#oversized tunic

[lauravian]

Little sketch page of my favourite boy

[clannfearrunt]

Drawing Caennor. Because it’s his birthday. And I haven’t since like 2021. This guy really just has One Outfit

[atropazar]

shadow your tunic is clinging on for dear life

[skyloftian-nutcase]

@telemna-hyelle I just want you to know that Abel looks quite dashing with the climber's bandana

[tadbitfooled]

here's a little preview of the sketch I did for practicing on my new tablet. I might redo it because I'm doing a bit better with my ink work so.

But Gwen when she was around 21/22 and starting her work as a cleric of Ilmater

[astral-catastrophe]

Should totally make a Link cosplay.

[earthlybeam]

Wait, oh my god. If you don’t mind, could you possibly write the oversized tunic prompt for Haldir, Legolas, and/or Thranduil?

Or possibly, their SO in their tunic?

Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir version below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The flickering light of the hearth bathed the guest chamber in a warm, golden glow, the shadows of the flames stretching across the polished stone walls and draping the room in quiet intimacy. It was peaceful—until the door opened, revealing the imposing figure of Thranduil. He moved with effortless elegance, his long robes trailing in his wake as his sharp gaze swept over the chamber. For a fleeting moment, his expression was serene, his features carved from ice and marble, betraying nothing. But then his eyes fell on you.

You stood in the doorway, caught in the firelight, the oversized tunic billowing slightly as you shifted under his gaze. The garment—his tunic—hung loosely on you, its fine fabric pooling in some places and clinging in others, betraying the fact that it had not been tailored for you. The neckline dipped low, and the material had slipped off one shoulder, baring the curve of your collarbone and a hint of your skin. The hem barely reached mid-thigh, your every move revealing just how precariously it sat. Though the look was accidental, it carried with it an unintended allure.

Thranduil stopped mid-step, his ice-blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly as they trailed over you, taking in every detail of your appearance. His expression was unreadable at first, the practiced neutrality of a king who had seen and weathered all things. But then his lips curved into the faintest of smirks, a spark of amusement glinting in his gaze. “Is this…” he began, his voice low and smooth, laced with an almost imperceptible edge, “intentional?”

You froze, your heart stuttering in your chest under the weight of his scrutiny. “Intentional?” you echoed, heat rising to your cheeks. You felt your embarrassment bubbling over, but you did your best to keep your tone even. “You make it sound like I’ve planned this.” You gestured vaguely to the tunic, the sleeves so long that the cuffs nearly swallowed your hands. “I didn’t exactly have many options. My clothes are being washed, and this was the only thing I could find that didn’t reek of travel.”

Thranduil took a measured step forward, the soft sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing faintly. There was something predatory in his movements, though not unkind—a quiet, deliberate grace that left no room for misunderstanding who stood before you. His gaze softened slightly, though his intensity did not waver. “And you thought it wise to wear this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, as though the question were for himself as much as it was for you. “My tunic?”

You bristled, a mix of defiance and self-consciousness sparking in your chest. Crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to shield yourself, you tilted your chin up. “It’s not like I expected you to walk in unannounced,” you countered, though your voice wavered slightly under his piercing gaze. “Besides, it’s not that revealing.”

At that, one of his thick brows arched elegantly, the faintest quirk of his lips betraying his disbelief. “Not that revealing?” he repeated, a note of dry humor slipping into his tone. His eyes flicked down briefly, lingering on the exposed curve of your shoulder where the fabric had slipped, then lower, taking in the hem that rested just a little too high for propriety. “It barely clings to you,” he said plainly, though there was something warmer—something almost dangerous—beneath the cool cadence of his voice. “It is… distracting.”

“Distracting?” You scoffed lightly, though your pulse quickened under his steady gaze. You had meant it to sound dismissive, but the nervous edge to your tone gave you away. “You sound offended. Or…” You allowed a playful edge to creep into your voice, though you knew you were treading on thin ice. “Or maybe you’re just jealous that I pull it off better than you.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy between you, your words echoing in the chamber. Then, to your surprise, a deep, rich chuckle escaped him, the sound resonating low in his chest. His smirk deepened, his gaze glinting with what could only be described as admiration. “Brazen,” he murmured, almost to himself, though the amusement in his tone was evident. “Only you would dare to jest with me in this way.”

You took a tentative step forward, emboldened by the flicker of humor in his expression. “Would you rather I cower?” you asked, your voice soft but steady now. “Or apologize for borrowing something clearly too fine for someone like me?” The teasing edge in your tone was deliberate, but underneath it lay something more vulnerable—something unspoken, though not unnoticed.

Thranduil tilted his head, his gaze never wavering as you drew closer. When he spoke, his voice was lower, quieter, as if the moment demanded it. “I would rather you be more aware of what you provoke,” he said, his words measured but weighted with meaning. “For once tempted, I may not so easily let it go.” You blinked, the air in the room seeming to thicken as his words hung between you. He took another step forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. His hand rose slowly, hesitating just for a moment before brushing the edge of the tunic where it had slipped from your shoulder. The gesture was so light, so fleeting, it could almost have been unintentional—but the look in his eyes told you otherwise.

“It is not the garment I mind,” he said softly, his fingers lingering just a moment too long against your bare skin, his gaze locking onto yours with a startling intensity. “It is the thought that others might see you like this. That I might have to share what stands before me now.” Your breath caught, the heat of his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Thranduil,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, “it’s just a tunic.”

His lips quirked into a small, knowing smile, though his gaze never softened. “Perhaps to you. But to me, it is far more than that.” His hand fell away as he leaned in, his face mere inches from yours now. His voice dropped lower, barely more than a whisper, but it carried the weight of a command. “Be more mindful of how you tempt me. You may not like where it leads.” Your heart raced, your words catching in your throat as his meaning settled over you like the heat of the firelight. “Who says I wouldn’t?” you managed to whisper, though your voice wavered with the tension of the moment.

For a moment, he froze, his gaze sharpening as if searching your expression for the truth behind your words. His hand, which had fallen to his side, tightened into a loose fist as though reining himself in. Then, slowly, he straightened, the icy mask of the elven king sliding back into place with practiced ease. “Be ready for supper,” he said, his voice cool and composed once more, though his words carried an undeniable weight. “And wear something less… distracting.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel, his robes sweeping behind him as he disappeared into the hallway, leaving you standing there, breathless and warm, the echo of his touch still lingering on your shoulder.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

The quiet chambers of Mirkwood were bathed in the warm, flickering glow of the hearth, the light casting golden shadows on the stone walls. The faint scent of cedar lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest beyond the balcony. Legolas stepped through the carved wooden door with his usual Elven grace, the gentle creak of the hinges the only sound that broke the stillness. His sharp eyes, gleaming with the light of the fire, immediately sought you out.

You stood in the center of the room, hesitant, your fingers brushing nervously at the hem of the oversized tunic you wore. It was one of his—a garment you’d found folded neatly atop the guest bed, clean and soft but unmistakably his. The loose fabric hung down past your knees, its neckline slipping off one shoulder to expose more skin than you were comfortable with. The tunic billowed lightly with your every shift, and though it covered you, the way it clung in places and revealed too much in others made you feel distinctly… vulnerable.

Legolas froze mid-step, his crystalline blue gaze locking on you as if you’d stolen all the air from the room. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first, his expression flickering between surprise, concern, and something far more unreadable. He tilted his head just so, as though trying to make sense of the sight before him. “Is… is that my tunic?” His voice, usually steady and serene, carried a hint of bewilderment, the faintest quirk of his brow betraying his confusion.

You shrugged, trying to feign indifference but failing miserably under his piercing gaze. “I didn’t really have anything else to wear,” you explained, your voice quieter than usual. “My clothes were still drying from the river, and this was here, so…” You gestured vaguely to yourself, feeling the heat creep up your neck and cheeks. “It’s fine, right?”

Legolas stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. The flickering light of the fire danced in his eyes as they roved over you—not with judgment, but with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He stopped just short of you, his tall frame towering yet somehow gentle in its proximity. “It is not… improper,” he said carefully, though the faint flush blooming at the tips of his ears betrayed him. “Though I must admit…” He paused, as if searching for the right words, his gaze drifting to the exposed curve of your shoulder. “It is… revealing.”

You laughed softly, a nervous edge to the sound as you pulled the loose fabric back up your shoulder. “Revealing? Says the elf who walks around in robes with slits up to—” You stopped yourself with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at him. “I think your standards for modesty are a little… flexible.”

His lips parted in a soft exhale, and you swore you saw the faintest twitch of amusement tug at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps,” he conceded, his voice low, almost teasing. “But when it is you wearing my tunic…” He trailed off, his words hanging in the air like a string plucked on a harp. “When it’s me, what?” you challenged gently, meeting his gaze, though your heart thudded loudly in your chest. “Do I wear it poorly? Should I have asked for something less ‘revealing,’ your highness?” You added the last part with a playful lilt, trying to ease the tension that had settled between you.

“No,” he said swiftly, too swiftly, his tone softening immediately after. “No, it is not that. It is…” His hands twitched at his sides as if unsure whether to reach for you. “It suits you. Better than I expected.” You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “Better than you expected?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “You make it sound like I’ve been parading around in your clothes for weeks.”

“Have you?” he countered, his voice dipping into something teasing, his sharp gaze briefly flicking over you again. The faintest ghost of a smile played on his lips now, though his posture remained composed, regal. “No!” you said, shaking your head. “I just—” You sighed, gesturing helplessly at the tunic. “It was either this or sitting around freezing in a damp shirt. And it’s not like anyone else is here to see me.” You hesitated, catching the way his eyes softened. “Except you, apparently.”

Legolas tilted his head, his expression gentling further, the faint blush on his cheeks lingering. “I would not fault you for choosing comfort,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “Though…” He reached out, his fingers grazing the fabric where it pooled loosely over your wrist. “I must admit, I am unused to seeing you so… unguarded.” “Unguarded?” you echoed, a small laugh escaping you. “I’m wearing your tunic, not armor.”

“It is not the tunic,” he said, his gaze steady and earnest. “It is… you.” His fingers brushed against your wrist again, feather-light but enough to make your breath hitch. “You wear it with a grace I did not know my garments could possess.” You blinked up at him, momentarily speechless, before narrowing your eyes slightly. “You’re just trying to distract me from the fact that you think I look ridiculous.” He smiled then, soft and genuine, the kind of smile that could break down even the strongest walls.

“Ridiculous?” he repeated, shaking his head slightly. “No, Mellon nîn or shall I say meleth nǐn.” The Elvish slipped from his lips like a melody, and though you didn’t know the meaning, it made your heart ache in the best way. “Far from it.” And for a moment, as he stood there in the firelight, his fingers lingering near yours, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever be able to look at that tunic the same way again.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

The quiet serenity of the guest chambers of Lothlórien is broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth. The golden light dances on the smooth, pale walls, casting flickering shadows that shift as if alive. Outside, the faint hum of the Elven woods persists, a sound so subtle and ancient it feels as though it could weave dreams.

Haldir steps in, his presence commanding yet measured, as always. His silver hair gleams in the firelight, and his sharp, discerning gaze immediately sweeps the room before settling on you. He stops short, and for a moment, the mask of stoicism that is his constant companion falters. His eyes widen, just slightly, betraying his initial surprise.

You stand there, clothed only in one of his tunics, which hangs loosely around you, brushing against your knees. The neckline dips further than you expected, the fabric slipping off one shoulder to reveal your skin beneath. The garment is clearly oversized, its looseness making it far more revealing than you intended. You shift awkwardly under his gaze, both self-conscious and oddly amused by the rare moment of silence from the Marchwarden.

“Haldir,” you start, breaking the tension. “I didn’t expect you so soon. I didn’t have time to… change.” Your voice carries an air of calm, though your heartbeat quickens. His gaze snaps to yours, his usual composure quickly returning, though a faint flush lingers high on his cheekbones. “I see,” he says, his tone carefully even, though there’s a tightness to it that suggests he’s restraining himself. He takes a step closer, his eyes darting—unbidden—back to where the tunic slips off your shoulder, exposing a sliver of collarbone.

“I trust,” he begins, clearing his throat as if to steady himself, “that you are aware how… unconventional this attire is.” His voice is low, calm, but there’s a tension beneath it—a mix of protectiveness and something more hesitant. “Such a sight might… cause distraction to others. Particularly in my halls.”

You arch a brow at him, crossing your arms over your chest, which only causes the tunic to shift further, sliding a bit higher on one leg and baring more of your skin. “Your halls?” you counter, a faint smirk playing on your lips. “And here I thought these were the halls of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.”

Haldir’s lips press into a thin line, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He takes another step closer, his voice softening but losing none of its authority. “You know what I mean. Such…” he gestures vaguely at your attire, clearly uncomfortable even addressing it, “an ensemble is not… fitting.”

You tilt your head, letting the smirk grow. “Oh? And who decides what is fitting, Haldir? You?” There’s a playful lilt to your tone now, and you can see the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, as though he’s torn between exasperation and amusement. “It is… unbecoming,” he insists, though his voice has lost some of its sternness. His gaze flickers once more to the slipping neckline, and he quickly averts his eyes, clearly wrestling with himself. “What if one of my brothers or the sentries had seen you like this?”

