail you too, my child. I failed your mother, and I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I lost you too.” 

Your mouth parted, a single tear falling from your cold steel eyes, just as a burst of static filled your ears. The com-system interlocked upon Kenobi’s waist began to illuminate, and loudly, drowning out everything else as a voice propelled through. 

“Master! They are invading. I repeat they are beginning to storm the capital. I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to hold them off.” 

His padawan. 

Obi-Wan, held the side button of the com and lifted it to his face, unable to look away from the sad parting between father and daughter, “Hold your ground, my strong padawan. We’ll be to you in just a few short minutes.” 

As he clipped the com back into place he cleared his throat, “We must go. Time is falling away from our side. Princess…” 

“Father, don’t do this.” It was your final plea.

There was nothing left to say. 

His eyes tore away from yours, and you felt a small part of yourself break then and wither away beneath the confines of your walls. The emotion was gone from his face, weakness shoved away where you could no longer see it. He waved off some of the nearby soldiers to get into position — to be able to escort you and Obi safely to the main entrance. 

A small whimper fell from your parted lips as he looked then at Obi. “You must go now!” 

Obi nodded but hesitated, feet stopping after a few short steps. He turned, peering over his shoulder to share one last final look with the former Jedi. 

“I commend you, my dear friend,” your father wished farewell, his hand lifting up near his face and down as if in a form of respect, “May the force be with you.” 

“And you, my king,” he returned, before approaching you with fast steps, his hand taking a hold of your forearm firmly. 

“No, no, please,” you cried out, trying to fight Obi-Wan as he began to pull you from the room. You tried as the fleeting image of your father across the room is all you would have in departing, his glare somehow hard and cold, “Father!” 

The doors slammed shut in your face, echoing like a final coo of death. You collapsed in the Jedi’s arms, all exertion and passion gone from the confines of your chest. Nothing would remain. 

Peering up, slumped against his figure, the halls were bathed in darkness. The electricity had been cut, yet the alarms remained, loudly echoing, screaming in agony while the light the dark red reflected across your skin — somehow matching the anger and rage that pulsed within your body. A sense of resentment for the king, for this Jedi who pulled you through the halls, leading you away from your death, from your planet, from your former life. 

Bakura was destined to burn that night, to fall, to whither into ashes, and yet its future queen would not. All that remained was anger, frustration, and resentment.

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Astarion is a full-grown elf gods damnit. He should not be running around with a comfort blanket like some snot nosed child. Or so he thinks.

 

Astarion’s gaze flitted between the fire and the blue blanket clutched in his fingers, if it could still be called that. Rag was a more apt description these days, the scant sections of fabric which were barely clinging together around the multiple holes were so worn in parts they were near transparent, the damp stench of the manor still clinging stubbornly despite having been exposed to woodsmoke and fresh air daily for months, as if it had seeped into its very being. Astarion mused that in that respect they weren’t so different – no longer suited for their intended purpose with the memories of Cazador and that place clinging, no matter how much time and distance was placed between them. And then he snorted at the absurdity of comparing himself to a moth-eaten scrap.

“Just toss it in and be done with it.” He chided himself, he’d bought countless victims to his (former) master and disposed of bodies without blinking. This should not be this hard damnit!

“Astarion, everything alright?”

Oh for goodness sake. “Perfectly fine, love.” He said, turning his head to smile at Gale as the wizard made his way into the Tower’s library, making sure to keep his hands out of sight. Gale tilted his head at him appraisingly.

“You don’t seem so sure. I don’t mean to pry, it’s just that I’ve noticed you always look to the right when you’re nervous or embarrassed. You don’t have to divulge anything you don’t wish to but if it’s something I may be able to help with, I’d like to.”

Sometimes Astarion forgot how genuinely earnest his lover could be, and if he were being honest with himself, this was nowhere near the worst thing they’d caught one another doing (Astarion attempting to bite Gale that first week on the road would always be at the top of his list, no matter how much Gale insisted otherwise). Sighing, he turned to face Gale fully, hands holding out the blanket, “It’s nothing to worry your pretty head over. I was only attempting to dispose of this only I…seem to be having some difficulty.”

Gale moved forwards, standing next to him by the fireplace and saying nothing as he waited for Astarion to decide whether he wanted to elaborate or not.

“It’s from…before. The only thing I managed to grab before the tadpoles, my last link to my time as Cazador’s cur.” He gave a humourless huff of a laugh, “It’s so easy, just drop it into the flames and it’s done and yet, I can’t seem to do it.”

“Because it’s yours?” Gale guessed, thinking back on what Astarion had told him about Cazador’s feelings on his spawn having any personal possessions. Even clothes had been shared (there was a reason Astarion and his siblings had become so adept at sewing, some nights his well-being for the foreseeable future would quite literally depend on repairing or altering an ill-fitting garment in a matter of minutes), “It was the only thing in that place that was solely yours?”

Astarion seemed to consider this a moment before nodding, “Truly pathetic, isn’t it.”

“Oh darling, it really isn’t.” Gale said, slowly wrapping his arms around the vampire’s waist, “It’s like those displaced Tiefling children, do you remember? They were clinging to those old rag toys like lifelines because they were familiar, comforting. They were a piece of home.”

Astarion gave a more forceful snort bordering on a snarl, “Why on earth would I get sentimental about the place that was my prison for two centuries, and exactly Gale, children. I’m an adult and a killer and have been for centuries, I shouldn’t be reliant on something as asinine as a comfort item!” He was either ignoring or unaware of the fact that he was running the blanket through his fingers as he said this.

“If it works, then what’s the harm? Comfort can come from surprising places.”

Astarion said nothing, choosing to go back to staring into the flames.

“Wait here a moment, don’t move.”

It was a couple of minutes later, Gale returned to the library, revealing something from behind his back with a flourish, “This little madam was in my pack for our entire journey.”

Astarion could only stare at the small, moth-eaten toy cat no bigger than Gale’s palm. It was hard to tell what colour it had been to start off with and one of the glass eyes had been crudely replaced with a button at some point, “Gale?”

“My parent’s first attempt at pacification when they refused my entreaties for a kitten. Even after Tara came into my life, I couldn’t bear to part with it and as I got older, it started accompanying me whenever she couldn’t.”

“You mean to tell me the entire time we spent fighting gods, monsters and everything in-between, you had a childhood toy in your pocket.”

“In my pack.” Gale corrected, “Although, she started off in my pocket so you’re not technically wrong but anyway. While I admit I wasn’t about to broadcast her existence, it didn’t have any negative effect on my contributions during our travels, and I’m hoping it doesn’t make you think any less of me now.”

Astarion smirked at the little cat, “It’s sort of like you. Charming in a soft, bedraggled sort of way.” The observation held none of the bite it would have fresh off the Nautaloid.

“And this is stubborn and resilient as hell, much like its owner.” Gale said gently grasping the corner of the blanket from where it dangled in Astarion’s hand, “If you feel you want to get rid of it then by all means. I’ll even do it for you if you wish. But, there’s absolutely no shame in wanting to hold onto it for a little longer.”

Astarion hummed in thought, running a finger delicately over one of the cat’s cloth ears, “Maybe just a little longer.”

From that night onwards, when the bed wasn’t occupied by a wizard and his vampire, a well-loved cloth cat was sat on top of the duvet, wrapped in the remnants of a worn, blue blanket.

[yiiyiiwrites]

Please do winter warrior at winter solstice. What gifts would she give everyone?? Part two to tame the wolf? Please 🥲

Oh this is sweet :) I think winter warrior would bring a mixture of the most bizarre gifts to the most obvious. Nesta is not mated to Cassian 3461words not edited [Previous part]

❄️ Winter solstice

The heat hit you as soon as you entered the townhouse. Your fur coat still tinged with the pink hues of your blood, you'd patched the hole refusing Cassian's offer of buying you a new one. The Garments in Velaris were not as warm or heavy as the ones from the winter court.

Cassian guided your coat down your arms, a twinge of pain surging through your shoulder making you flinch. You were supposed to return in the morning, but you'd ventured into the heart of winter to buy some last minute gifts for your friends. The word felt foreign to you, but you'd come to realise that they were your friends as much as they were Cassian's.

His hand slid to yours, warmth spreading through your frosty veins. You allowed him to guide you down the hallway and up the stairs, the muffled sounds of your friends in the living room. Lights flickered against the narrow walls, Cassian nudging the door open with his foot as he dragged you and the bag of your belongings into his and yours bedroom.

The fire roared beside you, logs crackling in the silent room. Your gaze trailed after Cassian, his armour already shredded and the black swirls decorating his chest, a smirk tugged his lips.

"Is this where you give me my gift?" His brow arched, wings twitching as you stalked towards him. Always the predator in his gleaming eyes.

You traced your nails along his bicep, shaking your head and jutting out your lip. "Sorry, my love but you'll have to wait," you said, you fingers working the buttons of your undershirt. "Think you can manage that?"

He’d already gifted you your solstice present this morning, unable to keep it a secret. A silver locket, snowflake trapped between a glass pendant. Not just any snow though, it was a mixture of the Illyrian mountains and the winter mountains. To anyone else it was found anywhere, but the way the light caught the snow, you could see fusions of blue ice from the first place you met him in the winter mountains. The Illyrian frost a duller white in comparison to the crisp blue hue of your home.

Cassian grumbled, pulling on a clean shirt. His gaze wandered to you as you undressed, brows furrowing as you peeled off your shirt. He let out a deep breath, "God's they really did whip you like an animal," his whispered breath fanned against the back of your neck. He traced the three lines scored into your back, scabs stretching the healing wounds that you could feel the tight pull with every move.

