#she's all wing twitch and delighted grunt now

[bluestem-archive]

just got Sooty new hay for her nest and she's very excited about it

#birds #pigeons #pet pigeon #the great and mysterious sooty #she's all wing twitch and delighted grunt now

[silverdelirium]

STICKY WASHING MACHINE | D.M

summary: draco fucks scorpius’ nanny on the laundry room

warnings: breeding kink, rough sex.

———

“so do you accept?” asked draco to the girl who only stared at him with mouth slightly agape. “i-i mean i guess” she replied, not meeting his eyes.

“see you on monday then” nodded draco and turned on his heel, walking away.

y/n really didn’t know how they ended up on the topic of her being draco malfoy’s son’s nanny. it really wasn’t much work, a three year old baby just needed attention, food and sleep. but still, me out of all people? she thought, why did i even agree?

but here she was, beaming at the sight of scorpius’ new drawing which consisted on draco’s exaggerated tall figure, y/n and scorp. she sometimes felt bad that astoria was never in the picture, in every sense. she had left draco after scorpius turned 3 months old and never came back, draco explained this when they first reencountered, apparently it never really affected him. considering it was an arranged marriage.

“wow baby this is so good, i bet you’re gonna be an artist some day!” you exclaimed at him. he giggled and turned pink but a loud yawn cut his smile off. “i think it’s time for your nap, come on” she said, standing up and dusting off her skirt, scorpius holding up his arms.

y/n settled scorpius on bed and he was asleep in seconds, she chuckled and just snuggled the blanket closer to him. her eye caught a peek of scorpius’ laundry basket. sure, she was just a nanny that was supposed to take care of the child and that was it, the clothes were the elf’s work. but scorpius was terrified of them so draco took care of his clothes, y/n decided to just take his clothes to the laundry room and throw them inside the washing machine.

as y/n made her way to the laundry room, draco came through the fireplace that was at the whole other wing of the manor, making y/n unconscious of his presence.

draco gave a big sigh and immediately entered the kitchen for a glass of wine, opening up the cabinet that had one of the bottles opened already, courtesy of draco’s previous stress.

he knew scorpius must be asleep, taking notice of the silence that resonated through the manor’s atmosphere. in his midst of thinking, a few drops spilled from the rim his cup when he inclined it too harshly, making them spill on his white shirt. draco gave a groan at this and threw his head back.

narcissa always told draco that it was better to immediately wash clothing items if he ever spilled something on them. so he grumpily made his way to the laundry room.

as he got closer he could hear shuffling of clothes and a low humming, eventually stopping at the doorway to catch sight of y/n bent over, placing small clothing items into the washing machine. he went wide eyed at the peak he caught of her lace pink panties, cunt perfectly outlined.

draco was frustrated, sexually more than ever. he always found y/n hot, even in hogwarts, he remembers having a huge crush on her during fourth and fifth year, but they never really talked except for the polite hello’s and brief conversation when they were partnered in class.

right now, all the past emotions were coming back. and he wanted nothing more than to fuck her like he never did to a woman before. for hours and hours until she turned into nothing but a blabbering mess.

y/n eventually straightened up and went to pick more clothes, but she was met with a paralized draco on the doorframe.

“oh- hello draco, i didn’t know you were back” she saluted politely, going back to scorpius small basket that was placed on top of the dryer.

draco was snapped out of his trance at her voice, he swallowed hard before responding, “evening, just came to- uh put this in the washing machine” he gestured to his shirt, making her look at his chest but eventually trailing down to his very apparent bulge.

he saw how her eyes went wide but she said nothing and just gulped and nodded, gaze not meeting his.

the laundry room really wasn’t that big, making it hard for draco to pass y/n to go to the washing machine that was placed next to the dryer. but he still came in contact with her. his clothed cock pressing perfectly into her ass, a small gasp escaping her while draco grunted at the friction.

they both stilled.

y/n was the first to turn around, groin now pressing into her front, he was breathing heavily. and like magnets they connected together, tongues exploring each other’s mouth. draco’s hands rubbing her ass, down until the back of her thighs were in his large hands. he tapped them lightly, signaling her to jump, which she obliged instantly and jumped, draco hoisting her onto the washing machine.

he disconnected their lips to travel down to her neck, a small whine escaping her when he found her sweet spot. draco absolutely devouring the skin and littering it with purple hickeys. he eventually pulled away to take a good look at his little piece of art.

y/n brought him back into a heated kiss while unbuttoning his shirt, his own hands finding way to the hem of hers. once he shrugged off his shirt he helped her pull hers off, throwing it onto the floor. he pulled away from the kiss once again to look at her soft mounds that sat perfectly in a bra, he groaned at the sight as his cock twitched on his trousers.

“can i take this off sweet thing?” he asked, tone low as he hooked a finger on the bra strap.

y/n eagerly nodded, draco wasting no time and unclasping the bra in a quick motion, disregarding it to the side, mouth immediately attaching to her nipple while his hand toyed with the other. she gave a moan at this breathing heavily and leaning back on her palms, panties soaked and pussy throbbing.

draco kissed his way down to her stomach, dragging her skirt down until it hit the floor. he stepped back and admired with pure mesmerization at y/n’s form, tits with perked up nipples, dampened panties and breathing hard. “look at my pretty princess” he said, unbuckling his belt and lowering his pants low enough so his dick popped out.

she went wide eyed for the second time that evening at his size. draco was much bigger than anyone she had ever been with and he was just a very big person in general, she wasn’t sure she could take him all.

draco stroked his cock up and down slowly, tip red and leaking with pre-cum. he got closer to her and moved her panties to the side, eyes glinting when he saw her bare cunt, dripping.

“so wet baby” he said as he passed two fingers over her folds, y/n shuddering while he brought them up to his mouth and hummed at the taste, watching her face heat up.

“taste so good too” he growled, inching his face closer to her and leaning their foreheads together while his fingers plummeted themselves slowly into her, a loud moan escaping her lips.

he started moving them at a slow pace, almost torturous. watching intently as she released small whimpers and moans, his cock twitching every now and then.

he started scissoring his fingers inside of her, going faster. “ah! yes draco right there” she moaned out when he curled his fingers, touching that spongy spot inside her. “yeah? think you can take my cock now?” he questioned.

“yes” she replied quickly, pussy clenching at the thought of having him inside her, finally.

he seemed to notice this and chuckled, removing his fingers and dragging them to his cock once again, coating it with her juices. he guided it to her entrance and drenched the tip with her arousal, making y/n buck her hips up and whine.

“sh sh sh, now be patient little girl” he warned, fingers lightly tapping her clit, making her jolt and quickly shut up as she waited in anticipation.

draco entered y/n slowly with a groan, a strangled moan leaving her throat. he let her adjust to his size for a few moments before starting out on a decently fast pace, making her throw your head back and release several moans the faster he went, breasts bouncing everywhere, much to draco’s delight.

he settled for a brutal pace that had the washing machine shaking, watching her eyes go crisscross when he reaches to rub her clit.

“fuck baby look at this pretty pussy squeezing me, so fucking tight” he groaned, looking down at her juices dripping out, thighs glistening. “you have no idea how many times i’ve dreamt about this” he said, voice strained. she hummed in pleasure as she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him down to another steamy kiss, he greedily ate every moan she made, her legs starting to tremble.

“fuck baby im close” he said when she pulled away for breath. “me too!” she replied, his thumb assaulting her clit harsher.

“yeah? gonna cum all over me? and then let me put my fucking cum inside you until your fucking pregnant?” he teased, moving his hands to grip her ass, y/n gave a loud moan in response and rapidly nodded, orgasm right at its peak. “fuckfuckfuck yes draco!” she screamed as she came, legs completely shaking and letting that coil snap while he fucked her faster, riding out her high while chasing his.

“shit, gonna cum so hard inside you and give you my kids princess” he groaned, his thrust sloppy when his orgasm hit him, releasing a loud moan as he came.

after they both calmed down from their highs he sighed in pleasure and looked down to her puffy cunt, he pulled out slowly and watched as her pussy spurted out both cums. he collected some on his fingers and held them up to y/n.

she opened her mouth and kept eye contact as she sucked on them, humming at the taste like he had done previously, making his once soft cock perk up immediately. she was gonna be the death of him.

she giggled at his reaction and got off the, now sticky washing machine due to their arousal on it, leaning her top half over it and arching her back. draco’s mouth agape at the view.

“round 2?” she taunted.

but right as draco was about to fuck her into tomorrow, a small paddle of feet could be heard in the distance with a faint “daddy? y/n?”.

———

part two

🏷: @spencervera @methblinds @marrymetheonott @adrianscumslut @wh0re4blaise @turn-to-page-394-please @fredshufflepuff @malfoysbiitch @saggyb1lls @helleli @metaraxia @daddybutmakeitagirl @dracomalfoys-wh0re @dlmmdl @fleursbabe @riddleswh0r3crux @lolooo22 @darlingmalfoy @littlemissnoname13 @i-love-scott-mccall @underappreciated-spoon-321 @steveharringtonswhore @dracosafety

#draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy fic

[gliphyartfan]

@yandere-linked-universe @stars-for-thought @linked-heroes @ice-cream-writes-stuff

@imprisioned-in-the-hole I loved your prompt and couldn't resist! Hope I did it justice!

Wind has a strong presence in this one, that wasn't planned by the way.

Enjoy!

'I'll be fiine guys.'

She totally should have saw this coming.

'This is Wars' era, wandering the market won't that bad.'

Yep— these past few days had been too damn calm for the all of them,

'I'll be gone for an hour! Two hours tops! Promise!'

Of course something like this was going to go and happen.

'This. fucking. sucks!' She grunted, slowly slide down the rope she made out of the sheets in the room she was trapped in.

This is what happens when you jinx yourself.

'Everything will be fine!' Oh suuure, the first hour was delightful.

Saw some items,

Chatted with some folks,

Even got to pet a few dogs!

But the second hour-

'His Grace wishes to discuss some things with you.'

'Sorry, you got the wrong person. Plus I don't feel comfortable with-'

'That wasn't a request.'

'...-!!'

She should have know there would have been someone behind her.

It's always when it's out of your mind that it happens.

And now she was trying to escape her own wedding. And the crazy Duke that wanted to marry her.

She wasn't a hero damnit!

'I'm gonna get lectured so badly after this!' She grunted as she reached the end of the rope, her feet dangling in the air for a moment as she tried to figure out what to do next.

'Damn you laws of physics and gravity!' She whispered to herself.

Physics and gravity decided to take her insult personally as the rope loosened its hold on the railing, causing her to fall into the bushes two feet below her.

'Urk-branch! Branch!' She hissed in pain, reaching underneath and removing the branch poking at her back.

As she rubbed the area, brushing the crumpled sheet from her head, she checked her hand to make sure she wasn't bleeding.

Before she could plan her next move, she stilled as she heard the heavy thuds and clanks of armour approach nearby.

The movement came closer, she used her place in the bushes to keep hidden. Slowly parting the leaves next to her with one hand, she used what visibility she had to discover that yes, it was a pair of guards and the conversation that flowed through the air confirmed they weren't Hyrule guards.

Drat.

'Is the Duke really gonna marry that girl?'

'Seems to be the case. He's been very pleased with himself too. Looks like he's trying to get the wedding done by tonight.'

Double drat.

'I don't blame him, you've seen that girl? Bet he's eager for the wedding night.'

Okay. NO.

'Haha! A beauty like that for a wife would be quite the status boost.'

The guards walked past the bush and it's hidden occupant.

Had they looked back, they would have seen a displeased glare directed their way.

(y/n) huffed and looked around, trying to remember where the exit was.

With another glance around, she picked up her dress and slowly made her way out of the bushes, pausing momentarily before taking off the heels she was forced to wear

'I can't run and climb in this dress.' Trying to think about what to do next, she looked down at her clothes.

'Hmm...'

--

'WHERE IS SHE.'

'Link please-'

'Don't tell me to calm down Zelda!'

Wind bit his lip as Warriors marched up to the princess' face and growled.

'Impa is having her men search the castle and surrounding areas, we will find her.' Zelda tried to reassure him, taking a step back when he glared.

'It's been a WEEK and you have nothing to show for it!' He ran a head through his hair, taking a deep breath to calm down.

'You know I've been busy with-'

'With the Grand Duke of the farther kingdom who is here as a token of peace and unity between kingdoms.' Warriors recited irritably. 'Yes, very understandably important when someone went missing under the watch of YOUR men.'

'She was last seen in the market, we have blocked the gates and are inspecting every individual leaving the city.' Zelda gave Warriors a look.

'And might I remind you that they are also your men?'

'Apparently not anymore with how you let them slacked off!'

'Excuse me-'

Wind sighed as they started arguing again.

They were getting nowhere.

'This is going nowhere.' Wind turned and saw Hyrule coming up next to him, watching the arguing duo.

'Any luck with the others?' He asked quietly, not surprised when Hyrule shook his head.

'Twilight is using Wolfie to catch any scents but the storm has made that difficult. Time is with Legend and Wild speaking to the merchants and Four is with Sky speaking with the guards.' Hyrule replied, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Wind felt the same way.

None of them were able to sleep well since she went missing. The only reason they slept at all was because they needed to be rested enough in the event a fight comes their way.

But the lack of her presence was deeply felt.

'Any luck here?' Hyrule asked hollowly, already knowing the answer but still asking.

Wind simply gestured to the still arguing duo.

'Is she even still in town?' He couldn't help but ask, not wanting to think of the possibility that she was far away, but it was necessary.

'She has to be,' Hyrule reassured,smiling weakly. 'The town went on lockdown almost immediately.'

Wind returned Hyrule's smile with a weak one of his own.

They turned back to the duo, feeling more tired as they listened to the princess justify her duties.

'I am already dealing with the Grand Duke and I can't give anymore of my attention to this than I already have.' Warriors just gave her a look.

'I wouldn't be bothering so much if you allowed me access to his guest quarters.' It was Zelda's turn to glare at him.

'You know I cannot do that, he is a guest and has nothing to do with her disappearance.' Only Wind and Hyrule noticed the way Warriors hand twitched, as if desiring to reach for his sword.

Not that they could blame him.

'I am not accusing him Princess,' he said through gritted teeth. 'I am merely requesting-'

'That I allow you access to his quarters.' The displeased expression on the princess' face only matched the captain's.

'Annnd they're arguing again.' Wind muttered, watching them fall back into another verbal brawl.

'The only place we haven't looked is the guest wing.' Hyrule whispered, wringing his hands.

'You think we should sneak in?' Hyrule looked at the arguing pair and nodded.

'Yeah...it's better than assuming nothing is there.'

'Alright...Wars!' The angered captain looked at them, a scowl on his face.

'Rulie thinks he has a lead at the market so I'm heading out with him.' Wind kept a casual look on his face, staring Warriors in the eyes.

Warriors was quiet for a brief moment before he grunted and turned back to arguing his case with the princess.

But he was less tense than he was a moment before.

He understood what they were going to do.

'He'll keep her distracted.' Wind murmured, tugging Hyrule out of the room.

'And Impa?' Wind sighed and rubbed his shoulder.

'Still searching the market place I bet, we gotta be quick.'

And with that, they both headed to the guest wing of the castle.

---

The guest wing wasn't too far away, probably for the convenience of whatever foreign guests came to visit.

But it was walled off and the Grand Duke's personal guard was patrolling the area, forcing the duo to sneak their way in.

'I really hope we find something.' Hyrule whispers, the two stilling as a guard passed by their hiding place.

'Best place to look is the most obvious place.' Wind reassured. 'And the most obvious place is a area that's being guarded by enemy guards.'

Hyrule didn't correct him about the guards.

If she was here, they were enemies.

'Let's look through the rooms! Top or bottom floor?' Hyrule hummed.

'We're good at escaping from higher levels, and there's only two floors, let's start low and move up.'

They worked together, both alerting the other when a guard was close.

Soon they snuck passed the majority and reached the first set of rooms.

Then the second set.

Then the third.

They moved up to the second floor and quietly searched through each room.

It was in the Grand Duke's room that they found incriminating evidence on his desk.

'I can't read this language,' Wind whispered harshly as he glared at the papers in front of him. ' but I know (y/n)'s name anywhere!'

'Take it, we can sure it to the princess.' Hyrule whispered back, keeping watch at the door. He tensed when he saw a couple of guards round the corner. 'We need to go!'

'This is the last room and we haven't found her!'

'We found evidence and that's a better than what we had before, now move!'

It took some time to shuffle out the window and climb down, but they were successfully able to make their escape from the guest wing without notice.

'A lead, that's good.' Wind gasped, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

'But still no (y/n)' Hyrule bite his thumb nervously. 'I hope she's okay...'

'We can't lose hope!' Wind grunted, stretching his back and sighing.

'Let's go, we need to show these papers to the others before we give it to the princess-'

The sailor went rigid, eyes snapping forward, widening.

'What's wrong Wind?' Hyrule asked worriedly, hand on the younger teen's shoulder.

The teen bit his lip to keep his expression from crumbling and his breath was shaky,

'(y/n)...?' Hyrule's own eyes widened and his head snapped to look when Wind was staring.

There, in a torn dirty white dress, no shoes, and messy hair, was their beloved goddess looking around, visibly distressed.

'(y/n)..?' Wind raised his voice, hope as visible in his tone as it was in his eyes.

Hyrule's heart felt such relief as their beautiful goddess' head snapped in their direction.

The smile she gave them was simply magnificent as she immediately ran toward them.

The moment she was close, she wrapped her arms around the both of them and began to cry, relief filling her.

'You have no idea how happy I am to see you two!' She hugged them closer.

'WE'RE happy to see you!' Wind sighed happily, resting his head in her shoulder, both him and Hyrule hugging her as tightly as she was hugging them.

Just having her in their arms was a blessing they treasured so much.

'Where have you been? How did you escape?' She sighed and shook her head.

'I'd rather tell it one time.' She looked around.

'Please tell me the others are near by?' She whispered, absolutely exhausted and didn't want to deal with any more drama.

'Well...no. They are looking for you in town. We snuck into the guest wing to look for you.' Hyrule answered apologetically, heart clenching when she sniffled.

Wind frowned for a moment before he gasped in excitement.

'I'll rally them up!' Hyrule and (y/n) looked at him in confusion as he reached into his pouch.

'Wild has the slate! And if he has the slate-' he pulls out what he was searching for.

'Then we can reach him with this!' (y/n) tilted her head.

'A...stone?' Wind grinned at them, the pirate's charm dangling from his fingers.

'A COMMUNICATION stone!' (y/n) gasped in delight and gave Wind another hug.

'Call him! Call him!' Wind laughed and activated the stone.

'Um, I've been meaning to ask...' Hyrule quietly said to (y/n) who looked at him innocently. '...About your..outfit...'

Wind ignored them for a brief moment as Wild's tired voice came from the pirate's charm.

'What is it sailor?'

'Guess who me and Hyrule found!' Wind grinned as he heard gasps.

'You found her?! Is she safe?!'

'They found her?!'

'She's okay! We're by the-'

'HE WANTS TO MARRY YOU?!'

Wind turned his head so fast, he winced at the pop he felt, the loud yells coming from his charm filling the air.

'WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GUYS?!!' (y/n) winced as she realized the panic she just caused

'Uh-'

He couldn't help it, Wind laughed, soft and just a little hysterical.

Of course an insect had to pop up when they let their guard down.

---

'Where is she.'

'Sir, we have our men searching for her this very moment.'

'I want her found by TONIGHT, the wedding will go as planned.'

'Of course sir!' The Grand Duke scowled as his guard walked off.

He is so close to raising his status.just another day and he would have been on top of the social world. He sneered, like a child, storming down the halls of the guest wing.

'Should have simply left with her when I had the chance.' He ran a gloved hand down his face.

To think he had one of the heroes of legend in his grasp only for her to have slipped through his fingers.

He'll have to make sure to teach her a lesson.

'Sir!' He sighed irritably, turning to see another one of his guard approaching him.

'What is it? Did you find her?' The guard looked nervous.

'Sir, Princess Zelda is requesting your presence in the throne room at once.' The Grand Duke tensed and stared at the guard.

'Are you sure?' The guardsman nodded, stepping back when the Duke growled.

'Of all the times...' He looked back at the guardsman. 'Continue looking for the girl.'

After the guardsman nodded, he decided to get it over with and headed to the throne rooms.

--

--

'Grand Duke, thank you for coming at such a short notice.'

'Your Highness.' The Grand Duke bowed to her, as he rose he noticed the nine gentlemen standing to either side of her.

The heroes of legend.

The Grand Dukes greed brought to mind the rise in his status at what might be a possible meeting with the legendary nine.

He was to arrogant to realize the cold looks he was receiving from them.

She smiled, nodding in greeting. 'I apologize for disturbing your day Grand Duke, I understand how frustrating it can be, but I heard of a strange rumor recently and I had hoped you would clarify it for me?'

'Please rest assured Princess, I will do all that I can to assist you.' He said, smiling openly, the perfect gentleman.

'Splendid. Now,' She dropped the smile. 'Did you conspire to abduct the heroes' companion and force her to wed you?'

The Grand Duke froze, paling as the question registered in his head.

'Wha-'

'Ah. Before I continue, allow me to properly introduce the gentleman before me-'

'There is no need your Highness,' calmly interrupted Time, coldly gazing down at the nervous Nobleman. 'He is as aware of our identities as we are aware of his.'

'I-'

'And you seem to be very aware of the identity of our most dearest companion.' Legend hissed from his place next to Time, glaring daggers at the unsettled man.

The Grand Duke's expression twisted into fear, anger, and panic.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he cleared his throat. 'I'm sure I don't know what you're speaking of.' He calmly answered.

'Perhaps a misunde-'

' A misunderstanding? I'm sure.' Warriors scoffed, looking at Zelda with a raised eyebrow.

She sighed "Lets not fool ourselves here, we all know what this is about.' She stared sternly at him. 'You abducted the young woman known as (y/n) and were conspiring to wed her for...status?'

'She isn't very happy about being kidnapped.' Wild said casually, as if he was not wishing he could jam a bomb down the Grand Duke's throat and detonate it.

It seemed the arrogant man could barely handle being talked down in such a way. His clenched fists trembled in anger.

'I will not allow such accusations to be made against my person!' He looked at Zelda, face flushed in anger.

'If you believe that our kingdoms will be allied after this, I assure you that-'

'If your kingdom is full of noblemen like you, than Hyrule would benefit by NOT allying with you.' Warriors interjected, ignoring Zelda's stern look towards him, looking down his nose at him.

'You have no proof!' Warriors sighed and nodded.

'I suppose I don't.' He was silent until the Duke looked smug before he matched his expression with one of his own, pointing behind the Duke.

'But she's proof enough.'

'Oh, so I'm demoted to proof now, am I?'

The Duke went rigid, his mouth snapping shut on the words just spoken as he slowly turned his head-.

An dispassionate look directed right at him.

'Apologies my Angel.' Warriors smiled softly at her. 'No insult meant.'

'Hmm.' She raised an eyebrow, a brief glance at Warriors before looking at the Grand Duke.

'(y/n) I ask for complete honesty.' Zelda commands. 'Was the Grand Duke the man behind your abduction with intention to force you to wed him?' (y/n) nodded.

'Yes your Highness.' Zelda closed her eyes and sighed.

'Very well, I will arrange for his departure tonight.' The Grand Duke's face a unique combination of red and enraged yet also paling.

'T-This will not stand! When my king hears of this-.'

