#NOBODY CARED FOR HIM DURING ALL HIS CHILDHOOD AND THAT MADE HIM SEARCH FOR THAT UNIVERSAL APPROVAL

[layraket]

just watched The Monkey King

i have lots of thoughs. (rambling on tags)

[moonmeg]

What do you think of Belos? How do you think his story is going to progress?

Honestly I hope he dies ❤️

I think 400 years is enough, buddy, you're literally walking around as a goop/mud monster and decomposing by the minute. You've been to earth again. You stayed there for MONTHS. You most certainly saw the changes. And you still think you're going to be celebrated as great witch hunter? Bestie, you're delusional 😭🤚

No, seriously. I've said this more than once but while I absolutely hate him as a character himself, I love him as villain. He's one of my favorite Disney TVA villains. He's brilliant at that.

The thing with him however is... as much as I detest him, I pity him.

Being born in the 1600s is already a hard blow

He was only a little kid when he lost both parents and had only his older brother to care for him and love him unconditionally. If you research the Puritan way of living, it's safe to say his childhood was just sad and bland. He was able to escape that grayness of life with his brother. Caleb went against the rules and carved his baby brother a sword and mask, played witch hunt with him and just let Philip have fun. (Toys and fun are/were not exactly things Puritans looked upon fondly)

They didn't fit in with their new home. All they had was each other. Caleb was his last family and possibly his only friend. They were outcasts but they were outcasts together, dreaming of a better future together.

Caleb was always there. He was always around. Until suddenly he wasn't anymore. His brother had followed someone else into another world. Into a world that consits of everything they wanted to destroy. Caleb wouldn't go there on his own. Not in his right mind. He wouldn't just leave. He must've been forced to go by a third party.

Philip wants to get his brother back. He wants to save him, return with him home. He follows him, searches for him desperately and possibly was close to encountering death more than once during that search. And when he found him, his brother wasn't in distress. His brother was happy. He had lived there without any difficulties all this time.

He lived there with his lover.

His witch lover.

His pregnant witch lover.

Caleb chose to come here and chose to stay. He chose to leave Philip behind. Voluntarily.

Was it fully rational or more a reaction in rage? Planned or fully by accident? Whatever it was, Philip found himself having made a terrible mistake. His brother was dead. Stabbed by Philip's own hand. In attempt to save Caleb and get him back, he lost him entirely and can never get him back. But he needs Caleb. That's why he came to this world in the first place: to bring him back to earth and continue working towards their goal of being great witch hunters. But that can be no more. Philip no longer can have his brother by his side in this mission. Unless...

He creates a new Caleb. A living being that is almost identical to his deceased brother but one that doesn't betray him. A better Caleb. The perfect Caleb. He attempts the perfect Caleb once... twice... again... and again.... and again. They keep betraying him. They keep going against him. They never stay on his side. Just like the actual Caleb has done years before.

"Philip" slowly gets banned from one town to the next, all around the Boiling Isles, so he needs a new name.

He can't continue his mission as human, so he pretends to be one of the witches. He cuts his ears to resemble the pointy witch ears, he finds a way to live long past behind what is a normal human life span and he finds a new ally to help him achieve his goal. As "Belos", his newfound alias, he goes around the Isles playing the role of a prophet. He uses what to the people of the Isles is the equivalent of a god to get the witches and demons on his side. The way they have been living is wrong, he preaches and in his favor "helps" them to live like the Titan intended. He gains more and more influence and power until he becomes Emperor and nobody doubts him. The only doubts come from his right hand men: the replicas of his long dead brother.

He keeps getting rid of them and creating new ones, always hoping this time it's a different outcome. This time Caleb won't betray him.

At this point, he has lost sanity and is beyond all savings.

His body is barely human anymore, yet he keeps telling himself he still is human. That his home might have changed over the course of centuries doesn't strike his mind. He's determined to finally succeed in a 400 year old mission he created with Caleb, whatever it may cost.

The Philip he once was, died along with his brother.

And he is so close to reaching his goal and still fails. But he's still determined to keep going. The image of his brother is haunting him, silently watching almost emotionless at what he's become.

But Caleb has no right to be mad. He's the root to this all. Had Caleb not left, had he stayed with Philip on earth, all this wouldn't have happened. It's Caleb's fault. It's all Caleb's fault.

His life could almost pass as Greek tragedy and I love that. I love the complexity of his character. It's amazing.

[lampmanliveblogs]

There is one amendment to be made to your timeline of the wittebane's lives and the sequence of events that helped Philip shape himself into a monster. Back in 'yesterday's lie', when Jacob recounted their fate from an outsider's perspective, he somehow knew that their vanishing was the work of an actual witch that lured them 'into a realm of evil', details that indicates first-hand eyewitness statements to their unusual dissapearance. However, the more-accurate memory portrait that showed their meeting apparently has them alone in the middle of a dark forest, with nobody around to form an angry mob against their magical visitor, hence why she was able to sweet-talk them into listening to her.

Whilst Wittebro is walking towards her magical flame, enamoured with it, Philip is hanging back, afraid of her and pleading with his bro to get away from her, clearly terrified of her existence thanks to all the anti-witch stories he was told, now with definite proof before him that they're all real. It's greatly hinted that his nerve broke and he fled in terror of her, but Wittebro stayed and listened to her, actually engaged with her, and thus got to know she wasn't anything like the propaganda has made her out to be.

It's therefore implied that Wittebro was the one who was 'lured' to the boiling isles by his fascination with a world of magic, leaving Philip behind to stew in his anti-witch beliefs and spread the word of what he thought has happened to his brother to anyone who would listen, unable to comprehend the idea that his beloved brother would ever willingly betray the 'glorious' ideals they were raised amongst. Even from a child's age, Philip was already twisting the truth in favour of what he wanted it to be.

And this in turn fed into his delusions of the 'heroic' witch-hunting profession, because now he's got a real-life chance to live out his childhood stories, a mission to 'rescue' his brother from his cruel fate despite the odds, a daunting task awaiting the right 'hero' to enact it, just like luz was so certain that going to the boiling isles would all her to enact her Azura stories.

So Philip searches for his brother for years, never ceasing his quest or moving on with his life, certain in his purpose in performing the role. One day, he stumbles into a one-way portal to the demon realm formed from titan's blood, deposited on the shores of eclipse lake, leaving him trapped in the realm like his brother is. But no matter, their escape from this hellish land will be a secondary concern after they're reunited, he just had to find Wittebro first. He searches the titan's body for a long time, long enough to grow a beard, traveling from town to town in search of news about Wittebro and his 'captor', tricking and killing the locals once he's done with them- after all, they're monsters just like the enemy that stole his brother from him, so he's doing the world a favour really. At some point in this journey he takes to eating palisman for some reason, wearing his childhood mask of a victorious witch Hunter as he does so, savouring his kill as he loses himself his his warped narrative, becoming 'viewer's with their essence as he does so.

Finally, at long last, he finds Wittebro... Only for the narrative he's been sustaining his crusade with to run head-first into reality. Wittebro's not a captive, nor is he unhappy with his situation - in fact, he loves this twisted realm and all its strangeness. He's not been harmed by the witch and is actually gotten close to her during all the time they were seperated, enough to fall in love with her and want to settle in the demon realm for good. He doesn't even care for Philip's cursed state, apparently presented as a consequence of what the 'monsters' did to him to convince Wittebro to flee, only that they're reunited as a family again, and this breaks Philip.

Unable to handle the fact that Wittebro willingly left him behind, that he wants to turn his back on everything they were taught as children and that all his struggles were for naught, that he's nothing special or destined for greatness in the end, Philip doubles down on his insane role-playing.

He decides for the sake of his narrative that the only reason Wittebro would be like this is the witch's manipulation, so she must go first before he can 'save' Wittebro for real. As Wittebro introduces his significant other to his long-lost brother, Philip sneaks a knife behind his back to the meeting, striking when the loving couple's guard is down. Perhaps he knocked the witch unconscious with his first blow, given her absence from their fight. Of course, Wittebro doesn't stand aside, and reluctantly holds Philip at bay whilst he rants at him to let him 'save' him, that his mind has been corrupted by her, that he's come too far to let the evil hellspawn keep twisting his brother against him. His temper escalates until Philip's lack of hesitation wins out against wittebro's own, and he destroys what hes spent years searching for with his own two hands.

Distraught by this, Philip is chased away by the enraged witch, now recovered, fleeing into the night with no way home and grappling with his guilt over his near-biblical murder of his family. With no other thoughts of what to do next in his head, the only way Philip can cope with everything is re-writing it to serve his narrative, to still support himself with the positive reinforcement of being the 'hero', and a reason for his actions. Wittebro betrayed him first, it was necessary to 'save his soul' from his sins and fratternising with the enemy, and clearly his real purpose in being in the demon realm is to save others from suffering his own tragedy by the machinations of witches. And clearly the only way to do that his to wipe them all out, commit a grand heroic deed that'll boot out any guilt he still feels towards his brother and the reality he determinedly ignores.

Philip is the worst kind of evil, the evil that is incapable of accepting that it's action are at all immoral, and it's because he's wrapped himself in this deluded narrative as a shield and coping mechanism for his last sins and his inability to accept the truth

I woke up one morning to my alarm ringing. I reach for my phone and turn off the alarm before putting on my glasses and checking the notifications I got during the night. I scrolled down the list and saw this one. "There is one amendment to be made to your timeline..." it said.

Being still newly awake I was very confused and a bit freaked out, because how did you know that I had just finished a new timeline for the Conspiracy Corner just the day before?

Speaking of which, uh...

Let's just pretend all that fits on that post-it note and that I wrote it right after "Gravesfield founded," shall we? Also that I switched "Philip encounters Luz & Lilith" and "Creation of the first grimwalker" around.

(just you guys wait until you see the full thing, it turned out so good)

Anyways, this is all a very likely and possible sequence of events... even if it is a lot to infer just from a couple of blurry paintings in the background.

[parchedvampire]

Details

Full Name: Jodie Gonzalez Face Claim: Katherine Von Drachenberg Age: 36 Date of Birth: July 29, 1987 Residence: Albany, New York, United States Sexuality: Pansexual Occupation: Hairstylist Species: Vampire

Appearance Hair Color: Black Eye Color: Coffee Brown/Crimson Complexion: Fair Height: 5′9’’ Weight: 58 kg

Bio

Jodie hails from the state of New York, where her Pureblood family raised her and her older brother Ernesto. She was born a Vampire, and thus had craved blood since a young age. During childhood, she sometimes messed with humans to get what she wanted. She could never bring herself to cause too much trouble as her parents would lock her up if their identities were revealed. Ernesto ended up being left in their family’s basement to starve when he took the fall for her on her sixteenth birthday. The raven haired teen had gone clubbing against her family’s wishes, and fed off of multiple humans. Luckily, nobody was killed but the damage had already been done. Jodie’s older sibling hurriedly cleaned her up, and then smeared the human’s crimson essence on himself. He'd staged it to look like he was the assailant. His penance for recklessly feeding was a month in the basement without any blood for sustenance.

Most Pureblood families didn’t care if they were found out, but the Gonzalez family was different. They’d made a name for themselves, living comfortably amongst humans. They’d done everything in their power to protect Jodie and Ernesto, but in the end nothing could save them. Everyone was found out, and Jodie’s parents were killed by a pack of Werewolves. The Hunters used the Wolves as pawns, convincing them that Vampires were out to get them. Ernesto and Jodie had no choice but to leave town for a time. By then, Jodie was old enough to fend for herself— but she didn’t want to leave her brother as he was in a vulnerable state.

Their lives had drastically changed throughout the years, and they even came across a hidden city that was a safe haven to many Inhuman creatures. Amongst the creatures was a former Hunter-turned-Werewolf. He grew close to Jodie quickly with one plan in mind: to kill both Gonzalez siblings. It didn’t matter to him that both Vampires were of no threat to anyone— his only wish was to plunge stakes through the Vamps' hearts.

By the time the Pureblood discovered her lover’s hidden agenda, it was too late. Ernesto had been staked, the only remnants of him being his ashes. Jodie was left to grieve alone, with nobody to support her in her time of need. The man she loved had killed her older brother for whatever reason, and he was after her next. She returned to Albany, New York in search of answers. Though her previous residence was relatively safe, she couldn’t bear to confront her former lover. With tensions between Hunters and Werewolves running high, she used that to her advantage. Her ex lover had been found by his former guild as she’d given them his address. A bloody fight broke out, and the Vampire was barely able to control herself. She snarled at her former boyfriend when he tore his old comrades limb from limb. He’d transformed into a Wolf, and she was no match for him.

Jodie felt betrayed and weak, but there was nothing she could do. All hope seemed lost until the Werewolf let her go. He couldn’t bring himself to kill her, even knowing what she was. She’d pleaded for him to stake her then and there, but he refused. The creature of the night was left broken and battered, so she fled to her family’s old residence. The mansion stood abandoned, but it still felt like home. Jodie squatted in the house for five days, giving herself time to process everything that happened. She decided to fix up her family's estate with the help of contractors. Soon enough, the Gonzalez home was no longer in ruins and dust; it stood tall as it used to. However, even living in luxury was painful seeing as Jodie had no one to share her good fortune with. She longs to find the perfect spouse, and spend eternity with them.

[real-godzekiel]

(reposted with all fandom references censored obnoxious-style so it does not appear in searches)

it's 2:30 time to write out something vague and personal that nobody cares about

(warnings for discussions about sex and childhoods and parents and revolting mental illness thoughts (I don't have mental illnesses!). touches on child grooming for only a bit) there is also m0ral 0rel cl4y discussion used as framework)

do not read if you don't like. I'm not going "dead dove" right here I fucking hate dead dove😭 sorry. but I realized the power of words sometimes to illustrate a particular feeling from within but I also don't want to hurt anyone or force all followers to see and read especially when I got new people knowing who I am and what I sometimes say 3:41 am at night. this may be genuinely graphic to some people as it may remind some of sexual trauma

cl4y pnppington oedipus complex I see a lot of people talk about and I feel dumb when I have thoughts about shows like m0ral 0rel because I don't know if my opinions are correct or appropriate for a person such as myself to have about a show so intricate and private in a way

actually. maybe not just cl4y pnppington(I hate him die die die) from m0ral 0rel but I am talking about the thing with getting spoiled and having the person who spoiled you die. you only associate comfort with that dead person now. you want comfort. you find comfort in friendships, family, romance, maybe, but it all just leads back to that one person because growing up the way you did your brain ingrained the idea that that person was the ultimate comfort. it's the thing you will forever want to get back, something that everything you did, in a way, led to but that means you don't care about anything else. you do things because it reminds you of that person, because you want to feel like the world revolves around you again. you never commit because this is the only reason you do anything and paradoxically you also hate anything related to that person and hate yourself for being like this. stuck in a mind whose only concept of love is that of being a child to a maternal figure

I don't think Cl4y is attracted to his mother. I think most people who are THAT fixated to a relationship they had during childhood probably did not have weird thoughts out of a genuine desire to weird even if they are terrible in every other way. what am I saying. he is nothing like me. there are also 4gnes bl0berta and even b3ndy which I want to talk about because I have thoughts but then I realize I am 15 years old. why would I even think of this . why is sex such a big blotch on me with both shame and shamelessness and do I even get to talk about it. is it right. I am very little and I type things online to get attention and get mad when the attention isn't the attention I was expecting (meaning that it was not outrageously mean-spirited but also failed to be understanding of my deeper feelings from the first glance (nobody should be forced to understand someone's feelings right away. I am very bad don't be like me!)).

"do you know that kids think of sex. especially kids on the internet. have got seen the kids that draw suggestive art, that talk nsfw jokes, that watches porn/r34 at a young age and all of that and that. why are the kids blamed. why is there little amount of art that talks about this, I know, because once it's made adults look at it and say and think ideas that berate, belittle, objectify, devalue. kids talking about their own sex problems get sexualized. " -me, who is insane

okay back to cl4y. or at least the idea of a possible difference between correlation and what is commonly seen as attraction. whyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!! either way cl4y and bl0berta and weird and fucks around but they are not sex pests. stop making jokes about them being sex pests. they are not sex pests in my head. they are everything bad except sex pest you make me feel weird. FUCK you whatever any writer's intentions were I am not the only person whose projections matter

sorry I don't know much about Freud. I should learn more about psychology. I cannot guarantee any of this is correct or uses correct definitions and facts either. no logic, only pathos. I still think it's kind of really gross to say that children are attracted to their parents,even though that's a thing that probably very much happens . when sex is seen as something about love, everything crashes. also do not do dependency as a child it ruins your life (for good(everything can be good if you think about it a specific way, which is sometimes a dumb thing to think but it has to be acknowledged) or for worse(YOU WON'T EVER THINK OF LOVE(with your classmate! with your parents! your teachers!) WITHOUT THINKING OF THIS))

sex, kiss, love, hug, sleep, skin, bath, safe, woo, relief, comfort, smile, valid, always, nothing, just

So, that was a good one! Made you read all that stuff on fucking, huh? yeah sorry not sorry I wrote all that as a guise for the actual joke which is that I think sex is just a joke. I think sex is so random?humor fucking hilarious bro. anal 😂😂😂😂💀 edging 😱😱😱😱😱😱😱

quiet, calm and fun/gen mental breakdowns are performance art that makes me want to share by impulse

[saiaisaiko]

So, I have searched for my reply on a comment under one of my fics (Chapter 4 of 'A bards earned favor' on ao3 for all who want a clean documentation) and under the Clcut is the whole citation, but everyone remembers the History line, few seem to remember that Yennifer and fringilla who had been in nilfgard at the time, recognized Filavandrel and had hope as they recognized him, the mercyful king of the elves. Jaskier has more songs that we never hear in the series, as Filavandrel was never mentioned in 'Toss a coin' or the various scars from Geralt a prostitued had pointed out. So yeah, I put it into the best words back then 'Yeah, and respect doesn't make history. Victories and the winners make history. [...] And I always thought that Jaskier was doing those elves a favour. Thought dead, nobody would be looking for them. And songs are always up for interpretation. Geralt dealt with the problem and Jaskier made it into a song with many, many metaphors. And nobody cares for a simple musician. What would he have to say? What would he know?'

