#it’s not exactly my FAVOURITE kind of scent gif this time of the year but….it’s tempting.

[poetsblvd]

LOVER BOY ꪆৎ MV1

He grunts pushing open the door to the holiday home he’s rented for both of you, arms laden with heavy bags from his shopping spree for you.

Hermès, Cartier, Chanel, Van Cleef, APM Monaco, you name it he’s got it.

He drops the purchases on the couch and sighs, fuck he’s definitely going to have to make another trip down for the rest of the bags.

Many wouldn’t think of him to be the type to spoil his girlfriend, and while he takes great offence to that statement he somewhat understands where they come from.

He hasn’t quite had long or serious enough relationships for him to grow attached to and dote on his girl, but it’s very different with you.

He’s the first guy you’ve ever been with, at ripe age of twenty-two now and having only dated him for a year, he thinks it incredibly important to spoil you.

You’re everything to him, and he wants you to know exactly how a beautiful, kind and loving woman like you should be treated.

Because god forbid anything ever happen to peel you away from him, he wants you to know that you deserve only the best, because you are the best there is.

And it’s not only materialistic spoiling, oh no no no, you have to be treated well from absolutely all angles.

Including very bare minimum actions that make you feel special, holding the door open for you, never letting you walk on the dangerous side of the road, getting you flowers every week, always listening and giving you his full attention and input during conversations, etc etc.

He doesn’t get to do this nearly as often with both of you living in different countries and having extremely busy work schedules.

So the chances that he does get to spoil you with all he has, he snatches the opportunity greedily like a toddler with candy.

Today was supposed very normal day of vacation, the first week of summer break that you and Max were very lucky to spend together in St Tropez.

Waking up in the morning however and kissing your face silly, he deemed you too beautiful to not have a day for yourself, a very general excuse to simply spoil you and make you happy.

So with a few texts here and there, he dropped you off at the spa to rejuvenate, relax and pamper up for a cute little date night.

Without letting it drop that he was going to buy you a gift, or a hundred.

Bringing him to where he is now.

He arranges the bags neatly in the living room, running back to the driveway and pulling out the final gifts, a stunning Versace gown and your favourite Manolo Blahnik heels for the dinner he has planned.

He runs back in just in time for your cab to roll through, as you smile and wave to the driver.

He struggles for a moment, wondering how to position himself casually, should he lie down? No that’s weird.

Lean on the door? Far too Troy Bolton for him.

Position himself sexily on the presents? Absolutely not you’d laugh too hard and never let him live it down.

“Maaaaax! I’m hoome!” Your greeting has him smiling and he finds himself making long strides to pull you into his arms.

“Hello my love.” He breathes in the flowery scent of your perfume and the softness of your skin. “You look stunning, how do you feel?”

He finds himself momentarily in awe of your smile and nods, impressed when you shove your hands in front of his face showing him the nails you’d decided upon.

“They’re very pretty baby, I really like the blue flowers on them!” He winks at you, pulling your nails closer to his face.

“Really? I’m so glad! The lady over there kept telling me that I should do ombré, and I didn’t know how to tell her that I really hated designs like that, so we finally agreed on— Max!” You gasp, stopping in between your story telling.

“What?” He shrugs innocently.

You gape at the living room filled with shopping bags of varying sizes and colours, shock marring your face. “Oh Max, again?”

His brows furrow. “What do you mean again?”

“I mean, you practically bought me the entirety of Hermès a few months ago? Why on earth would you spend so much money on me again?”

“Five months ago darling!” He leads you to the sofa, kissing your knuckles, and handing you a tiffany blue box.

“I’ve been slacking! And what do you mean on you? What else would I ever spend my money on? it’s yours anyways, everything of mine is yours, especially me.” He settles down cross legged by your feet and keeps pulling boxes and bags towards you.

Placing a hand on his cheek you smile “You really don’t have to do this, I’ve told you so many times I just want you.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want too.” He grips your hand on his cheek and kisses your fingertips.

“I love you.”

“I know, I love you more.” He smiles, squeezing your knee and nodding at you to open your presents.

“Now come on! Gimme a fashion show, I planned this with just enough time before our dinner. I got you these new shoes, oh! And a dress for tonight, but you’re gonna have to choose between this tennis necklace or this Juste un Clou necklace, I liked both so I got you both.”

⋆⭒˚.⋆

love note , ugh this made me feel very single and think of very unreal expectations from men!! thank you for requesting and i hope you liked this <3

[simpingfortheages]

//Test it out//

You know what pineapple does...come on ;) you know...

Ally Mayfair x Fem reader

(FLUFF! SMUT But fluff too...is-is cute ngl)

Reader comes home and sees Ally in bed, one thing leads to another.

Source: mirandascroft (sorry :( idk how to add gifs on tumblr but i still gave credit :)

Long days at the office weighed down on you so much that your shoulders ached and sagged as you walked. The feeling of every muscle in your body screaming for you to lie down, to sit, to do something other than stand. You sloppily toed off your shoes that your wore for 9 hours, leaving them to clatter in a corner. Ally will understand. The cool board floor was heavenly on your sore feet , a cool reminder that Ally probably had the AC on a few hours ago. It seemed as though just by being home it was the remedy you needed.

Tossing the hefty bag from your pained shoulder onto the counter also added to your satisfaction. A smile crept its way upon your lips, just at the idea of not having to touch that laptop bag for the next two days. "Ally?" you called out for you girlfriend. Your girlfriend for 1 year and 10 months to be precise. The best decision you ever made was to walk into that restaurant,"Ally baby?" there was no answer to your reply the first time. The further you walked into the house and made your way into the living room, you already knew that she was passed out in bed. The glass that remained with 1 inch red wine left on the short side table gave you your answer.

With an extra happiness and pep in your step you skipped your way up the stairs, jumping past every 2 steps. If Ally were awake and saw that, she would scold you for setting a bad example for Oz, which luckily for you was away spending the night with one of his schoolmates. As you continued to make your way upstairs, the white door to yours and Ally's bedroom came into view. Trying to stay as quiet as possible you pushed open the door which gave a small creak, you always mentioned to Ally about fixing that, but the brunette refused to get it oiled because she liked hearing when you came home. It was a sweet gesture.

The sight of your girlfriend on the bed that you both shared made your heart swell with love. After all the trauma and terrible things she faced before she became the senator, you made it your number one priority to shower her with all the love and care that she deserved. The floor board groaned softly beneath your naked feet as you tip toed your way to the side of the queen sized bed. There she laid sprawled out on the sheets, wearing your button up flannel shirt, hugging your pillow with one leg hitched upon it. The pillow had a faded scent of the lavender perfume you famously wore. It was Ally's favourite, she said it 'made her feel safe'. You never questioned it so you continued to wear it every day.

The 2 empty bottles situated on your wooden dresser proved that point. Before you keeled down to bestow a kiss on her soft skin, you noticed a small plastic container...was it? noo, she wouldn't. She promised to share. The irresistible smell of the pineapple juice that collected at the bottom of the container was calling you. Without thinking you lifted the container to your lips and drank the remainder of the fruit you both promised to share. You eyes opened wide at the taste of how sweet the pineapple was, after you drank every drop, you rested the bowl back on the night stand.

Apparently the soft thud against the wooden table caused the sleeping senator in the bed to stir awake. As Ally shifted on the bed to turn and face you, the loose buttoned shirt that she wore began to ride up her thighs, allowing her pink underwear to peak through. Ally stopped hugging your pillow and fully rotated her body which made her shirt move even more to reveal that your girlfriend wore no bra. She was everything that you loved, the perfect woman and person whom you wish to spend the rest of your life with. Her brown eyes slowly began to open but it wasn't opened all the way, with eyes still filled with sleep Ally squinted at you as a small smile adorned her face.

