dream-pad

James x Reader / The happiest days

I’m sorry I haven’t been very active, I went through a bit of a mental dry patch and couldn’t have written anything halfway decent if my mother’s life depended on it. I promise I’m not ignoring requests because I want to.


It’s quiet in the common room at night, when everyone’s gone to sleep, dreaming of soft things like clouds and marshmallows floating in lakes of hot chocolate or something of that sort.

Yes, it’s quiet. And everyone dreams. And yet, padding gently down stone stairs in Christmas pattern socks is a girl, Y/N, whose dreams had not been so soft. They had been rather frightening in fact, and had motivated her out of bed and in the direction of the boys dormitory where she knew James Potter would be sleeping soundly save a few twitches here and there.

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Laughter is Language

We keep it golden, it’s so bright. We’re drawing bold allegro lines–Glen Check (Paint it Gold)

Some stupid, pointless, Yoongi-fluff to alleviate the depressing atmosphere on this blog. Also: Sugamon as neighbors. Woot.


“Baek Yerin, I swear to god. Why do you have so much stuff?” you grit through your teeth as you carry another cardboard box packed full of Disney DVDs and VCRs. “Do you even watch any of these anymore?”

“Hey,” she shouts over her shoulders as she makes her way up the stairs in the apartment building, “I might want to watch them when I’m homesick.”

“That’s,” you grunt, hoisting the box up higher,  “not good enough justification for making me carry all of your shit up three flights of stairs.”

“Oh stop being so grumpy,” she laughs a flight of stairs above you. “Focus on the positives, babe. Think about it, we’re finally moving into our own place!” she squeals and you can’t help but chuckle in agreement.

The two of you have been saving up for a place in Seoul since you were in high school, all the way back to schoolgirls in plaid skirts and big dreams hidden in legal pads. You scrimped by in college, subsisting off dehydrated cup noodles, working two jobs through the school year and three in the summer. And now that you’ve graduated, you finally have enough for a semi-decent apartment in Sinchon. Quarters are cramped, and not really much of an improvement over a college dorm room, but it’s more than you could’ve ever dreamed of. The great, romanticized step of independence, a sharp injection of adrenaline despite the universe’s forecast of entropy and confusion.

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'the stars have never shined so bright' - secret santa fic!

WestAllen Secret Santa gift from Tilly ( @mmmtion ) for Lauren ( @backtothestart02 )

Message: Happy holidays! hope you enjoy this - I went with the prompt of Iris confessing her feelings before 2x18, and I tried to incorporate domesticity, cuddling, and a lil bit of jealousy. Also I love your recommended songs! I listened to them all on the same playlist for the fic. alsooo sorry for any typos or inconsistencies it is v late and i am v near the deadline. xox your secret santa

Iris never used to dream much. She might have had the occasional nightmare, sure, as any kid did, about going to school naked or fighting terrible monsters. But for the most part, when she slept, her brain successfully pressed the ‘off’ switch on itself and peaceful nothingness engulfed her until morning.

Then, of course, Eddie died.

The first night after the event - after blood bloomed from his chest, after she tried to cling to his still-warm corpse, after his body was swept away into some bullshit vortex - she’s in her old bedroom in her dad’s place, and is supposed to be knocked out for the next few hours at least, thanks to some pills Caitlin had knowingly given her. But she wakes up in a shock, the first dream she’s had in years clinging to her, Eddie’s blank eyes and cold skin still with her.

The dreams continue, with mostly the same structure. She’ll be in their old apartment and she’ll go to find Eddie, having woken in their bed without him. She finds him in the kitchen, or the living room, or about to leave for work, and she calls his name, and when he turns to face her, blood is already spreading across his chest.

She tries medication, hypnosis tapes, even goes to see a grief counselor for a while. But nothing heals the heart like time, and she goes about her life as if she isn’t waking each night with tears streaming down her cheeks and a shriek stuck in her throat.

Besides, it’s not like she’s the only one in pain. She’s barely seen Cisco or Caitlin in months, her dad wakes around with guilt like it’s a tangible thing, and Barry…Barry will barely look at her. When she does see him, she thinks that at least she can wear make-up to hide the bags under her eyes.