"Thank you! Yeah, and respect doesn't make history. Victories and the winners make history. And bards, they remember. And I always thought that Jaskier was doing those elves a favour. Thought dead, nobody would be looking for them. And songs are always up for interpretation. Geralt dealt with the problem and Jaskier made it into a song with many, many metaphors. And nobody cares for a simple musician. What would he have to say? What would he know?

Yeah, that with the talent always strived me as odd, but the one saying his songs are rubbish are Geralt, who probably doesn't do well with loud and constant noises and was horribly sleep deprived on the occasion he commented on the quality of the singing, and the barmaid, who admittedly had to hear him sing about his heartbreak for months. I would want to put something in my ears too, if I would have to constantly hear someone else's business. The other time Geralt commented his singing was about the accuracy of his song, the monsters within not existing. Yennifer commented on him being a sing-songy twit, not saying he was bad at it.

I actually put the travel time into account, as is seen in the next chapter. There has to be a considerable amount of time to travel, months unless something makes him magically faster. I am not above thinking he is not paying some mages for portals, he wouldn't be able to travel through half the continent and back during three seasons otherwise, but I also think he tried to ignore his feelings about Jaskier. From Netflix standpoint, Jaskier would be the only 'normal' human to treat him with kindness. Especially if you take his childhood trauma into account. Nightmare of a wolf is tied to the show after all. And he has many problems feeling responsible for somebody, bound and needing someone. Him pushing the one thing that he fears and needs away makes actual sense from this standpoint, but it doesn't mean it hurts him and Jaskier less.

And Jaskiers songs travel far and wide, as Fringilla has heard them far in the south were Jaskier doesn't go. So his heartbroken song must have reached Geralt at some point, and he may have hoped the suddenly very public fallout will protect the bard from the people looking for him. Especially if they would be searching for Geralt. What would a bard, who had such a fallout with his witcher after months and nearly a year know about the whereabouts of a witcher?

And Jaskier, he is a loveing and giving person, shown numerous times throughout the show. He probebly forgave Geralt, realising that he came to him and asked him for help, he really didn't need and they both now that, as a sign to reconnect. And I go with Joey Batley here, Jaskier just wanted his friend back, but made sure to be sure, he wouldn't be left on a mountain, again. Not sure the end of season two didn't foreshadow that, but that is a whole other can of rotting worms.

Anyway, this reply clearly spirald out of control too, so don't feel sorry for that. I was absolutely delighted to see your comment and to read your opinon on this thing, it actually made my day.

Have a nice day and more fun with the rest of the story.

Some of yall overlooking season 1 Jaskier. In the episode we meet him(or so, I think), his WHOLE perspective of elves gets turned on its head, he is able to find respect and understanding for them and STILL writes "toss a coin." And in response to Geralt's criticism, he responds "respect doesn't make history" in just the most sad but accepting way, before sauntering away and continuing his song.

This man was never quite the pure cinnamon roll we make believe. He was cynical to begin with, and I just feel like not enough people realize or talk about that.

[nekoannie-chan]

I won’t say goodbye anymore

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Super soldier!Reader.

Word count: 1229 words.

Summary: The times Steve abandoned you.

Warnings: Mention cheating, abandonment, and sadness.

A/N: This is my entry to @caplanbuckybarnes  Cappy’s Decade Challenge with the 00’s song:

“This love-Maroon 5.”

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

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If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad  @angrythingstarlight  @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae  @harrysthiccthighss @marvelatthisone @hallecarey1​ @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @sapphire-rogers @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose​

"Is enough, is enough," you murmured so many times that you lost count.

You were tired. You would never wait for or be around Steve again. You didn't even want to know anything about him. You didn't want to know anything about him. You weren't sure he knew everything. Nobody told you. Maybe you have been too naive. Maybe you should have disappeared when you had the chance.

You walked into the apartment where you and Steve were supposed to live. You quickly put your things away. You didn't want to be there or be found when he came back. You tried to hold back your tears if he came back to that place. However, you stopped in front of the area where all the photographs of you were together. There were too many years and so many memories. There were even some of you from your childhood. You threw them all on the floor. You did not care about all the noise that was made or the broken glass. You were supposed to know Steve forever, but it seemed like he was a complete stranger.

You just couldn't comprehend it. You have known each other for over a hundred years. You had been together for so long, and Steve quickly destroyed everything.

The first time Steve left you, was when he entered the army. It was a few months after you got married. He hadn't even told you anything about it, but he just came one day, telling you that he was leaving that same night.

However, you did not stay with your arms crossed; you managed to go with him. For him, you accepted that they put the serum on you too.

You didn't like the way you had "celebrated" your first wedding anniversary.

The second time was when he wouldn't let you follow him to the ship to face Red Skull. He just didn't come back. No search proved effective.

But most of all, what bothered you the most was Carter's behavior; she didn't even let you listen to your husband one last time.

The third time was during the days that Steve disappeared after the fall of the Triskelion. He never told you that he would go looking for Bucky, just in a few weeks. He did not come home.

At that time, you had a discussion. You did not mind that he was going to look for his friend but that he had not told you. Obviously, you were willing to help him. In the end, Bucky was a friend of the two, coupled with the fact that you did not like the closeness that Sharon was having.

The fourth time was when the Accords came out. You weren't going to sign them, but even he hadn't told you anything about Bucky. You even had to figure out how to escape the house where you lived when Tony and the others came looking for you. You didn't know exactly what was happening.

However, you discovered a way to find out what was going on through your contacts. Even though that was what helped you escape in time, it also helped you find Steve and Bucky.

The fifth time after the snap, everything was so confusing. However, Steve simply disappeared again for a few weeks. At that time, you did not demand anything; you just barely talked about how to solve the problem and much less about how you were going to continue with their lives.

The first year was the most difficult for everyone. Steve also seemed very distant. However, as time went by, he returned to being the same as always, the same Steve you had fallen in love with.

The sixth and final time was after the Blip; when you returned from time travel, their behavior had changed and they seemed to avoid you. However, you didn't have much time to think about it, as you were too busy with gems.

After you had returned to everyone and defeated Thanos, you thought it was finally time to talk to Steve. You walked several times in the hallway, in front of the room you shared, until you decided to go in.

"Steve, we have to talk..." You didn't finish the sentence because something else caught your attention. You saw the compass, the photo that was there.

"Y/N, it's not what you think, I can explain," Steve said nervously when noticing what you saw. He immediately took the compass to close it.

"Really?" "Your voice sounded incredulous. No matter what he told you, you just couldn't believe him. " " Tell me the truth, Steven Grant, what do you have planned?

Steve's voice trembled whenever he lied about what had happened.

You shook your head. You quickly left the apartment. It wasn't even worth breaking the news; you knew what I would do. You didn't return to the apartment.

Finally, the day had come when Steve returned the gems. You were hiding among the trees. When you saw that he left, you quickly approached Bucky.

"You knew that, didn't you?" "You said furiously."

"I... Y/N... " Bucky was dumbfounded. I've never seen you so angry.

"You're liars. I hate them, "you snapped, turning around and walking so fast that Bucky didn't even have time to try to stop you.

You were sitting under the tree you always went to when things go wrong. When you woke up, you thought it was incredible that he was still standing, but you also knew that Steve would not go looking for you there. Nobody knew about that special place. It was the only place where you felt safe, far from everything that happened.

"What do you plan to do?" said a female voice behind you, causing you to startle. You were so relaxed that you didn't even notice someone had arrived.

"Nothing. "He made a decision that day, and I made mine," you replied, carefully rising.

Although your face did not reflect it, you were surprised that Wanda was there, barely talking. You did not consider them friends either, but somehow their situations were similar.

"He knows..."

"No, and she'll never know," you said, staring at her. Steve ruined everything we built in so many years. He lied to me. Even if I told him I wouldn't be happy, I would still feel like he was tied to me. He is free, he... I would have preferred him to be honest a long time ago.

"I know what happened," Wanda said.

You said, "I'm not interested in knowing. I'm not interested in what happened, what we lived through, or the time I lost. " "Now I have someone who is going to need me and will have all my attention and energy." You breathed slowly, otherwise; you would cry again. Wanda looked at you and nodded.

"So, come with me." I know a place where everything will be fine and none of them will find us. She took your arm to follow.

You looked at the floor for a few seconds, then at her. Her look was honest; you had nothing more to lose. You also knew the extent of her powers, but also that she would keep her word. You would be safe wherever Wanda took you. You started walking.

You wouldn't say goodbye to Steve ever again.

[cquackity]

things to know about @casinoroyale !!

he has parts of both the MCC backstory and the juvie backstory. he was orphaned at a young age and was in and out of juvie for a while, participating in MCC during the gaps of his imprisonment. he's childhood best friends with Taylor Swift, or @therealandtruetaylorswift. she visited him in juvie. this is plot relevant.

as his introduction to the bedrockverse was several months later, he was introduced to canon several months after charlie's death. stricken with grief he left Las Nevadas abandoned for several months to pursue @goofygoop - returning once he couldn't abandon their legacy any longer, and failing to find Charlie despite searching everywhere he could, including outside of the server. he also returned after bedrockverse's Dream permanently died to Tubbo, and was welcomed by @tmmyrp. through Charlie's absence he continued to try and bring him back in any way he can, including trying to clone him (which was canon to bedrockverse before actual canon. fun and cool fact!!)

upon coming back to the server he reconnected with bedrockverse's Wilbur, or @songbird-sunrise, who was doing absolutely fucking terrible after spending several months in near isolation. hitting on sixteen is not canon to casinoroyale. there was never a terrible fallout between rp!tntduo. both of them, having literally nobody else, end up spending a lot of time together and growing closer.

however, Quackity was very hurt that his fiances haven't reached out to him in over a year, so he refused to grow romantically close with Wilbur for several very long months. the bedrockverse does not have Karl or Sapnap blogs. this is still canon - to this day he has not heard from them, and has had to find his own closure due to this. instead of communicating with them like a normal person (which we all know the fiances are incapable of doing) Quackity let his hurt fester until it broke him. having bottled up his emotions for months on end, and pushed by @undead-ram or bedrockverse's Glatt, he nearly died when blowing up Las Nevadas' wedding hall - refusing to do any true harm to Kinoko Kingdom. losing his second canon death was prevented only by Wilbur's intervention, who also nearly permanently died in the explosion - ultimately proving his care for Quackity in the process, and that he had no intention of leaving Quackity. the two spent time recovering and tending to their wounds together, and after they recovered enough Quackity told Wilbur about what happened between him, Karl, and Sapnap. this arc is a heel turn and game-changer for Quackity. since his and Wilbur's near death he's made an active effort to better himself, move on from his past, and trust the people around him.

this included mending his friendship with @tubbolul, who has put in an equal amount of effort. Tubbo returned to work with Quackity at Tubburger, and took down the outpost's walls. the two are best friends (sisters) in bedrockverse, and are very very close.

prior to the explosion, he was also dealing with @subtotechno pranking Las Nevadas. which, due to his extreme paranoia, Quackity perceived every prank as a threat to his country. Techno, realizing he's freaking Quackity the fuck out, ended up having a good conversation with Quackity - midway through making it rain pigs in Las Nevadas. the two, while still not the best of friends, are on far better terms than they were before. they willingly spend time with each other. and they're not trying to actively kill or hurt each other.

after the explosion (A.E. LOL) @goofygoop entered the picture. Quackity is very different than how he was before Charlie died, and the change in Quackity's demeanor is an ongoing confusion between the two, as Charlie has retained Quackity's lessons from before. Quackity has since apologized to Charlie for the role he played in his death. the two are best friends and are attached at the hip. do not separate them etc etc.

he is religious and follows the teachings of church prime. he wears a cross around his neck as well (which was canon to bedrockverse before actual canon, fun and very cool fact part two!!!)

there are three pets important to him. Cat, a full-grown tiger who protected Las Nevadas during Quackity's absence. she's a sweetheart. she eats people on the street sometimes. Ossium, his skeleton horse that's still alive. and Luna who was a gift from @songbird-sunrise. bedrockverse Quackity is a huge horse girl. he also has a psychic connection to the scorpions he introduced to Las Nevadas.

casinoroyale's chat is his citizens. every single person that sends an ask on anon is free to take a role, use an anon emoji, etc. the anons play a huge part in what happens on that blog, having helped shape the story and expand on it many times in the past.

he's a duck hybrid with white wings too small to fly. @tubbolul made him a prosthetic, akin to toothless' from how to train your dragon, that helped him fly for the first time. he also uses a cane.

he's a transmasculine gay man who uses he/she/they pronouns and any titles. this only applies to his character. i am not truthing the actual content creator.

prosthetic design + official design + another official design + another one + another one + another one

[bvccy]

The Sea of Love | Winter Soldier x Reader one shot

— PAIRING: soft!Winter Soldier x female!Reader — SYNOPSIS: Reader spills milk on herself, but WS is there to clean her up, by kissing and licking all of it away. A very soft fic, requested by @sugarpplum​​ 💗 — CONTENTS: Fluff, smut, gentle kissing, body worship, milk, licking, just a lot of love — WORD COUNT: 3K

The Winter Soldier never expected to be in this position again — had he ever been in it before? Hurt but healing, convalescent, actually cared for. They had run away together: he escaped Hydra during a botched mission and then came back for her, took her right up from under them. The guards only noticed in time to shoot him in the back, but it didn't stop him.

Now safe in their hideout, the Soldier could allow her to take over. He was healing fast already, had survived what nobody else could, and though more than anything else it humiliated him to have to depend on this young woman, he had to let it happen. A betraying thought teased him that he even liked being under her caring hands. Then again, he'd been their victim before, when they met at the base and he was still the Asset and she was just a clerk in the archives, a little desk mouse who caught him in the middle of the night as he searched for his file.

She seemed more scared to see him than he was to be found out, but to be fair she was alone, with him, and he could have killed her then. But there was something about having his own life in his hands that stilled the rage and made him want to be better. And then, she pushed him further in the shadows while more of her colleagues filed in for their overtime — fixing a mess they'd made before their boss found out — and the heat of her hands sunk into him through the leather of his armour and her breath cut through the cold and dust of the room and he felt it on his lips and he felt younger and truly alive — a lost boy looking for trouble. She was like the childhood sweetheart he'd never had.

He felt a childlike love for her even now, as he grit his teeth and tried not to groan while she peeled off the soaked gear from the half-healed flesh, claws of dented leather uncurling from his skin, bits of dried blood flaking off. The girl smiled at him as if she noticed, and when he gathered the courage to meet her gaze, the pain all went away. She cleaned his wounds with care, as well as she could with the few things they had.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" she asked in a small voice as she plucked out a stray piece of shrapnel.

"It will heal," the Soldier grunted. He'd had worse before. He didn't know what Hydra had put in him exactly, but whatever it was made him stronger, more fit and healthy than any normal man. "I have a better place set up for us," he added in a gentler voice, eyes tracing her face like a caress. He wanted her to feel safe, and be impressed, and want to stay with him forever.

Since when do I feel this way? the Soldier asked himself. It wasn't a familiar feeling, but he had fallen in it like in a pool of dark water, deep and without end, drowning him at its leisure. Since forever, a voice answered, just didn't know her before.

He went out of the apartment first, after a couple of days, just to scout around and see if they were being tracked. The man who'd arranged for this place for him, a rodent-looking fellow with a past more dubious than his, seemed confident with the promises he'd made. That wasn't a reason to believe him… Still, they seemed safe here. He even let the girl go outside next, told her where to find the nearest shop. How she managed with the local language, he'd rather not think, but she made it back alright.

"I think when I said 'thank you', he understood something completely different. Looked like I insulted his mother…"

"I told you, it's pronounced like —"

"I know what you said," she laughed as she put the groceries away. "Let's go to the bedroom, it's too cold in the kitchen."

His smile melted under the heat of a blush when she said that, just like every time that he was reminded of how they lived together. It embarrassed him a bit, somehow, but the Soldier knew he wouldn't have it any other way. She had become his only light in the facility, his friend, and he thought he was her friend as well. The girl was terrified when he suggested that they run away together — that he would save her, though he never called it that in front of her. But she trusted him, and she kept trusting him now. He had to wonder how long it would last, how long he could live with her without betraying her trust somehow, or disappointing her, or…

They didn't eat much — rationing as he called it — just in case they needed to go into hiding again and had food saved up. Coffee in the morning, then she'd cook a decent lunch, and in the end a lighter dinner. Tonight was buttered toast and two glasses of milk. They sat together in the light of the one lamp they could spare, sinking into a pair of armchairs by each other's side while she listened to the radio and he read through his file — Seargent Barnes' file.

"Should I start calling you that?" she asked.

It took him a second to realise she'd asked it, and looked up. The girl seemed genuinely curious in her polite little way.

"I… I don't know. I guess."

"So, 'James'?"

"M-maybe."

She chewed slowly as she looked back at him. The faint light of the room was completely captured by her eyes, growing brighter just by her looking his way.

"I'll call you whatever you'd like me to," she smiled in the end.

He couldn't help but smile back too. Her gaze then slipped downward from his, tracing his lips, his neck, his body, and the breath nearly froze in his throat before she spoke again and asked:

"How are your wounds?"

"All healed by now, I think."

"I can have a look… if it's alright."

He couldn't stand to ask for her to touch his skin again, so he just shrugged and let her understand what he wasn't brave enough to say. With a last lick of butter from her fingers, she slipped down from her seat like a stranded mermaid and kneeled right in front of him.

"You haven't even eaten," she said without so much as looking up while he put the folders down on the nearby table, eyes drinking in her every move.

"You can have it."

"You need to build your strength up."

"Think so?" he smirked, and she smiled too when her eyes went up to his. She could understand his meaning: he was strong enough, and they both knew it.

"Still… At least have some milk," she whispered as her hands felt up his torso, peeling off the gauze with her careful little fingers.

"I don't want it, doll."

As the girl undid and put away the bloodied bandages, she could see he was indeed all healed, not a trace of the gaping wounds of before, or even scars. She looked at his body in quiet wonder and tried to think only of how well he'd healed, how special Hydra had made him, how immeasurably strong, and not of just how beautiful the man before her was.

"See? I'm right as rain."

