#and did so many things that made him stand out with so many of my classmates AND other profs and TAs

[winterarmyy]

I Knew It Then

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: If it was supposed to be a casual thing, then why does it hurts so much?

Pairing: avenger!bucky x female!reader

Words: 4.8k++

Warnings: angsty, maybe a tad too angst. a bit fluffy, if you search for it, and everything in between. non-descriptive sex scene but definitely contain adult (18+) contents. so, reader discretion.

Inspiration: @buck-star asked in a community post, “The sentence is: 'And then we were standing in front of one another again…' How would you continue it?” and this is my answer.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Bucky adjusted the sleeves of his jacket; a dark leather, matching the gloves he was wearing. Underneath was a charcoal coloured shirt; his pants was dark-wash jeans, frayed slightly at the edges. It was an effort to blend into the festive sea of people. Despite the spring air of Central Park, his style remained a mixture of shadowed past and muted present, a mix that barely fit in with the brightness of the day. 

The launch of the Avengers statues was a grand event; a reminder of battles fought, lives saved, a place for the public to show their gratitude and admiration. Honestly, in Bucky’s opinion, all of this was a little bit over the top. In which, Steve agreed. They both think that they were undeserving to be sculptured and displayed like this. 

Even the Avengers are human, excluding Thor, they were mortals; unfit to be worshipped as they are now. Yet, after being coaxed with quite a diplomatic, exaggerating speech about how ‘the people need a hero to look up to’, Steve ended up convinced. Not that it matters, but Stark was the one who gave that speech.

Nonetheless, Bucky couldn’t really object to the decision, but he did stated that he will not participate in the event with the rest of the team. And they can’t really do much about that, forcing him to will be equivalent to kidnapping and Bucky had literally filed a police report for it before. So, they won’t take their chances. 

The cheers and thundering of applause rippled through the park, filling every space with a strange blend of solemnity and celebration. Bucky lingered on the edge, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders tensed beneath the weight of too many eyes while his own focused on his team on the make-shift stage near the statues. 

He preferred it here. No red carpets. No standing in front of flashing cameras with a smile that would never sit quite right on his lips.

With less aliens around and Hydra in hiding, this should have been a familiar scene; the Avengers posing and the people cheering. But for Bucky, the novelty had long worn off. The noise washed over him like waves lapping against a shore he couldn’t care to meet.

Shifting on his feet, his fingers brushing against the worn leather of his gloves, as if the urge to retreat was creeping under his skin. The cheers, the bright flashes of cameras, all blended into a muffled hum that made him wonder how soon he could slip away unnoticed.

Until he saw her.

She stood beneath the shade of a blooming cherry tree, the soft pink petals floating down around her as if nature itself wanted to frame her as a living art. 

Y/N. 

Bucky's breath was caught somewhere between inhaling and exhaling. Her mere presence had left him frozen. Then, the noise of the crowd slowly fading, the applause turning duller as his heart pounded in his chest, each beat harder, louder, until it drowned out the world around him. For a few painful moments, he felt as if his heart might force its way free from his ribcage, breaking him apart in the process.

She wore that sundress again. The light fabric swayed gently with each breeze, caressing her figure, the pastel colour that reminded him of the flowers he used to get for her. It was the same dress she’d worn that day; the day he realised falling for her wasn't a choice but a reality that had already happened. He swallowed hard, memories surging in torrents. Her laughter echoed in his ears, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about things that mattered to her. 

Now however, beneath the sweet sundress and that familiar grace, there was a darkness under her eyes. Shadows etched into her delicate skin, sadness lingering; still and silent, behind the gaze that once held nothing but warmth. Bucky's jaw tightened as he took it all in, every unspoken truth laid bare on her face. He knew why; he’d heard whispers through mutual acquaintances. About the heaviness she tried to mask, about the pain she tried to live through. 

Seeing it now, in the flesh, was so much worse.

It broke him. 

Again. His chest ached, a raw wound ripped within his chest; for every moment she suffered and every part of him that couldn’t fix it. Bucky wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. It was as if an invisible vine had him rooted on earth, willing him to witness the toll their separation had taken on her. How ironic, he thought bitterly. For someone once considered a ghost by the world, he was all too aware of how haunting it felt to see her pain in living colour.

The bar had been crowded that night when they met, laughter and music clashing together in a storm of contagious intoxication. Bucky found his usual spot in the corner, however unusually alone this time. His shoulders hunched beneath his leather jacket; his gloved hands nursed a drink he wasn’t truly interested in. He was simply another brooding man in a bar, trying to swallow his own bitterness, trying to forget. Elena’s words, his ex’s words, echoed in his mind; taunting and cold, leaving a metallic taste on his tongue.

“Mind if I sit?”

Her voice cut through the noise. He’d looked up, barely masking his surprise. The woman standing before him was... a force of nature. She didn’t wait for his permission and slid into the seat beside him, a confident smile tugging at her lips. 

She was so bright, so unapologetically there. 

It almost felt disorienting. Her eyes sparkled like she’d already decided he was interesting and wasn’t about to change her mind. “You always brood like this, or is it a special occasion?” she teased, tilting her head.

“Special occasion,” he replied dryly, a hint of sarcasm colouring his tone. “Guess I’m lucky, huh?”

She laughed, loud and unfiltered, drawing curious looks. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, raising her glass to him as if they were old friends sharing a private joke.

Bucky fought to suppress the twitch of his lips. He wasn’t sure what to make of her. “What brings you to this fine establishment?” he asked, his voice flat but not harsh. “Looking to rescue sad souls like me?”

“Rescue?” She leaned in, eyes dancing with mischief. “Please. I’m here for the entertainment value.”

“Brutal,” he said, but he couldn’t help it; the corner of his mouth lifted. A real smile was threatening to form.

Y/N, as she introduced herself a few moments later, was a whirlwind of honesty and charm. She spoke without hesitation, as if every thought had a right to be voiced. She teased him about the gloves he refused to take off, made a biting but hilarious comment about her friend’s taste in men as she watched her and the man grinding it on the dance floor, and then, out of nowhere, zeroed in on him.

She gestured to his drink. “Let me guess. Your ex. She, or he, I don’t judge…” A tiniest smile curved on the corner of his lips. “She.” he clarified which was replied with a glint of interest in Y/N’s eyes. She nodded, “Okay, she left you for someone who didn’t know how to brood so attractively.”

Bucky choked on his drink, laughter erupting before he could help himself. It was warm and a little bashful, completely genuine. He hadn’t laughed like that in... he couldn’t remember how long.

Y/N was not expecting much tonight. She was literally dragged by her friends to ’go out, meet people, get laid’. Truthfully, she wasn’t really expecting anything more than a few hours of banter and maybe some fleeting connection, just enough to make her smile. Witty remarks, a few drinks, teasing anyone interesting enough to engage; that was her aim. 

But when she saw him, brooding in his corner, a storm trapped beneath layers of leather and cold eyes, curiosity overtook reason. She wanted to know if he would entertain her. 

And he did.

Bucky or as he introduced himself, James, was sarcasm wrapped in shadows, his words carrying a sharpness that wasn’t meant to hurt, just to deflect. She found it oddly endearing, a defence mechanism she recognized all too well. She wanted to pull more from him, so she leaned in, laughed too loudly, pressed buttons she guessed would make him react. 

At first, it was just fun.

But then he smiled. God, when he smiled, her world tilted; much against her will too. It was like the first hint of sunlight breaking through a dense, dark cloud. His laughter was warm and unpracticed, spilling out of him as if it surprised him too. The moment stretched, just for a heartbeat, but it was enough. 

Her heart momentarily shuddered. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, blooming a soft pink she couldn’t hide. So, she covered it with more wit, more charm, desperate to keep that smile there a second longer.

“I’m kidding. Kind of,” she said, eyes softening as she studied him. “But seriously, imagine missing out on you. That’s just sad at this point.”

But underneath the humour, there was a flutter of something much profound. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Her heartbeat raced and she felt exposed. How ridiculous, she thought, to be undone by a smile; a real one, genuine and imperfect, just as raw as her own attempt to draw it out.

The concept of time blurred after that. Drinks flowed, words tumbled out like secrets they didn’t know they were sharing. Banter turned into stories, laughter into pauses that spoke louder than the music blaring around them. At some point, she reached for his hand, not caring that it was gloved or why. Her fingers lingered, hesitant for half a breath, before resting there as if they’d been doing so for years. 

The air thickened and inches shrink.

When he kissed her, she found herself kissing him back with a need she hadn’t recognized before. It wasn’t about filling the void; at least, not only that. It was about the way he leaned into her touch, how he kissed like it was the last act that could hold him together. It was raw and open and imperfect and she was high on it.

Despite the fleeting, breath-stealing kisses they shared prior, Bucky had only meant to see her safely to her home. That was the plan, the line he swore he wouldn’t cross. But when her lips met his again just outside her apartment, everything unravelled. Her kiss was insistent, needy in a way that mirrored the ache deep inside him. She pulled him in, the door closing behind them, shutting out the world and any remnants of restraint he had left.

They stumbled to the bed, still fully dressed, every touch and kiss growing more urgent. Her hands found the edges of his jacket, fingers seeking to peel it away. But when she tugged, he pulled back, his breaths ragged. “Wait,” he murmured, eyes cast down. His hesitation was a stark contrast to the flames between them moments before.

She paused immediately, her gaze softening. “What’s wrong?” Her voice was gentle, careful not to push too hard but unwilling to let him slip away either.

“I’m not who you think I am,” he said, the words thick, heavy.

A crease formed between her brows. “What? Your name is not James?”

The question, so genuine and earnest, pulled a laugh from him; short, almost incredulous. “No. I am James, but…” He ran a gloved hand through his hair, avoiding her eyes.

“But…?” she prompted, leaning in, her attention unwavering.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he said, each syllable weighted.

For a moment, she was silent. He could see her piecing it together, searching for the meaning behind his words. Then understanding dawned, slow and certain. “You’re…” she began, just as he said, “The Winter Soldier.” But what came from her lips was, “The Avenger.”

They stared at each other, the tension snapping into something fragile, almost surreal. “What?” they both said in unison, the word a mix of disbelief and irony. 

The absurdity of it cracked something inside him, and he laughed; a real, deep laugh that felt like a release. She joined him, their laughter intertwining in a way that felt like a mutual understanding. At the moment, Bucky realised that she didn’t flinch or shrink back. She met him where he was, without hesitation. He felt a pull; unsettling but oddly comforting; and, for a split second, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be different.

The humour melted into something more intense as she leaned closer, her hands found his again. “I want this, James,” she whispered, peeling away his glove. She cupped his cool, metal hand, pressing his palm against her cheek. The contrast of warmth against vibranium made his chest tighten. “I want you.” she spoke almost breathlessly; her eyes gazed up at him with an endearing plea.

His eyes darkened with a mix of desire and something much softer, “I want you too,” he said, his voice low, unguarded.

They moved together, shedding barriers with every kiss and touch. When their clothes finally fell away, they explored each other with as much urgency and wonder. Every touch, every movement was deliberate, almost desperate. He wanted to memorise her reactions. He wanted to give as much as he could.

It was raw and consuming, a night spent discovering each other. There was nothing mechanical, nothing detached. For hours, it was just them, bodies moving in unison and their moans and groans of pleasure mingling in a symphony that can challenge a siren’s song.

He found himself lost in her, in the way her skin felt beneath his, in the way she moaned for him. He couldn’t hold back, not when she responded to him with such hunger, her body moving against his with a need that matched his own. 

Every touch felt like a revelation, a new discovery, and he was pulled deeper into her, into the warmth and the rawness of the moment. It was as if time itself had stopped, and all that mattered was the heat of their connection.

When morning came, the light creeping in through the blinds, they lay bashfully, tangled in the sheets. For a few moments, there was only silence, a comfortable quiet punctuated by the slow return of reality. He turned to her, the words were heavy, he knew it, but he continued, “I’m not ready for… anything serious,” he admitted, hating the way it sounded, but knowing he owed her the truth.

She met his gaze, her expression soft and understanding. “That’s okay,” she said. “We don’t need to label it. It can be what it is.”

“Casual?” he asked, a hint of humour back in his voice.

She smiled, a touch of mischief in her eyes. “Casual.”

They both laughed, the sound soft and real. Whatever this was, for now, it was enough.

The next few months, their ‘casual’ arrangement became something she thought about far too often and yet tried to pretend wasn’t pressing too deep. The sex was undeniably great, almost maddeningly so. It wasn’t just the way he touched her, though that alone was enough to steal her breath; the careful, deliberate caresses that made her feel cherished and desired all at once. 

It was the way he explored her as if every inch of her, the weight of his attention, the way he moved with a mix of tenderness and hunger, as if he couldn’t decide whether to worship her or devour her. And maybe that was why it was so intoxicating; because she was falling for him, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

It wasn’t just the physical connection; it was everything in between. She fell for the way he could be painfully serious one moment and then crack the most unexpected joke, a hint of dry humour lighting up his eyes. She fell for the way he made sure her tea was always brewed just the way she liked, even though he claimed to be terrible at domestic things. 

She fell for his unspoken kindness; the way he would slip a blanket over her when she fell asleep on the couch, or his habit of standing protectively between her and crowded places without even thinking about it. It was all so subtle, so Bucky, and it deteriorated her defences bit by bit.

And Bucky on the other hand, tried not to let himself be too vulnerable around her. But Y/N had a warmth that made it hard for him to stay closed off. She didn’t push; she was just; a steady, comforting presence that felt like safety. Sometimes, without meaning to, he’d spill pieces of himself. 

Like the night he told her about Elena; the betrayal, the gaslighting on how she cheated on him because of him; it was his trauma and depression that had driven her away. As if she was trying to make it worse, as if she had a vendetta to isolate him from everyone else. 

And Y/N had listened without judgement, her eyes soft with compassion. “That’s not on you,” she had whispered, her hand covering his. “She was the problem, not you.” When the weight of his past grew too heavy, she was there.

And when she opened up about her own scars; the ex who wouldn’t leave her alone, the fear that lingered in the shadows; Bucky listened, fierce protectiveness hardening his features. That night, instead of touching each other’s body, they caressed each other’s innermost scars. They’d talk late into the night; their words heavy, but never too much for the other to bear.

And ever since their dynamic was a shifting dance, effortlessly dirty and playful one minute, his lips teasing at her neck, their words to each other were dripping with sin. The next, they’d be soft and tender, his forehead pressed to hers as they simply breathed together. And then there were the quiet, deep moments; when silence spoke more than words, and they found comfort just in being close, in the simple act of not being alone. 

It was everything, all tangled together, and it made it so easy, too damn easy, to fall in love with him. She knew she shouldn’t, but with Bucky, it felt inevitable.

Then, one in those blissful days, after another night of incredible sex, Bucky laid beside her, his chest still heavy with the aftermath of their intimacy. His eyes traced the soft curves of her form as she rested, her skin glowing in the dim light. 

She looked almost ethereal; untouchable, like something too perfect for him. The weight of her presence next to him was both comforting and painful, tightening his chest with a longing he couldn’t name. Shifting slightly, he cleared his throat, his voice rough when he finally spoke, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I’m going back to Elena,” he confessed, the statement hanging heavily in the air. 

For a moment, there was something in his eyes; a flicker of hesitation, of conflict, as if he desperately wanted to hold onto what they had, as if saying the words was a battle he was losing with every breath. 

But whatever war raged within him never fully translated in the way she saw him. To Y/N, his words felt resolute, laced with a kind of tenderness that made it hurt even more. He seemed sorry; deeply, genuinely. But the weight of his decision pressed down between them, undeniable.

She went still for a moment and he could feel the tension radiating from her. The way her body seemed to freeze, her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t respond at first, her gaze distant, focusing somewhere far away as though she needed a moment to process. Bucky’s chest felt heavy with the weight of his own words, the urge to take them back gnawing at him. 

Yet he kept his expression neutral, as if none of this hurt him. He needed to see this through, even if every second felt like he was tearing himself apart. “This…being here with you, touching you like this… this will be the last time,” he added, the sound of his voice was low but remained adamant.

Y/N had always known, somewhere deep down, that this day would come. They had both agreed that what they had was casual, temporary, nothing more than a passing thing. They had agreed their connection was fleeting; simply a series of borrowed moments. But even as she tried to convince herself it was fine, she knew better. 

Nothing about what they shared was truly casual. They’d been there for each other in ways no one else had. When the world had been cruel to him, scrutinising him for his past as the Winter Soldier, she’d been his quiet strength, the one who never judged him, never flinched. And when her own demons resurfaced, casting shadows over her life; he’d been the one there, standing between her and her doom. He had been her rock, just as she had been his. 

They were each other's strength, each other's solace.

'Has it ever really been casual?' But she couldn’t voice those thoughts. She wouldn’t burden him with her feelings when he already carried so much of his own. She wouldn’t beg for more than he could offer. 

With a soft breath, she forced herself to smile, her fingers brushing over his cheek, committing every moment to memory before it slipped away. “Will this make you happy?” she asked, her voice steady, though pain lingered beneath the surface.

Bucky’s heart twisted, but he nodded, the lie coming too easily. “Yes,” he said, his voice lacking conviction even as he tried to seem sure. He averted his eyes, hoping she wouldn’t see past the facade.

Her smile wavered, but she fought to hold it in place. She wanted to show him that she was fine, that she wasn’t falling apart. But as she pressed her smile into place, a single tear slipped from her eye, tracing a quiet path down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, but it was already there; a silent confession of the pain he couldn’t see.

“Then, I guess this is goodbye,” she whispered, barely audible.

She leaned in, her forehead resting against his, her breath warm against his lips. And then she kissed him; softly, deeply, as if it would be their last.

Because, in this moment, it felt like it was.

The days blurred into weeks, and then months, each one dragging by with a dull ache that Y/N couldn’t shake. She buried herself in work, refusing to let her mind linger on what she’d lost. When that wasn't enough, she picked up freelance gigs; anything that kept her mind too occupied even thought about pain and the aching emptiness Bucky’s absence had left behind. 

It was easier that way; easier to drown in deadlines and endless to-do lists than to confront the hollowness. And through all this time, there were not a single call, or texts from Bucky. Just silence. Rationally, she knew it was for the best. He was a hero, after all; his life pulled him in a thousand different directions. And she told herself she was fine.

But late at night, when the world grew quiet, she could still feel it; the loss that crept into her bones and refused to let go. Most of the time, she'd catch herself staring at the ceiling, replaying the touch of his hand, the sound of his laughter, the way he had looked at her as if she were his whole world, even if just for a moment. She tried to shake it off, to convince herself that it was all just an illusion, but the hole in her chest ached too deeply to ignore.

Time passed. The headlines told of his deeds; how he saved countless lives, how the public finally began to accept him, to see him not just as a relic of violence and pain, but as a hero. She should’ve felt proud. Maybe, on some level, she did. But every article, every broadcast, every mention of him only twisted the knife deeper. 