But Team Flash regroups, rebuilds. Life goes on. Eventually, Eddie no longer waits for her when she closes her eyes, only making a brief appearance when the new Wells comes along, with an awfully familiar face she supposes he can’t help.

The dreams don’t quite stop, though. They just…morph into something else entirely.

In these new dreams, she’ll wake in her own apartment, or even her dad’s place, and she’ll climb out of bed to the smell of breakfast being cooked, coffee being brewed. She’ll wander to the kitchen, the feeling of contentedness filling her up like a glowing light, and she’s only wearing a man’s shirt, buttoned haphazardly down to her thighs. She enters the kitchen, and there’s a man there, torso bare and facing away from her to the cooker. She pads over to him, and sun’s streaming through the window, and she’s ready to curl into him and-

And she wakes up, the pattern of freckles and unruly chestnut hair still vivid in her mind.

At first, she thinks she’s just getting confused. (Well, actually, her actual first instinct is to deny the dreams are even happening, but two weeks in, even she’s not that obtuse.) She’s used to the domesticity, and she’s a little bit lonely, and her subconscious is just inserting Barry into the fantasy because he’s her best friend. Then, as he and Patty become a real item, she think she’s just wanting what she can’t have.

Eventually, she has to come to the conclusion that her subconscious is a little faster at working things out than her actual mind.

But she tries not to think about it too much. Barry is with Patty, after all, and she wants him to be happy, no matter how much it hurts deep in her gut to think of Patty getting to wake up to the kind smile and warm coffee.

There’s other stuff going on, anyway: there’s more meta-humans to report on and stop, she’s working out her place in the team at STAR labs, and then, she finds out she has a mother and a brother. Dreams are hardly a priority when real life is eventful enough.

-

She’s in her own apartment, about to chuck a ready-meal into her microwave when she gets the text from her dad:

‘Bear n Patty broke up. im on shift 2nite can u check in on him?’

(One day, she’ll get her dad to no longer use text speak - it’s an ongoing battle of theirs.)

No more than fifteen minutes later, she’s outside her old home, having spent the entire car ride over telling herself that she’s sympathetic. She’s certainly not happy or pleased or excited by the news, definitely not.

It’s only after she presses the doorbell that she realises this will be the first time she and Barry have spent truly alone since her dreams began starring him.

She’s about to work herself up into a panic about that fact when the door opens, the echoes of the doorbell still ringing out, and Barry’s there, looking tired and only a little surprised at her appearance.

Iris steels herself mentally, slapping a smile on her face as she sings, “Movie night!” before he can ask what she’s doing here. She brandishes the DVD in one hand, and pushes past him into the house, not giving him the opportunity to make excuses or send her away. She’s well-versed in comforting Barry, has been ever since he was first brought to their house in the middle of the night, and she knows that he’ll say he wants to be alone when he definitely does not.

She’s a whirlwind around the house, putting in microwave popcorn and then slotting the disc into the DVD player, and then finding the comfiest blankets from the cupboard. Take that, Flash, you’re not the only one who can multitask.

They curl up on the sofa like old times, and the movie plays, though Iris can hardly concentrate with his arm behind her, resting on the back on the couch, and her knees curled up and leaning on his thigh. They’re been in this position since kids, through college, through her boyfriends and his girlfriends, so it absolutely shouldn’t be making her feel nervous, or her pulse feel quick.

“Joe told you, huh?” he asks, apropos of nothing, almost quiet enough that she could pretend she didn’t hear him.

But she twists her lips. “Yeah.” Then she tilts her head to look up at him, to ascertain his expression. “Is that okay?” She realises he hadn’t told her himself yet, and she feels a little cold at the thought of them growing that apart that he wouldn’t.

“I was going to text you,” he says, as if reading her thoughts. He sighs. “She figured out I was the Flash.”

Iris works hard to tamper the flare of jealousy that rises in her, the idea of Patty being the one to wait on rooftops as well as wait in bed-sheets. “Oh?” She asks lightly. “How did she react?”