"You are… It's pretty remarkable," the girl said quietly, letting one hand trace his skin as she took away the last bit of bandage from around his ribs. His flesh was so hot, even in that cold dark room.

The Soldier's grey eyes heated as they took her in, and a smile grew on his face.

"You really think so?" he asked in a low voice, sounding a bit more hopeful than he had intended.

Her eyes licked a path up his body until she met his gaze and, trying not to smile or blush, she said instead just: "Drink your milk."

"I told you, I don't want it."

With a hiss, the metal hand picked the plate up off the table and offered it to her. He didn't need to eat so much, she did, and he knew she noticed that he was skipping meals for her but she had her sense of honour too and didn't always take it. Maybe tonight she would.

"No, s-stop," the girl protested with half a laugh as she tried to push the plate away, but all she managed to do was make it slip between his metal fingers until the big glass of milk leaned precariously toward her. "Oh no—!"

Not much of it was spilt before he caught it with his other hand, a curse at the edge of his lips, but at least he saved half of it.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, feeling awful now about her stubbornness and perhaps a bit embarrassed. The cold milk was already soaking through her nightgown. "I just wanted to…"

"I know you want to take care of me," the Soldier grumbled as he set the plate back down and took a napkin in the same frustrated move. "But you don't have to."

Before thinking much about it, he began to dab at her wet chest, ignoring how her hand went up thinking he wanted to give the napkin to her. But no, he was doing it himself, perhaps to drive the point home that he wanted to care for her as well. With a trembling hand, she undid just the first button of the gown — a very old and modest thing, something they'd found in the apartment from whoever lived there before. When his motions stopped and he looked up at her, she flushed and shrugged a little.

"It feels damp," the girl explained.

The Soldier's hand felt heavier on her chest the longer it stayed there, but then suddenly he kneeled down alongside her and then gripped her hips, and with nothing but a frightened gasp from her he lifted the girl where he had sat on the armchair, and now he was kneeling in her place. His hands, slowly beginning to move again, stopped trying to soak away the milk and fiddled with the rest of the buttons instead.

"I think you need to take this off," he growled. The metal arm was steady, but his flesh shuddered at even the thought of her rejection.

"Y-you think so?"

Faster and more steadily, he unwrapped her like a present, while he looked not at her revealed and tempting body but her eyes, where fear battled with her courage.

"I won't hurt you," he promised. The sight of her never failed to soften his heart, and though he felt her shiver as he eased the gown off of her shoulders, he tried still not to stare. She might have been alone with him and at his mercy, but there would be nowhere else she would be safer — and he wanted her to know it. "I… I won't… d-do anything you —"

"I know…" the girl nodded, still afraid but trusting him.

The nails dug into her palms but she kept her hands apart and didn't cover her chest as he revealed it, his eyes finally slipping down to drink her in. As the thick material slipped down her peaks, they blushed and perked up just as he was watching. The sheen left by the stains of milk, that went all the way down to her stomach, chilled her skin even more in the coldness of the room, but the girl didn't mind. The heat radiating from his body could almost warm her up.

The Soldier slipped her arms out of the sleeves distractedly as he looked at her darling body, at what she allowed him to see, and tried to temper his greed with gratitude. Still kneeling in front of her like a faithful knight, he leaned forward just a bit then looked up once more, keeping her gaze fixed in his as he approached until his breath fanned over her skin, then slipped upwards to catch her lips in the briefest, lightest kiss. He closed his eyes to savour it, fingers curling on the armrests at the shiver that ran through him when she pressed herself against him. Her wince of surprise turned into a loving moan, but then he left her and slipped down. The girl didn't stop him, nor complain, but she wasn't begging either — maybe he could change that. Slow and easily, he let his lips fall on her chest to suck at the little spots of milk, right between her breasts, going back up to her neck, then down again to chase the droplets. He felt her breathing in, deep and panicked, but he kissed her more until he felt her calming down.

"You… you want to do this?" she whispered.

"Do what?" asked the Soldier as he moved his lips over the surface of her breast. "Kiss you?" His mouth left a trail of warmth on the path toward her neglected little tip. "I do, I want to."

He wrapped his lips around her and she burst into a needy moan, high and breathless and a bit embarrassed, but he seemed to drink it up — like he did her. His lips were so soft at first, gentle and almost shy as he tasted her, then opened up to feel her more, to press his tongue against that hardening nub and scrape it up and down. His teeth rested right against her flesh, caging her almost like a warning, holding her there for him to taste and tease.

She had never felt something so warm and gentle, but then he moaned right up against her and his voice, in its low and wordless cry, sunk into her, sounding in her blood and through her heart. Timidly, the girl raised her hands to his head, just to thread her fingers there, wanting to hold him still but not quite daring to. She distracted herself by caressing him as he licked and kissed and sucked her in until it hurt. Feeling her begin to twist within his grasp, the man raised one hand up gently and rested it on the side of the breast he was then kissing, holding it still with the greatest care. His thumb was moving back and forth, petting the little mound with something that felt like love or gratitude, while he kept suckling it.

He only stopped when she began to wince and plead, and started with his light and teasing kisses once again, drop by drop like a loving rain as he made a path toward her other breast. The girl's fingers brushed the hair out of his eyes, and just as gently his arms went up around her, holding her hips in his broad hands without squeezing or even keeping her still — he just held her, let his warmth sink into her, giving her everything he could. The Soldier showed the same love here as he did before, drinking her in but stopping before the point of pain, trading kisses for little nips and suckles. The wet sounds of his flesh caressing hers drowned out the faint melody playing on the radio, and with her heart right there beneath that fragile layer of skin and bone, she was all that he could hear.

"Please, James…" the girl moaned faintly, almost to herself.

It got stuck in her throat when she realised she'd said it, and it gave the Soldier pause as well, unsure how he should feel about it — it was his name, after all, but it felt like someone else. His eyes slipped to the folder on the table, closed, but with some files and photos peeking out like a haunting.

"Don't call me that," he growled but kissed her chest with even greater care to make up for it. "It doesn't sound like it's mine."

"Alright," she said, biting her lower lip and nodding as she looked down at him. "Whatever you want…"

"Good girl."

His hands slipped lower as he bent to kiss her stomach, lapping at the dried milk there until she was all clean. The girl's hips and legs were tangled in the nightgown, soiled like a fish tail or perhaps disgarded snake skin — his captured little beast. The Soldier's kisses covered the arch of her lower ribs then focused on the middle, catching the drops where they stopped, sipping them up, then going lower. The edge of the material stopped him, but he could already smell her — sweet, a little salty, excited because of him and smelling warm, welcoming him most of all. He growled and forced his lips back upward.

Between the hands that gripped her, he could feel the girl begin to rub herself just slightly on her seat, hips canting back and forth, causing her to whine in pleasure.

"You want something?" he smirked, lifting his eyes up to hers in between the trail of kisses.

"Only you," she whispered, small claws curling right against his scalp.

"You have me."

His mouth covered her breast again and he felt her lips come to rest on the top of his head. The girl's hands slipped lower down his naked back, hold him to her as she could while she covered his body and laid a crown of kisses on his messy locks.

The Soldier's arms curled around her too, holding her body to his as if she could slip away, and kissing, lapping, nipping at those two warm points and in between them, taking in the scent of her skin that felt so sweet, more nourishing than anything, and right now the only thing to live for. She had even stopped canting her hips, slipping forward, lower on the seat so that she could be closer, hold him tighter, never let him go.

TAGLIST: @themaskismyface​ @dopeqff​ @jessquil​ @alexwinter​

[kohakuarisaka]

Trial By Fire (chapter 2 of 2)

Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader

[ SUMMARY ] Hawks stopped by your apartment, asking for a patch up, and then asked for so much more.

[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Role reversal: Keigo is a villain and Touya is a hero. Liberties were taken with Hawks’ quirk and is non-canon compliant. This fic is not nice to Touya. Reader and Hawks smoke. Reader has a quirk. Reader is a female with descriptive female genitalia. This fic contains graphic sexual content, including penis in vagina sex, oral sex, spanking, dirty talk, biting, degradation, and knotting. Consensual ♥

Keigo’s appearance in this fic was inspired by this lovely art piece!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

[ My BNHA Fanfic Masterlist ] ~ [ Also on my AO3 ]

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Todoroki Touya was a prince.

Being born to a top-ranking hero was almost the same as being born to royalty. Everyone recognized his name, his quirk might as well have been trade-marked, and he had lots and lots of daddy's money.

If that wasn't enough, Touya was incredibly handsome, too. He had a full head of stunning, bright red hair and beautiful, shiny blue eyes. His smile was charming and voice was hoarse and suave.

He was a skilled fighter, always topping the rankings at UA, the talk of all 'up and coming' news articles back in his teen years. His quirk was flashy and powerful, nearly unstoppable; but, he was also a dedicated hero that trained day in and day out to hone his combat skills.

The boy with the crimson wings couldn't have the fortune of being nobody. That would have been more preferable to his reality.

His father was a criminal, a thief and a murderer. His childhood home burned to the ground when an attempted arrest went horribly wrong, and resulted in half his body being permanently scarred by burns. But, no one would believe that a hero did that to a small boy, even if it was an accident. No, of course not.

No hero academy was going to accept someone with such a reputation, with a name like Takami, with a history of bloodshed, with the evidence smeared across his skin for all to see. He was in and out of foster homes for years before he could get his own place, funded by petty crimes and gang activity, the only way he could survive.

Touya was a prince-

-and Keigo was a gutter rat.

He wasn't the least bit surprised when you told him that Touya had asked you out, even less surprised when you told him that you said yes.

Of course you couldn't resist Touya. He was everything any girl could possibly want, and he could give you a hell of a lot more than Keigo ever could: fancy dates, lavish gifts, a nice family to go home to, a name with a shining reputation.

Touya could make you happy.

And so, Keigo stopped chasing you. He stopped hoping anything more would amount to your relationship. But, even if his life depended on it, Keigo could never stop wanting you, thinking about you, loving you. No one was like you, not by a long shot. No one understood him like you did.

But, you belonged to Prince Touya.

... ..

... ..

... ..

Hawks woke in a cold sweat, torn from a nightmare. He bolted upright, eyes scanning the room, panting lightly in a daze. His bare chest glistened with the evidence of his agony and his wings flexed out, feathers taut and sharped at the ends, defensive.

He glared at the unfamiliar walls, legs tangled in warm blankets. It took him just a moment to remember where he was.

There was a photo pinned to the wall by your desk: him and you at a spring carnival during your first year of high school. Your hair was longer back then and he had a black eye from a fight with some upper classmen.

The pillows and blankets on your bed were so soft and freshly washed, the scent of the fabric softener still wafting. You had dug out extra pillows and sheets for Hawks when made it clear he was intending to come around a lot more often.

Your apartment, your bedroom, your bed: that's where he was. The only thing missing from the room was you.

Hawks pulled himself out of a bed with a groan and snagged his sweat pants off the floor, where they had been discarded when he arrived. He decided to skip the underwear and just pulled the loose fitting pants on with a tired groan.

He didn't need to search the apartment to know you weren't inside. His feathers weren't picking up any vibrations from footsteps or breathing. It was too still, too quiet.

Confident of where you were, he opened one of the windows in your bedroom, nearest your desk, and shimmied onto the outer ledge, hoisting his torso through first before bringing his legs in until he was hanging outside. He kicked off the side, beat the air once with his wings to gain some momentum and flew up to the roof.

You let out the most undignified yelp when he floated up over the side of the building, bare feet toeing the edge where he landed, giving you an innocent, drowsy look.

"Holy fuck, you scared me," you hissed at him.

It was almost 1 in the morning, and you had slipped on a loose shirt and baggy shorts to head up to the roof for a smoke. Unsurprisingly, you were alone at this hour, able to enjoy the ambiance of the night without one of your neighbors mouth breathing or trying to strike up a conversation. They weren't bad people; but, you didn't want their company.

Even from up this high, you could hear passing cars, the soft squeaking of breaks and the occasional squeal of tires spinning on asphalt. Distant lights were constantly changing: traffic control, cars coming and going, people in and out of their crowded apartments.

"You're not cold?" Hawks asked as he approached you.

"Not really," you answered softly.

Despite that, Hawks flattened against your back. His hands dragged up and down your arms as if to warm them before winding around your waist. You felt more than saw his head droop over your shoulder. As he pressed in close, you felt what was his very shirtless chest fall against your back and the unmistakable outline of his cock against your behind.

"I see you didn't bother dressing," you scolded him, lacking any real malice.

"You like it," he challenged, reaching for your cigarette.

Before he could grab it, you brought it to his lips for him, turning your head to try and face him, despite the awkward angle. You watched him puff the end faintly before huffing out smoke away from you.

"Ohh," he hummed. "You bought the fancy ones this time."

"They're not fancy," you retorted gently.

He flapped his mouth, about to insist you let him buy the next pack. However, he caught himself, remembering how well it went last time. It had resulted in a fight, and you kicked him out, nearly pushing him out the window, not that he couldn't handle that, of course, and it was a funny memory, now that it was over.

Besides, if he was being honest, it was really hot when you yelled at him. Maybe not so much this time since it put him in the doghouse for a week. But, the makeup sex was definitely worth it.

You didn't want his money; 'blood money', you had called it. You adored him, maybe even loved him, wanted him, longed for him; but, you had no desire to take any of his dirty money.

You weren't delusional enough to think that that made you a good person, or somehow morally superior, not to Hawks, or anyone else for that matter. It was a choice that you had made for yourself, to try and get your life on the right track.

Maybe, letting Hawks into your bed was counter productive. He was a wanted villain, after all. Business could follow, even if he worked hard to prevent that. If Touya found out-

You shuddered at the thought, mind racing with the possibilities of what could happen. You didn't want to see Touya ever again, let alone talk to him; but, there was no guarantee that your paths would never cross again. Would he be mad? Would he try to hurt Keigo?

Sharply, you turned your head and kissed at his cheek, lips smearing across the burnt half of his face, as if trying to reassure yourself that that wouldn't happen. Hawks hummed, and you felt the vibration travel along his chest and throat and onto your skin.

"Don't burn your fingertips," he scolded you softly in a hoarse whisper, snatching your cigarette from the burning end.

You had been so lost in thought, you failed to realize the cinders were nearing your fingers, the flame having almost reached the end. You watched Hawks roll it between his fingers, drawing the paper into his palm where he crushed it. The flame died and he opened his hand, letting the wind carry the burnt remains away.

"Kiss me," you breathed, so wrapped up in the moment that you didn't care that you were outside.

He obeyed with a growl, hands grabbing at your waist harshly to spin you around. One hand flattened at the space between your shoulder blades, holding you tightly to his chest while he arched down and captured your mouth.

You heard and felt his wings beat the air, powerful and unyielding: an intentional display of dominance, most likely, that should have made your eyes roll and not your heart flutter. But, you had always been soft for Keigo, and this advancement in your relationship had only made that worse, until you became putty in his hands.

He clearly really liked to play with putty. It was bad enough that he was constantly twisting and turning your body to see what kind of positions he could put you in: something that you, unfortunately, found far more arousing than you should have. He loved to poke and prod, see what kind of noises he could get out of you. He also loved to see how far he could push your limitations.

"Baby," Hawks growled against your mouth, eyes hungry as he took you in.

"Let's be crazy," he suggested, low and hoarse, with a slight edge that made him sound like a stupid teenager again.

He tugged you in close, shamelessly rubbing his erection against your closed abdomen, and making his intentions known.

"Hell no," you retorted, smoothly, sure, but lacking in any real confidence in your rejection.

"Come on," he urged, hands and arms sliding away so he could skirt away from you.

You watched Hawks step towards the edge of the roof with the kind of confidence you would expect from a man that could fly. He casually sat down, rotated to sit longways, one leg spread out for balance while the other rested right at the edge. He leaned back, spreading one wing out along the gravely rooftop, while the other drooped over the side, feathers long and fluttering in the breeze like a crimson, tattered flag.

Hawks crossed his arms behind his head and laid back in full, looking boneless as he stretched out. He peered up at you with a wicked grin, eyes bright as they reflected the distant street lights.

"You're fucking ridiculous," you snapped at him, realizing too late that you were smiling dumbly at the shamelessly display in front of you. Your words lacked any real weight. Rather, you sounded amused or impressed, not angry.

God damn it.

"You love it," Hawks retorted with a soft laugh.

"No," you commanded, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Come on," he urged, rolling your name off his tongue like it was a delicious, sinful delight. "It'll make for a great memory - great story. Tell all your friends you fucked some guy on the edge of the roof. No risk: you know I won't let you fall."

"I wouldn't say 'some guy', even if I had friends to tell," you said to him grumpily, settling a weak glare on the winged villain.

Hawks removed his crossed arms from behind his head, placed one hand on the roof for balance, and leaned up. His cocky expression was gone, replaced with something soft, almost nervous, like he feared he misheard you.

"You'd tell them it was me?" he asked.

"Obviously," you uttered back.

A genuine smile found its way onto Hawks' face. Maybe, he was more deceitful than you gave him credit for. Maybe he knew damn well that you couldn't resist that face, that smile that lit up your heart, those mismatched eyes. Only foolish girls let themselves believe nonsense.

Maybe, you could be foolish sometimes.

You approached Hawks and he leaned back, excitement clawing its way onto his face as he realized he was going to get what he wanted. You smacked his chest and he fell back with a rough laugh.

A slight tug pulled his pants down enough to spring his cock free, already fully hard and leaking against his abdomen. Some distant thought was that you should have been surprised; but, Hawks had proved to be quite the animal, with such a miniscule refractory period and ready to go without much persuading.

You carefully slid on top of him, one leg braced on the roof against his side, while the other dangled over the edge. The weightlessness had you reeling back with a frightened whimper. Hawks grabbed your leg and pressed it tight against his side, keeping you planted on his lap.

"I got you," he whispered soothingly. "I got you, baby. I won't let you fall."

The bastard could fly. He was used to feeling weightless, to feeling nothing beneath his feet. You were not, and the very real risk of slipping over the edge was ever present when you felt the breeze, felt the lack of something beneath your heel.

However, when you planted yourself on Hawks, who was partially dangling over the side, you felt grounded. He felt sturdy and strong beneath you, no fear in his posture, arms and legs firmly planted, wings spread out to balance himself. He wasn't waddling back and forth with uncertainty.