"My love, you forget I am an animal." You stepped away from him, the knot in your stomach leading you back to him. "I deserved it, I shouldn't have lashed out at my sister." You kissed his stubbled jaw, patting his cheek.

"No one deserves that," he trailed after you, through the walk in wardrobe helping you reach for the lighter layered clothing you'd stored away. "Besides I'm sure your sister deserved it, the things that come out that mouth. That's an animal." His distaste for Veyna never hidden, he frequently told you what he thought of her.

You tried to push back the memories of your nails digging into her throat, even the blood spitting from her mouth as she continued baiting you. The wolf snarling, silvery gaze filtering the warm colours around you.

Blinking you, you pushed down the wolf and dressed in a tunic and trousers, inky blue velvet hanging from your shoulders. You were still getting used to wearing light weight clothing, the way your body moved like shadows and the silence of fabrics not rubbing together. The boots you wore thinner, the soft leather laced up and the sole smaller giving you less height.

“Come on,” you tugged him with you. “This is my second solstice, I think I understand the gift part much better now.”

Cassian chuckled behind you, “my love, I’m definitely looking forward to what you think as a gift.”

It was true, you’d messed up last year. Getting people what you thought was necessary, forgetting that they didn’t live in the rugged mountains. You’d hunted food to bring for the feast, only knowing what you’d read from old books in the mountains. That and you gifted them each a lock of lucky witches hair you’d bought from the keeper of forest high in the mountains.

You’d spent the last three months trying to figure out what would be a good gift. Even sneaking away to the healers quarters in the heart of the winter court to ask your sister, Senna’s advice. It was awkward, you’d never given a gift even to your family. Their life was down there whilst yours was in the mountains. The only gift you did get was from the high lord each yeah consisting of supplies and new clothes.

The winter solstice went on for a week below in the heart of the court. You had never celebrated it, your days spent patrolling the forest and mountains like usual. The wicked never slept, that’s what they’d reminded you growing up. You knew that families in the mountains had their own tradition of dinner of the night of solstice, but you didn’t have anyone close to your hut to bother with the holiday. Sometimes though when you woke the morning after, someone would leave food wrapped in a cloth on your doorstep.

Laughter echoed down the halls, the glow of yellow welcoming you into the living room. So much warmth, not just from the fire. Feyre rushed forwards and hugged you, force nearly knocking you over.

“We didn’t know if you were coming or not…” she trailed off her rambling, gaze flitting to Cassian behind you. Her cheeks turning red as she linked your arm with yours. “Elain wanted to give you her present first,” she whispered patting your arm and pointing through the misted glass at the balcony.

You pushed the door open, shutting it behind you and tucking your hands around your body for warmth.

“I knew you wouldn’t be long,” Elain said, smile tugging her lips. She clasped her hands in front of her, a habit she did for you as she realised you followed her every movement.

You don’t know why but Elain made you very aware of every bone in your body as if the wolf would jump from its cage and unleash itself. The straightness of your back and the tightness of jaw setting the dull aches of pain as you willed yourself to walk towards her.

Her gaze was always soft, just like her face and her touch. Something you were still getting used to. The way she chose her words and coated them with kindness surprised you most.

“I respect that you fend for yourself, but everyone needs a little bit of help sometimes. There’s lots of things to aid you when you’re injured.” She said, stepping aside to retrieve a brown bag.

Elain rifled through the bag, pulling out an assortment of health tonics and soothing balms. She knew you too well, knew you wouldn’t look through the contents as if something lurked in there, you peered over looking into the unzipped bag and the ribbons of bandages balled up. It must have taken her weeks to collect it all and she would have had to research certain things you knew only tied to the winter court.

“Thank you,” you said bowing your head and mirroring her smile. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble, one tonic would have been enough.” Gods now your present paled in comparison.

“Nonsense,” Elain said, swatting her hand, you jerked back before her hand connected to your arm. Fists twisting in the fabric under your crossed arms.

As if sensing the change in mood, the house dropped Elain’s present into her hands. You looked out the corner of your eye, wondering if she’d like the gift.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, breath fogging the glass she held. A small flower nestled on top of a mound of snow, blue petals ruffling as a cloud dispersed snowflakes from above to fall upon them. “This is from your home?”

You nodded, “it’s from the highest peak of the mountains, only grows in snow.” It had taken you days to trek to the top, part of you needed to go that way on your patrol, but another telling you it was perfect for Elain.

“Thank you, I love it. I shall put it on my desk in my bedroom. So I can always see it.” A smile blossomed, the tip of her red nose reminding you to go back inside. She held the delicate glass, her eyes on the flurry of white flakes kissing the petals.

You held the door for Elain to enter first, scanning the balcony out of habit before you retreated into the warmth.

Turning on your heel, your met with the dark wisps and their owner. Azriel smiled down at you, he plucked a small box from the darkness swimming around him and gave it to you.

“Happy solstice,” was all he said before slinking away. He took up space by the door again, leaning against the wall and falling back into conversation with Feyre.

You pulled the thin yellow ribbon, the lid opening as you untied it. A silver coin laid upon shredded tissue, a wolf on one side and a sword on the other. You picked it up, examining the scripture on the side. The coin more of a medal nowadays, was given to patrollers in winter when they had reached a certain milestone. It wasn’t something your court did anymore, but there were still some floating around. You had never seen one though. He didn’t need to hear your appreciation out loud, he nodded to you across the room knowing that it meant a great deal to you.

“What did you get, Az?” Cassian said, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you onto his lap.

Azriel perked up at the mention of his name, he wasn’t expecting a gift and he’d told you not to get him one.

“I may have taken a days leave to hunt someone for you.” You prayed they wouldn’t ask for the gritty details, you squeezed Cassian’s arm before he could ask. “They’re being held in the winter courts tower and ready to be transported at your convenience.” You’d spoke in length with Azriel about a slippery fae who kept flitting between the courts in hopes of pleading sanctuary. Thought you’d make his gift the essence of time, hunt the fae and offer him up for questioning.

“Not today, Az,” Rhys said, stopping Azriel before he could get to work. “Solstice remember.” He patted him on the back, steering him to an armchair by the fire.

Azriel’s hazel eyes connected with yours, smile tugging the corner of his lips as Cassian was trying to coax an answer out of you. How did you find them? Wolf or warrior?

You slumped back, wincing as you back made contact with Cassian’s firm chest. “Gods, this gift giving is hard work,” you sighed, rubbing your forehead. Mor, Nesta and Amren were yet to join you, saying they’d be at the townhouse for dinner.

The rest of your gifts were piled up with the others. Yours could be spotted a mile away, brown cloth wrapped around and tied with string. Colourful shining papers and vivid ribbon bows surrounded yours. Maybe you’d have to ask where to get stuff like that, it did look pretty.

Rhys was busy giving out his gifts, the ripping of paper and gasps filling the room. He stopped before you, “if you’d allow me, I’d like to meet your wolf and help you understand the spirit better for yourself,” his words echoed in your mind, but his lips did not move. Words for you to hear alone and maybe for the wolf to hear too.

His gift meant more than he realised, no one had asked to meet your wolf or offered you help in a way that wouldn’t harm you. You nodded in thanks, his energy slipping from your mind.

You handed Rhys a thin long box, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. It was a gamble and you wasn’t sure if it made you look savage, but it was the only thing you could think of. He slid the lid off, frown settling his head, his violet eyes snapping to you.

“The talons from the naga that attacked Feyre in the spring court,” you said gesturing to the four claws rolling around the box. “The autumn court chased them through to the winter, I came across a group of them in the mountains. Could smell feyre’s scent on that one.”

The room fell quiet, all eyes on you and Rhys as he picked up one of the long sharp talons. Had you messed up? Was this not something normal, least you didn’t bring its head.

“What?” You blurted out, glancing at each of your friends around you. “I did good, right?” Cassian’s face softened, faint smile replacing the frown.

Feyre appeared beside you, palm smoothing up and down your arm. “Thank you, that must have taken a lot of courage. It’s a thoughtful gift,” she said, she took the talon from Rhys and placed it back in the box.

“Will make a good paperweight.” Rhys smirked, dodging feyre’s jab.

You settled next to cassian on the sofa, head resting against his shoulder. The heat radiating from him and the fire calmed you, twinkling lights draped the mantle piece with pine cones and branches. The scent of pine reminded you of home and all you wanted to do was bundle up in a duvet letting sleep take you. The past few weeks catching up with after your dazed hunt.

Mor, Nesta and Amren appeared in the doorway.

Nesta sauntering through the room, her icy stare focussed on you. “I’m glad to see you,” she said, stretching her hand for you to take. She pulled you up, hand clasped in yours as she led to the entryway. There was bite of frost you and eldest Archeron shared, the way it claimed you as cold and detached, made your friendship stronger. One look between you two and you knew what each other were thinking.

You knew what she’d get you, clothes. She’d been the one to give you clothes more fitting for life in Velaris, your heavy set garments no use outside of the winter court. Nesta kept to the same shade of midnight blue, that hung in your wardrobe and complimented your complexion. A long overcoat, white fur trimmings circling the cuffs and hem. Silver embroidered stars and the traditional snowy pattern of your court decorating the soft material.

“Go ahead, try it on,” she said, holding the coat so that you could slip your arms into the sleeves. You winced at your healing wounds, shoving down the ache with a smile. You twirled around, her hand holding her chin as she examined the fit, she was well know to the tailors and you didn’t put it past her that she’d designed it herself.

“I should warn you,” you whispered leaning in to lower your voice as low as you could. “This book is banned so don’t go leaving it around.”

Nesta turned the book in her hands, fingers flicking the yellowing pages. She’d mentioned the author once before, the name never left your mind and you’d been searching for it since she’d confided in you. You managed to get lucky, finding one in a second hand shop in the heart of winter. As if you were meant to find it. She raised it in air, the house hid it away till it was time to leave.