"hi baby.." her voice was soft and raspy from now waking up but it was filled with glee. " hi baby" you replied with happiness in yours. Ally sat up on the bed and neatly folded her legs as she outstretched her hands for a hug. You didn't move, instead you shot her a toothy grin and narrowed your eyes at her in a joking manner. "Where's my share Al?" the adorable look of realization that dawned on Ally's face as she turned her head to look at the empty container. "OH baby, I am sorry, it was just really sweet. It was one of the sweetest ones you brought home" she pouted her bottom lip and gave you puppy eyes.

Of course you fell for it. You playfully rolled your eyes as you shrugged off your work jacket, and threw it on the chair that already had clothes from previous work days,"Well Ms Mayfair, your going to have to pay me back for that." Ally quirked an eyebrow at your sudden statement and flopped her hand down on the bed with a loud huff, "well y/n I can buy you back one tomorrow." you shook your head 'no' at her way to rectifying the situation. You knew she was a little salty now from the lack of attention she was receiving. Usually you'd shower her in kisses and take the hug that she offered when you came home, however you had another plan in store. Ally furrowed her eyebrows,"well how to make it back up to you?". You knew exactly how she could repay you.

After you removed most of your work clothes you were standing at the bedside in only your shirt with a cute fuming Ally in the bed."Don't look at me like that. You ate all the pineapple that YOU promised we'd share, I came home all excited to eat it." Ally scoffed loudly at your reply, her eyebrows went up in shock,"So that's ALLLLL you came home excited for y/n?" she threw her hands up in frustration."Yes Ally. I did" at this point the senator folded her arms tightly against her chest staring daggers at you with an annoyed look plastered on her face.

"omg Ally of course I am kidding, I came home for YOUUU toooo.." you jumped on the bed and lovingly wrapped your arms around her. To make up for rejecting her hug from before you showered her with kisses all over her pouted lips, and face. Ally's fake being angry demeanor broke when your lips trailed to her neck. She always giggled when you kissed there , she was ticklish. It was one of the things your adored and did quite often to get a reaction out of her. "Y/N Stopp!!" Ally laughed uncontrollably, she pressed the heels of her palm into your chest to try and push you off, but you were relentless."Are you ready to pay me back now?" you pulled away to allow her to catch her breathe.

"wa-wait so...so the tickle attack wasn't the payback?" Ally spoke through her struggle to regulate her breathing." NO way, you owe me big time sooo..." you stopped mid sentence to make sure she was listening to you."SOO what y/n? you know I don't like being left in suspense" you playfully rolled your eyes at her impatience,"SOooo.. you remembered that article that we read and thought was a lie?" you said watching the small gears turn in Ally's head. When she realized what you meant, a pink blush crept it's way onto her chest and face.

"I mean you do owe me baby."you continued to plant more kisses atop her flushed skin, however this time it was slow and filled with a sensual intent. Ally craned her neck to the side to expose more of her skin for you to place your lips upon,"I- i'd like to try that" the way that she stuttered her words were heavenly, you knew you had her where you wanted.When you reached her pulse point you bite down roughly and sucked at the area until you were sure that blood rushed to the surface. You usually weren't allowed to leave hickies on her since she had work, but due to her winning the last election she had gotten a lot more time off to relax and that meant staying home a little longer with you.

Ally laced her hands through your hair as you marked her beautiful skin, while she pulled at your roots for every bite you made. An almost silent whimper escaped Ally's lips, a small indication that she wanted more. Over the months of being together you learnt the little signs she gave when she wanted something. One of the ways being the way she would begin to chew on her nails when she is hungry or the way that she would start to clean when she is stressed, you learned Ally inside out and you loved every inch of her.

With every kiss you bestowed upon her soft skin, you whispered a small ' i love you'. It was soft but Ally was close enough to hear every word. She cherished these moments with you, the way you managed to make every second with her something special and memorable. It was something she held dearly to her heart. As you trailed your lips lower and lower, the coldness in the room made her skin pebbled, the hairs on her body stood up as well with the more kisses you left on her. Touching and caressing every freckle that beautified her body. She was a walking masterpiece indeed. And she was yours.

Watching at how cute and desperately her hips bucked for your attention, you adorned her inner thighs with more kisses, spitefully skipping past the area you knew she needed you the most."Please y/n, I needed you since before you came ho-home. I didn't even try anything" her words invoked a fire within you, a fire fueled with desire and passion to please your girlfriend. Especially since she held back for so long. Out of the kindness in your heart, you decided to skip the foreplay and get right to it. Immediately you wrapped your plump lips around her pink bundle of nerves, sucking in sharp bursts to invoke more pleasure. Your girlfriend threw her head back against the pillows below as she laced and entangled her hands into your hair.

Words mixed of profanity and your name were continuously being moaned and whimpered from Ally's mouth. Hearing her curse shot straight heat to your own core. It was sexy, Ally never used words like that even in anger when Ozzy was around. Thank God he wasn't, you silently thanked the universe."oh Yes Y/n Suck it suck it suck it.." her lewd comments caused the flaem inside of you to burn brighter. You softly kitten licked at her clit, bringing your tongue's attention to the dripping arousal that was caused by you. Slipping your tongue pain stalking slow through her swollen pink folds, to gather and collect the sweet arousal you've been waiting to taste for so long. Ally's nails scrapped along your scalp from the sensation of your tongue.

She was basically dripping honey. The aroma.The taste...all of it was addictive and you couldn't get enough. As you lapped at her cunt, the senator, whose legs you were currently between,were clamping down on your head.It'd really be the best way to go out. But you were far from finished."Ally...we seem to have a problem." you spoke from between her legs, your girlfriend parted her legs and looked at you with worry,"what's the problem?".

"It's just that you taste sweeter than the pineapple." the blood rushed to Ally's cheek making her blush."And why's that bad?" she questioned."It's just that I can't get enough.." you smirked in reply as you returned your head to her dripping core. Taking your middle and ring finger, you ran it up her slit to gather her arousal.As you did so, you toyed at her dripping entrance causing Ally to whimper once more, having teased her enough, you plunged your fingers into her pussy.

Immediately her back arched off the bed, the weak springs in the bed creaked as your woman moved in pleasure. Her head twisting and turning on the pillow. Never stopping from moving inside her, you curled your fingers, grazing and caressing her g spot. She was pulling you in, her warm tight muscles begging for more of you as her arousal dripped down your hand. You loved every moment of this."Faster y/n ...fas-" her second orgasm stopped her mid sentence overtaken by loud moans. Hands fisting and gathering your hair in her palms as her eyes rolled to the back of her head, her head was empty of everything else but your name which she yelled till high heaven.

Your eyes locked onto her pussy, watching as her sensitive entrance fluttered trying to regain normalcy. You couldn't just lay between her legs watching her delicious essence drip onto the sex stained sheet. Ally was tired from her two highs that she had in a row, but she didn't know you intended to collect the rest of her."Ahh shit y/n baby please- please I can't" she felt you softly lick her, she was now pushing your head away from her center.

Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes as she pleaded, it was the most intense orgasm she has had in a while. Looking up at her you smiled and complied to the words of your girlfriend."Very well baby." You missed moments and times like this, just you and her. Usually after sex she would be off scurrying to finish off some work instead of laying beside you. "Next time you'll get to eat the pineapple. I wanna try it.." Ally spoke seductively yet there was a hint of sleepiness in her voice. You turned your head and took in her disheveled state. Only you got to see the pristine and up tight Ally Mayfair like this... you were lucky and grateful for her.

Your girlfriend shot you a small wink before getting off of the bed and making her way to the bathroom, giving you a full view of her plump naked ass. Swaying her hips as she walked away. That was all yours, and you planned to make it so. The diamond ring tucked away behind your clothes in your dresser held that promise...