It barely took you a second to relax, to feel safe when his hands gripped your thighs, holding you securely against his weight. Of course he could catch you; but, you doubted he would let you fall in the first place.

Sooner or later, you were going to have to learn to tell him no; but, that didn't have to be today.

"Have you done this before?" you dared to ask.

"Not with a partner," Hawks answered quietly.

You barked out a laugh at his answer, and watched a cheeky grin appear on the villain's face.

"What? Can a guy not jack off on the roof?" he barked.

"You're fucking horrible," you chuckled, slapping at his bare chest.

"I didn't splooge over the edge," he added on.

"You're ruining the mood," you scolded him.

Still, despite those words, and the obviously fact that he had in fact not ruined anything, you reached between your legs and grabbed at the hem of your shorts. They were wide enough that you could just pull them to the side-

Hawks choked on his next breath. You glanced up at his face. His head was angled down so he could steal a look at your sex so effortlessly becoming bare.

"Fuck," he wheezed, as if he hadn't seen you naked dozens of times by now.

Bare of underwear, fabric loose enough to just shift aside, you angled your hips until his cock caught on your folds. Hawks moaned when your wet slit trailed across his length, literally dripping over him.

"-ooohh, you're wet," he hissed softly, sincerely surprised at the discovery.

"You fucked me just a few hours ago, you animal," you retorted smoothly. Your level tone contrasted sharply with the sudden whimper that escaped you when his tip hooked on your entrance.

"Heh. Made you scre-"

Ah, you loved when Hawks gave you perfect opportunities to cut him off. You shifted your hips and sank down, enveloping his length in moist heat, and Hawks' words dissolved into a weak moan. There was no ache, as you were still prepped from earlier, likely still leaking some of him, as well.

Hawks wasted no time laying a hand against your lower abdomen. His thumb dipped between your folds and flicked skillfully at your pearl. The harsh texture of his calloused fingerprint had you whimpering and twitching. His other hand gripped your waist and guided you slowly up and down his length.

"Look down," Hawks instructed, not demanding, not crude, but soft and guiding. His eyes displayed a sort of devotion and hunger that had you helpless to do much other than obey.

Your eyes directed to the ground below, over sweeping floors, dozens of windows and a couple fire escapes. This high up, the ground looked so far away, cars like pill bugs you'd see waddling along the concrete at the community garden. Something electric shot through you, catching your breath in your throat, and Hawks let out a hoarse curse, hips shuddering.

"Fuck, you got tight," he hissed.

His hand let go of your sex and lifted up to cup your face. He turned you to face him, nudging your cheek lovingly with his knuckles. Immediately, you realized, it was his burnt hand.

You turned your head to kiss at his skin, tinged red from thick scar tissue and wrinkly. Slyly, he dipped his thumb into your mouth, the same that had been dipped beneath your folds.

"Don't be scared. I got you, baby," he cooed while you sucked the digit clean.

You smiled and laughed softly, popping his thumb out of your mouth with a lewd, wet noise. "Normal people are scared of heights, pretty bird."

"You're special," he protested, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip.

That praise had your heart fluttering, and you mentally scolded yourself for acting like a school girl.

He pressed down and dipped his thumb back inside, coaxing your tongue out until it lulled over your bottom lip. Normally, you swatted his hand away when he did things like that. But, it was difficult to resist when he was looking at you like that. One gold and one milky eye took you in with a heated gaze while he gently panted through slightly parted lips.

"That's a good girl," he praised, dragging the pad of his thumb over your tongue.

You likely looked ridiculous like this, impaled on his lap with your tongue hanging out. You almost wanted to smack him and tell him to quit; but, Hawks' hand retreated before you could tell him off.

That same thumb returned to your pearl, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure. He lifted his lips a little, encouraging, the corners of his lips threatening to break into a pleased grin. You gently moved along with him, finding harmony in a steady rhythm that had pleasure sparking at your guts.

Your eyes wandered, taking in his aroused expression, exploring the plains of his muscular chest, across the burnt skin on one half of his body, to the red feathered wings that jutted out from behind him. You didn't look over the edge again; but, the sounds of the city were ever present, reminding you of where you were.

"Someone could see," Hawks suggested darkly.

You shuddered, head lulling back, and let out a weak moan. You didn't consider yourself much of a voyeurist; but, that was oddly exciting. You were covered up well enough. They wouldn't see much of you, but the act couldn't be mistaken for anything but what it was.

Hawks shifted his hand away from your pearl and grabbed at your hip, long fingers curling around the thickest part for purchase. You didn't have a chance to consider the lack of stimulation before one of his feathers replaced his thumb, twirling and flicking insistently at your nub.

You moaned again, and let yourself go partially limp, somewhat held up by your hands braced against his chest, but more so by his stronger hands holding your center. You couldn't keep up with him, letting his hands guide you up and down to his length to his liking.

"-know how good it feels," he continued, some strain in his voice as pleasure spewed in his core.

He lost balance a little and the wing drooped over the edge flapped once. It wasn't particularly strong; but, it was enough to startle a jolt and soft yelp out of you.

Your hands slipped, and you were suddenly chest to chest. Hawks bent one leg to lift you higher on his lap, shifting the angle enough to bring him deeper and amplify the pleasure. His cheek slid against your neck and his lips met your jawline.

"You want them to know what a slut you are?" he snarled, less of a question and more of a suggestion.

The sensible side of you wanted to deny it. What good could possibly come of that? The feral side of you, that Hawks so expertly brought out, disagreed. You weren't ashamed of him. You were the happiest you had been in years. He made you laugh, he made you smile, and he made you come harder than you ever thought possible.

He kissed and bit a burning hot path across your jaw, drawing some loose skin between his molars beneath your ear, before wandering across your throat. He mouthed at your pulse, and the reality that he was a wanted murderer rang loudly in your ears.

You didn't recoil of fear or disgust. You moaned, loudly, arching your back and exposing one of yourself to him. He had to resist the urge to lift your shirt and bite at your breasts. If not for your modesty, than because your poor nipples had already been quite thoroughly assaulted not too many hours ago.

His dominant hand slid up your thigh, long, thick fingers effortlessly venturing up the leg of your shorts. He curled his hand around the back and dragged the pad of his finger along your union, gathering slick and remnants of his earlier venture.

Your cloudy thoughts didn't consider what he was doing, until that finger, now wet and slippery, was suddenly circling your other hole. That had you letting out a confused gasp. He didn't press in, just traced the tight ring of muscle curiously, and took your noise positively.

Hawks knew well enough, but the mischievous glimmer in his eyes gave it away.

"Aww. Did Touya never touch you here?" he teased.

He pressed in slightly, being answered by your muscles flinching tightly, if your lewd expression didn't tell him enough. You looked confused, maybe even a little annoyed, but the arousal was still present, thick behind the glare you tried to give him.

As inviting as the heat was, he didn't venture beyond the pad of his finger, which felt like a lot more than it actually was. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel good, either. You didn't know what to make of it, but found yourself arching into the touch, and downright mewling when he slipped out and returned to circling the ring of puckered muscle, which surprisingly did feel good.

"O-obviously, that's not-" you hissed at him.

Still, through all his teasing and adventuring touches, his hips never ceased, forcing his cock into your sopping wet cunt again and again. The wet, fleshy sounds was loud enough to drown out the bustling city beneath you.

"No more than this," Hawks promised in a hoarse whisper, hot breath fanning out over your throat.

His fingertip eased back in, met with blistering tight heat, and you let out a strange noise, confused and perhaps a little discomforted. No, that was definitely not a place you were used to being touched. But, he wandered that territory carefully, ever akin to your desires. As new as it was, there was no denying the way that touch made your skin prickle.

"You like it," he observed slyly. "Dirty girl."

It probably would have sounded more teasing if he didn't already sound so debauched, thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to touch you as much as you enjoyed being touched. He had you wrapped around his finger. That much was certain. But, you weren't oblivious to the power you held over him.

"Keigo," his name slipped past your lips, breathless and dripping with lust. It wasn't really forced; but, you were intent on getting a rise out of him. "Keigo," and again. "Oh, Keigo," and again.

His teasing finger stopped and his hand shifted to grab at your meaty behind with an almost bruising grip. His pace was suddenly punishing, bouncing you in his lap almost ferociously while his hips pivoted to chase the sensation. He had you wheezing out breathless moans while he grunted and snarled beneath you.

"Close," he suddenly grunted, the word little more than a rumble in his throat.

"Yes," you agreed, deliriously high on the pleasure he pummeled into you.

It was impossible to know how he managed to hold off long enough to get you there first, or if it was specifically the tightening of your walls that got him there. You were mewling and twitching long before he howled out, and the heat of his seed burst inside you.

He was making a mess. You could feel it dripping down your thighs, sputtering out from his thrusting and leaking over his abdomen. Hawks didn't care, obviously, turning his head to kiss greedily at your mouth while his hips kept moving.

When he pulled back, you found yourself disappointed at the realization that he hadn't knotted. However, there was no way you were going to say that out loud. His ego was swollen enough already.

Careless to the mess, he lifted you off his length and helped you to your feet before adjusting his wet pants to at least clothe himself. Your combined fluids had made a mess all over the crotch of his pants, no doubt worse now that he tucked himself away. Your shorts were no better, and you could feel his seed leaking down your inner thigh.

The high wasn't quite over and Hawks was sporting an attractive red tint along his shoulders and chest, blonde locks an absolute mess. Still, at this moment, your focus was solely on getting back inside and cleaning up.

"You're the worst," you scolded him, sounding incredibly fond despite your insult. You took his arm instead of his hand and guided him back into the building.

Hawks swallowed a laugh and, together, you stomped noisily down the stairs. No one passed you by. If anyone spotted you, it went unnoticed. You hardly needed to drag Hawks, who was right on your tail. As soon as the door was opened, he pushed you inside, one arm wound possessively over your waist.

"Keigo!" you whined, flinching when his head ducked into your neck and gnawed at your skin.

"You got me riled up," he growled, pressing into you so you could feel how hard he still was. The sticky mess of his wet pants felt gross; but, you couldn't be bothered to care.

You wanted to tell him off; after all, you had done nothing, and he had done that to himself. But, you felt a tinge of discomfort at your core, aching and eager to be filled again. Your clit throbbed between your thighs, eager for more contact.

Hawks manhandled you onto the nearby wall, taking you by the elbows to plant your hands on the smooth surface. You didn't hesitate to make your consent known, arching your back and propping up on your toes as he roughly dragged your shorts down.

The fabric pooled at your feet, leaving your oozing sex presented to him. Your felt and heard his wings flap, so widely that they smacked against the walls in the small space. Knowing full well what he was doing, the sudden intrusion wasn't quite as surprising; but, still, he managed to force a startled moan out of you.

"Fuck," he snarled, forehead falling against your upper back.

His dominant hand reached around, circling your pearl as he found a steady rhythm. His seed from earlier oozed out, and it was equally disgusting as it was amazing. His free hand gripped your hips, holding you still so he could use you to his liking.

It felt amazing, and each shift of his hips punched a broken moan out of you. It didn't take long for you to feel it, the swell at the base of his cock, catching on your entrance, slowly working you open to take his growing knot.

"You want that, don't you?" he uttered harshly, tilting his head up to breathe the words into the space right above your ear.

Even though it was unnecessary, he made his point clear by shoving it all in, as deep as he could, and grinding, rolling his hips to let you feel the swell at the base.

You removed one hand from the wall, curved your arm back and reached blindly, skillfully finding his hair. Your fingers grabbed a fistful, rough but not enough to hurt him. Hawks snarled when you tugged him in, nails gently biting into his skull.

"You better," you whispered, demanding and hoarse, and apparently delicious enough that he had to stop his thrusts and tilt his head in for a kiss.

Suddenly, the closeness was everywhere, back to chest, thigh to thigh. You tilted your head back to make it easier to reach, and let Hawks kiss his way into your mouth possessively, first with soft lips before his tongue edged the soft skin apart. He dragged along your teeth before trailing your palate like he was tasting something divine.

Eventually, he was satisfied, parting from your lips with a loud pop, licking his own lips as if he had just enjoyed a delicious meal. He carefully peeled back, cock slipping free from your heat, hands letting go when he was confident you wouldn't fall.

An open palm collided with your behind, and the sound echoed around the apartment, drowning out your surprised squick.

"Get on the fucking bed," he all but snarled, the words clawing out through gritted teeth.

Your legs, steadier than you expected, carried you to the bedroom. Hawks, however, tackled you onto the mattress before you could make it, forcing you onto your back with his weight.

He chuckled into your skin and you squealed with laughter. Despite the impact, he was surprisingly gentle, mindful of his strength. Crimson wings flapped, nearly smacking into the ceiling. You briefly feared that he would get hurt on the ceiling fan, but immediately determined that he would be more likely to break it than be injured by it.

He peeled your shirt off, leaving you nude beneath him.

"I've made you such a slut for knots, hm?" he observed, leaning up on his knees to hover over you, and give you quite the view.

His cock was an angry shade of red, thick and heavy where it hung between his legs, almost tinted purple on the tip with the need for release. He had just a moment ago, and it made you wonder if the lack of knotting left him unsatisfied.

The beginning swells of his knot was an enticing girth right at the base, stretching the velvety skin of his shaft, and also tinted a dark shade of red. He was glistening all over, the tip oozing pre as if he hadn't come just a moment ago.

"-and I've made you a slut for me," you teased back, carefully placing your legs on either side of his waist.

He skillfully slipped into you with a pleased snarl, body slotting over yours carefully. He might not have been a giant, but Hawks was still bigger than you, enough to shadow you and leave you feeling small. He rolled his hips slowly, giving you a taste of that swelling before he began a steady rhythm.

Noises punched out of you, whimpers and moans and broken sounds that were almost his name. He balanced on his forearms, one on either side of your head to cage you in, while his legs planted on the bed and his tense abs did most of the work.

"So fucking good. Gnhnn - I don't deserve you," he babbled, uttering the words harshly into the space above your ear, tickling at your hair. "Beautiful and f-fucking perfect."

Hawks was a talker with almost no exception; but, still, despite having heard it all many times, he still managed to get a rise out of you, sweet nothings that made your heart flutter and skin prickle.

"Say you're mine," he demanded, tilting his head down to gnaw gently at your throat.

You swallowed, managing to catch your breath long enough to utter weakly, "'m yours, Keigo."

He lifted his head and dragged his forehead along your temple, huffing out dramatic breaths with each thrust of his hips. A bit more experienced now, you knew when he was close, when the catch became almost too much, the fullness dizzying and almost frightening. Your eyes fluttered open long enough to see his lustful stare, admiring the beauty of pleasure etched across your face.

You dragged your nails down his back, crying in ecstasy when the sparks ignited and pleasure soared through your core. Hawks' dominant hand roughly grabbed a fistful of the sheets, a frustrated grunt bursting from his throat before he roared, likely loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

His thrusting ceased, less he timed it incorrectly and missed this. You made a very distinct noise at the intrusion, the same sound every single time, and it echoed so loudly in his mind. He felt overwhelmed with pride, that he could make you make a sound like that, so utterly debauched and in beautiful ecstasy.

Hawks' own moans, that came out of him like a chuffing tiger, were drowned out by your delicious whimpering. If the fullness wasn't enough, his cock jerked and spurted thick, hot streams of his seed. You could feel each twitch, until he shifted forward, as deep as he possibly could go, and finally stopped.

The muscles of his knot tightened as they finished expanding, locking your cores together. Hawks' head dropped and smacked onto the sheets by your ear. You tilted your head back, nose pointed towards the ceiling as you panted, and felt his rough, staggered breath as it burned your throat.

You felt more than heard the rumbling of his chest where it pressed down on yours. It was unmistakable: the sounds of a satiated beast. The thought had you stuttering out a breathless laugh.

Hawks' nose nudged your cheek and he hummed questioningly.

"You're purring," you answered softly.

"Oh," he answered bluntly.

Luckily, he didn't try to stop it; or, he was consciously unaware of it. Either way, you hoped he wouldn't stop. You loved the sensation of being trapped with him, impossibly close and stuffed like a used sex toy. Just as much, you loved knowing that he was pleased. Shameful as it all was, he had a way of making you feel shameless.

"Baby," he cooed, voice soft and breathless, a little hoarse, like a dying engine. "Are you okay?"

Your arms and legs were still around him, clinging tight like you didn't want to let go. You were strung out and limp, sinking into the sheets, head lulled back and clearly, very pleased. Still, Hawks kissed at your jaw like he was uncertain.

"Are you okay, pretty bird?" you repeated back to him, turning your head to meet his lips with your own.

He kissed you back as opposed to answering, the soft rumbling continuing until you felt it in your own throat. One of his hands tangled in your hair, kneading gently at your skull. Eventually, he peeled back and stared down at you, mismatched eyes unwavering, like you were a specter that would disappear if he glanced away.

He was the one who would be gone in the morning, leaving only an ache in your tummy to remind you that he was here.

But, you knew he would come back.

[where-theres-smoak-2]

Oh man I was scrambling trough tumblr tag and I saw this LB quote about Aleksander: "The Darkling is beautiful, I wanted to create a leader who was charismatic, appealing, a dictator you could imagine yourself following, an antagonist you couldn't just dismiss. [...] The Darkling is beautiful and broken and had a rough childhood, but he's also a brutal, manipulative monster with no regard for human life. He's dangerous because he's seductive, because he evokes sympathy.

…I just don’t even know when to start with this? Can she come off as anymore ignorant and offensive by trying to sound so woke. I mean “beautiful and broken”?! Are you kidding me?!

(Book Spoilers. Trigger Warning: Trauma and Mental Health)

Hmm well I'm not sure you could really sum it up as a 'rough childhood' more like a rough life filled with alot of trauma that has left him isolated and struggling to form human connections. Also I'm not sure I like the term monster for someone who is made the way they are through trauma and also the line about him having no regard for human life is just false he has lines he wont cross which is why he didn't harm the grisha children in book 3 and he was never going to because he values their lives. To be honest though I had some issues with the way LB dealt with trauma and mental health in the books. Not just with Aleks either but with Sergei too, actually I found the way she treated Sergei and his mental health in the last book rather appalling. Sergei is established as being severely traumatised by losing Marie to the point where he struggles to function properly. I think out of all the characters in the trilogy he's depicted as having the worst trauma, all the other characters have bad dreams and what not but Sergei really does find it debilitating and he struggles with day to day tasks like eating, sleeping and even just walking/travelling takes its toll on him. But Alina's attitude towards Sergei at times was troubling. To be clear though I'm not blaming the character for this as it was just the way she was written but she seems to consider Sergei weak and his mental health a hindrance. Here are some extracts from R&R the first is right after Sergei accidently revealed Genya's real name to Nikolai:

I shot to my feet. “What happened?”