You removed your overcoat, folding it back up in its neat box and set it aside on the cabinet in the hall. Nesta and you made your way to the dining room, plates full of food lined the centre of the table, thin pillar candles tucked between the dark green foliage.

Bottles clinked in your hands and you placed them in front of Amren, the only place at the table without a plate. “I may have drained a few beasts during the coldest months,” you said, popping the cork from a bottle and pouring the red liquid into the glass in front of her.

Amren downed the glass of blood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. A smile playing on her lips as she poured another. “Always full of surprises little wolf,” she said, raising her full glass at you. You wondered if she could tell which beasts you’d drained, but you’d leave that for another day. Letting her savour the gift.

She gifted you a weather warner, a metal device that predicted rain. You’d hated the rain ever since you’d arrived in Velaris and always got caught without shelter. Snow you could handle, rain you loathed it. How it drenched your clothes and left muddy splashes in its wake. Now you couldn’t be caught in it thanks to Amren.

The dinner rolled on, questions about your three months away and what everyone else had been up to. Your stomach and jaw ached from laughing so much. You all returned to the living room, more subdued than earlier. The wine coaxing Amren into a slumber on the window seat, Mor placing a fluffy blanket over her.

You hadn’t spent much time with Mor, she’d been busy with the hewn city before you left for winter. So you still didn’t know enough about her to get her a meaningful gift. That’s what you’d learnt, to get presents that the person would like or something they’d mentioned, to know you listened to them.

You’d settled with red lipstick that didn’t budge in the cold, only removed with cleaning balm that came with it. A winter court speciality that kept people lips hydrated in the biting cold, but added a bit of style. It matched the red encrusted gown she worn tonight, she dabbed it onto her full lips thanking you for the gift.

She handed you a flask, magicked to keep liquids warm. A welcome addiction to the supplies you needed for the coldest months.

Feyre hovered nearby, she’d asked you to wait till last to exchange gifts. She could hardly contain her smile as she finally got to her turn. You’d gifted her a wooden box, palette inside that kept paint cold and stopped them drying out, a few paints that were darkest colours which were only made in winter.

“Thank you, I can’t wait to test them out,” Feyre said, looking at the paint tubes and opening them to see the depths of colours. She set the it down, holding a finger for you to wait.

When Feyre entered the room again, you gasped. Snuggled in her arms was a scruffy furred white fox. It squirmed on her arms and leapt to the ground. Is darted towards you, snaking in and out of your legs.

“Flick,” you said, scooping your messenger in your arms. “But how did you? My general refused to let me take him.” You’d had flick since you were a child, his name given to him because his tail was forever flicking. His white fur wasn’t pure, a sandy hue to the shaggy coat.

The winter court had many white foxes they used to send messages, fast little things that blended into the snow. Flick licked your chin, teeth nipping gently at the braid over your shoulder.

“I asked Kallias.” Feyre stroked Flick, tears stinging your eyes as you buried your face into his fur.

“Thank you, this means so much,” your voice a hoarse whisper. You knew your general would have something to say to you when you returned, but you didn’t care. You’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

The evening blurred, your head heavy as you swayed in Cassian’s arms. You sank into the soft mattress, warm hands took off your shoes and pulled the sheets over you. You blinked, the bed dipping beside you and Cassian coming into view. His hand cupped your cheek and you held onto his wrist, resting the side of your face on his calloused palm.

“Your present,” you mumbled, sleep lacing your voice. The house dropped an ancient tome on the bed, his love for war and history running deep, but he’d never read texts on the winter mountains. Well till now, frost clung to the hardcover, you’d ventured far into the forest and begged the keeper of the forest for the old tome. Exchanging the scales of naga for it.

Thanks for the request :) I didn't realise how long this was but wanted to include all of the inner circle. Hope you liked it - Yiiyii

[shadowtriovibes]

dance in a storm in my best dress

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3K

Summary: by request: "I have a fun idea! How about Sebastian and f!mc are "just friends" until one day she asks him to help her try on/give his opinion on some new dresses, and desire and spice ensue??"

"Go on and change back into your robes, Mister Sallow," the shopkeeper says. "I suspect we’ll be inquiring about your opinion shortly." While Sebastian returns to the back, Mr. Hill summons a modesty screen around the rack of dresses you’d pulled and waits patiently while you slip out of your school robes and wrestle your way into that first dress – the periwinkle blue. There are so many layers that it takes you at least ten minutes to even put on your crinoline, which Mr. Hill assures you he’ll let you keep on for all three options. "Have you even put one on yet?" you hear Sebastian call out when he returns. "Merlin's beard, you’ll take on a den of trolls by yourself but you’re bested by today’s fashion trends!"

“Thank you for coming with me,” you say softly, shyly tucking your face a bit deeper into your oversized scarf as you avoid snow swirling around you.

It’s not an intense blizzard by any means, but nevertheless you appreciate that Sebastian had agreed to trudge down to Hogsmeade with you that afternoon when he could have spent the day with a dreadfully boring book by the fire in his common room, which is typically how he spends any free time he has as a seventh-year N.E.W.T.s student.

“Of course,” he says easily. “It’s about time I came up for air, so to speak.”

Despite the ongoing pressure of your final year of school, it had felt like all of Hogwarts had been abuzz about the upcoming holiday ball for what felt like weeks. Even you and your treasured trio of Slytherins had made plans to go together, and your daydreams of twirling across an enchanted dance floor in a fabulous gown had helped get you through some of the most arduous study sessions you’ve ever experienced.

With your end-of-term exams having concluded the day before, there was now only one thing standing in the way of you blowing off some steam at the ball with your best friend.

You need a dress.

Poppy had been the one to inform you that Mr. Hill had specially ordered some lovely fabrics from London as soon as he’d caught wind of an upcoming formal occasion. While it’s certainly too late to have anything custom made, you hoped you’d be able to find something in his shop that would suit you with a few minor alterations.

You’d invited Sebastian to join you on your shopping trip primarily for moral support, as the two of you were going to the ball together as friends.

(Anne had been quick to claim Ominis as her date so that she wouldn’t have to take her own brother, and you and Sebastian had been equally loath to bother asking anyone else.)

However, you suspect you may also need some help physically donning the dresses. You may not know much about what’s in fashion these days, but hearing some of your classmates boast about precisely how many garment layers they’d be wearing had nearly made your head spin.

“Do you have your dress robes?” you press him skeptically. “Anne said you were procrastinating.”

“Yes, nosy,” he laughs. “Ominis made me pick some out last weekend, and Mr. Hill should have them in for me by now.”

“Good,” you say primly. “You’ll have to try them on while we’re there and make sure they fit.”

“This is now my second trek into Hogsmeade for this silly ball,” he points out with a cheeky grin. “I hope it’s going to be as enjoyable as you lot are saying it’ll be.”

“It will,” you insist. “We all need something like this, something that’s just… joyful, I suppose.”

Sebastian glances sidelong at you with a tender smile.

“Fair point,” he agrees. “Right as usual, you are.”

“You’re still surprised after all this time?” you tease him, bumping your shoulder against his while he laughs.

When the two of you walk into Gladrags, Augustus Hill perks up excitedly and slips out from behind the ornate counter.

“Ah! Just the young witch and wizard I was hoping to see today,” he crows. “Come in, come in! I dare say, it’s awfully frigid today.”

You hang up your cloaks while Mr. Hill rustles up a tray of tea for the both of you. Ever since that troll encounter years ago, the Gladrags shopkeeper has always had a soft spot for you and Sebastian, which often results in the two of you feeling downright spoiled every time you visit him.

��Thank you, Mr. Hill,” you say as you accept the warm mug he offers.

“Mister Sallow,” he says as he hands Sebastian his tea. “Your dress robes came in just this morning! Why don’t I send you off with young Otto to try it on and mark up any alterations?”

You glance warily at Sebastian, reluctant to split from him as you do your shopping.

As though he’d read your mind, Mr. Hill laughs and insists, “He won’t be kept long, my dear! Fitting a young man’s dress robes is a much simpler task than that which you have on your hands, I should expect.”

“Why don’t you just pick out some things to try while Otto works his magic?” Sebastian teases. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Once you agree, Mr. Hill sends Sebastian to the backroom while you sip your tea and discuss some of your preferences with the kindly shopkeeper. You admit to not being very knowledgeable about fashion, but you have some colors in mind that you think may suit you – as well as very strict expectations on how much range of motion you want to maintain.

“I need to be able to breathe,” you insist, glancing hesitantly at some of the impossibly small corsets in the window display.

Peering over his spectacles with a wise smile, he answers, “I think that can be arranged.”

He then begins to show you the collection of remaining dresses he has in stock. As the premier clothier for the majority of your fellow witches at Hogwarts, he doesn’t have an unlimited supply this close to the ball, but his selections don’t disappoint.

“This blue color is quite pretty,” you sigh, gingerly inspecting the sleeve of one of the dresses he offers.

“I suspected you might like that one,” he says brightly. “Let us pull it for now and select a few more for you to try on, hmm?”

You end up also selecting a red gown with a smart-looking cape that would show off your house colors brilliantly and a crisply white evening dress with delicate golden embroidery around the bottom of the skirt.

“This should do for a start,” Mr. Hill says.

“Really? No green?” Sebastian asks from behind you.

When you turn to remind him pointlessly that you aren’t actually a Slytherin, your words fail you.

He looked utterly dashing in his dress robes. At first glance, he appeared to be wearing what looked like a Muggle tuxedo, but the extra-long tails and high collar gave away that it was most certainly wizarding apparel. His jacket and pants were both inky black – so dark that they appeared to even darken the room around him, or maybe you had just lost focus of everything that wasn’t him.