You take a step toward him, your bare feet silent on the stone floor, and tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. “But they didn’t,” you say, your voice soft but teasing. “You’re the only one who’s seen me like this. Shouldn’t that be enough?” Haldir freezes, his breath hitching at your words. For a moment, the guarded walls he keeps so firmly in place seem to crack, and he looks at you—not as the Marchwarden of Lothlórien, but as Haldir, the Elf who feels so deeply yet shows so little. His lips part slightly, as though he’s about to say something, but no words come.

You take another step closer, your movements deliberate now, emboldened by his reaction. “Haldir,” you say, your voice softening, “you don’t have to pretend to be so composed all the time. It’s just me.”

He exhales sharply, as though your words have pierced through the layers of his restraint. “You test my patience,” he murmurs, though his tone lacks any real bite. There’s something almost tender in the way he looks at you now, his gaze lingering on your face, your eyes, before flicking back to the tunic once more. “You… shouldn’t wear things like this,” he says finally, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Not when you don’t understand what it does to me.”

The confession hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, you’re both silent. Then, a slow, mischievous smile spreads across your face. “Oh,” you say, your tone light but pointed. “And what does it do to you, Haldir?”

He steps closer still, his composure unraveling further with each passing second. The faint flush on his cheeks deepens, and he looks at you as though you’re the most dangerous thing he’s ever encountered. “It makes me forget my duty,” he admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that is something I cannot afford.”

You reach out, your hand brushing lightly against his arm. “Maybe forgetting your duty, just for a moment, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” Haldir’s breath catches again, and for a moment, you think he might close the remaining distance between you. But then, with a deep inhale, he steps back, his usual composure snapping back into place like a shield. “You should change,” he says, his voice firmer now but still soft. “Before someone else sees you.”

You watch him for a moment, the tension still palpable, before nodding. “As you wish, Marchwarden,” you reply, a hint of teasing in your tone. As you turn to gather your clothes, you catch the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips—a smile that’s gone almost as soon as it appears. But the way his eyes linger on you, even as he tries to compose himself, tells you that you’ve left him thoroughly shaken.

[sugarrrvenomm]

even though the stars are blind // obi-wan x reader

hello h word for obi-wan nation ! yes the title is from the paris hilton song.

word count: 4k

summary: master kenobi lets you use his shower after a mission, among other things

You really think you’re imagining things when Obi-Wan asks you to stay behind after the briefing is over and offers you his personal water sonic to use rather than the communal one used by his men. It’s not the request itself that has you wondering if you’re still sane—you’ve never known him to be anything other than a perfect gentlemen—it’s the look on his face while he says it. Those grey-blue eyes narrow into something darker; moodier, and the corner of his mouth ticks up, so slightly you’d miss it under his beard if you weren’t already glancing down at his lips. 

After you obviously agree (even if you’re hallucinating the look in his eyes, you still want the privacy of his sonic), his com-link chimes, and the last thing he does before he saunters off to whatever part of the ship is calling for him, he stops by your side and tells you the code to his personal quarters, accent lilting while he takes your hand in his own and pretends to punch in the numbers on your palm. 

You wonder what he keeps in his sonic that makes him smell so good. The thought of being amongst his personal things, even mundane ones like soap, curls in your stomach and makes you sweat behind your knees as you walk through the Negotiator’s seemingly endless halls. It takes longer than you expect to find his quarter’s, but that’s most likely because you were too shy to ask a clone for directions to their general’s private rooms. When you finally reach his door, you’re glad no one else is in the corridor to see you walk in—you can can only the hope it’ll be the same when you walk out, with wet hair and fresh clothes. 

Unsurprisingly, Obi-Wan’s quarter’s are nearly spotless. The messiest part is the desk; an obscene amount of data-pads stacked and a few half-empty cups of caf decorating it. Aside from that, the only sign someone lives in here at all is the unmade bed—which just the sight of sends an illicit thrill through you. It’s surely gone cold by now, but you make yourself blush by imagining running your hand along the place where he lies at night, feeling the heated impression of him in the mattress. Obi-Wan is one of, if not the, most stressed Jedi you know. What does he do in this bed to relieve that?

The rush of heat that dives between your legs at the thought has you pressing your thighs together, and you dart to the refresher, not wanting Obi-Wan to return and find you staring at his bed and panting like a hound. 

After turning on the water sonic, you strip, and that feels illicit too. He’s got a basket with worn clothing in it, but after deciding it might be an overstep to toss yours in, you leave your dirty robes on the floor; picking up your tunic with a pointed toe and draping it over your panties so they’re not visible. 

In the sonic, you find out nothing in here is the reason Obi-Wan smells so delicious. Everything on his single shelf is GAR-issued, and smells of nothing. That doesn’t change the fact that washing your hair with his shampoo, and running your hands all over your body with the same soap he touches his own with doesn’t excite you. Just looking down at your feet and knowing he stands in this very spot, naked and wet, is enough to make you pulse between your legs. You spend a little too long massaging your tits, squeezing the flesh between your fingers and making your nipples tighten—but you don’t dare to actually touch yourself. Partly because you don’t want to use all his hot water, partly because you’re not sure you could keep quiet. So, you force yourself to finish up relatively quickly, turning off the water and calling a towel to yourself with the Force so you don’t drip onto the floors. 

You’re sleepwear comprises of shorts and a soft, oversized tunic. Normally, you’d go without underwear underneath, but this time you slide a pair on. Something about being around Obi-Wan makes you want to be proper—good. You don’t dare walk around his ship in your thin, tiny shorts barely concealing your pussy. Though, not even his influence can make you wear a bra. 

The wet ends of your hair soaking the shoulders of your shirt make you rub your towel over your head like a youngling, it’s not the normal way you’d treat your hair, but it’ll have to do. Of course, it tangles the strands something terrible, and you groan when you can’t quite pull your brush through a few stubborn spots. Prepared to give up, you gather your things and palm the ‘fresher door open—and there is Obi-Wan; sitting at his desk, legs spread wildly like the almost always are when he sits. He’s stripped down to his under-tunics, and you feel oddly endeared at the sight of his socked feet. 

“I’ll have to call you back, Anakin,” he says hand reaching for his com-link, eyes on you. 

“When?” The static voice of his former Padawan asks. 

“Later,” is all Obi-Wan says before he hangs up.

“Thank you,” you rush to say after the call disconnects. 

He keeps looking at you, eyes never dipping below your face, a single finger dragging along his bearded jawline. “Of course,” he offers simply, mouth curving up like it did in the briefing. “I hope it was to your liking.”

Even this small talk makes you blush; his presence overwhelms you. Nodding in response, you look down at the brush still in your hand, then back up with him. “Any chance they make GAR-issued detangler?” 

When your attempt at a joke actually lands, and he breaks into a full, chuckling smile, you breathe a sigh of relief and light up inside. You stomp down the urge to climb into his lap and lick his teeth. “I don’t think so,” he says, leaning forward in his chair. “But perhaps I could help—Force knows I’ve tamed the gundark’s nest of Anakin’s hair before. I’m rather handy with a brush.”

“Really?” You try not to squeak it out, but you’re sure it comes out that way regardless. More so, you hope he doesn’t see the way your toes curl in response to his offer. It’s all you can do not to squirm completely. 

Obi-Wan nods, tilting his head and smiling at you. “If you’d like.”

You nod, crossing your arms in front of you—which reminds you of the fact that you’re not wearing a bra. Obi-Wan stands and walks to his bed, sitting back against the headboard and making you lose your breath. Surely he’s not going to—

“Come here, darling,” he beckons, curling two fingers to signal you closer. When you take a step, he spreads his legs and pats the space between them. 

Dropping your bag, you climb onto the bed, mindful of your shorts riding up. One of your calves brushes his when you climb over his leg and that alone makes your breath quicken. When you sit, there’s inches of space between your bodies; of course, you imagine there’s not, though. You imagine you’re pressed as close to him as possible, feeling his strong chest against your shoulder blades. Looking down, your bare feet seem small in-between his. 

“Now, let’s see if we can get you sorted,” Obi-Wan mumbles, so close it almost makes you flinch. As you try to keep your breathing steady, you feel a hand cascade down your hair, and can hear him stroking the brush through the ends of it, working his way up a small section until the brush glides smoothly. It goes on like this for a few moments, him softly touching you without pause—until he reaches one of the knots, and you hear him grumble in response to the brush getting stuck. When he pulls it free, you hiss, and he murmurs back a cooing sound. “Delicate thing.”

You want to protest, but his voice lulls you away from the urge, as does the way he’s working the knot in your hair with his fingers, dragging strands out of the mess until you feel the brush against you again, and this time it runs through easily. 

“There we are,” Obi-Wan murmurs, and he sounds so pleased, like you had done something right; you can’t help but preen a little, smiling to yourself while he keeps brushing until he hits another knot. This time, he wiggles the brush free far gentler, making sure you feel no pain, and then he’s repeating the process from before, meticulously separating your hair until the brush can pass through. You both fall into silence as he works, and despite the heat between your thighs only burning hotter and hotter, his touch calms you until you’re so relaxed it’s almost as if you’re meditating. If you were paying better attention, you might be able to tell that at some point he’s brushed through all the knots, and has started randomly running the brush through your hair while you purr like a loth-cat.

“Feels good,” you murmur.

“Hm?” Obi-Wan hums.

“Haven’t had someone play with my hair in years—since I was a youngling, I think.”

There’s a sound, and you know without looking that it’s Obi-Wan setting your hairbrush on the small table next to his bed. It seems unnervingly loud, for some reason. You shiver when his hand brushes your hair back on one side, moving it to cascade down your back as he leans forward to murmur, “Is there anything else you’d like me to play with?”

All you can do is whisper, “Obi-Wan,” in the neediest voice you’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, and that seems to be all the confirmation he needs. You feel his hand press against your tummy, broad and warm even through your shirt, giving you goosebumps. He uses it to pull you back against him, erasing the space between your bodies just like you’d imagined earlier, but it’s still not enough. You want—need—to feel his skin, so you start to turn in hopes of getting his shirt off, but you’re stopped by an arm across your torso, with a thumb tracing the underside of your breast. 

“Relax. You’ve worked so hard today, done so well. Let me take care of you.” The words are spoken into your neck, and his praise makes you squirm. The arm holding you only tightens, while his other one reaches down and tugs down your shorts, leaving you in your panties that you only wore to be polite for him. His big hand cups your cunt, rubbing lazily with no intent other than to rile you up. It fucking works, and you claw at his wrist and whine. 

“Just—off,” you plead. 

Obi-Wan doesn’t listen, instead nuzzling his thumb against you until he’s putting pressure on your clit. “Or I could keep rubbing you like this; watch you soak the fabric.”

You blush, but let him do as he pleases until you can’t stand it anymore and pull down the underwear yourself. When you do, you can see the wet spot that’s more like a puddle you’ve left in them, making you shyly draw your legs together. Obi-Wan snickering behind you only makes it worse. 

“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed about how needy you are,” he drawls into your ear, rubbing your thigh. “Let me see your cunt, pretty thing.” You let him part your legs, and have to reach down and dig your nails into his thigh when he slides his fingers along you, groaning a low sound as he does it. Even if you hadn’t seen the state of your underwear, you’d be able to tell you’re soaked by how easily he slides one of his large fingers inside of you.

It’s a single finger, but it fills you up so good you moan and writhe on it, rutting forward to try and get friction elsewhere. “My—my clit,” you mumble, eyes closed, head tipping back onto his shoulder.

“Of course, my darling,” Obi-Wan tells you, before slipping his finger our and dragging it up and adding another to swirl around the swollen bud, making you grit your teeth and arch your back. You feel like you’ve been wet since he looked at you in the briefing room—finally getting touched where you longed for it all this time has to careening to the edge startlingly fast, especially since Obi-Wan picks up on what you like easily, spreading your lips with one hand and keeping your clit vulnerable for him to rub steady circles on, every so often catching it between his fingers and squeezing gently. Every touch makes you gush—at least, it feels that way. 

Your legs begin to shake, and that’s when he pulls away. There’s no time to protest before he’s pulling you even closer, to speak hotly against your cheek. “I want your soaked little pussy on my face, darling.”

You groan at the thought, but with the way he’s dragged you closer, you can now feel the hard line of his cock digging into you, and you groan even louder when you imagine taking him into your mouth. Right now, there’s nothing you want more than to see what the great, composed, Master Kenobi looks like when he’s getting his cock sucked. You project the thought, and almost expect a remark about inappropriate use of the Force, but Obi-Wan just nips your jaw and asks, “You want that?”

When you turn your head, he finally, finally kisses you. It’s wet, and messy—but his tongue sliding against yours might be the best thing you’ve ever felt. You can tell he knows what he’s doing, and for some reason, that makes your pussy throb. 

“So much,” you answer against his mouth, and he hums a pleased sound before sucking your earlobe into his mouth. 

“I’m sure a clever girl like you can come up with a way for us both to get what we want, can’t you?” 

You feel his smirk against your skin, along with the way your ears burn. Still, you’re determined to please him, so you turn around to sit between his legs facing him. As soon as you make eye contact, he lunges forward to kiss you, but you retreat back out of his reach and pull at his hips until he takes the hint and inches down the bed until he’s laying down. With one more pull, he lifts his hips and you tug down his trousers—he’s not wearing anything underneath.