[nmikaelsonimagines]

Wild and Young: A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

So, it recently occurred to me that I’ve never written an imagine based on a song by my favourite band of all time, McFly, and so I decided to pick my current favourite song of theirs and do exactly that. Hope this is okay for you lovelies, and enjoy x

Want to hear the song? Find a link to it just below:

Wild and Young

Sunset drinking, laid out in the field Where we both grew up And we drank too much

Y/N looked at the canvas in front of her, the blend of reds and oranges that covered it from corner to corner. It mirrored the sunset she had seen only the night before, one that illuminated the outline of the man who stood on the balcony of the Mikaelson compound, a glass of Bourbon in his hand. 

She clutched at her own mug, the sleeves of that man’s shirt extending past her knuckles. The man to whom she referred was an artist, the painter of the sunset on the easel, someone with an eye for beauty, for colours to merge and contrast in the right way. 

She had always known that about him, since the moment she had met him a thousand years ago, bumping into him and falling to the ground. One look into eyes of deep blue, and she had fallen in love too. 

It had been one hell of a millennium, feelings never acted on, instead choosing to be with other people, but now things had come to a head, and neither of them had been able to contain those feelings much longer. Friends became bedfellows, bedfellows transformed into lovers, lovers remained as soulmates. 

Y/N heard the rustle of bed sheets, the artist having awoken from his slumber.

Closing time, getting thrown out of pubs We weren't old enough But it didn't stop us

The artist opened his eyes, expecting to see a delicate figure beside him. But as he reached for her, to pull her back into his side, he found only air, an imprint of the woman who would now share his bed for the rest of eternity. 

For a moment, he greeted fear and paranoia as old friends, but then the sound of muffled footsteps pushed them away. The artist pushed himself into a sitting position, the bed covers slipping and exposing his torso. He noticed the freshly poured glass of crimson next to him, smiling as he saw the note next to it written in her hand, wishing him a good morning. 

He tried not to dwell on the fact that he could have had this for so much longer, could have spent the past millennium waking up to her and her gestures had he only acted sooner. But he had been young, inexperienced, falling in lust rather than love. 

Not that he hadn’t had his fun with her, his partner in crime, as time had passed before them. It had been a different kind of fun last night, and he remembered kissing her on the balcony, the intoxication of alcohol a welcome guest as they lost themselves in each other. 

The artist remembered how she said his name, how it rolled off her tongue as she spoke. “I love you, Klaus Mikaelson.”

Nothing would stop him from saying it back.

Loving you Was never a choice When I hear your voice, the rest is background noise

Y/N walked back into the bedroom, her hands still clutched around her mug, Klaus’s shirt ending midway down her thighs. She studied him as he smiled at her, the dark lines of the tattoo on his chest. She remembered how she had kissed each shape of it, her lips hovering over the heart that belonged to her. 

She had never had a choice when it came to him, would have ended up falling for him eventually. It was destiny, fate, two souls intertwining until they became one. 

New Orleans was already awake, the sound of jazz filling the room through the open window, the utterances of citizens who were so oblivious to the monsters that strolled through their city, to the two that had woken up enveloped in the scent of each other. But Y/N heard none of it as Klaus spoke. “Good morning.”

Each note of his voice slid over her skin, working its way down her spine. She took a sip from her cup as she walked over to him, and placed it on the bedside table, next to the note she had left him when she woke up. 

She sat next to Klaus, her legs dangling off the side of the bed, staring at her artist who was truly a work of art.

And if they hate on us We'll leave 'em in the dust

Klaus looked at Y/N sat next to him, studying her as he did every moment he was with her. She really was beautiful, a work of art that even he would never be able to give justice to. It was pleasantly frustrating every time he tried to paint her, a challenge that he welcomed with open arms. 

He had always enjoyed challenges, and had endured most of them with Y/N by his side over the years, leaving their enemies in the dust as they worked as a team. There was something different about the way they vanquished those enemies now, the bond between them brighter and stronger than it ever had been before. 

Klaus threaded his fingers through Y/N’s, feeling the fragility of her skin, the sparks of electricity that skidded over his own as she touched him. His shirt sleeves hung over her knuckles, and with his other hand, he pulled the cuff back, before bringing their clasped hands up to his lips. 

“Good morning to you too,” she said as he kissed her hand, inhaling her natural perfume. He let go, shifting to the other side of the bed, the bed covers moving again. He grinned when Y/N laid back, her head in his lap, the hem of his shirt rising ever so slightly.

You to me are everything I could ever want We're wild and we're young

Y/N sighed contentedly as she felt Klaus’s fingers in her hair, affectionate strokes working through the tangles that sleep had left behind. She looked up at him, at those deep blue eyes staring down at her with nothing but love, and realised that if she ever wanted time to freeze, it would be in this moment here. 

It was his eyes that made her heart race, the ability for them to seem so full of wisdom and experience and yet, so wild, so fierce, so fiery all at the same time. She remembered the way he had looked at her last night on the balcony, cobalt orbs emphasising the desire that lay hidden in the hybrid’s soul. It seemed bizarre that two beings as old as they were could have the same feelings as teenagers, still trying to figure out what to do, how to navigate the feelings that came with youth. 

But Y/N knew what to do, what she wanted. She knew that it came in the form of Klaus Mikaelson, and that it always would. She had told him that in her touches, told him now as she reached up and gently trailed a finger down his cheek, her fingertip brushing over his stubble. 

He caught her wrist, pretending to nip at her skin, before dropping it back on the bed.

Thе sun shines down on the both of us Two hearts bеating as one We're wild and we're young

Klaus could feel the sun entering the room, the heat falling onto his skin as he kept his hair tangled in Y/N’s hair. Every so often, his gaze fell to the inch of her collarbone on show, the wilder parts of him wanting to run his teeth along it as he had the previous night. 

Instead, he listened to the sound of her heartbeat, slow but still there, reminding him that she was real, not just a figment of his imagination. They had found each other, after so long apart, so long wandering and looking for something that was right in front of them all this time. 

He had met her a thousand years ago, but it had taken him longer to find her, to realise that they were the same, that nothing would ever change that. He looked down into the eyes that stared up at him, more colours than his artist’s palette expressing her affection for him. She spoke, the sound of her voice more musical than anything the city had to offer. “When are you going to finish it? The painting of the sunset?”

Klaus smiled, imagining how, perhaps later in the day, she would wrap her arms around him from behind as he painted the two silhouetted figures that he had in mind. He let her sit up, her face inches from his as he spoke. “When we’re in it.”

Oh, believe me when I say it's all I ever want We're wild and young

Y/N watched a few hours later as her artist painted. She watched the movement of his shoulder blades from behind, the way the material of his shirt shifted as he produced line after line of beauty. From over his shoulder, she could see a black outline cutting through the reds and oranges from that morning, and smiled at what she knew it would become. 

It was something she had done countless times before, one the artist would be expecting, but she couldn’t help herself as she walked over to him, wrapping her arm around his waist and placing her head on his shoulder. 

He froze, paintbrush poised in his hand as he tilted his head towards her, a smile on his face. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful.” She kissed his cheek, letting her lips linger against his skin, savouring the taste of her greatest desire, her greatest love. This was everything she had ever wanted, everything she would ever want, she thought to herself, as her artist twisted in her grip. 

His lips captured hers, his hands sliding up her neck and into her hair. The tranquility of the moment transformed into something else, a ferocity that was surely part of daily life by now. A wildness that no immortal could ever contain. 

One Y/N and Klaus never would.

Masterlist

[rentsturner]

Shirt | Obi Wan Kenobi

‘oh my god if u do #3 from the fluff list with obi i think i might combust’ / @alideetoo

3 - ‘’Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?”

warnings: Modern!AU obi wan, reader overthinking and stressing a little, kissing

a/n: just cute fluff involving obi’s fav shirt. Hope you enjoy (love u @alideetoo ) THANK YOU @profkenobi FOR HELPING ME WITH THE ENDING YOURE THE BEST

wc: 1.4k

It was the first day off work that you’d had in a long time, and god knows how much you needed it. Finally a day where you could sit back and relax, no need to do any work, no matter how much you felt like you needed to. No chores, no cooking (you’d ordered in a pizza just to fully embrace the day), only relaxing. Obi was out at work, so you were well and truly home alone.