Of course, having been expertly fitted by Otto, Sebastian’s robes seem to cling to every inch of him. The waistcoat makes his waist look exceptionally narrow, or perhaps it’s that his chest looks so broad. His shoulders appear to be broader as well underneath his jacket, and while the long tails might appear to shorten other men, on Sebastian they merely elevate the length of his legs.

He slips on a pair of white gloves that Otto hands him and you bite down hard on the inside of your cheek. He looks like a proper gentleman dressed like this, you think – not at all like the haphazardly-robed young man you’re used to seeing.

“Ah! Excellent,” Mr. Hill says with a clap, breaking your trance. “A perfect fit.”

“How do I look?” Sebastian asks you teasingly.

“B-brilliant,” you stammer. “It, um. Fits. You’re fit – I mean, it fits very well.”

“Of course, we’ll charm the waistcoat to whatever color you’d like to match your dress, once you’ve made your selection,” Mr. Hill explains as he gestures to the garment. “Or simply leave it white.”

“Of course we’ll match,” Sebastian says easily. “But getting this one to make a selection isn’t going to be easy.”

You scoff and turn back around to the rack of dresses to hide your persistent blush.

“Go on and change back into your robes, Mister Sallow,” the shopkeeper says. “I suspect we’ll be inquiring about your opinion shortly.”

While Sebastian returns to the back, Mr. Hill summons a modesty screen around the rack of dresses you’d pulled and waits patiently while you slip out of your school robes and wrestle your way into that first dress – the periwinkle blue. There are so many layers that it takes you at least ten minutes to even put on your crinoline, which Mr. Hill assures you he’ll let you keep on for all three options.

“Have you even put one on yet?” you hear Sebastian call out when he returns. “Merlin’s beard, you’ll take on a den of trolls by yourself but you’re bested by today’s fashion trends!”

“Come and help me then!” you whine.

“Er – is that alright?” Sebastian asks Mr. Hill.

“Of course!” he exclaims. “He’s your date, it would be unchivalrous not to assist you.”

That’s when you realize that Mr. Hill probably thinks you and Sebastian are properly dating, but for reasons you don’t want to admit to yourself just yet, you don’t correct him.

You could also sorely use some help as well.

“Mind the petticoat,” you mumble as he ducks behind the screen.

You’re both quiet as Sebastian helps carefully bundle up the skirt of the dress and drape it over your upright arms, slowly working it down your body so that it doesn’t catch on any of the boning in your corset. Once the skirt gracefully pours down over your petticoat, you gently smooth the bodice and turn around so he can lace up the strings crossing your back.

“Too tight?” he asks softly.

“N-no,” you murmur. “You can even do them a bit tighter, actually.”

You gasp softly when he pulls on the strings and cinches your waist tighter, and Sebastian pauses for a beat, but you don’t instruct him to loosen it.

Once he fumblingly ties the strings together at the small of your back, he mumbles, “All set.”

He offers you a hand to steady you while you shuffle out from behind the screen. Mr. Hill immediately laves praise onto the dress, and while you agree that it is quite lovely, a glance in the mirror reveals that periwinkle blue just isn’t a color in which you shine.

“No matter,” the shopkeeper insists. “Onto the red, shall we?”

Sebastian again helps you slide the dress off up over your head and replace it with the red one, this time lacing you tightly from the start. There’s a delicate cape that goes with this one, so you turn around to face him so he can drape it over your shoulders and tie the small silk ribbons that sit just at your collarbones.

“Ought to be plenty warm in this one,” he jokes halfheartedly, trying and failing to resist the urge to sneak glances at your décolletage.

“Is the cape a bit…?” you ask quietly, wrinkling your nose. “Is it too much?”

“What?” he asks dumbly. “O-oh, no, I – I think you look great. It’s a great dress, really.”

You’re nearly as red as the dress when you emerge for a second time, and once again Mr. Hill thinks you look like “a buxom Beauxbatons beauty from the boulevards of Paris.” However, regardless of your house pride, if you’re going to be blushing like this all evening at the ball – and the odds on that are significant – you know you simply can’t go with red.

“I have one more to try on,” you tell Sebastian softly. “It’s that white one, just there.”

You notice Sebastian’s gaze linger on the ornate embroidery, a pleased look passing over his face.

“It’s stunning,” he tells you. “Shall we get it on you?”

You merely nod, not trusting yourself with words at the moment.

The moment Sebastian helps you slip into the white dress, you know you have a winner. As if imbued with magic (and perhaps it is indeed), the white silk shimmers almost like the fresh snow outside the shop window. However, instead of feeling like a proper ice princess, you feel warm all over – especially where Sebastian’s hands mindlessly reach out to trace the fine embroidered patterns on your bodice.

“You look…” he exhales. “You just need to see, come on.”

He walks you out for the last time and even Mr. Hill refrains from commenting until you twirl in front of the mirror, your skirt gracefully lifting and falling with your movement.

“...I look beautiful,” you whisper. “Oh, Mr. Hill, it’s just lovely.”

“This is the one,” Sebastian insists. “You have to pick this one, it’s hardly even a choice.”

“Your companion is correct!” Mr. Hill crows. “My dear, it’s as if that gown was made precisely for you.”

Otto comes by to charm a few simple adjustments into the fabric of the dress and you watch yourself in the mirror with wide eyes as it molds itself to your body. Now it looks just like one of those custom dresses in the illustrations that the girls in your year pour over in the shopping pages at the back of the Daily Prophet.

“I think we’re done here,” Sebastian says quietly, his eyes still fixed on that one embroidered seam at your waist where your bodice meets your skirt.

“Of course,” Mr. Hill agrees. “Let’s get you out of that crinoline so I can send you two lovebirds on your way for a nice Butterbeer or two!”

As he babbles on about how it’s just like the last time the two of you came into his shop together, you meet Sebastian’s gaze and realize both of you are steadfastly refusing to correct the man. You know that you’re blushing, but seeing him blush just as fiercely is quite revealing.

After you pay Mr. Hill and make plans for Otto to deliver the dress to the castle once the storm lets up, you and Sebastian wordlessly trudge down to Sirona’s lively pub. There you manage to snag a small booth in one of the far corners – one that you’re well aware is a popular spot for snogging.

“So…” he says softly. “Lovebirds, are we now?”

“Don’t start,” you warn him. “You know how Augustus is, it’s usually just better to let him talk than spend all afternoon trying to correct him.”

“You didn’t even try,” he observes.

You counter, “Nor did you.”

Just then Sirona drops off your drinks and Sebastian forfeits his turn in your verbal duel by taking a pointedly long sip.

Then you forfeit your own turn when you get too distracted by the bit of Butterbeer foam on his upper lip to offer anything remotely witty.

“Well, regardless,” Sebastian eventually murmurs. “You did look beautiful in that dress.”

“Thank you,” you say. “And you were very handsome in your robes.”

“Proper fit, one might say,” he retorts.

The cheek, honestly.

“Sebastian,” you say quietly. “I need you to be honest with me about something.”

“Go on,” he says, taking another long sip while you consider your words.

Slowly, you ask him, “Since we met… have you ever once thought about us being more than just friends?”

“Have I ever once thought about it?” he repeats. “Of course I have. Countless times, probably”

“Then why haven’t you ever said anything?” you ask, staring deep into your mug to avoid having to meet his eyes.

You flinch slightly when Sebastian reaches across the table and plucks one of your hands off your mug. He laces his fingers with yours and pulls you closer, and the noise in the room seems to dwindle to a whisper as he meets your gaze.

“Between you and me, you’ve always been the brave one,” he tells you earnestly. “And I’d rather have only friendship with you than ask for too much and lose you entirely. Believe it or not I have learned when to stop.”

You smile ruefully at the reminder of just how much Sebastian has grown since you chose to give him the chance to do so.

He drags his thumb across yours. “So, if you want to be brave, I’ll be brave with you.”

You exhale shakily before you finally confess, “Of course I want to, Seb.”

You’re nearly in his lap at this point, and there’s absolutely no way the conversation you’re having could be interpreted as merely friendly by any onlookers. So, you think, why not be brave?

When you kiss him, the first thing you notice is that he tastes like the caramelly richness of the Butterbeer you’d both been drinking. But then it melts away and it’s just him, just Sebastian. He’s wonderfully warm, and underneath the initial sweetness he tastes a bit like the fluxweed stem he mindlessly chews on while he studies to help him focus.

His nose slots against yours as he tilts his head to kiss you deeper, and you wonder what he’s noticing about you.

But a moment later, the feeling of his warm hand on your thigh immediately makes you lose your train of thought.

“Seb,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to press your forehead to his.

“Let’s go back to the castle,” he blurts out eagerly.

You fondly roll your eyes and let him steal another kiss before you push him back with a gentle hand on his chest.

“I believe you just said something about having learned when to stop?” you tease him.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” he says cheekily.

“You’re just going to have to be patient, Mister Sallow,” you insist as you reach for your drink. “I thought I saw quite the gentleman in you today. I don’t suppose you could act like him until after the ball?”

“I could,” he offers. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“Tell you what,” you bargain, leaning in close. “If you can be a perfect gentleman from now until the ball, I’ll let you help me put my dress on, and then afterward I’ll let you take it off.” 

You hear him loudly swallow and take a deep breath before he holds out a hand for you to shake and breathes, “You have yourself a deal, love.”

[tamurilofrivendell]

The Dragon | part 4 | Thranduil x Reader

{Part One} {Part Two} {Part Three} read on AO3

Pairing: Thranduil x Female Reader

Summary: The rest of the realm finds out about Aegnor’s existence as he simply becomes too big to hide.