'We have already sent your king the information of your crimes.' The princess proclaimed to the unsteady nobleman.

'Y-you-'

'You are no longer welcomed within the borders of Hyrule Kingdom and are henceforth outlawed from ever returning. Impa shall escort you to the guest wing to retrieve your belongings.'

Zelda then turned and strode away, but not before sending an apologetic glance at Warriors.

He simply returned her look with a blank one.

(y/n) walked passed the royal knights that now surrounded Grand Duke and made her way to the group.

'I'm so glad you guys found me.' She said with relief in her voice.

'You ended up saving yourself dear.' Time chuckled, reaching up and cupping her cheek. 'And we were panicking like we lost our minds.'

'I was panicking when Wind and Hyrule popped up.' She admitted. 'Trust me, I was so happy and relieved to be found by you guys.'

'We'll always find you (y/n)!' Wind chirped, wrapping his arms around her waist, causing her to giggle.

'Well I guess it has it's uses.' She clapped her hands.

'I'm hungry and demand all the cuddles! I hated this week!' Wild was already pulling out his slate and looking through his inventory.

'I'll make a meal that'll taste so good, you'll forget this week ever happened!' (y/n) grinned in delight.

'That's what I want to hear!'

The Chain surround her as they guided her out of the throne room, the angry cries of the Grand Duke not worth notice.

Yet two members of the group lingered behind.

And they were eyeing the fuming nobleman with calculating eyes.

'We could have been a bit more...hands on with his punishment... ya know that don't you old man...?' Wind commented, his treasured wind waker in one hand.

'As enjoyable as it would be, I don't want to spend a moment longer away from Her.' Wind sighed but nodded in agreement , crossing his arms, tapping his wind waker against his chin.

'So the storm will kill him?' Time nodded, inspecting his Ocarina casually.

'I have more than enough magic to conjure one strong enough.'

'You've already had Wild damage parts of the ship correct?' Wind nodded. 'Than once I summon the storm, make sure the winds finish the job.'

Wind hummed. 'Kay.'

They both looked at the shrinking form of the dead man walking.

'Ugh, I hate bugs.' Wind huffed, a disgusted look on his face.

Time stared at the Duke until he could not see him no more.

'Hm..So do I...'

That night, the group of nine celebrated the return of their most beloved member, lavishing her with their affection and as she requested, all the cuddles she asked for.

(That night, reports were received by two kingdoms that notes a vicious storm appeared as the Grand Duke's ship sailed beyond the Hyrulian sea borders. Destroying the ship beyond recognition. There were no survivors.)

#timeline two au #linked universe #linkeduniverse #yandere linked universe #lu #lu hyrule #lu time #lu wild #lu legend #lu artemis #lu wind #lu warriors #y/n

[jinkicake]

Soft Touches

Osamu, Suna, Tendou, Tsukishima with a s/o that is very sensitive and gets aroused easily.

Miya Osamu x Reader

Suna Rintarou x Reader

Tendou Satori x Reader

Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Here you go anon~ I hope it’s okay. It might be a little OCC because I am still figuring out how to write the Inarizaki boys.