So you’d settled into bed, catching up on some Netflix shows until you got bored and tried to nap.

But something wasn’t right. You couldn’t let yourself relax, no matter how hard you tried. Something was always nagging at the back of your mind - an unopened email that was begging to be read, maybe you could just add one more paragraph to that unfinished essay, this time could be much better spent doing a little extra research. It was giving you a headache. No, you told yourself. Relax.

You looked around, needing to find something to calm yourself down and take your mind off everything, a stressball maybe or a colouring book or -

There it was, hanging from the top of the wardrobe in the corner, in all its glory. Obi Wan’s shirt. Red and black flannel, worn from use and slightly frayed at the seams. You touched the sleeve, slightly too long for you but perfect for Obi, fitting his strong arms so well. The fabric was so soft, softer than any of your shirts by far. It looked so warm, so cozy... so Obi Wan. The shirt slides easily off its hanger and you bury your face in it, breathing in its scent. It smelled so like him, even when Obi washed it, that faint scent of sandalwood and cinnamon still remained. It was intoxicating, immediately bringing back happy memories for you.

You pulled the fabric over your shoulders, tugging the sleeves down and wrapping it tightly around you. Obi is so much broader around the shoulders than you, the shirt practically hangs off your frame, but you were right, it’s warm and its cosy and it feels like home, more than your apartment itself.

It’s easy to relax now that you have the shirt, especially as the evening brings in the cold sting of winter. You’re glad to wrap the soft flannel around you, savouring the way it feels against your skin, keeping you warm and comfortable.

A few hours later, you hear the front door shutting, a familiar click, then some rustling as Obi discards his coat (and tie probably - he hates those things), a jingle as his keys are thrown into the bowl.

“Love, I’m home!” There’s a shout as footsteps approach the bedroom door, Obi Wan sounding surprisingly cheerful considering the long day he’s spent at work. Obviously in a good mood.

You’re stretched out on the bed, flipping through a worn paperback. This must be at least the fourth time that you’ve read it in the last few years, but the pages always seem to call you back and you’re sucked easily right back into the story every time, without fail.

The door creaks open to reveal a smiling Obi Wan. His hair is tousled, like he’s just ran his hands through it, messing it up on purpose. He’s rubbing over his jaw and down his neck with one hand, pushing the collar of his shirt open (you were right - tie has been discarded and top button hastily undone). He looks a little tired, but still positively gorgeous. It still took your breath away when you saw him sometimes, even after all these years.

He leans playfully against the doorframe, looking you up and down, arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up past his elbows.

His eyebrow is quirked up, a smirk growing on his face as he takes in your outfit. He doesn’t say anything else, just waits for you to give in. Teasing, as always.

He’s like this when he’s with you. Quietly determined at work, never drawing too much attention to himself, but when he’s at home with you, Obi Wan is a real devil. Teasing, joking, anything to have your attention on him. He knows he has you wrapped around his little finger, just as he is (happily) wrapped around yours.

After a few moments of playful tension, you give in.

“What’re you looking at?” You know exactly what he’s looking at.

Obi Wan takes a step forward, out of the doorway, towards the bed, hand lifting to gesture in your direction.

“Is that my shirt, darling?”

He’s still fucking smirking. well if he’s going to tease, then it’s only fair if you do too.

“You mean our shirt?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just chuckles and brings one hand up to stroke his beard, scratching at his jawline before smoothing the short hair back down.

“That’s my favourite shirt.”

“I know. It’s my favourite too. Hence why I’m wearing it.” Obi’s eyes are locked on yours and you can tell he’s enjoying himself, playing this little game with you, his eyes bright and twinkling with mischief.

“Well then. I suppose we’ll have to find a compromise, darling.” The devilish smirk on his face suggests that he has some kind of plan in store - Obi Wan was never without a plan, that was for sure. Always devising and calculating, always prepared. He scratches his chin, other arm still crossed across his chest - you quickly recognised his ‘scheming pose’, as he affectionately called it.

“You may wear it for tonight. But first I have to get something out of the pocket.”

Now you were confused. The shirt was no heavier than normal fabric - you were almost sure that the one front pocket was empty. What was he talking about? You stood up, feeling at the pocket as you moved.

“What? There’s nothing here, Obi.”

“Here. Just let me-“

He moved a few steps closer and suddenly the sandalwood and cinnamon scent doubled in intensity, clear blue eyes so close to yours, those long eyelashes framing them so beautifully. A hand slowly moved up your side, stroking gently until it reached the chest pocket of the shirt. Obi’s hand slipped inside, searching the corners of the pocket for...whatever it was he was looking for. You’d have to wait and see.

“Where is it, I can’t seem to...” He was making a big show of this, whatever his plan was, his brows practically touching as he feigned a face of deep concentration.

“Ah! Here it is.” His face lights up in equal intensity as the last expression and you can’t help but smile at the sight of him, so overdramatic, so present, so Obi Wan.

He brings his fingers out of the shirt, holding them up to you, as if to show you what he’s found - but there’s nothing there.

You look at Obi quizzically, confusion obvious on your face.

He smiles. Not a smirk. Just a smile.

“A left over smooch. Just for you.”

And as the warmth begins to blossom deep on your stomach and bubble up inside of you, he brings his fingers tenderly to his lips, leaving them there for a moment before moving even closer to you. You smile as he moves in, kissing you gently and slowly, savouring every second. You bring your hand to the back of his neck, rubbing your thumb over the soft hair there and pulling him in closer, your Obi Wan.

When you finally pull away, the sheepish smile on Obi’s face is the first thing you see.

“Did you like my joke, darling?”

“I loved it, Obi.” You smile. It had been very cute, to be fair to him, very clever. But a little more teasing wouldn’t hurt. “But I’m afraid I’ll be keeping the shirt.”

~*~*~*~

THE LEFT OVER SMOOCH WAS BRIT’S IDEA SHES A GENIUS OK SO EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU BRIT

Obi tags: @ohhellokenobi @doublesunsets @karasong @callmearwen @jangohshit @rosionis @profkenobi @stardancerluv @goldenkenobi @fenharel-enaste @filthybookworm @weirdfangirl2416 @a-seeker-of-imagination @saintlaurentkenobi @justanotherpadawan @hawkerz12 @xxinvisiblexx @million-dollar-legs @imafatassmess @i-am-i-am-obiwankenobi @letmybabysleep @junkieboyfriend @Fishswimbetterunderwater @katsav17 @haydens-moles @princessxkenobi @chogisss @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @ewansblve @marvelinsanity @pete-is-fanatic @agent-catfish-kenobi @star-whores-a-new-hoe @darlingkenobi

[free-pool-trash]

talking too fast - peter maximoff

this is my first peter maximoff fic, i actually really liked writing for him and i wouldn’t mind doing some more for him and maybe even warren if you guys would want that? idk this blog is kinda dead rn but i liked this request/idea a lot so show it some love if you like it <3

comments and reblogs are appreciated  <3

Request: Can you do like fake dating that end up in real love or something idk big cliché for our speedy boy. 'cause why tf not ksjdjdn

Word count: 3.7K (Jesus ok)

warning(s): swearing(it’s me, are we shocked? no), kinda angsty tbh, everyones a lil insecure but don’t worry it’s happy to end :)

(gifs not mine! he’s so cute oh my)

Peter Maximoff always had a tendency to go fast. That much could be seen in literally everything about him. The way he moved, the way he thought and if he was excited enough or angry enough, the way he spoke. You, of course, figured all of this out the hard way.  

It had started out innocently enough, some of the younger guys, mainly Scott, had made fun of Peter for not having a girlfriend, Peter, in response to the teasing told them that he did. He definitely didn't, but they didn't need to know that. And that's how you found yourself in your current predicament.