“Sergei let her real name slip. He seems to be taking to heights about as well as he took to caves.” I released a growl of frustration. Genya had played a key role in the Darkling’s plot to depose the King. I’d tried to be patient with Sergei, but now he’d put her in danger and jeopardised our position with Nikolai.

Sergei was nowhere to be found. Probably a good thing, since I didn’t have time to give him the pummelling he deserved.

And like I understand that this must have been a frustrating situation but Alina knows that Sergei is struggling with his trauma and that he didn't mean to cause anyone any harm. I can understand her frustration but I really don't like the line about the 'pummelling he deserves'. I just don't like the suggestion that a person who is clearly suffering from a mental health issue deserves to be punished for making a mistake because of his trauma. Here's another instance where Alina is annoyed at Sergei:

Sergei had slowed us during our fight with the militia. He was unstable. I could apologise, offer useless words, but I didn’t know how to help him, and it didn’t change the fact that we were at war. Sergei had become a liability.

Again I get the frustration but again I have issues with the suggestion that because they are at war Sergei should just pull it together. Or even this image that's being painted that people who have mental health issues are just a burden on those around them. People in real life who suffer with similar mental health issues like depression and anxiety often worry about feeling like a burden to their loved ones so this could be really triggering for them. Then there is this from Baghra:

“We came to find you. What’s the matter with that boy?”

“He’s had a hard time of it,” I said, leading them away from the tank room.

“Who hasn’t?”

“He saw the girl he loved gutted by your son and held her while she died.”

“Suffering is cheap as clay and twice as common. What matters is what each man makes of it."

This one really troubled me because its like LB is saying that you can control your own trauma or decide how the trauma is going to effect you. It's again this suggestion that Sergei is weak because he struggled with his trauma more than others did. But the part that actually kind of disgusted me when I read it and I actually had to stop reading the book for a bit because of how much it upset me is how the characters talk about Sergei after his death. Alina had sent Sergei away because she felt he had become a liability and he then went back to the darkling and told them all the information he had on Alina and co. This move was obviously one born of his trauma and was made out of desperation. On several occasions Sergei has said he is struggling with feeling safe and no matter how hard he tries he never feels safe. Alina even tells us that Sergei had gone back to the darkling looking for reassurance and safety which really makes sense, this man grew up at the LP the one place where grisha could be safe, he grew up under the protection of the darkling. Then he chose to stand with Alina and went through the trauma and grief of losing the woman he loved horrifically in an attack against the LP which was his original safe place. He then never feels safe again so it would make sense for him to go back to what previously had made him feel safe, the LP and the Darkling. But this is what the other characters say about Sergei after he is killed by the darkling:

I sat beside him, unsure what to say. I remembered sitting like this with Sergei in the tank room, searching for words of comfort and failing. Had he been scheming then, manipulating me? His fear had certainly seemed real.

Abruptly, Zoya said, “I should have known Sergei couldn’t be trusted. He was always a weakling.”

Though that seemed unfair, I let it pass.

“Oncat never liked him,” Harshaw added.

Genya fed a branch to the fire. “Do you think he was planning it all along?”

“I’ve been wondering that,” I admitted. “I thought he’d be better once we got out of the White Cathedral and the tunnels, but he almost seemed worse, more anxious.”

Abruptly, Adrik snarled, “I’m glad Sergei’s dead. I’m just sorry I didn’t get to wring his neck myself.”

Steel is earned. Adrik had that steel, and so did Nadia. She’d proven it again in our flight from the Elbjen. A part of me had wondered what Tamar saw in her. But Nadia had been in some of the worst fighting at the Little Palace. She’d lost her best friend and the life she’d always known. Yet she hadn’t fallen apart like Sergei or chosen life underground like Maxim. Through all of it, she’d stayed steady.

And yes again I understand why they feel betrayed but they knew that Sergei was struggling and instead of understanding that Alina is accusing him of manipulating her and Zoya is saying he couldn't be trusted and that he was a weakling. To be honest it kind of reminds me of the way people talk about the darkling. Instead of recognising their trauma and trying to understand they jump straight to well they were a bad, untrustworthy person who was manipulating me.

Then there is the last part where Alina is thinking about how Adrik and Nadia are strong because although they faced trauma they were able to keep going and keep fighting but not Sergei, Sergei was crippled by his grief and his trauma and this means he was weak. Maybe its because I have struggled with crippling mental health issues myself where I couldn't even get out of bed let alone do anything else but I just found this implication that Sergei was weak really offensive to those who do struggle that way. People deal with trauma in different ways and whilst some people can fight through it and will just have a keep calm and carry on attitude others can't, others just fall apart, but that doesn't make them weak. I also don't think this 'just carry on and push through it' attitude towards mental health issues is necessarily a healthy message. If you need help then you should ask for it and be able to have access to it. LB could have used this as an opportunity to show a character who is severely traumatised getting support and help to work through his trauma and heal. But I feel like nobody really helped Sergei and any comfort or support he got seemed to be grudgingly given and there was more of an attitude of I'll try to help you because your issues are a hindrance to me than because any of the characters actually cared about him and wanted to help him.

Sergei and the Darkling were both characters that were 'beautiful and broken' but neither one of them was given the support or help they needed. Instead they were painted as either weak or as a monster. So what kind of message does this send to readers who also struggle with trauma and mental health conditions?

[formenis]

Thunderstorm

Headcanon: L introduces Y/N as his s/o to the Wammy's kids.

pairing: Near / Mello / Matt & gn!reader

|| warning: some ANGST moments, child Wammy's boys ||

requested: nope

𝓜𝓲𝓱𝓪𝓮𝓵 𝓚𝓮𝓮𝓱𝓵 | 𝓜𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓸

When L introduced you to Mello, Near and Matt, you were so happy. L kept talking about them constantly and you couldn’t wait to meet them.

At first Mello didn’t trust you. At all. He always made fun of you, he stayed away from you as best as he could and avoided you all the time. It was clear he hated you but not because you were L's s/o but because…he was afraid. Of you? No, to grow attached to you and then seeing you leaving.

But, eventually, one night something changed: outside the Wammy's House there was a storm with strong wind and cold rain that hit violently the windows; you were still up since you had some work to do, sipping quietly your F/D on a couch with a warm blanket on your legs. You were almost done when you heard a noise: was…someone walking around the orphanage past bedtime? You left all your things on the table and went towards the door to look in the corridor.

Once you opened the door you found a scared tiny Mello in front of you. He was shaking slightly despite he was trying to appear strong in front of you.

«Mello, what's up? Something the matter?» you kneeled down in front of him, clearly worried. Was he scared of the storm?

The answer at that question arrived almost immediately when, after a loud thunder, you saw Mello jump in fear. Without hesitation, he hugged you, grabbing tightly your clothes with his tiny, shaking hands and crying against your chest.

You immediately hugged him back, taking him in your arms and together you walked back in the couch where you were working. You took the blanket and wrapped Mello in it; in the meantime, he never let go his grasp on your clothes.

He was still shaking inside the blanket so you decided to hum one of your favourite song while caressing the hand that was grabbing tightly your shirt. He seemed to like the song and you could feel him slowly falling asleep, ignoring completely the storm outside the orphanage.

Before he fell asleep, you heard him say «Don’t leave» in a whisper.

The next morning Mello expected to wake up in his room after that embarrassing moment with you. When he opened his eyes he gasped quietly seeing he was still on the couch with you. You didn’t leave, you stayed with him for the entire night, taking care of him during the thunderstorm. In that moment he realised that maybe he could give you a chance. Maybe.

~

𝓜𝓪𝓲𝓵 𝓙𝓮𝓮𝓿𝓪𝓼 | 𝓜𝓪𝓽𝓽

The first day, contrary to Mello, little Matt loved you immediately.

He saw you playing with the other children at the orphanage and they seemed to like your presence (and how childish you could be sometimes).

So he wanted to give it a try and befriended you.

Best decision ever: you could play many different games and your sense of humour matched Matt's one.

Moreover, you were a good storyteller too: you knew so many things and he could listen to you for hours.

The day after the thunderstorm, while Mello seemed to have something else in his mind, Matt realised with horror that he failed the last geometry test: 35% / 100 (A/N: "F" in the US grades).

So that morning you didn’t see Matt around. You searched for him for entire hours before leading towards him room. «Matt, dear, are you in there? You skipped lunch, is everything ok?» you asked while knocking at his door.

You were going to knock again but the door opened abruptly in front of you: and there was Matt, head down looking at the floor, a sheet of paper in one hand and the door knob in the other. He had his goggles on too.

You kneeled down and he handled you the sheet of paper. After a closer look at it and you found out the reason of his distress: a bad grade in his geometry test. «Oh Matt, come here» and you hugged him.

He hugged you back, unloading all his anguish. Despite he was the third smartest child of the orphanage, he cared about his grades and that test was very important for him. You comforted him, whispering soft encouragement in his ears. «There's always a solution, Matt. Let's find it out together, alright?» you proposed to help him with his homework and when he took the geometry test again, he scored one of the best grades.

«I'm so proud of you, Matt» you told him, messing up his brown hair. In that moment, from afar, you could hear someone sneeze.

~

𝓝𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓡𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻 | 𝓝𝓮𝓪𝓻

Your introduction didn’t make any difference in his routine, actually. He was happy for L thou: finding a s/o that could bear his peculiar lifestyle was very difficult. Hence, when L introduced you to his three favourite children, Near was happy but not impressed about you.

Unlike Matt or Mello, Near didn’t play with the other children and he didn’t expect you to play with him: he saw you playing with Matt and Mello and he realised you weren't a jigsaw lover like him. But again, he didn’t care that much.

One sunny morning, however, you walked closer to him clearly hiding something behind your back. Near, being a cute, little curious kid, wanted to know what you were hiding.

«This is for you, Near» and you gave him a wooden carved squirrel you made with your own hands. The little boy was looking at it in awe, taking the toy in his small hands.

The smell of fresh wood, the smooth surface, the colour: everything about that toy was perfect, Near loved it.

You smiled at his reaction, caressing slightly his hair. You didn’t want to violate his own privacy and comfort zone.

Those gestures –the toy and the soft touch- warmed his little heart a bit.

That same evening, he went to bed with his new toy, a rare happy smile adorned his face. However, during the night, he couldn’t sleep that much because his bed was cold: as a joke, other children removed all his blankets and now he was sleeping with just few bed sheets.

The result was that the following day he caught a cold but he told nobody. However, when you saw him literally collapsing on a dice tower he was creating –due to the really high temperature- you realised something was wrong.

You took him in your arms rushing towards the infirmary: you put him to bed making sure he was warm enough, you helped the nurses with the medicines and with everything Near needed to recover.

It was late night when Near, finally, woke up and you were next to him in the infirmary. «Near, how are you? Why didn’t you tell me you caught a cold?» you asked him while fixing the bed sheets and the pillow.

He watched carefully how focused you were while taking care of him, everything –from your body language to your facial expressions- suggested him you were really worried about him.

You were going to let him rest while you felt something blocking you; when you turned to look at him you saw his tiny hand grasping the edge of your shirt.

«Please…stay» he whispered faintly, the sore throat made every word twice painful. You smiled and took a seat next to him, caressing his hair tenderly and telling him your childhood stories with a soft voice. Unaware of you, he was holding the toy you gave him under the covers.

Now you changed drastically his routine. And Near loved it.

[shades-of-stony]

Heavy Angst (And Not-So-Heavy but Still Angsty) Stony Fanfics!

I’m absolutely love a good Tony whump and hurt story so prepare to see a lot of those here! Get your tissues ready!

Push by phoenixreal

Summary: Tony Stark was known for pissing people off, it was a given. Then, after the man everyone thought was nothing more than a selfish prick decided to nearly kill himself saving Manhattan from a nuclear bomb, even the most sure of Tony's bastard status had to rethink it. And then, his team who were sure they had him pegged, they were invited (ordered) to move into Stark Tower with him. To their surprise, they found he had furnished full floors for each of them, somehow knowing their tastes exactly, including a floor dedicated to the resident Asgardian who would only be there some of the time. Surprised, and please, they all wonder at the enigma that is their host. After a couple months, Pepper Potts stops coming around so much, and they realize that something has exchanged between them because they are rather professional to each other. Pepper still frets over Tony, but instead tells the others to keep an eye on him rather than doing it herself. They easily forget that Tony is, and always has been, simply a human civilian. Then things get strange when they find themselves locked down within Stark tower, and after a harrowing viewing of a mysterious video, they find their resident playboy is completely gone.

Note: Prepare to cry and be hurt! This fanfic dabbles with Tony’s insecurity, self-worth, and issues. Please heed the warnings!

The words you choose to say by masterlokisev159

Summary: After the SHRA, the events around Steve’s death and Tony discovering he deleted part of his brain, Tony finally decides he's done enough. With Osborn taken care of, Tony leaves the Avengers and decides to quit being Ironman effective immediately.

He tells himself it doesn't hurt when Steve agrees. Why should it? After everything he's done, the team's better off without him.

However before he can truly move on, there are things he needs to take care of, and it's not long before he realizes he's dangerously close to losing his company. He's desperate and willing to do anything to keep it together.

So when, after months of silence, Steve asks him to drop everything and come work for Shield, Tony finds he doesn't have a choice. He agrees, no matter how much he knows he shouldn't. His reputation isn't exactly the best after the SHRA and he's heard stories of what he'd done as Director. He's knows what he's done. He's knows he's responsible for what happened to Steve.

He just wishes someone had warned him first. He hadn't been prepared to deal with the consequences.

Note: A 1000/10 angst fanfic that made me weep at 3 am in the morning. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. READ IT AND PREPARE TO CRY BUCKETS

Protocol SOTERIA by GoldenFinches

Summary: Friday's primary objective at all times is to protect one Anthony Edward Stark. And she will fulfill that objective no matter what it takes. Even if it means including certain people she thought she would never have to deal with again.

(Basically the Rogue Avengers get some sense knocked into them with the help of Friday and handful of videos.)

Note: A HIGHLY RECOMMENDED ANGSTY FANFIC. I CRIED SO MUCH READING THIS. 

Straight to Voicemail by YouMakeMeDokiDoki

Summary: "I DID!" Tony screamed, cutting Steve off mid-sentence and whirling around to glare at him. 

"I CALLED YOU! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!"

Or

The one where no one answered their phone and things got out of hand. 

Note: this will absolutely break you heart.

Sunshine and Luck by ImportedfromMunich2

Summary: Months after Siberia, Steve and the rest of the defectors are pardoned and allowed back onto the Avengers, with the help of Tony Stark. Now that they're back - nothing is the same as before. Tony is even avoiding Steve at all costs.

Then one night - Tony barges into Steve's bedroom while he sleeps, and they have spontaneous, passionate sex.

Only, the Tony Stark he just fucked isn't from this universe.

Now, Steve has to find a way to explain to Tony that he had sex with his counterpart from another dimension.

Note: A good Steve whump fic! 

When You Mess With Him... by REM_It_Up

Summary: During an event with the Avengers, Tony is kidnapped by an unknown group of men right in front of the team. The group who took Tony taunt the Avengers by leaving small clues to Tony's whereabouts. When the kidnappers finally get in contact with the team, they are forced to watch Tony get tortured on camera.

The Avengers desperately search for their missing friend before they never see him again.

The kidnappers are smart and fast, they have everything figured out in order to get away with their plan...They just forgot one thing--

Colonel James Rhodes

Note: Now this is really heavy! Brace yourselves for a kidnapped and tortured tony! Also, protective honey bear aka Rhodey bonus here!

To Need is Not To Want by Brixon

Summary: All his life Tony has been used as a means to someone's end. Always someone's tool in a game. Carelessly thrown aside, once they had no longer use of him. He keeps it bottled up because, because he's Tony Stark. But he's always had this desire that one day someone would come who would stay because they wanted and needed him. He thought he had that with the Avengers, but after everything with the Accords and everyone leaving after Civil War that hope of having something of his to stay was gone.

Despite being burned constantly, Tony still has this wanting. So when Ryder, an old college friend, comes back into his life and actually seems to want to stay because he wants AND needs Tony, Tony is beyond thrilled. Because Ryder is staying. It doesn't matter if the bruises stay too.

But what happens when the Avengers return and Tony finds himself wondering once again exactly what he wants and what he needs.

Note: I’m sure, from the summary, you can tell that it’s a heartbreak here. 

Hiding Things Is All Too Easy - Until It Isn't by audhds

Summary: Tony hasn't been the same since Bucky arrived at Stark Tower. That much is obvious. But Steve is overjoyed to have his best friend back and is somewhat oblivious to how Tony is withdrawing away from him. Because surely Tony is just overworked as usual. He must be quiet and jumpy because he is sleep deprived. And of course he has a few cuts and bruises on the visible parts of his skin - he fights and works for the Avengers as a living. It's part of the job description. Until it isn't.

Will Steve discover the physical and mental trauma that Tony is going through before it is too late?

Note: This is even heavier! Please read the tags carefully! Also, this has some serious Bucky bashing! If you are a Bucky fan but still interested in this, please prepare yourself. 

No Trait As Much As This by KandiSheek

Summary: Tony gets hit with truth serum. It's a terrible time for everyone.

Note: A bit lighter than the others but still angst nonetheless. The added truth serum element makes this even more interesting!

Good For You by @orbingarrow

Summary: Steve doesn't understand why Tony dates people who abuse him. Tony doesn't understand why Steve cares.

The rest is bad choices, good choices, rehab, milkshakes, paintball, YouTube videos, couples therapy and learning to put the past in the past. Or: How Tony finds his happy ending.