Semi-smutty,,,, Osamu and Suna’s are filfth 

WC- 2,184

~~~

Miya Osamu

Osamu is chilling most of the time until Atsumu does something to piss him off

Despite his usual calm and relaxed attitude, he will still notice the first couple of times you tense when he touches you

It could be as simple as you gasping whenever he puts his hand on your shoulder or when you lean into his touch as he cups the back of your neck

Because of his personality, I think Osamu would be very blunt and obvious with his teasing

Especially when he sees how your eyes run all over his body, like he doesn’t want to be subtle with the way he touches you

Osamu loves being near you anyways so, he will always be touching in someway

He wouldn’t touch you in a possessive or overbearing way but more in a light, just reminding you that he is next to you way

Atsumu would use your sensitivity to his advantage as a way to further tease his brother, bringing out the wing spiker’s competitive side just to piss him off

“She always jumps whenever you touch her, are you sure you’re treating her right ‘Samu?”

Now, of course, Osamu isn’t going to bark out that it’s because you’re weak to his touch. No, he’s not going to that. Instead, he will bring you back to his room and make you cry his name out for hours. That way his stupid brother knows exactly how he treats you

“O-Osamu!” You screech as your boyfriend’s talented tongue continues to eat you out like there is no tomorrow. His large hands grip your thighs and hold them up so he can dive his tongue deeper into your entrance, his moans aren’t the only things he mutters against your lips.

“I’m going to eat you out until your legs are numb.” He states lowly and your breath hitches at the way his eyes shine competitively. You love your boyfriend, with your whole being, but sometimes you can’t help but get worried about him. This is one of those times.

“Osamu w-what’s wrong?” You grip his hair tightly, the gray strands tickle your fingers as you try to pull him away from your center but it doesn’t work. Osamu growls out and holds your thighs tighter so he brings you to yet another orgasm. The feeling washes over you as he sucks on your clit, bringing it into his mouth so he can torture it with his tongue.

You don’t mind when Osamu brings you home after school to spend hours between your thighs, you really don’t but, you’re curious as to why he is doing this.

“Stay fucking still.” He orders and you wince at the curse word. Of course, he is pissed off about something. “You still want more, don’t you?” Osamu moves up to hover over you, his dick twitches in shorts at how captivated you look with him.

“Yes, please, Osamu.” You pinch your eyes shut when he runs his hands up your sides, fuck it you’ll find out why he’s angry later.

“Good girl, be extra loud for me, my delicious little berry.”

Suna Rintarou

Suna would very early on pick up what his touches do to you

He always watches you carefully, just observing everything you do, not in a weird way but in a ‘he is so infatuated, never felt like this before’ way

He is always thinking about you like he might not say much but he always plays the conversations you have in his head

So when Suna notices the way you tense when he touches your lower back or when he grabs your hand, needless to say, he is very amused

He would love to tease you but is very innocent about it, to the point that you can’t tell if he is doing it on purpose or not

Like, let’s say you’re at his house and you’re trying to get something off one of the higher shelves. Suna will just slide past behind you and press his crotch into your backside as he easily reaches up and grabs the cup you were trying to get

“You need anything else, baby?” He’d smile down at you but the way his lips are curved show his playful intentions

Suna seems like the type to not play games so if you’re watching a practice of his and he sees the way you react to him, he will not hesitate to fuck you once the practice is over

He seems to be very disciplined, maybe, in a level head sense so you would think he would have the brains for the two of you

That brain leaves his head the minute he gets turned on, like come on he is an Aquarius do I have to say more?

In your defense, it is completely not your fault that you’re getting dicked down in the locker room. It is not your fault that whenever Suna jumps to block a ball his shorts rise up and expose his thick thighs. It is not your fault that his shirt lifts and exposes a tiny bit of his abdomen and his sleeves bulge around his strong biceps. It is not, in any way, your fault that you get so utterly turned on while watching your boyfriend play that you squirm on the bleachers. Suna always watches you so carefully and a smirk always makes its way onto his face when he notices the way your thighs press together.

“You just couldn’t wait? Could you?” He breathes as his hard cock continues to pounds into your entrance, drilling so deeply into you that your eyes roll to the back of your head. “I forgot how much of a whore you are.” Suna chuckles quietly and presses kisses all over your shoulders, it’s odd how rough his words are with you but he holds you like you’re made of glass. One of his hands grips your throat while the other grabs your hip so he can press you further against the locker, you’re not going anywhere. “Did you get turned on while watching me? I could see the way you were squeezing your thighs together, did that help your little pussy feel better? Or is my cock the only thing that is able to satisfy you.”

Suna is always so quiet but when it comes to fucking you, he always has the dirtiest words to say.

“Rintarou, please,” You whimper and your tall boyfriend squeezes your throat, unknowingly trigger your orgasm.

“You need me to go harder? Huh? You-“ He cuts himself off with a loud grunt as he feels your walls clench around his length, Suna continues to snap his hips into yours and fuck you through your orgasm. “I forgot how much you like getting choke, sweet little thing.”

Tendou Satori

Tendou will tease you all the time

He does not care where the two of you are, he either has a hand around your hip or on your thigh

Tendou does not know subtle either, he probably likes making a show of touching you in front of other people because it shows them who you belong to~

He loves to watch you get flustered and cower under his gaze, when you try to hide from him it just makes him want you even more

Tendou will purposely stand behind you, with his arms wrapped around your waist and his face buried into your neck, so he can grind into your ass

Whenever you’re talking Tendou will purposely drag his eyes all over your body, not hiding in any way that he is staring at your lips or your chest or your thighs

If you stutter or lose your train of thought, he’d be suuuch an asshole

“Keep going angel, what were you saying?”

Innocent bastard.... like he isn’t the one eye fucking you in public

Tendou just likes to play with you and if you try the same thing back with him,,,, he will fuck you right then and there. He goes from playful to serious in seconds

“Now, now, Semisemi you’ll get a girlfriend someday!” Tendou waves to his friend and the brewing setter flicks him off as he walks away. It’s early in the evening and practice just ended when Tendou says goodbye to his teammate. Much to his delight, he finds you outside the gym waiting for him. “Ah, you came to see me, how is my favorite angel today?” He coos and his arms immediately wrap around your shoulders to bring you into this chest.

“Fine,” You roll your eyes, and Tendou smiles fondly down at you, flirting his eyes towards your lips.

“Tell me about your day.” He moves his lanky arms down to your waist and doesn’t ignore the way your breath hitches.

“Well, I had that test in bio today, which was awful, and then in- Tendou!” You scold at his wandering hands, trying to slap them away but Tendou keeps his grip on you. “In literature, I almost fell asleep. Wait why are you asking me when we literally sit right next to each other?” You scoff and Tendou leans down to rub his nose against your jaw.

“Is it a crime for me to be curious about how my little love’s day went?” He pouts at you and you relax into his hold, loving the way he touches you more than anything else.

“I mean with the way you stare at me all day, you’d think you already know how my day went.” You sass back and Tendou nips at your neck, pulling you flush against him so that he can rest one of his legs between your own.

“Touché.” A weak noise slips from your lips as Tendou works his way up to your neck. “You got me there angel.”

Tsukishima Kei

Every time I write something about Tsukishima I always start off with how much of a little shit he is, so here we go. Tsukishima is a little shit

This mf is another one who is very observant so he picks up very easily just how sensitive you are

His eyes would lighten and a small smirk would appear on his face whenever you shudder at his touches

It could be as simple as him running his fingers along your spine and he goes crazy when you whimper, he relishes in all your reactions

When Tsukishima finally understands all the giveaways that tell when you are turned on,,, you’re in a for a long ride

Tsukishima would be so teasing and would act so innocent like “oh my, (Y/N) are you okay?” Or “what’s wrong?”

He will purposely do stuff just to get you all hot and bothered, he’ll stretch his long arms above his head and watch as you drool at the way his shirt rises and exposes his skin

Tsukishima loves how sensitive you are and not for the reason you may think,,,,

Like sure he loves to use it to his advantage to tease you but I think he would LIVE to hear the noises you make every time he touches you

He just likes to know that he is the one making you feel good </33 He loves hearing the praises you have for him, he gets off to it 

“You know how sensitive I am, Kei!” You stomp your foot like a child and your boyfriend just covers his mouth to try and muffle his snickers. His glasses flash when he tilts his head down to hide his face from yours, more specifically so he can get himself under control. “They definitely thought we were going something gross.”

You physically cringe as you think back to the way Yachi gasped at you with wide eyes, her face turned completely red. Yamaguchi reacted pretty much the same as an awkward silence fell over the table. All you wanted was one, nice, double date but that was too much to ask for. Tsukishima simply could not keep his wandering hands to himself.

“Shut up, who cares.” He rolls his eyes and you puff your cheeks out at him, trying to calm yourself down.

“I care! They probably thought that-“ You whine and Tsukishima tilts his head down at you, encouraging you to continue.

“Thought what?” His eyes hold you in place and you turn your face away from him.

“That you were touching me or something!” Tsukishima laughs loudly at your explosive words and you frown even more, he reaches out to grab your hips and squeezes roughly to make you moan once more. “K-Kei, ah.”

“Oh, you mean like they thought I was fingering you or something?” He mocks and you want to slap that smirk right off his face. His vulgar words make you choke. “Sounds like you really wanted me to touch you. Hmm? Don’t worry, I will, you just have to beg first.” 

Your heart is practically beating out of your chest and with the way Tsukishima is towering over you and looking at you with such a hungry gaze, you can’t find it within yourself to be angry at him anymore.

~

Taglist.

@yams046 @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy

#miya osamu x reader #suna rintaro x reader #tendou satori x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #osamu x reader #suna x reader #tendou x reader #tsukishima x reader #osamu smut #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you

[jaskierswolf]

Dearest Wolfie:

Could we please get a fic set in Skellige with Jaskier learning some shanties while Geralt runs around fighting monsters? Bonus if he gets nice and cuddly and soft on good home cooking, and the locals make sure he is bundled up properly from the cold.

~🥔

Thanks to the ever darling @thecomfortofoldstorries for proof reading!

________

Jaskier wasn’t sure why he’d decided to settle in Skellige, for someone that easily got seasick it wasn’t a natural choice, but, after Cintra, Geralt had needed to get some distance between them and the city. Across the ocean had apparently been the only option for the witcher, so Jaskier had spent a rocky journey feeling queasy, his head over the side of the boat. Honestly, the things one did for love.

Not that Geralt knew that.

Geralt just assumed that Jaskier was after a new adventure and a new set of ballads. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Jaskier was curious. He’d heard of the stories of the Skelligen shanties at Oxenfurt, but his professors had been far too highbrow for that. Jaskier scoffed, they were arseholes. He delighted in learning a new skill that would piss off his lecturers, but mostly he was enjoying the change of scenery. It was almost like a holiday.

The contracts were different here too. Jaskier learned about the sirens that plagued the coast of Skellige, beautiful creatures that lured sailors to the jagged rocks, causing a graveyard of ships around the islands. Jaskier had only seen the sirens a few times in persons. Geralt’s insistence on leaving him behind hadn’t changed, but Jaskier had snuck out a couple of times.

The winged creatures were beautiful and gorgeous, but, strangely enough, their songs hadn’t affected him. Even Geralt had plugged his ears with wax, but Jaskier had just heard a series of screeches in a language he couldn’t quite place, but almost understood.

He kept that to himself.

The coast suited Jaskier. He could stay in his room at the inn whilst Geralt travelled between islands, taking contracts and searching for hidden treasures in the stormy waters. Jaskier, however, spent the evenings drinking grog and learning the local shanties, regaling them to Geralt on his visits back to their base. He wasn’t walking on a daily basis and his vocal skills had gained him a large audience at the inn, meaning he ate for free most nights, so he’d be the first to admit that he’d put on a bit of weight. He decided to embrace his new look, he rather liked looking more cuddly. He grew a thick beard to match and his hair almost reached his chin. He was hoping to grow it long enough to braid.

He sighed happily as he strummed at his lute. It wasn’t the ideal instrument to sing the shanties on, but he was still loathed to give it up. He enjoyed the feel of the strings under his fingers, it always calmed his nerves.

“On the house,” Cecie winked as she pushed a tankard of grog towards him.

He grinned and raised the tankard in thanks, but before he could take a drink the door flew open. The inn fell silent as Geralt stood in the doorway, his hair whipping around his face as the wind blew into the room. Jaskier jumped to his feet, it had been weeks since he’d seen the witcher now and he missed him. He laughed, his grog sloshing over the side on the tankard and he ran across the room, lute long forgotten.

“Geralt!” he called, waving to the witcher.

Geralt froze, a stern frown creasing his brow, and Jaskier snorted as he saw the witcher’s hand twitch towards the swords strapped to his back. Dearest Melitele, he knew it had been a while but surely Geralt hadn’t forgotten him so soon.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked incredulously.

Jaskier winked, and gave a little bow, his grog spilling onto the floor and all over his trouser. “Oh cock!”

“You look… different.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow and then ran his fingers through his beard. “I’ve been embracing the local culture, Geralt. I think I look rather handsome, don’t you think? I’ve never grown a beard before.”

Geralt’s eyes widened and Jaskier’s were drawn to the witcher’s throat as he swallowed. “Hmm… I… handsome.”

Jaskier smirked, putting one hand on his hip and tilting his head, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. “Why, witcher, do you find me attractive?” he purred, leaning into Geralt’s space, the grog making him braver than he had any right to be.

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, but Jaskier was fluent in his grunts and hums.

That was a yes.

He chuckled and brushed his lips against Geralt’s cheeks. “Oh, darling, you should have said. Come, let’s call for a bath and get you cleaned up, you stink of seaweed. Then maybe I’ll let you buy me a drink?”

Geralt grunted, but let Jaskier take his hand and guide him through the room towards the stairs.

Oh, he found Skellige suited him very well indeed.

#the witcher #geraskier #skellige #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing #veritasrose

[lord-explosion-baku]

Lying Is A Formal Pleasure

Yandere!Hawks x Pro Hero!Reader

Forced into a “relationship” to better your image, you agonize through the night as you pretend to be head over you heels in love with a douchebag. 

warnings: non consensual touching, light violence

A/N: I posted this a few months ago, but after a bad mental health night, I deleted it like a day later. But now I’m screaming over my oneshot inactivity and the 80 WIPs that remain unfinished, so I figured I’d post something that’s done fhjfv. :’D

Blinking flashbulbs and whispering onlookers flood your audio and visual spaces, forcing you to pause while you take a moment to gather yourself, swaying uneasily in the too-high heels you’ve been forced into. You’re close to being overwhelmed when Hawks places a smooth hand on the small of your exposed back, ushering you closer to his side. He waves to a camera flickering with a red dot, the one that tells the two of you that you’re live on air. The warm impression of his fingers on your skin offers you an insincere sense of security. You’re not as used to being on screen as your ‘lover,’ so you let him take the lead. It’s easier this way, as resentful as you are to admit it.

A thin woman in a red dress holds a microphone up between the two of you and asks if the happy couple has high hopes in regards to their award nominations. Hawks, always quick to flash a charming grin, leans into the mic and says, “we’re both just very honored to be here.”

It’s not like him to be so humble, especially not when he has an audience, but your publicist recently advised you that although his pride is fitting for his singular image, nobody quite likes a power couple who, in her words, “thinks they’re the shit.” People want to see bashful, blossoming love. They want to see you be together, grow together, and develop together. You have to be shy—show that you’re excited to be by his side, and he has to be supportive—happy to introduce you to the sensational side of being a hero. It’s all a facade, even your relationship, but if you stay true to your new role, your popularity will see a serious incline.

Hawks runs his hand up your spine and you get a chill when you realize that the reporter asked you a question: how long have the two of you been together?

“Oh-” you start, shifting to look up at your partner. Amber eyes bare down on you and you swallow dryly, trusting that you look enchanted, rather than sick to your stomach. If you were to be honest with her, you’d say, ‘too long,’ but it’s not your job to be honest tonight. You have to be delightful and charming, cute and coy. So instead, you timidly blink up at Hawks, cover your shy grin with your elegantly gloved hand while leaning into him, and say, “nearly two months.”

The number two hero chuckles, moving his hand over to your side to squeeze it a little harder than necessary. He’s telling you one thing: wrong answer.

“Well, she says two months, while I say three.” Hawks is all confidence and little to no self-doubt. In a way, he’s everything you want to be, and every time you think about it in that light, the more you seem to detest him. You hate that you virtually need him in this respect to get you where you want to be in your career. You hate that he’s living this farce up. “It took my little angel a while to finally agree to go on a date with me. Even then, I knew that we were meant to be together.” His eyes slide back to you, and his tone takes a dark edge that nobody besides you will be able to pick up on. “From the very first moment I laid my eyes on her.”

It’s not entirely a lie. Hawks had barrated you to go out with him for about a month before your publicist told you it would be good for your public image to have a pro—the number two pro—by your side. Apparently, you and him work well because of your quirk: siren. Her reasoning is that you sing just like birds sing. Hawks is a bird. Therefore, you and him should go hand-in-hand. The public aptly named your relationship birdsong and you’ve already done a photoshoot where you had to pose behind a golden birdcage where Hawks sat inside, gripping onto the cage’s bars, staring up at you while you had your lips pursed subtly, pantamiming a song. The irony of your situation is that there is a metaphorical prison in your fake relationship, but it’s not Hawks who sits in the cage. The second irony of your situation is that hawks don’t sing at all; they prey.

“Awwww,” the reporter whines in a shrill, albeit melodramatic voice, looking adoringly from you to Hawks, “I couldn’t imagine how anybody could ever say no to you! That must’ve put a damper on your ego! Poor thing.”

Hawks shrugs like he does—another thing you despise. You can smell the smugness wafting off his chest that seems to puff up as he speaks. “I knew she was just playing hard to get.” He winks at you, sliding his hand down to sit not so obediently at your hip. You feel him drifting towards your ass cheek, and you struggle to not change your fraudulent smile into a full on sneer. “And she knew I liked the challenge.”

The reporter’s eyes aren’t even on you when she asks, “really, how could you say no to this dreamboat? I certainly wouldn’t be able to!”

If you want him, you can take him, you think tartly as you maneuver your arm around Hawks. He makes a sort of low, sort of grunting noise when you lace your fingers through his heavy feathers, and you realize that this might be the first time you’ve actually touched his wings. You’re bitter to admit that the feel of them in your hands are soft to the touch—enjoyable, almost. They might be the most redeeming thing about him.

You tighten your hand into a fist and tug, softly at first, but when you feel him tense next to you, you pull a little tighter, enjoying the brief sadism break you allow yourself.

“I must have been too darn shy at first!” Your words are syrup dribbling over glass. You wrench your hand, twisting into Hawks’ wings. He clears his throat in an attempt to cover up a groan, his hold on your side worsening infinitesimally. “Or maybe I just couldn’t believe that the number two hero was actually interested in me. Honestly? I was starstruck! I thought I was being used for some kind of joke!”

“Hah…” Hawks’ thumb rubs circles in your back when you guide your hand along the stream of his wings and grab at a different bunch of feathers. He whispers, “take it easy, chickadee…’

But you don’t want to take it easy. Hawks’ cheeks redden a bit more every time you move your fingers through his wings. He must be incredibly uncomfortable and you take pride in the fact that, for once, it’s not you who’s suffering. You lean into his shoulder, offer the reporter woman a smile so sickly sweet, you can practically feel sugar coating your gums when you say, “now every day I get to spend with him is a dream come true!!”

One of Hawks’ eyes twitches when you give the tuft of feathers in your hold a final twist. He spreads his palms wide on your back, and slowly curls his fingers inward, pulling on your skin.

After a few more questions, the reporter notices Hawks glancing down to the large hall being used as the ceremony venue, and thanks the both of you for indulging the public with information about your relationship. Sending a final wink to the camera, Hawks guides you through arched doors and nods at a few other well-known heroes attending the ceremony. You sneak away when you think Hawks is about to get lost in another conversation, but when you slip into an empty lounge reserved for award nominees, he’s right on your heels.

Ignoring his presence completely, you fix yourself a drink at an unattended minibar. You swirl the ice around in your glass and finally turn to scowl at your partner. He looks off, or not very present, still smirking, but dazed. Maybe he tied his tie too tightly, and he’s blocking the blood flow to his brain. You grin at the thought of choking him out while you sip on your beverage. Hawks grins back.

Engulfing and consuming the space around you, he takes a confident step towards you. You feel nothing short of a shadow to a tree with his wings puffed out and spread proudly like they are.

“Nervous?” He asks, placing a hand on the bar as he leans closer to you. You give him a half-hearted shrug, trying to be nonchalant. Even if Hawks knows you're uncomfortable, you aren’t willing to show him an inch of fear.

“You shouldn’t be,” he goes on, staring at your lips. He watches you suck down your drink and clears his throat. “You were great out there.”

“Believable?” You ask sarcastically, licking your bottom lip. You reach out to stroke the inside of his wings, running your hands along his feathers teasingly slow, enjoying the sight of each row of his crimson plume twitch down along with your touch.

“Believable,” he chuckles. “I had no idea that I was your dream come true.”

You scoff and place your empty glass down. “Mhm, my everlasting, waking nightmare.” You bring your arm back to your hip. “I’m truthful when I can be.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up into a goofy half-grin. It’s off-putting. He isn’t any less sharp than usual, but there’s something about him right now that has goosebumps raising on your arms.

“C’mere,” he coaxes, grabbing your wrist. You snap it back immediately.

“Oh, please.” You push past him, intentionally brushing into his wings, and begin strutting away.

“You’re such a goddamn tease,” he rasps, hooking you sideways. Both of his hands curl around your hips, and you’re immediately pulled back against him. “Have I ever told you how sexy your back is?”

“Get off of me,” you say without enthusiasm, because it’s not the first time he’s gotten handsy with you in closed spaces. Call yourself jaded, but it’s something that you’re semi-used to. So, when he doesn’t let up, all you can do is roll your eyes and fetch your compact mirror out of your clutch. While you fix your lips, Hawks lays his chin on your shoulder. His eyes find yours, and though they’re looking straight at you, they are, at once, incredibly ambiguous and eerily hyperfocused. He squeezes his arms around your torso, then brushes his lips across your cheek. Against your stubborn will, your stomach flips when he plants kisses on your jaw and trails down to your neck. The scruff of his beard tickles your skin, making your shift around in his embrace. That's when you feel a stiffening behind you.

“Hawks, what the hell are you doing?”

“Shame on you-“ his breath is hot on your ear- “touching me like that on camera, baby? Who knew my angel could be so naughty…”

You jerk your elbow back into his gut.

“I never touched you,” you seethe, ready to actually throw hands, when he rushes you forward, pushing you against the bar so that you’re lodged between it and him. Hot blood floods your face when you feel him pulse against your ass, and it doesn’t help when he snakes a hand through the back opening of your dress, sliding around to cup your stomach. He pulls you back so his bulge rubs between your cheeks.

“You’re seriously crossing the line right now!” You push against the bar, trying to bump him back, but he crowds you with his wings, shrouding you just like the metaphorical birdcage you’ve been stuck in for two—three months. You grasp a fistful of his feathers and yank on them hard, but he only snickers in response.

“Oh, little dove,” he groans, rocking his pelvis against your ass. It’s like he doesn’t even hear your protests. “Fuck. How’d you know I like it rough?” He kisses the hollow of your throat and hums appreciatively when you reluctantly shudder in response. “You have no idea how badly I wanna slip my cock into you right now. Finally wipe that sour look off your face as I drive myself in, inch by inch.” His fingers move down to pet your pubic bone. You want to scream in defiance when you feel a flash of liquid heat pool between your thighs. He dips in between your folds and he croons. “Bet you’d hug me nice and tight too. You don’t spread your legs for just anybody, do you babygirl?”

“Certainly not for you,” you rebuke. You grasp your abandoned glass, smash it against the bar, and spin yourself around, swiping your makeshift weapon across the number two hero’s face.

There’s a moment of shocked silence that falls between you two. A streak of red falls from the cut on Hawks’ cheeks and falls in spots on the whites in between his tuxedo coat. He dabs at the wound and examines the blood on his fingers, then his chest.

He snickers.

“Oh man, I wonder what they’ll think about this.” He shakes his head, grinning. “What do I tell ‘em: we were getting a little too frisky in the lounge, or do I lie and say it was an accident?”

“You can tell whoever, whatever you want,” you mumble. You know you should apologize for the sanctity of your status, but seeing his blood is cathartic to you, in a way. At least, until he speaks again.

With a clever fox smile, smug as the king of hell, Hawks drawls out, “the rising hero, Siren, is unstable and shouldn’t be trusted by the public.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. Hawks’ grin crawls wider, contented by your reaction to his threat.

“I was telling her not to get her hopes up about the awards ceremony. ‘There are a lot of other promising heroes gunning for The Best New Hero award,’ is what I told her, and she lost it…”

“Hawks—“

“She came at me with a glass she broke on the bar. Honestly, I’ve been worried about her drinking habits since day one, but I didn’t do enough to help her with the issue. In a way, it’s my fault this happened.”

“It is your fault!” You stomp your heel and throw an accusatory finger into his chest. “You attacked me!”

“Who do you think they’ll believe, sweetheart?” Hawks takes your hand in his, brings the back of your wrist up to his mouth, and kisses it. “The new hero with a pretty face, pretty voice, but is otherwise unknown, or me? Hero numero dos: Japan’s most trusted.”

You glare at him and he loves it. He enjoys every minute he puts you through mental turmoil.

“I could tell them it was an accident,” he sings, looping an arm around your waist to briskly pull flush up against him. You let him, but keep your head turned so you don’t meet his gaze. He continues—“but you’d have to make it up to me, little dove.”

His wings fall over you, shrouding you closer to him. He presses his lips to your temple, but doesn’t kiss you—doesn’t even speak again. He’s waiting for you to ask how.

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” you say into his shoulder.

“You don’t have to,” he hums, the vibration of his voice buzzing down your neck, “we can just end your career tonight.”

“Hawks.”

“Don’t act like you’re not soaking wet right now. I felt that cunt, babe. Turns out, I’m not the only one who likes it rough.” He turns your head to face him. “You want me-“ he sneers-“and I didn’t even have to stroke your feathers to get you there.”

You close your eyes when his lips greet yours. The kiss is quick, but it lingers like old faith. If you let him in, he’ll stay there. You know that. But he’s backed you into a corner.

“You’re my girl,” he coos, “and I wanna be civil—I do, baby. You know I only want what’s best for us. But you’re gonna have to meet me halfway in order to get us where we need to be. Do you understand?”