“I think she might have been okay with it,” he says, looking at the TV screen, though Iris could not tell you any of the plot as she watches his expression. “I just- I realised she was great for me as just Barry, you know? I liked her, and she liked that side of me. I’m just not sure how she would’ve been with the Flash as a boyfriend.Or that she really understood all of me.” He makes a frustrated sound. “Does that sound stupid?”

“Not at all,” she says, perhaps a little too quickly. His gaze is still focused at the movie, though she can tell from his profile that he’s lost in thought, and she twists so she can place her hand on his knee to draw his attention. “Barry, I have every faith you’ll find someone who gets all the different parts of you. CSI and the Flash, clumsy dork and brave hero. Even the weird part of you that hates mint candy.” 

“Yeah,” he says, finally looking straight at her as he echoes, “Someone.”

-

She opens her eyes slowly, eyelids heavy, and she’s in her dad’s place, which might be weird if this obviously wasn’t just another dream, another fantasy her subconscious can’t help but loop every time she shuts her eyes.

She throws off the covers and, yes, all according to pattern: she’s only wearing a guy’s shirt, plaid and big enough to drown her. She smells coffee and pancakes, and she knows what to do next, lips curled in a soft smile and eyes still hooded from sleepiness.

She pads down the stairs and into the kitchen, and the sight is as familiar as it is pleasing. The freckled bare back, the eggs frying, the sweats hanging down to his bare feet. Sometimes she’ll wake up at this point, but she isn’t surprised that the dream continues. She pads forward, feet light on the cold morning stone, arms outstretched and vision foggy.

“Iris?” She hears him say, and he sounds amused, and her subconscious has apparently perfected the tone of his voice.

She floats forward and nestles into his side, pulling his arm up and over her shoulders, humming with her eyes still half-closed.”Coffee?” She asks around a yawn.

He’s frowning at her, which he doesn’t usually. Usually he’s only too happy to oblige, having already made the coffee- but oh, there he is, keeping one arm around her while he uses the other to put a mug under the coffee machine and press the button. She makes a content sound that can only be compared to a purr, pressing her nose into his chest, positioning herself between the cooker and the warmth of Barry’s chest. He hands her the coffee and she sighs happily, curling her free hand around it.

She’s so warm, sleepy and content, that she continues with the dream, knowing her alarm will go off any minute, and she tilts her chin up to press her lips against Barry’s, gently moving them in a close-lipped, soft kiss.

He makes a small sound, almost like surprise, which is a weird change in the usual events, but then he reaches up to cup her face, and kisses back, and this is so much better than usual, so much more intense and real.

She wants this to be real so much her gut aches. But she’ll take what she can get while the dream continues, and she trails her hands up, up to curl into his scruffy hair, pressing her body into his, and he curls over her, and oh, maybe this is going to be one of those dreams-

But then he wrenches away, and she can’t help the small sound of annoyance. Dream Barry usually plays along, so why-

She opens her eyes properly, forcing them wide and focused as she takes in Barry, takes in the way she can actually see all the details of his face and the shock of his expression.

She drops her coffee as she realises that maybe, this isn’t her usual dream. That maybe, this isn’t a dream at all. 

“Fuck,” she breathes. “You- I- I was supposed to be dreaming.”

Last night comes back in full, surround-sound, car-crash detail. They’d watched two more movies after the one Iris had brought, and Iris had fallen asleep on the couch. She vaguely remembers Barry helping her up, maybe even carrying her to bed? And he must have lent her one of his own shirts to sleep in since she didn’t have any pajamas here. 

She just kissed Barry. Not in a dream, in real life. Fuck, indeed. 

“You- you dream about kissing men in your kitchen a lot?” he asks, sounding a little more high-pitched than usual, and she supposes this is probably a lot to surprise him with first thing in the morning.

“Ah,” she says, and summons up all her bravery as she says, “No, not really. Just, um. Just about kissing you.”

He visibly swallows, and his lips twitch - possibly in a smile, but he’s obviously fighting with himself to keep his expression in check. “What does that mean?”