Peter was sprawled out on your bed, his legs hanging off the foot of the bed as he whined, “(Y/n) please! I need to prove I have a hot girlfriend!" 

Not looking up from the work you were doing at your desk, you laughed at him, "But Pete, you don't have a hot girlfriend."

The silver haired boy sighed audibly, lifting himself to sit up on your bed, at the same moment you spun around in your seat to face him.

"Nooooo…" He drew out and you shook your head in agreement, "No." You confirmed.

"But!" Peter shouted, pointing an accusing finger at you, a cheeky grin on his lips and his dimples peaking through.

"I do have a hot best friend!" He stated, wiggling his eyebrows at you, his grin turning pleading.

Peter was your best friend, ever since he'd joined the school of mutants he immediately became your favourite person and soon enough he'd claimed your best friend position. And vice versa.

You knew him better than he knew himself. So you also knew exactly what he was suggesting and you wouldn't lie and say that you never entertained the idea of being in a relationship with your doe eyed best friend, because you have, you've thought about it, you've thought about it way too much. 

For that reason you shook your head furiously at what he was insinuating, "Pete, no." 

He huffed, jumping off the bed and speeding infront of you, his eyes boring into yours. 

"Come on, sweetheart! It's not like we don't act like we're dating already, it's foolproof!" He reasoned and you couldn't dispute that you and Peter did act like a couple, and often got mistaken as already being a couple.

But still, you just couldn't put yourself through that sort of emotional stress, you wouldn't do it for a total stranger so you definitely wouldn't do it for your best friend who you've been harboring a huge crush on for the bones of a year. 

The risks it posed for your heart and your friendship with the speedster were just too high.

You couldn't help the laugh that fell from your throat as you watched Peter Maximoff, king of pranks and master of meaningless flirtations literally graveling on his knees in front of the chair you were sitting on. 

"Peter just because we cuddle in the common room and you call me 'sweetheart' sometimes does not mean we act like a couple."  right?

You told him only to be met by a frustrated whine, "Come on! I'm begging you! Just for like a week! Just to prove that I can get a hot girl to date me!" 

You stayed silent, looking at him expressionlessly. Don't give in.

"Please!" He pressed again. Don't.

"Pretty please! Hey, I'll even let you set the ground rules??? Huh???" He tried to persuade you, although he was speeding through every word he said, if you weren't used to him you probably wouldn't have caught half of what he was saying.

Don't. Fucking. Do. It.

His hands grabbed yours as he pulled you both up into standing position, he held your hands softly and gave you the puppy dog eyes that he knew always made you almost melt before releasing a final pleading, "Please?" 

Furrowing your eyebrows you let out the most dramatic sigh you could muster, but you couldn't hide the small smile growing on your lips "Fine, but you owe me." 

You're a fucking idiot. You scolded yourself silently. But how could you ever say no when he looks at you like you're the answer to everything? God you were more screwed than you thought.

"Yes! God I love my girlfriend!" He told you excitedly, pulling you in for a tight hug and kissing your cheek.

When Peter left your room that night your head was spinning and you couldn't be sure how things would go tomorrow.

Maybe you were overthinking it? You'd hold his hand for a few minutes and try and convince a bunch of sixteen years olds that your best friend could successfully obtain a girlfriend and then that would be it. But did you really want that to be it? No, you wanted more, but that you already knew. 

You'd set some ground rules with Peter to "protect the sanctity of our friendship" to which he'd laughed, but in reality the rules were to protect you from your own feelings.

Rule 1) No Kissing on the lips unless absolutely necessary

Rule 2) The lie would only be told to the students and not any of your colleagues (because you knew Peter's first stop would be rubbing your fake relationship in Warren Worthington III's face, they had some kind of light-hearted competition going on, you don't really know what it's about but you made it very clear to your best friend that you wanted no part in it.)

Rule 3) Peter cannot make comments about your fake sex life 

Rule 4) You had to wear an item of Peter's clothing to, in his words, "really sell the story."

And the final rule was, of course, no telling anybody it wasn't real.

The next day you and Peter walked hand and hand toward the common room where you could already hear Scott, Kurt, Jubilee and Jean chatting and having fun.

"You're so immature you know that, babe" You whisper quietly to your "boyfriend" while bumping his shoulders with your own which was clad in the material of his silver jacket. 

Abiding by the rules was all you were doing, you definitely weren't enjoying the way the sleeves were slightly too long so they covered your hands as far as your knuckles, or the way his scent covered you, that cologne he always wore which you happened to love the smell of and you definitely weren't enjoying the fact that despite the jacket being about two sizes too big for you it seemed to just fit. No, definitely not, you were just following Peter's rule.

He only laughed, "What's immature about wanting to show off my beautiful, stunning, hot, loving, smart, talented-" 

You had to cut him off before he could say the word "girlfriend" because you weren't his girlfriend, and hearing it would surely make you want to cry, right there in the hallway.

"Alright Romeo, I've already agreed to your babyish plan to psych out some teenagers, you don't have to butter me up."

As you entered the common room, Peter's face broke into a mischievous grin and you had a deep feeling in your stomach that this little show was going to go way too far. Hoping that this wouldn't be the end of your little show wasn't serving you very well at the moment.

You were absolutely screwed.

"Hey, nerds." Peter called out, pulling you into the room slightly behind him.

"Seriously, Maximoff? (Y/n)?" Scott asked as soon as he noticed your linked hands, his voice was disbelieving, you were a little offended honestly.

What's wrong with me? You wondered, if a pubescent sixteen year old boy could find faults in you maybe Peter was seeing the same things? Maybe that's why he doesn't really want you to be his girlfriend.

It seemed Peter noticed your panicked train of thought as he let go of your hand and wrapped an arm around your shoulder protectively, "What's that supposed to mean, Summers?"  

One of the things you loved about Peter was that he always defended you, even if you don't need defending he always has your back. But now wasn't the time to think about that, you could obsess about the feelings you so desperately try to hide for him later.

Noticing the growing irritation between the older 'couple' Scott shook his head, "No, nothing! (Y/n)'s hot, it's just, you two definitely aren't a thing."

At least they don't think I'm ugly, I guess.

 He stated, crossing his arms as the other teens nodded in agreement. All except Jean who was looking at you suspiciously.

"Why not?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow. 

As the two boys entered what was essentially a pissing contest about how Peter couldn't handle you which turned into how Scott couldn't handle Jean and as it went on and on, Jean entered your head.

'You're not really dating are you?' she asked you, something hiding in her voice, a question within a question, there was something more she wanted to say.

'Why's me and Peter being together so hard to believe?' You asked her in response, sure Jean was a telepath but you've mastered the art of manipulating what she could see when she peaked in your mind, which is probably why she was so confused.

Not that you really had anything to hide from her, what you felt for the man arguing with the teen in the middle of the common room was genuine and authentic, but better safe than sorry.

'It's just… Don't you think you could do a little better?" She pushed and then you understood that had been what she really wanted to ask in the first place.

The question made you angry, how quick they were to lessen Peter's worth. This wasn't just an issue with the younger X-Men, but with the older ones too. It seemed that nobody could appreciate Peter Maximoff for the amazing person and mutant that he is. You knew it made him insecure, he'd confided in you on so many different occasions about his self worth and because of this you'd developed a need to throw hands with anyone that treated him like a joke.

He saw himself as a loser, so he let people treat him like one.

Before you could respond to Jean's question you were interrupted by Peter whining in your ear, "Baaaaaabe, tell these guys we're together!" 

Letting out a sigh to calm yourself, hiding your angry string of thoughts from Jean was exhausting, you let a small smile settle over your face and wrapped both your arms around Peter's middle, if they wanted a show you'd give them one.