Content etc: The end of the mutual pining lmao. Brief threat of violence I guess.

tags: @firelightinferno​​​, @achromaticerebus​​​, @coopsgirl​​​, @birbixo0912​​​, @desert-fern​​​​, @ancient-rime​​​, @zeldastag (not sure if any of you still wanted tagged because it’s been so long jdhjdks)

The days continued to pass, turning into weeks, and suddenly Aegnor was far too big to properly conceal in your cloak on your walks to and from Thranduil’s gardens. The juvenile dragon was now the size of a young wolf and still somehow seemed to be growing by the day. A week ago, he had been taught to walk directly behind you, under the trail of your robes, but he was very often far too restless and, frankly, mischievous to play along.

It started with a few of the King’s servants. The ones who did not know that Aegnor was in the halls. One of them saw you trip over something and was about to rush over to assist you when suddenly the dragon charged from beneath your robes and jumped into a glide down the hallway. He wasn’t being threatening, he was simply stretching his wings after feeling cooped up under your robes.

The scream was heard from three halls away and Thranduil had to fly from his study and race to the scene to put an immediate stop to any words that may have left the servant’s mouth. Thankfully, they were quick to agree to keep quiet about what they had seen here, though you could see the uneasiness in their eyes - but it was clear that they would not go against the will of the king.

Unfortunately, this was only the beginning.

The next elf to witness Aegnor was not alone. Thranduil was escorting you back to your chambers, the dragon lumbering beneath your robes in frustration. Unfortunately, the animal unintentionally huffed a little too hard, and the edges of your robe began to smoke.

Thranduil was the first to notice and, with horror in his eyes, had ripped the garment right off you, afraid it had caught fire. It was only a tiny smolder, however, but the damage was already done. The group of councilmen and advisors gathering outside of the meeting room were graced with the sight of Aegnor standing uncovered, his wings unfurling as he stretched himself out again after being confined beneath the constricting fabric.

There was a long, heavy silence.

Then all hell broke loose.

The elves were shouting and drawing weapons in record time. Then they started to advance down the corridor. You were terrified because you really couldn’t protect Aegnor against all these elves and, truthfully, in the back of your mind you were fearful that Aegnor accidentally doing that to your robes would trigger Thranduil to revert back to his angry, terrified self and let them take the dragon from you.

It was not so, however, as Thranduil was quick to step directly in front of you in the middle of the hallway. He did not blink as he stared at the group of elves and, astonishingly, unsheathed his own sword. He did not raise it, the tip remained pointed firmly at the ground, but he did not need to. The sight of the Elvenking pulling a sword in the middle of his realm before his own people was enough.

The advancing elves faltered. Their expressions were a mixture of shock, surprise, mild anger... but they would not go against their king, who stood before them in challenge, his body directly in front of you and the dragon in a show of protection.

One by one, they slowly began to lower their weapons. 

The commotion had gathered a small crowd by this point, curious elves rounding the corner to see what all the fuss had been about. Each and every one of them gasped in shock as their eyes fell upon Aegnor. He closed his wings but it did nothing to make him look less intimidating. He was all teeth and hard scale and a tiny wisp of smoke still trailed upwards from the robe Thranduil had discarded upon the stone floor.

The silence was broken only by horrified murmurs from the onlookers.

Eventually, Thranduil sheathed his sword. He stood for a moment longer, his eyes roving from one elf to the next, before he glanced over his shoulder and looked at Aegnor, then you.

“Throne room.” He announced loudly, turning to face the crowd once more. “All of you. Now.”

Then he strode off down the corridor and the elves all fled before him, rushing towards the throne room as it was clear the King was about to give an address. A bell began to ring from a few halls away, calling all those from different areas of the halls to the throne room, to hear an announcement from the king.

───────────────────────────────────

The throne room was eerily silent now. Five minutes ago it had been echoing with loud, argumentative voices, all shouting at once about the dangers of this creature being in their halls, the unpredictable nature of dragons, the danger of them, outraged at the fact this secret was being kept under their very noses. The voices had become so loud that it was soon nothing but an incomprehensible babble.

Then the Elvenking had silenced all with a roar. Not another word had dared to pass the lips of any other in the time since and the only real noise was the anxious shuffle of feet or robes as elves shifted their position upon the floor.

All eyes were locked upon the king, who was sitting very still up on his throne, staring steadily ahead as if oblivious to the presence of anyone else.  

“Do you not think-” His voice came then, smooth as honey and dangerously quiet. “-that I would be the first to wish for my halls to be rid of such a danger - if such a danger indeed existed?”

“My lord-” The voice of one of Thranduil’s closest advisors interjected. “It is a dragon.”

“Yes. I do think I know what a dragon is.” He said simply, his mind filling with the memory of wide jaws and red flame.

The advisor blinked at him before continuing. “Forgive me, but are you certain that you are not...” There was a pause, as if the man was trying to decide upon the correct way to word whatever left his mouth next. “...clouded?”

The corner of Thranduil’s left eye twitched. Most did not notice. Those who did, shifted uneasily. “Clouded?” He repeated, his voice deceptively soft. “Explain.”

“I just mean..." Here, the advisor trailed off and went silent. He could not come up with a tactful way to say what he wished to say, and did not want to incite the Elvenking’s wrath. He could already see it beginning to simmer away beneath the surface and had no desire to stoke that fire.

In the silence, Thranduil continued to gaze steadily upon the advisor, unblinking, his face blank. He knew exactly what the advisor wished to say. That his mind was clouded by his... friendship with you. That he had allowed you to get under his skin and make him lose sense. Thranduil stared at him for a while longer, listening to the uncomfortable shuffling of feet in the room around him. 

Thranduil stared until the advisor lowered his gaze and then he finally blinked and looked away, addressing the room entire. “I am well aware of what you are all thinking. That this creature poses a danger to all of you, to us, to the safety of these halls.” His gaze swept the room, landing on the face of every single elf in attendance. “The question I have is would I ever put you at such risk? Have you all so little faith in me?”

The question took everybody by surprise and many looked away in shame. There were murmurs and shakes of heads because the answer of course was no. The thought was terrible to even consider. They had such great faith in the Elvenking. They trusted him implicitly. He would never place them in certain danger that way, especially not within these walls, they did realise such a thing...

...but it was still a dragon.

The murmuring began once more, climbing to a crescendo as his people began to argue back and forth, uneasy and frightened. Some talked about ridding the halls of the animal, some talked about ridding the world of it, others were now a little more on the king’s side and tried to defend his word - yet still Thranduil could see they were not fully convinced.

“An abomination! It will burn these halls down, you mark my words!”

“The king would not put us in danger, do you not see?”

“Are you so blind? We are all going to die and it is all the fault of that stupid girl!”

Thranduil stood up suddenly and the room went quiet once more. 

“Two weeks.” He said simply, descending the steps of his throne, biting his tongue to stop himself from lashing out too directly. “Two more weeks and the beast will be gone. I assure you. But nobody, and I mean nobody, is to take this matter into their own hands.” He paused at the bottom of the throne, his eyes flickering from one elf to the next, focusing on those perhaps most prone to causing trouble or those he had heard voicing through the chatter their wish for the animal destroyed. A dragon in the halls was a dangerous thing but because the creature was still fairly young, he could see how easy it would be for someone especially terrified to try and rid the realm of the beast while it was still little enough. Had he not attempted to do the same? “If I hear so much as a whisper... I will treat it as treason and there will be consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

A beat of silence passed before nods and soft murmurs of agreement were returned to the Elvenking. Thranduil stood a moment longer and then he turned and strode from the room.

───────────────────────────────────

“They want him dead.” You sighed heavily, frowning as you looked down at Aegnor, who had fallen a short distance away in the grass as you sat in Thranduil’s gardens.

Thranduil walked over to where you sat, having gone inside briefly to get himself some more wine as this entire thing was giving him quite the headache. He sat down beside you and shook his head. “And for good reason.”

You lifted your head so sharply that he thought you could have given yourself whiplash. Thranduil was quick to hold his hand up before you could say a word, realising that his words had come out harsher than he had intended them to in his stress. “In their eyes, I mean.” He sighed, sipping his wine. “Little one... it is natural to fear dragons.”

You looked down at your hands with a frown. “But...”

“You cannot convince an entire realm as you have convinced me.” He stated. Even then, he thought about how difficult that had been, how many times he had almost given in to the fear and done something he could never take back.

A silence followed.

Thranduil watched you closely, tracking the sorrow as it travelled from your tear-filled eyes down to your pursed lips. He bit down softly on his lower lip and turned his head away. “Still.” He continued, once more drawing your attention. “I am king. Nobody will touch him. The plan remains the same, we take him to the mountains.” He looked down at Aegnor for a moment then, deciding that he would actually miss his presence. “He is growing too unhappy here.”

It was the sad truth of it. As much as Aegnor cared for you, and by extension Thranduil, dragons were solitary creatures and he needed much more space than he was allowed to have here in these halls. He also needed to hunt for his meals, he was not getting enough stimulation and he always seemed unhappy when he had to stop flying and go back inside to hide in your chamber.

You blinked and a tear trailed down your cheek. Before you could lift your hand to wipe it away, Thranduil’s finger was on your face. You slowly lifted your chin to look at him as he wiped away the tear, your eyes locking for a moment. Your thoughts flickered back to the way he had kissed you, when you had tended his burn scars. Despite how at odds you had both been, you still could not believe that he had actually done it... yet you still chalked it up to some sort of moment of madness and so you started to turn your head away before you could get too lost in the moment.