Spit pools in your mouth at the sight of Obi-Wan’s cock—it’s perfect, you think to yourself. Big enough to make your eyes roll back but not so big that you couldn’t take him without pain. It’s blushing pink at the tip and dribbling pre-come, messy and wet just like your pussy. You want to touch it so badly, to feel the warmth and weight of it, to feel the head of him streak your palm with pre-come, so you do touch him, taking him in hand softly and moaning quietly at how soft his skin is here.

A hand on your face pulls you out of your one-track mind, and you’re tilted up until you see Obi-Wan propped up on one elbow, staring down at you, cheeks pink, mouth smirking, one strand of hair hanging out of place. “Let me eat your cunt, sweetheart,” he rumbles, rubbing his thumb along your lower lip. 

You almost say yes, master—but just barely manage to hold it in. With his guiding hands, you crawl back up his body and try not to burn up in your shyness when he turns you around so you’re sitting on his chest, facing his cock. With a hand sliding up your back, Obi-Wan gently pushes you down until you’re forced to spread your legs and arch your back. You take a moment to gather yourself, puffing out a breath and washing the way the hairs around his cock move with it. 

Obi-Wan, however, needs no breather. He cups your backside and squeezes harshly. “You really should wear more traditional robes. I thought I was going to get myself killed today being distracted by you and your ass.” Language wise, it’s not the crudest thing he’s said to you tonight, but hearing Obi-Wan Kenobi admit he’s not above staring at your ass and getting turned on by it in the field makes you feel dirtier than ever. You spread your legs even further, and then nearly collapse on his chest at the feeling of his tongue licking a hot, wet line up your center before kissing your folds messily, teasing you. 

In response, you drag your tongue up the length of his cock, humming a happy sound when he twitches and pushes his hips up. When you take the head into your mouth, you drool all over it, making it messy immediately, coating it in spit and placing sweet kisses on the leaking slit. Obi-Wan moans against your cunt where he’s switching between dipping his tongue into you and sucking gently on your clit. You sink down, eyes watering the deeper you go. His cock is still perfect—filling up your mouth and tasting so good and being so pretty; taking it is just difficult enough to be a challenge, but not one that you don’t want to take on. Bobbing your head, you hollow your cheeks and hum around him as you press you hips back. You wonder if his face is getting as messy as yours is, dragging your lips off go him to sloppily jerk him off, using you other hand to drag your hair that’s now plastered to your wet cheeks away. 

You stop stroking him, but only to slide your hand down and cup his heavy looking balls, earning you the loudest groan you’ve gotten out of him yet. It’s almost like he’s more sensitive here than his actual cock. On a whim, you spit, foamy and warm, onto his balls before taking them in hand and rolling them in your palm, separating them with a thumb and massaging. An even louder sound is made against your cunt, so loud it vibrates against you and makes you gasp. Then, Obi-Wan closes his lips around your swollen clit and sucks so hard you see stars. It’s so overwhelming your body doesn’t know whether to push into or away from it, and you end up pushing up on Obi-Wan’s stomach, squirming and crying out, mouth hung open. 

He doesn’t let you go anywhere, though. With a durasteel grip on your thighs, Obi-Wan holds you down, keeping his mouth on your cunt, lifting his head when you try to shy away from him. He continues like this, sucking and licking and moaning, until you’re sure you’re about to make a mess and soak his beard entirely—and once again, he stops before you’re pushed over the edge. 

Your head’s still spinning when he gets himself out from under you and turns you around to face him; both of you kneeling on the bed. Obi-Wan brushes back your hair, cups your face in his hands, and pulls you in for a wet kiss, both of of you moaning at the taste of each other. When you reach for his jaw, you feel how wet his beard has become and mewl against his mouth. He tugs you closer, and his big cock rubs up against your shirt that you cannot believe you still have on, and separating from him for the one second you take to rip it off is torture. Now you feel his cock, hard and leaking, pressed against your tummy, making him let out the neediest sounds that go straight to your cunt, and so quickly it becomes not enough—you take him in hand and guide his cock between your legs, not inside of you, just stroking along your folds, soaking him and  grinding your cunt on his length. 

“Don’t tease me,” he gasps. He looks so fucking good like this—sweaty and disheveled with that one fucking hair hanging over his forehead—that you can’t deny him. You push him back on the bed and straddle him once more, but just as the head of his cock presses against you, his strong grip on your hips halts you from sinking down. Blinking, you look down at him and make a questioning noise. 

Obi-Wan looks at you just like he did in the briefing room. “Tell me you want it,” he says. 

“I want it,” you say automatically. 

“More.”

“Obi-Wan,” you whine, “Please, give me your cock. I want it so bad. I need you fuck me full of your cock.”

He lets you go, and your hips meet his with an obscene, wet noise. “Baby,” he groans, and you cry out at both the way he feels stuffing you full and at the new pet-name. You only sit on him like this for a few seconds before he sits up, making you feel even fuller, then he barrels you over so he’s on top, hiking your legs up to hook in the crooks of his elbows, staring down at you and panting. “Tight little pussy,” he groans. “Taking me so well—you look so pretty on my cock, darling. Is this what you wanted?”

You nod deliriously, bucking your hips to tempt him into moving, and he does, sliding out and back in far slower than you need him to. Still, at this angle, you can feel the hair above his cock drag rough and slow against your clit, so you arch you back and rake your nails down his. “Yes, yes,” you chant. “So bad.”

Obi-Wan picks up the pace, but just barely. “Is this what you imagined when I said you could use my sonic?”

Again, you nod, and he picks up speed.

“I could tell,” he murmurs, “You looked so shy, but I knew you’d have bent over the holo-table for me right then if I’d asked. Practically begging me to use your wet little pussy with the looks you were giving me.”

You had been so focused on the way Obi-Wan was looking at you in the briefing room you hadn’t given much thought to how you were looking at him. Perhaps you were giving him that kind of look; the kind that said you wanted him to spank you and come on your face. It wouldn’t have been inaccurate. He must take your lack of response as an admission, because he laughs and fucks you harder, finally pushing into you at the pace you need. You shake and moan, and he coos at you, “I know, baby,” before grabbing your hand and sucking the tips of three fingers in your mouth and then leading them down between your legs. “Touch yourself—give your needy fucking clit some attention. I want to feel your cunt throb on my cock.”

Doing as he says, you stroke and circle your clit the best you can as Obi-Wan fucks into you, slapping your hips together and moaning. With your free hand, you claw at his chest, groping one of his heaving pecs, which makes his hips stutter. The knot in your gut grows tighter and tighter, and the pulse between your legs becomes stronger and stronger until you can barely stand to keep moving your fingers, but you keep going, pushing yourself closer and closer to the edge, tightening your thighs around him, arching your back, chanting his name, “Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan.”

“That’s right, darling, come for me. Come all over this fat fucking cock,” he grits out, and just like the knots in your hair, he loosens the one in your stomach—and you come so hard you feel him wince with how fiercely you’re digging your nails into him. You curse and scream and quake as he doesn’t let up his thrusts, feeling as if he’s making your orgasm never-ending, until he buries himself deep one last time, and lets out the sexiest groan you’ve ever heard as he empties his balls inside of you, pumping you full of come. 

When Obi-Wan tries to slide out eventually, you don’t let him, and he doesn’t fight you. He only props himself up on one elbow and caresses your hair. “I think I’ll have to brush it again.”

---

ps girlies i didn't proofread this so if that shows im so sorry LMFAO

also i prommy ill write the dad thing next ok u have my word

[sapphicmsmarvel]

azriel: mr grumpy and his miss sunshine

Notes: super domestic

god im so fucking single it actually fucking hurts

This man would prefer to never see people. 

He loves his family and you, those are the only people he needs. 

You however, are a little social butterfly. Everywhere you two go, someone knows you. When random people say ‘good morning’ to you, you smile brightly and respond enthusiastically in kind. Or, you’ll randomly just speak to a stranger and end up laughing with them. 

You do not see yourself this way but he does. And then everyone in the inner circle would make jokes about you talking to random people and how it stresses Rhysand out because he doesn’t want you kidnapped. 

“By no means are you ignorant to the world's threats, I just don’t trust people with my figurative baby sister.” He explained when you asked him if he thought you were stupid. 

He called you his sunrise, you were bright, warm, sweet, you gave him hope. Meanwhile, you called him a grumpy bat. Sometimes you called him a grumpy old bat. Depends on if his bones were creaking or not. 

You were a magnet for people. Randomly, people would say things to you. Or you’d offer to help people if they needed it (but only when you had one of the guys with you, you didn’t trust everyone easily). 

You made friends everywhere you went, he however, kinda just sat behind and watched you interact with people. Made sure people didn’t take advantage of your kind heart, and nobody was being a pig with you. 

Azriel loved how social you were, he also adored how introverted you were. 

For example, while out at Ritas, he’d watch you be chatty and then just slow down. He can see when you start to zone out when your social battery has completely run out. So he’ll always say that he’s tired and wants to go home so the blame doesn’t go to you because it makes you anxious and you’ll feel the need to apologize constantly. 

You two would hold hands coming home, bumping into each other and giggling. You may be socially burnt out, but you never felt that way with him. 

He loved the “after” part of a night out. Watching you wipe your makeup off delicately with cloth, then hop in the bath with him. You’d delicately wash his wings as he hates feeling like they’re dirty. You two scrub each other down. When he gets to washing your hair, he’s so incredibly gentle with his hands. The idea of even accidentally pulling your hair hurts him. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he massages your scalp. He’ll then massage your shoulders, causing your head to drop down, your chin against your chest causing your spine to slightly stretch out and release the tension from being social. 

After the bath, you'd do your skincare, he’d watch as you gently apply toner, serums and creams. Then you’d throw on his ratty tunic and a pair of oversized shorts. You’d sit your (fine) ass on the counter and pull his hands into your lap to apply creams on them. Because he insisted he wanted to take care of his hands more. 

Once you two ended up in bed, you’d turn on the lap by your bedside and begin to read your novel. He would write in a notebook. You suggested he try journaling when he talked about his thoughts overcrowding his brain. 

Eventually you two would settle down together, he would lay on his side, his arm around your waist pulling you to his chest. Your head on a pillow that holds both of your heads with his arm underneath it. He refused to let you sleep by the window because he wants to be able to protect you.

The window’s open, letting the cool night breeze in. The only sounds are your breathing and the drapes billowing. 

You felt content in your husband's arms. Knowing he may be a grumpy introverted bat, but he’s yours. He loves you as yourself. 

He’s your home.

[regressionschool]

I know why

The rec hall smelled faintly of juice and talc, that familiar blend of childhood and control. The padded floor muted every step, every shift, every squirm. Somewhere across the room, someone was singing off-key to a plushie. But in this little corner near the reading nook, she sat alone, perched cross-legged on a foam mat with a stack of oversized board books she had absolutely no intention of opening.

Not with him nearby.

He was kneeling at the low cubbies, sorting crayons and picture cards, sleeves pushed up over his forearms. Not a teacher, but a helper. A grown-up. With quiet eyes and careful hands. Littles liked him. So did mommies. And she… well. She was more interested in the way his eyes didn’t look at her when she moved just so.

Her pull-up was dry. She’d checked, obviously. Pale lavender with little sleepy clouds, smooth against her skin, the waistband high above her belly button. It made her waddle a bit when she crawled, but not as bad as a diaper would’ve. She liked the way it clung. Liked knowing it might not cling for long.

She waited until he was close. He was putting away a toy xylophone—just the right distance for her voice to reach, but not quite near enough to pretend she wasn’t doing it on purpose.

“I bet you like diapers better.”

He paused, slowly turned his head. “I—what?”

Her mouth curved in a slow, sly smile. She popped a paci between her teeth but didn’t suck—just let it hang there as she tilted her head. “I said…” She tugged up her tunic so the top of her pull-up showed clearly. “…you like it more when girls wear diapers.”

“That’s not—” He looked away, color blooming up his neck.

“Mmhmm.” She scooted forward on her knees, pull-up crinkling softly beneath her. “You always look longer. I seen it. Especially when they’re waddlin’ with that soggy-squish. You try’n not to, but you do.”

He hesitated, hands hovering mid-air like he wasn’t sure if he should be offended, amused, or leave the room entirely.

She giggled. A warm, syrupy giggle that buzzed under her breath. “It’s okay. I know why.”

“…You do, huh?”

“Yup!” She leaned in close, resting her chin on her fists, elbows on the mat. “’Cause I went to school.” She gave the word a smug little bounce, like it was a magic spell. “An’ they teach you why boys look extra when a girl’s got a soggy tushy.”

His lips parted, caught somewhere between a laugh and a protest. “That’s not—what does that even mean?”

He was trying not to smile. Or blush. Or breathe, maybe. She could see it—how still he went, how the edge of one shoulder stiffened like maybe if he just focused hard enough on the color-coded flashcards, he’d vanish into the carpet.

But he didn’t vanish.

He stayed.

She liked that.

She inched closer, until her bare toes nearly touched his shoe. “Wanna know why?” she whispered, eyes big and round and knowing. The paci bobbed between her lips, dangling from its ribbon clip. “Why boys look extra when a girl’s got a soggy tushy?”

He looked like he was about to say no. Like he should say no. But he didn’t.

“…Okay,” he murmured. Quiet. Careful.