Us...we…He throws those words around as if they matter. Then again, they do matter. They must, to him at least, but not to you. The only thing you really care about is me. Still, you nod.

“I’m gonna need you to say it, Siren.”

You sigh. “Yes, Hawks. I understand.”

“Good!” He chirps enthusiastically, any dark tone he previously took vanished. He spins you around to face the door that leads back to the hall. At first, you think he’s going to continue where he left off, but his hand finds its place at the small of your back, and he guides you forward.

“Now, let's go win us some awards,” Hawks says, bringing his hand down to pat your ass, “then we can make sure both of our dreams come true.”

#yandere bnha #yandere!Hawks #yandere!hawks x reader #tw yandere #bnha x reader #bnha reader insert #reader insert #hawks x reader #yandere male

[jaskiersvalley]

So I just discovered your maned wolf Jaskier and I thought I might add something I know about them. As the original person mentioned they are not foxes or wolves but more like a wild dog but not. They are their own thing. Also their pee smells like marijuana. I've seen some at the the national zoo in D.C. they do better in pairs or with company then on their own. The last one they had before the pair of brothers they had when I went didn't do good on their own. Their legs are sk long because they are made to see over tall grass. I love manned wolves they are so unique.

This is such a delightful bunch of facts about maned wolves! Thank you for sharing your knowledge, I adored finding out more about these fascinating creatures. As thanks, here’s a slightly different take on maned wolf!Jaskier for you.

True Colours

It was rare for graduates of Aretuza to get together. Mostly because their motives and goals were rather at odds with each other usually so it wasn't a good idea to get together. Things could get rather unpleasant. But, once in a while, they could set their ambitions aside and enjoy each other's company.

"I'm telling you, she was scum," Yennefer giggled, leaning into Fringilla's shoulder. "You can do miles better."

"I just wish I'd known what she was like before I wasted all that time on her." Nursing a freshly broken heart, Fringilla was eager for any kindness her peers would show her. "Humans are scum."

All too eager to agree, Yennefer nodded along. Humans were rather unfortunate creatures, she couldn't really help with that, ridding the Continent of them was quite unethical. But the thing about true colours, she could most definitely help with that.

"I've got the perfect spell! We can reveal the whole Continent's true colours." Laughter went up around them at the declaration and Yennefer sniffed as she straightened up. "You can all help. Or watch and learn."

It was quite amazing, how much power five drunken sorceresses could harness. The spell took a considerable amount of rather raw, unrefined Chaos and they all sprawled on the ground in a sweaty pile by the time it was done. Alas, in their drunken stupor, they noted that the spell had done nothing other than make the sky flash and rumble in an ever spreading wave until it moved out of sight.

The next morning they were all suitably hungover and more than ready to return to their usual duties. There was only so much time they could spend with each other before the truce ended and they were at each other's throats again.

Somewhere else on the Continent it was another beautiful day for Jaskier to follow Geralt around. He said follow because he'd once again managed to piss his boyfriend off and sent him stomping off ahead.

"Look, all I said was that you'd look better if you just glowered a little less," Jaskier grumbled. The lute case bounced against his back like it always did when he did a little jog to keep up with Geralt. "You do give the wrong impression sometimes. I swear you do this deliberately, hide the fact you're an absolutely cuddly sweetheart under all those onion-y layers of doom, gloom and...I have nothing that rhymes. Broom? Shroom? Groom? Fume! Because you're fuming!"

Funnily enough, it did nothing to ease Geralt's sulk but Jaskier was undeterred. This was nothing more than a blip in the journey of their love. A bit of bad weather, not even a storm.

They wandered in a manner Jaskier would call aimless while Geralt described as optimal in the hunt for a contract. At least it got them to a town in decent time, the soft summer light enough to get to an inn for food and a performance. Jaskier was ecstatic.

His set was going great, everyone was merry, having a blast as he belted out shanty after drinking song. Ale flowed, as did the coin. The sun was setting and he set his lute aside for a quick break. One moment he was staring out over the tavern and the next the world lurched. He was shorter, on all fours and everything looked and smelled different. Especially the patrons. A variety of animals stared back at him before pandemonium exploded. Most creatures reared back, staring in terror into the corner Geralt had been in, which was quite glaringly empty.

"What has that bastard done to us?" The cry went up and the dogs and foxes in the tavern rallied, ready to hunt Geralt down.

"I did nothing." A familiar voice rang through the room and everyone backed away as a harvest mouse climbed onto the table. Cute and defenceless, Geralt stared out at the tavern from the top of the table, nose twitching.

From his vantage point on the stage, with his long legs, Jaskier could see how the villagers weren't convinced. In fact, they saw an easy target and looked ready to exact revenge on an innocent party. Snarling, he raced to the other side of the room and hopped onto the table, towering over Geralt.

"He's innocent." Sharp teeth were bared fiercely at the crowd. When it didn't look like they would back down, Jaskier did the only thing he could. He picked Geralt up in his mouth and pretended to swallow while the tiny harvest mouse clambered out the side of his mouth and got lost in Jaskier's thick mane.

The villagers didn't look all that appeased but Jaskier didn't allow them to get out of control.

"Tasted like disappointment. Now. Shall we howl at the moon?" For some reason it seemed to do the trick and the shock of being turned into animals turned into a celebration.

In the morning, everyone was back to their regular human form, including Geralt. They had to make a hasty run from the village before the angry mob punished them for their existence.

"Whew! That was exciting. But also, what the fuck happened?"

There were no answers. Each night, as the sun set, they changed into animal form. Jaskier a maned wolf, Geralt a harvest mouse.

"I can't work like this," Geralt growled. "We're getting to the bottom of this."

Only, there seemed to be no help. Everywhere they went, the whole Continent seemed to turn into animals from dusk until dawn. Most villagers were wolves, bears, cats and other animals that could be tamed but the wild, aggressive undertones of predators were still there. A few were goats, cows and sheep, a few bulls. By contrast, courts were full of snakes and birds. Rarer, less straightforward to deal with. In Geralt's opinion, less pleasant to deal with. And no court's sorceress would give him a straight answer. They had to know something, Geralt knew when he was being lied to. But he didn't know what they were hiding.

With no other option, he headed home. Each night he climbed into Jaskier's mane, allowed his boyfriend to keep him safe from owls - some natural, others transformed humans who enjoyed the hunt. At the base of Kaer Morhen, he ran into something most unusual. A hyena gave Jaskier a flat stare from where it was curled in the overgrowth. By its stomach was a capybara and a hare, both looking a bit patchy and weathered. Even more interestingly, there was a cockatoo on the top of its head, eyes closed.

"Friends," Jaskier called, "we come in peace."

Never before had Jaskier felt more threatened than when a capybara and hare looked ready to tear his throat out.

"Eskel. Lambert," Geralt called and climbed to sit on the end of Jaskier's snout. "You made friends."

The hyena got to its feet, looming over the transformed Witchers protectively. "You know these two?"

"Geralt you fuck," the hare growled. "Is this your doing?"

"Would I be here if it was?" Jaskier didn't have to see the harvest mouse's face to know Geralt was rolling his eyes. Still, he tried.

It made the cockatoo screech out a laugh. "Crossed eyes do not become you, weird wolf thing."

Puffing up, Jaskier wanted to object but Geralt cut in. "Leave Jaskier out of this. Who are you travelling with?"

"I'm Aiden," the cockatoo replied, spreading his wings wide and bobbing down in a bird equivalent of a bow. "Cat Witcher by name, cockatoo by nature."

That, Geralt could have guessed, he was much more interested in the hyena who seemed keen to be forgotten. He stared at him until it got awkward.

"Cahir." The name said nothing but there was a broad, southern accent to it. Intrigued, Geralt wished he could take a better look at the man. He would be able to do so in the daylight.

Introductions out of the way, Geralt climbed down, only to scuttle across the gap and climb onto Eskel's back. The capybara grunted sleepily and settled back on the ground.

"Sleep. We've got quite the climb ahead of us tomorrow." At least it was warm, meaning the trek should only take a day without snow impeding them. They'd be home by evening.

They staggered through on four legs the following night. Mostly because Jaskier had insisted on stopping and admiring every angle of every view, sighing wistfully. Finally, they arrived at the door which had been left open a crack, only needing to be nudged open on silent, freshly oiled hinges.

"I was wondering when you'd get home," a voice greeted them. Vesemir did not look impressed as he looked over them. A gopher stared at them with a rather done expression. "Aretuza had a lot to answer for."

#geraskier #eskel/lambert/aiden/cahir #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #aiden #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #vesemir #yennefer of vengerberg #fringilla vigo #animal transformation #tldr: they all turn into animals each night

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 21: Faerie’s Bane 

Summary: The day after the storm, Claire wants things to go back to normal. Jamie gets a little carried away, leading to an unfortunate discovery.

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Read chp 21 below the cut

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Chapter 21: Faerie’s Bane

Claire came to consciousness slowly beside the love of her life. Sunlight was streaming through the…— her brain took a second before coming up with the word window. Jamie was still asleep, lying on his side with an arm thrown over her body. She turned over on her side too so they were face to face, lips barely a hair’s breadth apart. Her eyes caressed over his face as lovingly as if she were touching him with her hands. He looked so young in sleep, so content. The morning light made his cheekbones look so defined although his face was smooth and relaxed. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

She couldn’t help but reach up to gently stroke the messy curls that framed his face, and to her delight, his lips turned up in a soft smile. He wasn’t awake though, and that simple sign of innocence made her warm deep in her belly. Oh, how she loved him. Her protective Jamie, so sweet in sleep.

It took all of her self control not to lean in and kiss him awake, but she contented herself with watching him for a bit longer.

She felt loads better that morning, and the anxiety of the previous day had dissipated, replaced by the peaceful ease of knowing they had the whole day to spend with each other. Everything in the past didn’t matter, and it best be left there. She was ready to move on and get back to normal.

A few minutes later, when his face began to twitch, she wasn’t surprised to see his eyes flutter lazily open.

“Good morning, my love,” Claire said softly, eagerly raising a hand to stroke his jaw now that he was awake.

He gave a sleepy grunt and smile. “G’mornin’, my Sassenach,” he said fondly.

When his eyes grazed down her, noticing that she was raised up on one elbow and looking down at him, he groggily asked, “were ye watchin’ me sleep?”

Claire smiled affectionately and nodded. “I was. Did you know you smile in your sleep?”

Jamie snorted, shaking his head a little. “Normal lasses would be abashed to be caught watching someone sleep, but here ye are informing me that I smile.”

Claire frowned, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and feistiness as she often did when Jamie commented on how strange he found her. She knew that he loved her and found her ways endearing, but still— she wasn’t out here commenting on how strange he was!

She decided to tell him as much.

“And most men of the fair folk wouldn’t tease me so,” she shot back.

His eyes went wide for a second, apparently coming to the realization that he did often point out her strangeness when he was just as strange to her. He sat up, the blankit falling from his chest down to pool on his hips, and he looked at her with a guilty expression.

“I’m sorry, lass, I didna mean—”

“It’s alright, Jamie,” she laughed breathily, “it doesn’t bother me when you point things out. As long as…” a wash of insecurity overwhelmed her and she had to look down to her fingers in her lap as she finished, “as long as it doesn’t make you sad that I’m… different.”

“Claire,” her name fell from his lips like it had been punched out of him. His big hand came under her chin and tilted her face up while the other slid down her side. It smoothed down the entire length before coming to rest on his hip. He looked at her with an earnest expression. “I love everything about you. I love that you are a brazen wee thing, so straightforward. I love that ye are shameless in touching me. I love that ye always get cold and are obsessed wi’ fluffy blankets. And I love that ye’re still learnin’ human words. I love those things about ye that are different because they’re what make ye who ye are. And I verra much love who ye are.”

Claire couldn’t fight the smile growing on her face any more than she could prevent the slight blush from heating her cheeks. “Just checking,” she said with a little dismissive tilt of the head.

Jamie laughed and leaned in to kiss her.

***

Once they were dressed and Jamie had eaten, Claire watched him do dishes while she plotted how exactly she could mess with him that day. She managed to keep some distance as she schemed, but her hands were already itching to touch him. An idea suddenly struck her, and she grinned to herself, keeping it in the back of her mind for later. But first, she needed her kisses.

She got up from her spot and made her way over to Jamie as he was drying his hands. He turned just in time to see her coming toward him, his eyes widening a bit, and then she was on him. She grabbed his collar and pulled him down to her lips (he was a great deal taller than her and it was a lot of work sometimes to get him down to her level so she could reach). To her satisfaction, he dropped the small blankit in his hands and they encircled her waist instead, the great expanse of them nearly curving entirely around. Oh, his hands were so big...

She found herself suddenly losing control of the kiss as the element of surprise wore off. His lips grew bolder, pressing more insistently to hers until she opened her mouth enough for his tongue to sneak in. A shiver of delight ran down her spine, and she leaned back into the warm hands on her back. They squeezed her sides in response, tugging her closer to his body. Then suddenly he was walking her backward, pushing against her until she stumbled back and he went with her, exploring her mouth all the while.

Without the faintest idea of what was behind her, she held onto his neck and allowed him to walk her backward. It was nearly a dance. Jamie was kissing her so eagerly that she thought he likely didn’t know what he was doing either. She didn’t mind, though, she just liked being close to him.

The moment her back hit a solid surface behind her as Jamie pushed her against it, there was a slight clatter, and then a burning pain seared her back. She jerked away from it, crying out into Jamie’s mouth.

Jamie broke free from her lips instantly, his beautiful blue eyes huge with worry. There was another clang as something hit the floor, but Claire was still reeling too much to pay attention.

Her hand flew to the middle of her back— the spot just between her wings and just below her neck— where she’d been burned. Air hissed through her teeth as she grimaced.

“Sassenach?” Jamie asked, anxiety evident in his voice.

An “ah!” of discomfort was the only answer she had.

“What’s wrong, a leannan?” he asked gently.

Claire was still too busy being in pain to give a better answer, so she unhelpfully provided, “it hurts.”

Jamie’s brows furrowed. He placed both hands on her upper arms and slowly turned her so her back was facing him. He gently removed her hand from where it clutched over the raw flesh.

“Christ, lass,” came his reaction from behind her, “ye’ve a burn.”

Fingers gently probed the area around the source of the pain, and they were surprisingly cool and soft in comparison to the stinging.

“But what burned ye?” came the next question from low in his throat.

Claire was wondering the same thing herself. She glanced at the large wooden… thing… beside her that Jamie had backed her into. It was a place where Jamie displayed stuff— certain silly little items without function that were just so human. Everything there looked harmless…

As she was looking behind her, Jamie had stooped down and picked up whatever it was that had fallen to the floor. It was a long, oddly shaped thin cylinder, shiny and…

Silver!

She jumped back with a cry of alarm, eying the dangerous piece in his hand and wondering how he was holding it. Apparently it was safe for him...  

Jamie looked terrified, glancing between her and the thing in his hand.

“What is it? My mother’s candlestick?” he asked, bewildered.

“It’s made of silver, isn’t it?” Claire asked.

“Aye. Is… is this what burned ye?” Jamie asked with huge eyes.

She nodded, grimacing in pain. “Silver burns us,” she explained simply. She tried to glance behind her at her back but couldn’t glimpse the resulting burn.

He hastily placed the “candlestick” back on the wooden surface and approached her with a distressed look on his face.

“I’m so sorry, lass,” he said with a choke in his voice, “I didna mean tae hurt ye. I didna ken and I was careless—”

Before he could berate himself any further, Claire placed a finger over his mouth. “It’s not your fault, Jamie. Besides, I’m okay, it just hurts a little is all.”

That didn’t seem to reassure him much. His face was still twisted in a guilt-ridden expression, and he was eyeing her with not an insufficient amount of worry. It pained her to see him worried about her again after she’d been so hoping they’d have a normal day...

“Can ye heal it?” he asked, reaching out a hand to stroke down the length of her arm.

She shook her head. “I can’t heal this.”

Jamie looked heartbroken at her words, and she couldn’t resist bringing a hand out to rest it gently over his heart. The moment her hand made contact with him, she could feel the guilt and concern radiating from him, like a pulse that ran through him into her.

“It’s okay, Jamie,” she said softly, “I told you, it’s not your fault. You shouldn’t feel guilty.”

“It is my fault though,” he said sadly, shaking his head.

“My sweet, stubborn man,” she sighed.

Without another word, she stepped closer, bridging the distance between them and leaning her body against his. She turned her face so that her cheek could rest on his chest and then looped her arms around him.

Jamie was hesitant at first, fearful of accidentally brushing against her burn, but after a second, his arms came around her waist to hug her back.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, softly.  

“Forgiven,” she whispered, “don’t think on it anymore.”

“Come here, puir thing,” he said suddenly, bursting into action. He took a step back, grabbing her hand, and began to lead her into the kitchen. She followed meekly and didn’t resist as he sat her down before rustling around in his things.

When he returned, he knelt down beside her and turned her gently so her injured back was facing him. He had a small blankit in his hand, wet, and with the utmost care, he pressed it to the sore spot. The coolness was soothing, and a sigh escaped her lips.

“Does that feel a wee bit better, a nighean?” Jamie asked.

She nodded, breathing out a simple, “yes.”

Claire allowed him to fuss over her for several more minutes, hoping it’d help him feel better. He applied some sort of white paste to it after insisting it would help, and he finally ended by placing a sweet kiss to the top of her shoulder just above the spot.

“You’re a fine healer,” she told him, “very nice hands.”

Indulging herself, she grabbed said hands, spreading her fingers flat against his so their palms were touching, then laced them together. “Very strong but so gentle.”

“Hmm, I’m nothin’ compared to you, lass,” Jamie hummed, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. She would have preferred a kiss to her lips, but she knew Jamie was still getting over his worry, so she didn’t press him.

There’d be time for that soon enough.

*

a/n: So this was originally intended to be the first part of a longer chapter, but I wanted to experiment with "shorter" chapters (haha this still ended up being almost 2k, oh well). So there are some loose threads in this that are leading into next chapter— such as Claire's plan to mess with Jamie. Also Jamie's gift from last chapter is coming in the second half.

Thanks so much for reading!!

Next

#finally I made a moodboard for arc II woohoo!! #*wings not to scale* #Claire’s wings are a lot smaller than how the moodboard appears but I still thought it was fun #there’s some amount of symbolism in this moodboard maybe it’ll help you predict... #hehehe #all that was fair #update #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #fae Claire

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 22)

Notes: Apologies for any major errors. I'm going to edit this again in the morning, but I wanted to keep to my promise and give you something today!

And also, I'm sorry... this is an eventful chapter...

EDIT: Now hopefully free of typos and grammatical errors...

Chapter Twenty Two Nesta

Despite the fact that it was only an hour past dawn, the camp was already bustling the next morning as Nesta made her way through the back end of the mountain pass. Cassian was scheduled to visit Swallow’s Ridge at midday, so Nesta had risen early and eaten breakfast alone before walking to meet him in their usual training spot.

It was a bleak, grey sort of day, the sky kissed with the promise of snow and the air so cold Nesta’s breath clouded thick in front of her as she approached the sparring rings. 

The training grounds were not the same as those carved into the rock towards the front of the mountain pass. Instead, an area had been felled of pine trees that was just large enough to construct three large training areas, which were partitioned off by wooden fencing. Unlike the punishing crystalline rock, the ground was soft and open to the elements, a mixture of stone and compact earth that had frozen solid in the cold weather.

Nesta counted twenty girls in the ring as she drew closer — the most Cassian had ever had, he’d informed her over dinner a few nights prior — and whilst some of them looked like they hated every second of it, Nesta noticed Durkhanai and some of the other orphans frowning in concentration as Cassian took them through the guard swings.

At the entrance of the ring, with his arms crossed firmly across his hard and unyielding chest, was Lord Devlon. He was wearing a stern expression, but apart from the odd clipped order he allowed Cassian to lead the session rather than stepping in himself. This did not seem to bother Cassian, who appeared wholly focussed as he walked up and down the training ground, correcting handgrips and stances with a voice that was still General but kinder than when Nesta had heard him barked instructions at the males.

Unlike when Nesta trained, no males had stopped to watch the girls in the ring. Instead, they appeared to avoid the training ground altogether, as if they were purposefully keeping their distance. Nesta was sure there was some pathetic reason for it, but she cast the sneering males to the back of her mind as she deliberately drew to a halt beside the pine fencing a metre from Devlon.

The positioning was purposeful; Nesta was not going to be intimidated by a half-wit bat with a stick up his ass. If Devlon wanted to believe she was a witch, she’d damn well let him.

So drawing up tall, Nesta surveyed Cassian walking up and down the line of girls as they practiced guard swings with wooden swords, and ignored Devlon with blatant disinterest.

The girls attention wavered as they clocked her arrival, and even Cassian stopped correcting a young female’s grip, his wings and nostrils flaring slightly as he scented her on the breeze.

Cassian’s head started to turn but Nesta didn’t have time to meet his gaze, as Devlon cast his dark, cold eyes to rest upon her. 

“Here for training are you,” he grunted. He eyed her hands warily as if he expected mist to be seeping from them.

Nesta twitched her fingers in the hope that he might squirm — just for her satisfaction — and a small, cruel smile twisting her lips upwards. “Yes.”

A begrudging nod. Not a snarl or a sneer. Only, “Mind where you blast that fire.”

Nesta opened her mouth to reply, but then Cassian was in front of her on the other side of the fence. His hair was even more tangled than usual. “I’m nearly finished,” he told Nesta, even though his eyes remained fiercely trained on Devlon. His expression was hard and a muscle in his jaw was already twitching. “Start warming up. Ten laps around the ring.”

Shrugging, Nesta started to jog around the training ground as the girls began to put away their wooden training swords. Durkhanai’s eyes widened as she spotted Nesta, a shy smile flitting across her face.

Nesta saw the orphan most days. Together they helped bathe, dress and feed the younglings to relieve the widows who needed to get down the mountain for work. Durkhanai was quiet but lovely, and after a week of working silently side by side, she started to speak to Nesta, telling her of the death of her mother during the brutal winter last year and her journey to the widows camp, the only place that would take her in. In turn, Nesta had shared a part of herself: her starvation as a human and the death of her own mother.

She did not speak about how she had been Made or about her father’s death. That was something Nesta was still not ready to discuss, let alone face herself.

Sometimes, late at night, Nesta would wake with her face wet with tears, having dreamt of those ships sailing into the midst of battle. How her father had stood at the helm of Nesta, as he looked towards the coastline and his daughters. In that moment, he looked forever young; his hair golden brown rather than grey, his face alight with purpose, his posture tall. The father he had been before their mother died, when Nesta had been his favourite and Feyre had not been forced to the woods so they did not starve.

Feyre. The sister who Nesta might potentially see today, if she willed it.

Originally, Nesta had not even contemplated meeting her sister. Had imagined Feyre standing at the top of the mountain in the freezing cold as she waited for a sister who would not come. But slowly, as three weeks passed, Nesta found herself torn between unbridled fury and curiosity.

Even now, Nesta did not know how to feel. Did not know whether she would face her sister or not. Did not know if she could.

So when she and Cassian trained, Nesta went hard. She ignored the few girls that had stayed behind to watch and Devlon’s beady eyes from his spot at the gates. Instead, Nesta slipped into the rhythm of hand-to-hand combat with an ease that had not come before, her fists and body a blur against the grey landscape.

When she finished her fifth round, a bead of sweat trickled down Cassian’s brow. “Good,” he praised between breaths, and Nesta knew it was deserved. “I felt that kick to the side, sweetheart.”

“Good,” she mirrored, and Cassian barked a laugh. “Maybe you’ll stop going easy on me.”

“I didn’t,” Cassian promised.

A dismissive snort. “You could have pinned me after that upper cut.”

Hazel eyes glowed bright. “I don’t fancy being blasted with silver fire this early in the morning,” Cassian said, even though they both knew why he hadn't pinned her. He stalked to the weapons rack and threw her a longsword, which she effortlessly caught by the handle. “Guards and then combat. Let’s see if you can strike me twice today.”

After their training session, Cassian loitered around the bungalow for longer than he should have. He had bathed first, so Nesta raised an eyebrow at him in surprise as she came out of the bathroom to find him in the living room.

“I thought you were going to Swallow’s Ridge,” Nesta said, her chin lifted as if daring for him to comment that she was wearing nothing but a towel.

The Nesta riddled with alcohol and completely numb would have had no qualms about baring her skin for all the world to see, if only to discover whether it would make her bitter heart feel. But with the potential meeting of her sister on the horizon, Nesta felt splintered and raw.

After failing to illicit comments from Cassian the day of Mor’s visit, Nesta also no longer felt as body confident as she had been. Her failure to draw his attention had only confirmed what she had not wanted to admit: that whilst she had put on weight, the knots in her spine were still too prominent and her thighs were far thinner than they should be, bowing at the tops rather than meeting in the middle. And whilst it wasn’t as if Cassian hadn’t seen more of Nesta’s skin before, today she wasn’t in a place where she could relish in it. If she had known he were still around the house, she would have changed into fresh clothes in the bathroom rather than her room.

Cassian’s nostrils flared and his eyes gleamed for such a short moment that Nesta wondered if it had merely been the fire dancing in his irises. “I might stay and oversee the foot soldiers instead.”

Raising an eyebrow, Nesta tightened the towel around her body. “Why,” she asked shortly. Too shortly. They both knew what today could be, depending on Nesta’s decision. It had been an omen hanging over them that morning as they trained. Cassian had not dared bring it up, and Nesta, who was still too conflicted over her sister’s impending visit, had only set her mouth in thin determination and wielded the longsword after he had thrown it at her, as if it were an extension of herself.

To Cassian’s delight, she had struck him twice. When they had ended, Cassian had vowed that he would start training her with the bow the following day at Spearhead.

Loosing a shrug, Cassian replied, “The rite is in three months. The Windhaven soldiers need as much training as they can get.”

A casual response, but Nesta was not fooled.

She reset her posture, her eyes narrowing in a way that usually had other’s running. “Do it tomorrow.”

Cassian cocked his head and those hazel eyes tunnelled into her with such intensity that Nesta wanted to look away. She didn’t let herself give in to the temptation, staring him down with the sort of unveiled threat that promised she’d make his life hell if he dared defy her.