Thranduil had started to wonder more and more, especially after that day in the gardens weeks ago when he was certain he had seen something in your eyes, as if you had been feeling the electricity in the air just as he had... and as you turned your head, his hand stopped you, gently tilting your face back round again. Your eyes met once more and then, throwing caution completely to the wind, he leaned in and kissed you.

Your eyes went wide and for a moment you almost couldn’t react again. For that moment, Thranduil felt the same uncertainty and grief he had when he had kissed you that first time in his chamber. Just as he was about to pull away, your arms moved around his neck and you kissed him back.

He could scarcely believe it!

The world disappeared for a moment as you returned his kiss and Thranduil dropped a hand to your waist, gently pulling you in towards him.

Your own mind was spinning. You’d thought the possibility of this was long gone. After he had kissed you in his chamber and you had not reciprocated out of mere shock, you’d thought you’d ruined any chance completely. You also thought, despite his change of attitude, that the betrayal of concealing Aegnor from him at all would have cut too deeply and that there would always be a part of Thranduil that might never forgive you.

A sound similar to a harsh squawk broke the silence suddenly and a weight dropped down onto the top of Thranduil’s head and down his back. His eyes shot open and he broke the kiss with a grunt, tilting his head back just slightly but tiny little claws simply dug into his scalp and a tail wrapped beneath his armpit, curling around towards his chest.

“Ah...” He gritted his teeth, shaking his head as he looked back at you. The dragon was simply too big for this now but the animal did not seem to register it. “I think I preferred it when he did not like me....” Thranduil muttered, met by your amused laughter as you sat up onto your knees and reached out to coax Aegnor down off his head.

The dragon jumped off him and into the air again, landing very politely by your side and sitting nicely as he waited for you to pet him. 

Thranduil eyed the dragon, unamused by the difference in treatment the two of you received. In contrast you were completely amused and could only chuckle again as you saw the look on his face. Aegnor crowed, the sound turning softer and the dragon’s eyes half closing as you reached a hand out to touch him.

Thranduil rolled his eyes and shook his head, sliding an arm around your shoulders and drawing you into his side as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His heart was still racing after the kiss but there was no urgency in either of you to dissect it.

The three of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. Thranduil leaned back against a tree with you tucked under his arm and sipped his wine while you brushed your fingers over Aegnor’s scales. You too were slightly reeling from the kiss, your cheeks flushed and your stomach in knots, yet your thoughts were not all pleasant as you thought about the events of today and how, in only a couple more weeks, you would have to say goodbye to this beautiful creature.

[smallpeniscollective]

A small smutty Raphael x reader blurb bc I couldn’t get the concept out of my head of Raphael flipping his SHIT when he shows up at his house of hope and haarlep is YOU and is making raphael supes jelly bc you were a VIRGIN and haarlep got to be your first

content: pov/2nd person, afab body parts, she/her pronouns (but used they/them for Haarlep in your form), devil sex, a smidge of masterbation&voyeurism, p-in-v

(if u like this, please feel so free to make requests, i cannot get enough of this mean old man)

*~*~*

“Your little mouse was quite the experience,” your voice oozed from Haarlep’s lips a sultry tone.

Raphael was seething, teeth bared and skin burning hotter than the Nine Hells. He had been lied to, stolen from, and the worst part of this: his little mouse had betrayed him so deeply, when he had been nothing but forthright and even gentlemanly.

Before he could spit out any animosities at the demon, Haarlep—you—continued, “She had the most delectably frightened look on her face… Most would jump at the chance to engage in such primal desires with an incubus, but her hesitancy revealed something much more… delicious…”

Raphael paused. Hesitancy to have otherworldly sex with a creature whose sole purpose is to arouse and seduce? You carried yourself so confidently, so brazenly, he never considered the fact that you might be—

“Did you know your little obsession was a virgin, Raphael?”

His blood hit its boiling point. He lunged at the incubus in his bed, grabbing Haarlep by the throat tightly. “You insolent swine!”

Haarlep continued to torment Raphael through strained wheezes, “Whatever could be the matter, master? You don’t want to hear about how timidly she removed her garments? You don’t want to know about how devastatingly wet she was to sully her virtue with an incubus who looked like you? She practically called out your name, Raphael.”

He almost threw Haarlep across the room, but when your form started to turn red in the face from the squeeze on your throat, he relented, dropping Haarlep onto the bed with disregard. Calming his face and containing the rage that boiled beneath the surface, he hissed out, “I should incinerate you where you stand.”

“But you won’t, will you, master? Not when I look so deliciously sweet like this,” Haarlep mused, running delicate fingers down the side of your naked frame. “She reeked so sweetly of innocence,” they purred, reaching your hand down between your thighs. They mimicked your wide, frightened eyes and flustered cheeks, mouth agape with pleasure never before experienced.

Raphael allowed himself to watch, to feast on Harleep’s false naïveté atop his silken sheets. Haarlep slid your other hand up towards your breast, kneading gently on the soft mound before swiping a thumb over your nipple, gasping softly. When your fingers became visibly slick from sliding between your folds, Raphael quickly grew agitated and impatient.

He caught fire and suddenly morphed into his natural form, wings splayed out in a menacing display.

“Oh, she quite enjoyed your devilish form, master,” your voice teased, whimpering pathetically when they slipped two of your small fingers inside of you.

Riled up, pissed off, and undeniably aroused, Raphael snapped his clawed fingers. His clothes were gone in an instant, and his raging erection was freed from the constraints of his breeches.

Haarlep played the part of a virgin, eyeing the ridged member with falsely scared eyes, but the excited glint gave away their acting. “Gods, your cock is ginormous!” your voice squeaked, “How will you ever fit that inside of me?”

“Haarlep, your acting is subpar,” Raphael said with an annoyed tone and an arched brow, “but do keep the innocent face, I find it quite entertaining.”

He approached the bed, crawling over your smaller frame to meet your eyes. He grabbed your chin with his thumb and pointer finger, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip. So soft and supple, so disgustingly human that it irked him knowing he couldn’t help his little obsession with you.

Haarlep opened their jaw wider to catch his thumb in their mouth, swirling around the pad of Raphael’s thumb with a deft tongue. He could just imagine that tongue swirling around his cock, not that you’d know to do that uninstructed.

The thought of teaching you how to thoroughly pleasure him in all sorts of ways sent a shiver up his spine, and a small bead of precum leaked from his tip in response.

He let go of your—Haarlep’s—face and gave the incubus a rough push on the shoulder, signaling them to lie back. Haarlep, ever so obedient to his master’s whims, laid back onto the crimson bedsheets happily, dipping their arms underneath your head to splay your hair all around your head.

He kept an arm up by your head to hold himself up, looming over you in an all encompassing way and deeply possessive way. His other hand reached for his aching cock, giving it a quick swipe along your drenched slit to gather slick before pushing in and resting his hand on your hip.

Even through Haarlep, your inexperience showed through the vice-like grip your cunt had on him, and his hold on your hip tightened, his claws digging into the plump flesh. Knowing you’d be feeling this, shortly after your only time ever experiencing any sex at all, had him wanting to absolutely ravage the incubus before him. If he couldn’t be your first, he’d make sure he was the only one your little virtuous mind could think about.

He began to pump slowly, only pushing in halfway and taking his time to make sure you could feel every ridge and bump along your inner walls. Haarlep keened at the teasing, mimicking your pained whimpers and quiet moans.

“Doesn’t she have just the tightest squeeze you’ve ever felt?” Haarlep cooed, your moans coming through his words.

Even in the throes of passion, Raphael’s obsession seeped into every corner of his mind, overtaking his pleasure with jealousy. His hand moved from your hip to your jaw, roughly encapsulating it in his clawed grip. “I don’t want to hear another word from you, Haarlep.”

He pushed in hard, burying himself to the hilt and feeling you clench down on him. He began to thrust faster, rutting himself into you harder and harder.

Haarlep’s overexaggerations of your moans had him closing his eyes, letting himself imagine his real little mouse and the probable softer moans you were muffling in the dead of night as you were surrounded by others in their tents only mere feet away. He punished your betrayal through his relentless pounding, abusing your clenching and quivering cunt with this massive intrusion.

Haarlep noticed Raphael's closed eyes, so strange considering they were usually wide open to absorb the full image of his pleasure. Haarlep couldn't help but tease, "Eyes closed, master? Don't tell me you're thinking of that little thief when you've got her body right here before you."

"Quiet," he ordered harshly through gritted teeth as he thrusted. The image of you sweating and writhing on your bedroll as you felt a phantom cock pound into you had him nearing his end. "Touch yourself," he barked, seeking the feeling of your orgasm around his cock.

Haarlep obeyed, sneaking your hand down your body to reach your most sensitive spot, rubbing your clit in generous circles. Your moans through Haarlep rang louder and higher in pitch.

Raphael groaned when he felt your inner walls react, tightening around him. He shifted his position, dipping his hands beneath your knees to lift your legs higher towards your chest, burying himself impossibly deeper in you. His thrusts became aggressive snaps against your hips, the sound of wet skin slapping skin echoed in the room along with the sounds of your crying moans and whimpers.

Haarlep's expert touch and Raphael's ravaging had caused the thread to finally snap, and your body shook as your walls squeezed his cock in a grip so tight it nearly forced his cock out. Haarlep squealed their master's name as they came, "Gods, Raphael!"

It was your voice singing his name in his ears and the image of you helplessly coming around nothing but the idea of him that pushed him over the edge. He grunted through the last of his thrusts, your grip milking the seed out of his weeping cock.

He pulled out of Haarlep, watching his seed drip out of your hole before he let your knees go. His chest heaved with the passion he just experienced. He got up from the bed, regarding Haarlep still on the bed coldly. "Do not think you have any upper hand on me because of this. You are dismissed."