"Okay kids, Peter and I are dating, we have been for the past while. We didn't say anything because we wanted to keep it on the down low but since it's out there now, yes, we are in fact, a couple." You confirmed, confidence clear in your voice, you were asserting the facts.

Peter nodded in agreement, a smug smile on his face, he looked so proud to call you his girlfriend and you felt a pang in your chest when you reminded yourself that it was only for show.

"How'd he manage to get a girl like you though? I don't get it." Scott piped up again and you couldn't hide the exhausted expression that crossed your face.

It got to Peter, the blatant disbelief towards him, you could tell his face fell ever so slightly before he regained his composure. So you squeezed him a little tighter.

"Well, he's sweet, he's caring, he's loyal, he knows me pretty much better than I know myself, he makes me smile and laugh, he knows exactly what to do when I'm sad and sure, sometimes he can be a little much and a huge pain in the ass but it's worth it." You told the group, squeezing Peter with every word you said, smiling at the little "hey" he let out when you called him a pain in the ass, the way he was looking down at you was so pure and loving that you completely forgot to remind yourself that it was just make believe.

Your description of your fake-but-wish-it-was-real-boyfriend received an "aww" from Jubilee and a smile from Kurt, Jean and Scott however, still looked apprehensive.

Keeping the red head out of your business was giving you a headache.

"Prove it." Scott challenged as you and Peter looked at each other in confusion, how were you supposed to prove it? These kids sure were ballsy.

"Kiss." Jean added and you couldn't physically stop your eyes from rolling and your lips from forming a smirk.

You were about to break your biggest rule, but you didn't care. The whole interaction with the teens had brought Peter's self-esteem way down and you could predict he'd be crying on your shoulder because of it later on tonight. You weren't going to deny him a kiss and you absolutely weren't going to embarrass him in front of Scott fucking Summers.

"Ok." You removed your arms from around Peter's middle and brought one hand to his cheek and let the other tangle in his Silver hair, he didn't miss a beat, immediately he pulled you flush against him and placed his hands on your hips, his movements were deliberate as if he'd been imagining kissing you for as long as you'd been imagining kissing him. You pushed that thought away, the truth that he didn't think about you that way hurt too much.

His lips met yours and you could've sworn you felt sparks flying from where your lips connected. The kiss was short but it was passionate and really, really, really good. His lips were chapped but soft and the way that they moved in sync with your own sent your head spinning and your heart flipping.

When you pulled away, Peter's lips chased yours and you giggled as he placed pecks on your lips multiple times before he finally allowed you to push him away.

If you weren't so caught up in the moment you would've cried, that was everything you've been wanting for so long, but it wasn't real. You didn't think about it though, it would get a chance to bring a tear to your eye later. When you're alone.

"Alright you're dating, Jesus, get a room." Scott scowled as he scrunched up his face in disgust at the display of affection he and his own girlfriend had demanded.

Laughing, you grabbed Peter's hand in yours and began walking back towards his room, you didn't feel like answering any more awkward questions and you needed a minute to recover from Jean's constant attempts to get into your subconscious.

Once you'd both entered Peter's room and shut the door behind you, you finally let your guard down with a loud sigh, flopping down on Peter's bed and throwing an arm across your eyes to block out the light.

"Jean's mind poking really is relentless huh?" Peter said, flopping down beside you. 

"Tell me about it. She's persistent as fuck." You laughed, turning your head to look at Peter, who was already looking at you.

"That no kissing rule didn't last too long, couldn't resist?" Peter asked jokingly but you could tell that he wanted to know what caused you to abandon your number one rule.

Chewing on your cheek, you debated on whether or not you should spill all or just tell him what he needed to know at this moment in time. Going this the latter you sighed again.

"They were being assholes, I wasn't gonna embarrass you by saying no, was I?" Peter's smile was soft but it didn't reach his eyes, your voice was quiet when you added, "Besides, you looked like you needed a kiss."

His face was now turned to the ceiling with a thoughtful look adorning his features. 

As you both laid side-by-side on the unmade double bed, close enough that your arms were touching but not close enough for your fingers to be intertwined, you, a hopeless romantic, hopelessly falling for your best friend as you wear his favorite jacket and lay on his bed. And Peter who looked like he was trying to figure out the universe's greatest mystery. As you laid with each other, a heavy silence settled over you both, until Peter turned his face back to you, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Can I ask you something, (Y/n)?" Nodding wordlessly, you turned your entire body to face him, so that you were laying on your side.

"Am I really that bad?" He asked, his brown eyes staring into yours.

"What do you mean?" You asked him, you knew where this conversation was about to go, but he had a lot to say and you wanted to let him let it all out.

"All those guys back there, they didn't think I could really be your boyfriend… and hey they're probably right, you could do better. But is it really that unbelievable that someone could love me?" His last question came out cracked and tears filled his chestnut eyes.

Your own eyebrows furrowed now, you put your hand on his face and brushed the tear that slipped from his eye away. "No, Pete. What's unbelievable to me is that people can't see how fucking incredible you are." You told him, your emotions coming through in your voice, anger and sadness taking over.

"No," Peter shook his head, again returning his face to look at the ceiling before he went on, "they're right, I couldn't get a girl, especially not one like you."

That hurt, you have to admit that it hurt you so bad to hear him talk so badly about himself but what hurt most was the fact that Peter didn't want a girl that was you, no, just one that was like you.

"You have a girl like me, Pete." You reminded him sadly, turning your own face to the ceiling.

Who knew one outing as a fake couple would be all it took to make you fall apart? You did, you knew from the beginning.

Peter was upset, it was obvious by the way he spoke next, too fast and before he thought.

"No, I don't, not really. You're this incredible, pretty girl. You're talented and your mutation is useful and everyone loves you! I'm just this loser who people don't take seriously and pretty soon you're going to realize that and just leave like everyone else." 

The pit of your stomach has never felt so deep before, it was so clear to you now, in his voice, it was there, he didn't trust you to stay. And that fact hurt more than any heartbreak of rejection ever could.

Sitting up on the bed, you looked down at him, fighting the tears that were attempting to gather in your eyes.

"I know you're not a loser, Peter. I know you're incredible and talented and maybe the best friend I've ever had. But if you think I'm shallow enough to leave you behind, for some preppy asshole, you really don't trust me as much as I trust you." You finished, tears falling freely as you got off of the bed and made your way toward the door before he sped infront of you, standing between you and the door.

His eyes were wide, like a deer caught in headlights, "That's not what I meant to say!" 

You didn't say anything, just stared at him, tears falling and waiting for him to say his piece.

"I trust you more than anyone, you know everything about me, I'm sorry my mouth was going too fast and it came out all wrong." He was still rushing through his words but he took a deep breath before going on again.

"What I was trying to say is," he swallowed thickly, he was nervous, scared even, "you're amazing, you're my best friend and I've had this scenario running in my head of maybe being more than just friends. But I was afraid if I told you and you didn't feel the same you'd leave because of how awkward it would be." 

Your heart was pounding, if you had a few broken ribs after this conversation  you wouldn't be surprised, "oh."

"And when I suggested you be my fake girlfriend you were so reluctant that I figured I never had a shot. But then we kissed and I just can't come to terms with a kiss like that meaning nothing." He told you, hands finding yours, carefully.

This time it was you who was speaking before thinking, "I'm in love with you."

Hearing the words fall out of your mouth, your eyes widened, months of trying to hide the fact and you managed to let it slip out into the open without it even crossing your mind first.

Taking a shaky breath you decided to speak again and hopefully ease Peter out of the shocked state your declaration put him in.

"I didn't wanna fake date you because I wanted to real date you and I was afraid it would hurt too much. That kiss, it was real for me, I had kinda been wanting to do it for a while." You confessed to him, squeezing his hands that were still holding onto yours.

A smile overtook his face, his dimples showing and his eyes brightening, his face was lit up with what seemed like pure happiness like a puppy who's owner just got home from work.