At times, she’d pause whatever she was doing when his name flashed across the screen. It was a reflex, a sudden, uncontrollable urge to reach for something she could never have. She’d feel her chest tighten, her emotions were a blend of pride and pain. Why did she feel like this, like she wasn’t needed, like she was somehow unwanted by the man who had once looked at her like she was everything?

Even then, she couldn’t help but feel proud. No matter how much it hurts, she was happy for him. She remembered the sleepless nights when his past came alive in nightmares; when he’d thrash and murmur apologies with a voice cracked by guilt. She could still feel the weight of him in her arms as he clung to her in the dark, his breath shuddering against her neck, whispering, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” The memory of it made her chest ache; the rawness of his pain had always cut her deep, but it had also made her want to be his safe place, his haven.

She thought of those nights often. The way he’d hold her as if she were a shield against the ghosts that hunted him, how he’d bury his face in her shoulder to block out the world’s judgement. She’d whispered reassurances, stroked his hair, and wished she could take away every ounce of his pain. Seeing him now, standing tall, saving lives, and slowly being accepted by the world; it filled her with a bittersweet pride. 

He deserved every bit of recognition, every chance to rebuild himself.

But the cost of that pride was the deep loneliness that came with it; the reminder that he was out there saving the world while she was left to save herself from missing him. She wanted to be enough, to be the one he leaned on, but it was clear now that his path led somewhere she couldn’t follow. So she pushed forward, forced herself to be strong, and told herself that being happy for him was enough.

When the crowd at the Central Park continued to roar with excitement, time seemed like it stopped for Bucky and Y/N. And then they were standing in front of one another again, the air between them held a weight, as if every word left unspoken all those nights was pressing against the space between them. Bucky’s eyes flickered; momentarily shocked, yet he didn’t falter. 

Even then, Y/N saw it. She saw the look in his eyes that she knew too well, the look he had when it was just them, wrapped up in stolen hours that no one knew about. She forced a smile, warm and soft, the very same that she used to give him in those silent times, when their skins were pressed against each other, and everything else didn't matter. 

His heart ached with a need he thought he’d buried. He thought he had let her go. He kept telling himself he was not in love, that she was just someone to keep his bed warm, to fill the empty space his past had left behind. At least, that was what he told himself, over and over, like a mantra meant to dull the edges of the truth.

But deep down, he knew it was a lie; a desperate deception crafted to shield him from the vulnerability clawing at his walls. He was not fooling anyone, not himself at least. Each night he spent denying the way his pulse quickened at the thought of her touch, each time he claimed he felt nothing, the thin layer of defence cracked beneath the weight of untold longing. It was easier to lie, to pretend he didn’t care, than to face the reality that she had carved her place inside him, far deeper than he wanted to admit.

Now, seeing her again, smiling at him as if it didn't shatter her heart when he left, it was like he’d been hollowed out. 

And the time that seemingly stopped, abruptly resumed to its pace when they walked past each other. No words crossed their lips, but their eyes spoke a language that was theirs alone; a language that carried echoes of every touch, every laugh, every shared moment.

‘I miss you,’ their gazes whispered, even as the distance between them widened with each step.

They kept walking.

That night, Bucky found himself in front of her apartment. When she opened the door, it was as if she was expecting someone. Not him, but someone. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him standing there, broad shoulders taut and expression unreadable. 

For a second, neither of them spoke. The sight of her; dressed in a fitted dress that draped elegantly over her figure, accentuating every line and curve, stole the air from his lungs. It was the kind of dress she used to wear when they’d go out on a date, the kind that never failed to send his thoughts swirling in the gutter. No thoughts, just lust. 

She looked stunning. Ethereal even. But, painfully out of reach.

Y/N blinked. Shock, confusion, and hurt flashing in her eyes, as if the memories of what they’d had; and how it ended, came crashing back all at once. “Hey… James. What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice tight and Bucky was never used to it.

He swallowed hard, his eyes drifting to her lips and lingering there longer than he intended. “Out for a date?” he murmured, evading her question, the words tasting like lead.

“Yeah…Kind of.” she replied, guarded. Silence stretched between them, heavy with unsaid things. Finally, he spoke again, his voice a low rasp. “Can I come in?”

She studied him warily, the hurt in her eyes morphing into something sharper. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, James.”

“Please,” he said, and the desperation in his tone softened her resolve just enough. She stepped aside reluctantly. “You gotta be quick,” she said, almost dismissively. “Josh is on the way.”

The mention of another man’s name was like a knife twisting in his chest. Bucky forced himself to stay still, to not let his expression betray him, but inside, he felt raw, the bitterness coiling deep.

Once inside, she crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive barrier between them. “Talk,” she said flatly.

He paced, trying to find the words. “It wasn’t real,” he started, voice thick. “Me and Elena getting back together; it was a mission. She was suspected of being a mole.” he paused as he studied her reaction, ” We couldn’t risk telling you. We had to make it look real. ”

She stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief, as if trying to grasp the whirlwind of his sudden appearance. “You’re here for that? To explain yourself?” There was incredulity in her voice, mingled with raw, exhausted pain that came from reopening old wounds.

“Yes.” Bucky’s voice was firm but edged with something close to desperation. “We managed to capture her.” He took a deep breath, his gaze searching hers. “We had to keep the mission under wraps, Y/N. We couldn’t risk word getting out… not after what happened with S.H.I.E.L.D. We couldn’t have another Hydra situation, or anything that even looked like it.”

He paused, the tension in his jaw tightening. “It turns out her plan was to isolate me. To make me even more vulnerable than I already am, before they…” His words faltered, heavy and incomplete, as if finishing the sentence would make it all too real. 

But he didn’t need to say more. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, the realisation clear in her expression. She was smart; too smart not to piece it together. She knew what Bucky feared most. He’d be dragged back into Hydra’s grasp, or worse, used as a pawn by some other twisted organisation. 

It was a fate too cruel to name, and he could see in her eyes that she already understood.

Her brow furrowed, processing everything Bucky had explained thus far. A mixture of confusion and anger flitting across her features. “So that was it?” she demanded. “I was just collateral damage?”

“No,” he said quickly, the word breaking from him like a plea. “No. It wasn’t like that. I wanted to protect you. We all did.” He hesitated, voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I did.”

She scoffed, a bitter edge cutting through her words. “Unbelievable. I smiled at you one time, James—one time—and you think you can just come back into my life like you own it?”

The accusation hung between them, and the depth of her frustration was like a dam bursting. He recoiled slightly, horrified by the thought that he’d hurt her so deeply. “No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not what this is. I didn’t want to just—”

She cut him off with a sharp, biting word. “Bullshit!” The accusation hit him like a physical blow, but he pressed on, desperation bleeding into his tone. “I just wanted to tell you the truth,” he said, his voice tight with urgency. “That it was all fake.”

“Fake?” She echoed the word with a harsh, bitter laugh that rang with disbelief. It stung him, sharp as a slap across the face. “It looked pretty damn real to me, James. You don’t think I saw the pictures? The headlines? How you were with her?”

“It was a cover, Y/N. I didn’t have a choice.”

Her eyes flashed, anger and betrayal burning bright. She took a step toward him, as if the weight of her hurt couldn’t be contained. “You didn’t have a choice? You had a choice when you came to me, when you told me it was over. When you ripped my heart out, did you have a choice then?”

Bucky flinched, the impact of her words like a physical blow, but he held his ground. “I was trying to protect you.”

“By hurting me?” Her voice cracked, raw and trembling. “By tearing me apart?”

Silence crashed over them, heavy and suffocating. Her chest heaved, each breath ragged. “By leaving me behind?” she whispered, her words dripping with the weight of every unspoken wound. “By pretending like what we had meant nothing?”

He stepped closer, the space between them suffocating and electric. “It wasn’t nothing,” he said, his voice quivering. “It was everything. You were everything.”

She shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked. “I don’t believe you.”

With a trembling hand, Bucky reached for her face, cupping her cheeks as though she were something fragile. His thumb brushed away her tears, his touch reverent, aching. “I love you, Y/N,” he breathed, the confession breaking through the dam of his restraint. “From the start, when we laughed about that ridiculous introduction; me, calling myself the Winter Soldier and you insisting I was an Avenger—I knew it then.”

He swallowed hard, blinking through tears. “But it wasn’t just that. It was how you saw me; not the killer, not the broken man, but me. The way you’d smile at me, like I was worth something. The nights you stayed awake, holding me when I couldn’t breathe, when the nightmares felt too real. The way you’d whisper that I wasn’t alone. No one ever did that for me. No one.”

He paused, the rawness in his expression deepening. “I knew it was too late when I realized I’d been in love with you for a while. It hit me that day at Sally’s, remember?” His voice grew softer, distant with memory. “It was spring. You wore that sundress you bragged about getting for next to nothing at a thrift store. The sunlight made your hair glow, and you laughed at something ridiculous; a dog chasing bubbles, I think. I couldn’t stop looking at you. It wasn’t just the dress or the moment. It was the way you made everything feel… lighter. Like I could breathe again. Like the past didn’t own me.”

He let out a shaky breath, his thumb tracing along her jawline. “I realized then that I was in deep. That it was more than just a moment. And it terrified me, because I thought I’d ruin it. Ruin you.” His voice cracked, weighted with a mix of love and regret.

His shoulders shook as he let out a ragged breath, the tears spilling over. “It’s the way you laugh, the way you fight for everyone you care about. How you make me feel like I’m more than my past… God, I tried so hard to keep you safe. Even if it meant pushing you away. But it killed me, Y/N. Every day.”

She stared at him, stunned and raw, her own tears falling. His hands cradled her face gently, his touch trembling. “I love you,” he said again, more desperately. “I love you for every moment you gave me hope when I thought I couldn’t be saved. I love you for being there, even when I didn’t deserve it. And I don’t want to lose you again.”

He leaned in, their faces inches apart, his tears mixing with hers as he whispered, “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her, feeling the sincerity in every broken syllable. For a heartbeat, it seemed she would turn away. But then, her voice cracked, trembling with everything she’d buried. “I love you too,” she breathed, voice shaking. “I never stopped.”

His forehead touched hers, their breaths mingling, raw and vulnerable. Slowly, their lips met, soft at first, then deeper, a kiss that spoke of everything they had denied and everything they still longed for. In each other’s touch, everything else faded, leaving only the truth between them.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: i was planning to do a descriptive smut scene at first, but after piecing everything from my draft and re-reading the overall flow, i don't think it's suitable to include it in this. perhaps another time, a side/extra story maybe. i hope y'all okay with that and enjoy your reading 🥺

[bunnys-kisses]

hi bunny!!! can i submit a request for kevin magnussen? something like a mafia!au where he’s big and scary except for when he’s with reader?💞

kevin magnussen

cw: smut/pwp, mafia au, mafia boss!kevin, size difference/kink, doggy style, protective!kevin, reader doesn't know he's mafia, creepy men, mentions of blood and violence, body worship

thank you lovely anon for this idea! i know i usually get bakery submissions, but i do accept other ideas you might have! so this was a pleasant surprise in my inbox!

coming to copenhagen wasn't on your bucket list of dreams. while it was for some, you only took the job because the hours were better. and after a nasty break up only a few months prior, it felt like a good idea to be in another part of the globe. while you missed family, there was something about the unknown that made you pack your belongings (and cat) and head to denmark.

you knew living abroad would have its risks. they were put to rest when you met a tattooed gentleman with the kindest eyes. his name was kevin, kevin magnussen

kevin was an interesting man. you had met him after a blind date fell through and he was at a nearby table by himself. he was waiting for 'friends', but didn't mind spending some time with you. before his 'friends' arrived he ordered you some dessert for after your meal.

he also slipped you a business card and said, "if you need anything in this city, let me know." then smiled at you. the address on the card led to a mechanics shop and kevin told you he owned and "worked" here, but you never saw too many cars come through.

but any questions were met with smiles and promises. you felt a little safer in the city when you were kevin. you one time asked him, "it seems like everyone looks at you when we walk together. or maybe i'm just imagining things."

even though you became accustomed to the public transport of the city. kevin was more than happy to pick you up or drop you off even places like the grocery store. you didn't want to think about all the times he bought you groceries. one time he made you grab another pack of salmon and not to look at the cost. he told you that you can freeze it for a few months. your throat tightened when you saw the price at the check out. but kevin simply paid without a second glance.

maybe you were used to people in your country being paid pennies. you chalked everything up to better wages in denmark.

  “you don't have to pay for things, kevin! really, this job i do pays well enough.” you held onto the front of his zip-up jacket as he carried your groceries back to your apartment. you still didn't know what he saw in you. but, if you couldn't give him the money back, then you'd simply have to keep him smiling. not that it was hard, even your worst jokes made him laugh and wrap his arms around you.

kevin seemed weird, but you found it endearing. when he was all smiles with you, in front of the family he was serious. he could be cold, methodic, dangerous. the light that he brought into your world were the same as the shadows he put into the underbelly of the city. people looked when you went down the street, because it wasn't very often to see him out on the streets. especially with someone so…. cute. 

but, there was something that lingered inside of the danish man you met. kevin saw it with his own two eyes when he entered the bar to meet with you one night. he saw a man at your table trying to chat you up. even with your back turned to kevin, he knew you were uncomfortable. nobody liked unwanted sexual advances.

but you weren't budging giving this man an inch, instead waving him off and eventually he took the cue to leave. but not before he touched you at the small of your back which made you lean away from him in disgust.

kevin saw your mouth move and then take a sip of your drink. at least kevin knew that you could stand up for yourself a little bit. at least enough to get this creep to go away.

eventually he did and when he walked away, kevin followed. no one was touching his girl. you were your own woman of course, you did as you pleased with kevin's support. but, most of the city should've know by now. you were under magnussen protection.

you were too occupied with your drink when the man left for you to notice that kevin had saw the entire thing. and instead of meeting you at your table, he followed the man in the washroom.

kevin wasn't the mechanic he told you he was. the tattoos weren't just from the lifestyle of fixing cars. they all meant something, his past, present and future. his family. his life. the head of an important family in the country. he rolled up his sleeves and the man who was flirting with you noticed him.

"almost done, man." he said as he turned off the tap and shook his hands to dry them. kevin crossed the small bathroom and instantly his fist was in the other man's face. causing him to sprawl out on the tiled floor of the bathroom.

kevin got on one knee down to the other man's level. he grabbed him by the front of the shirt and said, "don't, don't, don't yell." he pulled the bloodied man a little closer, his nose obviously broken, "you're going to leave this place. and you're not going to come back. you do not touch a woman without her permission."

"but i-"

"shh, shh, shh. i saw what you clipped to the back of her pants. a tracker? gps? going to follow her home? kidnap her? sell her? answer me." his voice was firm.

the man looked shaken and bleeding, he was trembling like a leaf at the end of fall. kevin was dangerously close, but didn't want to get blood all over himself. he didn't want you to worry.

"keep yourself out of here. if you don't. not even your dental records will be able to identify you. and if you want a date so badly, stop being a fucking creep." then dropped the man and got up.

the man nodded before he propped himself up against the bottom of the sink. he wiped his bleeding nose and before he could get a word in, kevin was gone.

"min elskede!" kevin's words could be heard and made you look over. you perked up a little bit as your boyfriend sat across from you. you were all smiles now in his presence.

"what happened to your hand?" you asked as you carefully took his hand in yours. you examined the red across his knuckle.

kevin rubbed the top of your head with his other hand, "oh, nothing. i wasn't looking at got it right at the corner of a door. you can kiss it if you want?"

you giggled a little then brought his knuckle to your lips, "what would you do without me, kevin?"

"oh, i don't know. i'd be lost." he smiled back at you.

-

back at your apartment, you were trying to get your socks off. they had little flowers printed on them and were a lovely pair. but it was hard with kevin's lips on your skin.

you squirmed a little and broke the kiss, "please, honey. let me get my clothes off." then burst into giggles when his lips got onto your neck. you ran your fingers through his hair and laughed.

"i can't help it, you're so beautiful." he admitted before he managed to pry himself away from you to let you get undressed. as he undid his button up shirt, he watched you struggle to get out of your jeans and chuckled softly to himself. beautiful little thing you were.

"oh shush." you said as you slipped off your panties, feeling kevin's eyes on you, "i'm alright looking. nothing to write home about."

he took you and pulled him to your chest. he kept those strong arms around you, as if he didn't punch a guy in the face earlier that evening. but, that was simply a part of his life. he had a punch that could kill, but with you. he was so sweet.

eventually you wiggled out of his grasp and got yourself in a further state of undress. soon you naked body was exposed to him and you could feel his hungry gaze on you.

you said as you looked at him, "i'm not a piece of meat, honey."

he reached for you and pulled your naked body next to his. he kissed at your face with such love and said, "of course you're not. you're too important to be meat." then trailed kisses across your body.

you laughed, "oh, c'mon!" you squirmed a little bit and arched your back. your nails rubbed against his scalp. his hips shifted a little bit and his cock rubbed against your thigh.

he knew that if anyone in the family saw him in that moment, they'd think he was a totally different man. the mean boss of the family was reduced to getting head scratches while he worshiped your breasts with his lips.

he said sweet things against you, watching your squirm when his tongue touched your left nipple. he watched your reaction for a moment before he closed his eyes and started to really suck on it. leaving wet trails behind.

his large hands kneaded your breasts and he felt his back arch against you. you felt hot all over and you moaned a little louder. two lovers naked in bed together.

you ran your hands up and down his shoulders, you knew both arms were heavily tattooed. you moaned against his lips before he pulled away and moved away from you. he got you onto your elbows and knees with your ass in the air.

he groped your ass cheek a little bit as he stroked his cock a little bit before he got closer to you once more and rubbed his hard cock up against your slick pussy. he listened to your sweet noises which only excited him more when he slipped his cock in. the angle let him get quite deep inside of you.

"kev!" your back arched a little, "oh. wow! every time." you hit your fist against the bed for a moment. your back arched a little more and you held onto the covers under you.

kevin licked his lips as he kept both hands on you. he loved the feeling of your cunt around his cock. it was his little slice of heaven. all the money from being in the family was something, but to have your sweetness around him made everything feel so much better.

"you're so pretty." he said softly, "you are the most gorgeous thing i had ever laid eyes on. i think about you all day, how much i love you and care for you." he pressed his chest agaisnt your back, then kissed at the back of your shoulders as he rutted against you.

he could feel the pound of his heart as he continued to move against you. his breathing was heavy against your skin as you buried your face into the soft pillows. the pillows he bought for you because you talked so much about how they were just so soft. and you hated to admit that since sleeping with them, your sleeps have improved.

he watched you move a little bit and whine into the covers. you sounded so pretty as he rutted against you. he kissed your shoulders once more.

"please, kev. honey!" you whined.