Eventually, Cassian just shrugged, his broad wings shifting with the movement. He ruffled them, spreading them quickly before tucking them back in. It was a signature move of his when he was uncomfortable. “I’ll be back at dusk. I’ll see you for dinner?”

A careful question designed to ensure that Nesta didn’t intend to retreat into herself should she meet with Feyre. Cassian was worried, Nesta realised, fiercely so, the sensation escaping the walls he had constructed after Kamanam and lining her stomach with the scent of pine and musk and untamed air.

It had been a while since Nesta had been left feeling fully numb. It was a feat that hadn’t escaped her. Clearly, it hadn’t escaped Cassian either, and he wanted the reassurance that meeting with her sister wasn’t going to make her suffer, even though they both knew it didn’t work that way.

For once though, Nesta did hope that the numbness wouldn’t take a hold of her. The sensation felt odd — hope — but it was there, a flicker in the dark. And the thought of coming back to the bungalow later to eat in the kitchen with Cassian… the image was warm and inviting. Nesta could see the orange glow of faelight around the kitchen window, could imagine her feet crunching on snow and ice as she trekked her way back, could taste the spices on her tongue as she bit into the food he would prepare for her…

So Nesta said, “That depends on what you’re making.”

Cassian barked a laugh. “What would you like, sweetheart?”

Nesta shrugged, as if she were wholly uncaring, even as it felt as if someone had clenched a fist in her chest. “Dosas,” she said, tossing the word over her shoulder as she turned on her heel to head into the bedroom.

A low chuckle made her stomach twist and flip, but she did not look back at him, even though she knew his eyes had darkened and flared simultaneously.

Despite the distance, Nesta felt Cassian’s laugh rumble through her, like a flame licking down to her core. “Dosas it is.”

***  

Once she had dressed, Nesta left her bedroom with the intention of making her way to the widows camp. To her fury, she found that Cassian had still not left. He was waiting by the door, her headband in his outstretched hand. Her coat remained hanging from its hook, as if he had anticipated that she would emerge in clean leathers rather than an Illyrian dress.

When he informed her that he planned to walk her to the bottom of the mountain, Nesta snatched the headband from his hands and stormed out of the door with a furious hiss that had him grinning.

Yet... Nesta allowed him to follow her. Knew his cocky grin was just for show. Knew that he wouldn’t voice what they both knew: that somehow his presence had a calming effect on her, smoothing over the gravitas of what could or couldn’t happen in a few hours time.

Cassian opened his mouth a number of times during the walk, but eventually he chose to remain silent. Only when they arrived at the base of the mountain did he surprise her, conversing quickly with the guards in sharp Illyrian before stepping onto the treacherous path with her, rather than shooting into the skies.

Nesta’s scathing look did nothing to stop him in his tracks, and it was only when they made the first brutal turn that he spoke. “You don’t have to see your sister today if you don’t want to.”

Nesta scowled, angry at Cassian for bringing up Feyre when she had intended to cast her to the back of her mind whilst she still could. Her entire body stiffened but she did not turn to him, knowing somehow, that he wanted eye contact from her — hazel on blue.

She kept on walking; one foot in front of the other, her fur-lined boots crunching loose rock beneath her feet. “I am fully aware of what I can and cannot do.”

Her delivery was pointed enough to wound, but Cassian did not flinch. He stopped, reaching for her, his fingers closing around her wrist. “I meant what I said to you the other day, Nesta. You shouldn’t see your sister if you don’t think it’s best for you right now.”

Silence followed as heat licked through Nesta’s veins, her power slithering like a serpent through a dark tunnel.

When Cassian spoke next, his voice was low — a confession, “I fucked up before. I was so angry at you for ignoring me that I didn’t try to see things from your perspective. So I’m going to tell you again what I think you need to hear: only do this for you. Don’t do this for Feyre. If it feels right to meet your sister, meet her. If your gut tells you it is wrong, follow that feeling.”

Nesta nearly snorted in dismissal, but she quashed the sound before it could escape, remembering the look on Cassian’s face that night of Solstice, when she had treated him as if he weren’t worthy enough to even reject.

Instead, she said frostily, “I don’t need your support.”

Something flickered behind Cassian’s eyes. “I know,” he admitted, “but I want you to know that you have it, if you do want it.” His grip tightened around her wrist, his touch warm and too packed with meaning. “Sometimes we need distance to figure out what we need, Nesta.”

His gaze was too intense, so Nesta threw his words back at him as she scrabbled to keep her expression neutral. “And what do you need.”

A shake of the head had Cassian’s wind-snarled hair moving. “I don’t need anything from you," he confessed. "Recently there’s a spark of life in you that wasn’t there before. I don’t want to see it go out.”

Nesta’s windpipe tightened and she sucked in a breath as she purposefully slid her eyes away from him to the frost-kissed landscape; to the snow-capped pine trees, the canvas tents and the shadowed blurs of leather and steel.

“I’m not the same girl who was forced into the Cauldron,” Nesta said.

It was true. Nesta was not who she had been. The Cauldron and the war had remoulded her body and self until she was recognisably different: harder around the edges, broken in the middle. A jumble of revenge and anger and grief and hatred. Emotions that she tried in vein to trap in ice to stop herself from self-combusting.

As if he could tell what she was thinking, Cassian’s fingers moved from her wrist to squeeze her fingers.

“No,” Cassian agreed softly, “but I like who you have become, all the same.” With his other hand, he reached up to brush his thumb lightly over the arch of her cheekbone.

The initiated contact surprised Nesta so much that she did not have the time to order herself to flinch.

“I’ll see you later,” Cassian said, after he had stared into her eyes for a little too long. “If you need me, get one of the guards to send a messenger to Swallow’s Ridge. I’ll come back.”

They both knew Nesta would not ask for him, but she nodded to indicate that she had heard before he shot into the sky. Nesta watched him until he faded into the clouds, his dark wings merging with grey…

A flash of ruby flared like lightning, and then he was gone.

The weather was moody — Nesta’s favourite — and the rolling white and smoke clouds made her emotions spark in a way that she found comforting as she continued up the path. Despite her initial hesitancy, Nesta had learnt that for the most part, it was better to feel than to feel nothing at all. And now… all she could feel was where Cassian’s calloused thumb had brushed over her skin. She wondered if the bastard had done it on purpose to distract her — to make her feel when now was a time when she’d usually retreat into herself.

It irritated her beyond belief that it worked, but it irked her more that she wanted him to do it again.

Females dipped their heads at Nesta in greeting as she submerged herself into the bustling widows camp. Nesta nodded back at them, and when she found the least battered tent at the East side of the camp, Nesta rapped her knuckled on the canvas to alert Mas to her arrival before she ducked quickly inside. The housekeeper’s face lit up at the sight of her. Mas had been winding a thick scarf around Roksana’s neck, but she stopped the task to take Nesta’s face in her hands and plant two quick kisses on each cheek before she hurried off to help the other females in the makeshift kitchens.

“Tiya, sunt tibi beni?” Nesta asked Roksana when they were alone, smoothing a hand over the girl’s tangled hair before she continued to wind the scarf around the youngling.

Roksana did not reply, she only wrapped her arms around Nesta’s legs in a hug that warmed Nesta’s blood.

It was a recent development that Nesta had taken to greeting Roksana in Illyrian, hoping to coax out some words in her in her native tongue. It hadn’t worked yet, but the way in which Roksana’s eyes had lit up the first time Nesta had tried to sound out the language, had left Nesta determined to persist, even if she continued to come up empty.

The chores in the widows camp were never-ending. Tuesdays were many of the females day off and so the camp was far busier than usual. Nesta helped to feed and clothe the orphans with Durkhanai at the Eastern side of the camp, before urging the younglings to warm their wings and frozen limbs by the campfire.

Some of the older widows, including Mas, had come to settle by the fire as well, in order to keep an eye on the younglings whilst they weaved beautiful fabric together with needle and thread. Braving the fire, Nesta settled with Roksana against her side and recounted a few stories, until the spitting became too much and the sun was high in the sky.

Then, without thinking, Nesta stood. She ran a hand over Roksana’s hair and bid Mas goodbye, before heading to the path that traversed up the mountain to the summit at the Western point of the camp. She ignored the way in which Mas had watched her go, her expression concerned to the point of troubled. There was no way in which Mas could know what Nesta was about to do — Nesta had not told anyone about her potential meeting with her sister — but Mas had come to learn her moods just as Cassian had.

If Nesta was more forthcoming about herself, she might have asked Mas’s advice, but instead Nesta continued to move on instinct — on the pull that was drawing her legs to climb up, up, up until the path flattened out.

She saw Feyre as soon as she reached the peak. It was not hard to spot her. She was standing at the precipice, staring down at the widows camp below. Despite the long braid that had woven her sister’s golden brown hair into three strands, the fierce wind carried it behind her, highlighting the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the slight upwards slant to her eyes. Her long, elegant figure was swept up in the finest fur-lined leathers, as if she too had unwittingly dressed to expect a battle. Or, Nesta thought grimly, the clothing that her mate had insisted she wear, knowing that her sister was not only braving the Illyrian weather but her thorny, quarrelsome sister.

Nesta had just noted the sword strapped to her spine, when Feyre turned and noticed her.

There was a pregnant pause as eyes near identical to her own took in Nesta’s figure: her frost-kissed skin rather than sunken cheeks; the loose braid rather than the tight crown; the figure-hugging leathers rather than the drab, over-sized dresses. A far cry to when Feyre had seen her last, Nesta could admit that much.

“You came,” Feyre said eventually.

Nesta angled her chin, ready to spar.

“I come here every morning,” she replied coldly. “I’d assume that’s why you were advised to suggest here as a meeting point.”

There was no added insult for Cassian. No bat, no bastard, no scathing him. Even so, Nesta couldn’t bring herself to say his name. It felt too intimate — too much of a giveaway that she no longer hated him with such raging intensity she wanted to shatter things.

That was not to say that Cassian did not make her want to break things now… He did, but it was rarely from anger. Rather, it was in the way that he would look at her — in the way that no one else dared — as if she were wholly unbreakable and he had no qualms about closing the distance and pinning her between a wall and the muscled cords of his body.

The tension was rising between them — it had been for a while — and it hung thick and heavy in the air, so much so that at times Nesta found it hard to breathe.

And the worst thing was that Nesta felt herself giving in; melting into the temptation and scent of him, even when she knew that every sensation he pulled from her was a veiled disguise. An illusion. Not of choice but of a decision already made, whereby they were both playing out what was destined for them.

Yet, despite that knowledge, Nesta couldn’t deny that the thought of Cassian speaking of her to the Inner Circle opened the fetid wound that had been falsely healing inside of her. It seeped ruby through the cracks in her wall of ice, like blood tainting the purest snow.

In Nesta’s mouth, she tasted copper.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Feyre repeated, her voice disbelieving as she shook her head.

“I can leave as quickly as I came,” Nesta threatened, her face stony and impenetrable.

To her surprise, Feyre didn’t retaliate or sigh. She only looked down at the view in the fearless way anyone with wings could on a deadly precipice.

“That rock looks like a tombstone,” Feyre observed.

Nesta did not move from her position at the top of the path. Instead, she remained rooted to the spot in case she decided to make a quick exit. Nesta suspected that moment might come sooner than later. Already she felt rubbed raw, her hackles raised, her body primed to fight, yet she kept her face impassive as she followed her sister’s gaze.

Far above them, three warriors flew across the sky. Their bodies were black dots against the grey backdrop, and Nesta watched silver glint off one of them as a gap between the clouds exposed the sun’s rays. Nesta wished she was with them rather than here. Maybe Cassian was right, she was not ready for this. She was not ready to face the ghosts that haunted her… the ghosts that Feyre unwittingly brought with her.

“It’s the widows camp,” Nesta told Feyre coldly, trying to swallow down the urge to run.

Feyre cut a sideways glance at her. “You were there this morning?”

Nesta rose her chin. “Are you asking me that because you’ve been spying on me or because your faithful informant has been telling you how I spend my day?”

Feyre blew out a breath that Nesta dissected as a method of steadying the rising temper they both shared. “I arrived early. Cassian doesn’t like to speak of you to me.”

Surprise flared inside of Nesta so sharp that for a second she couldn’t breathe. She had always thought Cassian loyal to Feyre first and foremost. Had always thought he would choose his High Lady over her lowly, cruel sister, despite the things he had said that had insinuated otherwise.

But Nesta kept her expression blank as she asked, “And I suppose that makes you angry?”

The way Feyre shook her head was tormented. “No, he — it has made me realise some truths — of how I have failed you, Nesta.”

The concession was not packaged how Nesta had been expecting it, so she did not speak. Feyre had turned to look at her. Her irises were the exact same as Nesta’s own, yet not half as steely. Out of the three of them, she and Feyre were the most similar; both in looks and personality.

Nobody was as lovely as Elain, she and Feyre had learnt that long ago.

Just once, Feyre rang her hands before they fell uselessly at her sides. It betrayed her as nervous.

“I don’t know if I ever told you the full story of what happened to me Under the Mountain,” Feyre started. She tore her gaze from Nesta’s to stare out at the sky. “Afterwards, I… things were very difficult. I had nightmares every night of those I had killed and I couldn’t keep any food down. I barely slept and I felt heavy all of the time, as if I were wading through mud. I hated being confined so much so that when Tamlin locked me in the house the Night Court saved me because I threw the entirety of it into darkness. Even once I was in Velaris, there was no light, only dark, and I could barely feel… Sometimes I went days of feeling nothing and I had this... power inside of me that I didn’t know how to use.”

Feyre turned back to look at Nesta. Her expression was grave, as if she were tunnelling too far into herself, into a part of her that she did not like to bring back to the surface.

Nesta had seen the look many times before, in the reflection of Cassian and Mas’s eyes, as they stared concernedly at her.

“I’m not telling you this with the intention of making you feel sorry for me,” Feyre said quietly. She had stepped closer to Nesta without realising. Nesta had been too preoccupied with that haunted look. “The reason I’m telling you this is because despite everything I went through and the people who helped me, I didn’t truly stop to realise that you were going through something similar after the war. I should have seen what was happening with you, Nesta, and tried to truly understand what you needed, but I didn’t. I could try to better myself by saying that everything was so busy during and after the war that I was too distracted, but really that’s just an excuse for my behaviour. I thought Illyria would give you a change of scenery away from…everything.”

Nesta’s snort was harsh. “You thought to throw me into a war camp so I could escape the memory of what happened in the war?”

Feyre’s wince was visible and Nesta watched her sister pinch the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t—” Feyre started, but then she trailed off with a shake of her head, as if she wished to start again. “Nesta, I’m sorry for sending you here. I was so worried that you would destroy yourself and so I did something drastic—”

“I am not yours to control,” Nesta snarled. “You summoned me like I was dirt on the bottom of your shoe. You banished me in front of half of your precious Inner Circle with no regard to how I was suffering. You humiliated me not as my sister but as High Lady and that is unforgivable.”

Fire raged inside of Nesta at the memory, so bright that she knew mist was seeping threateningly from her fingers. Feyre cast an alarmed look to her hands as Nesta stepped closer, as if she were expecting her sister to blast her off the mountain.

“You say you don’t like small spaces,” Nesta continued with quiet fervour. “Have you considered what it is like for me? To be banished somewhere where I cannot fly away? Have you considered that I too was trapped when I was kidnapped and thrown into a Cauldron to be remade against my will? And when I told you I could not bare to sit in the tub — when I gave you a piece of myself — you did not truly listen. Instead you trapped me into another life that has been chosen for me.”

Another step forwards, so close that Nesta could feel the warmth coming from her sister’s skin. “I am sorry for what you endured Under the Mountain. I am sorry for making your life miserable when we were younger, but I am not sorry for how I chose to deal with my trauma.”

Feyre’s skin turned so pale her freckles looked like they had been painted on with the tip of a paintbrush. “Nesta—”

But Nesta was not finished. Now she had started, she couldn’t stop. The words poured forth as easily as fire wanted to flow from her fingertips. “Have you considered that I have never had control over any aspect of my life — that I have always been told what to do and how to behave?”

That fateful finger was out now, stabbing the air between them. Feyre took a step backwards as if Nesta had prodded her in the chest. Silver sparked in the air between them, a promise of what would undoubtedly come.

“I fought in the war,” Nesta continued with quiet fury. “I killed the King and changed the course of history. I tried to show you that I was sorry for how I had treated you through my actions. I tried to earn forgiveness, to try and make up for what I had done wrong. Yet you and your mate did not see my actions as worthy. And when I told you I did not want to be controlled by you, you banished me somewhere with somebody I could not stand to be around, as if I wasn’t your sister but a troublesome subject.”

Taking that final step, Nesta closed the distance between she and Feyre. Feyre did not back away again. Instead, Nesta watched a tear roll down Feyre’s cheek with a chilled sort of fury, and with quiet fervour, said, “Well, I have news for you, sister. I am untameable and I do not answer to anybody but myself.”

Horror coursed through Nesta’s insides, the sensation interwoven with the scent of lilac and pear. Feyre’s hands came to cover her face and a sob coursed through the mountain landscape, so sharp it was as if it were her sister’s last breath. “I didn’t want you to die. I thought you were going to drink yourself to death, Nesta. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Seeing her sister cry hurt, but being understood hurt more. So Nesta ploughed on; the words escaping as if they had been scrabbling to get out for a long, long time, “You once asked me why I pushed everyone away but Elain — why I pushed you away. Well, here’s your answer High Lady: you never needed me. I lost you long ago, as soon as mother told you that I was unsuitable to look out for my younger sisters and that you were the only one up for the task.”

Nesta hadn’t thought it possible for Feyre to turn paler, but she had. Her skin looked as if it had been leeched of life. As Nesta said the words, she knew they were unfair. Her younger self had projected anger onto Feyre rather than taint the dying mother who Nesta had always tried so hard to please.

A silence stretched out between them that was so taut and angry, Nesta had to resist the urge to throw her hands to the sky until it was burning mercury. Instead, she kept her power inside, wanting to feel the ferocious thrum of it in her blood, at the pulse in her neck which was hammering as if it were trying to escape.

“Is that why—” Feyre started, but a sound had Nesta throwing up a finger to stop her, because she had heard something on the wind which had made her blood freeze.

For a moment… nothing. Then on the wind came familiar, high pitched laughter that sent chills down Nesta’s spine. It was a sound that she had hoped to never hear again, yet it was unmistakable — clear as day.

“No,” Nesta breathed, whirling round to stare down the mountain path. Through the misty clouds, Nesta could make out nothing but the dark shape of the tombstone, but she knew that sound. She would never forget that sound, not as long as she lived.

“What is it?” Feyre demanded.

“Be quiet,” Nesta snapped.

Laughter came again. It skittered up the craggy rock, followed by snarling and snapping teeth.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Nesta moaned, running to ledge that Feyre had been standing at previously, which gave an unhindered view of the widows camp. And through the foggy clouds, Nesta saw them. Sloping four-legged figures on the western perimeter of the widows camp, slinking through the shadows. Too many of them. Nesta had no idea how they had gotten there, why they would have ventured somewhere so populated…

“What is it?” Feyre demanded again, running to Nesta’s side so she too could look over the mountain. “Oh Gods,” Feyre breathed. “The females. The children. Nesta, what are they—”

But Nesta was not listening. She was running before she had time to think, her feet digging into the stone as she tore her way to the mountain path that zagged its way down to the widows camp.

“Move,” she barked over her shoulder. The command was biting but Feyre did not hesitate, tearing after her sister as if it were second nature.

Nesta had only reached the first bend with Feyre hot on her heels when the first scream pierced through the clouds. Power leapt within Nesta, and then her mind went loose as it went taut… as Nesta reached within herself, into her veins where that magic hummed hello… ready. And Nesta did not push it away. Instead, she brushed against it in greeting, just as she had done when she had worn Cassian’s siphon, in the moment before she bended it to her will. And then her fingers were curling around the pommel of a longsword made entirely of breathing, silver flame.

She clutched on to it, the weapon so much an extension of herself that she did not have to worry about it falling from her grasp. The rest of the descent passed in a blur of moving rock, as she and Feyre skidded on loose stone and slushy ice, and the screams… they kept coming. Again and again. Panic and terror so palpable they pierced through Nesta’s emotional shields, each agonised sound stabbing through her, her power leaping to meet it, pushing beneath her skin, desperate to get out…

Together, she and Feyre plunged into the fray. Crowds of female were stampeding towards them, desperate to get to safety, to reach the only path that led down to the safety of the main camp.

And amongst them… kerits. So many of them chittering and snarling, their long, pointed teeth snapping and tearing as they leapt at the defenceless females with the intent of feasting on their flesh. Nesta slashed at them with her sword, fire sizzling through fur and flesh, her body moving independently of her brain as it fell into a killing dance.

Feyre had not drawn her sword from her back, instead she wielded ice from her palms, and spears of it wove their way through the air like arrowheads, plunging themselves into moving bodies of spotted fur. Nesta just had time to see the body of a kerit slump to the floor, its body impaled by ice, to reveal a female cowering against the canvas of her tent. The female’s face was ashen and disbelieving as she stared at the sloping bodies that had fallen before her at the will of Feyre’s magic. At the trail of limbs and guts scattered around her, belonging to the female who they had not been in time to save… But then another kerit was leaping at Nesta, and Nesta did not have time to think, only react as she plunged her sword into it’s belly. It fell by her feet with a sharp cry, black blood spilling on the rocky ground. Nesta did not pause to consider the bloodshed or how her feet slipped in it as she continued to run, she only raised her free hand to the sky again, desperately blazing silver into the clouds, hoping that it would be enough to alert the camp below of the attack.

Already Nesta knew that there were too many kerits for she and Feyre to fight off themselves… Already there had been casualties. And still, the orphans were huddled at the Eastern-point of the camp with nobody to protect them…

It was that thought that had Nesta pressing on. Kerits leapt at she and Feyre before they realised that they had chosen the wrong pray, and Nesta sliced and jabbed with her fire-breathing steel, relishing in the beasts dying screams and savouring the sobs of the widows, which brought solace in the knowledge that they were alive and momentarily safe.

All went eerily quiet as Nesta and Feyre reached the towering tomb of rock and the makeshift canteen surrounding it. The stampede of females had petered out, and Nesta hoped it was because most of them had managed to escape down the mountain pass, rather than because they had fallen victims to the kerits. Her gut twisted at the thought… as she thought of Mas, Roksana and the other orphans who had been tucked away against the mountain wall at the Eastern side of the camp… a dead end.

If the kerits had managed to corner them… it would be a massacre.

Another lurch of her stomach as Nesta surveyed the benches and tables that had been strewn across the stone floor. Beside one of the upturned benches lay the twisted body of the elderly cook with crooked teeth — the female who insisted on feeding Nesta each morning, even when Nesta told her that she had already eaten breakfast. The cook’s tan skin was covered in claw and tooth marks, her body bloody and brutalised in such a horrific way that Nesta knew there was not a glimmer of life left in the female.

It must have been a horrible way to die.

Biting back a sob, Nesta closed her fingers around her sister’s arm, needing Feyre to understand that in this moment, she did not care if she died; she only cared that she could protect the defenceless females before she fell.

“The orphans,” Nesta urged to Feyre, pointing towards the Eastern side of the camp and the screams that were being tossed away on the wind. “They’re at the East side of the camp. There’s no way out.”

Nesta did not dare say the name Roksana or Mas. Could not voice what she was terrified of… That something could have already happened to the Illyrian’s she had come to care for so deeply.

Nesta tried to push away the thought of how Roksana had clung to her that morning… of how her small fingers had grabbed onto her legs in a clumsy hug. Nesta tried not to think about how Mas had kissed her in greeting; her weathered palm patting lightly against Nesta’s cheek in that motherly way of hers that always made her feel unconditionally accepted and loved.

The boom of wings sounded across the mountain pass, and then different coloured lights started to flash as siphons were willed into action, warriors finally landing in the camp to fight off the beasts. Nesta spotted Ragar and his friends, Devlon, guards on patrol, but then Feyre’s hands came to rest on her arms, pulling her attention away.

Nesta stared at her sister — at the white face streaked with blood which was set in grim determination, even as they heard the rising screams.

“Let’s go,” Feyre said, those two words sparking more respect in Nesta than any of their tense exchange at the top of the mountain.

And then they were running again, both of them throwing magic from their palms, taking out a gang of kerits who had leapt between the tents. Nesta swung her longsword of silver fire with her left-hand just as a kerit jumped in front of Feyre, attacking from seemed like nowhere.

Black blood streaked hot across Nesta’s face as her sword sizzled through muscle and sinew, but she ignored the wailing screams of the dying beast, turning only to make sure her sister was alive and unharmed.

Feyre’s eyes were wide, her heartbeat as frantic as a hummingbird in Nesta’s ears. “Thanks,” Feyre breathed, panting desperately for breath. Then she pointed to the direction they had been heading — to the Eastern-most point where Nesta had left Roksana and Mas that morning. “There are lots of warriors up ahead.”

Together they dodged the crowds and beams of coloured light. To Nesta’s relief, the huddled figures on the floor seemed to mainly consist of spotted fur, the Illyrian males clearly having arrived in time to prevent a massacre. But still Nesta ran, not realising how her lungs were heaving for breath or the burn in her thighs as she weaved through lifeless bodies and crying females, heading towards the smoke that wafted up from the dying camp fire — the place she had left Roksana and Mas what felt like mere minutes ago.

It was not how she had left it.

In front of her, metres before the campfire, lay Durkhanai’s bloody body. Her eyes were open and unseeing, her pupils green and mesmerising even in death… her spirit already well departed from the world. And a foot away from her…

“No.”

The sound that tore from Nesta was agony. It ripped from her chest — from deep, deep inside that locked cage as it cracked.

Nesta’s boots slipped through guts and gore, but she did not care. In her periphery, Nesta saw limbs and the unseeing eyes of the females who had flung themselves in the paths of the beasts, as if they had willingly lay themselves on the pyre to put the lives of the orphans before themselves.

Nesta did not feel the blinding pain that should have splintered through her as she fell to her knees on the grey rock. Because in front of her was Mas. She was lying on the floor and her wings — her scarred and battered wings — were in tatters. Her stomach was oozing with blood, deep claw marks raked through raw flesh.

And beside her was Roksana, her face and clothes covered in bright scarlet blood. Her small, precious hands buried deep in Mas’s gut, holding in the punctured intestines that were trailing out of her body; as if they had been dragged out by long, pointed teeth…