“Uh.” She goes for broke. “I guess it means that I’m really, selfishly, glad you broke up with Patty? And if you give me, like thirty seconds to brush my teeth, we can maybe kiss some more now that I’m properly awake?”

His answering smile is nearly blinding, and he doesn’t even give her two seconds before he cups her face and leans in to kiss her a proper good morning. 

You’re my Mission.

A/N - WHOA hey guys! Guess who’s back?! It’s been like fifteen years and I’m really sorry, a LOT has been happening and I have had zero inspiration along with tons of writers block
Anyways, I’m really not sure about this it’s basically all just back story for what I actually plan on writing, and I’m pretty tired so sorry for any mistakes. Love you guys!
This isn’t a fluff or smut yet and this isn’t really a pairing thing yet and yeah idk what to label this as, aNYWAY

___

(Y/N)=Your Name
(Y/A/N)=Your Avenger Name
Warnings: Language, Emotional Trauma?

~~~~~~~~~~

    You quickly shot up in bed, panting heavily.

    “okay.. just a dream.. It’s cool, you’re fine….” you muttered to yourself.

    Once you got you’re breathing back to normal, you laid back down and tried to relax. Seconds felt like minutes, Minutes felt like hours, everything ached inside of you. All you could see was Bucky dying over and over. It was like a record skipping, except with video and audio. You finally gave up on trying to go back to sleep and sat up again, lightly knocking on the wall next to you.

    “Steve..?” you paused for awhile, searching for any detection of the super soldier in the room next to you “Do you think you could come here for a minute.. Cap?”

    There was a muffled groan and some rustling before your door was being opened a couple minutes later.

    “Is it the dreams again?” He asked, padding over to you. You responded with a nod, patting the bed next to you and muttering an apology which Steve immediately brushed off “Hey, I know.. I miss him too.” he offered you a bottle of water before sitting next to you, pulling your body against him. “It’s not like we asked to be frozen though.”

    You, Steve and Bucky all grew up together in Brooklyn. The best of friends, attached at the hips, completely inseparable. In fact you were so inseparable that after Steve went through the pain of becoming practically invincible, he managed to somehow weasel you in along side him by convincing Howard to test the serum on a female. You were with him through the Captain America tour experiences, helped him break out Bucky, assisted in battling Red Skull, and you were even there for the crash.

    The only thing you wished you had missed out on was Buck’s death. It hit you harder than anything ever had before. He was your best friend and though you never wanted to admit to it, he was you first love interest, and potentially your only. Seeing him die wasn’t something you could just bounce back from. To add insult to injury you weren’t even able to properly mourn in a comfortable atmosphere, you were instead chucked from 1943 to 2013 into a world that was nothing like what you knew before.

    It’s not “the future” that bothered you, in fact you loved the 2000’s and adapted quickly. What bothered you was going through it without Buck, being “forced” to join a group of superheros to save the world ((actually, that didn’t really bother you either, you felt like you were in a comic book and that was awesome but you liked to complain)). How could you be anything less than brave when so many people looked up to you?

    When your recurring nightmare began it happened at least 3-5 times a week, and you’d wake up screaming and sobbing. But that was two years ago, now it only happened when you were excessively stressed out.

    “Hey, you know we’re gonna be alright (Y/N)” Steve commented, nudging you with his elbow. “With both of us and Natasha? This winter soldier asshole doesn’t even stand a chance.”

________

    “It was him. He looked right at me.. and he didn’t even know me”

    “What the FUCK?!” You shouted, kicking your legs causing the guard to tense, and shoot you a warning ((or would be if you could see their face)) but you ignored them

    Sam and Nat exchanged a look “How’s that even possible it was like 70 years ago.”

    Steve tried to begin explaining the experiments Zola performed but you cut him off, not wanting to hear it.

    “That can’t be Bucky, Steve! He fell off a fucking mountain for Christ’s sake!” You were enraged, this couldn’t be happening right now.

    “(Y/N)..” Steve interjected, but Sam cleared his throat turning to the guards.