"you're so beautiful, my love."

his movements continued and the heat in the room grew, especially between the two of you. you could feel the sweat of his chest on your back as he wrapped his arms around you. he kept you close to him as he picked up the pace.

he pushed your further into the bed and worked at your hips. his cock slipped in and out of you perfectly. you were a dream around his cock. the creaking of the bed under you as the two of you made love under the low light of your bedroom.

it was comfortable, it wasn't painful in every way. and it was so good to feel your lover so closely. you panted heavily into the pillows and clutched it tightly. your noises were muffled as he moved. he pressed further into you and knew he wasn't going to last long.

a man capable of such violence was so docile around you. he wanted you so badly. he needed you more than he needed almost anything. his heart sang for you, and when he was away he tried to get home to you as soon as possible.

the dangerous life was common for him, but he didn't want to scare you off. if you knew the truth, would you hate him? would you run away or to the police? would you leave kevin?

he loved you so much, the idea of losing you made him almost scared. he pressed into you as much as he could and fucked you with heavy thrusts. he heard you pant heavily into the covers as he felt the pleasure in his brain.

you whined more as you felt orgasm hit you like a train. you said to your lover, "please, kevin. i love you."

he kissed your cheek and said, "good. because i love you too." then gave a few more thrusts before he finished inside of you with one final movement of his hips. he came with a groan before he slowed to a stop. he rested his face against your shoulder and just let himself feel you for a moment.

"i love you so much." you groaned.

kevin slipped out of you and laid out beside you. you laid next to him and let him wrap himself up around you. like a protective blanket. he pressed soft kisses against you and melted against your heated skin.

he said with his voice close to your ear, "i promise to protect you forever." then kissed the shell of your ear, "all of my days and all of my nights."

you giggled and turned in his arms, "sounds like you're trying to propose to me." your cheeks warmed at the thought.

he smiled down at you, "maybe, but i'll need a ring first." maybe he'll slowly let you into his world. to be closer to him than ever. he wanted you for a lifetime, to love you was an honour as he kept you in his arms while you both calmed down from your climaxes, "it's a secret for now." he said, "have to give you a little surprise."

you buried your face in his chest and giggled, "oh my god, kevin!" you squirmed a little bit on the bed, "you don't need to propose! really! i'm fine being your girlfriend." the idea of marriage made your cheeks hot!

he held your back and smiled into your hair, "even if it is just a ring, you deserve something nice. and if it is pretty enough then no idiot men at the bar will try to make you uncomfortable." he thought about the tracker he took off of you. being married to you was the end goal, but to protect you was a constant in his mind.

he kissed you, tomorrow he'll go ring shopping before his meetings. it'll be a hard choice to pick the perfect ring, but only the best for you. <3

[mazzystar24]

Breaks my heart how evil they are to them. I know they're grown men and can handle it and all but they shouldn't have to! Oliver has been so respectful and put so much care into playing buck. He's always been honest about this story being about BUCK, not tommy, and that nobody should be ringing wedding bells

The fact that even the 911 account isn't posting anything because bt fans flood things with hate... and we know oliver sees this shit, he even shut down his comments and DMs. It makes me so fucking sad. We're so close to exploring this beautiful story we've been waiting for and they ruin it over someone who was hired for 4 episodes??

No same the level of care and respect that Oliver has had has been unreal

I say this as a bisexual

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a presumably straight actor handle a queer storyline with this level of respect and understanding

And unlike their fav he hasn’t done it for fame or money or popularity

He has stood up for buck and buck’s bisexuality in cases he didn’t have to

He didn’t have to correct that reporter he didn’t have to make statements in his Instagram calling out bigots he didn’t have to show all this love understanding and excitement for bucks bi arc but he did it even when it’s put him in the firing line and he’s done it with words so well crafted you can tell he fully understands his character and also what bisexuality means to his character

Ik I make jokes but I’m not saying this in a parasocial way- truth is we never know what these actors or famous people are really like- but we still have to recognise good behaviour and the way he has handled this storyline does not elicit the hate and claims of biphobia against him in the least and it’s honestly sad that he has done everything right and is still receiving this from assholes who genuinely do not care or understand what biphobia is

Just because they can’t distinct what the story has been telling them AT EVERY FUCKING TURN and how Oliver tried over and over not to get their hopes up AT EVERY FUCKING TURN and what they built up in their head sometimes with the help of a man after their money. It’s ridiculous

Like not only did he have to turn off comments and DMs he also made a response apparently and probably second guessed himself and deleted it:

And everything he said both here and the interview I stand by, good bi rep doesn’t have to be only fucking if they’re your committed partner y’all are over correcting

Also the claims of biphobia - y’all learn nothing about not assuming sexualities or making these claims huh?

Well at least they’re consistent- when threatened they pretend anything and everything is somehow homophobia cos I (a bisexual ) have been called homophobic so many times by bt fans it’s insane

Rant over cos this is super long but they better leave Oliver stark alone cos that man genuinely doesn’t deserve this shite

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[8:09 pm]

(cw: f!reader)

The car rumbled down the street, a cold silence filled the car. You started out the passenger window while husband!Renjun looked at you from the corner of his eye.

It had been a rough afternoon for the two of you. Renjun failed to tell you about a huge gala he had for work that night even though you had already both agreed to celebrate your wedding anniversary tonight. Your anniversary celebration that had already rescheduled since Renjun would be out of town. You knew this wasn’t his fault exactly, he couldn’t control when he had to leave for work but the idea of spending your first wedding anniversary alone didn’t feel nice.

The gala though, that was his fault entirely. He swore he told you but there were no texts, emails, and nothing in the calendar you both kept up to date. Not to mention that he had told you it was black tie with only 3 hours until he had to be there.

You had wasted half an hour of that time arguing, another hour and a half getting ready and the last hour walking around department stores and boutiques looking for a dress that fit the dress code. And Renjun had been a major pain in your ass the entire time!

He would excitedly tell you found something and when you turned he would be holding a bright, gaudy dress with entirely too many ruffles. He did that countless times and each time you fell for it. You were already annoyed that he had waited until the last second, annoyed that the reservations you had planned were now useless, and annoyed that you had to spend your honorary wedding anniversary shmoozing Renjun’s coworkers.

He tried to make you laugh, tried to compliment you, talk to you like everything was ok but you wouldn’t budge! He sighed, fingers tapping at the steering wheel nervously, “you really do look beautiful. That dress fits you perfectly.”

You huffed like a grumpy child, “no, it doesn’t. It’s too long and the chest is too big.”

“Well, I can’t tell, you look gorgeous.”

“Another thing you don’t pay attention to,” you murmur under your breath.

Renjun sighs, pulling into the front of the venue and sliding out of the car to give the keys to the valet. The valet gets to your door before he can, but he can feel his nerves calm when you hook your arm through his. He tried to help you fix the skirt of your dress but you swatted his hands away.

He groaned under his breath, fine, if you wanted to be petty, he could be even more petty. He knew he messed up, but geez woman! How many time were you going to make him apologize?!

He straightened out his bow tie and entered the venue with you on his arm. He smiled at one of his bosses and walked over, “Mr. Lim! So good to see you again! I don’t know if you remember but this is my darling wife.” His hand squeezed your waist as he drawled out the word “darling.” You smiled and introduced yourself to the older man, standing by as the ever interested wife as they both made small talk.

Every introduction that followed was the same. You were Renjun’s beloved wife, his dear wife, his sweet wife, the wife he adored and with every introduction you felt the genuine disappointment from earlier melt into mild, playful annoyance.

After Renjun had had enough of introductions and led the two of you to your seats you finally took the bait. “I know what you’re doing Mr. Huang, just because you describe me with all these cute little adjectives doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”

Renjun hides a smile from behind the rim of his glass, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh! This is my precious wife who I love with my whole heart and soul, do you remember her?” You mimic in a low growl.

Renjun laughs brightly, “I don’t sound like that! And I didn’t gush about you like that.”

“You basically did. Now everyone here knows who wears the pants in this marriage.”

Renjun grabs your hands and waits for you to look at him. When you do you find his gaze soft and apologetic, “I really am sorry. It completely slipped my mind and in the future I will absolutely stay on top of keeping you informed. Can you find it in that big, beautiful heart of yours to forgive me?”

You fiddled with the wedding band on his ring finger, “I’m more annoyed that you kept pulling hideous dresses when we didn’t have a lot of time to get here.”

“I will never, and I mean never, give you fake fashion advice again.”

“Well, I’m sorry for throwing a fit about it too. I accept your apology, my favorite husband.”

“Hey! I’m your only husband. Forever.”

[edablair]

Hi!! (⁠◡⁠⁠ω⁠⁠◡⁠)

(English is not my first language! There may be grammatical or/and punctuation mistakes)

★ To Logan, you're very chaotic. And it's not even your actions, no. Jeez, there's no telling how many weirdos he's met along his long life’s journey. It's your mindset. Your thoughts are running way too fast for him to keep up.

★ Here you talking about dolphins. And he thinks dolphins are cool. Like, come on, these are dolphins. And then your monologue shifts to modern-day violence problems. And he's confused.

"Wait, how the fuck did you go from dolphins to this?"

And you begin your lecture on dolphins. About group harassment of males against females, about infanticide and many other things that made Logan's jaw drop.

"... Dolphins?"

"Dolphins."

★ In such moments he realizes that your head is not only a chaos of quick thoughts, but it is also full of all kinds of information.

“Women have more sensitive nerve cells in their eyes that are responsible for distinguishing colors. This is why, unlike men, women can distinguish a wide range of shades. And because of this, men have a greater predisposition to color blindness.”

Logan, wide-eyed and with a toothbrush in his mouth, stares at you through the mirror while you both were in the bathroom one of the mornings. After standing like that for a moment, processing the information he's just received, he spits out the toothpaste.

"Good morning to you, too."

★ And to be honest, he loves it. He loves the fact that you know so much and you can hold it all in your pretty little head. He loves learning new things from you. Loves your nightly monologues, loves falling asleep to your already sleepy rambling while you snuggle against his chest.

"Okay, okay, that's it. Go to sleep, my clever girl."

Bonus: Professor Xavier and Jean sometimes avoid you.

"My dear, would you please step out of my office for a moment?" says Charles to you with a soft smile.

"But why?"

"You're thoughts are too loud. It's confusing me."

(Masterlist)

[sandwitchstories]

Hello, Hello! This little scene of Mouse and her Papa has been bouncing around in my head for a few days now, so I had to get it out of my system!

For more adventures in Mouse's Mini-Verse, check out my Dad!Sukuna Series on my AO3 - Here! )

If you prefer to read on AO3 click here !

Author's Note: For anyone new to my Dad!Sukuna Series, Mouse is Sukuna's, currently, 2 year old daughter with reader.

Summary: Sukuna and Mouse take a trip to the market.

WC: 600+

CW: toddler dad Sukuna, girl dad!sukuna, true form Sukuna (4 arms), it's pretty much just plain Dilf Sukuna fluff and crack, SFW in every way, just family fluff, father and daughter fluff, I love them together

Sukuna was simmering. If he didn’t love you the way he did and tolerate Uraume the way he did you both would have been scattered about in pieces. He was the King of Curses and Deadly Poisons. The strongest sorcerer alive. Tall, 4 arms, muscular and a master of hand to hand combat. 

Yet the two of you didn’t think he could handle a single trip to the market with Mouse by himself. It infuriated him. She was a 2 year old. It was not that hard…

“Papa okay?” Mouse asked as she walked next to him, sensing his mood.

“I’m fine.”

He paused as Mouse ran to the side, picking a weed and bringing it back to show him and find out the name of it. About the 6th time she did it, he picked her up and put her on his shoulders, tired of answering questions. She loved the view from up there and he could keep moving at a decent speed. 

But at the market… no no, she HAD to be on the ground, she would accept no less. She knew better than to scream and cry, so instead she made multiple attempts at physically escaping her father’s grasp before he set her down in sheer annoyance. They were still a short way from the market but they were going to have a talk.

He held onto the back of her outfit so she couldn’t get away as he knelt down. “Mouse, listen to me.”

“Okay, Papa,” she said, moving to hold his face and pull it down so they could touch their foreheads together. “I listening.”

“Good. When we get into the market you are to stay by my side. No matter what, you stay by my side. Am I understood?”

“Okay, Papa. I understand!” she smiled and gave him a kiss on the nose. “I stay by Papa.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiled, ruffling her hair before standing to his full height. “Lets go.”

When they got to the market Mouse’s eyes got huge and he could swear he saw drool drip from her lips. And then… she apparently decided their entire conversation just moments before had never happened. She set to zigging and zagging through the stands of foods, smelling and looking at everything she could see. 

He couldn’t find it in him to be mad. She was pretty damn cute when she came back to him, jumping up and down telling him about all the foods she saw. And then she got him.

“Papa. We try together?” she wrapped herself around his leg and looked up at him with a big smile. “Food tastes best with Papa.”

He smirked and picked her up in one arm, giving her a little chuck under the chin. “Food tastes best with you too, Mouse. I hope you brought your appetite with you. There’s lots of food to try.”

“I big hungry. Let's go!” she pumped a fist into the air.

“That’s my girl!”

_________________________

It was late afternoon when the two returned home from the market with absolutely nothing you asked them to get, stomach aches from eating too much and both needing a nap after dealing with the general public. You sighed, hands on your hips and shaking your head as you saw the two of them curled up in bed sound asleep. Like father, like daughter.

A small pouch on the nightstand caught your attention. You walked over and picked it up. On top was a note written in Sukuna’s beautiful handwriting. (The man took pride in every single thing he did down to his handwriting. It was impeccable.)

Y/N- As if I would forget about you. - Me

“Such a sap,” you smiled at the bed, feeling butterflies in your stomach. Sukuna was many things. And among them were being a good father, and a wonderful husband. He was a prickly pain in the ass, but gods did you love him. You just… wished he had gotten the items on the damn list…

[multi-fandom-imagine]

⟣ honey calcite (confidence) - Emmrich Volkarin

A/n: Need this old man

Prompt used:

⟣ honey calcite (confidence) - "if you could see yourself the way i see you, you'd never be insecure about anything ever again."

He was older than you that much was true, he couldn't fathom why you wanted him when you have so many other options. You made your feelings for him very clear, he knew that you loved him.

And he loved you of course, Emmrich loved you more than anything. You were the most important thing in his life next to Manfred. But it did not mean it stopped the swirling doubts in his mind. That he was holding you back, keeping you from bigger things.

You were remarkable, wonderful, so did he really deserve you?

Watching you thumb through a page in a book he adverted his eyes. Maybe he should let you go, so you can find someone you deserved, someone better.

"Something wrong?" Your voice broke the silence closing the book.

Clearing out his throat, Emmrich then forced a smile on his face. "Oh! No it is...nothing is wrong my dear."

Frowning you slipped off the chair as you took a few steps to where you were now standing in front of him. Now kneeling, you placed your hand on his cheek letting your thumb glide across the skin knowing what was wrong. "if you could see yourself the way i see you, you'd never be insecure about anything ever again." Leaning forward you then gave him a gentle kiss.

"Dear..."

"I love you Emmrich, more than anything so please let me love you."

Eyes softening, Emmrich grasped your hand giving it a kiss. "Anything for you my Dear."

[clubsmarties]

"It's the stories I used to read to her before I left. Sometimes she picks it. She has the hard copy at home and I read it from the screen. We face time so she can see my face and she can go to sleep knowing I've made it another day." The smile was soft and warm. He really did love his siblings. Took him long enough to admit they were his siblings. He snorted not believing her stories would be that bad. "I'm curious, what did you do that could be considered embarrassing?"

He smiled softly giving her that twinkle of his eye. "Good. I don't want you to blowout the glow because someone doesn't see your worth." That was a good idea he thought. "I like that. I don't have many recipes but we can try one and make it our own. Let's borrow a kitchen."

"I've got no idea why Texas. This state is fucking upside down in weather but I guess it was just where the needle stopped. I'm not mad at it now. I met you. Not too shabby if you ask me. Makes it easier to deal with the heat when I've got your pretty eyes to keep me company." Eli laughed and sighed. "They have plenty of stories to share and I'm sure they'll be bursting at the seams to tell you. Colorado is nice. It's cold but nice. There's this hot chocolate shop, I hate coffee that serves the best hot chocolate. You can ask my siblings. I don't really love to share."

The way his eyes glued to her made it seem like he was fully checking her out. A part of him was but the other part liked the way his clothes looked on her. He didn't really pay attention to it before. He'd let Issac borrow shit and it didn't have the same effect. But laurel standing there with his clothes and the fit being the thing that enabled from looking away was a first.

He walked over and grabbed her hand to sit her down on his bed. Opening his legs up for her to squeeze between them. "They look better on you than they do on me." His voice came out a silky honey as he looked at her and wiped a strand of hair away from her face. "I got you to my room but I'm not sure what we should do now." Not that he'd push boundaries but he did want to put that out there.

Perhaps, Laurel spent a little too long watching his lips, caught up in the way he licked them. Oh, she was a goner. “Woah, you are really smart with your class schedule. How do you pick the stories you read?" His words saddened her, thinking of the prospect of someone being used to not having a home. But, the brief optimism was a good note. Surely, he'd find a home eventually, and while they were in school, she'd try to help find that space. "For my sake, I hope you're right about the lack of embarrassing." Her mind was already turning with ideas for Juju and Aaron's upcoming visit. "Hm, I'll need to bribe them too, to behave."

Despite the variety of topics they had covered already, this was what made her cheeks warm up with a pink flush. How he had only known her for this short amount of time, and yet he saw her. The way he spoke, he saw something in her that she hadn't really bothered seeing in herself lately. "That's very kind of you, I really appreciate it. I'll keep my glow on, just for you." The idea of cooking had never really enticed her too much, but now the prospect of jumping into this new adventure with him excited her. "Kitchen heaven, oh that sounds like our place. I'll plan that one, and I'll send you the details when we can take over the kitchen. Maybe, we each bring a recipe we want to try."

"As long as you don't want to be far from me, then I'll be buying all the portable fans. Well, hey I'm not complaining on the idea because it brought you here." The idea didn't seem too logical to her, but how could she judge it when it meant he arrived here with her? That had to be some version of destiny, if she even believed in all that. Laurel was hanging on to each word, a string pulling him toward her. Was he always so charming and romantic? "I..." her words trailed off, completely in a daze. "I'm inclined to believe that, I'm glad the string brought us here. Having us meet halfway, hm guess I'd just be curious why Texas, of all places." The thought of a string pulling him to a place that he didn't like was so interesting, completely grateful that he did listen to that string tugging him here. "The more, the merrier and I'd love to meet them. Maybe, get some of those stories about you." Laurel's smile remained, her curiosity on Colorado growing. He had the ability to make anything sound interesting, even a state she had never given second thought to. "There's more to Brazil than Carnival though, promise I'm not a party animal. I'm intrigued by Colorado now, and Panama, really? That sounds like a fun spot too, probably some really good beaches." Oh, she was completely pleased with herself when he agreed and gave her a look. Lucky for her, they both were not the sharing type. "Good to know, because I really have no intention of sharing you with anyone here. Just a heads up."