Note: Another Tony-in-abusive-relationships fanfic!!

hold the things you wanna say by SailorChibi

Summary: Tony is still a consultant, and between SI, the team and SHIELD he's overworked and exhausted. That's okay.

He and Steve have been having sex for weeks but that's all it is, just sex, and Tony wants more but he'll never get it and that's okay. Really.

What's not okay is the fact that Howard Stark has somehow appeared in the future and is the same as always.

This is definitely going to fuck up his schedule.

Note: Anyone up for some Howard-travels-to-the-future fanfic?

Childhood is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies by MemoryDragon

Summary: Seven-year-old Tony Stark wakes up on a Hydra base, lost, afraid, and alone. He has to overcome his fears before it's too late for the Avengers and Captain America.

Note: De-aged Tony just screams heavy angst and hurt!

Advanced Protocol by masterlokisev159

Summary: The Incursions are coming. The Illuminati have surrendered and everyone has come together to take one last stand.

Everyone except Tony. And Steve is tired of waiting. He wants answers.

There's something the Illuminati aren't telling him.

Note: If you don’t know what the Avalon is in Marvel, I recommend you search it up, or you could read this fic. You will be heartbroken with what you find. 

Flower Child by itsallAvengers

Summary: The point was this, though:

In a hundred million universes, in a hundred million different lives, there would never be a single one of them in which Tony Stark deserved anyone like Steve Rogers. Ever.

So this? Nonsensical.

Note: Another fanfic that highlights child abuse and Tony’s insecurities! 

What Pays All Debts by KandiSheek

Summary: No one is supposed to survive the date written on their skin. And yet Tony's numbers keep piling up.

Note: Angst + Death dates? You could probably foretell how much of a gut-wrench journey this is.

Falling Into You by sabrecmc

Summary: Tony and Steve end up as fuck buddies after the events of The Winter Soldier until Steve calls it off. When Loki's spell wipes all of Steve's memories since the last time Loki was in town, Tony decides it will be so much easier to just not tell Steve they had something of a relationship. Spoiler: It isn't.

Or, how Steve fell in love with Tony and forgot about it, and how Tony fell in love with Steve and realized it.

Note: There are just something about amnesia fanfics that makes it so goddamn heartbreaking. 

Art Freaks and Comic Geeks by Coil

Summary: Tony Stark had made himself a phenomenally renowned writer. The world had fallen in love with the heroes that appeared in his novels; captivated by his vivid words of life and colour.

His next ambition was to publish a comic book series starring the much-beloved heroes of his novels. There was just one problem. Brilliant as Tony may have been with his words, his skills in the field of drawing were less than great. It didn’t help that he barely knew what his characters ought to look like in the first place.

Enter: Mister Steve Rogers – an up-and-coming artist/illustrator with the potential to be brilliant.

Their paths happen to cross at Comic-Con.

Note: this is a much lighter angsty fanfic but is still angsty. It is a Modern AU mixed with Artist!Steve and Writer!Tony.

Unwritten Endings by XtaticPearl

Summary: Tony takes the bullet meant for Captain America at the end of their war and through his death, brings together the team again. Only, he isn't really dead and when he comes back, the equations between the team-mates begin to alter and reform, writing a new story altogether.

Note: Of course, you can’t have an angst fanfic rec without a fake death fanfic!

WIP

Need Is Just A Word by masterlokisev159

Summary: A month has gone by since the war and Tony has never felt more alone. of course, with the unrest within the government, the disappearance of the Avengers and the obvious lack of Steve Rogers, it was only a matter of time before the UN finally flipped out and decided to act on the last available Avenger. Too bad they didn't realise a promise had been made by Captain America to be there when Iron man needed him.

Note: a gut-wrenching Post CA:CW fanfic where tony is suffering the consequences of the civil war.

Take me out tonight by masterlokisev159

Summary: When Steve gets invited to a formal party with the government, Fury tells him he can bring a plus one of his choosing. While listening quietly in the corner, Tony heaves a sigh of relief because the team could really do with some positive publicity and any of the Avengers are a good choice for Steve. Tony just wants Steve to be happy after all, even if he knows Steve's gonna pick Natasha. He knows Steve doesn't like him and he's aware there's never going to be anything more between them. They're barely even friends really.

So of course he's absolutely shocked when a gold filigree letter rests in his palms two days later. He's the worst person for this.

Why on earth did Steve choose him?

Note: AHHHHHHHH, INSECURE TONY IS JUST A FAVORITE. Also, confident!Steve that knows who he wants is just a whole new mood!

The Soul Stone's Sacrifice by masterlokisev159

The soul stone demands a sacrifice that Tony and Steve are not prepared for, but in the end, one life is sacrificed for the many. Steve lets Tony go for the last time and mourns a future they never had.

That is until Tony comes back.

Note: A scenario where Tony and Steve where the ones to go to Vormir. 

[nadziejastar]

So my sister and I kinda made this little theory that the reason vexens weapon is a shield is cause his parental role to zexion as a parents job is to protect their child, as vexen seems protective of him. Our reason was he stopped working on his research and left the safety of the castle during a monster crisis to find him without a second thought. I know it's kinda weak but I'd like to know you opinion

Ienzo wasn’t sure what either of them intended to do; all he knew was that he wanted to carry on the mission of his teacher, Ansem the Wise. Aeleus and Dilan were still here, but they weren’t apprentices. Even was, and as a researcher, he was a man worthy of great respect. To Ienzo, he was also like a father, as much as Ansem the Wise had been.

I completely agree with you and your sister's theory. Nobodies derive their weapons and abilities from memories of their human lives. Even was not a fighter. He was a scientist and father figure to Ienzo. He loved his surrogate son and wanted to protect him from Xehanort. And that's why his weapon was a shield.

“Zexion! Zexion!”

The man–Vexen, was calling out to Zexion.

“Right here! What is it?” Zexion answered coldly.

Zexion didn’t really like this man, who was at times loud and exaggerated. Liking and hating are emotions we lost when we became nobodies, but memories from our time as humans remain. Yes, since I was a human I’ve hated this man. But, because of his research, there is also reason for respect.

During the scene where Vexen was loudly calling him, Zexion sounded really annoyed and said that he hated Vexen ever since he was a human. He was remembering his childhood in that scene.

Ienzo's Story

Memories of Childhood

How many memories remain from my childhood, I wonder. When I think about hearts and memories, my thoughts always wander there. My memories from when I was very young are terribly vague.

“Ienzo, where are you? Answer me.”

I remember well, Even searching for me with his slightly shrill voice. Ansem the Wise was busy, so often it was Even who looked after me. I would get scolded for going on walks by myself all the time, but I think that came from a place of love.

The Character File story explains why Ienzo hated Even. He would reprimand him for making simple mistakes in his calculations. And he'd get scolded when he'd go on walks by himself. He didn't understand that it came from a place of love. Probably because Even is the intellectual type--he is not good with expressing affection.

“Where is Lord Xemnas?”

“His usual spot,” Zexion answered. Vexen frowned.

“The 'Chamber of Repose'” Vexen muttered irritably.

“Yes. Go and see for yourself.”

“That isn't funny,” Vexen snapped, and turned his back on Zexion. "I suppose I have no choice but to wait."

In that same KH2FM scene, Vexen refused to go down into the Chamber of Repose, even though he urgently needed to talk to Xemnas. He got very angry when Zexion said he should go down there. It indicated that he was haunted by memories of the experiments.

“But to be clear, I serve the Organization. I don’t share your need to please Xemnas. He’s good at wrapping you around his little finger—always has been.” This was true. Luxord didn’t share any special bond with Xemnas, Xehanort, or even Ansem the Wise. Though Vexen sneered, his explanation sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Luxord. “All I desire is the freedom to continue my research. Ansem the Wise refused to nurture my talents. So I cast my lot with Xemnas—with Xehanort, rather. Simple as that.” “I see. And you don’t care how he uses your research?” “Not in the slightest. All that concerns me is that I complete the perfect human vessel,” Vexen declared.

In KH3, he obviously felt very guilty about his role in the experiments; so much so that he was bedridden after he was recompleted in KH3D. So, he was not a bad person as a human. I think after Ansem the Wise ceased his research on the heart, Even probably did feel angry that he refused to nurture his talents, and he might have been sympathetic to Xehanort's original disobedience. But I don't think he was so obsessed with his research that he'd start kidnapping and experimenting on innocent people, including kids. I think Luxord was right. Xemnas always had him wrapped around his little finger. Most likely because Xehanort threatened his beloved Ienzo.

[bellshells]

Nobody Can Know

REQUEST: Maybe something with George Weasley and a slytherin reader? He has a crush on her and Fred teases him for it, they start dating in secret but Fred tells their siblings and they all disapprove because they think she's evil (maybe because she's friends with Draco,Blaise etc) but she's actually quite nice but still a proud slytherin and fits all their attributes? If you even write for George that is?:) 

For @hinagiku0 x

Summary: This one got away from me. Reader and George enter a secret relationship that threatens the relationships of everybody close to them.  Warnings: Language, Fluff, Angst, Smut, slight praisekink!George. Everyone is of age. If the smut isn’t your thing, just stop reading at the bold text :)

Pairing: George Weasley x Slytherin Fem!Reader Word Count: 9k+ Part Two

This is my first reader insert, and I hope you enjoy it. Requests are open!<3

“That pathetic Weasley is staring at you again, (Y/N),” Draco whispered from his seat next to you. You whipped your head round in the direction that Draco was looking and saw the usual gaggle of Gryffindor girls fawning around the infamous Weasley twins as they tried to eat their breakfast. Although Fred was clearly enjoying the attention, balancing his spoon on his nose and earning laughs from his adoring crowd; George sat quietly by his brother’s side. His attention fixed quite intently towards the Slytherin table to where you sat sandwiched between Draco and Blaise, the latter’s interest quite firmly placed in conversation with Pansy Parkinson- but Draco noticed, and so did you. You offered George a small smile and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear as, with pink cheeks, George returned your smile. Draco looked incredulously between the two of you.   “Are you mad, (Y/N)? What do you think you’re doing?” He pinched your arm and you rubbed it with a groan.   “What?” You snapped, “I was just being friendly, a quality you clearly don’t possess.” Draco rolled his eyes and returned to his breakfast in silence, you continued to rub your arm as you shifted your gaze to once more meet with George’s. He was still smiling as Fred tapped him on the shoulder to leave, he stood and gave you a small wave. You were accustomed to feeling butterflies in your stomach whenever you looked at George Weasley and they fluttered with gay abandon as you watched him shoulder to shoulder with Fred leave the Great Hall with long strides.

  Nobody knew the way you felt about him and in truth, you had tried to tell yourself otherwise also. You knew if you were to tell any of your friends, your pureblood Slytherin friends that is, you would be met with nothing but disdain and you feared being lonely. The thought of being excluded from your friendship group was enough to keep your secret longing for George just that, a secret. Whilst you were a proud Slytherin and proud of your heritage and family name; the way your friends; especially Draco spoke about your classmates made you feel uncomfortable. You didn’t see anything wrong with being friends with half-bloods and muggleborns, hell, you wouldn’t be averse to being friends with a muggle themself if they were a nice person. But that too, you kept to yourself. You hoped that this prejudiced front Draco and the like portrayed was something he would grow out of, you knew that alone, he really was quite lovely. Having spent summer after summer visiting the Malfoy estate with your parents as a child, you came to realise that Draco’s parents buried him under a lot of pressure. The Malfoy name was weighted enough, and you knew Draco weathered his days carrying around his privilege like a heavy burden, terrified of putting one foot wrong. It was easier for him to act the part of willing crusader for the purification of wizard blood, than to actually think about the alternative. Your parents had instilled in you as you entered your third year that it was important for you to look out for Draco, keep him on the straight and narrow so to speak. That being said, you took silent solace in the time away from him. You were two years older than Draco and cherished your classes away from your childhood friend. But as the years had gone, you now in your seventh-year, and Draco in his fifth, you still felt compelled to stand by your promise to your parents. But being away from him meant you could interact with whomever you wished to, and for the most part that was George Weasley.

  You wondered whether he could hear your heart thundering in your chest as you took your usual seat next to him in Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall in her genius had chosen to separate Fred and George during their OWLs, so the seat next to George at the back of the classroom was always free, and you always took it. You reached into your bag for your parchment and a quill for George as he produced an ink pot and placed it in between the two of you. Another of your unspoken rituals, George never had a quill and in return for your consistent generosity, he shared his ink. He smiled in thanks as he took it from you, his fingers barely grazing yours in the exchange, yet it was enough to make your skin burn under his slight touch. You swallowed and shrugged your robes from around your shoulders, suddenly feeling very warm.

  Throughout the lesson, you exchanged few words with George. He knew you were struggling with retaining everything McGonagall was whizzing through, and you were grateful that he tried not to distract you. You were so worried about passing your NEWTs and you felt supremely out of your depth. With an exasperated sigh, you threw your wand onto the desk and thrust your head into your hands. You could feel George’s eyes on you and sure enough as you peeked through your fingers, he was frowning sympathetically as he poured a glass of water from the pitcher he had transfigured from a large leather bound book. A similar book sat on the desk in front of you, un-transfigured and mocking you.

  “Are you okay (Y/N)?” George asked softly. He offered you the glass of water and sat back in his chair.   “I’m never going to be able to do this.” You moaned and took the glass from George’s hand and took a tentative sip. “Tastes like Shakespeare.”   “Well that’s no good, it was bloody Marlowe!” He joked and picked up your wand and passed it to you. Begrudgingly you took it, but George didn’t remove his hand. Instead he placed it on top of yours and slowly guided your hand in the correct moment. You couldn’t keep your eyes from his face as he faltered in his slightly as his breath hitched in his throat.   “Well, something like that anyway.” George whispered, there was barely any space between you, and you were painfully aware of how close his body was to yours. You could feel the heat his embrace would offer if you were to lean back only slightly. Your chest heaved quickly as George’s gaze left your eyes and flickered down to your lips. You licked them subconsciously and George’s frown appeared again as he swiftly brought a hand to the back of his head with an exclamation of pain. You tore your gaze away from George as you both looked to the front of the classroom as Fred sat with a bag of boiled sweets, his arm raised above his head ready to launch another in your direction.   “Mr. Weasley!” A stern Scottish voice from somewhere near the front of the classroom brought every head in the room to attention. Professor McGonagall emerged from behind her desk and with a swish of her wand summoned the bag of sweets from Fred’s hand and clasped it in her own. “If you have transfigured your book into a pitcher, you can change it back again.” Fred groaned as he turned his back to you and George but not before shooting a wink in his brothers’ direction. George muttered under his breath as he relieved his grip on your wand and shuffled away from you. You could feel your cheeks warm as you took another sip of George’s water. After a few minutes of silence and you trying and failing to transfigure your book, George cleared his throat.   “(Y/N),” He began, “Would you like to meet me in the library before dinner and I can help you with transfiguration?”   “You want to help me?” You asked, he looked at you expectantly and nodded.   “More like I just want to put you out of your misery.” You giggled and gave him a wide smile.   “That would be wonderful, thank you George.”   “Shall we say five?”   “Sounds perfect.”   “Okay, brill.”   “Yeah, cool.”

    You paced back and forth in the Slytherin common room at quarter to five. Pansy eyed you suspiciously over a copy of The Daily Prophet and as you clocked her gaze as you paced towards the fireplace, she snapped it shut and threw it to the side.   “What’s the matter with you?” She muttered as she examined her fingernails.   “Nothing,” You replied checking your watch for the umpteenth time. “Just need to be somewhere soon.”   “Well piss off then, you’re doing my head in.” You threw Pansy a sarcastic grimace and picked up your discarded bag and made your way from the dungeons up the stairs towards the library.

  You were out of breath when you reached the large wooden doors and checked your watch, five minutes to spare. You looked at your reflection in the panes of glass and straightened your green and silver tie. You knew you were pretty, but at that moment you couldn’t help but pick out features of your complexion that suddenly filled you with loathing. You hoped George wouldn’t notice the spot forming on your chin, or the tuna you had for lunch, or the fact you had forgotten to run a brush through your hair before you left. You were too busy pacing. You pushed the heavy door open and began to search between the long lines of shelves to find a suitable place to meet with George. You began to move down a row of book lined shelves when you spotted two redheaded boys conversing in hushed tones. You inched closer towards them, careful to not let yourself be seen.

  “I’m just saying Georgie, of all the girls in school you had to pick her.” Fred whispered, George scowled and shook his head.   “You don’t understand, she’s different-”   “She’s a Slytherin, mate. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I swear she’s best pals with Malfoy!”   “Grow up, Fred. You don’t know anything about her!”   “And you do?” Fred countered coolly, he frowned at his brother and stood. “All I’m doing is asking you to consider all your options before you make any big decisions. Imagine what mum would say.” With that, Fred clasped George on the shoulder and went to leave, he caught your eye as you peered around the corner of the bookshelf and your heart froze as you knew you’d been caught.   “Alright (Y/L/N)?” Fred said cheerfully as he sauntered passed you.   “Fred.” You nodded in acknowledgment, your cheeks burning with shame. George pursed his lips as you approached him. He drew his fingers though his hair with a sigh as you perched on the edge of a nearby table. A heavy silence fell between the two of you as you waited to see if George would break it. You bit down on your lip. You shouldn’t have heard what you did, and you felt an immense guilt wash through you, but deep in the pit of your stomach was a little fire fuelled by hope. Does this mean George feels the same way you do?

  “George-”   “Did you hear much of that-” You and George said at the same time, you gave him a weak smile and he chuckled softly.   “(Y/N),” George began, he moved swiftly to sit alongside you on the table. His brown eyes searched your face intently. “I’m sorry if you heard- I mean, what Fred said…it’s just…” He fiddled with the frayed edge of his jumper; you had never seen George like this before. He was flustered and bashful and it made your heart swell. “I don’t really know how to say what it is I want to say.” He said finally. George stood and walked towards the big window that overlooked the courtyard. He placed an arm on the windowpane and leaned into it, his head flopped forward. You wondered whether you should say something, it didn’t seem like George was finished and in truth, you weren’t sure whether you would be able to articulate anything.