The little girl stared up at Nesta, her dark eyes blown wide in shock. Around them, the anguished cries and screams of agony went quiet, Nesta’s ears drowning out all noise but the croak that came from the youngling’s mouth. “Help,” she said, those little hands sliding on intestines and blood as it leaked through her fingers. “Help.”

“No,” Nesta repeated again, the word cracking out of her as she surveyed the damage that was too severe for an Illyrian to remedy. “No, no, no.”

Her hands slipped in hot blood as she pressed her own palms over Mas’s gaping wounds. The housekeeper’s breath rattled, the sound terrible and wringing with what Nesta knew was unimaginable pain. Mas’s face was grey — as if already it had been drained of life; as if the end had been written and there was no avoiding it.

Fingers grasped at Nesta’s but the Illyrian’s eyes did not open, even as her eyelids flickered — the movement asking too much of her body. They slipped against Nesta’s as they moved through her own ruby blood.

“You will not die,” Nesta told Mas fiercely, her eyesight blinded by tears. A silver tear rolled down Nesta’s cheek and fell onto their clasped hands… into the open, gaping wound. “You will not. Do you hear me?”

Only silence answered as Mas’s body went slack. Her chest rattling one last time before it stopped moving all together.

When the housekeeper’s fingers fell away from Nesta’s own, everything went still.

“Nesta.”

A hand was on her shoulder — Feyre — but Nesta did not feel or care for it. Someone had pulled Roksana away into the safety of their arms — away from the dead body with its departing soul. Deep inside of Nesta, the scent of roasted chestnuts and wood shavings began to fade, as if it had been caught in the wind and was about to be tossed away.

“No.”

That same word again, but this time it came with weight behind it. Defiance. Anger. Heartbreak. All her own, and yet piling on top of that, layer by layer, was every painful emotion and memory of loss that had been imprinted on the stone over the years, from the widows that had come before and had suffered unimaginably.

Something turned inside of Nesta, her magic flipping as if someone had turned a key in a lock to reveal not silver but white… A pure, snow white light that seeped from her fingertips, singing with gentle promise rather than destruction.

“No,” Nesta said.

That word again, but this time deadly calm.

Still.

Who do you want to be, Nesta?

Cassian’s words from the day before sounded in her head. At the time she had not known the answer, but now, her path had never been clearer.

Raising her steady blood-stained hands to hover over Mas’s wounds, Nesta let that icy wall protecting her emotions fall away inside of her. It crashed down around her like a dam whose gates had been opened, her emotions running like rampant and wild rapids, rushing into her blood and down strands of interwoven rope. Her power vibrated with a controlled energy and then that white light glowed, shining from her palms.

It was so bright that Nesta had to close her eyes to protect herself from the sheer brilliance of her power as it poured forth.

She did not need to look at Mas’s body to bear witness to her healing. Did not need to watch the housekeeper’s wounds knit themselves back together, as if someone were turning back time in slow motion.

She just knew.

And in that moment, Nesta also knew exactly who she was supposed to be, even as her body started to hurt.

Two weaving components, bound together as surely as a rope plaited with two complementing strands.

Protector.

Healer.

That was who Nesta was.

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arin1030-blog @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @hatemecozuaintme @lovelynesta @heymelphs @nestable @darkshadowqueensrule @nestalytical @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794​ @thalia-2-rose @swankii-art-teacher

#acosf #acomaf #acowar #acotar #nessian #nessianfic #nesta x cassian #nestaarcheron #cassian #fanfiction #embersandlightfic

[tickle-bugs]

Wrestling With Love

Summary: Tahani catches Jason and Eleanor wrestling for the last Hot Pocket and has no idea how to react. Eleanor picks up on her out-of-character awkwardness and decides to help in her own way.

Anon: I love you’re writing! It’s exactly the lightheartedness we need right now! If you’re up for it, could you do one for The Good Place where Eleanor tries to get Tahani to loosen up and let her know that she doesn’t always have to be prim and proper if she doesn’t want to? Growing up in a less than affectionate family, the concept of horseplay and tickling is very foreign to Tahani, and Eleanor is happy to show her that she can be both and elegant lady and a giggling mess whenever she wants

Eleanor skidded into the kitchen, her cactus-print socks slipping frantically across the hardwood. She’d heard the ultimate transgression taking place in her own home, an unfathomable crime that only one man would have the audacity to commit.

“Mendoza.”

“Hi, Eleanor!” Jason waved.

“Unhand the Hot Pocket.” Eleanor pointed an accusatory finger and strode forward. Jason continued to tear open the package. 

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s mine!” 

“But it’s in the kitchen?”

“Exactly. My kitchen. Which means it’s mine.”

“But I don’t see your name on it. Aren’t you supposed to write your name on it?” Jason turned it over in his hands, earnestly searching for Eleanor’s name. She knew he was being genuine, in his sweet, dumb, way, but that was so obviously a challenge. 

“Last chance!” Eleanor made a show of stretching and bouncing around. 

“No.”

“...no?” Eleanor stopped.

“I found it, so it’s mine. Florida rules.” He nodded, as if the rule made sense.

“We’re not in Florida.”

“We’re not?” Jason’s eyes widened and he clutched the Hot Pocket in fear. 

“I—okay. Last last chance. Hand over the Hot Pocket or I’ll be forced to unleash my wrath.” The threat came out more like an elongated sigh as Eleanor pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Let’s wrestle for it! That’s how I used to settle things with Pillboi!”

“Alright, but I have to warn you, I will probably kill you.” Eleanor assumed a vaguely karate-like pose, but it looked more like she had a leg cramp she couldn’t shake off. 

“You may try,” Jason beamed.

“3, 2-”

Eleanor took off, launching herself at Jason with a war cry. He toppled over with an armful of angry, writhing blonde. He maneuvered her beneath him, sprawling over her like a weird throw blanket, and she could feel the air slowly being pushed out of her. A classic move, but no match for an Arizona dirtbag. Eleanor employed her personal favorite technique: poke until the person quits.

She jabbed Jason in the arms and shoulders, delighting in the little grunts of pain he made. One of her pokes caught his ribs and he squeaked, slapping her hand away.

“Oh?” Eleanor smirked, poking him again. A giggle slipped past his lips before he could stop it. 

“Tickling is cheating!” Jason whined, rolling off of her and trying to protect his torso. She followed him, and when a pinch to his side made him laugh outright, she lit up.

“I don’t think so, bud. It’s not my fault you’re ticklish.” She wormed her hands past his arms and wriggled her fingers into his stomach. Jason fell into giggles, kicking his legs, but still held tight to the Hot Pocket. 

That was alright. He’d give it to her eventually. 

“Eleanor!”

“Yes? I’m listening.” She buried her hands under his arms and he squealed, trying to shove her away with one hand. He held the Hot Pocket as far out of her reach as possible, but his arm was shaking, and it was only a matter of time before he handed her the prize. 

“What are you two doing?” Tahani poked her head around the corner before coming to hover in the doorway. 

“I’m absolutely destroying Jason in a tickle fight.” Eleanor grinned down at him, just a smidge drunk with power. 

“Why?” 

“Because I want the last Hot Pocket.” Eleanor furrowed her brow. 

“Couldn’t you talk things out? Reach a diplomatic agreement for both parties?” Tahani flinched when Jason squealed again. Eleanor’s fingers searched for a surrender under his arms, and it was only a matter of time until he gave in. Was the Hot Pocket easily accessible with the way Jason had curled up? Yes, but it was about the moral victory. 

Chidi would be proud. Probably. 

“Tahani, babe, there is no peaceful way to decide who gets the last Hot Pocket. It always ends in blood—or in Jason’s case, laughter.” Eleanor wiggled her fingers in the air over him, giving him another chance to willingly surrender, but he flipped the two of them over and grabbed hold of Eleanor’s knee. 

“Hey! Tahani, hehelp!” 

“Jason, cut it out. Release her at once.” Tahani assumed her ‘stern voice’ and straightened her posture. Jason didn’t even blink in her direction. 

“What’s the magic word?” Jason sang, pinching at Eleanor’s knee like there was no tomorrow. 

“Please?”  Tahani tried. 

“Nope! It’s hot wings.” Jason beamed.

“That’s...two words. It also isn’t much of a password if you just tell me the answer.” Tahani raised an eyebrow. Jason hooked his fingers behind Eleanor’s knee and she kicked, muffling her frantic laughter in her hands. 

“Okay, try and guess the new password.” 

“Is it—Is it hot wings, again?” Tahani chuckled.

“Yep!”

“I’m dying!” Eleanor wheezed, pushing her heels along the floor to scoot away. Hot Pocket forgotten, Jason pulled her back and tickled her stomach, laughing along with her. Jason wiggled his fingers in the air before darting down to squeeze her sides, and growls permeated her next set of giggles at the role-reversal. 

“Do you wanna help?” Jason gently pulled Tahani’s hand until she kneeled next to Eleanor.

“N-No! No helping!” Eleanor pointed a shaky finger at the two of them. Jason rolled his eyes and affixed his hands to her ribs, giggling at the way she would try to curl up. Tahani experimentally ran her nails over Eleanor’s knee and she yelped.

Oh?

Tahani scooted over, brow furrowed in concentration, and hiked Eleanor’s leg into her lap. Her fingers skimmed curiously over the denim, dancing in various swirls and lines to pull the sweetest music from Eleanor. It felt like learning guitar after learning to play piano--you knew all the sounds, but your fingers would trip when met with strings, rather than keys. 

She knew what tickling was, of course, but to enact it? Her only reference points were films and Jason’s guidance. With the way Eleanor was cackling, though, it seemed like she was doing a decent job. 

“Counterattack!” Eleanor squeaked, reaching up to quickly tickle Tahani’s stomach. Tahani made a tiny noise of surprise and flinched away, hands flying to cover her face. When the attack didn’t persist, she slowly peeked through the gaps in her fingers to find Jason and Eleanor staring, wide-eyed. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She silently cursed the obvious waver in her voice, but the way her friends were watching her was downright terrifying. She immediately got the sense that no stern voice would get her out of whatever she just stumbled into. 

“My dear, sweet, giraffe. Have you been holding out on me?” Eleanor scooted close with an objectively evil grin. 

“Sorry?”

“You will be.” Eleanor pulled Tahani close, scribbling experimentally at her stomach. Tahani peeped--quite literally peeped--and wrinkled her nose with a smile. 

“For the record, you’re infuriatingly adorable,” Eleanor grinned, wriggling her fingers into Tahani’s sides. She yelped and fell into loud, melodic laughter, eyes wide as if startled by her own volume. Air fled her lungs far faster than she could replenish it, and she snorted around her next batch of giggles. 

“Do that again.” Eleanor’s hands stilled. 

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?” Eleanor looked at her so earnestly that Tahani’s breath caught in her throat. If Kamilah--or worse, her parents--had heard her make a noise like that, she’d be the laughingstock of every event for months afterward. But Eleanor didn’t have the sneer that her family usually wore, only an amused smile and soft, genuine eyes. 

“Even if I wanted to, I can’t just...do it on command.” Tahani averted her eyes, cheeks pink, but she could still feel Eleanor’s piercing gaze on the side of her face. 

“Oh, I can help with that.” Eleanor started up again, much more gentle than she was with Jason, and with each twitch of her fingers she asked an unspoken question. Each pause between scribbles and waves of pokes inquired if Tahani wanted to stop, but...she didn’t. Eleanor’s playful attitude was so contagious that it inspired Tahani to not self-destruct when she snorted again and again, like a giggly, broken record. 

“I wish you’d laugh like this more often,” Eleanor sighed, pained, but she didn’t relent--she just kept giving Tahani little windows to flee. She just gripped Eleanor’s wrists and laughed with reckless abandon. 

“I really shouldn’t--Eleanor!” 

“Why not?”

“I-It isn’t--” Tahani’s voice got stuck on her laughter before her barely-coherent sentence had the chance to leave her mouth. Every time she tried to speak, more giggles and titters floated out of her in place of words. 

“I have no idea what you were gonna say, but the fact that you couldn’t finish means it didn’t matter. Besides, there’s no need for, like, a presidential speech. Normal people laugh, Tahani.”

“I’m not normal!” That wasn’t all that she’d intended to say, but all her coherent thoughts were fighting and losing against another round of snort-filled laughter. 

“Are you kidding? The only thing not normal about you is how cute your laugh is! You sound like a princess! Ignoring how angry that makes me, you are as normal as anyone else.” Eleanor squeezed her sides and Tahani squealed, then groaned. Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh with her. 

“Noooo,” Tahani whined, hiding her face in her hands. 

“Yes. I bet even the Queen of England has snorted once. You can be all snooty-” she dragged out the ‘o’ while poking Tahani’s stomach- “and have fun.”

“I promise that there’s nothing unladylike about making your friends laugh. It’s the only skill on my resume, which makes me a professional, which also means that you have to listen to me.” Eleanor tugged Tahani’s hands away from her face and brushed her hair away from her eyes. 

“Repeat after me. I, Tahani Al-Jamil…” Eleanor raised her right hand. Tahani just watched her with a silly smile until Eleanor rolled her eyes and raised Tahani’s hand for her. 

“I, Tahani Al-Jamil….”

“....have the world’s cutest laugh.” Eleanor beamed. 

“I am not saying that.” Tahani tried to cover her bashfulness with an indignant huff, but the grin on her face undermined her attempts. 

“Well, it’ll be a lot harder to say laughing, but I respect your desire for a challenge.” Eleanor nestled her fingers just behind Tahani’s ears, taking her by surprise. Before she could even hope to fortify her composure, she crumpled into Eleanor’s arms. High-pitched, screamy giggles erupted from her poorly covered face as she tried to turtle her way to safety. 

“Alright, my laugh is c-cute! Cut it out already!” She swatted in the general vicinity of Eleanor’s hands but she missed every time. Eleanor slowed down, smoothing and tucking Tahani’s hair with light fingers just to hear a few more whispers of laughter.

The crinkle of a wrapper shattered the mirth-charged air, and two pairs of eyes turned to watch Jason dispose of the Hot Pocket packaging. The empty Hot Pocket packaging, to be exact. 

“I was hungry.” Jason shrugged, completely oblivious to the murderous look in Eleanor’s eyes. Tahani could feel the simmering rage emanating from her, and if it wasn’t for the familiar way that Eleanor’s fingers were twitching, Tahani would have feared for Jason’s life.

She still did, but it was less likely that Eleanor would have the patience to kill him with laughter versus, well, a stranglehold. 

“Tahani--”

“On it.” Tahani helped Eleanor to her feet. Jason’s eyes widened and he bolted, already giggling, with his friends hot on his heels.

#my fics #the good place #ticklish!eleanor #ticklish!jason #ticklish!tahani #Eleanor Shellstrop #jason mendoza #Tahani Al-Jamil

[heroloverangel]

Subterfuge

aka “What’s a flimsy excuse for a plot to fuck Hawks again?”

Note: This does have minor spoilers that’ll probably be at the start of season 5, if anyone wants to avoid them!

This isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself in front of a certain hero’s home, knocking as loud as you can without disturbing his neighbors. “Come on, open up. You know they don’t pay me overtime!” You bang impatiently on the door again, complaining to yourself about how this was supposed to be your day off, and you’ve wasted half of it trying to track down this overgrown chicken, and your boss at the Hero Public Safety Commission can fuck right off if she thinks-

“Thinks what?” The door finally opens, revealing the lazy smirk of the number two hero. “She can’t be too mad if she sent the cute secretary.” He winks and you roll your eyes, trying to ignore the usual flutter of butterflies in your stomach. It’s not your fault that he’s a shameless flirt. You push past him into his apartment and Hawks follows you, chatting happily about his day.

He apologizes that he didn’t see your messages, but the place definitely looks like it’s been hastily cleaned by someone expecting company. You leave your shoes and drop down on his couch, pulling his missing paperwork out of your bag and he slouches next to you, looking far too cheerful considering all the trouble he’s given you. “Here,” you shove the folder at him. “These are the updated regulations on payments for commercials.” The hero takes them from you, yawns, and stretches his arm across your side of the couch. “You were supposed to sign it two weeks ago.”

He laughs and offers you a shrug. “Guess I just lost track of time.” His wings twitch, and out of the corner of your eye you notice something that looks like a very small camera attached to his feather. His arm slips down to stretch across your shoulder, and you feel a tingle at the spot where his fingers touch your bare skin once you activate your quirk.

Your power isn’t good enough to be a hero, but it’s certainly useful for the Commission. You have a minor form of mind reading; when you make contact with someone, you’re able to ask simple questions in their mind and hear their answer in your own brain. It’s taken you quite a few years to figure out how to phrase anything into a yes or no question, but Hawks picked up on the rules of your quirk almost instantly. It comes in handy at times like this, when a flimsy excuse about work brings you together to share information about the villains he’s infiltrating.

Are they watching? Yes.

Did you know the boss can’t find anything about the leader’s history? No.

Do you have anything for her? Yes.

Should we distract the camera? Yes.

The two of you have a light conversation to hide the one in your heads, but it’s far too easy to fall into his trap and find yourself totally charmed by the hero. You don’t object when the playful words turn into a kiss, and your mouth opens for his tongue with no hesitation. “Babe, you’re so good for me,” he coos, warm breath making you shiver as he nips at your ear. “You know I ignore the Commission sometimes just so you’ll have to come over?”

Even with your quirk, you’re never quite sure how much of his affection is just an act, or if there’s any truth behind his words. “You could just text me like a normal person,” you snort, ruffling his hair and stealing a kiss of your own.

“Now where would the fun be in that?” He’s already tugging at your shirt, and it’s almost embarrassing how fast he gets it off you to trail his lips along your shoulder to the strap of your bra. “You even wore the nice red one for me,” he notices with a smirk. “I bet it’s a matching set.”

“Hey,” you complain, slapping his hand away from the zipper of your pants. “I’m not getting fucked on your couch again. I know how comfy your bed is.” He laughs at you, burying the sound in your neck as he gives a quick, teasing nip at your pulse. Hawks is good at this, and despite your attitude it’s far too tempting to lay back and let him do whatever he wants. Still he agrees, gesturing for you to lead the way while he maneuvers out of his shirt. You look back, and in the brief second the camera on his wing is covered, you see him quickly slip something into your bag.

You’ve never been told to sleep with Hawks as part of your job, simply to do whatever’s necessary to help him share information. The sex is just a bonus, an easy excuse to spend time together, have his hands on you. The fact that it plays right into his reputation as a carefree playboy only makes it more believable.

He’s back on you the moment you get to his bedroom. You’re wrapped in those beautiful wings, his fingers tangling in your hair as he angles your face up for his lips. It’s been a few weeks, and  he’s more eager than usual to get his tongue back in your mouth. For a moment you remember the camera and wonder how good of a view your audience has, but then Hawks is groping at your chest and the thought is quickly forgotten. His fingers slip into your bra and stroke a hardening nipple to earn a moan from the back of your throat.

“I almost wanna keep this on,” he says, slipping a strap off your shoulder. “Too bad you make the best fucking sounds when I’m playing with you.” Your bra is off before you can think of a reply, so instead you busy yourself with trailing your own fingers over his abs and stomach. His muscles twitch at your touch; he plays his role as the smooth lover boy perfectly, but his reaction hints that he’s just as smitten as you are. It feels so quiet and intimate in the cocoon of his wings, you let your hand slip up to palm his cheek and he leans into your touch. He pulls you closer, pressing your bodies together, kissing you deeper until your head is spinning and you have to force yourself to break for air.

Held against him like this, the press of his cock inside his pants is obvious. You reach for him, hoping to tease him a bit but he’s not in the mood to play fair tonight. His wings split apart and you’re disoriented for a moment by the sudden return of brighter light and cooler air. It’s easy for him to walk you backwards until your legs hit the bed and you’re guided onto the familiar mattress.

“This was your plan all day, wasn’t it?”

He laughs. “What, I’m just not supposed to seduce the hot secretary when she makes a house call? Do you know how much porn starts with that exact plot?” He leaves another kiss on your neck while his fingers trail down your sides, skimming over your ribs to work at your zipper. You lift your hips to help him slide your jeans off, and you don’t miss the pleased sigh Hawks makes at the sight of you. “Damn, you look good in red.”

You smile and grab for him. “Get up here.” You don’t need to tell him again; he’s on top of you before you can blink, warm mouth following the line of your collarbone and leaving you panting. Your eyes slip closed to enjoy his attention and he’s rewarded with a sweet, breathy gasp when you feel his touch circling your nipples. You wriggle under him, feeling the rough fabric of his pants on your bare skin as the gentle strokes send shivers down your spine. You’re aware of him shifting his weight above you, hear the jingling of his belt as he yanks off the rest of his clothes and you blink up at him with curiosity. Wait, where are his hands?

“You fucking tease,” you groan, heat rising to your cheeks as two of his soft feathers continue their attack on your breasts. He looks absolutely delighted at your response, watching you squirm with every movement of his quirk. You bite your lip, trying to keep your noises to yourself but you’re tragically outmatched. It only takes him a minute to have you whining for him, arching your back as every light flick of his feathers drives you wild. “Hawks, enough.”

From his position between your legs, you can’t hide the damp spot you know is spreading across your panties. He touches you through the fabric and your hips jerk when he brushes against your clit. His hand slips past your underwear for more, prodding at your pussy to feel how wet you are. “Complain all you want, I can tell how much you love it when I do that.” His fingers find their way inside, and he gives you a pleased hum as your walls squeeze around him. “Oh, sweetheart. You want me that bad, huh?” You nod and swallow loudly, trying to find your voice.

“Looks like you want it just as much,” you point out, very aware of the precum leaking from the tip of his cock in anticipation. He pumps himself for you and you admire him; after all those years of training, his body is practically perfect. By the time he’s pulling your panties off and positioning his perfect dick to enter you, you’re covered in sweat and nearly begging him for it. He sprawls over you, face buried in your neck and in the moment, you know this isn’t an act.

“Ask me nicely.”

You reach up and run your fingers through his messy hair. “Keigo,” your voice is so quiet it’s barely audible. “Come on, fuck me.”

The growl he lets out is more like an animal than any human. “That’s my girl,” he snarls, hips surging forward to push his throbbing dick inside. “That’s my fucking girl.”

Despite the ferocity in his voice, he starts frustratingly slow. Your body’s more than ready for him, and every smooth thrust into your cunt drags another embarrassingly needy sound from you. His mouth is all over you, leaving sloppy kisses across your face and neck. He’s got enough control not to leave obvious marks, even as his teeth nip softly at your skin. Your arms wrap around his strong shoulders, pulling him close to enjoy his own grunts as he buries his cock in your dripping pussy over and over.

“Still mad you had to come over?” You shake your head, too distracted for words. He brushes over your clit and you cry out, your muscles squeeze tight around him at the touch. “God, I never get over how good that feels.”

It’s unfair that he’s just as talented with his fingers as he is with his quirk. He moves faster, rutting deeper into you while his fingers tease your clit to keep you mewling like a cat in heat. “Hawks, don’t...I’m gonna come if you don’t stop.”

His smirk is downright wicked. “That’s what I want, beautiful. Tell me how much you love it.”

He bites down sharply on your throat and his free hand comes up to grope your chest, barely grazing along a sensitive nipple and you’re gone. Your nails sink into his back as you writhe beneath him, squealing for your hero while your cunt twitches wildly around his pulsing cock.

“Fuck, babe. You have no idea how good you look like that.” Your mind is out of service, body running on instinct now to keep up with him. He has no interest in letting you recover, only rutting harder between your thighs to get himself off. “Look at me,” he orders, kissing your sweaty forehead and you meet his eyes after a few seconds. “So pretty,” he murmurs.

You’re content to lay back and let him finish on his own; it’s a surprise when he grabs onto your hips and changes his angle just slightly, but you feel the difference immediately. He’s rubbing against your g-spot with every stroke, and you see stars in your vision. All too soon you’re on the verge of another orgasm and bring him down to whisper praises in his ear. “You’re so good to me. That’s perfect. Keigo, please-” It’s too much for Hawks, and there’s a flurry of motion as he pulls out of you just in time, warm cum splattering across your lower belly. He always loves to see you covered in it, and you wonder if this is some weird bird instinct to mark you with his scent.

You don’t have time to think about it, though. His fingers are slipping back into your now-empty pussy before you can lose the buildup, and his tongue flicks over your clit to force more of those sweet, obscene sounds out of you. He only needs a few seconds of this treatment to have your legs clamped around his head and you’re wailing for him again. He stays there, licking greedily at your cunt until you have to yank at his hair to stop.

Limbs feeling like jelly, you stretch out on his bed to catch your breath. You close your eyes and nearly doze off as you let him clean you up and fix the sheets. You don’t respond until he flops down onto the mattress beside you and one large wing spreads across your body. You look over and he meets your eyes with a faint smile.

“Hey, eventually when I get some free time…” Hawks yawns loudly and puts his arm across your shoulders. You know what he means by that. He’s thinking about some point in the future, when this mission is over and he’s not stuck playing around with villains. Curious, you activate your quirk to read his thoughts. “I wanna take you out on a real date,” he announces.

“Really?” You ask out loud, and the question echoes in your head.

Really? Yes. 

“Definitely.” 

You try to play it cool, but the grin spreading across your face tells him everything. “Yeah, sure. Sounds like fun.” It’s warm underneath his wing. Surely you can afford to spend a bit more time here before you head home. “Hey, Hawks?”

“Mmm?”

“Next time just sign your goddamn papers on time and I’ll fuck you out of sheer gratitude.”

His laugh is tired but genuine. “Deal.”

#lemon #hawks x reader #bnha x reader

[sunshine-shitposts]

A day late, but here's the final part!

(Part 1) (Part 2)

(Tw: more mentions of past spousal abuse)

Dust in the Wind—Part 3

As Catherine and Jotaro exited through the sliding doors, Sunnie paused, heaved a heavy sigh, and walked back into the suite to see Dio lounging on the sofa, swirling a glass of red in his hand. He had dimmed the lights to his preference, the various candles lit around the room casting a warm, flickering glow.

Sunnie, however, seemed drained. Even with the small little flames dancing around her, her eyes were devoid of light, and her lips had settled into a somewhat grim line. Her shoulders had sunk down and she huffed as she moved back into their shared living room.

"That went better than expected," Dio purred, low and playful, "The Jotaro where I'm from is far more terrifying."

"I wouldn't know," she said simply, sinking back onto the deep seated sectional before grabbing her Switch out of her backpack.

"I must say, you did exceptionally well," he licked his lips and watched her, golden eyes glowing strangely in the low light and independently of the flickering candles, "Catherine was right to suggest demonstrating the difference between me and the Dio from here using your…" his eyes grazed over her covered arms and legs, "…situation. But you were a true natural, I must say," he said, lips sliding into a delighted smile, "I'm tempted to wonder if it was, in fact, an act."

"I don't half-ass things," she grunted as she curled up, focusing on the light of the screen in the now darker room and not his piercingly calculating glare.

"I know, my sweet," came a breathy reply as he set his glass down on the side table and slid up next to her, speaking directly into her ear as a large hand reached around to play with her hair, "I know full well that you don't 'half-ass' anything, but I can smell your feelings. Humans are entirely too easy to read." His nose then crinkled. "I also smell that Joestar boy on you, perhaps… too much."

"I actually found him in Dallas and drove him here. He was lost, so I offered him a ride." Her nose twitched, smelling velvety iron on his breath. It was blood tonight, rather than wine. Of course.

"Ah," his response was short. She could tell he still didn't like the idea, didn't like Jotaro Kujo himself. "You're a bit more prickly than normal today, my Sunlight. Did something happen, perhaps?"

"Just some bullshit with him," she growled, sinking further into the plush sofa, his eyes following her movements closely. "He's threatening to tell people about, well, my powers. I know that he wouldn't because it'd probably just make him look crazy, but it's like, the principle of the thing, right? He's just making threats that he'll never follow through with again. He always fucking does this. And he made it clear that if he finds out I'm working with other men, he'll do everything he can to make this divorce as difficult as possible."