She was shaking her head, silently telling him it was not necessary at all. Laurel understood house rules, and really didn't mind just hanging out here, even on the floor. It beat being in her dorm listening to Jenny complain about being ditched earlier. But, Laurel looked at him and knew that there was no chance of saying no. "Okay, but only because you insist." She took the items Eli handed her, and nodded reluctantly. "I believe you," she said with soft laugh. "This is more than enough, don't worry. I'll be right back." With that, she stepped away to change. Changing into the bottoms was quick and easy, the hoodie - well, that had more thought going into it. He did say no outside clothes, her blouse definitely counted under that umbrella, but was it too bold to wear his hoodie with no shirt underneath? Maybe so, but she would follow instructions, so she pulled her blouse and quickly changed into the soft hoodie. Once her outside clothes were folded, she stepped back out and grinned widely. "Ta-da, fits pretty well! Confirming I'm free of outside clothes," she teased as she stuffed her clothes in her backpack for now.

[phantomsies]

𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 | 𝖆. 𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖗𝖙

spending the evening with a man who could have any girl he wants but he proves why it’s always been you…

producer/nepobaby armin, musician au, black fem reader, dancer!reader (reader is in Pole Assassins), soft sex, back scratching, lots of intimacy, slow kissing, oral sex (f. receiving) body worship, banter between armin and reader, missionary, creampie, slow build/burn (?)

I’ve been suffering from a severe case of armin brain rot lately and I’ve been missing the musician au even more!! this is a reupload from my patreon so if you read this, no you didn’t! 🫶🏾

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He’d traveled the world once over…experienced a lifetime full of adventures at only a mere two decades into his life. From sailing on yachts as a child, exploring the ocean in between piano lessons and algebra courses…to making music with his friends that would touch the lives of people in every nation and becoming a household name in the process. However, Armin Artlert’s notoriety had transcended that of just playlists and edits by adoring fans. He harbored a reputation that had come to precede him throughout his duration as an artist and internet sensation. The infamous ArminHammer was notorious for two things: iconic instrumentals and his expansive roster of women. Every girl of every variety was at his disposable..models, strippers, actresses, singers, the single mom who happened to attend one of their shows and needed a good time. He wasn’t picky nor did he allow preference to stand in the way of fulfilling his carnal desires. Make no mistake, he didn’t dog his women out or harm them..hell, if anything, he made every girl he encountered feel like a princess. Spoiling them with gifts, expensive dinners and of course, the best sex you’d ever experience! To put it even more bluntly, the man fucked like a professional..he was skilled in many areas and the bedroom happened to be the top.

But perhaps, that was the issue…he was the ideal man in every essence of the word. He’d make any lady feel as if she’d met her prince charming!..

….so how could you ever believe him when he said that you were the one he’d been searching for this entire time?

How could you possibly think that you’d be the sole object of his affection when it seemed those regards could be said of any women who’d crossed his path? Honestly, there was no definite answer to convince you otherwise. Armin was aware that you’d always kept your ear to the streets and had been informed about how he operated. That was all but confirmed when your teammate and friend began dating his childhood homie. Another infamous artist by the name of EJ the Don. Much like the woman who had founded the very group you were a part of, the Pole Assassins, EJ was seen as the proverbial leader of his own collective, Dead Boys Society and although they both despised the labels, you still respected her as such.

you could also sense that Armin held the same regard for his best friend and fellow artist. He looked up to Eren and admired how focused, driven and goal oriented he was in his craft. Most importantly though, he admired the way he loved..

EJ was never known to be a romantic nor was he known to be entrenched in the dating scene, but once he began dating your team mate, he had transitioned into an entirely different man. One that was attentive, doting and even a little jealous. He was openly affectionate with her and never thought twice about it. Gushing about her in interviews, where prior, he would’ve never even mentioned a woman besides his mom. It was that complete switch that had activated something within Armin as well. What he had been seeking in multiple girls could only be found in one place and that was with (y/n) (l/n). He’d spent all this time around you and had found himself falling deeper for you than he had anyone else. Your laugh, your energy, your spirit and kind heart had all enraptured the heart of the notorious playboy. And you couldn’t fool yourself either..you’d become smitten with him just the same…however, you were guarded. You weren’t so far deluded in the fantasy of being with him that you’d soon forgotten his reputation! You weren’t perfect by a long shot either..God knows, you’d partaken in your fair share of hookups and dated a couple of athletes just to say you did. Even so, you felt a hint of insecurity. How could you ever satisfy his cravings when he’d sampled the whole platter?! That was a question you’d soon find the answer to when you decided to spend a weekend at his home. A lofty, luxurious penthouse that overlooked the city and beaches of the sunny Miami, Florida.

it was a beautiful place and one of the many pieces of real estate owned by the Artlert conglomerate. One thing you’d come to learn about Armin was that music was nothing more than a beloved hobby. As much as he poured into his craft, his financial situation wouldn’t waver in the slightest if he were to stop today. He’d grown up with billionaires for family and that generational wealth had certainly trickled down. Regardless, it wasn’t his sole identity, hence why it’d never arise in conversation. It was blatantly obvious in his lifestyle choices but he was still that innocent, nerdy, wide eyed boy he’d always been to his core. The sensitive, kind, gentle Armin that only a select few witnessed. That was the side he wanted you to see here tonight..

so as you traipsed across the marble accented floors and art littered walls of his penthouse..all the way to his bedroom, you’d realize that you were where you belonged.

“You coming to lie down, beautiful? You’ve been in there forever.”

“Just a few more minutes, I promise! I wanna make sure I’m looking right.”

honestly, he didn’t understand all of the trouble. He’d seen you fully nude and completely clothed..you were beautiful no matter the form. Hell, you could come out in a plastic bag and pair of Timberlands and he’d still be hungry for you! He loved you dearly and nothing could dare to change that fact now! But after you two had retreated to his bedroom after an evening out on the town and he’d longed since undressed, you insisted on going to the bathroom and freshening up with a shower before retreating to bed. However, there was one more

“Well hurry up, please. I miss you..” stating in a whiny tone as he flailed himself against the mattress. Arms stretched out atop the pillow as his shirtless top half grazed the sheets. His designer boxers rubbed viciously with the silk bed linen, causing a bit of friction. Outside of the glass window pane, fell heavy droplets of pouring rain to set the already sensual mood. Electronic candles flickered in the corner and soft melodies of R&B played from the mounted television. It was certainly a vibe that you could become accustomed to. Across from where he lay, sat a half empty bottle of Modavi and two glasses that had been previously filled with the liquid. You were both feeling a bit tipsy from the substances coursing your veins so it was apparent what the mood was for the evening. He couldn’t bear to wait a moment longer and fortunately for him, you didn’t keep him held up. Because it was as he was getting ready to lie back down, he’d hear the faint tapping of footsteps against the tile and be greeted with a sight that would soothe his soul and sore eyes alike…

“Well I’m sorry to keep you waiting ..” flashing him a cheeky smile in regards to his earlier comment. Instantly, his jaw fell slack and his top half arose from the bed to examine you over.

“Oh my—you look—…. damn, I can’t even talk. You got me speechless, girl.”

sending you into a fit of giggles as you showed off your ensemble for him. A sheer white, lace two piece with garters that wrapped your thick thighs, a thong that was swallowed up by those round cheeks and a bra that accentuated your voluptuous breasts..causing them to sit upright. You were glistening with oil, and that luscious brown skin shimmered in the candlelight. Those forty inches of black curls were styled into an updo atop your head, along with that diamond necklace he had procured for you a few weeks ago. Even this was a first for Armin..he’d spent his fair share of evenings with the ladies but it always involved moments of rushed disrobing and him trying to get in their pants as quickly as possible. He didn’t waste time with lingerie or fancy frills because the goal was to grant her the best sex possible. Of course, he obtained gratification from this as well..but sometimes, he craved more. More than just the act of sex itself…it was intimacy he desired. The subtle touches and little gestures that helped to curate that special moment..he wanted to take his time and give you an experience that you’d soon yet forget.

“..then I guess it was worth the trouble..” his reaction elicited a light chuckle as you veered over to the bed, crawling onto the mattress and into the embrace of your precious lover. It was warm, inviting almost…strangely enough, an unwavering sense of safety crept over you as well. All of those previous thoughts of insecurity and jealousy seemed to dissipate once his hands coiled your body. He’d pull you in a little closer, squeeze you a little tighter and when his lips finally clashed with your own, every worry that had plagued either of your worlds were mere afterthoughts.

“God, you’re so beautiful..I swear you wear the hell out of everything you put on..”

“You’re too charming for your own good, you know that? It’s gon’ get you in trouble one day.”

“I like the sound of that.”

the tender and humorous moment was shared underneath the flickering candlelight as your flesh melded into one. Sitting upright in a cross legged position, your calves coiled his lower back and your arms cradled the back of his neck. Meanwhile, his hands resided around your waist and maintained a firm grip. He could hear your sentiment but even he grew skeptical at times. He often worried would his past elude him and ruin any potential future he could procure with you. All of his other prospects were nothing more than fleeting memories now. Even for someone as confident and skilled as Armin was, he experienced any other emotion just the same..maybe even more. Regardless, you’d continue to quell his anxiety and ease any doubt in his mind that you were leaving anytime soon. With those soft touches and gentle kisses, slowly but surely, you’d melt away all that rattled his mind. Eventually, your tongues would find home within one another’s mouths, initiating a series of sloppy pecks in process. It was then that you’d also begin to feel the thin straps of that top gliding down your shoulder blade. He just wanted to make you feel the best you had in a long time and he’d take as long as he needed to fulfill that obligation. He owed it to you for all of the insurmountable love you’d given him.

“Armin…baby..”

a faint whisper escaped your now freed lips as he latched onto your neck following the broken kiss. He’d gently suckle on that deep colored flesh and leave a trail of pecks along your jugular vein, even along your earlobe…it was there that he’d merely nip at the skin and whisper into it. Which sent a barrage of tingles all over your body.

“Yes, sweetheart? Something on your mind?”

“Ahh—“ “..words, baby. Let me hear that shit.”

that lilt in his tone, a clear indicator that he was going to relentlessly tease you from here on out. You always became so anxious when he did but the buildup made the actual moments all the more worth it. “You can tell me anything you want, pretty girl. This is all for you..your space. Whatever you say…I’ll do it.” His words serve to entice you further, which took little to no effort at all. You were already sucked in with no chance of being free of his clutches anytime soon. As for your requests, it was easy.

“Just…make me feel good, please..make love to me..”

it was a definite statement; one he understood loud and clear. Now wasn’t the time to be prideful or allow his ego to cloud his perception. Rather than showing off, Armin wanted to fully submit himself to you and to the cause of giving you whatever your heart…and body desired. With that, you’d find yourself shrouded in another round of kisses, this time along your shoulder blades and eventually to those soft breasts. Gently kneading them between his fingertips, he’d circle the buds with his thumb and watch as they’d grow erect. “Mmmm..” “..that feels good, sweetheart?” Following his question with a whimpering nod as you examined his movements. He’d gently squeeze them together and massage them all over, just to make you feel more at ease. He always did love how supple and perky they were..how they sat so perfectly in your tops or dresses. He’d learned to view the female body as more than just a vessel of pleasure but instead, for the work of art it is. You were his divine masterpiece..his treasure and he wanted to appreciate every single square inch of your physique. Even the areas you didn’t exactly appreciate yourself…

“Good..I know how sensitive they are but that’s okay. I’ll be gentle.” Chuckling at your very visible reactions of having your nipples played with. It was your most erogenous area and he knew it’d only be a matter of time before you became even more aroused. That much was indicated by the way you ground your clothed slit into the mattress. (Y/N) eventually tossed your head back, rolling it onto your shoulders and emitting a sharp gasp. An expected reaction to all of the sensual friction and stimulation. None of which was lost on Armin. He’d shift a bit in his own positioning, attempting to conceal that obvious erect. This was a fine solely for your pleasure and needs. His urges could wait as far as he was concerned. He was determined to prove that he was fully and utterly devoted to you right now. The sounds of melodic love songs and pouring rain would continue to serve as the soundtrack to this precious moment. Right along with your sweet moans and his subtle grunts. You’d glance down to see the rising tent within his boxers as he began to lap all over your areolae and suckle on your brown buds. “Your tits are so perfect, angel. I love them so much..I love all of you. Every single part..” Constantly doting as he persisted..that’s when you’d reach down and grasp for that sheathed cock but he’d be equally as quick to stop you.

“Ignore it, okay? Right now is about you. I’m focused on making you feel good, just like I promised. You don’t need to do a thing.” This was what you appreciate about your man. He had such a calm, gentle demeanor. Something people would often mistake as sensitive or meek. But in the same vein, he could harness that into a dominant, masculine energy that required no assertiveness. You felt safe..secure within that space. You felt comfortable submitting yourself fully to him.

“It’s like you're everything I’ve ever prayed for..I’m so lucky.” Akin to that of a groom bedding his bride on the night of their wedding, Armin would lie his precious girl flat against the mattress and begin his descent down your body. Examining each line, touching each bump and worshiping every curve as if they were a gift from the heavens above. They certainly weren’t things that he took for granted. Especially when he finally made home with that divine center…spreading open your trembling thighs; courtesy of the gentle kisses and drawn out licksthat had been peppered all over your belly. “Mmmm…I love when you touch me like this. You always know what to do..” placing his thumbs along your pantyline, he’d rub your hips before placing two fingertips along the seat of your bottoms. “Of course, I told you…I’ll do whatever you want. All you gotta do is say it.” Naturally, the entire area was soaked and only accruing more stickiness the more he stroked your clothed bud. In an attempt to increase the friction and pleasure riddling your body, Armin would hone in on the clit and massage it until he felt you shaking in his grasp.

“Oh my God..” “Rub your nipples for me, sweetheart. I wanna see you get there so bad but I don’t want to rush..not right now.” Finally, he’d cease his teasing and peel back that thin layer of fabric, revealing your plump mound and lips, along with that swollen clit. You were practically throbbing and the second he grazed your skin, you’d instinctively contract. Those juices were already leaking before he could even think to touch or lap at the area. Meanwhile, you’d pinch and pull at the now stiffened buds on your chest, writhing in the sheets as you chewed at your lip. “You’re so cute when you make that face.” Chuckling whilst teasing the hard little pearl that had caused your entire body to heat up. “Aw, you just want that nut, don’t you, baby?” “Fuck—uh, yes..please.” Immediately shuttering at the idea of ruining such a sensual moment with profanity. However, Armin didn’t mind at all. In fact, it further encouraged him to get you there. “I know you do…I wanna give it to you so bad too..”

Normally, this was an opportunity he’d utilize to tease you relentlessly. Holding out on providing you with your orgasm, making you wait before he even made the slightest of movements…all of it in an attempt to get you riled up. Right there on the edge until you finally broke, all but pleading with him to give you what you wanted. But tonight?

“Ahh!—haaaa..yes..” “Uh, fuck…lemme taste you…please lemme eat this puss—“ his words trailing off into mere whiny drabble as his lips made home on your lower ones. Immediately, those pretty blue eyes of his were fixated on you as he delved into your center. The sounds of slurping and whimpering emitting from his mouth and only growing louder. With your legs parted on each side, (y/n) grasped the top of Armin’s head; clawing at those shaggy blonde curls whilst grinding yourself against his face. “Arminnnn…oh my gosh…right there.” Those moans would draw out into a high pitched wail. One that caused your legs to tremble and nearly retract around his head. But alas, that just wasn’t possible. With one fell swoop and only a single hand, he’d pin your thighs back and continue devouring your cunt. As his opposite one was preoccupied with stroking his own shaft. It was something about your scent, flavor and your sex that got him all aroused. Nonetheless, Armin would resume his feast..flicking gently on your clit, sucking your plump lips and even shoving a digit into your tight hole. Only coming up for air to check in on you..

“Something on your mind, pretty girl? Talk to me..”

“N—need you…need you in me so bad…oh fuck..”

although the sentence was a bit incoherent, your desires were heard loud and clear. Although Armin loved the idea of relentlessly teasing you, he also wasn’t much in the way of restricting you from your happiness either. If that was what you wanted, he was elated to fulfill the request. In what seemed to almost be a slight of hand movement, he’d maneuver and rise from where he was laying and would scoop your legs up in the process. He’d position them straight in the air and pin them together. Eventually placing them over his shoulder. “You need me? You want it that bad, sweetheart?” Cooing and questioning with a rhetorical tone. Meanwhile, he was hovering above you, positioned on his knees whilst that cock head teased against your slit. He already knew the answer and as far as he was concerned, it was yours. But he needed to hear you say it. Not just for the consensual aspect, but because it was what he’d been waiting for all along. Hearing you beg, plead and whimper for him….this entire time, he’d been so used to your independent nature, that there was rarely an instance where you relied on him. You were so far capable of handling your own, that he or no other man were truly necessary in your daily way of life. But right here…in this moment, in this bedroom and this space the two of you had curated together..

“Y-yes, please!..I need you. I can’t take it..”

he was your everything. Your one and only sole object of affection. With your gazes fixated on one another, you’d nod your head and coo to one another, whimpering until suddenly—

“Yeah?” “Mmmm…please!”

you’d feel that stiffened, aching cock glide between your warm, silky folds and remained nestled there whilst he gathered his footing. Normally, he’d take an opportunity to perhaps gloat or be cocky. Fucking you with a giant grin on his face, making your pleasure a second priority. But alas, he’d never be so arrogant or foolish right now..because only moments later, his head had rolled back on his shoulders and as he remained nestled within you, he’d release a heavy gasp. He couldn’t maintain his eye contact when you felt this good. Your pussy resembled that of a warm blanket or hug..inviting him in and never wanting to pull away. However, he’d refrain from such lewd obscenities and fill your head with more loving compliments instead. As you’d lie there, awaiting his next move, you’d feel a hand planted into the center of your tummy and his hips beginning to buck forward..gently pounding into you.

“Oh God…yes..I love the way you feel, baby. You’re so warm.. ‘s so good..”

meanwhile, all he could do was howl it to the air because he knew that if he even took so much as even a glance in your direction, his load would be buried three inches into your womb right now. He was adamant of taking his time because all of his undivided and full attention; along with every second he could spare…belonged to you. He was all yours, hopelessly to a fault. He had released fear..anxiety or the shame that came with being madly in love.

“Ahhh…Armin..right there..please don’t stop..”

“I know, baby. I know…I can feel you squeezing me, that’s your spot, isn’t it?”

it was a given..not only had your body become riddled with ecstasy but he could tell by the way you pawed at his abs that he’d reached that core. Smacking sounds had arisen from the creamy mess he’d made of your lower half. Sucking his teeth, Armin finally garnered the strength to peer down at you and once he did, he nearly lost all control and restraint. His strokes would become a little faster and stretch your tight little cunt in the process. Your legs, that once made home on his shoulders, were now pinned back nearly behind your head. A position he was certain you had no issue maintaining. Even so, it didn’t stop your from crying out to him..heaving and whimpering. He was worried that perhaps, he hadn’t regulated his own strength. But rather than an expression of pain, you were smiling!..grinning from ear to ear with tears rolling down your face. It was a sign that you were in complete climatic bliss.