"I love you too." 

Oh thank God.

"I knew you couldn't resist." He added shooting you a cheeky wink before he pulled you against his chest, his face was so close to yours, your noses touched and his lips met yours again.

This time was different, though. It was real and you both knew it and both wanted it.

His fingers intertwined with yours as he pulled his lips away from yours, his boyish smile coming back as he rested his forehead against yours.

"So, um, do you maybe wanna be my girlfriend, like really be my girlfriend?" He asked, still nervous about asking you despite the fact you'd both just made your feelings toward each other perfectly clear.

"I'd love to." You replied, connecting your lips to his again.

Safe to say, fake dating Peter turned into a total shit show but you're really glad it did.

let me know what you think <33

[writingsbychlo]

stone walls (01) | void!stiles

word count; 15,462

summary; stiles is a witch for king Derek, and pretty evil. he’s given a test subject in the forms of a traitor from the Argent kingdom who was found stealing on their land. he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her.

notes; this is kind of a medieval/royalty au, and he’s not really a witch with magic, but in those times, his talents would have been considered witchcraft. 

warnings; reference to abuse, torture, blood, gore, violence, sickness, near-death experiences, abduction, arson, sacrifice, murder.

There had once been a brightness that had shone in Stiles’ eyes. The same whiskey-brown colour that his mother’s had been, the same fair skin, speckled with moles and soft brown hair that could never quite seem to be tamed. 

The burning of the Hale castle was heard of by every Kingdom known. The youngest prince had been betrothed to one of their princesses, and everything had seemed bright. Stiles remembered their home palace, it had been larger, and full of life. Soldiers had been buzzing around, and his favourite place had been the gardens, his mother had taken him to visit them on every journey they had taken before the wedding between Prince Derek and Princess Kate had been due to take place.  

Two weeks before the ceremony was upon them, Kate had arrived in horse and carriage, his mother and father, both being part of the royal escort to welcome her, had been present as she made her way through the halls of her new home. That night, the walls had been scorching hot as flames curled up into the night sky, the screaming sounds of terror echoing out of every window, door and passageway in the castle. 

Burns and scars still crawled along his father’s arms from where he had pulled a sleeping Stiles from his bed and raced through the halls to get him out. Stiles had tended to those injuries himself, with the limited medical knowledge he knew from what his mother had taught him, but the man had never been the same.

His mother hadn't been so lucky. The last memory he’d had of her was her lips pressing to his forehead as she tucked him into bed, promising she would teach him all about herbs and how to write with the curly signature he admired so much when he woke up in the morning. When the fires had finally stopped burning three days later, Kate had been gone, her belongings, her carriage, every trace that she had ever been there had vanished. It had rained for the entire day, thick plumes of smoke billowing up into the air and he had spent the day searching through the charred rubble until his fingers were burned and bleeding, his body covered in soot and ash as he coughed and screamed for his mother.

It was on that day that the hail kingdom had gone dark, a young Prince Derek crowned King at the tender age of seventeen as everything warm and bright within Stiles slipped away, as though it had gone up in flames with his mother and the Hale family who had protected them. That day, Stiles had grown dark, his young screams of revenge muffled as his father had held him close, but they had always stood true.

His studies no longer centred around healing and medicine, but instead around how to use his knowledge to his best possible advantage of harm. He wanted to know how to protect himself, not how to heal. He’d been defenceless and weak when he had lost his mother, and he wouldn’t let that happen again. The bright spark in his eyes had slipped away over the years, as he hid himself in the deepest darkest spots within the newly rebuilt castle he could find, perfecting his trade over the years, the darkness that had bloomed that day had grown, infecting every part of his soul until he’d truly earned his nicknames over the years, the Hale kingdom coming to know him as exactly what he was; Void.

Stiles grunted as deep footsteps echoed along the floor of the stone corridors outside of his chambers, a single brow arching as the heavy wood scraped against the stone tile as it was forced open by whoever had decided to bother him with their presence today. Placing down the small purple flowers he was in the process of wrapping in twine around the stems, he paused, waiting for the person to make their purpose known.

The angry face of his king met him, a snarl on his lips as he tossed forward the body in his grasp, the figure falling to the floor with a loud cry, a flurry of torn rags and messy hair meeting the floor, catching themselves on their hands and knees before rocking back to kneel, looking at their scraped and bleeding hands as they wiped them on the ripped dress hanging on their shoulders.

He glanced between the girl on the floor and the man who had delivered her, a bored look in his eyes, and he sighed as he gave in, rounding the collection of wooden desks he worked behind, his fingers flexing as he gripped his hands behind his back, coming to stand before his king. “Hmm, you brought me a gift?”

“I brought you a scrap of rags that I found in the woods, just on the border of the Argent kingdom. She was hiding up in the trees, I had to pull one of the hunting dogs off of her when she tried to run.” Stiles’ lips curled up at the story, a dark grin twisted on his features as he came to crouch before her, two of his spindly fingers hooking under her chin to direct her face up to his, and he scanned his eyes over her features, carefully. 

“And what exactly is it that you would like me to do with her, your majesty?” Derek snarled at him as he spat the words, and Stiles simply smirked up at him, cocking a brow as the girl tore her face from his grasp, a chuckle spilling from him at her bravery as he stood back to his full height. 

“I don’t care what you do, just make sure when she dies she sends a message to keep their spies off of my fucking land.” With that, the man was gone, a twist of fur and capes and the door was slamming shut as he left, leaving him in silence with the girl still sitting on the floor. Holding a hand out to her, she glanced wearily between his face and his hand, before slipping her own into it. The second he had a grip on her, he was yanking her roughly to her feet, a yelp leaving her as her arm jolted in its socket from the force of the pull, and she stumbled over her own feet as he dragged her across the room.

In the furthest corner, a grimy set of bars she hadn't quite noticed until now were slid open with a grating whine of rusted metal on metal, and shackles soon fastened tightly around one of her wrists, the cold metal soothing over her skin as she found the other being threaded through the bars of the wall.

Tugging at the restraints, her jaw fell open, and she stood idly in the small cell, looking around in the darkness. On unsteady feet, she raced back toward the barred door that was sliding closed, stopped only by the pull of the chain around her wrist as she approached them, and her captor stood over her carefully, grinning down at her as her hands came up, fingers curling around the metal as she watched him.

He expected her to put up a fight, to shake on the bars and scream for help, but instead, her eyes just watched him, scanning over his face, before flickering over the room, still as she took in the messy desktops he had, laden with books, plants, bowls and boxes. 

“The shackles aren’t necessary, you know. I’m not going to run. I don’t think I could get very far if I tried.” 

“Hm, and I would believe a word someone who was found travelling from the Argent Kingdom for what reason, exactly?” He growled, his own hands grasping the bars in anger and he shook them, the girl stumbling back in shock as she backed into the shadows, a wicked smile on his face as he watched fear take place in her body, his eyes narrowing on her barely visible form. “I lost everything because of your people. Everything!” His voice had risen from the usual eerie calmness it held to a loud roar, his chest heaving as he glared at the space she stood. “You have one purpose, and that is to serve as a walking blood bag that I can use to drain for experiments and sacrifices.”

With that, he spun on his heel, making his way back over his table, fingers dancing along the wood as he picked back up the purple flowers he had been working with, wrapping the thin strands of thread around the bases in clumps. The rattle of chain sounded in his ears, his jaw clenching at the sound and he flicked his eyes back over to the cage, watching as her messy head of hair came back into view, her eyes sweeping curiously over his work station, and he reached out, slamming closed the pages of the books he’d been reading from.

He’d been damned if she was getting any information on their Kingdom from him.

“They’ll dry faster if you press them first.”