  “If I tell you something, will you promise you wont laugh at me?” George said, his shoulders slumped forward.   “I thought you loved to make people laugh?” You said casually, his head twisted in your direction a sly smirk nestled on his lips. He sighed once more and turned to face you.   “Yes obviously,” George said sarcastically, “But just for this one time, I need you to listen and not laugh. Okay?”   “Okay.” You agreed. George took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.   “I like you. A lot.”

  You felt like you had had the wind knocked out of you. George looked at you sheepishly, his hands once again finding the hem of his jumper. You blinked slowly, surely you were dreaming. You would wake up at any minute, the familiar sight of the green canopy around your bed would greet you and you would desperately try to return to your dream. And yet, you didn’t. No abrupt awakening, no fade to black, just George, lovely George waiting for you to say something.   “(Y/N?)”   “Yes. Lovely. Thank you.” You managed, you instantly cringed as the words left your mouth. Why did you say that? You had waited for as long as you could remember to get to this point with George, and instead of telling him you were completely in love with him, you thanked him. George’s hesitant smile began to fall, and your heart ached. “What I mean- George, is I-”   “No, it’s okay. Cheers for letting me say that.” George replied, he rolled the sleeves of his jumper up over his arms and stepped past you widely, his back to you in two short steps. Panicking, you grasped onto his wrist and stopped him short.   “Wait! Please wait!” You pleaded; George looked from your face down to your grip of his wrist. You let go immediately but moved rapidly to meet him. “I hadn’t finished.”   George shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, he crossed his arms over his chest in anticipation.    “You really like me?” You asked softly, you hoped your face did not betray the sheer pandemonium happening inside your mind. George scoffed.    “Don’t take the piss out of me, (Y/N).”   “I’m not!” You protested. “I’m just a bit shocked George, that’s all-”   “I don’t think I could have made it any more obvious, and, not forgetting the fact I just said the words out loud. To your face.” He snapped.   “George, can I get a bloody word out please? Merlin, you can be so frustrating when you want to be.” You sighed; George raised his eyebrows. “It’s quite lucky that you like me really, because it turns out that I…like you…too.” You bit down on your lip, slightly anxious as to what George would say. The taller boy just stared at you, unblinking.   “Sorry, what?”   “I…like you, George? And I’m happy that you like me?”   “Right…well, okay then.”

  A laugh of pure elation fell from your lips as George’s bewildered look turned into one of joy. He embraced you in an instant, his hands found your hips as he pulled you close into him. The contact surprised you, it took you a moment to react, but soon enough you brought your arms up around his broad shoulders, reaching up on your tip toes. You couldn’t supress the grin that was so wide it made your cheeks tingle as George surrounded every part of you. His arms tight around your back and his chin brought down to rest against your head. You didn’t want to pull away, but the sound of a throat being cleared somewhere behind you caused the pair of you to spring apart. Madame Pince removed a book from a far-away shelf and raised a knowing eyebrow in your direction. You covered your mouth with your hand to conceal an involuntary giggle. George flashed you a brilliant smile and exhaled jubilantly.   “So, I suppose it’s time for the cheesy bit.” George smiled, his hand found yours with ease and he entwined his fingers with yours. “(Y/N), would you like to be my girlfriend?”

  “I would genuinely like nothing more, it’s just…” You averted your gaze, your cheeks growing warm once again. You contemplated your options, the boy you were absolutely mad for had just asked you to be his girlfriend and you were happy, of course you were. But you couldn’t shake the lump that appeared in your chest when you thought about having to tell your friends that you were with a Weasley. Not only that, the conversation you had overheard between Fred and George signalled that perhaps his friends held the same apprehensions.   “What?” George asked earnestly, he rubbed your knuckles with his thumb. You smiled at his touch and swept your eyes over his sweet features.   “I don’t think people would be very accepting of our relationship, George.” You said quietly, unable to disguise the trepidation in your voice. George smiled sadly and gestured for you to return to your perch on the table.   “I hate to say this, but I have to agree with you.” He said. “Not that I have anything against Slyth-”   “No, I understand. Believe me, I do.” You recalled all the tedious conversations with your Slytherin peers about the blood traitors that were the Weasleys. You shook your head to free yourself from the memory and sighed. “What do we do?”   “Well, I do have an idea…” George whispered, he wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively and you laughed heartily at him.

     George held your hand as you walked briskly down the seventh-floor corridor, you threw a look behind you to see if you were still being pursued. Professor Umbridge stalked your trail, followed by members of the Inquisitorial Squad namely Crabbe and Goyle. Draco had begged you to join his fifth year friends in becoming member of Umbridge’s little crusade, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to agree. You had bullshitted an excuse about needing whatever spare time you had to study for your NEWTs and Draco, although suspicious, had accepted it. George tugged on your hand as he quickened his pace, your robes flapped behind you and you couldn’t supress your grin as you once more looked behind your shoulder. Professor Umbridge raised her hand and opened her mouth to speak just as George whipped you round a corner and shoved you into an empty classroom. You laughed headily as he pointed his wand at the door and locked it with a muttered spell. You smoothed your hands over your skirt and waited for George to approach you.

  “We really must stop meeting like this, Mr. Weasley.” You smiled, George wrapped his arms around you tightly and lowered his lips to meet yours. It had been three months since he had asked you to be his, and yet you still weren’t accustomed to his touch. It still sent electric pulses coursing throughout your body with every deft movement of his fingertips, and you shuddered as he moved his hand over your rump and gave it a hearty squeeze. George, who was always the more dominant one out of the pair of you nearly always arranged your meetings. While it had been three months since you commenced your relationship, it had been three months of scurrying around in secret and lying to your friends, and in George’s case, lying to his family. George deepened the kiss, his tongue pressed against your lips requesting entry, which of course you granted. Your hands found their way to George’s soft hair and you pulled on it slightly, eliciting a groan from him. You smirked into the kiss as George walked you backwards and hoisted you up onto a vacant desk, you wrapped your legs around him instinctively and he pushed his hips into you. He pulled away from the kiss breathlessly and grasped either side of your face in his hands. He studied you intently as he rubbed his thumbs over your cheeks.   “I love you, (Y/N). You know that, don’t you?” You pulled him into you again and ravished his neck with feverish kisses. That was the first time those words had fallen from his lips, you felt like you could melt at the sound of this boy telling you he loved you over and over again. You nipped at the skin there, feeling emboldened by his declaration of love. You didn’t know whether it was the excitement of getting caught or whether you were running on sheer elation, but you couldn’t get your fill of George.   “Georgie,” You whispered into his shoulder as his hands gripped onto your thighs tightly as he pushed his groin against your core. “You make me so happy.”   “I want to make you feel more than happy.” George winked as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your face towards his and crushed his lips against yours.

“George! What the fuck?!”

  A voice from behind you startled the pair of you as you immediately pulled away from George, instantly missing the contact. Fred stood agape in the open doorway flanked by Ginny and Ron each looking equally shocked. You looked at George who had flushed scarlet and had his gaze trained intently on the floor. Ginny let out a stunned gasp and turned on her heel and exited swiftly out of the room. Ron shook his head sadly at his older brother and followed Ginny, calling after her as he went. Fred remained still, his hands balled into fists and his knuckles white with fury.   “I thought we agreed, George.” Fred spat. He made a step towards his brother and squared up to him, their faces inches apart.   “No. We didn’t.”   “You lied to me. You said nothing was going on.”   “Fuck off then if you don’t like it. I don’t care anymore, Fred.” You watched in horror as George pushed Fred away by his chest, but quick as a flash, Fred caught George’s hands in his own and pushed him back harder.   “You’re a mug.” Fred muttered as he rolled his sleeves up and looked you up and down before chuckling darkly to himself and leaving, slamming the door behind him. A heavy silence descended onto the room as you shuffled down from the desk and chewed on your lip. You couldn’t help but feel guilty as you watched George sigh and run his hands over his face. You bent down to retrieve your bag and haphazardly threw it over your shoulder, you felt your stomach flip on itself as George looked at you tearfully. There was nothing you could do. George said that he didn’t care, you knew it wasn’t true. You were a Slytherin, a pureblood from a long line of wizards with dubious intentions and had long been affiliated with controversial families. There was nothing you could do in this situation to make it any better for you, or for George. You took George’s shaking hand in yours and gave it a tight squeeze before you let it fall back to his side. You quietly made your way out of the room and descended the many stairs towards your common room, the quiet of your dormitory offered you a much-needed solace. George made no attempt to speak or to come after you, and you were glad that he didn’t. He needed to speak to his family, he needed to speak to Fred.

  You tried not to worry about him, but that was easier said than done. You hadn’t told him you loved him when he had said it to you, but it seemed inappropriate to say it now. You hoped he already knew.

  Draco was waiting for you when you entered the common room. He stood with his arms folded over his chest with an impatient tapping of his foot, he reminded you of his mother. Narcissa was always scolding you as children for dilly-dallying, and with Draco’s long features, he looked just like her. “Where have you been?” He snapped. You tried to move passed him, you averted your eyes to the floor. Draco caught your arm and pulled you backwards. “Where have you been?” He demanded,  “And don’t lie.”   “Why? Are you spying on me now?” You countered, you shrugged out of his grasp and narrowed your eyes. He looked at you dumbfounded.   “Spying on you! I’m looking out for you, (Y/N). Or had you forgotten that we’re supposed to be friends?” Draco thundered, he inched closer to you, his grey eyes alight with anger.   “Friends don’t ambush friends when they’ve had a really shitty day.” You spat, you tried once more to move round Draco, but he blocked your path.   “Goyle saw you with the weasel, holding his hand. Do you not have any shame?” Draco paused as he tried to gauge your reaction. He hesitantly placed his hands on your shoulders. “(Y/N),” He said softly, “Tell me you’re not seeing him.”   “Move aside, Draco.”   “(Y/N) please, this is for your own good. I’m trying to-”   “Move aside.”   “I shall not. I demand you tell me everything that’s happened between you and that horrid muggle-loving traitor-” You snatched your wand from your robes and held it up to Draco’s throat, his eyes widened in fear as he instinctively took a step back.   “Not a single person in my family has ever taken orders from a Malfoy, and I don’t expect to start doing so now.” You said venomously. “I asked you politely to move aside, yet you feel compelled to irk me further on a day when you really don’t want to piss me off.” You stood unwavering, wand raised and watched unblinking as a bead of sweat trickled down Draco’s forehead. “Now, fuck off.”

  Draco nearly fell over his feet as he scurried into the shadows of the dark room. You continued your journey into your dormitory and pulled your jumper over your head as you flopped backwards onto your bed. Thankfully, the room was empty. You rolled onto your side and pulled your knees up to your chest. You felt peculiar, like you needed to cry and yet no tears came. Instead, you stared blankly off into the middle-distance, replaying the moment you were found by George’s siblings in your mind. The looks of abject horror etched on their faces. You wanted to find them, to try and persuade them that you weren’t the person that they thought you were. That with each passing day spent with George made you feel lighter and unburdened, that you thought that you maybe had a chance at real happiness. Not tainted with the pressure set upon you by your parents to find a nice Slytherin boy, maybe someone who graduated a few years ago and now has an up and coming job in the Ministry. His family name would be one rolled around with mentions of the Dark Lord, of course, and you didn’t want that. You were a proud Slytherin yes, you were cunning and ambitious and every other cliché;  but your ambition wasn’t to marry a boring man who would more than likely be sent to Azkaban; your ambition was a tall redheaded boy from Devon who made you laugh and filled your days with joy. You wanted lots of little George’s running around in a house with an abundance of windows that the sun could shine through. You wanted a large, comfy sofa that you could curl up after a hard day and know that the arms surrounding you belonged to him. You wanted a bed that could be the setting for endless nights of pleasure and a dining table scratched and wonky, that the family you made could sit and talk freely, not even sparing a thought as to who might be listening.

  You didn’t know you had fallen asleep until you were awoken by the sound of your dormitory door opening, and the two girls you shared with piling in after dinner. Almost comically, your stomach grumbled as you sat and rubbed your eyes wearily. You exchanged polite pleasantries with your dormmates as they started to change from their uniforms. You threw your cloak over your shoulders and pulled the hood up over your head. You ignored anybody that tried to accost you as you left the common room and crept to the kitchens. You had only done this a handful of times, you didn’t know the names of the House Elves that worked tirelessly in the kitchens, but you were always polite, and they seemed to appreciate that. You had tried to ask where the bread was kept so you could make yourself a sandwich, but with a few protestations from you, the little creatures had prepared a lovely supper for you. You wrapped your sandwiches and slice of Victoria sponge securely in a piece of delicate cloth, cradling the pear they had forced you to take in the crook of your arm. You thanked them warmly and hurried through the now darkening corridors. You knew if you were to be caught by Filch or Umbridge, it could spell a horrendous amount of trouble for you. Thankfully, you arrived back to your dormitory unscathed and now ravenous. You got into bed and closed the curtains that surrounded the frame and settled in.

  It was difficult for you to relax. You continued through the motions almost on autopilot, you undressed for bed and shuffled to the loo to brush your teeth before climbing heavily into bed. You scrunched your eyes closed and willed sleep to come, the steady breathing of your dormmates tormented you as you tossed and turned. Your concern for George was like a dripping tap, it vibrated in your head with every breath you took. You had waited so long to reach the steady happiness you had with him, and in one afternoon it had potentially been taken away. You tried not to be selfish, you tried not to think about your loss; the way Fred had looked at you both was an image you knew you wouldn’t forget in a hurry. But, you wished for nothing more than to be with George. You wanted to feel his sturdy embrace, his gentle kisses against your head and to hear his heart beating rhythmically in his chest. You simply wished for things to be different.

    Three days. Three days it took to receive word from George. The weekend trundled by slowly, with Professor Umbridge’s ever increasing list of banned activities; there wasn’t much left to do. You spent much of your time in your dorm reading, you emerged for mealtimes but kept to yourself, ensuring you were seated far away from Draco. Your seventh-year friends pleased that you had managed to shake off the younger boy. Embarrassed to speak to Draco after you had pulled out your wand and embarrassed that he knew about you and George, you were grateful for the space. You always kept your eyes on your plate or on whomever was speaking to you in the Great Hall, not daring to look over to the Gryffindor table, no matter how much you wished to. You could feel George watching you, it was almost like you had a sixth sense, you were constantly aware of his presence in any room you shared. But you didn’t look. Monday night, after a disastrous day and a near silent Transfiguration lesson, George slipped you a note as you went to leave.

(Y/N),

Please meet me after Quidditch practise this evening. I think it would be good to have a chat.

George

  So, that was it. Three days of radio silence for twenty words. You tried not to be annoyed, and quite successfully really, as your annoyance gave way to anxiety as you imagined the inevitable conversation that you would have with George. You couldn’t blame him for choosing his familial relationships over the one he shared with you, but you had began to think that if the time ever came for you to ever make that decision; you would perhaps choose the opposite. You loved him. But you wouldn’t be a point of contention. You prepared your gracious acceptance for his words, confident that he was going to end the relationship. Making it anymore difficult than it needed to be was the last thing you wanted to do, you craved a little normality. The only trouble was that George had become your new normal.

  You cursed to yourself as you wrapped your scarf around your neck as you made your way to the quidditch pitch. The Gryffindor practise was just about to finish, and silently you waited on the other side of the players entrance, partially concealed by a tall beam of timber. You chewed absentmindedly on the inside of your cheek, it was cold, and you felt very conflicted. One by one the players descended from dizzying heights and dismounted their brooms. Angelina Johnson gestured for her team to leave the pitch and you tried to hide further behind the beam until you could get George on his own. The redheaded twins were the last to pass you by, they spoke brightly to one another. You strained to hear what they were saying.

  “…promise you.” George said to his brother. “…not going to regret this.” The boys moved swiftly through the covered walkway and you hurried after them, your steps muffled by the grass underfoot.   “…must be amazing, eh Georgie?” Fred joked and wiggled his eyebrows, George threw his head back in laughter and out of the corner of his eye, caught sight of you.   “(Y/N)!” He exclaimed; George flung his broom over to Fred as he rushed to meet you. He seemed to struggle with what to do with his hands, they had reached out to you on impulse, but you stood unwavering. George’s arms dropped back to his sides. He cleared his throat, his brown eyes seared into yours. “Can you come with us, (Y/N)?” George gestured to Fred and he pointed through the players entrance into the direction of the changing rooms.   “Why?” You scrunched your face in confusion, “I’m not that kind of girl, George.” George’s face turned a very flattering shade of beetroot and Fred snickered, he reached for your arm and tucked it into the crook of his elbow.   “Merlin, no. Nothing like that.” George snapped; you fell into step with the twins as Fred pushed open the door to the male changing room. Inside, like a frightening family portrait sat Ron and Ginny, both stone-faced and waiting. You froze as you took in the scene, Fred moved to sit next to Ginny and Ron shuffled in his seat. George placed a hand on the small of your back and ushered you into the room, closing the door behind you.