“Y-yes..you're in my spot, baby. And it feels so fucking good…nobody can make me feel like this..” eventually reaching down to stroke your sensitive bud to aid in the pleasure. That gave him all the confirmation he needed to persist, even when he felt he’d reach his breaking point sooner rather than later. Breaking into a smile of his own, Armin would resume his deep thrusts, this time with a bit more speed and rhythm. His hips would roll fluidly as he pushed in and out; dragging more of your juices and secretions along with him. He felt as if he could conquer the world when you said things like that. “That’s right, sweetheart..I know it’s a lot but I know you’re the only one who can handle it..who can take this dick like it’s nothing.”

those words cause you to twitch and grip him even tighter. In that moment, he nearly faltered but it was also in that instance that the two of you established full blown eye contact and mere seconds later, your lips had met in a passionate crash. Only after you exchanged doting words.

“..I love you. I love you so much, (y/n)..”

“I love you too, baby! Oh my gosh, please don’t stop.”

the bed had begun to jolt against the wall whilst his tattooed knuckles gripped the headboard. Eventually, he’d collapse fully into your grasp, relinquishing this idea of full control and allowing himself to be a part of the moment. No need to establish dominance or submission..who was the better lover or even what past partners had done. But instead, embracing each other and becoming one. One body, one soul and one heart. You’d wrap your arms and legs around his frame as he continued feeding you those strokes..his face buried into the crook of your neck and your hands clawing his inked up back.. You’d coo into his ear, listening to his whimpers and inform him that it was okay for him to let go. That he didn’t have to hold back so that he could appear as this strong guy with tons of stamina. You took it as a compliment that he could go for that long, honestly..it was a far cry from his past hookups, that was for certain!..but so much more was at stake here than merely who reached their orgasm first. It was about sharing in ecstasy and concealing your love with a special moment.

“You wanna come, angel? You can if you’re ready, no need to hold back..”

“Come with me, please..same time, okay?”

declaring so confidently as you heaved into one another’s ears. He’d agree and mere seconds later, that speed and pace had reached maximum heights and it felt as if he were hammering into you. “F-fuck!..” “Shit!..I’m coming, sweetheart!..coming for y—“ it was in that exact moment, that it felt as if the world was shattering for the both of you. That something inside of your bodies had essentially broken and neither of you could hold back. Both of your eyes shoot wide open before they shut and you’d embrace each other for comfort. Your juices had splattered all over his cock and his warm seed had completely coated the inside of your womb.. neither of you could even function at this point. Just reduced to mindless babble and tears. He’d finally rise from your neck and greet you with disheveled hair, a beet red face and a toothy grin. Along with those fallen tears.

“C’mere..I need a kiss..”

“Of course..”

your soft features and brown eyes met his and the two of you collided with one last declaration of adornment. Lips and tongues meeting in a fit of desperation. Desperation to never be apart again. For as long as you were both of this world, you’d spend every waking moment wanting to be together. And there wasn’t a single thing that could break that.

“You have no idea how much you mean to me..I just want us to be like this forever. I love you..” and you’d cling to every single word. Knowing that they rang true, now more than ever. Stroking his head as he lies on your chest. There were times that Armin figured that he’d never find his one and only..that he was destined to be a bachelor until he left this earth and he was adamant that one woman couldn’t possibly supplement for having his fill of multiple.

“And we can stay just like this…I’m not going anywhere.”

but it was nights like this..that reminded him that he was exactly where he needed to be!

[starchaseriseverything]

You can’t hold me here, Mother!”

“I am your mother, Regina!” Walburga yells back. “You will listen to me!”

“I can leave any time I want!” Regina yells. “Sirius and Andromeda did! So why can’t I!?”

“You have no one to go to, Regina.” Walburga walks up to her. “Absolutely no one. No one cares about you. Not even I.”

“Fuck you, Mother . I hate you.” She sneers. “I will always hate you. I’m leaving and you can’t stop me.”

Walburga smacks her daughter’s cheek. “I can and will.” Regina holds her cheek and runs up the stairs. She slams her door and locks it so her mother can’t get in. She flops down on her bed and stares at the letter sitting on the desk. She hasn’t read it yet, but she knows if she wants closer, she’ll have to. She stands up and sits down in the chair, gently grabbing the letter and slowly opening it. The first word she reads is, Regulus. Regina takes a shaky inhale and starts reading the whole letter.

Regulus, you can get away. You can run from that house. I did and I made it. You can, too. Andy and Uncle Alphard made it. It’s time for you to get out of there, too, Reggie. And I know mother still calls you by your deadname. That’s not right, Reg. You have been going by Regulus since you were twelve and it’s time you get away from people who still call you Regina. I know James would love to see or even hear about you living your best life, even if it’s not with him.

Either way, just tell me what you’re feeling. If you don’t want to run, that’s fine. You still have me to talk to. But if you do run, Effie and Monty have a room for you and your friends are waiting here for you, too. They wait by the door or even sleep in your room sometimes waiting for you, and even if they don’t admit it, they miss you and want you out of that house just like they got out of theirs. I know they’d be happy if you just ran and didn’t stop running until you decided to call someplace home, even if that wasn’t with them. So, just, please, get out of there and live your best life whether that’s with us or without us, it doesn’t matter, just get out of there.

Love, your brother, Sirius

Regina smiles at the letter and stands up and grabs a suitcase from her closet and starts shoving clothes in it. Which is weird because she’s a neat freak and hates when things are all messy, especially when people just throw stuff, but her brother is right, it’s time she gets out of that house and away from her parents. So, instead of weeping in her room all day, she decided to get out of there, forever.

She runs down the stairs with her suitcase in hand and just runs, runs right out the door and doesn’t stop until she finds someplace hidden. She then pulls out her wand and apparates where she’s been many times, The Potter residence.

She smiles at the door before ringing the doorbell and putting her wand away. An older lady answers the door. “Hello. I don’t think we were expecting anyone today.” She backs up. “Come. Come in.” She then walks to the steps and yells, “Kids! Were you expecting anyone today!?”

“No, Mum!” A boy yells back and Regina closes her eyes, recognizing it immediately, James’s voice.

The older woman hums and turns back to her. “Well, then, what is your name?”

“Regi- Regulus. Regulus Black.”

The woman gasps. “Oh my. Should I call Sirius down? Or Barty? Or any of your other friends?”

Regulus shakes his head. “No. I think I'll surprise them.” Regulus sets his suitcase down by the door. “Just a quick question.”

Effie stops and turns around. “What is it dear?”

“How many of my friends are here? Living here?”

Effie hums and starts counting on her fingers. “Well, there’s Lily, Dorcas, Barty, Pandora, Evan, Sirius, Remus, Emma, Aurora, and my son, James.”

“Why do you let everyone live here?”

“Because it’s the nice thing to do and that’s just how my parents taught me.” Effie chuckles a little. “Well, not this nice, but that’s just how I am and how I raised James to be. Some people don’t have good homes like James does, so they need someplace to live or even stay for a few days and that’s what I give them. A place to stay or one to live. Most choose to live but some, like Peter and Alice and Frank, they choose to stay for the summer or a few days because they have nice homes and would miss their family too much. It’s just what this family does, sweetheart, and I hope you get to be a part of that.”

Regulus smiles. “I hope so too.”

“So, I need to make another bedroom?”

Regulus nods. “Yeah, I’m living.”

***

“My sweet,” Regulus says, lovingly. “We are not having another child.”

“But-”

“Three is enough.”

James sighs and flops down in the chair behind him. “I think we should.” He mumbles.

“No.” Regulus replies, sternly.

“Why can’t we-”

“It’s not your body, now is it?”

James’s face falls and he leans his head on his hand. “You know-”

“No, James.”

“Fine!” James groans. “I won’t put another baby inside you.”

“Good.”

“Guess that means we can never do the fun stuff again.”

Regulus’s head whips up from his book. “What?” James looks to the other side of him. “James,”

“What?” He asks, turning his head back to him. “What is it, love?” Regulus opens his mouth but closes it again. He doesn’t even know what to say to that. James sighs and stands up to stretch. “Well, better get to bed.”

“James, It’s ten.”

“So?”

“AM.”

“So?”

“It’s still morning.”

“So?”

“You just woke up.”

“So?”

“You are not going to bed, James.”

“Are you bossing me around?”

Regulus nods and goes back to his book. “Yep.”

“You said I can't do that.”

“That’s you.”

“So, it’s different when you do it?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

James hums and walks towards his husband. “Really?” Regulus hears the change in his voice and gulps. Regulus nods back, not being able to get anything out. James takes Regulus’s book and sets it on the stand beside him. When Regulus doesn’t look up, James guides his head up to his. “How is it different?” He whispers.

Regulus gulps again. “It just is.”

James hums and nods. “Yeah?”

Regulus nods. “Yeah.”

“Papa! Daddy!” Euphemia screams, running towards them. James straightens up quickly and looks over to their daughter.

“What, dulce chica?”

“Can we go to the park?” The black-haired girl asks, jumping up and down in excitement.

James looks over to Regulus, he shrugs in return. James looks back to the girl. “Of course. Go tell your brother and sister to get ready.” Mia smiles and runs off, yelling for her siblings. James chuckles and turns back to Regulus. “We can’t ever have any peace, can we?”

Regulus shakes his head at his husband. James leans down and kisses his lips before walking down the hallway to make sure they’re ready in time.

***

Regulus laughs as both him and James lift up their daughter that’s in between them and she squeals. Leo’s walking beside Regulus and holding his other hand while their oldest daughter is walking beside James. Regulus looks in front of them to a woman approaching them. Regulus inhales a breath when he realizes who it is. Walburga.

She glares at the two before looking at the three kids next to them. She bends down in front of the girl in between them and smiles. “Hi.” She says as James tries to hold their daughter back but she just pulls his hand to make him stop. She’s still holding onto her fathers hand when Walburga speaks again. “What’s your name?”

“Euphemia. But Papa and Daddy call me Mia.”

She smiles at the young girl. “Hello, Mia.” She turns to the young boy by Regulus’s side after glaring at the man holding onto his hand still. “What’s your name?”

“Leo.” He mumbles softly.

“Hi, Leo.” Finally, she glares at James then turns to the red-haired girl beside him. “What’s your name?”

Rose holds up her hand in front of her father and he takes it, putting their entwined hands beside them. “Papa said not to talk to strangers.” Rose mumbles.

“But I’m not a stranger.” The older woman says. “Your parents aren’t doing anything to tear you away, are they?” Rose shakes her head. “So, what’s your name?”

“Rose.”

“Nice to meet you, Rose. I’m Walburga, but you can call me Wally.”

“Wally?” Euphemia asks, giggling.

Walburga smiles at the girl.

“Isn’t Wally who grandma always talks about?” Rose asks, looking up to her father. James looks down at her.

“I wouldn’t know. Your grandma doesn’t talk to me about stuff like that.” She looks over to her dad this time. Regulus doesn’t answer, still in shock. Rose turns back to the lady as Mia and Leo laugh. She made them laugh. Regulus thinks. She made my kids laugh.

Regulus snaps out of his daze. “Come on, let’s go to the park.”

“But, I wanna stay.” Leo whines.

“Let’s go see Aunt Lily and Aunt Pandora, then.”

“Eclipse and Luna?” Mia asks, looking up to her dad.

Regulus nods. “And Harry, Lillian, and Lewis.”

Euphemia jumps up and down and pulls her fathers down the sidewalk past Regulus’s mother. Regulus looks back to her as they pass. She smiles at him and turns around to walk away. Regulus turns his head back in front of him. She smiled? What kind of sick bitch smiles?

-

Walburga kept a straight face throughout the whole funeral for her husband. She didn’t cry once because ‘Black’s don’t cry’, at least that’s what her mother always said. So, she hasn’t cried since she was seven. She didn’t want to get crucio’d again. She didn’t even cry when she married Orion, her cousin, when she wanted to marry someone else. They were even talking about their future together when her mother brought up her engagement. Her engagement that was set from the time she was born. The one where she couldn’t get out of it even if she tried. And oh did she try, but her mother always brought her back, time and time again every time.

Euphemia was the love of her life and she couldn’t ever marry her. Ever. So, instead of telling her about the engagement that was set before she was born, she decided to just break it off. And it wasn’t the best way to go about it, either. They had a horrible fight over something she can’t even remember now. Probably something stupid, maybe something important. Walburga couldn’t remember even if she tried.

A few months after their break up in Hogwarts, she was dating a Gryffindor. A Gryffindor that's nice and generous, unlike her, he’s perfect for her. She’s kind and generous and so much more. He doesn’t deserve her and neither did she. After Hogwarts walburga got an invitation to a wedding, one called ‘The Potter Wedding’. Walburga rolls her eyes at the ridiculous name. (Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous) Potter always was like that, one for stupid things. But I guess there’s two Potter’s now. She thinks.

Walburga was surprised by the invitation, not because Effie remembered her, but because she wanted her there. Walburga sighs and slouches in the arm chair, dropping the invitation on the floor as she pulls her hand to her forehead and holds up her head with it.

She can’t go. She never could. She can’t be associated with a blood-traitor, but Salzar does she wish she could. She wishes she cried then, but she didn’t not for years after that. The first time she cried since seven was when Sirius left. It wasn’t because she didn’t want to accept her daughter as the heir, it was because she wishes her daughter went with her son. To get away from this family even though she couldn’t. She was happy one child didn’t turn out like her and she knows her children talked about not turning into her.

She wishes she could’ve stayed with her promise. The one where she promised her brothers to not turn out like their parents, but instead, she did, and so did her youngest brother. The middle brother, though, he got out just like her niece and son. That was the first night she cried over her brother, her niece, her son, and her daughter all in one go.

The second time Walburga cried was when Regina left right after their argument. Their argument that was supposed to be a simple conversation in which Walburga subtly nudged her to leave the house, but turned into a full-blown argument. At least she left. Walburga thought.

So, when Walburga was walking in the park one day and sees someone who looks exactly like her daughter, she realizes her daughter isn’t her daughter, they’re her son. Walburga smiles and about walks away to cry, but sees the smile on her son's face as he lifts up a girl with another man. The little girl laughs and gets set back on the ground. Her son is holding a little boy’s hand and the other man is trying to get the other girl to hold his other hand.

She decides to walk up to them, but doesn’t show her smile. She’s gotten good at that over the years, having to hide her excitement and discomfort. She couldn’t when she was with Effie, though. She always brought out the emotions in her. All of them.

She glares at the two men, not wanting to show them she actually cares and squats down in front of the girl and smiles. “Hi.” She says. “What’s your name?”

“Euphemia. But Papa and Daddy call me Mia.”

Named after her grandmother. Walburga thinks. She smiles again at the young girl. “Hello, Mia.” She turns to the young boy by Regulus’s side after glaring at the man holding onto his hand still. “What’s your name?”

“Leo.” He mumbles softly.

“Hi, Leo.” Finally, she glares at the other man, not wanting to reveal she cares, then turns to the red-haired girl beside him. “What’s your name?”

The red-haired girl reaches her hand up to her fathers to hold hands. He does and puts them at their sides. “Papa said not to talk to strangers.” Rose mumbles.

“But I’m not a stranger.” She is, but her son isn’t doing anything. “Your parents aren’t doing anything to tear you away, are they?” Rose shakes her head. “So, what’s your name?”

“Rose.”

“Nice to meet you, Rose. I’m Walburga, but you can call me Wally.”

“Wally?” Euphemia asks, giggling.

Walburga smiles at the girl.

“Isn’t Wally who grandma always talks about?” Rose asks, looking up to her father. Walburga looks up also. The man looks down at her.

“I wouldn’t know. Your grandma doesn’t talk to me about stuff like that.”

“Mia, Leo.” Their heads go over to her and away from the other conversation. “Why did the scarecrow win an award?” She asks.

“Why?” Leo asks.

“Because he was outstanding in his field.” The two kids laugh at the joke that their grandmother taught her and it’s stayed in her head ever since sixth year.

“Come on, let’s go to the park.” Walburga's son says. Walburga nods and stands up, understanding that he’s trying to get his kids away from her.

“But, I wanna stay.” Leo whines.

“Let’s go see Aunt Lily and Aunt Pandora, then.”

“Eclipse and Luna?” Mia asks, looking up to her dad.

He nods. “And Harry, Lillian, and Lewis.”

Euphemia jumps up and down and pulls her fathers down the sidewalk past her. Walburga sees them walking away and then her son's head turns to her. She smiles at him, hoping he gets the message that she still cares no matter what. She then walks away, not wanting to disturb them anymore than she already has.

She closes her eyes as she leans against her front door, slides down, and sobs on the floor.

[scekrex]

Ring the bell, baby

pairing: Poolverine

warnings: language, sexual tension, implied sex

note: not beta read bc fuck you

See, living with a person like Wade Wilson was special. Special because it was more exhausting than Logan had ever imagined. But it was also rewarding in many, different and surprisingly tasteful ways, as the Wolverine was granted to find out.

Wade was a freak. So when Logan entered the kitchen one morning he had found a bell. The thing was pink, even had a cute little bow on it and white letters read ‘ring for sex’. It was a simple thing, really, one of the less freaky things Wade had bought over the short period of time the two mutants had been living together. And oh lord have mercy, Logan was able to give people an entire list of freaky things the merc had ordered ever since the Wolverine from another earth had agreed to move in with Red. And the list was long, so very long and partly disturbing.

And that same pink bell that Logan had found on the kitchen counter a week ago, was now filling the apartment with the softest and yet annoying sound the Wolverine knew. Because Wade had just gotten home from a mission and the merc had turned it into a little tradition to ring that bell after every little adventure he went on. Actually, no scratch that. Wade was ringing that bell whenever he got his greedy little hands on it - which was often. And that was the reason - to Logan’s sensitive ears - the sound was highly annoying.

Then a groan from the living room was heard - Logan’s groan. The fabric of the old, worn out couch shifted, moved over the equally old and worn out cushions and the wood of the couche’s frame creaked under the heavy weight of Logan’s bones. Slow, heavy steps made their way towards the kitchen of the apartment and Logan was grateful for Al to be out of the house. The old lady could be quite lovely - at least to the Wolverine from another earth she was - but she couldn’t stand the noises of sex. Him and Wade had to learn that the hard way.

Wade was sitting on the counter. The bell was set down on the flat, clean surface next to him. His legs were dangling, his suit still drenched in blood from the mission he had been on for the entire day. The merc’s head was tilted to the side and even though he was wearing his mask, the grumpy, old Wolverine knew that underneath that red fabric there was a massive smirk.