Dio scoffed. "I don't know how he thinks he can control that."

"I mean… he can't, really. But he's vindictive."

"Imagine if he found out you were living part-time with another man," he chuckled, and his vision was sharp enough to catch the barely-there upwards twitch of the corners of her mouth.

"He'd lose his fucking mind," she said softly.

There was a short silence, Sunnie playing on her Switch and Dio watching her carefully.

"...You're afraid of him," he said after a while.

She didn't respond.

"You know you don't have to fear him. He is weak, pathetic. A worm, a parasite–"

Sunnie huffed sharply, hands gripping the Switch tightly in her hands. "Listen, Dio, I know. I know I'm stronger than him, I know he's–that he's shit, but…" Her shoulders let loose tension she didn't realize they had. "It's…"

She failed to finish her sentence, her gaze distant and unfocused, and didn't react to a long finger tucking a loose, wispy strand of dark purple hair behind her ear.

"From what you've told me, that man tried to clip your wings for so long. Tried to convince you that you couldn't fly, tried to keep you grounded," he murmured, tilting her chin up and towards him so he could capture her cold eyes with his own, "I can't wait to see you soar, little bird. Because I know you will. You will make an utter fool out of him."

Sunnie inhaled softly, a faint blush dusting her cheeks, but cut her response short, hardening her gaze again.

"That's some sweet lip service, coming from a manipulative bastard like you," she muttered, causing him to laugh.

"Your assessment of me is not incorrect, but I am not without my sincerities," he said as he pulled away, leaning back against the plush arm of the sofa. "Perhaps I, too, wasn't putting on an act as much as you think I was."

"Bullshit," she laughed bitterly, "I think I have a pretty good idea of what kind of person you are."

"Hm." He watched her go back to her game, eyes narrowing in thought. "My father was abusive, you know."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Not George Joestar, mind you–but the man before that. He took so much out on my mother that it outright killed her. She tried to protect me of course, but with her gone it was just beatings, verbal abuse, thrown bottles, the works. Believe you me, I am not entirely unfamiliar with your situation. We had different circumstances, different reactions, yes, but there are similarities to what we went through."

"You killed him, didn't you?" Her gaze had thawed, somewhat, and she was curious. Dio laughed again.

"Of course I did. Slowly, patiently. It was a poison, one I knew wouldn't be tracked. We were poor, my father was an alcoholic, no one looked twice! It was incredibly easy." He rolled his head back, stretching it out slightly, and Sunnie saw glimpses of the wicked scar around his neck peek out from his high-necked top. "Alas, I am aware there are procedures now. Autopsies and the like. Makes things more difficult for people who want to get things done."

"Theeere you go," she rolled her eyes, "Another reminder of exactly what you are."

He hummed in agreement and they sat in silence for a while, Sunnie turning back to her game and Dio reading while sipping from his glass. After a while, she shifted.

"...How old were you?" she asked, voice soft.

"Hm?"

"When you killed your dad. How old?"

"Twelve," came his simple answer. His gaze slid over to her to find her staring not at, but seemingly through the screen, her nose slightly scrunched in thought.

"...I'm sorry that happened to you," she said, not sparing a glance at the monster next to her. "No one deserves to go through that."

"No one?" He prodded, grinning like a snake.

"No one, not even you," she affirmed.

"Your own sentiment extends to you as well, my dear," he said, setting the finally-empty glass down on the side table and moving to her side, reaching his muscled arm over the back of the sofa and around her, "No matter what he made you believe, the fact still stands: you didn't deserve it." Sunnie felt a wave of anger—how dare he assume—and she whipped in his direction and opened her mouth to speak, but he raised a finger to her lips to stop her. "Ah-ah. I can tell you were being honest in front of the Joestar boy. You were not acting. Don't try to lie, not to me." Her brows were still furrowed, eyes still fiery, but she closed her mouth. "Don't try to weasel out of giving yourself the same kindness you afford others. Start small if you must, but you'd better start, or I'm going to get very, very annoying about it," he finished with a positively wicked grin, and she threw her arms up in defeat.

"Jesus fucking Christ, I get your point!!! Fine!!!" She huffed, "The last thing I want you to do is get more annoying than you already are." She was unsure if his grin could possibly be any more smug than it was at that very moment, and the victorious twinkle in his eyes began to fluster her, so she pulled away from him, standing and walking briskly away. "I'm gonna go get a drink."

"Would you like for me to make you one?" Dio asked, his innocent tone not at all matching his expression.

"Fuck no and fuck you, I'm not having a repeat of the blood wine like last time, you little shit," she spat, but there was no chance she could disguise the grin in her voice.

"I'm more than a foot taller than you, darling!" He called after her, picking a different book up off of the coffee table.

"Would you like to be a Big Shit? Is that better??"

"I suppose not," he laughed softly.

There was a strangely comfortable silence between them, various clinking and pouring noises coming from the bar before Sunnie went off to her room while Dio quietly ran his eyes across the pages in front of him. Sunnie returned, hair up in a messy bun and sporting a large, loose NASA shirt that draped off her frame and almost completely covered her shorts. Her legs were dappled with various fading bruises, a particularly cruel-looking one on her upper right thigh. Dio cast a glance at the glass in her hand and raised a brow.

"That smells like quite a bit of alcohol," he noted, turning a page with his clawed finger.

"Don't keep me from having my fun. It's a Friday night and my husband is making my life hell," she responded, sitting back down and taking a couple deep gulps of her drink.

"Oh I wouldn't dream of it, dear. I'm merely observing."

She stared at him for a second and sighed. "Sorry. I got defensive." She took another sip. "He just… he never lets me make decisions like this. Staying up late, getting my own drinks, choosing what I eat, stuff like that."

"He's controlling. I'm aware," he said lightly, looking at her again, "And I enjoy seeing you explore your newfound freedom from him. Do things you never thought you could before. In fact, Catherine has informed me that you've begun to truly test your Stand's abilities."

Sunnie looked at him, eyes owlishly wide. "D… did she say anything?"

"That she's quite impressed. You're creative and have incredible potential." He grinned as she flushed. "I would be honored to bear witness to your strength sometime."

There was a nearly child-like glimmer in her eyes, and a smile on her face that he hadn't quite seen before. It was wide, with a little tremble dancing on the corner of her lips. Her cheeks were rosy with excitement. If she were a little puppy, there was no doubt that her tail would be wagging happily.

"Oh? Such a small bit of praise, and you're glowing. How precious," he laughed softly, eyes narrowing in delight at the display, "I'll be sure to keep this in mind for the future."

She immediately looked away, turning her Switch back on, "Ah—w-well. It's just, I've never really been able to share Windy with other people. This is… this is cool."

But her blush was unmistakable.

They sat in silence for a while, Sunnie playing her game and Dio reading, before he heard her clear her throat.

"So, I have a question," she began, and though the way she said it made it sound conversational, Dio had a feeling that the topic she was about to bring up was not a throwaway one. "You know I read that file on this dimension's Dio, right? They found bodies in that Cairo mansion. Lots of them, all exsanguinated. And I was wondering…" She looked at him, green eyes flickering in the light of the candles, expression unreadable, "How many people have you killed?"

"Far, far more than I could ever count, my dear," he answered plainly, leaning against the back of the sofa, his smile soft, "I evaded the grasp of the Joestars for years, but I won't lie and claim that our battles were easy. Every time I managed to escape, I needed to restore myself. And to do that…"

"You needed blood," Sunnie finished, voice quiet. Dio hummed in confirmation.

"Does this bother you?" he asked, tone nearly teasing.

"I'm not the type to hate a predator for doing what it has to in order to survive, Dio," she said, eyes rolling, "You should have figured that out about me by now."

"Then does it frighten you, perhaps? Knowing that you share quarters with a bloodthirsty monster such as myself?" He inched closer to her, the soft smile turning into something far more sinister as his gaze slid down to her neck, "If I'm to be honest, that day when I first smelled your blood, that day when we found out what your husband had done to you…" He reached up and drew a line down the side of her neck with a sharp talon, chuckling as he felt her pulse hitch minutely, but otherwise stay steady, "You smell delicious, you know. And you were so vulnerable, so small… it would have been so easy for me to take."

Her eyes refused to leave his as his hand dropped back down, and he was mildly surprised when a dark smirk played at her lips.

"My favorite creatures," she responded matter-of-factly, "just so happen to be the dangerous ones."

And he threw his head back and belly-laughed, all the tension between them dissipating.

"Hey!! What's so funny??" She shouted over his jovial cackling, "I'm serious!! I'm being completely serious!!"

"It's not that I don't believe you, Sunshine! Because I do, I truly do," he answered, looking at her once more, "I just find it hard to believe my own fortune at times; that we found each other."

She tossed a pillow directly at his face.

A couple of hours later, she shut the door to her room and felt silence overtake her.

The room at the Speedwagon Foundation was a bigger room than she'd ever had, but it was quite empty. She figured that it made sense that it was sparsely decorated after only a couple of months working for them, but it still felt kind of lonely.

She hadn't asked for much. A low queen size bed that she had pushed against a corner, covered in fluffy, soft blankets and a decent amount of pillows, and a bedside table with decent storage space. There was a drawer for her clothes and a good ceiling fan—she hated stagnant air. The connected bathroom was also spacious, with a surprisingly large and wide alcove tub, larger than the bathtub she'd had at her first apartment with… 

She looked down at her feet, saw the bruises littering her legs. Raised her palms up towards her gaze, traced the violence with her eyes.

Her first apartment had been with her husband, hadn't it.

Moving out was going to be difficult. The first time she'd gone back to pack some of her things, there was a moment during which both her parents were carrying boxes to her mom's car, and she was left alone in there with him, and all he'd done was lean against the wall, arms crossed, and pin her with the most loathsome stare she had ever seen from him. Those brown eyes she treasured were filled with nothing but seething hate, and the dimples in his cheeks peeked out not because of a warm smile but because of a firmly disgusted grimace. She'd tried to pay it no mind and kept packing her books but she'd nearly shattered under the weight of the feeling, her chest nearly heaving with the effort to breathe, the frigid coldness of panic beginning to seep in.

Dio was right. Her own husband terrified her.

She'd worn long sleeves and jeans despite the summer heat that day, keeping the bruises and cuts hidden from everyone. She didn't want to… didn't want him to see it? He knew what he'd done, he probably guessed that her body bore at least some marks from the fight they'd had the morning of that big fight. So why did she cover up? Maybe she didn't want him to get some sick sort of power trip. Maybe he reveled in the thought of being able to control someone who had supernatural powers, who had the ability to control wind itself through nothing but fear and her loyalty to him. Loyalty that, that fateful day, had finally snapped.

Her hands dropped to her sides and she looked at herself in her full length mirror.

Spotted all over in a horrible way. Dark circles under her eyes. Drawn brows. And a particular lifelessness that was rare in her.

Pathetic.

"How much does a person have to go through?" Sunnie asked no one in particular. She lifted her loose shirt, eyeing the long bruise on her side and clicking her tongue against her teeth. "You gotta go back, you know. There's more boxes for you. More of your life to reclaim."

Her voice, her eyes, were hollow. Tired.

"…You gotta face him again."

So, so tired.

Suddenly, her skin itched. She felt starved, like she wanted to reach out and grab for something she couldn't name. Her chest shuddered, and she choked on a sob.

Fuck.

She doubled over as the first tears slid down her cheeks, warm and wet and awful.

She'd been so insistent on keeping the pain hidden for so long. She knew she was stubborn—she was like an injured cat at times, in that she never let anyone know when she was hurting. It made moving through life easier. She hated to worry her loved ones and, more importantly, hated feeling weak.

But god, did it hurt. Like a vice crushing her chest, like she was drowning, like she'd never ever recover. She knew she had to get through this, but wondered if she'd be crushed by the weight of it all in the process. She felt it bubble out of her, despite her insistence that no, I have to keep this inside, I want to keep this inside, but her efforts were useless.

She didn't realize that she'd fallen to her knees until her hand shot out to brace against the ground. More tears came and fell to the hardwood floor and fuck she was desperate to stop them. She hated feeling things, she hated feeling this…

In her sharp peripheral vision she caught the quickest glimmer of gold, which disappeared the second she tried to look at it.

...He saw.

Goddammit, he saw.

Her body trembled, the concept of being known at such a vulnerable time in her life making a flash of freezing terror rip through her. Desperate to calm herself down, she forced herself to think, to just think for just a moment.

There it was again, glimmering warm and bright in her chest. That tug in her body, that cry for something, for anything, for… 

...Oh.

Dio was still lounging on the large sofa when Sunnie emerged from her bedroom, her comforter wrapped around her and her pillow in tow. The head of her worn-out stuffed bear peeked out from her arms as well, its one-eyed state making it look like it was winking. Sunnie's eyes were red and puffy, but her expression was blank. She and Dio stared at each other for a minute or so before he spoke.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, his smile sly but knowing.

"Cut the shit, I know he saw me crying," she responded, voice clipped as she referred to his Stand.

"He did," he hummed, thinking for a moment before elaborating, "That is to say, I did."

Another silence.

"I…" she gulped, shuffling her feet on the hardwood, "I don't want to be alone right now. …I can't."

He nodded. "That's understandable."

"Do… do you mind if…" Her gaze fell to the ground for a second before looking back up at him, "…Maybe…?"

There was something strangely soft in his eyes as he patted the space on the sofa next to him. She paused, then shuffled towards him and past the coffee table. She put the pillow down right next to him then crawled onto the cushions, laying down on her side, nuzzling her head into the pillow as per her habit. Dio turned back to his book, eyes skimming the words until he heard her voice, soft and unsure.

"You were right. I'm afraid of him. And I have been for… years."

He glanced at her, but she didn't elaborate. Sunnie just snuggled into her fluffy comforter some more, brows furrowed, before she looked back up at him.

"Dio? I… I wouldn't mind, y'know. If you, uh…"

A small hand peeked out from the comforter and patted her face in an attempt to ask without words.

He chuckled and reached his hand down, placing it, large and nearly overwhelming, on her head, ruffling her mussed up hair softly. She couldn't help the sigh and shiver that ran through her as he trailed the hand to her round cheek, delicately stroking the skin there.

She closed her eyes, curling her knees close to her chest and getting comfortable, letting out a quiet hum when she felt a sharp nail tuck some hair behind her ear before going back to dragging softly down her face.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"It's nothing, my dear."

"Not to me it isn't," she insisted, and he raised a brow, looking back down to her face as it sank into the plush pillow, "I mean, I know you're a bastard and all but… it means a lot."

"...I understand," he said, voice low and soft as he settled his long fingers across her neck and chin, his thumb trailing across the apple of her cheek.

They remained quiet for the rest of the night, and Sunnie eventually fell asleep to the feeling of his cool hand cradling her head and softly carding through her hair.

For the first time in a very long while, she didn't have nightmares.

#voila! first selfship story is UP #i woulda posted it all in one piece but tumblr has a limit sooooo #SunnieD #sunnie writes

[imnotwolverine]

White honey

Geralt of Rivia oneshot

Word count: 1.330

Warnings: NSFW, drug/potion use, erotic fever dream, mention of death

I had a very fun date night with my SO last weekend; a date night on drugs. For me it was the first time using XTC, and it sure brought great inspiration for this little Geralt fic. The heightened senses were a HUGE turn-on (and inspiration) for me. So here goes.. enjoy a bit of Geralt tripping balls in a faerie forest.

(Link to my Masterlist)

Thud thud. Thud thud. Thud thud.

Like a horse in full gallop he could hear his heart beat, the dizzying mix of concoctions pumping through his pulsing veins. Had he taken too many potions? Was this to be his end? Perhaps. And perhaps not. Either way, it was too late to worry about it, he decided, slumping down on all fours as he focused on the way his fingers dug into the lush moss that covered the forest floor.

Strange. He could see through the haze of his intoxicated mind that his hands were firmly digging into the moss. Yet he couldn’t feel a thing. Hmmm. Were his eyes deceiving him? Straining his golden hued eyes he peered at the green tapestry of various shades of green, his pale, strong digits all but disappearing in the thick carpet that should feel soft and welcoming.

Even stranger though, was that it now started to feel like he was floating. His heavy body had become light as a feather, every breath nearly breaking him free from the ground below him.

Geralt furrowed his brows, his heart thundering even louder in his ear now, a certain tingle starting to climb up his limbs. Like the kisses of a lover it started slow and tender, but soon became overwhelming, the sensation close to that of a wave of tiny bee stings. Yet ..it didn’t hurt. No. Hurt he wouldn’t call it. But strange, it sure was. Ticklish, almost. 

Not quite sure about what to do he tried to sit up, his head immediately reeling as his already heightened senses were now going overtime. The birds that had started their first morning song sounded high and pitchy. The soft wind bristling through the spring leaves felt like a hundred little licks on his exposed skin. The first light seeping through the thin wispy branches felt like the rays of a late summer sun, hot and inviting.

Bending his head down, he rolled down onto the forest floor, the moss swallowing him into her soft and inviting arms as his mind wandered off. Geralt sighed. Was he dying? Or was this just a really strange dream? All he could do was give in.

Warm. Cool.

Light. Heavy.

Slow. Fast.

Sweet. Bitter.

All senses started to shift. His once slow heart now beating a million beats a minute. His sweaty battle hardened body now tender and cool. His usual easy breaths now coming in heavy. The remaining tang of the bitter potions on his tongue turned into the sweetest of honey.

Turning fully on his back, he stretched out his fingers, staring out at the trees above with wide ambers full of wonder. Were the trees this beautiful before? He slowly eyed the curves of one of them. Hmm. She almost seemed to sway her curvy bark, like a temptress luring him in. She and her treesisters even smelled different now. Their half rotting limbs now smelling of young wood, basking in a hot sun. Rich and heady. Geralt hummed, staring at the seductive trees. Like a harem they all swooped and swayed, their shapes becoming more alluring the better he looked. Voluptuous, sultry shapes came to life as the wind started to caress his skin like a lovers touch, whispering his name in soft lilting tones.

‘Ge-ralt…’

Throwing back his head he could feel a different part of his body awaken. His pants feeling awfully tight all of a sudden.

‘Geee-raallttt…’

Such sweet honeyed voices he had not heard for months. And they called..for him. Just him. Would they want him? Would they have him here, on the softest of moss? With the rays of the sun warming their lush bodies? Would they?

Quickly looking back at his surroundings, his head spinning at the effort, he saw them. Dancing and giggling, their naked hips swaying in earthly delight, gesturing him to come hither. To join them.

He could almost touch them, so close they now were. And not ever had he seen such beautiful women in his long, long life. Olive skin, long tresses of dark hair, plump bottoms and voluptuous breasts, their eyes as green as the moss beneath his fingertips.

If only he could get up. Get up! Get up Geralt!

‘Mmmphff.’ The white wolf groaned, his body not willing to move as he tried with every fiber of his being to get up. He couldn’t move an inch, his body putty as he lay there sunken into the moss like it was the finest of quick sand.

‘Gee-raalltt.’ The ladies persisted, his arousal being the only body part that was whole heartedly able to answer their call, hot and heavy against his thigh.  

‘Please.’ Geralt begged, unable to bring forth any more words from his lips. Lips that were in dire need of touch. Of sweet, pillowy kisses.

‘Come, Geralt.’

‘Come…’

‘Come!’

His breeches became impossibly tight, his arousal shifting and twitching, wishing to be freed from the tight lacing that restrained it.

‘Can’t..’ Geralt cried with need, his whole body tingling as the wind licked, the voices caressed and the scents lured. Straining his eyes he tried to take in as much as he could. There were at least a dozen of them. Some stretching out, reaching their hands, whilst others had lain down on the mossy soil, their milky skin a stark contrast to the bright green beneath. And all moved, swayed on a tune his ears couldn’t hear, their voices carried through the soft wind. And on their backs, he now noticed, they carried wings. Paper thin, iridescent, nearly invisible to the eye.

Fairies.  

He had heard of many a folktale. But never had he seen them, these mythical creatures of old lore. And what creatures they were. His breath came in more hoarsely with every sway of their lush hips, tilt of their shining mane. If only they knew what they did to him..though..surely they didn’t miss the huge bulge that was straining to be released..right?

As if they heard his pleading thoughts, they started to close in the distance, their bodies melting down on the moss beside him as their nimble fingers started brushing through their long tresses. They looked down upon him, upon his needy, struggling body and smiled with satisfied, curled up lips and rosy cheeks, telling him they liked what they saw. 

‘Please..’ He said with greater strain, his heart beating so loudly he nearly missed their sweet sing-song voices as they spoke.  

‘Witcher…’

‘Come play with us..’

‘Come..come..’

Their nimble hands slowly started to wander down his body, warm and soothing to his jittery muscles. They touched his face, moving in closer and closer, their hair caressing his skin as their bright green eyes flashed with lust. Fuck. How he wished he could move right now. Touch them. Please them. But his body didn’t respond, stretched out as it lay there while these beautiful women writhed around him.

‘Geee-raalttt.’ One bent down, near brushing her lips against his, whispering his name again and again.

‘Geraaltt..’

‘Geralt.’ Her voice became deeper, more hoarse…more panicked?

‘GERALT.’

Geralt furrowed his brow, confused as her voice became more masculine, her face blurry as his jaw was jarred open by some invisible force, a liquid poured down his throat.

‘GERALT. FUCK. GERALT, YOU HEAR ME?!’

Much to quickly the beautiful fairies disappeared from his vision, instead replaced by a pair of familiar, panicked set of eyes.

‘Jaskier.’ Geralt grunted, feeling his body crumple as it crashed back down to earth, the moss suddenly wet and dirty soil, the bright light now but a murky half-dark, the sun not yet anywhere to be seen.

‘Oh thank the heavens. I nearly lost you there, old friend.’ Jaskier cried in his melodic voice, the words thick with emotion. Geralt sighed, closing his eyes, as if hoping it would return the ladies. But no. It was just him, Jaskier and his painfully throbbing arousal.

#geralt of rivia fanfiction #witcher fanfiction #white wolf #geralt fanfiction #geralt of rivia #the white wolf #the witcher #potion #toxicity #high #fever dream #fanfiction #fairies #seduction #jaskier

[indestinatus]

Graveyard Shift

TIVATOBER 2020 // DAY 15

↳ prompt: Cemetery - rated T (832 words)

summary: Three Musketeers shenanigans, but this time in a spooky setting. 

A/N: Also known as the one story I wrote more because of the Halloween aesthetics than anything. 

A/EN: As a little note here, I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who has been following this series!!! Your kudos, comments, and support mean so much to me and I'm so happy you're enjoying it :) I cannot believe we're already halfway through with this, but it's been so much fun!!! Sending you all my gratitude and love <3

read it on AO3 ⚰️

A sly black cat crossed his path, its long, curled tail swaying from side to side. It jumped onto one gravestone and stayed, choosing the spot as his residence for the night. The image was so fitting, Tony could’ve sworn he had seen it in a movie somewhere. 

The cat tilted its head towards him, and the piercing gold eyes appeared to know a lot more about the secrets of life than humanly possible. Heavy clouds parted in the sky, revealing a silver moon that illuminated only dimly the rows of tombstones. Dry tree branches swayed with a silent breeze, and as Tony looked down, he missed a step—the fog was too dense to see anything past his knees.

Tony tightened the grip of his flashlight, though not out of fear. No, he was scared of letting it fall and lose it among all that fog, and now he just couldn’t afford that—the scenery was too amazing for him to suddenly go blind. It was as if he was stepping right into a Terence Fisher production, the characteristic spookiness of an approaching Halloween palpable in the chilly air. 

It was perfect, and as he passed by the black cat, Tony cast him a wide grin; thinking for a moment he saw it smile back at him too, following him with its bright eyes. 

“Don’t tell me you never tried it,” Tony said enthusiastically, continuing the conversation they had started in the van. 

He heard McGee let out a tired sigh just behind him, apparently not as thrilled to be there as he was. 

“I’m not a creep,” he huffed.

Tony looked over his shoulder to beam his flashlight in McGee’s face, who protested, clearly annoyed.

“It’s not creepy,” said Tony, wiggling his eyebrows. He pointed the flashlight to himself and grinned, “It’s exciting.”

“What is?” chimed in Ziva.

Tony smirked towards her. “Having sex in a graveyard,” he replied smugly. “Horny teenagers in the backseat of a car, late hours into the night, the thrilling fear of getting caught?”

He certainly remembered the number of times he sneaked out from his boarding school, and sometimes later during college. There was something really appealing in having a date seek his protection, then end tangled up together under the moonlight, sweaty and breathless in such contrast with the cold late night air.

Ziva’s chuckle took him out of his reverie, and Tony briefly wondered if she would even cling to his arm like the girls he used to date. Was she a different person when she was younger? He really doubted that.

“By the ghosts, you mean,” grunted McGee.

“Says the man who slept in a coffin,” replied Tony, yearning another soft chuckle coming from Ziva. 

“I would not recommend it,” she said.

Tony frowned. “Sleep in a coffin?”

“Sex in a graveyard.”

He huffed in delight. Of course, he mused. Of course, she’d already done it. He wondered if it had been her idea. 

“So you’ve tried it.” He stopped walking to turn to her, curious to hear more. “What was the most dangerous place you did it?”

Apparently, it had been a good memory because a smirk started to twitch in Ziva’s mouth.

“A bomb storage,” she said as she passed by him, and the sparkle in her eyes made him think back on the too-knowing cat. 

“So the rumors are true.” Tony chuckled, following her. “She’s a killer queen.”

Ziva laughed then, and Tony was sure it had been her idea.

“What about you, Probie?” He asked as McGee matched his pace. “Your living room?”

“A mausoleum.”

Tony chuckled, surprised, then met Ziva’s gaze, who also looked at McGee with her brow raised. 

“Thought Abby had a coffin,” quizzed Tony.

McGee’s brow pulled in, puzzled. “What? No, I mean…” He pointed straight ahead. “A mausoleum.”

And as the three of them followed where he’d pointed, there it was—a tall structure made of angular gray stone, its pillars stained and dirty, revealing the passage of time. A statue of an angel with one broken wing was perched on the top, its arms opened wide as if embracing the fog that now swirled around it.

“Oh,” said Tony, recognizing the name engraved on the stone as their victim’s. 

“Well, nothing can top that,” mused Ziva, following McGee towards the crypt.

Tony’s eyebrows shot skywards. “Is that an offer, David?”

Ziva laughed then, turning over her shoulder to cast him a sly grin. 

“Perhaps in another life, yes?”

She had already disappeared behind the crypt’s entrance when Tony caught the double meaning of her words, barking out a laugh towards the sky and disturbing some crows in the process. He wondered if he would be able to find a bomb storage nearby, but that would probably not be too wise on his part.

He had already crossed a black cat tonight, and if there was something he’d learned with many Terence Fisher’s movies… it was not to mess with too-knowing cats.

Israeli ones included.

#thank you <3 #here's musketeers shenanigans #tiva fanfiction #tivatober2020 #once upon a halloween #my fics

[thevirtualcanvas]

Of touch and time

Mando x Reader [GN - for the time being]

Suitable for all. No TW.

It's been three weeks since Mando picked you up from your home world, scared and alone. How will things change going forward and just what is he doing with this small alien child?