Her smile bloomed. “S’cause,” she began, voice dipped in sing-song sweetness, “when a girl’s soggy, it means she’s not thinkin’ no more. Not like a big girl.” She rocked back on her heels, hands splayed in her lap. “Her pants are warm, and her legs are spread, and all the grown-up stuff’s gone poof.”

He stared. His mouth twitched.

“Boys like that,” she added, eyes twinkling. “Makes ‘em feel big. Like they’re the only ones who remember stuff. ‘Cause she don’t gotta anymore.”

That did it.

Color flooded his cheeks. He turned his face away, jaw tight, but not tight enough to hide the curve of his mouth. Not quite.

She beamed. “You like that too, huh?”

His eyes snapped back to her.

And oh—there it was. That flicker. The one she’d seen before, the one he tried to smother when a little girl tugged at her onesie or bent over too far to pick up a binky. He opened his mouth—probably to deny it, maybe to scold her—but the heat in his ears said more than he ever could.

She sighed contentedly and shifted her weight forward, the crinkle of her pull-up louder now, pressed taut between her thighs. Her eyes didn’t leave his face. Not for a second.

And then—

pshhhhhhhhhh.

Her breath hitched. Just a little.

The warmth blossomed low and slow, a heat that spread over her hips and down the seat of her pull-up. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t squirm. Just… let it happen. Watching his eyes as the lavender clouds darkened, as the faint pattern on the front blurred into soggy lines. It swelled between her legs, a warm squish that pressed up as she leaned her weight back into it.

He looked stunned. Like maybe he’d forgotten how to breathe after all.

She blinked slowly and gave a tiny, wet little giggle.

“Guess I’m not thinkin’ no more neither,” she whispered. “Oopsie.”

She sat there in the spreading warmth, a blush of her own rising to her cheeks—but hers was prideful. Satisfied. Her pull-up was puffy now, wet and swollen, and she could feel the way her legs didn’t close right anymore. Didn’t need to.

Her voice was soft—singed with teasing, but almost dreamy now. “You gonna put me in a diaper now?”

She tilted her head, lashes low, the wet squish of her bottom loud in the silence between them. “’Cause I think maybe… I kinda earned it.”

[castielscaplan]

Cozy Tunics (Tomas Vrbada)

Summary: Tomas catches you wearing one of his tunics. He couldn't be more in love with you if he tried.

Warnings: absolute fluff

WC: 480

A/N: first time writing for Smoke & i am so nervous! hope y'all enjoy!

Read on ao3!

-

The morning sun filtered through the frost-covered windows of the Lin Kuei temple, casting soft golden light across the room. Tomas stirred in bed, his silver hair tousled and messy, one arm draped over where you had been sleeping just minutes before. The faint smell of tea brewing in the next room coaxed him fully awake.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sat up, the blankets pooling around his waist. That’s when he saw you—standing by the small hearth, wrapped in one of his loose tunics. The fabric hung off your frame, the sleeves too long and the hem brushing your thighs. You were holding a steaming mug in both hands, gazing out the window as the snow continued to fall.

Tomas froze for a moment, his heart skipping a beat. The sight of you like this, so effortlessly beautiful and comfortable in something of his, made his chest tighten in the best way.

“You look cute wearing my clothes,” he said, his voice still rough from sleep.

You jumped slightly, turning to face him with wide eyes. The warmth in his gaze made your cheeks flush as you smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just thought your tunic looked warm, and—”

He was already out of bed, crossing the room toward you with a soft chuckle. “No complaints here.”

Tomas stopped in front of you, his hands gently tugging the oversized sleeves to expose your hands. “You make it look better than I ever could,” he murmured, his voice full of affection.

You laughed softly, setting the mug aside so you could wrap your arms around his neck. “You’re just saying that because you’re half-asleep.”

He tilted his head, pretending to consider your words before shaking his head with a grin. “No, I’m saying it because it’s true.” His arms encircled your waist, pulling you closer.

The warmth of his embrace made you feel safe and cherished, and you couldn’t help but press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re just full of compliments this morning, aren’t you?”

“Only for you,” he replied, his tone sincere.

The two of you swayed gently in each other’s arms, the snow outside a perfect backdrop to the quiet intimacy of the moment. Tomas rested his forehead against yours, his silver hair falling into his eyes as he smiled softly.

“Maybe I’ll let you keep it,” he teased, his voice low.

“Good,” you replied, smirking. “Because I wasn’t planning on giving it back.”

His laugh was warm, filling the room like sunlight breaking through the clouds. “Fair enough,” he said, holding you tighter. “But only if you promise to wear it again.”

You grinned, pulling him closer. “Deal.”

And in that moment, with the world outside frozen in winter’s embrace, the two of you found a kind of warmth that only came from being completely and utterly in love.

--

This is a kind reminder to reblog and leave a comment!

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 16

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 6k

Trigger warning; smut hehe

notes; yo everyone, hope that you are doing well. nothing much here this chapter is maybe what you had been waiting for a while now. I'm not realllyyyy comfy writing this kind of content so i hope that you will like it. See you soon, with love <3

previous ✧ next

The cabin was bathed in a soft golden light, the fire crackling quietly in the hearth. The scent of pine and fresh mountain air still clung to the space, but it was the warmth of Azriel’s presence beside you that truly made it feel like home. You sat on the plush rug in front of the fire, a steaming cup of tea in your hands, while Azriel’s arm wrapped securely around you, grounding you in this peaceful moment. His thumb traced slow circles on your thigh, soothing, steady. His warmth seeped into your skin, calming the storm that had been brewing inside you for what felt like forever.

It had been so calm since you’d arrived. Azriel had kissed you gently, welcomed you with a softness that nearly broke you. His lips brushing against yours had been a reminder that you were here, safe. He had offered you a bath, telling you to take your time while he prepared everything.

When you returned, feeling refreshed and dressed in one of the oversized sweaters Azriel had given you, your damp hair falling in loose waves, you found him already waiting by the fire. He was in a simple tunic and soft pants, bare of his usual armor, his shadows curled lazily around him, blending into the flickering light. No siphons, no Truth-Teller strapped to his side—just Azriel. Vulnerable, unguarded, in a way you had rarely seen him.

It was comforting. And just a little overwhelming.

You sat down next to him, the quiet hum of the fire filling the space between you. For a while, you said nothing, content to simply exist together. But then, you shifted slightly, turning just enough to meet his gaze—and found that he was already watching you.

The intensity of his golden eyes stole the breath from your lungs.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Azriel’s brow furrowed, his hand stilling on your thigh. “What are you sorry for?”

You lowered your eyes, ashamed of the memory of your panic, of how utterly unraveled you had been. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” you murmured. “I lost control... I—”

He cut you off gently, his fingers tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to look at him again. His touch was soft but insistent, and his eyes burned with an intensity that made your chest ache.

“Don’t ever apologize for that,” he said, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “Not to me. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I should be the one apologizing—for not being there sooner.”

You blinked, surprised by the rawness in his tone. Something inside you softened, and you reached up to take his hand, pressing it to your cheek as your eyes fluttered shut. His warmth was grounding, his touch so tender it almost broke you all over again.

Azriel watched you in silence, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, as if memorizing every detail of your face. When you finally opened your eyes, they met his again, and something unspoken passed between you—a shared understanding, a promise.

Without a word, you leaned closer, your hand slipping around his neck, drawing him toward you. His breath mingled with yours for a heartbeat before your lips met, slow and unhurried. The kiss wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was deliberate, filled with a quiet passion that made your heart ache. Azriel kissed you like he was afraid you might break, but you kissed him back like you were putting yourself back together.

His hands slid from your face to your waist, pulling you closer, his touch careful, reverent. Time seemed to blur around you, the outside world falling away until there was nothing left but the heat of the fire and the steady thrum of the bond between you.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your forehead rested against his, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. His eyes searched yours, his expression so full of affection and something deeper that it left you breathless all over again.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Always.”

You started blushing, the words catching in your throat before you could even get them out. It wasn’t like you to feel shy, but this… this was something else entirely. You glanced at Azriel, who was watching you patiently, his golden eyes warm and attentive.

“Well,” you began hesitantly, your fingers fidgeting slightly. “I mean, if you still want this… maybe I could cook something for you. But if you need more time, or if you don’t want to, I’d understand.” You bit your bottom lip, shifting your weight awkwardly. “With what we learned at dinner last time…”

Before you could finish, Azriel leaned in, silencing you with a kiss. It was gentle but sure, his lips soft against yours. You felt the tension drain from your body as his hand came up to cup your cheek.

“I would love that,” he whispered against your lips. “I would really love it, Y/N.”

You pulled back just slightly, your eyes meeting his. The air between you felt charged, both of you blushing, knowing exactly what this meant.

A soft smile tugged at your lips, and you leaned in to give him another kiss—shorter this time, but no less meaningful. His lips curved into a smile beneath yours, and you felt it all the way down to your toes.

Without another word, you stood, taking his hand in yours and tugging him toward the kitchen. His fingers intertwined with yours easily, naturally, as if they were always meant to fit together.

Azriel followed you, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand as you led him through the cabin. His touch was steady, grounding, and it made your heart flutter in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Once in the kitchen, you glanced over your shoulder at him. He was still holding your hand, his gaze steady on yours, as though he couldn’t bear to look away.

Azriel sat in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, his eyes never leaving you as you rummaged through the cupboards. His steady gaze was both comforting and distracting, a soft warmth pooling in your chest as you turned back toward him.

“Anything in particular that would make you happy?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “What should I cook?”

He shrugged lightly, a small smile playing at his lips. “Whatever you want. I’ll be happy with anything you make.”

You grinned, pulling out flour, eggs, milk, and sugar. “Does pancakes work for you?”

Azriel nodded, his smile growing wider. “Perfect.”

That smile—Mother above, it made your heart melt. Without thinking, you crossed the space between you and kissed him, soft and fleeting. His eyes closed at the contact, and when you pulled back, his lips were curved into a gentle smile that felt like it was just for you.

You returned to your task, starting to mix the ingredients, the sound of the whisk filling the quiet, cozy cabin. A few minutes passed before you felt Azriel move behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist, his head resting gently against the top of yours, and you stilled for a moment, savoring the warmth of his embrace.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with something almost reverent.

“For what?” you asked, tilting your head slightly toward him.

“For sharing this with me,” he said softly. “For letting me be your mate.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile. You reached down, tapping his hip with the wooden spoon in your hand. “Well, let me finish making these pancakes first, so you can officially become my mate.”

Azriel chuckled, the sound rumbling softly against your back. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head before stepping to the side, to watch you again.

His eyes never left you, his gaze soft and filled with something far deeper than affection—something that sent a slow, steady pulse through the bond between you. The room felt warm and intimate, the fire crackling softly in the corner, but it was the weight of his presence that made it feel like you were cocooned in something sacred.

You focused on the pan in front of you, your hands steady even though your heart raced. Azriel was leaning against the counter, his wings relaxed, his golden eyes never straying from you, watching every movement like you were a mystery he was trying to unravel.

The warmth in your chest grew, the scent of vanilla and sugar filled the air, blending with the tension simmering between you—soft, undeniable, like a song reaching its crescendo.

After a moment, his voice dropped, quieter, more serious. "You know... I’ve never had this before."

You stilled, glancing at him over your shoulder. "Had what?"

"This," he said, gesturing around him, though his eyes remained locked on yours. "A home. Something... normal. Simple. Without shadows pressing in on every side."

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in his voice, and you turned off the heat, wiping your hands on a cloth before walking over to him. His eyes softened as you stopped in front of him, placing your hands lightly on his chest.

"Well," you said quietly, your voice steady despite the thundering of your heart, "you have it now. If you want it."

His hand rose, cradling your cheek, his thumb brushing softly along your skin, grounding you. "I want it," he said firmly, no hesitation in his voice. "I want you. All of you."

The bond between you hummed, and something shifted in the air—a gentle pull, a thread weaving tighter, locking the two of you together in a way that made your breath catch.

You kissed him, slower than before, more deliberate. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you against him. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise, an acceptance, a tether. The bond flared to life, golden threads weaving through your souls, sealing everything you had been dancing around for so long.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, foreheads touching, your breaths mingling in the charged air.

Azriel naturally sat back into his chair, his eyes flicking from the plate of food to you. His brows furrowed slightly, his golden eyes filled with something hesitant.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady. “We don’t have to do this now, not if you’re not.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you stepped closer. “Az, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure. I want this. I want you.” Your hand gently brushed his shoulder before trailing down to his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

His lips parted slightly, his breath hitching at your words, and then he nodded, his eyes softening. “Okay,” he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” you whispered. “Now eat.”

Azriel chuckled softly, the tension easing just a fraction, though his gaze never left yours. He picked up the fork, still watching you as he cut into the pancake and took his first bite. His movements were slow, deliberate, and you swore the bond thrummed louder in the quiet room, demanding to be fully recognized.

The first taste was warm, sweet—but nothing compared to the flood of emotion that followed. The bond snapped fully into place, not a gentle click but a surge, a rush that stole the breath from his lungs.

Azriel stilled, his eyes widening slightly as he set the fork down. The warmth that spread through him was overwhelming: love, devotion, protectiveness—all crashing into him with the force of a tidal wave. He could feel you in a way he never had before, every part of your soul brushing against his.