And so the brunette grabbed Wade’s waist, hauled him off the counter and tossed him over his shoulder with zero effort, like Wade was just a sheet of paper, like the man wasn’t packing a bunch of muscles and strong bones himself. And so they made their way over to the only bedroom of the apartment - with Logan, who was carrying Wade thrown over his shoulder and Wade, who was dragging a chair behind them to put in front of the closed - and later locked - bedroom door to give Al a heads up in case the lady got home early from playing bingo with her friends.. Neither of them liked it very much when the old lady walked in on Logan and Wade. Especially Al - and she couldn’t even see the impure things Wade and Logan were doing in the bed all three of them shared. And she was grateful for that, God knew it, at least that’s what she said.

“About damn time your ass comes back to me,” Logan growled out in a deep, grumpy voice and yet Wade knew he didn’t mean it, wasn’t actually as annoyed as he acted. Because - believe it or not - Logan could be a little drama queen if he wanted to. At least that’s what Wade said, but who knew how true those words actually were - probably only Wade and Logan themselves.

“Sorry,” Wade responded in a tone that reflected his cheerfulness as much as his legs that kept happily kicking against Logan’s so well defined abs - at least they did so until Logan wrapped his other arm around them strong calves, pressing them to his chest with such force that it caused them to stop moving. Logan released a single, low grunt. “Some cockblocking shitface kept me on my toes, told ‘im I have a feisty little Wolvie waitin’ for me, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Keep the cheerful bullshit up, Wilson. We both know you won’t be able to walk after this. Not even with your healing factor.”

[forwards-beckon-rebound]

just finished watching under the red hood and oh boy i have some thoughts.

warning: spoilers for utrh the movie obviously, a very long and not particularly coherent rant, i have not read the comic yet because i heard jason gets treated even worse in it but i’ll probably get around to it soon

first of all, i didn’t realize how violent it was, especially considering it’s a kids show. not only that but how callously jason just kills people. like i was aware but i kind of assumed that he did it when it was necessary. but sometimes he kills people when he could just incapacitate them. i think it adds another layer of complexity to his character, like i see why he’s an anti-hero bordering on villain to some people and not just a misunderstood hero.

not that i don’t stand by his points about killing the joker, but i do understand why bruce wasn’t exactly eager to welcome him back with open arms (i still think he could be a better father though).

ON THE SUBJECT OF BRUCE AS A FATHER. it physically pains me to hear him never acknowledge jason as his son. jason’s always his soldier, his partner, his fault. thank god jason never heard the shit bruce said because i would rage if i were him. you can’t call somebody your partner if you don’t see them as your equal. and how could jason be his equal? he was a child. at best he is his son. at worst he is his ward. either way, no child wants to hear that they’re a mistake. not their death, not the way they were raised or trained. just their whole existence. like thanks bruce, you really know how to make amends with your children.

and on that topic, there’s this theme of like oh was jason always destined to be a criminal? like was there truly nothing bruce could’ve done to stop him? it literally broke my heart when jason said maybe he was always the monster under the mask, like to hear him give up on himself like that made me want to cry. i hate this idea of this life being his fate. especially since bruce was like oh yeah he was stealing my car tires, he was raised to be a criminal and all that. i don’t think the writers meant it in that way but for a billionaire who also breaks the law to say that a child who grew up poor was always meant to be a criminal rubs me the wrong way. like i don’t think he has the moral high ground to say some of the things he says because jason did make a point when he talked about how joker has killed way too many people for batman to let him go.

anyways, do i think murder is wrong and what jason did was reprehensible? yes, although the becoming crime lord thing to control it in gotham was very smart. but is it so bad that he couldn’t have just come home? gotten therapy and had a semi normal life again? gotten to kill the joker as a little treat? no. he was like, what, 18 or 19 during the movie? and also traumatized and in desperate need of therapy? i’m not excusing his actions but when you grow up fighting these violent criminals and also being tortured and killed by one, it certainly blurs the lines. so i understand, and i think there is still redemption for him.

and the real villain of the story is the gotham criminal justice system for never doing anything about crime alley or keeping people like the joker from breaking out of arkham every week.

[ficandkaboodle]

Okay but after making my whole summary of Gonst character breakdowns, it’s got me wondering more than before: Would Copia have turned out any better if Sister had kept him and raised him herself?? (Warning: This post is long by way of me meandering)

I’m just talking rubber duck debugging-style here, I’m not expecting to or even necessarily hoping to come to any kind of fixed conclusion. But Cardi’s current tendencies are absolutely a product of how he grew up: He craves attention, he depends heavily on more decidedly childish activities and comforts, he is socially awkward as balls.

So obviously things would be different if he’d been brought up by Sister. But how different? And would that have been any better for Copia’s sense of self-worth or how he interacts with the world?

Personally, I think no. If anything, in a really sad and arguably disturbing way, how things turned out might’ve been the lesser of two evils. Still a fucked up evil, but the somewhat more survivable one.

In spite of everything she’s said and done, Sister Imperator did love Copia. She just expressed it in a way that wasn’t exactly conducive to his anxieties or just overall respect for him as an adult with needs, sensitivities, and the complexities that come with having the life he’d had. She loved him, but she loved him in a way that aligned with her mannerisms.

We don’t know Sister’s story. We likely never will, at least not in full. But it’s safe to assume that if Sister wasn’t born into the Church, she was definitely brought to it at a defining age and was either bred to or was deemed competent enough to lead it as Imperator. As a result, the Church and its goals became her mission. She might not have started it, but it was her first baby. The irony being that by dedicating herself as staunchly and one-track-minded as she did, she neglected to celebrate it as humanely as she could beyond perhaps just the lust-indulgence.

I will be the first to admit I know virtually nothing about Satanism. But…I dunno, most of the Emeriti (save Primo) seem to be on a similar page on how to interact with their faith: Secondo celebrates indulgence, Terzo embraces the importance of the self and being your own ruler while also being kind to others, and Copia would end rituals reminding people to do both. Sister stands out in that she’s more focused on all work, very little play. As a result, most of what we see of her comes off as very bureaucratic. Business-minded. She’s always thinking of how to keep the Church from fading into obscurity.

As a result of how many of her decisions seem to always have a thread tying back to the Church's well-being, I'd dare say this means more personal decisions tend to be a bit more . . . I wouldn't say "impulsive", but they certainly aren't running on all cylinders if you get what I'm saying.

At any rate, I wouldn't necessarily say the business-mindedness disrupts any maternal instinct in her per se. It could be. But honestly, I don’t think Sister is necessarily cut out for motherhood by nature. And that’s okay! Not every person is meant to be a parent, and AFAB women especially bear the brunt of criticism when they don’t display motherly affection or instinct. Even if she wanted to be more present, I don’t think her mindset would have allowed it to be as easy. And y’all, motherhood is hard enough on its own and under normal circumstances.

Bureaucracy suits Sister because she wants to be there.

What I find interesting is that Sister carried Copia and his twin to term when she didn't have to. So some part of her probably did want to have children. Or maybe she went into it recognizing the importance of having heirs: Legacy is a recurring theme in Ghost's characterization, even if some characters wind up misusing or misunderstanding it.

Ultimately, though, she gave them up and kept her distance except for in the one way she understood how to interact with people: Bureaucratically. And Copia responded to it well (probably because, I dunno, he didn't even know they were blood-related).

Regardless, I think that in a way, the fact this was met positively assured Sister that this was a proper way to go in a sense.

In a way, her giving Cardi the antipapacy is her trying to be a good mother and give him a gift. Yeah, it's a gift coming 50-something years late but the intention was there, I guess. However, it comes at the cost of having his brothers offed to assure no radicalism. Copia doesn’t seem to mind (or at least isn’t written to) but the fact still stands: That’s fucked up, Sister, you can’t go around killing your child’s half-brothers to get him the job.

So now this leads me back to the question I posited earlier: How would things have been different if Sister had decided to keep Copia? Well . . .

I think, had Sister raised Copia herself, Copia would've turned out . . . worse.

He would have likely been more “confident”, but it would’ve been horrifically twisted in and of itself. He’d grow up knowing he was part of the Imperator line (or simply known as Sister Imperator's son at the very least) and that would probably make him feel entitled. He’s essentially a little satanic prince, nobody can tell him no. Nobody who wants to live, anyway.

But he’d also be incredibly lonely. Like, more so than he already is. He may not have friends in the canon but he does have admirers who are drawn to him for his kindness and his willingness to be a bit of a goof. He'd probably be much more depressed than Canon Copia is implied to have familiarity with, and probably sucks even harder at dealing with it. He doesn't have anyone to confide in, and I think he'd never want anyone to know his vulnerabilities because he's the goddamn Imperator's son.

I think in the Copia Imperator timeline, he’d have “friends” but it’s mostly just for clout and/or fear. They're Yes Men he has orgies with essentially and carts around on the Ministry Black Card. He doesn’t have much appeal because he’s a manchild but in an extremely bratty way.

The charm we get from Canon Copia's childish tendencies are completely gone because Canon Copia's antics are the result of coping mechanisms mixed with a mother that coddles him because she doesn't trust him as an adult or see him as much beyond the baby she gave up. In the Copia Imperator timeline, he'd be enabled and probably not given very much reason to be a better person or mature.

Also, he’d probably be more down to kill. I know it's easy to assume this because bratty manchild with power frequently equals a lack of respect for life, but I also think him watching Mommy have people killed off for convenience would have put into his head that he can do the same. Only when Sister does it, it's for the "good" of the Church. If Copia does it, it's probably because he feels that person wronged him. Even if he still had some goofy traits, he’d be reluctant to display them and take anyone witnessing them as slights.

And given Sister’s penchant for putting work above all else, yeah, I think she’d hire nannies. Which wouldn’t likely be conducive to their relationship, so he becomes desperate for her attention and tries to be more like her. He still has Cardi’s mindset that if he does this thing right, he’ll be loved but I think in a weird way, he’d be more cutthroat about it. Probably because he witnessed his mother do the same up close (or as close as he can get from an emotionally and sometimes physically distant mother).

Which means there's probably a huge possibility that, in this timeline, he's more likely to be directly responsible for Papas 1-3s' deaths.

But I dunno, that's just my onion.

We don't know why Copia is as decent as he is, though. We can't say for sure if it's a nature vs nurture thing because as much as we can try and piece things together, we ultimately know nothing of his life growing up. We don't know if he'd been raised by or had a very kind adult in his life, or if he tried being mean and just frankly didn't like it. We don't know if anything from being raised as an orphan impacted his empathy or sympathy.

So obviously, this is all just what I puzzled together from traits of Sister's and how they might translate into motherhood as done by her, and what traits could therefore emerge in her child. How close to the mark I hit is subjective because that's fanon/speculation, baby.

(Though I think there's quite a few of you out there who would've probably loved to have seen Copia acting in this manner.)

Would Sister "raising" Copia have made for a more interesting storyline? Possibly. But as a person, Copia's probably better off this way. Which is depressing considering it's still left him spending most of his life not knowing who his parents were; likely developing a conviction that he's only as good as what he can succeed at; developing thanatophobia in connection to his need to be successful; and also having to recognize that his mother had his half-brothers killed off both to assure his ascendancy and to turn a profit.

Suffice it to say, no one is well. But at least he turned out cute, right?

TL;DR: Sister's focus on the Church and probable incompatibility with a particularly affectionate motherhood affects her relationship in the canon timeline. If she'd kept Copia, he might've turned out worse as a person -- and probably have left him to nannies anyway. This was probably the best possible outcome that could be made based on her poor communication and decision-making when it comes to things outside of her faith.

But that's just my opinion, I could very well be wrong lol

[agirlandherquill]

friday kiss tag

thanks for the tag @the-golden-comet and @lamuradex

rules: share a kiss from your wip, it can be any kind of kiss!

ohohoho i have been looking forward to this one writeblr, let me tell you, today's snippet comes from my pirate story, which i'm steadily chipping away at and who knows, perhaps this weekend, i might have the first three chapters to share in their entirety!

“Stop it.”

“Or what? What are you going to do? You know that all that stands between you and me is that knife.” His chin dipped to the knife she was clutching white-knuckled in her hand, its tip digging into his chest as he rested the tips of his fingers above her head, leaning down over her, while her back was pressed firmly against the wall.

“I’ll use it.” She warned.

Lochley raised a brow, dropping his head a fraction to look her dead in the eye. “Then go ahead Maiden, I won’t be stopping you.”

“I told you not to call me that. I’ve told you that a thousand times. Why won’t you listen?”

“Because I enjoy hearing your voice, even when it’s telling me off.”

“See? That. You’re doing it again. Stop it.” She adjusted her grip on the knife, switching hands, flexing her other down by her side, attempting to relieve the ache in her knuckles whilst Lochley shifted, lowering himself onto his forearms, causing the knife to puncture his shirt. The sound of fabric tearing alarmed her, even more so when he took another half-step forward, allowing the blade to pierce his skin. “I have no intentions of doing that, regardless of any blade, or anything in my path.”

“Lochley.” She hissed out his name. “You’re being a fool. You’re bleeding.”

“I’m a man. I bleed. And now I’m bleeding on you.” A smile hovered over his lips, one that scared her deeply. “Are you going to do something about it?”

Adalia watched the crimson droplets seep into her gown, her most favourite gown, and clenched her jaw. He’s doing this to tease me. To test me. He wants to see me snap. He wants my anger? Fine. He shall have it. She went to slash his chest with the knife when he took a slight swaying step back, his hand seizing hers and slamming it out against the wall, extending her arm fully. His grip shifted to her wrist and he squeezed, forcing her fingers to open. The knife slipped from her grasp and into his waiting hand below. In a single, fluid motion, one so quick her eyes failed to catch it, he had the flat side of the blade pressing into her chin, tipping it up. He kept her arm pinned to the wall, kept her head in place with the knife and leant in close, trapping her with his body. 

“Are you angry, little Maiden?” His voice dripped with mocking.

Adalia bristled, glaring at him. “Very.”

“Do you hate me?” He tilted his head, smirking, his finger tapping the blade beneath her chin.

“With every thought in my mind. Every breath I take.”

“Good. That’s good. Though I wonder… How badly will you hate me for this?”

“Hate you for-” Adalia did not get to finish her sentence, her words were swallowed by Lochley’s lips crashing into hers. It was an angry kiss. A desperate one. A violent one that robbed her of speech, of breath, made worse by the cold warning of steel kissing her throat as he kissed her. 

She could die, and he was kissing her.

He knew she hated him, and he was kissing her.

She thought he hated her, and he was kissing her.

Adalia thought many things, felt even more impossibilities, and then none of it mattered, not a single thing, as she was kissing him. 

~ ~ ~

tag list time! open tag as always too!

@the-ellia-west @willtheweaver @tildeathiwillwrite @drchenquill @365runesofthesystem

@coffin-hopping @godsmostfuckedupgoblin @a-mimsy-borogove @frostedlemonwriter @i-do-anything-but-write

@r-u-living @thatuselesshuman @lead-to-code @sunflowerrosy @theaistired

@phoenixradiant @autism-purgatory @corinneglass @tiredpapergirl @patheticexcuseforawriter

@missmisanthrope @littlestchildofthemoon @morganxduinn @thebrownleathernotebook @rmhashauthor

@lamuradex @fantasy-things-and-such @glasshouses-and-stones @hattonthehatman @humbly-a-doppelganger

@ramwritblr @s-pendragon7 @thelastneuron @heartreactor @ihauntmyhouse

@shiningstars-world @scaewolf @just-emis-blog @joeys-piano @ramitola

@yrndrgn @riveriafalll @lawrencespen1777 @theverumproject @zackprincebooks

@justjariel @orion-lacroix @jupiter---daydreams @vinniehorrible @stars-forever

@thewritingautisticat @whatwewrotepodcast @anaisbebe @appleandsnow @urnumber1star

@chaotictravelerrants @andagii-projects @dragmewithyoutonirvana @a-bi-cat-with-books @fearofahumanplanet

@just-a-domesticated-cryptid @attemptingwriter @kitkins13 @ray-writes-n-shit

@theonewholivesinthemovies @rheas-chaos-motivation @bookwormclover

[dinsbeskar]

This is an absolute masterpiece. I'm actually past capitals, and back to lowercase, I am in such awe. This is one of those things I wish I'd written, it's so gorgeous, so artfully written, the imagery is so beautiful, and you made a blowjob seem like poetry, absolutely astounding??

Okay I have many quotes (I actually copied over 30, it must have been your entire fic, so I've heavily edited down to my absolute favourite bits)

“A messenger of the Valar. A being of pure light, sent to unlock his grandest abilities.” You turn around in his arms, and wrap yours around his neck, grinning. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Celebrimbor quite so close to spending in his breeches before.”

Poor Brimby, I mean, who wouldn't when faced with Annatar appearing out of the smoke 😂 he got me good, never mind anyone actually standing close to him 😂

“Not even the Maker himself is above admiring true beauty,” he says, lifting your chin with a gentle knuckle as his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “And you, my lady, are the most exquisite of his creations.”

The way I would die??? The way I did die just reading this??

The most skilled of Elven artists could not capture the exquisite painting which graces your roving eyes. ‘Perfect’ doesn’t begin to describe him—not that you ever regard him as anything less. But in this specific form, he is the very picture of Elven beauty and grace, likely to enchant the eye of most, if not all beings of your kind.

Oh lord oh my god he is gorgeous and the picture you paint of him is sublime, I'm in love??

He is much smoother than Halbrand was. The hair on his body is less evident, as light in color as the blond tresses framing his face and not as coarse to the touch, you determine whilst trailing your fingers down his arm, shoulder to wrist. He is no doubt appealing, but you had been quite fond of the dark smattering of hair on Halbrand’s chest, and will surely miss the equally dark trail leading the tantalizing way between his navel and cock.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE WAY I DIED

Halbrand my beloved, your chest hair is immortal and beyond compare

You look up at your husband, standing above you in all his glory, the light of candles catching in his fair tresses in an ethereal halo. Yet most disarming are the pitch black depths of his eyes, trained onto you with devastating intensity.

What an absolutely gorgeous juxtaposition, I love this image so much!!!

“Well, my lady?” His tongue curls around the respectful title in such a way, it somehow sounds degrading. He tilts your chin even further back with a firm knuckle. “How is it that you worship your gods?”

I yelled!! Yes we love both, let him do both, worship and degrade us, why am I so feral for this??

You are free to surrender yourself to him, and few things make you feel so powerful as his craving to be adored by you.

Hell yes hell yes hell yes it's the craving for me!!! He loves the attention, needs her like air, godddd it's perfect

“I have one god, and one alone,” you murmur, holding his gaze as you embrace his legs, clinging to the flesh just below his buttocks and striving to look up despite the angle at which you then bend. “I kneel only to him,” you lay a kiss above one knee, “I worship only at his feet,” then the other.  “I would kill for him,” you kiss him mid-thigh on one leg, “I would die for him,” then the other. “I would live,” you place a kiss right to the side of his cock, “through endless torment,” as well as the other side, “only for him.” You rise on your knees slightly, and press your lips below his navel, pleading with your eyes. For what, it matters not. For anything he might give.

Holy mother of divine sweet jesus, I cannot tell you how much I love this, I died, I was reborn, I died again

The growl which leaves your husband’s throat is more wild beast than Elf. [...] He wants in.