The thrum of the engine had become a comfort, one of few in the weeks you'd spent aboard the Razor Crest. The other was the delightful sounds of the little green companion who'd found itself becoming your comfort and outlet as you dealt with the blows of grief from losing the last of your family. His, at least you thought it was a he, smiles and gurgles of  joy as he ambled around the deck after you and his adoptive father gave you a small glimmer of hope in a very uncertain time.

You had nothing to your name, bar the clothes on your back and the pulse rifle currently stored in the Mandalorian's personal armoury. Speaking of, he had been very – quiet. Not that he hadn't been before, but since rescuing you on Arbor there was an air of tension between you both, as though he couldn't quite decide what to do with you, and as such just left you to wander aimless and listless about the small, confines of his ship.

For three weeks you dragged your sorry self through the grief, incapable of making a decision for yourself. Left wondering which pitiful rock the Tin Man would leave you on. He never did, he simply parked the ship on an outer reach, left the child tucked away in the cubby and lingered on you with as though trying to say something, before leaving with a turn of his cloak and disappearing into the terrain. You mostly sat in the same spot, drowning in sallow thoughts and reliving those last moments, picking at your fingers, your borrowed tunic, anything to try and drag you away from that pained look on your Father's face as the Mandalorian coddled you onto his ship. Somewhere in the silence, the sound of a pressurised door would open, a guff of exertion and a small beige bundle would be at your feet, arms outstretched, begging to be picked up.

“C'mon then, little one. Let's see what we have let for you.”

You open the rations cooler, pulling out sticks of jerky for the little green alien to chew on enthusiastically as you rocked him against your hip. A little burp would indicate his fill and he would bury into your chest, snuggling into the smell of his dad's spare tunic. Soon, he would sleep, elongated ears twitching as he slept soundly and you would find a wall or a crate and lethargy would take over your body and you would sleep with the child bundled against you like he was the only thing keep you sane.

Boots clanking against the grate woke you. A rustle of metal and fabric. A tinny huff and the sight of Beskar roused you from your nap, the little one grumbled, pulled from his sleep against your breast.

“Welcome back.” You looked at him as you rose to your feet, shushing the child as the disturbance made him a little cranky. Something about the Mandalorian unnerved but also comforted you, you couldn't place it. There was an atmosphere, ironically. He a man of few and concise words; he seemed to have a lot to say, yet left them unsaid. Starting conversations with agitated huffs, heavy silence and direct instructions. And you, with one companion incapable of speaking common and the other unwilling, you lost the will to speak at all.

Mando nodded as he placed his rifle back in the armoury, and slung the pack from his back onto the nearest crate.  The child was awake completely now, chatting to his Dad from your arms as though the Mandalorian knew exactly what he was talking about.

“How has he been?” He asked, voice soft and laced with static through the vocoder. He reached for the little green alien, and took him from your arms, bundling him up against his own chest and giving him the once over as his bundle patted at the cool metal with animated hands.

You missed the warmth instantly. “Fine, he escaped within the first hour of your leave. He's eaten, I changed him and we've slept the rest of the time.”

A grunt of acknowledgement came from him as the visor tilted towards the pair of big watery eyes that demanded his attention. “And you?” He was looking at you now, you think, it was hard to tell but you had a sense of eyes on you. The tilt of the visor led you to believe he was concerned, as you attempted to decipher the armour clad man.

You grumbled to yourself, eyes hitting the deck. You weren't hungry, you never were anymore. “I'm fine.”

Mando moved the child onto one hip and reached into the rucksack; he pulled out a small box and handed it to you. “There was a Naboo baker in the bazaar.” As if that had explained everything. He waited for you to open the box, finding a bundle of bean buns, still warm to the touch. “You're not used to the rations, but you should eat something.”

The small action had shook you, here you were thinking the man was ready to jettison you out into the cold void of space and he'd thought of your grief enough to buy you a treat. You looked at box, decorated in blues and ribbons, and tried not to cry, an overwhelming sense of guilt and selfishness overcame you. The Mandalorian sidestepped you, ignoring the child's grabbing hands towards the baked goods. He made his way towards the cockpit, not caring about platitudes when he felt a tug on his cloak. He turned his helm to see you, hand balled tight into the coarse material, lips thinned and eyes cinched to keep the tears from betraying you. Your hand trembled, vying you to grab onto to some part of him, something that was human, calling out for some familiarity, and warmth.

“Thank you,” you managed, lip wobbling, knuckles white.

He waited, until you calmed, until you'd processed enough to let go of his cloak. “Eat,” he repeated with a soft rumble he saved for the child. “We set off into hyper-space in twenty. You'll need to be in your seat in fifteen.”

He disappeared up the rungs of the ladder, leaving you to your privacy and you ate all but two of the buns. Leaving one for the child, and one for him. A warm feeling flushed across your skin, not just from the tears but from this one small act of kindness and the hope it gave you.

-----

Two days later found you on a small planet a few hundred thousand miles away from Tattoine. Full of moisture farmers, scrap sellers, and the occasional Jawa scampering about the underbelly of the bazaar. The Mandalorian had dragged you out of the ship; well, he'd told you they were going out, threw a poncho in your direction and put the baby in a bandolier hidden by his cloak.

“Stay close,” he warned. There were no imps here, but a good variety of vagabonds, opportunists and slavers who would take one look at you and decide you were worth the credits to some warlord or senator. Both of which would use you for unspeakable purposes and the bounty hunter would much rather avoid that.

A man named Greef had sent him a tip about a scrap seller who'd come across some interesting pieces, swore they were Jedi, from Coruscant. But it was all strictly hush hush. The imps were fractured, but still strong, their ears and eyes still reached certain parts of the Galaxy beyond the reach of the New Republic. With one hand on his blaster and the other on the bandolier to keep the child quiet, Mando guided you through a back alley of sandstone buildings laced in scrap metal, tubes, rubber piping and electrical cabling from an era just settling into the dust. You were dubious to say the least, being the grandchild of a defected clone just about anything to do with the Jedi and the old Republic made your skin crawl. Your grandfather had shown you the faded scar at the base of his neck where the Jedi whom he'd served used the force to tear the chip from his skull. Saving both their lives long enough to escape Coruscant to go into hiding. Your grandmother would smack him across the back of the head playfully.

“You always embellish the story, my love. Don't be so dramatic. You make it sound like I was some naïve youngling bouldering through with force in tow. Ignore your grandfather, little one. The story changes every time he tells it.”

She would tease your cheeks, and potter off, watering her plants and reading her books, casting a loving look at the back of your grandfathers head each time she passed. He always looked so much older than her, despite the fact she was twice his age, their dynamic had always thrilled you.

“I don't like this,” you muttered pawing away at the happier time.

Mando agreed. “That's why I brought you. I need you to tell me if the artefacts are fakes.”

You both stood at heavy set door, settled in the shade as though the sun had forgotten it's existence. The child wriggled in his perch, something agitated him. Mando spoke in Mando'a, the words calmed you all, though he aimed it at the child. Once the little one was settled he rattled his fist against the door four times in bouts of two. A hollowing minute went by before the door peeked open. A beady eye looked at your party before opening up a few inches more, encouraging you over the threshold. A grizzled Toydarian greeted you, moss green and with fractured wings – it hobbled down a corridor leading you both with distaste.

The alien snorted, “This way, quickly.” They hurried on their short, stubby legs, leading you and the Mandalorian past a slew of doors, with maker-knows-what behind them. The sounds were overwhelming; a barrage of shouts in a myriad of tongues, bangs, sounds of blasters and screams seeped from under the gaps in the doors. You held your rifle in your hands, it would be useless, of course in such close contact, but it gave you a comfort and a blip of confidence.

You were led into a dome shaped room, a fire pit in the centre and pews decorated in plush linens and expensive hanging lights. Heavy plumes of incense hung thick in the air, designed to relax but it only served to set your nerves alight. In the centre sat another Toydarian, with a knowing smirk and swathed in jewels. They were no mere scrap merchants, of that you were certain.

“Mando,” you hissed, heart palpitating. Your hand tapped the back of his wrist, feeling a blossom of warmth through the back of his glove. For a moment you thought he would reciprocate, giving you the reassurance you so desperately needed, yet he stood fast. Helmet directed at their contact.

“Ah, Mandalorian. Good to see you, my friend. Please, come and take a seat.” The Toydarian leant back against the head of the pew, rings clinking against their spindly fingers, eyes watching from it's tilted head for your reaction.

Mando nodded, but made no movement forward. “Setu, it's been a long time.”

From your position behind your Tin Man you felt him relax at your touch, releasing some of the tension you both held. The situation was sketchy at best, but it wasn't the first nor last situation Mando would find himself in where danger was afoot.

The alien let out a croaked laugh and burst into a strained wet, cough. “Still don't trust me, eh, Mando? A man could be insulted.”

Mando let out a contemptuous sigh, “Good thing you're not a man, Setu.” He folded his arms above the child and eyed the alien down through his helm. “You said you had artefacts – so lets talk.”

-------

An exchange; a bounty for the Jedi artefacts, which you'd verified. A couple of scrolls and glass cube, a holocron. Your grandmother had one left over from when she abdicated the order. Why your Tin Man needed Jedi relics was beyond you, but it wasn't your place to ask. He led you back to the Razor Crest, handed you the baby and left with one instruction. Don't leave the ship. So, for two nights and days on a small planetoid with too many suns, you waited and you watched. One eye firmly on the child who had an unusual knack for disappearing among the crates, nooks and crannies and reappearing when he wanted feeding or comfort. The other on the the hatch, watching the metal creak and groan under the planet's heat, air shimmering as midday sun made temperatures aboard the Razor Crest soared.

On the first night alone with the child you were fearful, the tension palpable. It was the first time you'd been alone in a very long time. The cold night let your imagination run wild. Bounty hunters were waiting in the shadows of the parking deck. Empire elite were stood outside of the Razor Crest, blasters held high with smug grins under fierce helmets. The sounds of hull settling as the desert winds blew tricked your mind into believing salvers were canvassing the ship, looking for entry points. Sleep didn't come easy, but the child seemed undisturbed lulling into an easy slumber as the sun slipped from the sky. He, at least had faith in his Father's success. You watched his strange little face twitch in it's deep sleep, wrinkles moving softly as it's little mouth let out a tiny mewl. His tiny claws coiled around the blanket as he tussled in his dreams, the metal dome from the top of the thruster nestled under his chin.

“At least you're sleeping sound little one. Wonder if your Dad is doing the same.”

The second day was strained, you could hear the bustle of the ship yard. A cornucopia of races and creeds living and working as you stilled in time. You both watched quietly from the window, searching for a friendly familiar face but seeing nothing a but a sea of strangers. Which when you thought about it left a lot of room for irony. The face you were looking for, wasn't even a face at all. You had no idea what manner of man hid behind the Beskar. What his face looked like, or the colour of his skin. Were his eyes warm, or his mouth kind? How would his hair feel, did he have any? You could visualise in your head what you think he could look like, it made you feel safe, warm. One of his tunic's clung to your skin, his scent fading from the threads. You held it tightly against your form, caught in a spiral of want and loneliness. Grief and fear beckoned at your door, it was as dark as the void and thrumming in your veins.

Then light.

Three small, green fingers rested against your forearm, a tiny beacon of warmth and hope. Somehow the child had sensed your disposition. His large, dewy eyes squinted in concentration. A wave feel over you, cocooning you, wrapping you in a field of  metaphorical light. Your mood shifted as the child fell to his bottom with a huff of exhaustion. He let out a big yawn, his mouth stretched wide and he looked to you with a sleepy smile, arms grabbing for you.

You took his slight weight in your arms and cradled him, astounded and confused about what you'd felt. His pointed lobes flickered as he breathing slowed and he fell asleep once more. You padded to and fro in the cockpit as your thoughts coalesced. Just what was this kid and why did the Tin Man have to keep hiding him? He had certainly done something to you, what he'd done, you weren't sure. Your mind would drift to the mission, and how a bounty was being collected for old Jedi relics. Surely not? This little thing, a Jedi? You placed him into his cradle, and took a seat opposite watching him sleep. His little chest rise and fell in a soft metronome. The outside world fell apart as you focused surely on the bundle in silver. What power could one so small wield? And to be with a Mandalorian at that? Which was hilarious considering your heritage. A mere three decades ago and you would have killed on another on site, funny how the galaxy changed.

Blaster fire, a solemn smile and the distinct sound of metal against metal.

You woke up, the pressurised doors opening from the base of the ship catapulting you alert. It was the middle of the night and much cooler, goosebumps graced your bare forearms as the planet's suns had disappeared. In his cradle, the child slept still. Poor little tyke must have been exhausted. You sat, and listened to the sounds in the hull, waiting for something to appear up the ladders. Blaster in hand, pointed at the top rung, you waited. A cold shiver ran down your spine as you shook away at the fatigue that clawed at your mind. You held your breath as a foot hit the bottom rung of the ladder. You pushed yourself back against the Captain's chair as a second clang chased up to the cockpit. You heard a grunt from down below and could have screamed if your voice hadn't failed you.

The child awoke, smiling, waving a tiny hand at you as if waving good morning. He babbled conversationally and you tried to shush him the best you could, but he was already wriggling out of his blankets and making his way to his little feet.

A glimmer of something dark appeared at the top of the ladder. “You know, if I really was a raider, you'd be dead by now.”

The child let out a laugh, and you slumped into the chair, limbs going limp. “Mando...” you breathed a sigh of relief.

His head appeared, and the rest quickly followed. His fingers tapped quickly at the controller on his wrist and the lights of the console gave the Razor Crest enough light so he could see you both. He grunted a greeting and dropped his rifle against the back of one of the co-pilot seats along with the backpack he had hauled over his shoulder. As the strap of the bag wrapped around the back of the chair he winced, a pained hiss mottled by the vocoder.

You were on your feet instantly, inspecting him. Beskar was pocked with blaster burns, gunpowder and caked in blood and mud. “What happened to you?”

“ Mhm, m'fine. Just Setu's bounty.”

Your fingers hovered over the metal of his chest plate, fingers itching to rest themselves against it. “Did you get the bounty?” You asked, voice low, eyes scanning the damage.

A groan of pain crackled through the helmet. “Yeah, he was holed up in some caves outside of the city with a crew. Knew I was coming and put up a fight. It's fine. I have the artefacts.”

It's fine? Fine. No it bloody wasn't. He could have died, and  you would have been stranded with a magic kid and no idea on where to go next. He didn't even leave you with comms. You balled up your fingers and they wrung against the armour, a deft cling rang through the cockpit followed by the sounds of your wailing. “It's not fine! I had no idea where you'd gone, or if you were coming back! I kept thinking the Empire or some kriffing raiders would blow a whole in the hull every five minutes. It's not been fine since I was dragged from Arbor! My family is dead, my home is gone and then you left me too!!!”

He ignored the pain as you wailed against his chest, sure he'd been out in the wilds hunting down a rival gang for Setu. Leteron's were scrappy and resourceful little bastards, and with four arms meant they could carry three more blasters than him, but he managed – eventually. Beyond all of that, Din knew what it was like to be torn away from everything you'd ever known and forced to cope with a strange situation.  He could understand your plight. So he waited.

You crushed against him, feeling the cold beat of metal against your chest as your wrapped your arms around him. He had some height on you, so your head rested against the top of his shoulder, tears dripping into the thick cotton cloak. The sound of babbling came from your feet and you could feel his tiny fingers against your calf, like he was trying to hug you.

A sigh of frustration came from the Mandalorian, his kid always won in the end. “Fine,” he said looking down through his visor at the small mediator. “But no crying the next time I put you in the fresher.” You heard the small mewl of acknowledgement.

With uncertainty, Din wrapped both of his arms around you. Encasing you into a warmth you settled into your very soul. He was unsure, uncomfortable, but he bared it. He still remembered being carried and held as a boy, soaring into the sky, along with a member of the Death Watch. The warmth and compassion shown by the warriors that saved him, shaped him. He supposed you just needed the same. His thick gloves curled around the opposing shoulder and brought you closer. Sure, he smelt worse than a decomposing Rancor, but you didn't mind. Soon your wails curbed to hiccuped sobs, and trembling, you let go. Knowing that if you didn't soon, Mando might soon keel over. In a moment of uncharacteristic affection he cupped the back of your neck with a gloved hand, running his thumb along your jaw.

“Jate, udesla jii,” Good, calm now.

Electricity ran through you as he reached over you to pick the child up. You held your cheek where the leather had traced and found yourself clamouring for it all over again.

“Tin man?” He looked at you an nodded, child on his hip as took a seat in the Captain's chair. “Thank you, for rescuing me. I'm sorry I shouted.”

Mando shook his head, as the child patted the Beskar with growing concern. “It's fine. Can you get the bacti spray for me?” He groaned as the child tried splay his little fingers against the metal – what was the kid trying to do? “No,” he directed at the alien. “I'll use the stim, understand, adiik?”

You watched as the child sat, dejected on his Father's lap, the metal dome of the thruster tight in his little claws.

“Sure,” you said, looking at the bag containing the artefacts. “And what about the Jedi relics?”

“They're going to help me find his people.” He replied, again, as if his short answers solved anything.

Curiosity took the better of you, so you took a peek. Peeling back the tan lip of the bag, a soft glow filled the contents. You grabbed it with both hands, pulling back the hessian slip that encased it. In the palm of your hand sat the holocron cube, no bigger than the box your bean buns sat it. Except, this was different from a bakery box. Get a true look at it, you noticed it was glass, adorned in intricate gold and it lived. From the inside you could feel a wave, a humming of life and a big change. The box lifted from your hands, a soft blue glow emitting from the glass. You stood back, confused, watching it as it floated across the cockpit and landed into the hands of the child. His shiny dome forgotten about as this new object filled both of his tiny hands. The metal corners shifted, and the cube activated.

Everything was about to change.

#the mandalorian #mando x you #mando x reader #star wars fanfiction #baby yoda #my work

[spookyfloof]

A Mistletoe Too Far - (LizardHat Christmas story)

Villainous/Hazbin Hotel crossover

---

I wrote this as a Christmas present to @striped-menace last year but never got around to posting it on here.

Summary: Someone plays a Christmas-themed prank on Black Hat, but of course he has the last laugh.

Rating: M (explicit sexual content)

Note: No HH characters are specifically mentioned, but they are referenced. 

---

Black Hat squinted at the offending plant perched above him. Who would actually be stupid enough to hang mistletoe in his manor? 

The three likely culprits stood around him; Dementia delighted, Flug frightened, and 505 simply surprised.

Their boss’s eyes grated in their sockets like rusty metal on tarmac as he looked to each of them in turn. 

Flug wouldn't dare. But the other two...

“Oh bon-bon! I thought you hated mistletoe~,” Demencia cooed as she fluttered her dark eyelashes.

His teeth flashed an unmistakable warning.

“Do not start...” he growled, “Take it down.”

“Of course, sir! Right away!” Flug squeaked and beckoned his beloved blue bear to snatch it from the ceiling.

When he did, the scientist crumpled it in his hands and threw it in a nearby trash bin, even going so far as to set the bin on fire with one of the many conveniently placed blowtorches.

“Taken care of, sir!” he said with a gulp, “Anything else we can do for you?

Black Hat crossed his arms and again scrutinized his admittedly motley crew of employees. Demencia pouted at the burning trash but even she and the idiot 505 knew better than to try something like this.

“No,” he grunted out finally. “Get back to work.”

Once he disappeared from the room, Flug nearly fainted into 505′s side. It was too early for this...

“You didn't put that up, did you?” He asked under his breath and the bear shook his head.

“Brawr?"

"I thought so."

He spotted Demencia about to slip out of the room but yelled after her.

As she heard her name, she rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue, but refused to turn around.

“What?”

“Why on Earth did you do that?! I knew you were insane but I didn't know you had a death wish!?”

She whipped around and glared. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what! Hanging the mistletoe over Black Hat!"

She scoffed. “I didn't do that.”

“Of course you did.”

She squared her shoulders as she got closer to him. Despite himself, he backed away, but she pushed him in the chest with one gloved finger. 

“No, bag boy, I learned my lesson last time.”

It was true. She'd tried to get their boss to kiss her by hanging mistletoe two Decembers ago and the result landed her at least two broken ribs and an entire wing of the manor in need of remodeling.

Flug studied Demencia's face for any trace of a lie but she didn't crack. If anything she wanted to crack his skull for accusing her. If she was gonna get blamed for something, it better be something she actually did. She had better ways to spend her time.

“It really wasn't you?” he asked, his tone still just as skeptical.

“Duh! It was probably you, asshole! You love to see me get in trouble.”

“Me?! I would never do something that stupid.”

She leveled her eyes with his and raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?”

“No!” he began but caught himself. He had tried framing her for pranks like this more than once...

Flug cleared his throat. “Fine. Maybe I have, but this wasn't me! I don't feel like dying today! Not a week before Christmas.” It was one of 505′s favorite holidays after all.

She rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Well somebody did and it wasn't me.” She emphasized the declaration by sticking her tongue out and walking away with her head held high, her long green hair curling on the floor behind her. “You two can figure it out among yourselves.”

It happened again the next day, and again the next. Only once on each day and only when Demencia happened to be in the room, but not a soul in Hat Manor had an answer for these appearances. No amount of threats or dismembering got Black Hat anywhere.

So he stopped acknowledging the mistletoe. He stopped yelling at his employees and robots. Wouldn't even spare the little piece of Christmas tradition a cursory glance. Any and all that manifested in his presence simply shriveled into a lifeless black husk that crumbled to ash upon his arrival.

And no one said a word about it.

It was two days until Christmas when Black Hat had finally had enough.

Early in the morning, before sunlight had even graced the horizon, he materialized into Demencia’s quarters. She slept strapped to her slab of a bed by mechanical arms. He flicked on a light and gazed around the dull room with something of a scowl on his face. He never came down here much. He had no reason to, and seeing how boring it was only reinforced that choice. The only notable decoration was a shrine with Black Hat’s picture in a heart shaped frame at the center.

He was sure he’d destroyed that already, but chose to let it be.

Black Hat cleared his throat.

“Demencia,” he called out to her sleeping form and she started to stir. She was a heavy sleeper.

He got close enough to touch her and watched as she twitched and murmured slightly in her sleep.

He leaned down to her pierced ear and tried again.

“Wake up!”

With that, she jolted awake.

“Wha! Black Hat! I didn’t do it!” she insisted with a slur before even laying eyes on her beloved.

“I have good news for you,” he said through a grin, “You’re going to help me.”

Demencia blinked in his direction and licked her dry lips. She realized she’d been drooling and tried discreetly to wipe her chin on the shoulder of her oversized t-shirt.

But the sound of Black Hat’s good news perked her right up.

“Anything for you, handsome,” she crooned and Black Hat did his best not to roll his eyes, though he did flick them up to the ceiling. Just as he thought, there hovering between Demencia and Lord Black Hat was yet another sprig of mistletoe.

His smile brightened at her.

“Wonderful. Now, I’ve been thinking... I haven’t been quite in the Christmas spirit lately and I think it’s time we fix that, hmm?”

Demencia’s head tilted as she looked at him, an eyebrow slightly cocked.

“Yes?”

“Good! I’m glad you agree!”

He wasn’t usually this enthusiastic about something unless it involved killing or taking someone’s soul.

“We’re going to start with that mistletoe there.” He gestured with his chin and her face lit up as she started putting the pieces together.

“You mean it?!”

She wriggled in her bonds with unabashed excitement.

He chuckled darkly. “I do.”

“We’re finally going to kiss?!” Demencia all but squealed.

“Yes. In a matter of speaking,” he said but didn’t elaborate, “Are you ready?”

And though Demencia didn’t fully understand, anything to do with Black Hat and her kissing had to be a good thing!

“I’m so ready!”

She then closed her eyes and pursed her lips the way she’d practiced countless times in preparation for this very moment. She knew it was only a matter of time before he returned her affection!

While her eyes were still closed, he moved towards the center of her “bed” and climbed up, moving her legs apart to position himself between them.

Demencia was actually blushing. “Black Hat? What are you doing?”

He lifted a finger to his lips to shush her before pulling up the hem of her shirt, revealing only a black and red thong underneath.

Her eyes incredulous and wide, she watched as one of his hands turned to claws and with a simple flick of his finger, tore the thong right off.

Black Hat gave her a smile dripping with saliva and lifted her legs into the air by her thighs. Without warning, his inhuman tongue snaked out from behind his toothy grin and took one long, thorough lick over the entirety of her vulva.

Demencia squeaked but didn’t dare to protest even if she wanted to.

So he latched his mouth to her pussy lips and went to town, his tongue wriggling over and between every fold and crevice between her legs.

Demencia found herself wishing she could move her arms but settled for clawing at the surface of her bed.

She moaned and black hat laughed, taking her response as an invitation to go further. His tongue buried itself deep inside her and she gasped. But something else was toying with her clit. She couldn’t see it, but it felt like another, smaller tongue, just as warm and slimy circling and teasing that bundle of nerves.

“Black Hat!”

She couldn’t take much more of this. She’d always imagined what this would feel like with him, but she never imagined he’d do it like this.

His tongue both managed to scrape over her g-spot and hug that spot deep inside her she could only reach with one of her specially ordered dildos.

She bit her lower lip, hard enough for the trace of blood to reach her tongue.

“Ah! Black Hat…I…Please!”

Possessed by the assault of pleasure, she squeezed her thighs around him and score claw marks into the bed. She never thought she’d see heaven, what with being a villain and all, yet here she was, Black Hat escorting her there as her very own grim reaper.

---

Far below the reaches of heaven, far below even the depths of Hat Manor, unknown to Demencia or even Black Hat – though he had a hunch – was a pale man with rosy red cheeks and a smile like a wood chipper sitting in bed in the tallest tower in Hell. Only he wasn’t smiling. Instead his nose crinkled and his lips pressed into a crooked frown. His yellow eyes were fixed on a glowing screen on the other side of the room.

Steam emanated into the room from the adjacent bathroom, along with the steady sound of running water.

Without looking away, he turned his head towards it and called out with unmistakable resignation.

“Honey?”

From the shower, a tall and graceful woman with long blonde hair and two daunting horns replied.

“Yes, dear?”

“Remind me to tell the servants to remove any mistletoe from the premises.”

She paused lathering her hair and he continued to stare at the screen.

“Why?” she asked, “You love mistletoe.”

He hesitated on an emotion…something like regret, but managed to tell her with conviction, “I’ve decided I prefer poinsettias.”

#villainous #lizardhat #hazbin hotel #fanfic #villainous fanfic #lemon