Whatever control Azriel had been holding onto snapped. His golden eyes darkened, his shadows curling tightly around you as if they, too, could no longer hold back. In one swift movement, he pulled you into his arms, his grip firm, almost desperate. Your breasts pressed against his chest, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His lips crashed against yours with a wild hunger, the kiss deep and demanding, stealing the breath from your lungs.

His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you, and you met his intensity without hesitation, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. His breath was ragged, his control slipping further with every second. The bond between you surged, raw and electric, like nothing you’d ever felt before.

Azriel barely pulled back long enough to mutter, “I’ve waited for this, for you—for so long.” His voice was thick, filled with an aching need that sent a shiver down your spine.

You were about to respond when he gripped your thighs and set you down on the table, his hands sliding down your body with a possessiveness that left your skin burning in their wake. His lips never left yours for long—only pausing to kiss along your jaw, down your neck, and back to your mouth like he couldn’t stand to be apart from you even for a moment. His teeth grazed your lower lip, drawing a soft gasp from you.

Your fingers worked at his shirt, desperate to feel him, to touch every inch of him. The fabric fell away in seconds, revealing his bare chest, the hard muscles beneath his golden-brown skin flexing as he leaned into you again. His wings flared slightly behind him, their presence commanding as his body pressed against yours.

Your clothes followed just as quickly. His fingers tugged at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head in one swift motion, leaving you bare beneath his gaze. His eyes raked over you, his breath hitching as he took in every inch of you.

“You’re perfect,” Azriel whispered, his voice rough, filled with awe. His shadows wrapped around your wrists like silk as his hands caressed your waist, sliding up your sides with a reverence that sent a tremor through you. His lips followed the path of his hands, kissing every inch of exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“Azriel,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need. Your hands slid down his back, feeling the hard lines of his body, your nails lightly scratching along the base of his wings. His reaction was immediate—his grip tightening, his head dropping to your shoulder with a guttural groan.

“You drive me insane,” he growled, his voice raw, filled with longing. “I can’t— I need you.”

“Then take me,” you whispered, your hands cupping his face, your eyes locking with his. “I’m yours.”

And that was all it took. The tension between you exploded into something wild, something untamable. His mouth was on yours again, hotter, more insistent. His hands roamed your body, claiming you in ways that left you breathless and wanting more.

Azriel’s grip on your thighs tightened, and in one swift movement, he pulled you further down the table, your bare skin meeting the cool wood beneath you. A small, surprised gasp escaped your lips, your body instinctively tensing at the sudden shift. His eyes—darkened and burning with an intensity that made your breath hitch—raked over you as if you were a feast laid before him. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaze never leaving yours.

His lips found yours again, hungry and possessive, before trailing down your jaw and neck, each kiss a mark of devotion, a silent promise. His mouth moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, down to your chest. He teased your breasts with his tongue, his teeth grazing just enough to make you arch into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as soft gasps escaped you.

When he reached your stomach, his fingers caressed your sides, drawing lazy circles that made your skin tingle. Then he kissed just above your hip bone, glancing up at you with a wicked smirk before lowering himself between your thighs. He spread you gently, one of your legs hooked over his shoulder as his hot breath ghosted over your most sensitive spot. His eyes locked on yours, a question, a promise, a warning—all in that single look.

You stopped breathing as his tongue finally met you, soft and deliberate, exploring every inch of you with precision that only Azriel could possess. His tongue worked you in slow, maddening circles, alternating between teasing and delving deeper until your head tipped back and a soft moan escaped your lips. His shadows wrapped around your wrists and ankles like silken restraints, holding you in place as he devoured you.

Your hands found his hair, gripping tightly, and he hummed in response, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His tongue continued its torturous rhythm, his gaze never leaving your face as he drank in every expression you made. You could feel the pleasure building inside you, a heat coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

Your back arched off the table as the wave of pleasure threatened to pull you under, but just before you reached the edge, you pulled him up, your fingers tugging at his hair as your breaths came in ragged gasps. “Not like that,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire. “I need you - inside…"

His face was glistening with your arousal, his lips curling into a smug grin as he leaned down to kiss you again, your taste still on his tongue. The kiss was wild and consuming, your teeth clashing slightly as your hunger for each other deepened. You grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him even closer, tasting yourself on his lips.

Azriel’s hands gripped your hips, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. He growled against your mouth, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded breathlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you down the hall. Your lips never left his, the kiss growing sloppier, more desperate with each step. His hands kneaded your ass, squeezing just hard enough to leave you breathless again. His wings flared slightly for balance, brushing against the walls as he moved with purpose.

By the time you reached the bedroom, you were both dizzy with need. He pressed you against the doorframe for a brief moment, his breath mingling with yours as he nipped at your bottom lip, a soft growl escaping him. You tugged at his hair, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you.

He kicked the door open, walking you toward the bed without breaking the kiss. The air between you was charged, wild, and filled with a desire that had no end. Azriel’s hand slid up your back, holding you close as your lips moved against his like you’d never get enough. His breath was hot against your mouth, his voice a whisper of a promise.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Y/N,” he murmured, his eyes blazing with a fierce, undeniable love that made your heart race.

The night was quiet, the world beyond the cabin lost to the soft hum of the wind against the mountains. The moonlight spilled through the window, casting silver shadows across the bed, illuminating the way your skin pressed against Azriel’s, the way your fingers traced lazy circles over his chest. You both lay tangled together, the air between you thick with the aftermath of everything that had transpired between these walls.

Your breathing was steady, content, as you pressed a featherlight kiss to his collarbone. The bond thrummed between you, stronger now, settled, as if it had always been there, waiting for you both to accept it. When you lifted your head to look at him, Azriel’s golden eyes were already open, watching you with something between awe and reverence.

"You’re glowing," he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek as if to confirm what he was seeing.

You blinked before letting out a soft laugh, glancing at your skin, where a faint luminescence pulsed gently beneath the surface. “It happens sometimes,” you admitted, amused by his slightly stunned expression. “It’s just my magic reacting to—” You hesitated, biting your lip. “To happiness, I suppose.”

Azriel’s grip tightened around you, pulling you even closer, his nose brushing against your temple as he exhaled deeply. “That’s beautiful,” he whispered.

You smiled against his skin, feeling the warmth of his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand. The moment felt so… weightless, like something you had never thought you’d be allowed to have.

Slowly, you shifted, slipping one arm free from where it was pinned between your bodies. You let your power unfurl, a quiet hum beneath your skin, and with a simple flick of your fingers, a thousand tiny stars appeared, twinkling softly around the room like a constellation woven from moonlight itself.

Azriel’s breath hitched slightly, his grip on your waist loosening as he sat up slightly, taking in the spectacle around him. His shadows twined curiously through the floating lights, their dark tendrils weaving between them, as if testing their existence.

He was speechless.

You grinned, watching his reaction, letting the stars drift lazily around you both. “You look like you’ve never seen magic before.”

Azriel swallowed, his eyes flicking from the soft glow of your power to your face. “Not like this,” he admitted. “Not something so—” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, as if struggling to find the right words. “So effortless. So… alive.”

You tilted your head, watching the way his shadows played with the light. “They’re just little stars, Az.”

“They feel like you,” he said simply, his voice low, reverent.

Something in your chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone, the way he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You lowered your fingers, letting the stars slowly dissolve into specks of light, fading into nothingness. The room dimmed, left only in the moon’s glow once more.

Azriel’s hands slid up your spine, grounding you, keeping you close. “Tell me more about them,” he murmured, brushing his lips over your temple. “Your powers. How they work.”

You sighed, pressing your forehead against his, your souls threading together through the bond. “Where do I even begin?”

You took a slow breath, letting your fingers trace absent patterns against Azriel’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your touch. His warmth grounded you, keeping you anchored even as you spoke of something as vast and intangible as your powers.

“All of my strength,” you began, voice soft in the quiet room, “comes from the astres. The stars, the moon, the celestial bodies that exist far beyond our reach.” You glanced up at Azriel, who was watching you intently, his golden eyes glinting in the dim light. “I don’t create power—I pull from them. In a way, it’s limitless, but I’m only a vessel. I take that energy and transform it, shape it into something useful—healing, light, protection.”

Azriel’s thumb brushed over your hip, his silent way of urging you to continue.

“Sometimes, though,” you admitted, voice dipping into something more uncertain, “it feels like it’s not entirely mine to control. Like something else is guiding me, moving through me, making me act even when I don’t realize what I’m doing.” You exhaled, remembering the moments when your magic had surged beyond your command, when you had barely been conscious of what you were doing but had known, deep in your bones, that it was right. “It’s like… I become an extension of something greater. Something ancient.”

Azriel’s grip on you tightened slightly, his brows drawing together in quiet thought. “Does it ever scare you?” he asked.

You considered his question for a moment before shaking your head. “No,” you admitted. “It should, I suppose. But it doesn’t. It never has.”

He studied you, his shadows curling faintly around your wrist, a silent comfort.

Azriel tilted his head slightly. “What was it like?” he asked. “The first time you felt it?”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Well, first, I was already surprised to be alive,” you murmured, giving him a small, wry smile.

Azriel didn’t laugh—his expression darkened slightly at the reminder of what had happened to you, of the way you had died and been brought back.

“I wasn’t born with this power,” you continued, your fingers brushing lightly over his scars, tracing them absentmindedly as you spoke. “I had already been using magic to heal before, so in some ways, it felt… natural. But when it first came to me, it was like discovering a part of myself I never knew existed. Not something foreign or overwhelming—something calm, something that fit perfectly, like it had been waiting for me all along.”

Azriel nodded slowly, absorbing your words, his gaze never leaving your face. “Like it was always meant to be yours,” he murmured.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Silence stretched between you for a moment, comfortable and intimate. His fingers traced slow circles on your back, grounding you, as if he were committing every word you’d just spoken to memory.

Then, quietly, he asked, “And when it takes over? When you feel like something else is guiding you—does it still feel like you?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “In a way, yes. It feels like… an amplified version of myself. Like I’m still me, but stripped of hesitation, stripped of doubt. There’s only certainty, purpose. As if I’m acting on instincts older than I am.”

Azriel hummed in thought, his expression unreadable. “Then maybe,” he said slowly, “it’s not something controlling you. Maybe it’s just you, without fear.”

You blinked, taking in his words. He said it with such certainty, as if it was something he had long since accepted about you—even when you had yet to fully accept it yourself.

A soft smile tugged at your lips, and you reached up to brush your fingers along his jaw, tracing the faint stubble there. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

Azriel leaned into your touch, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “Only when it comes to you.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but before you could say anything, he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his wings curling slightly around you both, shielding you from the rest of the world.

The warmth of Azriel’s body beneath you was intoxicating. As you shifted, the sheets slipped from your shoulders, gliding down your skin like a whisper. His golden eyes, heavy-lidded and dark with emotion, traced every inch of you as if memorizing the way you looked in the early glow of the moonlight.

Without a word, you moved onto his lap, straddling him, your bodies pressing together, bare and unguarded. His hands instinctively found their way to you, gliding over your back, your waist, your thighs—touching, feeling, worshiping.

“I love them,” you murmured, taking one of his hands and pressing it against your cheek.

Azriel arched a brow, a slow smirk playing on his lips. “My hands?”

You nodded, your fingers running along the ridges of his scars, pressing soft kisses against his knuckles. “Yes. I love them.” Then, lifting your gaze back to his, you whispered, “And I love you.”

Azriel stilled, his breath hitching slightly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. But beneath that blush, beneath his momentary shock, something deeper flickered in his gaze—something primal, raw, unshackled.

His body reacted before his words did. You felt him harden beneath you, as if the weight of your confession had ignited something unstoppable in him, despite the fact that he had already been buried inside you not long ago.

“You love me?” His voice was hoarse, laced with something you couldn’t quite place—wonder, disbelief, need.

“Of course, I love you,” you said, your lips brushing against his, your chest pressing against his as you leaned in. “My mate.”

Azriel’s breath left him in a shuddering exhale, his hands gripping your waist as if grounding himself in your words. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly with the force of it.

And then, as if he needed to prove it, as if saying it wasn’t enough, he moved—his knees drawing up behind you to brace your body as he sank into you.

This time was different.

This time wasn’t about desperation, about hunger, about needing to claim or to be claimed. This time was slow, deep, reverent—like a prayer whispered between souls that had been searching for each other across lifetimes.

You could feel him, not just physically but in every part of you. Each slow thrust sent pleasure spiraling through you, not just your own but his too, your bond pulling every sensation, every whimper, every whispered "I love you" through your very bones.

Your fingers clutched at his shoulders as his lips traced every inch of you—your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, as if he needed to feel every part of you, to remind himself that you were real, that this was real.

The pressure built slowly, a slow, searing burn of pleasure curling low in your stomach. His name left your lips in a breathless whisper, and he groaned in response, his grip on you tightening, his body trembling beneath you.

When the release finally came, it wasn’t just an explosion of pleasure—it was a moment suspended in time, where your souls merged completely, where your bond pulsed with light, an unbreakable thread of connection weaving you together in a way that went beyond flesh and desire.

And yet, even as your bodies settled, as your breathing slowed, you knew this wasn’t the end.

Because the way Azriel looked at you—wild, hungry, full of love and something darker—told you that neither of you were anywhere close to stopping.

Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not until the end of this week that you had together. Not when there was still so much of each other to explore, to cherish, to love.

The rest of the week passed in a blur—a feverish, all-consuming haze where time seemed to lose its meaning. It was intense, unrelenting, like your bodies and souls had been waiting centuries to collide, and now that they had, neither of you could stop.

When Azriel wasn’t buried inside of you, when his touch wasn’t marking you, when his lips weren’t trailing along every inch of your skin—it felt wrong. A deep, visceral pull that wouldn’t let either of you stray too far. The bond had settled into place, fully, wholly, and it demanded acknowledgment with every breath, every whisper, every desperate reach for each other in the quiet hours of the night.

Sleep was a luxury neither of you cared for, passing out only when exhaustion forced you to, limbs tangled, breaths mixing, hearts beating in sync. But even then, the moment consciousness crept back in, the hunger returned.

It was never enough.

The mornings were slow and indulgent, Azriel tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin as the golden light spilled into the cabin, casting your bodies in a warm glow. Afternoons were spent wrapped around each other, your laughter echoing through the wooden walls, tangled between soft kisses and teasing touches that inevitably turned into something more.

Nights… nights were madness.

It was a relentless cycle of need and pleasure, of whispered promises and gasped names, of bodies moving together in perfect, desperate harmony. You memorized each other with your hands, your lips, your mouths, until every inch of him was written into your soul, until your name was the only thing that left his lips in the throes of pleasure.

Going home would be difficult.

Returning to reality, to responsibilities, to the looming shadow of war—it all felt so far away here, in this sacred space of warmth and passion. Here, it was just you and Azriel. Just love and longing and the raw, unfiltered truth of what you were to each other.

Azriel lay awake, the room bathed in the dim glow of the dying embers in the fireplace. His arms were wrapped tightly around you, your breath warm against his chest, your body relaxed in the depths of sleep. But he couldn’t find that same peace—not when the weight of everything was pressing down on him.

You looked so serene in his arms, so utterly safe and untouched by the storm that raged inside his mind. But he knew better. He knew that whatever had broken you back in Velaris, whatever had driven you to that panic, had left fractures beneath the surface. And that knowledge alone haunted him.

The thought of your death terrified him in a way nothing else ever had. He had spent centuries walking alongside death, had faced horrors beyond imagination, had endured wounds both seen and unseen—but none of it compared to this. To the quiet, creeping fear that stole into his mind as he held you, knowing that one day, sooner than he could bear, you might not be here anymore.

He was ready to be with you until the very end. Until your last breath left your lips. Until the last beat of your heart.

And yet…

A sharp pang of sorrow pierced through him, unexpected and cruel. His mind drifted to Cassian and Nesta, to Feyre and Rhysand, to Nyx—their futures stretching long before them, full of possibilities, of love, of family. And then he thought of you. Of what little time he had been given.

When he had first seen you with Nyx in your arms, cradling the babe with such ease, such warmth, something deep inside him had stirred. Even then, when the bond had been new, when he had still been wrestling with the truth of it, he had thought of it—of the possibility that one day, it would be your child, his child, resting against your chest. The result of your love, your bond, your future together.

But that future might never come.

His throat tightened, his wings twitching slightly as he fought against the wave of sadness crashing over him. Not because of the idea that you might never bear his child, but because of how little time he had with you at all. The Mother had blessed him with a mate beyond anything he could have ever wished for—an extraordinary, brilliant, and fiercely strong woman. And yet, in the cruelest twist of fate, it felt as if she was mocking him, dangling the gift of you before him only to threaten to rip you away.

And the war…

The war that was coming, the battles ahead—it sent a shiver through him. He knew better than anyone what war did, what it stole, how merciless it was. And you… you would be at the center of it.

He tightened his hold on you, pressing you impossibly closer, as if he could anchor you here, with him, in this moment. You stirred, a faint hum leaving your lips as you shifted slightly, your eyes fluttering open.

You looked at him, bleary with sleep, but instantly concerned. “Az?” you murmured softly, reaching up to brush your fingers along his jaw.

He couldn’t answer—not with words.

Instead, he cupped your face and kissed you, slow and deep, pouring every unspoken thought, every fear, every desperate need into it. You melted against him, responding with the same intensity, as if you knew—knew exactly what was going through his mind, through his heart.

His hands roamed over you, memorizing every inch, every curve, every dip of your body as if committing you to memory. As if making sure you were real, here, alive. He needed to feel you closer, to remind himself that, at least for now, you were his to hold, his to love.

You whispered his name between kisses, your fingers threading into his hair, grounding him as much as he was grounding you.

And so he showed you—showed you with his hands, his lips, his body—that no matter how much time the Mother granted him, he would spend every second of it loving you. That even in the face of the unknown, of the inevitable, you were his, and he was yours.

Neither of you spoke of it.

The truth lingered between you, unspoken, a silent understanding.

For now, this was enough.

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[fairykitten]

Daddy’s Back

Daddy!Loki x Little!Reader

Summary: Loki promised he’d be back but he’s late which upsets you

Genre: Fluff, comfort, age regression

*not proof read*

The castle halls were quiet, save for the soft rustling of rain against the windows of Asgard. The golden walls, usually so grand and imposing, felt warm and cozy today. You padded softly on the carpeted floors, your bare feet making no sound. The sleeves of your oversized jumper nearly swallowed your hands, and the stuffy bunny you held close was beginning to show signs of being well-loved.

Loki had promised he’d be back before the rain started. But the rain had started, and he still wasn’t here. You were trying very hard to be patient.

You sniffled softly and climbed up onto the enormous divan in the library, curling up like a kitten with your bunny in your arms. You mumbled to yourself, repeating things Loki had told you before. “Daddies always come back. He said he would.” You tugged the sleeves of your jumper over your hands and rubbed your eyes.

Just as a tiny whimper escaped your lips, the door creaked open.

“Little star?” came that familiar velvet voice.

You peeked up with big, teary eyes. “D-Daddy…”

Loki was across the room in a moment, his long green cloak swirling behind him as he knelt beside the couch and reached for you gently.

“Oh, sweet one,” he murmured, cupping your cheek with a cool hand. “I’m here. I’m so sorry I was late.”

You launched yourself into his arms without a second thought, bunny squished between you both. “You said you’d be back b-before the rain,” you hiccuped, your voice muffled in his tunic.

“I know, dove,” Loki whispered, holding you close and stroking your hair. “I was caught up in the court longer than I expected. I should’ve sent a raven ahead. That was my fault.” He kissed the top of your head. “But I’m here now. And I won’t leave again tonight, I promise.”

You nodded, though your arms stayed tightly wrapped around him. “I tried to be big… but I got w-worried…”

“My brave little one,” he said, easing himself onto the divan with you still in his arms. He tucked you into his side, pulling a soft enchanted blanket out of thin air with a flick of his fingers. It shimmered like starlight but felt warm as sunlight. “You never have to be big when I’m here. You’re safe now.”

You nestled against his chest, breathing in the scent of him—magic, pine, and something warm and rich like spiced cocoa. “C’n we cuddle lots, Daddy?”

“Of course we can,” he said softly, brushing his lips across your temple. “All evening. We’ll read stories, and I’ll make cocoa appear from thin air, and perhaps if my darling wishes it—” he glanced down with a twinkle in his eye, “—a little magic puppet show from the prince of mischief himself?”

Your eyes lit up, and you nodded eagerly, your earlier worry already melting away.

“Only if there’s bunnies in it,” you whispered.

Loki chuckled. “Only bunnies? I’ll have to summon an entire court of royal rabbits, then.”

You giggled and buried your face into his chest, feeling completely and utterly safe. The rain outside continued to fall, but it no longer mattered. You were wrapped in Loki’s arms, and his heartbeat was your lullaby.

Here, in the quiet glow of the library and the soft safety of his embrace, you were just his little one. And he was your daddy.

And that was all you needed.

[underdark-dreams]

Yet another brainworm caused by fic writing! Have some headcanons for borrowing clothes from Rolan, Dammon, and Zevlor during a sleepover (wink wink)

Tiefling Bachelors - Seeing you in their clothes [NSFW]

~ Gender-neutral reader ~

Rolan:

The whole having-a-significant-other thing is very new to Rolan

So the first time you stay over and ask if he has something you can wear, it honestly takes him by complete surprise

But this man has good taste, and no shortage of clothes once he's Master of the Tower and can afford it. He'll generously share (only with you)

Rolan has very keen senses, especially his sense of smell ("I'll never get the smell out of my clothes," etc.)

The first time you borrow one of his thin underrobes to lounge around in, he immediately catches how your familiar, pleasant scent mixes with his own

That added to seeing you wear his things gives him a satisfying little rush of possessiveness

Pretty soon he's buying clothes for himself that he specifically wants to see you wear after sex

He won't tell you this part--but knowing precisely how much or how little you're wearing underneath majorly gets him going

Whether or not he acts on it, the knowledge that he could hike up those robes at any time for immediate access gives him a semi just thinking about it

Dammon:

Hear me out: in general I think Dammon would be into playing dressup in the bedroom

He's just as excited at seeing you wear something skimpy as he is watching you slip into one of his soft, oversized shirts

Will probably want to pull you into a few kisses, most likely will sit you on his lap first

He's an unpretentious guy, and he loves seeing you dressed-down and comfortable around him

If he ever walked into his room to find you sitting on the bed waiting for him wearing only his leather forge apron, Dammon would have to stand and stare for a moment

At first it's just the unfamiliar sight of it. He's not fussy about his appearance, rarely spares himself a glance in a mirror

So he's not used to seeing himself wearing that, let alone you (with nothing underneath)

Would probably chuckle and make a comment about how you pull it off better than him

Will then immediately want to pull it off you, though

Or, since it's backless, maybe he'll flush and ask you to leave it on as he hastily turns you around and presses you down into the mattress for round one

Zevlor:

As usually happens when you're in a new relationship and sleeping over, you don't always manage to bring a change of clothes

You wouldn't even have to ask with Zevlor; he quickly offers first

More than anything just wants to make sure you're comfortable and relaxed when you're in his home. Tells you to grab anything that fits from the wardrobe

Dear man expected you to put on more than just a shirt, though

Watching you saunter around in nothing but one of his old tunics really does it for him. Can't take his eyes off you

It's that mix of domestic and casually sexy that hooks him--he finds it incredibly alluring, especially the way it barely reaches your thighs

So much so that he might aim a rare, playful swat on your rump as you walk past

Zevlor's a gentleman, but even he has his limits when you're alone together

The sight of your ass barely covered is just too tempting not to smack

[gothiccharmschool]

My goal for 2025 is to dress as witchy as possible to feel confident(witches are powerful and a threat to the patriarchy). You have an amazing sense of style and I'm hoping you can help. The issue im having is that i dont like wearing wearing dresses, skirts, and hats. Im having a difficult time picturing witch like outfits without pointy hats and black flowy skirts. What would you recommend that gives very obvious witch vibes without those particular clothing items?

You don't have to wear any of those things to create a witchy aesthetic! My suggestions are:

Leggings or interesting trousers. I can easily picture any of the gothy flares from Forest Ink Clothing working really well for the aesthetic.

Normally I'd suggest tunics and flowy dusters, but I suspect they may be too close to dresses for your tastes. But an oversized shirt or long blouse that isn't tucked in but worn over the trousers with some sort of interesting belt would give a great silhouette for the aesthetic.

Interesting jewelry. To me, that's the key to a witchy aesthetic. Layers of necklaces would be especially interesting. Keep in mind those layers of necklaces don't have to be from the high-end indie goth jewelers (tho' go for that if your budget allows!), but whatever calls to you at thrift or even mall/big box stores.

One of the good things about layers of jewelry/belts/scarves/any other accessories is that they can be the focal point of an outfit, which makes it easier to mix and match basic clothing items for outfits instead of going broke buying things from goth lifestyle retailers.

Okay, peeps, you know the drill. Do you have other suggestions? Please give them!

[skippingstonez]

Hi I don’t know your guidelines on emergency requests and I really hate asking for cause they feel so pushy but if you have the time/want to could you write some comfort legend x reader? Life has just been beating me while I’m down lately and God I just really need a hug and to be told everything’s gonna be fine. If you don’t want to that’s ok, you can just delete the rq, but if you do, thanks in advance🫶

@ghostyv I am so sorry that things have been so rough! Whatever it is I know you can get through it and that things will eventually get better! But in the meantime, I offer up some Legend for ya! I hope it helps!

Melting Hearts

Pairing: Legend x Reader Warnings: None! But I apologize to those of you who actually enjoy the snow, I'm a desert gal through and through!

Stepping out of the portal, you curse every known god, goddess, and deity known to the kingdom of Hyrule, or whatever other regions the others have ever told stories about. 

Icy wind whips around you, thick snowflakes swirling in the air before falling to the ground to join the mounds already stacking up past your ankles. The biting cold is unbearable, sinking straight through your skin to settle deep into your bones as you try to take a few more steps forward, bumping right into Legend who you can hear muttering a string of colorful curses of his own.