  You stood awkwardly, every pair of eyes burned into each inch of your skin and you felt like you were on fire.   “Right.” George began, he offered you a quick smile as he pulled up two stools for the pair of you to sit on, opposite where the other three sat. “My brothers and sister have agreed to have a chat with you- with us, I mean, so they can see what you’re- I mean, we’re like. Together.” He gave you a pained expression, and you could see his pulse throb in his neck. He was nervous. Why was he nervous?   “Why don’t they just ask me?” You stated, your resolve hardening as you knew they were here to interrogate you, not to get to know their brother’s girlfriend.   “I’ve never known Slytherins to be that forthcoming.” Ginny said raising an eyebrow.   “Maybe you’re not asking the right questions.” You countered and the younger girl scoffed, she crossed her arms over her chest and eyed you suspiciously.   “I don’t think we need to ask any questions at all,” Ron said quietly, “Slytherin, friends with Malfoy in this day and age, all these rumours of dark wizards in well-known families coming out of hiding…says it all really. What else could we possibly need to know?”   “You know nothing about me and what? You assume I’m a Death Eater because of my house and my family name?” You spat, you stood to leave but George grasped hold of the sleeve of your robe and pulled you back to your seat.   “I’m asking you to please just get to know (Y/N). I’m not asking you to be best mates with her, none of us like Fleur, but we all just get on with our lives.” George tried to level, Ginny just rolled her eyes and Ron tapped his foot impatiently. “(Y/N), why don’t you tell them one thing about yourself, that they might be surprised to hear.” He put an arm around your shoulders and brought his lips to your ear and whispered; “Please darling, I really want this to work. It’s taken me ages to get them to agree to do this.” He paused. “I don’t want to hide anymore.” The earnest look in his eyes made your heart flutter and you sighed deeply. You nodded.   “Um. I’m crap at Transfiguration.” You murmured half-heartedly and Fred chuckled, smacking his knee with his hand.   “That’s no secret, (Y/N). Tell us something we don’t know.” He said boisterously. You racked your brain for anything you could say that might endear you to them. They didn’t have to like you, just tolerate you.   “My parents want me to marry as soon as I leave school. They’ve already started looking for potential suitors for me.” You said quietly, you felt George stiffen beside you and his arm tightened around your shoulders.   “Is that true?” He said softly, “Why didn’t you tell me?”   “I don’t like thinking about it.” You shrugged. Ginny leaned forward in her seat; her hand covered her mouth concealing any emotion she might be feeling.   “Why are you friends with Malfoy?” Ron probed; George hastened to shut his brother up when you placed an arm on his.   “No, it’s fine. I can answer, it’s fine.” Ron looked smugly at George before he returned his attention back to you. “My parents asked me to look out for him when he started school. I know he’s a bit of a knobhead, but when he’s by himself he’s actually quite sweet.”   “Bollocks!” Ron exclaimed loudly. “He called Hermione a m-”   “I know.” You interrupted, there was no need to be reminded of the awful words Draco had used toward Hermione Granger. You had heard all about it after the first time it had happened, and you didn’t speak to him for a week afterward. You hoped it might help him re-evaluate some of his choices, but alas, it did not. “I was really annoyed with him about it, and please understand, I would never use a slur like that.”

  Ron smiled at that. You had often wondered whether Draco perhaps held a deeper interest in Hermione Granger, of course he would vehemently deny it whenever the idea was brought up. Ron Weasley on the other hand, made his feelings abundantly clear. If not to himself, but to everybody else.   “Why should we believe you?” Ginny pressed, “Why should we think that you’d be a good match for George?”   “You don’t have to believe anything, Ginny.” You said softly, your gaze drifted to where George sat at your side. You felt tears prickle your eyes as you thought about how much he meant to you; how much you were willing to sacrifice for him. “I don’t have any ulterior motives for wanting to be with George. I’m actually endangering the standing I have within my family by being with anyone other than a pureblood Slytherin,” Fred winced at your words. “But it doesn’t matter to me. I hope you come to realise that I’m much more than my house. I’ve long lived by the mandate of if you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you; it’s really as simple as that.” The three siblings seemed to take in your words in silence, George gave your shoulder a squeeze and gave your cheek a chaste kiss. You frowned as you looked between the Weasleys, your heart pounded in your chest. Fred crossed his arms and sat back in his seat.   “Do you love him, (Y/N)?” He asked, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room as Ron and Ginny inched forward in anticipation of your reply.   “With all my heart.” You answered and placed your hand on George’s thigh. “I love you, George.” You said with the most earnest look you could muster, George beamed at you.

  “Well isn’t this something…” You turned your head in the direction of the voice which came from behind you, Draco stood in the doorway of the changing rooms flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. The badges for the Inquisitorial Squad glistened at their breasts, the three Slytherins raised their wands slowly and pointed them in your direction. You stood immediately and faced the intruders with a hateful glare, removing your own wand from inside your robes and aiming in their direction.   “Following me again, Goyle? Crabbe?” You snapped at the two idiots, they exchanged uneasy glances and looked to Draco for reassurance. Draco only smirked at you; he extended his hand to you.   “(Y/N) come, you don’t need to be here when Professor Umbridge arrives.” Draco said slyly, you felt George tense next to you.   “No thank you, Draco. I’m quite happy here.” You levelled; you kept your wand trained intently onto Draco. The blonde boy scoffed and stretched his fingers out as though to reach for you.   “I’ll not ask you again, (Y/N), come here.” His smile appeared strained as once again he offered his hand. You looked between your housemates and George and his family and knew what you needed to do.   “I have no idea who you think you’re talking to, Malfoy. It certainly appears like you’re trying to command the last daughter of the (Y/L/N)’s, and I know you’re not that brave. Your pathetic little family means nothing to me, no matter how much money your spineless father throws around. So no, I will not go anywhere with you and your mindless goons.” You were breathless. You heard Ron behind you mutter a bloody hell and Draco’s face contorted into one of rage.   “Crabbe, Goyle.” Draco ordered, with a nod the two idiots lurched towards you.   “Impedimenta!” You cried with a flourish of your wand, like a shot Crabbe and Goyle were knocked off their feet with groans of pain as they hit the stone floor. George was by your side in an instant, wand raised toward Draco.   “Expelliarmus.” George disarmed Draco with ease and caught Draco’s wand in his free hand as it flew through the air. Goyle stood unsteadily on his feet and caught Crabbe by his robes and hoisted the smaller boy to his feet. They scurried out of the room and dragged Draco with them, the blonde-haired boy’s startling grey eyes didn’t leave yours.

  When the room was still and the sound of heavy footsteps disappeared, you turned to face Fred, Ron and Ginny. George’s arm snaked around your hip as you stood and bit your lip. Ginny was the first to step forward, she looked at you sadly and put her arms around your shoulders and pulled you in for a tight hug. You were surprised by the contact and it took a moment before you wrapped your arms around her back and embraced the hug. Ginny pulled back after a moment and turned to face Ron, who smiled at you and gave your shoulder an awkward squeeze.   “Bloody hell, (Y/N). I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Malfoy like that.” Ron said and looked between you and George.   “That can’t have been easy.” Ginny added, “We should leave though, if Umbridge is coming that is.” It was unanimously agreed to return into the main body of the castle, Ginny and Ron left first, you remained where you were. George still held fast to your waist and Fred stared at the floor.   “So? Freddie?” George whispered. “Come on mate, don’t tease me like this.”   “You were right.” Fred said, he brought his gaze slowly from the floor until it settled on your face. “She is different. And I’m happy for you.” George beamed brightly at his brother as he gave his consent. You couldn’t help but exhale and grin at the twins, George pulled Fred closer to the pair of you and pulled you both in for a crushing hug. You laughed as you were thrown about by George’s jubilant swaying, George kissed the top of your head and then kissed the top of Fred’s.   “Oh look, my two-favourite people in the whole world.” George laughed, Fred pulled away and offered his hand to you. You shook it with a smile.   “Suppose I best send an owl to mum, get her to knit another Christmas jumper.” Fred winked at you before he shook his head and exited the changing room. You looked up at George’s face with a confused expression and he simply shook his head. He turned you to face him and clasped your face in his hands.   “You love me then?” He said, his gaze dancing from your lips up to your eyes and back down again.    “I always have,” You answered, closing the distance between you and brought your lips to meet George’s. He accepted your kiss hungrily, not wasting any time in exploring your mouth with his tongue.   “I love you so much, (Y/N). The air I breathe wouldn’t matter to me if you weren’t by my side.” His hands drifted down your back and travelled under your skirt, taking firm hold of your bum. He squeezed it and gave it a playful slap; you felt a stirring deep in your stomach as George’s hands roamed over your body. Your hands tangled in his hair as you kissed along George’s jawline and down his neck. Feeling brave, you moved your hands under George’s quidditch robes and pushed them from his shoulders. He shrugged his arms free and let his robes fall to the floor with a thud, your robe was next, it joined George’s on the floor as he tugged at your jumper. You pulled it over your head quickly and connected your mouth with George’s for another searing kiss.   “I could be homeless,” You said kissing George’s neck, “Penniless,” Another kiss, “Hungry,” A bite, “And cold.” You trailed your tongue along his bottom lip. “But none of that would matter as long as you were mine.” He growled as he kissed you passionately, he pushed his hips into yours and you groaned.

  George broke the kiss suddenly; you were panting and the heat in your knickers was becoming to powerful to ignore.   “Fancy a shower?” He asked devilishly.

    The water ran hot over your shoulders as you kissed George desperately. He palmed at your breasts as you ran your hands down his shoulder blades, your fingernails scraped their way down his back, and he shuddered under your touch. His mouth kissed down your chest as he took your nipple in his mouth, he rolled his tongue over your stiffened peak and grazed it with his teeth. You moaned at the sensation and rubbed your thighs together, desperate for relief. His hand wandered down from your breast and fluttered over your core, your head rolled back as you whispered his name.   “God, I want to touch you so badly.” George growled, you smirked down at him. His hair now sopping from the water and fell into his eyes, you deftly moved the heavy red locks out of his face.   “Then touch me.” That was all George needed. He dropped to his knees in front of you, kissing down your chest and your stomach as he pushed you backwards until your back hit the cold tiled shower wall. George had charmed the door of the changing rooms and the communal showers now acted as your own sanctuary, you watched as he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder and buried his face into you.

  He licked your clit gently, and you hissed at the much-needed contact. His hands found their way around your thighs and held you steadily in place. He suckled on your raised nub and waves of pleasure coursed through you. You bucked your hips against George’s mouth, and he gave a throaty laugh which vibrated through you deliciously. He flattened his tongue against you and shook his head, the friction on your sex was almost more than you could bear, but George continued relentlessly. He pulled you even closer into him, his tongue following the shape of your folds until ultimately, it was inside you. He fucked you with his tongue as his nose brushed against your clit, he quickened his pace to match the gyrating of your hips and hummed into your centre as he worshipped you. You guided his head with your hands, sticking it in place as you felt your orgasm build.   “Georgie,” You breathed, “You’re going to make me cum.” He didn’t respond, he just continued in his devotion of your cunt. Pulse after pulse of pleasure electrified your body as you came hard and loud. George lapped at you like he couldn’t get his fill, allowing you to rub yourself on his face as you rode out your high. When he stood, you were unsteady on your feet and George grasped hold of your waist and grounded you. You lazily swept your gaze over his lean form; he was surprisingly muscly, and his toned abs glistened under the running water. George was painfully hard, you could see his cock twitching, like it begged to be played with. He kissed you then, full of the same hunger as before and you returned his desire by taking hold of his member in your hand and giving it a hard squeeze. George spluttered and thrust his hips forward into your hand. You looked up at him innocently as you smirked at him, his eyes half closed.   “Would you like to fuck me, Georgie?”

  He moaned into your shoulder as he lifted you up by your legs and wrapped them around his waist. George again pushed your back against the wall as he lined himself up with your centre. He looked into your eyes and gave you a gentle smile before you nodded, and he pushed himself into you. You both let out moans of pleasure at the sensation of him filling you to the hilt, George’s legs threatened to buckle as you adjusted to his length. This wasn’t the first time that you had been intimate with George, but this time felt different. He gazed into your eyes as he thrust into you, his brow furrowed as you moaned. He felt so good inside you, he filled you to the brim and then some and there was pain, but the pain was so delectable that you cherished it.   “Such a good girl,” George cooed as he thrust into you. “Such a good girl taking my cock.” With each delicious thrust from George, you could feel him as he bruised your cervix, he rutted into you shamelessly, a string of curses fell from his lips as he tried to silence himself by biting down on your shoulder.   “Oh God George, I love you.” You whined, you felt like you were on fire. “I love you; I love you; I love you.” You eyes fluttered closed as you bounced on his cock, you felt that same stirring in your stomach start to build, George could sense it too as his thrusts became more desperate.   “The way you stood up to Malfoy really turned me on.” He grunted. “Such a good girl standing up for your man.” He suckled on your neck, no doubt marking you. “Good girls get rewarded.” His hands around your thighs would leave marks, you knew, but you didn’t care. Your orgasm built steadily, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the space and echoed around you, wet and hot. You came at the same time, he moaned loudly as his cock twitched inside you and filled you deep with his hot load. Your walls tightened around him with your orgasm, milking him to utter completion. George breathed heavily as he gently set you down. You captured his lips for a kiss, different than before, more tender.

  You dressed hurriedly and scurried through the castle careful to not be seen by Filch or anybody else. He walked you down the steps to the dungeons, stopping only when you came to the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Elated, you threw your arms around his shoulders and kissed hm deeply. George chuckled and pulled back to look at you, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.   “Goodnight darling, I hope you dream of me.” He said softly, in the near blackness of the dungeons you could barely make out his features. You pecked his lips once more and turned to enter the common room, you stopped just before you stepped over the threshold and turned back.   “George?” You whispered into the darkness, you hoped he was still there.    “Yes?” His unmistakable voice replied.    “I love you. You mean everything to me. I know there’s nothing that we can’t do if we’re together.” You whispered, you could feel a tear threaten to fall as you thought of all the people that were going to find out about your relationship and what you had to tell them, what you stood to lose.   “Exactly my darling, I’ll be there by your side. Forever, I promise.” You heard him chuckle, “Well, maybe not in your Transfiguration exam. You’re on your own with that one, I’m afraid.” You rolled your eyes and took one last look into the blackness, just about to make out his figure.   “Goodnight then, I love you.”    “Goodnight, (Y/N). I love you too.”

[aeslvr]

old memories - oikawa tooru

⊱┊ gender - she/her (not neutral)

⊱┊ contains - angst??  reader is insecure about the whole “love” thing. 

⊱┊ wc - 1,107

⊱┊ aria’s notes - idk what this is, i wrote this at 11 pm at night on a notepad app since i had some sudden inspiration uh this isnt really well written and just wrote it without really thinking but yeah c : 

“oh c'mon y/n-chan let's go on a date, yeah?"

you twisted your head to take a glance at your childhood friend of 12 years, tooru oikawa. as you could tell, he was being stubborn and annoying as always. you could care less if oikawa wanted to take you on a date. there were plenty of other girls that he could pick and choose from.

 those girls who were prettier than you times 100.

 there were many girls who'd confess their feelings towards him but apparently, he wasn't satisfied with that. maybe, he was teasing you once again. 

oikawa proposed to you when you were both kids and you went along with it. because at the time, your 6-year-old self didn't know better. the two of you were kids who didn't know a thing about love. 

yet, you both would play pretend. the plastic ring that he slided on your 6-year-old finger was kept in your closet. the ring was now too big for your own finger and you would occasionally glance at the ring from time to time. it made you cringe just thinking back at old memories, the pictures, the videos that were saved on an old camera. everything. a small wedding ceremony was held and that's when oikawa kissed your hand.

oikawa was following you through the school hallways like a lost puppy that simply needed attention. the word 'rejection' wasn't in his vocabulary, he didn't know what that meant due to the girls who would typically surround him with love letters in their hands.

 then a sheepish smile would rise from his lips as he took all the love letters but would never read them.

 he couldn't care less for the letters, maybe if it was yours then he would care. but it wasn't. so he'd toss them away in the trash without any hesitation. he'd listen to countless girls talk about their hobbies and different places and had to refrain himself from saying "oh, i think y/n would like that too," or "maybe i'll take y/n there one day."

a groan of frustration escaped from your lips, "tooru there's no need for dates with me when you have those girls who want to spend time with you."

  you took a deep breath before continuing. "i don't know why you're doing this. stop pretending that you have feelings towards me because i know that it's all bullshit."

his eyes gradually softened as he stared into your eyes, he wasn't showing off his usual smile or smirk that'd he'd typically show.

 perhaps you didn't want to accept his 'so called' feelings for you since they could be fake, and he'd end up laughing at your face. or maybe you were scared to face rejection and enter a relationship. yeah, that was probably it.

 it hurt him hearing you say those words in the inside, it felt like he was getting ripped apart and he didn't know why. the person that stood in front of him wasn't giving him a chance. he didn't just want any girl, he wanted you. you and you only.

 iwaizumi even noticed that his friend was distracted and had other things in his mind during volleyball practice.

tooru shook his head as his eyes darted towards the floor, "y/n-"

 both his hands and voice began to tremble as his throat began to feel sore. he was sure that something was wrong with him. he couldn't stop feeling this way, he was beginning to break and shatter in a million of pieces and he didn't know why. he missed the childhood memories that he wished could last forever. 

 playing volleyball with you even though you completely sucked at being the setter, holding your hand so he wouldn't lose you at the mall, sobbing at cliche cheesy romance movies with you, the countless times you comforted you when your parents were arguing, and the wedding between you two.

 he missed it all too much.

if only he was able to hold you in his arms, he'd never let go even if he had the chance to eat milk bread. cause he loved you too much.

"what went wrong between us?" tooru's voice began to crack. "we used to be happily married and then-"

"i'm getting a divorce."

even though you both weren't technically married, he took those words seriously. his eyes promptly widened as he watched you walk away from him, his arm extending towards you. except, he was out of your reach. his feet wouldn't move no matter how much he wanted them to move. they were stick to the floor and all he could do was watch you walk away from him. 

his mouth wouldn't open so he couldn't yell out your name. his entire body was frozen and he couldn't move. 'what did i do wrong?' the thought repeated over and over again. if only he could go back in time to being a kid, life was so much easier back then anyway. now, his life was shattering before his eyes.

iwaizumi glasped oikawa's shoulder, "oi shitty-kawa aren't you supposed to be in the gym?" he rose a brow while he titled his head.

 "i've been searching for you everywhere and now you owe me boba for wasting my time since you were in the school the whole entire time."  

he noticed that his friend wasn't responding like he normally would, iwaizumi furrowed his eyebrows before getting in front of oikawa. oikawa's eyes were still widened from the shock, his whole body was petrified. his knuckles turned white while he let out a shaky sigh. 

iwaizumi was confused since oikawa never acted like this before.

 he'd always try to hide his emotions with a fake smile on his face, that way nobody would have to worry. except, that wasn't happening now. his emotions were very much visible and written on his face.

 this was something rare for oikawa to do and iwaizumi knew that very well due to him being friends with oikawa practically since birth. obviously something must have happened.

"oh, hey iwa-chan! i didn't see you there." tooru waved his hand with a fake smile on his face to cover up his emotions. usually, he was good at smiling all the time and covering up his emotions.

iwaizumi continued to have his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at his friend, squinting his eyes for a few seconds. iwaizumi quickly had an assumption onto what happened. it was actually pretty obvious to him. "y/n again?"

oikawa's eyes widened while the smile on his lips began to slowly fade. he turned quiet and didn't say anything for a moment.

"yeah."