    “We need to get a doctor here, if we don’t put pressure on that wound she’s going to bleed out in the truck.”

________

    Steve squeezed your shoulder lightly but you stayed stone faced, staring straight ahead. The two of you, along with Sam and Maria were headed to take down HYDRA. Of course this also included potentially taking down Bucky. That obviously wasn’t exactly something you wanted to deal with.

    Everything seemed to go by in a blur, you were fighting HYDRA agents left and right, headed towards your goal. You, Sam and Steve split off headed straight towards replacing the controller chips. You definitely didn’t expect to find anyone waiting for you, when you got to the chips. But now you were face to face with James Barnes. The two of you stared at each other for a moment too long as you tried to catch your breath.

    “Buck…. It doesn’t have to be like this.” You still barely believed that this metal armed soldier standing in front of you was indeed your best friend. “This isn’t who you are. You’re being brainwashed.”

    As soon as the words left your mouth the wind was knocked out of you as Bucky took you to the ground, causing you to momentarily lose contact with the rest of your team. The two of you fought each other off until you had successfully traded out the chip. You pressed your finger to the ear piece as you sprinted back finalise the replacement.

    “Maria! Can you hear me?”

    “Yes, you’re on!” She responded only slightly delayed. “You’ve got 30 seconds, (Y/A/N)!”

    You spat blood, stumbling when Bucky shot you in the shoulder. “I’ve got it.” You avoided his next shots as you put in the chip. “Now, Hill!”

    “(Y/N), you’ve got to get out of there first!”

     “There’s no time, I’ll be fine.” You panted sinking down and holding your wound, you weren’t actually sure you’d be fine, in fact this is probably where you would die. Holding on to the pole next to you, you tried your hardest to not be knocked completely off the helipad from the force of the explosion, and luckily you weren’t.

    You stood up, finding Buck struggling under part of the structuring. “Steve are you safe?” You asked, making your way down to Bucky.

    You heard Steve sigh at you “I’m with Nat. Are you okay? What’s up with Bucky?”

    “Everything’s cool.” Your response was only slightly a lie, but you had no other answers as you stood before Buck. You grabbed him by his metal arm, dragging him out from under where he was trapped.

    “It’s okay Bucky, this isn’t you..”

    That was a mistake. As soon as he was freed he had you pinned down, knife to throat. “I don’t know you!” He shouted, the knife drawing some blood. “You’re my mission.”

    You struggled, choking on your own blood “and I’m your friend!” You relaxed your body, huffing loudly “so I’m not hurting you. Finish your mission.” You stared up at him “I’m with you til the end of the line.”

    Buck’s grip loosened and he stared at you, tons of emotions crossing his face. Before he could fully react there was a huge crash that sent you plummeting into the water below you two.

PART 2

Ask Thingy

Rules: tag 10 followers you want to know better
after answering, and spread positivity!

Tagged by: @foggy-afternoon Thanks, boo! ;)

Nickname: Britt (I guess), Sirius

Gender: Female

Zodiac sign: Sagittarius

Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw/Slytherin

Favorite color: Grey

Time now: 1:33 pm

Average hours of sleep: Usually 5 - 8

Last thing I googled: Yeah Yeah from sandlot (I was comparing a picture of him to my dad when he was younger)

Blankets I sleep with: Just my comforter all year, maybe a throw blanket on top when I’m really cold

Favorite musical artist: Coldplay

Favorite food: I’m a slut for Pad Thai

Dream trip: Positano, Italy

Wearing: Zip-up sweater, jean shorts, and my vans

Age of blog: Ahh shit… 7 years I think

Following: Lots of fandom and aesthetic stuff

Type of posts: Anything I’m into that day.. did I just watch a movie I wanna post about? YEP. A show I just saw? YEP. Harry Potter? Always.

I tag: @hamartophilliac @lady-macbethany @ravenclaw-for-life @lonelygio @cinnamonbunsinmyhair @tea-n-lace @possibility-for-me @whisperthisisit @crowally @traviswatchesstuff

2
Words: 3364
Cas x Reader (Future!Cas)
Warnings: language, angst
Summary: Y/N takes a first look at her journal.
A/N: This is part of a series! Read the other parts first! You can find them on the Master List!

Your name: submit What is this?