“Is everyone through!?” Time shouts above the roaring wind, gesturing to gather around. Everyone huddles together, hands diving deep into bags to reach for any articles of clothing to protect themselves from the unforgiving temperature. Having little to no experience with this type of weather previous to this adventure you were on, you pull out the only thing in your bag that might suffice, a thin, fraying blue cloak, tossing it over your shoulders and fastening it just above your collarbone, stuffing your hair inside of the hood to keep it from whipping you in the face. The snow blowing through the air makes it difficult to see clearly, but you can make out Twilight draping his dark pelt over Wind before he shifts into the fluffy mass that is Wolfie and Wars sharing the length of his oversized scarf with both Four and Hyrule who are tucked under each of his arms. Even Legend relents and lets Wild gift him a pair of trousers to wear, though he continues to complain about it while slipping them on over his pegasus boots.

“I think the Rancher wants us to follow!” Wars says, indicating to Wolfie who was nudging and tugging at the captain's leg, corralling him in the direction of the large mountain looming in the distance.

“He wants us to trek up that? In this!?” Surprisingly, the complaint came from Four who was glaring up at the mountain’s peak in the same scowl he would give a stray cat in Castle Town that came a bit too close to him. 

“Oh come Smithy, it doesn't look that bad!” Wild chimed up from beside you. Gone was his blue champion's tunic, replaced by a thick material, fur lined shirt and trousers, he even had a few random feathers now sticking out of his hair. It made you pull your cloak on a bit tighter, tugging the sleeves of your tunic down to try and cover your already stiff hands. Next time you came across a town you would definitely be looking into buying a thick pair of gloves.

“It'll be alright,” Time reassures everyone, even though he clearly doesn't budge like some of the others when a gust of wind whips by, forcing even you to wobble enough to have to grab Wild���s arm to try and keep yourself upright. “Don't wander off and stay close!”

______

Time’s instructions to ‘Stay close’ turned out to be much more difficult than you planned once everyone began walking. With the wind on a personal mission to get you knocked over, and the snow blinding your path forward, it was a struggle to keep up with your other more long legged companions. Cleverly using their footprints as a makeshift path to keep up your pace, you had settled towards the middle of the group close to Wild, who quickly ran ahead to join the frontlines once you had all reached the base of the mountain, leaving you mostly on your own; Which you weren’t going to complain about. It meant you could focus all your attention on your feet, trudging through the snow without falling– hopefully. Taking a deep breath, it comes out in a visible puff, floating up towards the cloud covered sky as the path curves up into a slope. A thin layer of slick ice lays beneath, feet threatening to slip out from underneath you at any moment. Your arms stay wrapped around your torso, hands fisting into the rigid fabric of your tunic to try and preserve any warmth while your shoulder hovers the side of the mountain, staying as far away from the path’s edge as possible. Meanwhile, the snow slowly gets deeper and deeper, feet sinking down enough to hide the entirety of your boots with each step. 

It was at this point, that you had to take off your hood, the flimsy thing beginning to be too weighed down from the snow’s weight, hanging in front of your eyes enough that had you trip and fall one too many times before simply doing away with it. Only a few minutes later did the tips of your ears start to burn, cracked hands alternating between covering them and keeping the rest of your cloak from blowing away. You looked ahead, squinting through the relentless blizzard to try and spot your companions, the only thing you were able to make out were their general shapes and footprints, now giant holes, in the ground that you struggled to clear your foot over as you stepped between each one. It was exhausting. Your muscles begging for you to stop, to lay down in the untouched snow off to the side, curl up and take a well deserved nap. It was hard to keep yourself going, not when your next step, foot catching on the wall of snow left behind from the deep hole of what was likely Time’s footstep, sent you face first to the ground. Unable to catch yourself since your hands had been practically frozen to your arms.

How long would it take for any of them to notice if you simply stopped? Gave in right here and now to the frozen tundra and simply never got up. Would they even notice? You were fairly certain that you had fallen to the back of the group, most of them having been able to either keep up or gotten more assistance from some of the taller, better dressed members. That thought is what pushed you to try and get back up, panic racing through your mind when all you could seem to do was lift your head up enough to breathe. Gasping loudly, hands grabbed onto your arms, yanking you upwards till you were back up on your feet. Legend stood in front of you, a firm hand still holding onto your arm as he brushed off some of the snow on your shoulders.

“You okay?” It was difficult to hear him above the storm, but you knew that look of concern he got in those violet eyes well, even if it felt misplaced for it to be aimed towards you.

“F-f-fine” You stuttered through a painful shiver. Your now damp clothes stuck to your skin, doing very little to keep out the biting cold that struck like a flock of ice keese. You lift your hands up to your mouth, blowing your breath on them before failing to rub them together, the friction irritating your nerves, so you simply return them back to inside your cloak, staring sheepishly at Legend who is still looking you over closely. 

Legend eventually rolls his eyes, letting go of you to fiddling with something for a moment. 

“Here,” Legend grabs one of your hands, slipping something smooth onto one of your fingers. “Use this. It should at least prevent your fingers from getting frostbite.”

Looking down at your hand still cupped in Legend’s palms, your middle finger now displays a small, simple golden ring. The tiny red gemstone sat atop glitters like the dying embers of a late night fire. You can already feel the small source of heat coming from it, sighing as it fuses into your fingertips comfortably.

“B-but won't you get cold?”

Legend just shrugs, tossing a look over his shoulder to the others leading the way. His blue hat is practically coated in white, the tip of his nose a bright red along with his cheeks that bring out the color of his eyes. Eyes that are soft and warm, but look just as cold, fed up and exhausted as you are. It draws you in, leaning just a bit closer to him as he rubs his hands over yours, spreading the warmth from your fingers down into your palm. 

“You guys alright?” Sky calls out, sneaking up from behind you. Sky’s steps look normal, the snow depth only a mild inconvenience for the taller knight at best as his sailcloth is wrapped around his neck reminiscent of the way Wind likes to wrap himself up in the Captain’s scarf at night. “I can get one of you on my back if the snow is too deep for ya!”

Legend clasps his hand onto yours, immediately turning away from Sky to tug you along behind him. His steps are clunky and unbalanced, struggling to walk around the giant gaps in the ground as much as you had been. But the Vet was stubborn, and would rather show Hyrule the small furry pink form you knew he kept hidden from the others before accepting, let alone asking, for help.

“We're fine you cuckoo. Go use your stupidly long legs to help Wind or the Smithy!” Legend snaps, his tone as cold as the air around you. Sky walks away with a small chuckle, calling out to the others to try and get them to slow down a bit which noticeably make’s Legend scowl, muttering to himself about Sky minding his own business. It makes you chuckle, the company making everything feel just a tad more bearable as you continue on after Sky. You give Legend’s hand a gentle squeeze,  the Vet glancing over his shoulder at you, careful not to send the both of you to the ground. The smirk on your trembling lips is mischievous, eyes glinting at the thought of his reaction. 

“Did you just admit you're short?” Giggling when Legend’s face furrows into a deeper scowls, the red on his cheeks spreading all the way to his ears. . 

“Shut up.”

________

Legend, it turned out, was a liar.

He knew that neither of you were fine. Not when the snow had already reached up past his knees, relentlessly pelting against his face to make it near impossible to keep an eye on the others up ahead, who by now were just a random speck of green or blue in the snowy distance. But he kept a firm grip on you, staying right by your side when you struggled to get your leg up to make the next step. Being the Veteran of the group, he should have known to accept Sky’s offer to help. Not for himself of course, but for you. The moment he felt how thin that damn cloak of yours truly was, or the way your pale fingers and lips were practically turning blue from the cold, he should have insisted that you climbed right onto Sky’s back and not taken no for an answer. 

But he didn’t. Selfishly, he wanted to be the one to help you out. Maybe it was that damn ‘hero complex’ some of the others had been yapping about, or maybe it was because you seemed to be in the same boat he was, struggling to keep above the snow, ignored by the others who were more focused on the younger and smaller ones of the group. Legend was used to it, being the veteran and all, the others trusted him enough to hold his own, to not need the same help that some of the others did simply because ‘he had seen and done it all’. So when he noticed you beginning to stumble and trip, he kept close, ready to reach out the moment you needed him help.

Legend twisted around, helping you over a particularly icy spot that nearly sent both of you tumbling off the mountain’s edge. His head swiveled back and forth, chewing on his lip nervously when he realized just how far the others had gotten. Once you were steady, he brought one of his hands to his lips, releasing the loudest whistle he could manage with his hands trembling as much as they were. A reassuring squeeze to his other hand and his heart stuttered at the small gesture but was replaced with worry as he looked into your face. Your eyebrows furrowed with worry and lips still quivering.

“I-Its gonna be f-f-fine.”  

No matter how many times one of you says it, neither of you are convinced, noticing the lack of response from any of the others. Legend is determined to get out of this alive though, he has faced worse with much less and he was not about to let some frozen water get the better of him. If he had his fire rod, half of his problems would be over by now. But of course, he had lent it to Wars ages ago and kept forgetting to get it back. Trying to reassure you, he interlocks his fingers with yours, his thumb running over your stiff, cracked knuckles as he tucks you into his side. He takes another step, unable to brace against the gust of wind that knocked him straight over, pulling you down along with him as you collide right on top of him, sending snow flying up around you.

“S-sorry” 

Legend just groans in response, staying still so you can steady your hands on his chest to push yourself up, putting a bit too much pressure on him than planned. Legend winces, the movement knocking away your balance as it sends you crashing right back down on top of him. Muttering more apologies when you fail to get up again, Legend simply wraps an arm around you, holding you to him tightly as he braces his other hand deep into the snow and sits up. 

“Uhhh- We’ve got a problem.” You whisper and Legend’s heart sinks. 

There's no sign of the others. Only the white path laid out, fresh snow already covering the other’s footprints.

Legend shoots out another loud whistle, not wanting to shout lest it cause some sort of avalanche that would only make things worse. No response. Another one. Silence.

You both sat there in the snow, curled up on Legend’s lap as he holds you just a bit tighter, tucking your head under his chin. His heart pounded against frozen ribs and muscles, mind running in a million different directions to figure out a plan. This was just like a giant puzzle from one of his dungeons, there was a solution he just had to find it. 

But what if there wasn’t? What if Sky had been the only logical solution and he had willingly let it walk away? His chest tightened, ready to snap at the smallest touch of another snowflake. Head spinning as his fingers fisted themselves into your back. 

No, he couldn’t allow himself to panic. Now was not the time to panic. He was gonna get the both of you out of this mess if it–

A yelp tore out of his throat when your weight suddenly disappeared. Large hands roughly grabbing the collar of his tunic to yank him up to his feet. Legend had to tilt his head upward to see Time’s face, his one good eye glancing between him and you with an unreadable expression. Sky was just past him, wrapping a thicker blanket around you and rubbing at your shoulders.

“Are you guys okay!?” Sky asked, his voice brimming with concern as he works on warming up your hands next. 

“F-f-fine.” Legend lied. “We just fell is all.”

Time crossed his arms over his chest. “One of you should have said something once you started falling behind.” Time scolded, “If it hadn’t been for our Skyloftian who heard your whistle things could have ended badly for the both of you!”

“We did! It’s not our damn fault the rest of you weren’t paying attention!” Legend seethes, clenching his fists by his side so he wouldn’t do something dumb. But it was true, he had tried to get the others' attention ages ago! How the hell was it his fault that no one noticed?

“We can discuss this later,” Sky interjected, bending down so that you could wrap your arms around his neck. He grabbed just beneath your knees, hoisting you up onto his back high. Something squirmed inside Legend’s stomach at watching the way you clung to the other hero, snuggling into Sky’s back as the blanket he had given you now wrapped around the two of you. “Let's focus on getting out of this storm for now!”

Crossing his arms firmly over his chest, Legend scowled down at the damn snow covering his legs, more clinging to the bottom of his red tunic. Time’s hand came into view, waiting for Legend to grab hold of it. Huffing, he grabbed the hand, quickly climbing onto Time’s back. He took one more glance at you, feeling colder than he had the whole day. 

_______

Legend eyed you through the flames of the fire set in the middle of camp, noticing every shiver that courses through you with careful consideration. They had been here for well over a day by now, the storm only letting up a few hours ago, giving them enough time to get wood for a proper fire and rest their cold, aching muscles. The sky remained dark and cloudy, threatening the return of another blizzard at any moment. Both Wild and Twilight seemed to be certain that it wouldn’t start up again, not till maybe later tonight but most everyone, Legend especially, was skeptical. 

Even without the snow, the temperature was well below freezing at any given point in time. Which is why he was currently sitting by the fire, convincing himself to look anywhere else but at you while some of the others distract themselves in a variety of ways. To his right, Wild and Sky were building some sort of fort in the snow with Wind, who was still wearing Twilight’s wolf pelt, piling up snowballs in one of the corners. To his left, Wars, Hyrule, and Wolfie have clustered together, keeping warm and having quiet conversations that Legend could honestly care less about. He never understood how the others were so okay in the snowy mountain tops, although at least Wars was openly just as miserable as he was with the way the Captain clung to Wolfie to try and get warm. 

You were the only other one sitting close to the fire, your quivering lips still pale, red eyes that match the apples of your cheeks cast downward as you repeatedly wiped at them with the sleeve of your shirt. The cloak wrapped around your shoulders is thin, too thin in Legends opinion as you shiver again a bit too violently.  

He looked away again, telling himself that if you needed help you would just say so. There was no reason he needed to go and stick his nose where it didn't belong again. Not when he hadn’t been able to help you in the first place, when it had really mattered. 