Haarlep slinked off the bed, landing on the floor quietly. With a knowing smirk, they mused, “Just think of it as a gift from your favorite little virgin," before disappearing in a small spark of flames.

[forever-rogue]

eeeeeeeeeee!!!!! bee if you write for Javi sunshine G, I was thinking about him and a shy reader where they’re both fools in love who don’t know the other is in love and this cute prompt I saw the other day

when you are nervous and avoiding eye contact with your crush or lover and they suddenly stand closer to you and whisper, "look at me."

because if Javi G did that I would pass out, his puppy eyes are too much 😭

AN | Oh yes, he is absolute sunshine and this called for a love confession 🥰❤️

Pairing | Javi  Gutierrez x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2.1k

Masterlist | PP Characters, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You’re being ridiculous,” you were looking between Javi and the garment bag he was excitedly displaying to you. You didn’t even have to see the name on the bag to know it was outrageously expensive. That was Javi though, he never went halfway on anything or spared any expense.

“I am always ridiculous,” he stated simply as though he completely missed the point of your statement, “but this is for you. And it’s rude to refuse a gift.”

“Under normal circumstances I would agree,” you tore your gaze away from his in the mirror and turned around to face him directly, “but this is…I can’t accept this, Javi. It probably cost more than what I make in a month.”

“It does not matter,” he refused to take no for an answer and push the bag into your hands, “it is a birthday -”

“My birthday isn’t for weeks-”

“An early birthday present,” he scoffed playfully, putting a finger under your chin and turning your face towards his, “which you will wear to your birthday party.”

“Birthday party?!” your mouth dropped open, “Javi - no.”

“Javi yes,” he insisted with that big, sweet smile that you adored almost more than anything, “it is already happening - it is all planned. All you have to do is come.”

“You’re doing too much for me,” you softened slightly at his insistence, “are you sure about all of this?”

"Of course I am," he put the sleek, silky bag into your hands and turned you around to look into the mirror. He put his hands on your shoulders and stood right up behind you, "and you will stop arguing with me. Si?"

"Si," your entire body felt like it was on fire when your gaze caught his and he offered you a sweet smile, "gracias, Javi."

"Anything for you, sweet girl," he pressed a kiss to the side of your head and your legs felt like they were turning to jelly from the tender gesture, "I must get back to work, but you will join me for dinner later, yes?"

"I couldn't refuse even if I wanted to," you shook your head affectionately at the man, "so yes, I'll be joining you."

"I'll text you the details later," he grinned happily before turning to leave your office. Before he could duck out the door, he waved eagerly. You returned the wave and laughed as you listened to him whistle his way down the hall.

It wasn't long before Coco, your friend and coworker, knocked on the door before popping into your office. She was all bright eyes and smiles as she pointed at the garment bag, "that man is in love with you!"

You almost choked on your water and ended up having a small coughing fit at her words. You felt your cheeks grow hot but shook your head, "definitely not. You know Javi, that's just how he is."

"Javi is generous," she agreed, "but not 'drop an exorbitant amount of money on a custom made dress on just anyone' generous."

"Custom made?" your heart sank further into your stomach just imagining the price tag.

"Yes! That design house only makes customs," she gushed and went over to the bag, looking between you and the zipper she was desperate to pull, "he might as well propose already. Imagine that engagement ring!"

"We're not even dating," you groaned. You'd imagined it plenty of times but knew that it would never be your reality. It wasn't like that with Javi, and you'd never have the courage to ask him out, "besides, it's not about the money."

"I know that, and so does he," she insisted, "he's a good man but also generous. The two are not mutually exclusive. He likes to spoil so let him."

"Coco-"

"Please let me see the dress," you almost gave into her big, puppy dog eyes, "pleaseeeee."

"Not a chance," you shook your head in amusement, "you'll just have to wait and see it-"

"At the birthday party Javi's throwing for you," she finished and you snorted in amusement, "he's already sent the invites and I've already RSVP'd!"

"Dios mio."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You held your breath as you studied your reflection in the mirror. There was no way that girl was you. And yet…when you met her eyes, it was you. You'd done your hair and makeup to your liking and then put on the dress from Javi. And it…definitely looked like it was made for you. Well - it was, but still. It was incredible.

It was your favorite color, fitted just how you like it, just long enough to not be inappropriate and highlighted all the things you loved about yourself. It was…magical. It fit like a glove and made you feel amazing. You wished you never had to take it off again. Luckily, you also had the perfect shoes to match. It all felt like some sort of magical fairytale. 

You’d gone to Javi’s house to change before the party, and even he hadn’t seen you just yet. You could hear the buzz from all the people downstairs, and knew that the party was in full swing. Javi really had gone all out, and the idea that he had done all of this for you made butterflies practically explode in your stomach. 

When you knew that you couldn’t stall any longer, you steadied your nerves as best as you could before leaving the room. As soon as you took the first step out of the guest room, you were stopped by some of Javi’s staff, gushing over how wonderful you looked. You were just trying not to let it all go to your head. 

You headed downstairs and outside to the courtyard, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but it really was no use. As soon as one person spotted, they began to cheer and the rest of the guests followed suit. Well. So much for a quiet entrance. 

But none of that seemed to matter because the only person that you saw in the sea of others was Javi. You had managed to spot him easily and effortlessly across the space, watching his entire face light up. 

“Thank you,” you had to look away from Javi before you somehow spilled your entire heart to him. You held up your hand in a small wave, “thank you all for coming - this is so wonderful. And thank you, most of all, to Javi for putting this all together. Javi, you are a stubborn but kind-hearted man, and I can’t thank you enough for everything that you do. Cheers to you.”

You could practically see the dark pink rise up in his cheeks as the attention turned over to him. He grabbed a glass of champagne and held it up and just when you thought he was going to make a big toast he looked at you and simply said, “salud.”

After you took a sip, you were half tempted to run away and hide among the crowds, but you knew that wasn’t an option. He would find you one way or another; and while that idea made you nervous, you also really just wanted to spend some time with him. You hadn’t seen him for a few days and that made you miss him despite the short separation. 

After throwing back the last of your drink, you set the flute down and walked towards Javi. Before you could even say anything, wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tightly into his warm body. 

“Felicidades mi amor,” and oh. That sent a pleasant shiver down your spine as you felt him press his lips to the crown of your head. He pulled back and ran his hands down your arms, before giving your hands a squeeze, “you look…amazing does not even begin to cover it. There are no words that could adequately describe how you look.”

“Javi,” you felt bashful and started at your feet, chewing the inside of your cheek, “thank you for this dress, this party - everything. This is all so kind of you, and I really appreciate you. I mean, more than appreciate you. I hope you know that.” 

“Hmmm,” he hummed in content as he put his arm around your waist and led you away to the edge of the courtyard overlooking the sea. You felt your entire body practically vibrating with energy as you tried to keep it all together. Still averting your gaze, you relaxed slightly into his touch, wondering what he was thinking. It was like he knew exactly what was on your mind. Javi took your hand in his and squeezed it to get your attention, “look at all the stars.”

You did as he asked and felt breathless when you looked at the pretty inky sky glittering with so many stars, “it’s beautiful.”

“And yet still not nearly as beautiful as you are,” this caused you to gasp slightly as you allowed yourself to look at Javi. He had the biggest smile on his face with the softest eyes and you just couldn’t take it, “nobody and nothing could ever come close.”

You cleared your throat and looked away, blinking back the tears that started prickling at the back of your eyes. Your heart wanted to believe that what he was saying was said in a romantic way, but your head didn’t allow you to do that. 

You felt him move closer - the little bit that he could - and he nudged you gently, “hey. Look at me.”

You did as he asked and looked up at him, “Javi?”

“You must know how I feel about you, si?” he touched your face, gently brushing his knuckles across your cheek. You knew how you wanted him to feel, but the reality was a different thing, “I have thought about this moment so many times. How I would tell you everything that I feel for you…it seemed so much easier in my mind.”

“How you feel about me?” you echoed as he nodded, “what do you mean, Javi? How do you feel about me?”

“You must know, amor,” he was nervous, you could easily see that. You looked up at him with eyes that made him melt and shook your head, “n-no?”

“Tell me?” you asked softly, “please.”

“I’m in love with you.”

Oh. Oh. Oh? 

“Come again?” you asked softly, trying to stifle your nervous laughter.

“I’m in love with you,” he looked at expectantly and when you didn’t say anything his heart dropped into your stomach, “I-I should not have said anything…I clearly have overstepped my boundaries and you do not return my feelings-:”

“Javi-”

“I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable…”

“Javi-”

“I should not have assume your kindness meant that you think of me as anything more than a friend. If I have made you fell-”

“Javi!” you finally snapped him out of his stupor and he looked at you with wide eyes as though he almost didn’t understand what you were saying. 

When he blinked at you in surprise, you took his face in your hands and leaned up to press a gentle - but questioning - kiss to his lips. It took him a moment to catch up but when he did, his entire body lit up. 

He put his hands on top of yours and kissed you back eagerly and passionately. Neither of you wanted to break apart, but you hesitantly pulled back when you needed a breath of air. 

“Do you see how I feel about you too?” you whispered, still half believing that you had imagined all of this. But when you felt him playfully take your face in his hands and pepper kisses all over your face, you realized that this was all very real. 

“You are in love with me as well?” he asked tentatively as you nodded eagerly, “you never said anything!”

“I was nervous,” you confessed, “and never thought you’d feel the same. You never said anything either!”

“I was nervous too,” he admittedly shyly, “but I could not wait any longer. I had to tell you before the opportunity to do so would have passed me by.”

“I would have waited,” you promised and this caused his heart to swell, “you were worth the wait, Javi.”

“So were you,” he beamed, brighter and warmer than the sun, “can I kiss you again?”