You flipped through the journal until you could see a visual change in the appearance of the pages. It changed from crowded scribbles, notes on monsters and hunts, to your scrawling handwriting in neat lines. Each page was dated at the top.

The narrative entries began just a few weeks after the day when Zach had visited you and zapped you here into the future.

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Sleepwalking was common after the war. No matter how the prefects would soothe the foreheads of anxious second-years once again afraid of the dark, no matter the amulets anxious parents hung around their surviving child’s neck, every other night quiet, dreaming feet would pad down winding staircases and across the stone floors of the castle. Sometimes they would talk or cry in the empty Great Hall. Sometimes their magic would go haywire and strong winds would gust through the corridors.

The castle, however, would always do its best to protect them, just has it had during the war. None of the sleepwalkers ever got caught in a trick stair, or wandered to close to a crumbling ledge where spells had blasted the stone wall away. None of them was ever forced to wake up in the dungeons where they and their friends had once been tortured. Hogwarts led them to secret courtyards with trickling waterfalls, or armchairs in front of a glowing fireplace, or the humming stained glass windows in one of the music parlors, as if to say, when they awoke, “See? You’re safe here now.”

(photo:Willy Vanderpere)

anonymous asked:

Hello! Love your fics! That's why I'd like to suggest a simple prompt, that I'd like to read your version: Rose/Tentoo, first kiss in Pete's World.

Oh, Anon, thank you for flattering me with sweet words. :) Hope you like it!!

Thanks to @aimtoallonsy for looking it over for me.

(AO3)

The Natural Course of Things

They’ve settled into a rather unexpected routine, Rose halfheartedly going back to her duties at Torchwood and the Doctor spending his days in the small outbuilding on Pete’s property to start growing their TARDIS. 

An unsettled sort of peace has fallen between them, one that’s slowly made easier with each conversation about the actions and decision of the other Doctor (and this one), what transpired on the beach in Norway, and the little pieces of knowledge about what they’d experienced in the years since that terrible day at Canary Wharf. 

Sometimes there are tears, sometimes words of anger or resentment, but little by little, soft smiles and eye-corner crinkles replace forehead creases and frowns. Little by little, laughter replaces uncomfortable silence. Until one day – 

“Doctor, I’m moving back to my flat. Come live with me.”

“Oh, so I’m the Doctor now?”

(It’s accompanied with a pleased click of the tongue and a quickly beating heart wondering, Does she want me?)

(To which she rolls her eyes and takes his hand thinking, I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t.)

– they move from the mansion to her flat, and for a while, he sleeps in the guest room. But it’s easier, now, less complicated than before. It’s like a weight has been taken off their shoulders, and they’re content to let things progress naturally, to tentatively try out this new life on the slow path. 

Until one morning, the Doctor’s feeling a buzz from the aftermath of a pleasant dream, and he pads into the kitchen to find Rose, hair mussed from sleep, wearing an oversized t-shirt with her legs on tantalizing display, and he simply can’t help the way his body gravitates to hers, the way his fingers push aside her hair, and the way his lips graze over the side of her neck. 

It’s the natural course of things. 

And when she shudders under his touch and turns to him with heavy-lidded eyes that flick to his lips every few seconds, he simply can’t help the way he leans down and presses his lips to hers. Rose’s soft gasp of surprise turns into a satisfied moan that spurs him onward, deepening the kiss, while pulling her close, tangling one hand into her hair and securing the other around her back. 

“Finally,” he whispers, placing soft kisses along her jaw.

“I thought you’d never,” she whispers back.

Time suspends for them in this moment, acceptance, forgiveness, and love colliding as one, and they revel in the significant shift in the path they’ve chosen to take together. 

anonymous asked:

Maleficent has a dream about Aurora with wings.

It’s the absence of Aurora’s physical being that makes Maleficent wake up. Chilled, bereft of what she expects to find upon opening her eyes, she can’t help but frown, the back of one of her hands rubbing along her cheek. “‘Rora?” she mumbles, sitting up, drawing her wings in close, rustling along the bed covers.