“Show me,” he commands, his tip nudging at your quivering lips. “Show me how you adore me.”

I YELLED

Bestial Sauron, losing his damn mind, "show me how much you adore me", I am so feral for this adoring husband you write so well, he is sublime

You wish he would reward your efforts with the groans and gasps you know he keeps lodged within his throat. You want to rip them out with your teeth, if need be.

YASSSSSSSSS

“Such beauty,” he muses gruffly, catching your tear with a gentle thumb even as he keeps thrusting. “Such ruin.”

God this is gorgeous, "such ruin"???? He loves it, she loves it, they're both so unwell for each other, you can feel just how perfect they are for each other with each tiny look, action, piece of dialogue 🙌👌🤌👏

His mind nudges at yours, such a stark contrast between the immaterial caress and his ruthless handling of you. The answer he seeks is written in your eyes, your mind, the same message ringing out over and over from every corner of your being: Grip me, keep me, ruin me. Spill in my mouth. Fill it with your taste. Give me everything.

THIS

THIS ENDED ME, I AM ACTUALLY DEAD NOW

He looks for her consent and finds nothing wanting, she's right there with him, and the contrast between his roughness and gentleness is sending me

“My love,” he breathes out, the lust in his gaze having melted into something akin to awe. “Oh, my love. How desperately you crave my pleasure.” His chest begins to heave, eyes growing feral with fresh hunger. “As I crave yours.”

🙌👌🤌👏🙌👌🤌👏🙌👌🤌👏

Even in the heat of your smuttiest scenes, there is such gorgeous emotion, idk how you do it, sublime

Oh, the audacious little arse of a Maia (whom you would not have any other way).

Pfffffft the way I cackled, he really is 😂😂😂

And what a wonderous view indeed. From here, he is laid out below you like a grand feast, offering to the pleasure of your eye every little twitch of the muscles in his neck and abdomen as you give his length a few preparatory pumps. His hair is splayed out on your pillow in fair waves, like the halo of the divine being he now claims to be. You can nearly see why Morgoth had so wished to corrupt him, when he truly was a being of pure light. Though in Morgoth’s place, you would never have been so foolish as to fail in cherishing Mairon’s loyalty like the most precious gift that it was. In Morgoth’s place, you’d have punished your beloved servant with nothing but the most wicked of pleasures, and rewarded his terrible feats in your name with a throne beside yours and a crown placed upon his splendid head.

This whole paragraph is sublime, what a feast indeed, the image of him is so beautiful, and imagining herself in Morgoth's place?? he deserves to be rewarded, let's reward him 😍🥵

“Good.” Your husband’s smile drips with pride. “I made it for you.”

It takes a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. He has made this form, having fully recovered his ability to deliberately choose the shape and size of each part of himself, and—

“Oh,” you let out, your face crumpling with adoration as you melt on the inside. “You’ve gone through such trouble…”

SHUT UP I LOVE IT, OF COURSE HE MADE HIMSRLF IN AN IMAGE SHE WOULD ADORE, HIS FLESH TO FIT HERS, I AM DYING

“No trouble at all, my love,” he says, hands roaming over your thighs. “I made each part of myself to suit my purpose. I desire no offspring, and have no bodily needs apart from those awakened by my wife. So, you see, the sole purpose of my cock... is to pleasure you. Us.” He brings your hand to his lips, the kiss he presses to your knuckles as reverent as though he were greeting you in the midst of an elegant ballroom rather than naked in your bed, buried inside you to the hilt. “I worship only at the feet of my goddess as well.”

Um okay????? Fuck I'm running out of new things to say but I need you to know how much I adored this whole section, they're so mad for each other my heart hurts

“All the heart I have left is yours,” he says in a ragged breath, nails digging into your shoulderblades. “Yours, always yours.”

Fuck me??? "All the heart I have left is yours"???? Amazing, stunning, breathtaking

...as though you mean to cage him within you for the rest of all time, and what a tempting prospect that is.

THE TEMPTATION YES PLEASE

“I was ill,” you murmur suddenly, cheek still pressed to his heart. [...]

This whole next section where she describes her fantasy/illusion/dream, which I love btw, like her brain has to fill in the gap he's left to stay remotely sane, anyway the whole thing was so beautifully written it hurt my heart, but the end where she tells him it was wrong, it felt so right. Of course this isn't their love story, they were forged in flames and darkness and this fairytale doesn't suit them (I love it anyway idc)

It's like "in another life I'd have been happy to do laundry with you" but this is where they were meant to be and they relish in it.

“But I would have delighted in wearing something as simple as a bracelet made of grassblades, had I known them to have been entwined by your hands."

I have a very special fondness for this line, he doesn't need his forge to make her beautiful things, and she doesn't need the finest jewels from him to want to wear them, my heart!!!!

“I was not as you described, indeed,” he murmurs in the end. “Even with my original... disposition, I’d not have hesitated to make my desire known, should I have had any such inclinations towards another. I have always hated a waste of good resources—time is no exception.”

YES KING GO CLAIM YOUR QUEEN IN ANY TIMELINE HELL YEAAAH

“...whether you were to return in a day or a century. Or several,” you add quietly, holding onto your husband just that little bit tighter. His forehead creases with the same deep ache in your chest as he nudges your nose with his.

Ooooof it's the yearning for me!!! The separation doing nothing but bringing them closer together!!

“I’d have made my desire for you known,” he repeats his earlier words in your ear, hushed but fervent, “and I’d never have bowed before Morgoth. For no promise of power could have swayed me to risk your safety. And we’d have stayed servants of the Valar, pure and obedient. It is only as we are now, my love, that we shall be masters of our own fate, and rule above all others.”

YESSSSSSS ALL THE POWER IN THE WORLD BUT HER SAFETY WOULD BE PARAMOUNT, YESSSSS

As you drift to sleep, you swear your husband’s caress holds the ghost of a tender petal brushing your skin.

Oh my lord this did me in, absolutely sublime, yes queen give us everything 👏🤌👌🙌

Danielle I am in awe, this was amazing, your best yet for sure 💜💜💜

As we are now (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you explore your husband’s new form, and it leads to you breaching a rather delicate subject

Warnings: evil!reader, smut, oral (Sauron receiving, he gets rough but reader is completely on board with it), p in v, dom!Sauron but it’s kind of back and forth, reader and Sauron being deep in denial about their desire for a bit of normalcy

Note: part of the evil!reader collection. If you’re new, reader has been married to Sauron since before Adar’s betrayal and infiltrated herself as a smith of Eregion, where she awaited her husband’s return.

Mature content below the cut - minors DNI!!!

You burst into delighted laughter the moment you are in the privacy of your own chamber. The light, the smoke, the speech, the look—be still your black little heart and your poor loins, the look.

It was a good thing you had worked as closely as you did with Celebrimbor and so-called Halbrand before your husband had been forced to leave Eregion, for the Elven Rings were in great part your achievement as well, and so Celebrimbor had deemed that you had just as much right to learn what had become of them upon Halbrand’s return. It was also a good thing you were standing behind Celebrimbor, and that he was entirely enraptured with your husband’s divine appearance as ‘Annatar’ made his grand entrance, because the hand with which you had covered your grin could hardly conceal the shameless glee in your eyes.

To see his deceit at work is always a joy. But even greater is the delight of knowing he shall join you in your chamber shortly, just as soon as he is finished entertaining the awe-struck Celebrimbor for the night. You stand at your window, hoping your wait will not be long. You haven’t had the chance to be alone with your husband since he had returned to Eregion, and somehow the last moments before the promise of reunion always feel like the longest.

He moves within the shadows, as quietly as them. You do not need to hear the opening and closing or your door, or even the steps approaching you, to know that he is there, even before arms snake around your waist from behind and lips press to your neck. You chuckle, leaning into your husband.

“A messenger of the Valar. A being of pure light, sent to unlock his grandest abilities.” You turn around in his arms, and wrap yours around his neck, grinning. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Celebrimbor quite so close to spending in his breeches before.”

“How crudely you speak of your dear friend,” your husband pretends to admonish, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Can you fault a poor Elf for falling to his knees in the face of his greatest desires coming true?”

“Fault him? Of course not.” You lower your voice to a sensual purr, leaning in so that your breath warms his lips as you speak. “In fact, if I were him, I’d have done far more than kneel.” You shrug. “Or tried, at the very least. Surely, an emissary of the Valar is above such worldly temptations.”

His lips are only a moment too slow to catch your teasing ones. You nimbly slip from his hold and walk past him—to no destination whatsoever, for you know you are to be caught nearly at once and relish the short anticipation. You still give a small yelp when he catches your wrist and spins you around, pulling you flush against him. There’s hunger in his eyes, and playfulness, as he secures your waist into a hold not so easily escapable as the last.

“Not even the Maker himself is above admiring true beauty,” he says, lifting your chin with a gentle knuckle as his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “And you, my lady, are the most exquisite of his creations.”

He can pay you a thousand compliments, and you would still swoon each and every time. On the inside, at the very least, for at the moment you simply remove his hand from your mouth.

“Is that all you wish? To admire me?” you tease still, ignoring the impatient tick in your husband’s jaw. “It would be such a pity if the Lord of Gifts did not receive some form of gratitude in return for the blessings he carries. Does one as pure as you even know of what I speak?”

You hold his gaze as you catch the tip of his thumb between your teeth, giving the pad the lightest lick. Your husband’s throat bobs as he watches.

“Do enlighten me,” he rasps out.

And you fully intend to. His lips are so plump and tempting, close enough that you can all but taste them. You haven’t kissed your husband since before he left for Adar’s camp in Mordor, an obscenely long amount of time already.

“With pleasure,” you whisper—close, so close to giving you both the meeting of lips you so crave...

Not quite.

You push his chest, just enough for him to let you take a step backward with a frustrated little breath. His eyes hold a glint of warning, hunger that might just surface to end your little game if you push it a smidge too far over the edge. But in the end, you like to play, and he likes to indulge you. And it isn’t as though you are dallying about as you slide his outer robe off his shoulders and down his arms. In fact, you are quite unceremoniously hasty, and so your husband straightens his arms by his sides, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a graceless heap around his feet.

Now, for the grey robe beneath, covering him from neck to ankle, humbly adorned with only a simple pattern along the collar... you could, in theory, remove it the old-fashioned way. But you don’t feel particularly inclined to go through the hassle of lifting all that material over his head, and something wild is stirring in your chest, and it’s in your nature, after all, to do things just because.

You produce a dagger from a concealed pocket of your dress, grab your husband’s collar, hook the blade into it and rip! goes the dull fabric with a yank of your hand. Down to his waist the destruction continues, tear after tear as you pull the material away from his body so as not to nick the skin you so greedily reveal with the slashes of your blade.

He does not flinch once, save for a coy lift at the corner of his lips as you toss away the dagger and relieve him of the ruined garb, adding it to the pile of crumpled fabric on the floor. You pay it no more mind than you do his now bare torso, determined to admire him in all his splendor when you finally take him in, head to toe.

“You speak of giving something in return,” he remarks quite casually as your hands next reach straight for the fastenings of his trousers, “yet all you seem to do is take—the very clothes off my back, no less.”

You smirk up at him. “Well, I should like to lay my eyes upon the gift for which I am to repay you first.”

You pull his trousers down in one quick move, proudly stripping him of the last shred of divine decency with which he had clad himself for Celebrimbor’s benefit. He cooperates smoothly as you crouch to yank the pants off his legs one by one, then toss his modest footwear to the side as well, and when you rise back to your full height, your husband stands before you with not a stitch on him.

The most skilled of Elven artists could not capture the exquisite painting which graces your roving eyes. ‘Perfect’ doesn’t begin to describe him—not that you ever regard him as anything less. But in this specific form, he is the very picture of Elven beauty and grace, likely to enchant the eye of most, if not all beings of your kind.

He is much smoother than Halbrand was. The hair on his body is less evident, as light in color as the blond tresses framing his face and not as coarse to the touch, you determine whilst trailing your fingers down his arm, shoulder to wrist. He is no doubt appealing, but you had been quite fond of the dark smattering of hair on Halbrand’s chest, and will surely miss the equally dark trail leading the tantalizing way between his navel and cock.

Speaking of which—that part of him is as glorious as ever, and already quite visibly eager. It would require but a graze of your fingers to grow into his full hardness. But you purposefully avoid that particular bit of enticing flesh as your fingers next trace a delicate line up his thigh, taking a detour along his hip instead. You let your nails scrape his skin ever so slightly as they venture higher, feeling his firm abdomen twitch faintly beneath your touch. He is sculpted with perfect balance, the lines of his muscles painting a stunning picture of bodily strength without too dramatic of a bulk, still allowing for elegance. Your fingers ascend to his chest, traveling across its alluring plane, and come to graze one nipple, earning a hitch in your husband’s breath. Otherwise, he stands perfectly still, subjecting himself to your quiet exploration.

You circle him slowly, your touch uninterrupted as your fingers trace his skin on a path to his shoulder blades. In the meantime, you release his newly long hair from the silver headpiece he had given himself, letting it fall onto the heap of clothes on the floor. You come to a halt facing his back, as beautifully muscled as the front, and—for the love of the Valar you have forsaken, there is nothing objectively different about the shape of his buttocks, but you swear they have grown even more enticing than before. You give one an appreciative caress, fingers following the plump curve of flesh between his upper thigh and lower back, before giving it a most satisfying squeeze.

Your husband releases a short huff of a chuckle. You press yourself against him, still groping his behind as you brush his hair over his shoulder to press a kiss to the top of his spine.

“I find myself in quite the predicament, I’m afraid,” you murmur into his skin. “So exquisite is the gift, I cannot imagine how I am to pay in kind.”

“A gift, by definition, is not paid,” your husband says, giving you a pointed look over his shoulder. “But you may begin by putting an end to this teasing.”

You grin, giving his behind a sharp pinch with just a bit of nail scratch. That finally earns you an undignified gasp from his throat, followed by a scolding tsk as you turn him around by the shoulders.

“I am merely beholding your ‘natural form’, my lord,” you mock Celebrimbor’s earlier words, caressing your husband’s face and chest as you meet his scalding gaze with your sensuous one. “So I may know how best to worship it.”

You all but lunge forward to catch his lips, finally, after the wait of separation as well as your self-imposed delay—

A large hand clamps around your neck. It is your husband, now, who keeps you at bay, lips hovering one tantalizing inch above yours as he grouses, “I believe you mentioned something about kneeling.”

He pushes down on your shoulders with just enough force that you gasp as your knees bend, dropping to the floor at once. He might as well have reached down your throat and ripped the breath from your lungs with his fingers. You look up at your husband, standing above you in all his glory, the light of candles catching in his fair tresses in an ethereal halo. Yet most disarming are the pitch black depths of his eyes, trained onto you with devastating intensity.

“Well, my lady?” His tongue curls around the respectful title in such a way, it somehow sounds degrading. He tilts your chin even further back with a firm knuckle. “How is it that you worship your gods?”

You swallow nothing at all, eyelids fluttering as you stare upwards like a believer at prayer. He does this sometimes, playing along until he doesn’t, flipping the tables and taking charge in the blink of an eye. It almost feels like a physical stroke of your clit, creamy arousal gushing from your core in an instant.

It’s such a slippery slope. The submission. The rawness of it. You’ve both known what it was to be at the mercy of another before, one who had no such thing as mercy. But you do not despair, and you are not afraid. For this is not Morgoth, nor are you a slave. You are free to surrender yourself to him, and few things make you feel so powerful as his craving to be adored by you.

“I have one god, and one alone,” you murmur, holding his gaze as you embrace his legs, clinging to the flesh just below his buttocks and striving to look up despite the angle at which you then bend. “I kneel only to him,” you lay a kiss above one knee, “I worship only at his feet,” then the other.  “I would kill for him,” you kiss him mid-thigh on one leg, “I would die for him,” then the other. “I would live,” you place a kiss right to the side of his cock, “through endless torment,” as well as the other side, “only for him.” You rise on your knees slightly, and press your lips below his navel, pleading with your eyes. For what, it matters not. For anything he might give.

The growl which leaves your husband’s throat is more wild beast than Elf. He takes in his fists your hair and his own hard length, keeping you where he wants as he drags the tip of his cock from the base of your neck to your chin, as though splitting the skin upon the blade of his desire. Arousal smears a trail up your throat. He wants in.

“Show me,” he commands, his tip nudging at your quivering lips. “Show me how you adore me.”

As if you had not already. As if you do not always. But you are beyond glad to remind him. Your tongue darts past your lips to give the slit a sole lick. As he releases his cock to plant his hand onto your shoulder instead, you take hold of his length yourself to flatten it against his stomach. You spare a moment to admire it, so promisingly full and flushed with want, then press your lips to the underside, right at the base, and work your way to the tip with a string of doting kisses. How you love this most sensitive part of him, and cherish each and every twitch with which it responds to your affections.

His hands tense impatiently on your head and shoulder, but he needs not handle you into further action as you finally take his cockhead in your mouth, sucking gently. Then firmly, and over again, until you’re truly fucking him with your mouth, your hand working in tandem to cover the length you cannot swallow with each bob of your head.

The crease in his brow betrays his pleasure, though he stands above you tall and stoic as ever. Even when you swirl your tongue around his tip the way you know drives him wild, even when you reach underneath to fondle the sensitive sack at the base of his manhood. You wish he would reward your efforts with the groans and gasps you know he keeps lodged within his throat. You want to rip them out with your teeth, if need be. And so you take him deep, as deep as he can go inside your throat, all while piercing him with your wanton gaze.

Your husband curses. His fist in your hair tightens, tugs at the roots with just enough force that it stings most deliciously. Control is ripped from you once more as he drives his cock into your throat at his own merciless pace, and if you could, you would smile at your victory in breaking his composure. You grab hold of his buttocks, nails digging into the soft flesh as he buries himself in your mouth, over and over. You’ve gathered more than enough skill over your years together to withstand such an act whilst still drawing some air into your lungs, even if only the barest minimum. Still, a tear slides down your cheek, and you groan around his length, knowing the sound will only add to his pleasure.

“Such beauty,” he muses gruffly, catching your tear with a gentle thumb even as he keeps thrusting. “Such ruin.”

His mind nudges at yours, such a stark contrast between the immaterial caress and his ruthless handling of you. The answer he seeks is written in your eyes, your mind, the same message ringing out over and over from every corner of your being: Grip me, keep me, ruin me. Spill in my mouth. Fill it with your taste. Give me everything.

The enormity of your need for his pleasure is what does him in. He doesn’t stifle, doesn’t deny you the sound of his wrecked groan as he ceases upon a final thrust, cock shoved so deep down your throat that your nose is buried in the fair curls at his base. You shut your eyes as he spills and spills, relishing the throbbing of his flesh on your tongue and the essence of him gliding down your throat. Breathing can wait. Not forever, but for a while.

Your husband, of course, allows it long before you’d have truly struggled. But you still pant for breath the moment he pulls out, and your forehead drops to his thigh as you wipe the mess left on your chin. Not a moment later, your husband tilts your head back, demanding your misty eyes to meet his.