Brushing off his worries, Legend scoots closer to the fire, the flames flicking at his achy joints. Rubbing his hands together, he can feel the spot where his missing ring is supposed to be, the now bare skin feeling odd as he has to remind himself it's not lost but simple somewhere else. It's what brings his attention  back to you, making sure he can still see the small red ring displayed openly on your finger, and definitely not because he noticed you shivering–again. Because he didn't care. Everyone was shivering. You were no different.

Shoving his hands under his arms, Legend tried to find something else to focus on. Filtering through a few options, he thinks through his rings first, thinking if any of them could be of use. But the only one he could think of is the one currently on your hand, the same hand he had been finally holding, your chilled fingers warming his skin more than that stupid ring ever had. His eyes flicked back up to you for just a moment, long enough to catch you wiping at your eyes once more with a short sniffle before you hover your hands just beyond the flames reach. Were your hands still cold? Was the ring not helping? Had he seriously failed to help you again?

No wonder you looked so miserable. Not that Legend cared, everyone was miserable. This whole place was miserable.

But what if it wasn’t?

An idea popped into Legend’s head. A dumb idea if he was honest. But his head began to swivel, checking to see if any of the others were really paying attention. He could easily slip away; he was positive about that. He already knew the perfect spot to go to as well, having stumbled upon it this morning during a perimeter check. 

No. It was just a dumb idea to make himself feel better. He was just feeling guilty about what happened the other day. And why should he feel bad about it? He had tried to help; He hadn’t done a very good job of it but it was more than the others had done until Sky and the Old Man showed up. But watching you climb onto Sky’s back, looking like you belonged there instead of by his side, the guilt of letting you down stabbing him through his chest like a knight’s spear, it had been eating at him, festering more and more as he stood aside and had to let the others take over what should have been his responsibility. 

He needed to make it up to you.

Legend got to his feet, casually making his way over to where everyone’s stuff was being kept in a giant pile. First he grabbed his own gear, making it look like he was just looking for something, or about to do some maintenance on his shield, now slung on his back. Next he dug his arm into the Captain’s bag, his fingers finding the fire rod easily as he slips it out and tucks it under his arm; There was no way he would make that mistake of leaving it behind again. Checking around once more, no one had noticed him, or was staring at him with questioning eyes. He glanced over to you, still sat alone by the fire, chin resting on top of your knees as you fiddled with his ring. Hesitating for just a moment, he strolled over to you, and stuck out his hand quietly. You stared at his outstretched hand, following it up till your eyes met his curiously.

“Need something?”

“Come on,” he whispers, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s get outta here.”

You don't get up, or take his hand. Just continuing to sit there, tilting your head to the side and staring at him like he had just sprouted long furry ears and tail. “And go where exactly?”

Legend rolls his eyes, trying not to chicken out as he leans down and grabs your hand, giving it a small tug. “Just come on! We’ll be back before it gets dark.”

Sighing, you pull yourself up, letting him lead you away from camp. Neither of you talk, focused on your surroundings to make sure monsters, or the weather, was going to jump out at you. It only takes a few minutes to reach the destination Legend had in mind and it's exactly as he had hoped it would be. The air is still unbearably cold, but the sky is a bit lighter, the snow soft and untouched as it slopes down a tall hill. There's a few trees scattered about, large chunks of ice that were almost as tall as Legend hanging from some of the branches. Scanning around to make sure it was safe Legend finally dropped your hand, not realizing he had been holding it the whole time. 

Kneeling down to open his bag, he watches you out of the corner of his eyes, looking around a bit nervously. His heart skips a beat when you fidget with the ring on your finger, pulling it close to your chest like a prized possession when you peer down over the hill. He may have failed you the other day, but he was going to make up for it if it killed him. Pulling out your shield from his bag, he held it up in the air next to his with a smirk on his face. 

“Ready?”

You whip around, eyes wide as you notice your shield in his grasp. “Ready for wha- When did you get that?”

Legend shrugged playfully, tossing it over to you which you thankfully caught. Stepping up towards the hill’s summit, waving you over so you were right next to him. 

“Are you going to explain what we’re doing out here?” You ask, your voice lighter than its been for a while. It made Legend smile faintly, confirming his plan was already working, if only a little bit.

“We-” He announced with a bit of flare “are going sledding!” 

“Sledding?” You asked flatly. 

Shit. He hadn’t considered if this was something you didn’t enjoy.

“What's that?” 

Legend dropped his shield. “You’ve never been sledding? Seriously?”

It was your turn to shrug now. “We don't really get snow in my era..” 

Legend stepped a bit closer, restraining himself from reaching out for your hand again. “Well, we are going to change that.” He grabbed your shield, plopping it down onto the powdery snow at your feet and pointed straight at it with a straight face. “Sit.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Legend groaned, “Ughh please?”

With a small smile you complied, sitting cross legged on top of your shield. Legend snatched his own shield, putting it right next to yours, mimicking your position with his legs crossed in front of him. You looked over at him, anticipation glinting in your eyes.

“Now what?” 

Legend smirked, grabbing the rim of your shield and tugging it to the hill’s curve so it tethered over the edge. 

“Hold on tight.”

Legend shoved you forward, watching the white cloud of snow blow into the air as you slid down the side of the hill with a light scream. He kicked off the ground himself, following after you. Slamming a hand down on his cap, he raced down the hill. The wind blowing around him as he could hear your scream turn to laughter. Coasting to a stop at the bottom, you jump up, a large smile on your face as you run over to Legend. 

“That was awesome!” You cheer, bouncing up and down on the thinned path left by your shield. “Can we go again?”

Legend chuckled, relieved that you enjoyed yourself. “Sure, on one condition.” He teases, grabbing his shield. You tilt your head and Legend has to actively hold back his own laughter.

“Race ya to the top!” He takes off, sprinting up the hill as fast as he can. He can hear you shouting at him, calling him every name you can think of while chasing after him, some of the more colorful insults making him thank Hylia that none of the others were here to listen. Getting to the top he leans over, resting his hands on his knees as he gasps for breaths.

“You cheater!”

Pushed face down into the snow, Legend laughs at the way you yell at him, insisting for a rematch. 

“I’ll gladly kick your ass more if you!” Taunting you as he picks himself back up. “First one to the bottom wins?”

“Oh you are sooo on, bunny boy!” 

Oh now it was on.

“Ready?” Readingly your shields, you both step close to the edge once more.

“Set?” You say simultaneously.

“Go!”

Launching forward, the both of you race back down the hill, Legend leaning forward as he begins to take the lead. Mimicking his actions, you speed up, catch up just in time to hit the bottom of the hill. Throwing your feet into the snow to slow you down, you jump up and cheer.

“Ha! I won!”

“No way!” Legend challenged, marching up to you. “There is no way you beat me. I got here ages before you!”

“Awww I didn’t realize the great Hero of Legend was such a sore loser!”

You put your hand on his face as if to console him, a fake pout on your lips as you leaned in closely. Legend’s brain stuttered at your actions, heart racing at the unexpected proximity.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you win next time.” You tease, bopping him on the nose before slipping away to leave Legend standing there dumbfounded. Recovering quickly, cheeks burning a bright pink which he will blame on the cold till the day Hylia finally lets him rest, he grabs his shield once more, jogging over to where you have already started ascending back up the hill. 

“Not a chance!”

__________

Sat in the snow, Legend watches as the snowflakes begin to fall from the clouds above. Not like the blizzard they had been tossed into earlier, this was soft and gentle; Like a cuckoo’s feather drifting in a breeze. Puffs of warm air surrounded him from both of your ragged breathing, circling around you in a content bubble that the cold couldn’t seem to penetrate through, though Legend was sure it was trying its hardest. The last few hours had been a whirl of snow, laughs, races and fun. How often in his time as a hero did he get to just have fun like this? Definitely more since meeting the chain, but none of that seemed to compare when it was you by his side. 

Shoulder’s pressed together, Legend held the fire rod up a little higher, letting the heat come a bit closer up to your face. He couldn’t stop looking your way. How your muscles had all relaxed, eyelids slipped shut as you tilted your head backward to stare up at the still cloudy sky. Snowflakes kissed the tip of your nose and cheeks, melting into the pink tinted skin smoothly. Hylia, Legend never would have thought he would be jealous of literal water. 

He looked upwards as well, noticing the brewing storm that it was inevitably time to head back to camp. It was a miracle that none of the others had found them by now, though since it wasn’t dark or currently a blizzard, and he wasn’t the only one missing, they likely would only start getting worried once the sun started going down. Which was right about now. 

“We should head back. No need for them to come and send the Rancher after us.” He says but makes no movement to get up quite yet.

You hummed in acknowledgement, sitting up a bit straighter as you opened your eyes. There was a reserved expression on your face, one that Legend couldn’t tell if it was a bad thing or not. 

“Can..” You started, fidgeting with the ring again. Legend was getting more and more accepting of the fact that he would never ask to get that ring back.  “Can we do it again? Just one more time?” You asked sweetly. No hints of teasing or a challenge in your voice, just genuine hope. “Then we can head back?”

Legend nodded, grabbing both of your shields. You reached out to grab his wrist, pushing the shields back down. “Actually I was hoping we could use that!”

Following the direction of where you were pointing to one of the lone, nearby trees. One with the large chunk of ice barely hanging onto the branch it was still connected to. 

“Why?” Legend asked, already getting up to go and fetch it. It was surprisingly heavy, which meant it probably wouldn’t shatter from simply going down a hill though it wouldn’t take much more than that before turning into fragments. Pushing it along the ground he readied it in the same way he had your shield the first time you went down, gesturing for you to sit. 

“I was hoping we could try and go together.”

Legend’s mind went blank for several seconds, staring at you looking up at him hopefully. That hope slowly dimming when he didn’t respond.

“But we don't have to!” You quickly stammered out, waving your hands around to dismiss the idea. “We can just-”

“N-no! It's fine!” Legend finally said, kicking his brain back into action. “It's fine, we can go together.” The smile on your face alone was worth the intense awkwardness now consuming his whole being. Legend sat down first, the icy seat not as cold as expected but that might also be the fact that Legend felt unusually warm as he sat there, trying to leave as much room as possible for you. Once he was settled, Legend gestured for you to join. You sat in front, sandwiched between his legs with your back pressed squarely against his chest that sent his heart racing faster than his pegasus boots. 

“Good?”

You nodded, pressing further against his chest. For Nayru’s sake he hoped you couldn’t hear his heartbeat right now. Hands on either side, he pushed against the ground, shoving you both forward to spiral down the hill for the last time. Arms wrap around your waist, holding you close as you fly through the air and snow. Your laughter ringing in his ears, Legend can’t seem to get enough of it. Even after listening to it over and over again for the past few hours it brings a smile to his lips, the guilt of letting you down, lightening with every squeal and chuckle that leaves your mouth. 

Slowing to a smooth stop, neither of you get up right away, not wanting to disturb the moment. Legend is eventually the one to break it, slowly unwrapping his arms from your waist to hang at his sides.

“We should get back now” He whispers, rubbing the back of his neck. Reversing the way you had gotten on, you stood up first, offering your hand to Legend to help pull him up to his feet. Your fingers easily stay connected with his, hooked together as you smile up at him. 

“Thank you Link.” You whisper. “I really appreciated this.” 

Leaning up on the tips of your toes, you kiss Legend on the cheek, just a small peck that has Legend’s whole face turning redder than his tunic. Pouting, he pretends to wipe off the side of his face, unable to look you in the eyes.

“Don’t make it such a big deal.” He mutters, interlacing his fingers with yours till your palms are pressed against each other. “Let’s just get going.”

Much like the trek here, the way back to camp is quiet, your hand more intentionally in Legend’s until you can see the small line of smoke from where Wild is hopefully now done with dinner. Dropping your hand the minute the others come into view, you both walk into camp where everyone has now gathered around the fire holding steaming cups in their hands. 

“There you two are!” Wind shouts out. “You two have been gone for ages!”

Some of the others smirk at Wind’s comment, a few giving Legend a questioning look or two which the Vet promptly ignores. 

“Wild made some hot chocolate! You should have some” Hyrule says, passing a freshly filled cup over to Legend who is now sat beside him. He takes a sip, feeling the warm liquid fall down to warm his very soul. He hadn’t realized how cold he was till now, coated in snow that now was obviously soaking into his tunic. Maybe he could use his fire rod to get it dry before the storm hit. 

A blanket is tossed over his shoulder with a quiet ‘Here’, your voice chimed out, plopping down on his other side. An elbow nudged against his ribs and Legend swatted at Hyrule who was failing to suppress a cackle. Muttering a small ‘thanks’ Legend accepts the blanket, but tosses part of it over you as well. It forces you to scoot closer, shoulder pressed against his comfortably as he takes another sip of his drink. He always did prefer a cup of warm apple cider, but that didn’t matter when the warmth was spread through him, the blanket a comforting weight, and you were still at his side. 

Chatter circled around him, the others talking about all the different things that had been up to while they pestered the two of you with questions. Legend just smirked, vaguely answering questions without giving away any sort of details. You know, like normal. A weight eventually presses down on top of his shoulder, your head perched right on top and Legend forces himself not to grin. Not even the snicker from Hyrule and Twilight could dampen his mood right now, going so far as to lean his head right on top of yours, enjoying the warmth for a little while longer.