“You can kiss me whenever you want,” the two of you exchanged shy smiles and tender touches, “if that sounds good to you.”

“That sounds perfect to me, amor.”

[the-pen-pot]

'What happened to your back?' Arthur's voice sounded tense, stiff and uncertain. The brush of warm fingers against the three, pale lines across his shoulder-blade made Merlin jolt in alarm. He whirled around, the tunic still clutched in his hands as he blinked stupidly, his words caught somewhere in his throat. Not that it mattered. Arthur was too busy staring at the starburst scar the size of a grown man's hand that lay right in the centre of his front, over his heart. A frown of confusion melted beneath a mask of horror, and Merlin swallowed hard as all the colour fled Arthur's face. 'What happened to your chest?!'

Arthur finds out about Merlin's scars. Read above on AO3, or keep reading below 👇

 

It was his own stupid fault, Merlin thought grimly. His usual clumsiness and an unguarded moment was all it took. 

He had been helping set up for Uther's latest stupid feast, and he'd slopped red wine all down the front of a blue tunic. In theory, he could have dismissed the stain with a spell, but the smell would have haunted him all evening. Arthur might know that all the time he was apparently in the tavern he was dealing with some magical crisis or other, but the same could not be said for the rest of the court. His reputation was bad enough as it was without adding fuel to that particular fire.

He'd ducked into one of the rooms where they stored the fresh laundry, pulling free a tunic he'd not yet collected before peeling himself free of the clinging fabric. The rustle of cloth meant he didn't hear the creak of the door, and the voice that rang out behind him made him jolt in surprise.

'What happened to your back?'

Arthur's voice sounded tense, stiff and uncertain. The brush of warm fingers against the three, pale lines across his shoulder-blade made Merlin jolt in alarm. He whirled around, the tunic still clutched in his hands as he blinked stupidly, his words caught somewhere in his throat. 

Not that it mattered. Arthur was too busy staring at the starburst scar the size of a grown man's hand that lay right in the centre of his front, over his heart. A frown of confusion melted beneath a mask of horror, and Merlin swallowed hard as all the colour fled Arthur's face.

'What happened to your chest?!'

'Er...' Merlin winced, because although he had told Arthur about his magic – about everything he had done in his name, the good and the bad – he had rather glossed over some of the details. He hadn't done any of it for Arthur's gratitude, after all. He didn't need his thanks or his sympathy, but he couldn't deny that some of his choices had left their marks on his body for the world to see.

'Why are you in here?' he managed, hoping to derail the conversation as he hastily tugged on the fresh garment, shoving his arms through the sleeves as he hid the scars from sight. 'Did you need something?'

'I need you to tell me what happened.' Arthur's blue eyes snapped with an aimless, volatile sort of anger. His arms were folded across his chest, making his tunic strain at the shoulders, and the scowl on his brow suggested he wouldn't be easily swayed from his questioning. 'Merlin, who hurt you?'

'It was ages ago. It doesn't matter.'

He went to duck around Arthur, mumbling something about the feast preparations. Yet before he got more than a few paces, strong fingers snagged his wrist. It wasn't a tight grip, Merlin could have broken free with ease, but he still came to heel like a dog obeying its master.

'No, I'm not letting you leave,' he murmured, the rumble of his words sending a bolt of heat arcing down Merlin's spine. It snatched the air from his lungs, leaving him breathless and tense as Arthur turned him back around, shifting his grip to Merlin's shoulders as he stared into his eyes. 'Not until you tell me the truth. Who. Hurt. You?'

The anger in that expression wasn't aimed at him; Merlin knew that well enough. There was nothing Arthur hated more than feeling helpless. He was protective of his knights where Uther was dismissive of their loyalty and their sacrifice, but the gleam in his eye went beyond that. Dread had stolen the warmth from his face, and he was watching Merlin with the kind of intensity that some would find unnerving.

'Sigan and his stupid gargoyles' – He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the scars on his back before tapping one finger over his heart – 'Nimueh and a fireball.' They were such simple words for the horror of stony claws raking his back and the flash and burn of the incendiary spell that had hit him square in the chest, but in the end, they summed it up pretty neatly. 'It's fine, Arthur. They healed.'

He frowned, not understanding the expression on Arthur's face. The knights took injuries for him all the time, and while he praised their courage, he never looked like that – as if someone had reached into his guts and wrenched them out of him, leaving him hollow.

'That's not the point.' Arthur's grasp moved from his shoulders, drifting down his arms to his hands. It was a soothing gesture, one Merlin wasn't even sure was consciously done. Yet even he could feel how Arthur's touch mapped the calluses on his palms and the small scars that were an apprentice healer's mark: tiny burns and the occasional slim white line where the herb-knife had slipped and sliced skin instead. Those didn't cause him any distress, and Merlin realised it was because they were expected: wounds received in the execution of his duties.

Duties which, even knowing about his magic, Arthur clearly didn't realise involved protecting him with as much determination as any one of his knights.

'You've got scars,' Merlin pointed out, thinking of the starburst from the Questing Beast's bite, among others.

'I'm a knight. A prince.' He didn't add "a target"; he didn't have to. They were both thinking it. 'I've been trained to fight since I could walk. You... haven't.'

Merlin snorted. That was an understatement. Still, he could practically see the spin of considerations in Arthur's head, and some magical sense forewarned him that if he didn't speak quickly, he'd find himself on the duelling field being beaten half-to-death in the name of "practice".

'Wielding a sword wouldn't have saved me from either of these, and it's not like I can train in battle-spells, is it?' He shrugged one shoulder, unwilling to disturb Arthur's hand from where it still gripped his, tracing idle, tormenting little patterns against his skin. He didn't think Arthur realised what he was doing: how each caress made Merlin's breath come from deeper in his chest. It made his heart feel like it pumped hot honey, rather than blood, around his veins. 'It's not exactly discreet.'

Arthur pulled as face, but he didn't argue. It had been slow, steady work, getting him to see just how much damage the ban on magic had caused. Arthur would not care for his own sake: he was not interested in doing anything the easy way, but he was beginning to see how his people could suffer from its lack. Now, he looked at Merlin with fresh realisation. 'You can't learn how to defend yourself. Not without risking exposing your magic to all of Camelot.'

It was a flat statement of fact, one that he could not deny. It wasn't just that he could not practice; even studying the theory was a risky endeavour. As long as Uther still sat upon the throne, then Merlin had to work from the shadows and hope that he and Arthur both survived to see better days.

'Armour.' Arthur said it softly. 'I cannot change the laws of Camelot, but there's is nothing to say a servant cannot wear armour. You could enchant it, couldn't you? Extra spells to protect you from magic. You've done it to mine.' One golden eyebrow lifted in challenge, as if daring Merlin to deny it. 'No one will question it. They know you come on almost every patrol with us, and more than one person has remarked upon the fact that you do not wear anything but the tunic on your back. Truthfully, I should have done something about that long before now.'

Merlin pursed his lips. The rumours in court were already rife, and armour would just be another sign of his favour. Already, people noticed how Arthur let Merlin get away with disobedience that bordered on treason, sometimes, and they had taken note.

It was tempting to argue: to say he didn't need it. Armour wouldn't protect him from magical attacks, but he could see the desperation in Arthur's gaze. Those eyes had dipped to the laces of Merlin's tunic, as if envisioning the scar beneath. There was a haunted slant to his expression, as if he were imagining how that day could have ended.

The hand around Merlin's tightened, firm and sure, and when Arthur lifted his eyes once more, he looked resolute. 'I won't see you hurt again,' he said, speaking like a king laying down the law. 'Not if I can help it. One day, it will be different.' He swallowed. 'One day, you will be able to practice your magic without having to hide, but for now, let me help keep you safe. Please?'

Merlin blinked, his heart heaving in a dizzying whirl. Arthur had never spoken of this before. He almost couldn't believe his ears, and he shifted where he stood, one hand reaching out as if he could pin Arthur's words – this very moment – motionless in place.

'Do you mean it?' he rasped, trying to fight the urge to lean forward but unable to stop himself. 'You'll return magic to Camelot?'

'Yes.' Arthur tilted his head to the side, a faint smile curving his lips at whatever he saw in Merlin's face. 'I swear it.'

Beyond the door, the sounds of hurrying servants broke through the heavy air between them. It was enough to send a ripple of awareness through the tiny room – to make Merlin realise how close they stood to each other. All around them the balance of their friendship seemed to wobble, breathless, but it was Merlin, not Arthur, who stepped back in retreat.

'I – I don't know what to say.' A grin spread over his face, bright and unstoppable. 'Thank you!'

And if he hadn't already loved Arthur for more months than he cared to count – hidden and unacknowledged – he would have fallen there and then to see Arthur's bright, boyish grin light up the room.

'You're welcome, Merlin.'

– – –

Buckles chimed as Arthur slid them into place, sheathing Merlin in the armour he had commissioned. It was not the glittering mail and stalwart plate of his knights, but soft leather with scale pressed between: light and flexible, but strong enough to shield Merlin from the worst the world had to offer.

He wet his lips, looking up at him under his lashes as his pulse thrummed helplessly. The promise he had made still echoed in his mind. No doubt accompanied it; he would not go back on his word. Not after he'd seen the vicious light of hope lend its glow to Merlin's features.

Besides, magic was not the only thing he planned to change when he took the throne. He could not admit how he felt for Merlin now, not while his father still lived and all the expectations of the court were against them. He would not make Merlin suffer that.

Instead, he did what he could to protect the man who had stolen his heart. He would keep him safe in whatever way he could, and one day, he would be free to claim the love that Merlin promised him with every glance.

They would have their golden age, together. Arthur would make sure of it.