“My love,” he breathes out, the lust in his gaze having melted into something akin to awe. “Oh, my love. How desperately you crave my pleasure.” His chest begins to heave, eyes growing feral with fresh hunger. “As I crave yours.”

He bends down, grabs your waist and hoists you from the ground straight into his arms, at last claiming your lips as you wrap your legs around him with an elated moan. It is as though his end did nothing but spur him into wishing for another, this time whilst buried in your depths. Barely a moment later, he lays you down on your bed, his bare body pressing your clothed one into the mattress. His hips are already nestled between your legs, grinding relentlessly as you write and whine beneath his ravenous kisses of your mouth, then of any bare inch he finds of your neck and chest.

He fists his hands in the shoulders of your dress, and he needs no blade to rip the fabric down your chest unceremoniously. You gasp, mildly indignated—you had been rather fond of that piece. But the sacrifice is well worth it for the unbridled desire on his face as he admires your bare breasts, as though it were his first time seeing them. “This is all I could think of,” he rasps out, “whilst I stood waiting at the gate. What I would do once I could finally touch my wife’s skin, her flesh...” He kneads one breast, staring in marvel as that wonderfully pliant part of you yields beneath his fingers, “This lovely, soft flesh of yours. Look how it calls to me.”

His thumb swipes over one pebbled nipple, indeed straining upward as though reaching for your husband’s touch, just before he descends upon it with the heat of his mouth.

“Yes,” you moan, arching into him greedily. “But my flesh has remained unchanged... for centuries,” you strive to argue as his tongue lavishes that most sensitive peak, teeth tugging in a mean tease at the flesh around it. “Tonight,” you gather your resolve, “I was supposed... to be exploring... you!”

With a great push on that last word, you flip him onto his back. Your husband lets loose a wicked laugh as his head hits the pillow and you roll on top of him, panting.

“It is hardly my fault that you are so easily distracted.” He grins up at you without an ounce of shame. Oh, the audacious little arse of a Maia (whom you would not have any other way).

“As if you are any better,” you retort, and swiftly prove yourself right. You dive much like a vulture aiming to snatch its prey, one hand sinking in his hair as you catch the brand new pointed tip of his ear between your teeth and tug, hard. Your husband gives a sharp grunt, hands flying to grip your hips.

“Hm, I’ve missed these,” you say, suckling at the tender skin as if to soothe the sting you purposely inflicted whilst your husband groans beneath you. “Remember when I made you spill simply from biting them?”

“A most admirable feat,” he growls, “for which I have not the patience at the moment.”

He means to lift his torso off the bed, but you hold him down with a firm hand pressed to his chest. “Ah-ah,” you shake your head, slowly rising to sit up astride him. “I wish to stay right here,” you say, gathering the skirts of your dress pooling over his crotch to help yourself to his newly straining erection, “and admire the view.”

And what a wonderous view indeed. From here, he is laid out below you like a grand feast, offering to the pleasure of your eye every little twitch of the muscles in his neck and abdomen as you give his length a few preparatory pumps. His hair is splayed out on your pillow in fair waves, like the halo of the divine being he now claims to be. You can nearly see why Morgoth had so wished to corrupt him, when he truly was a being of pure light. Though in Morgoth’s place, you would never have been so foolish as to fail in cherishing Mairon’s loyalty like the most precious gift that it was. In Morgoth’s place, you’d have punished your beloved servant with nothing but the most wicked of pleasures, and rewarded his terrible feats in your name with a throne beside yours and a crown placed upon his splendid head.

“Admire?” your husband raises a coy eyebrow, even as he throbs in your fist. “I thought you wished to reward me for my generosity,” he reminds you of the little game you had been playing at the beginning. You are no mighty Vala who can offer him everything he has ever craved on a silver platter, but you need not be, when you are what he needs most desperately.

“What better reward than this?” you smile, and sink onto his length in one swift move, pulling a moan from yourself and a brisk curse in Black Speech from him. Having engulfed him to the hilt, you plant your hands onto his chest, savoring the divine stretch. 

“How does it fit, my love?” your husband asks, thrusting up ever so slightly.

“It’s perfect,” you moan. “So... so perfect.” As always, but you can’t deny you’ve landed at an angle which hits especially right, even before you’re begun to truly ride him.

“Good.” Your husband’s smile drips with pride. “I made it for you.”

It takes a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. He has made this form, having fully recovered his ability to deliberately choose the shape and size of each part of himself, and—

“Oh,” you let out, your face crumpling with adoration as you melt on the inside. “You’ve gone through such trouble…”

You say it with false modesty, though this is barely a fraction of the lengths to which he had gone for you in the past, as well as barely a necessity. Even a shaft as inauspicious as the handle of a hammer could become an instrument of your pleasure in your husband’s hands, if it were wielded with his incomparable skill and intimate knowledge of your flesh. But whilst form alone is not everything, there is such a thing as a more or less natural fit for any given body. And this particular appendage with which your husband has endowed himself… the length and girth, every vein, every ridge, is specifically tailored to suit your needs. To stretch you perfectly, just on the right side of the light burn he knows you relish without causing you real pain, to rub and press exquisitely against your walls in all the sweetest ways and spots he knows by heart that you would most enjoy.

“No trouble at all, my love,” he says, hands roaming over your thighs. “I made each part of myself to suit my purpose. I desire no offspring, and have no bodily needs apart from those awakened by my wife. So, you see, the sole purpose of my cock... is to pleasure you. Us.” He brings your hand to his lips, the kiss he presses to your knuckles as reverent as though he were greeting you in the midst of an elegant ballroom rather than naked in your bed, buried inside you to the hilt. “I worship only at the feet of my goddess as well.”

He says it like a vow. This time, when he rises from the mattress to gather you close, closer, you make not the slightest move to stop him—distracted again. But you are beyond caring. Beyond teasing games. There is no slow seduction, no calculated rhythm to the manner in which you begin to move, hips rolling frantically into your husband’s.

“Yes, my love,” he urges fervently. “Take what you need.”

As you do, he makes quick work to relieve you of the remnants of your dress, jaw clenched as your heat swallows him over and again in its velvety depths. He pulls and tears at the fabric, throws it away as if it were standing between him and the healing of Middle-Earth itself, and his wife is at last bared atop him, bouncing prettily on his cock.

“Nothing beneath,” he remarks, a most delicious reprimand as he gropes at your waist, urging you in your movements. “Is such the custom among the ladies of Eregion these days?”

A short laugh finds its way through the string of gasps and moans that leave your throat. “I’ve not worn undergarments since you arrived at the gate.”

“Of course not,” he purrs, the twisted pride in his gaze going straight to the onslaught of pleasure already between your legs. “My beautiful wife, waiting for me with open arms and a bare cunt. Soaked the moment you laid eyes upon me, were you not?”

All the answer he gets is a pitiful whine, and your lips sloppily catching his in a needy kiss. Seated in his lap, with your arm wrapped around his shoulders and your hand sunk into his hair, you are in control over the pace of your thrusts as well as utterly helpless with adoration. He holds you in the circle of his arms so fiercely, tears gather at the corner of your eyes as you pull away to take in your beloved’s expression. His beautiful lips, slightly parted in pleasure. His eyes, darkened to near slits with unbridled desire for you. Only for you.

“I love you,” you all but sob, your hips clashing into his so ruthlessly, you would fear for the anatomy of any lesser being of male form subjected to such treatment. Your mind is as frantic as the tempest in your core, on the verge of unraveling. “I love you, I love you so much—”

“All the heart I have left is yours,” he says in a ragged breath, nails digging into your shoulderblades. “Yours, always yours.”

If that wasn’t enough, the heat of his seed filling you to the brim does you in. Your peak has you clenching around your husband’s throbbing cock as though you mean to cage him within you for the rest of all time, and what a tempting prospect that is.

You slack against him, breathing heavily into his neck. Incoherent fragments of endearments leave your lips, but not even you can tell what you are saying. Your husband cradles your head, shushing you softly through the aftershocks of your release, and lies back against the pillows with you securely in his arms. You hum tiredly as he pulls out, and use the little strength left in your limbs to shift downward so that you may rest your head on your husband’s chest. He needs no heartbeat, but it soothes you to feel it beneath your cheek, strong and slowly settling down after the wonderful exertion through which you had put his form.

“I take it, then,” he says into the blissful silence that has fallen between you, “that my new visage is to your liking.”

You give a soft, tired laugh. Lifting yourself enough that you can gaze down at your husband’s face, you cup his cheek with an adoring smile.

“I liked you rough around the edges, imperfectly human,” you murmur, fingertips grazing the fine lines at the corner of his eye. “I like you smooth and pristine, descended from a great cloud of golden light. I like this face as well as any other, so long as I am looking in my beloved’s eyes.” You press a short kiss to his smiling lips. “It does not hurt, of course, that he tends to be unbearably fair.”

A small chuckle rumbles from his chest to yours. “I do try. But I admit I wonder,” he goes on, growing thoughtful, “now that I am able to change at will once more... whether you would prefer me as I was.”

His question gives you pause, your brow knitting slightly. He does not find such a prospect hurtful, you feel, but he is rather curious to know the answer.

“Would you prefer me as I was?” you ask in turn. “If I were... changed somehow, as you have been?”

His eyes caress your face as his knuckles graze your cheekbone, deeply tender. “I cannot say I would not mourn, if only for a while, the exact arrangement of lines and curves which shaped your form when I first held you in my arms,” he confesses, soft-spoken. “But I would prefer my beloved as she wishes to be.”

Many times, he has been loving to you, but there is a particular flavour to the moments when he is so plainly… sweet. His words move you in a way that makes you feel oddly fragile, sending your heart aflutter as only a being much younger and less scarred than you might be able to feel. You lay your head on your husband’s chest, closing your eyes to savour the sentiment. Yet, as his fingers graze your skin in loving patterns, a trace of old sorrow creeps into your heart. How lucky you are to be lying in your husband’s arms, discussing whether you would prefer one face over another, when you had once wondered how many Ages would have to pass before you could finally be at each other’s side once more.

“I was ill,” you murmur suddenly, cheek still pressed to his heart. “When they took you. For a long time. Ill of mind. As though part of it had shattered and the splinters kept shredding at what little was left of it. I began to... slip, between reality and waking dreams that felt so real, I could no longer tell the difference. At times, I was grateful for it. Because in the ruins of my mind, you had returned to me with a crown upon your head, and you took me in your arms and I was whole again, if only until the fiction fell apart and left me even more bereft than I had been before. Sometimes, I fell into memories, reliving Morgoth’s torments as though they had never ended, but even within those I longed to remain forever. For there, you were with me, and no pain could compare to that of being without you. But once... once, I lived not the past I craved, nor the one that had come to pass. I was... someone else. Someone I had been before Morgoth. And so were you. In fact... there had never been a Morgoth.”

The hand with which your husband was caressing your hair comes to a hesitant halt. You feel him tense, in body and in mind, feel his disquiet upon hearing such words. But he remains silent, and allows you to gather his hand in your own.

“It came to me in glimpses, moments over time, strung together into one story,” your voice is soft in a foreign way as you begin the tale, your fingers idly playing with his before your far away eyes. “What I first felt was light—the light of the Trees, warm upon my face. The skies of Valinor, clear abovehead, the soft grass grazing my bare feet where I sat by the creek. I was… singing. A song of my own making which I cannot remember, and which I am not sure I ever truly knew. But it was cut short, for I was startled by a sudden presence. Rising in haste to my feet, I turned to find the mightiest of the Maiar of Aulë himself standing only a few paces out of reach, his beautiful face awed as well as a touch apologetic. You had not meant to disturb my peace. But so enchanting you had found my voice as you were passing by, you said, that you wished to capture it in one of your creations.

“And so, at your invitation, I began to visit the great forge where the wonders of your mind were brought into being. I was so… shy, I barely dared to address you. But there was such peace in the silences we shared, such ease, that even though we were near perfect strangers, I felt as though we had already spoken every word in the world, and nothing remained to be said of our existence which we had yet to confess to one another most openly.

“You asked me to sing as you shaped metal, as you gave form to wondrous gems. And when I did, you looked at me as though I were the most precious being to have ever breathed in the light of the One. At times, you would forget yourself, and whilst precious materials awaited to be shaped before you, your hands would find mine instead. And they were able to do so with ease, for the more times I joined you in your forge, the closer together we stood.

“But you would not tell me what it was that you meant to craft, shrouding the work of your hands, somehow, from my eyes, even when I looked closely. Only because I let you, though. I knew I could look past the illusion and peek at any moment, but I made a game of it—trying to guess in what manner of adornment you meant to capture my voice. And each time I returned, you would gift me the very jewel I had last guessed, whether wrongly or not. Not the creation you meant to achieve in the end, but lesser ones crafted in my absence, during uninterrupted hours of toil. ‘Lesser’ being but a manner of comparison, for they were the most exquisite I had ever laid eyes upon. But I would have delighted in wearing something as simple as a bracelet made of grassblades, had I known them to have been entwined by your hands.

“On the day your work was finished, my heart was filled with such sorrow thinking our hours together might come to an end. For however plainly our eyes and joined hands had spoken of our feelings, such was my timid nature that I had never dared voice them, and you had never risked bringing offence to my virtue by speaking of yours. Not until you had completed your work, and you finally revealed to me what your end had been from the very beginning. It had not been one jewel you meant to craft, but two. Two splendid rings—neither of power, nor of symbolic importance to any but you and I. With your gifts, you had woven my voice into the gems, and in a way impossible to capture into words, the light reflected upon it shone with the echo of my song. Only then, as you placed one of the pair into my hands, did you confess that you had loved me since the moment you had first heard my voice, and your greatest desire would be for those twin jewels to become the symbols of devotion with which we become wed. Nevertheless, were it not my wish to bind myself to you, the other ring would be mine, to gift, if I should like, to the most fortunate being with whom I would choose to share my soul, whilst you would content yourself to love me from afar, and wish me nothing but the greatest of joy for so long as existence should be. At once I confessed that such a thought was not only absurd, but also too painful to bear—for my heart had been yours since the moment I had laid eyes upon you.

“And so we wed in song and merriment, and we danced under the radiant branches of the Trees, celebrated by your kin and mine alike. We made love in a meadow, soft and slow, and for hours you caressed my skin with petals yielded by a blossom tree in honor of our union. Even that act of passion was somehow so clean. So pure. So...” you search for the right way to describe it, “...wrong.”

It’s as though a spell breaks upon that last, dissonant word. You roll off of your husband, settling onto your side to face him as he does the same. His expression is hard to read, some blend of unease and intrigue in the furrow of his brow.

“For the first time, when the fiction ended, I did not weep,” you tell him, your voice no longer dreamy, but returned to a more familiar fierceness. “For I knew not those beings I had seen. Devoid of purpose, endlessly demure. Light and songs, desire kept secret beneath bashful smiles,” you scoff. “I wanted back the husband that I loved, not some unrecognizable version of him wearing his face. Not some children’s story of infuriating innocence.” With a small shake of your head against the pillow, and a soft, mirthless chuckle, you shift closer into your husband’s arms, both of you adjusting so that you are embracing on your sides. “So, no, my love,” is the answer you ultimately give, “I do not wish for either of us to be anything but what we are, here and now, in body as well as spirit.”

Your husband only hums, deep in thought. He has not said a word since you began to speak, and the longer his silence stretches, the more you begin to wonder whether your confession has displeased him, somehow. Perhaps he does not wish to hear of this romantic scenario your mind had invented, despite its protagonist being but a different version of himself. Or perhaps...

You’ve rarely spoken of what came before. It is a surprise as well as a relief, then, when he does so without seeming too unsettled by the fact that you had alluded to his former self in the first place.

“I was not as you described, indeed,” he murmurs in the end. “Even with my original... disposition, I’d not have hesitated to make my desire known, should I have had any such inclinations towards another. I have always hated a waste of good resources—time is no exception.”

You smile slightly. You know that all too well.

“Nor was I some helpless maiden who shied away from the slightest of amorous attentions,” you assure him. “I doubt it, either way,” you shrug. “I can hardly remember.”

Elven memories do not dim. You do remember what your life before Morgoth was like, but the details of it—the faces, the words spoken, the feelings… those have long been tucked away in a deep corner of your mind, never to be spoken or thought of again. For what use was there to it? That life had been burned away, along with everything you used to be.

“Either way,” you go on, brushing off even the merest thought of that distant past, “it was but a dull fable, conjured by a broken mind. I healed soon after. Reminded myself why I needed to remain sane and strive to do all that I can towards our goal, whether you were to return in a day or a century. Or several,” you add quietly, holding onto your husband just that little bit tighter. His forehead creases with the same deep ache in your chest as he nudges your nose with his.

“Let us not dwell on the past, or things that never were,” he murmurs in his deep, comforting tone. “I am here. And I shall not leave your side again.”

There is still an oddly meditative lilt to his words, a certain sense of wistfulness that does not quite hold the same flavour as the longing you had felt so many times shared between you. But you make no attempt to pry at the sentiment with your mind. Especially as he closes the distance between your lips, kissing you with utmost gentleness.

The kiss deepens, lasts for ages, but remains achingly tender. Utterly disarming. Your legs intertwine, bringing your hips flush together in the tangle. His flesh finds yours, and before long you are joined. There is no power play, no teasing, not even the desperate, nearly pained gasps, wails or groans you so enjoy to wring from one another. Only every inch of him pressed against every inch of you, soft moans melting onto each other’s tongues, the languid pleasure of moving together to an end that envelops you in its warm embrace, leaving you trembling in your husband’s arms and him moaning your name like a most sacred prayer.

In its wake, you are beyond words. All you can do is bury your face in your husband’s chest as he holds you close still, his fingers drawing soft shapes on your skin.

“I’d have made my desire for you known,” he repeats his earlier words in your ear, hushed but fervent, “and I’d never have bowed before Morgoth. For no promise of power could have swayed me to risk your safety. And we’d have stayed servants of the Valar, pure and obedient. It is only as we are now, my love, that we shall be masters of our own fate, and rule above all others.”

You shut your eyes, nuzzle further into his neck, his words sending a shiver through your very soul. This life you have shared is not easy. Not pretty. But in the end, it shall be glorious, better than any other that you might have lived. Truly.

It has to be.

As you drift to sleep, you swear your husband’s caress holds the ghost of a tender petal brushing your skin.

Previous fic with same reader -> As one

Next fic with same reader -> A true gift

[llilychen]

it’s really sad that i always looked forward to rhaenyra and/or alicent scenes last season but i now feel the urge to fast forward every time one of them comes on screen

- every alicent scene is her looking sad or crying or her with cole but nothing she does adds anything of value to the plot

- we get the same black council scene in which the men are undermining rhaenyra twice per episode and still nothing is done (i do believe she will make some progress in the next episodes but it’s just so boring to watch her have the same scene over and over again)

cersei and dany i miss you both so much