She had had a dream…

Quiet footsteps pad closer, from the direction of the window. “I’m sorry if I woke you,” Aurora’s soft voice smiles, her body settling down next to Maleficent. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

Smiling, Maleficent can’t help but kiss the hand that cups her face.

“But I have to say,” Aurora continues, still smiling but shifting forward to replace her hand with her lips along the other woman’s sharp cheekbone, moving until she finds Maleficent’s lips with her own, “It’s not often you actually fall asleep here, on this bed.”

Maleficent reaches out, her hands cupping Aurora’s shoulder blades as their knees press together. Able to see easier in the dark than her lover can, she doesn’t hesitant to kiss her back, only pulling back with a laugh when Aurora’s hand hits one of her horns instead of threading through her hair as she probably hoped to. “I had a long day,” she offers once they’d calmed, “And it certainly showed in my dreams!”

“Yes?” Leaning forward to rest her forehead against Maleficent’s, Aurora’s voice is still full of a smile. She glides her fingers down Maleficent’s head and neck and shoulder, tangling in the fine feathers caped around Maleficent’s body; knowing how much pressure and touch they can take, she smiles adoringly, unable to keep a soft laugh back when what suspiciously sounds like purring coming from deep within the faerie’s chest starts up.

Plush lips press into Aurora’s forehead, and with barely any direction, Aurora finds herself lying on the bed, curled into Maleficent’s body with the other woman’s arms wrapped around her. Their legs are tangled, Maleficent’s wings pushed back, but Aurora keeps herself from querying if the other woman is comfortable - she’d learned earlier on that Maleficent never suffered any discomfort for long.

“You…” And it’s Aurora’s turn to hear a smile in her lover’s voice, the faerie nuzzling along her cheek before pressing their lips together again, her hand mapping out the swell and dip of Aurora’s waist and hip, “Were in the Moors with me.”

“With you?” Aurora kisses her.

As if she is trying to sound cross, Maleficent taps her waist. “Yes, with me.” She won’t ever tell anyone, but she loves these midnight talks with her Aurora. They’re deeper, raw, laying everything bare. However, unsure now, as she watches the blonde’s eyes gaze at her in the dark, she lowers her voice, sighing as Aurora’s hand tickles her ear. “You were flying. Like I do.”

“With you?” Aurora asks again. Her fingertips caress the sharp point of Maleficent’s ear, sliding down to stroke along Maleficent’s cheek and jaw.

“No.” Shaking her head imperceptibly, Maleficent’s lips curve up as Aurora squirms from what she’s doing along her hip, “Like me. You had wings. Of your own.”

A small laugh bubbles out of Aurora’s mouth. “Were they bird-like, like yours?”

Maleficent’s lips turn down. “You think I’m bird-like?”

“No!” And Aurora’s laughing, hiding her face in Maleficent’s neck after she moves enough to let Aurora worm her way in. “Maleficent…”

A strong hand cups her side, Maleficent’s leg pushing between Aurora’s as if to curve around and pull her closer. “I’m teasing.” The faerie’s lips brush along her jaw. “You were beautiful, and they were glistening white, like dove wings.”

Aurora can’t help but smile, so broadly and widely she knows Maleficent must feel it. “Like an angel?”

At that, Maleficent huffs. “Like a dove,” she murmurs, adding her fingernails to her strokes up and down Aurora’s side, catching at the thin fabric of her nightdress. “Like my dove.”

“Your dove,” Aurora hmms, repeating, once again finding the softness of Maleficent’s feathers, nipping gently at the white, porcelain neck of her faerie, “I think I like the sound of that.”

“Then that is what I shall call you,” Maleficent answers, finding Aurora’s mouth again, purring as she melts into her, “Because that is, without a doubt, what you are. My dove.”

“I really think I like you saying that,” Aurora manages to murmur before she melts again, sighing satisfactorily when Maleficent rolls over on top of her, her wings surrounding them both and making her heart skip a beat at how completely Maleficent possesses her, “I really think I like that very much.”

Over her, already focused on drawing Aurora’s tongue into her mouth as Aurora’s body reaches up to meet hers, Maleficent can’t help but think - no, know - she likes it too.