His fingers stilled in their motions, the tight-binding around the gathered stems of his final bundle, his eyes flicking up to peer at the shadows, barely catching her movements within, but he could hear the rustle of the chains and fabric of her tattered clothes as she sunk to the ground, a deep sigh leaving her as she settled onto the stone. “Be quiet, or I’ll silence you myself, and you don’t want that.” Glancing between a set of heavy books and the plants in his hands, he shook his head, continuing on with the twine wrappings he had set off on.

It was quiet for a long time, and he had moved on from wrapping the purple flowers, having hung them in the window with rays of sun shining through in order for them to dry, having moved on to sitting in the comfortable seat across the room to read by the time you were speaking once again. He tuned you out, instead choosing to focus on tidying up the counter around him, his every nerve thrumming with the need to do something and he cleared his throat, working in his own mind as he popped the lids from the many glass jars lining the shelves, stuffing ground up herbs and dried flowers inside of each one, his nose scrunching up occasionally as they occasionally let out a smell he wasn’t as fond of, the scent hanging in the air and he could practically taste in in his mouth. 

Your commentary had continued on, and he was growing irritated by your constant slew of questions, your commentary to each action and your little laughs to yourself as you cracked jokes that only you were finding funny, and he rolled his eyes, biting at the inside of his cheek as a threatening growl rumbled in his chest. “I thought I told you to be quiet, or else?”

“There’s not much you can do to me that hasn’t already been done.” You sighed, his body stilling for a second as he looked over at you, a single brow raised, but your attention wasn’t on him, instead, you were peering around his room, looking at anything you could see, presumably planning the best way for you to get out. 

He was rather proud of his chambers, he took good care of them, and he’s carefully chosen where he would reside, in the furthest corners of the castle, the rooms being smaller but he enjoyed the distance he got from the others, not wanting to be easily found, and he smirked, knowing that there wasn’t a chance you would be able to find your way through the maze of corridors without knowing where to go. “I could cut out your fucking tongue.”

Your jaw snapped shut, your eyes finding his and widening as you looked at him, and he watched as you swallowed thickly, nodding as silence enveloped you both once again, and he scooped up a dish, taking your arm in his and pulling it harshly as your body slammed into the metal bars, wincing but staying quiet. Flicking up the blade of the knife he carried in his pocket, he placed the dish underneath your arm, pressing the blade firmly against your skin, dragging it across your arm as crimson red began to flow rapidly from the cut. 

Your fist clenched as the muscles of your forearm tightened, rivers of blood dripping from your arms and collecting in the small wooden container, but you never flinched, your eyes cast downwards as you bit at your tongue, arm shaking slightly once he released you, and his brows raised as you continued to allow the blood to drip from your arm, gathering in the jar. “Good girl. Now keep your fucking mouth shut while I work, and consider this a warning.”

You didn’t speak again after that, and he was once again plunged back into his own silence, only the thoughts in his mind to keep him company as he busied himself, your presence almost slipping from him entirely, until you shuffled or took a particularly deep breath, once again reminding him that you sat locked in the cage in the corner of his room, the remnants of the old prison-cell serving him perfectly for this occasion. 

That night, he had pushed a single thin blanket through the bars for you, no words spoken but your hand reached out to take it, dried blood still crusted tp your flesh, your skin inflamed in some patches where you had scratched it away in irritation, a simple ‘thank you’ being uttered, the gesture catching him off guard as his brows furrowed, merely humming in response as he moved around the room, blowing out all the candles until the room was in darkness.

He felt uncomfortable in his own bed that night, the sound of another person's breathing being something he was unfamiliar with, and his skin crawled as he felt crowded in. He’d made sure to move away to the furthest parts of the castle to be alone, and now he wasn’t, the thought sickening him as he rolled over, relaxing his tensed jaw as your own steady breathing lulled him into a more relaxed state, despite how much it made him feel unsettled. 

With a final glance at the dark cage in the corner, he shut his eyes, burying his face into his pillow and tuning out the sounds around him.

Stiles wasn’t used to having company while he worked, and you liked to make your presence known. He wasn’t sure whether or not you knew you did it, but you tended to hum under your breath. Different tunes each day, and depending on your mood, they would be louder and happier ones or slower and quieter, more sombre melodies. There were many factors that would affect how you felt; they ranged from the weather to the quality of your own sleep, to reflections of his own mood, and even whether he would drain you that day. 

He would be begrudging to admit that he somewhat enjoyed having the silence that normally surrounded him now filled with the subtle hums of tunes under your breath, and he had even caught you singing quietly to yourself a few times when he had returned, only for you to go quiet again, retreating back to the wordless forms of your songs when he closed the door, making his presence in the large bedroom known. 

You often went quiet after the times he would drain you, the thick silence would drip back into the room for hours on end, and those hours seemed to drag on for days as he awaited the time that you would pick back up your filling of the quiet. You were a puzzle, you were something of an enigma and he didn’t quite understand. 

You never tried to escape, he was dark and twisted and incredibly fucked up but he wasn’t used to having a prisoner and he wasn’t good at it. He left keys lying around and often got himself way too close to the cages, within reach where you could easily grab him and yet you never made a move. You had made yourself comfortable hidden in the shadows, your head resting on the wall as you snuggled against your mattress, a blanket he’d used to mop up dried blood when he was finished with you could now be found often sitting over your body and covering you, just enough to keep you warm. 

You never even flinched, any time the blade met your skin, you were still as a rock, arm held out to him and face twisted away as your blood dripped into a bowl for his uses in spells and testing the effects of new ingredients, and your features hadn't once flickered to even show an ounce of pain. He used the same place, a gash on your arm that would barely close before he would use it again. 

At some point, you had ventured out to press your cheek to the bar, watching as he worked, and it had unsettled him for a little while, until he paused long enough to observe you and realised that you weren’t making notes or observing him, searching for escape routes. Instead, you were just watching him work and taking an interest in his movements. 

It wasn’t long after that when you began to ask questions, and while at first he had been irritated by the motion, he found himself becoming oddly fond of it. You asked good questions, you asked him about his passions and you were a surprisingly quick learner, and he found it rather beneficial to himself when he talked aloud to you because it only helped him to confirm things to himself. He was finding himself less and less angry with your presence, finding it easier to have another person around him for every minute of the day, because the more you spoke the larger the range of topics had become. 

After simply asking him about what he was doing, you had moved on to asking him about his book collections and his flowers and herbs, to asking him about his passions for spellcasting and mixing, something between harm and health, and that had led him to ask you questions in return. You had told him your favourite books, and songs, and the way your mother had taught you how to knit and stitch when you were young, and that by the time you were eleven you could make your own gowns and dresses. You were deeper than he knew, and the more he found himself happier and more relaxed in your company was even more concerning for him, because he was tasked with killing you when the time came, you were a bargaining chip and a prisoner, and he wasn’t supposed to get close to you.

He wasn’t supposed to get close to anyone, because the last time he allowed himself to care, he lost it all. 

The weeks were ticking by, faster than he could possibly imagine, more diaries getting fuller and fuller as he scribbled his notes and spells down, the worn leather growing weaker and lighter, the pages changing from crisp and pure to torn and weathered, scratched with ink stainings and splotches, taped down herbs and doodles to compliment them. He had been on a high with you, the drainings becoming less and less frequent as he tried to give you longer times to heal, because what had once been an easy task had begun to morph into something that made him feel slightly sick to his stomach each time he entered the dark cage to reopen the wound on your arm. 

In the last couple of days, your questions had become less frequent, your humming quieter and raspy and your appearances at the cage door rarer by the hour. You were quiet, quieter than you had been in weeks, and he gave you space but was slightly frustrated. Not only at you for your sudden lack of interest but also in himself for being so bothered by it in the first place, because Stiles Stilinski didn’t get attached, he didn’t do feelings and emotions and he certainly didn’t have enough time to care about what others thought of him. Stiles Stilinski was void, and he liked it that way, and he was damned if any girl in a cage with pretty eyes and a sharp mind was going to change that. 

“Stiles?” He was labouring over his workbench when you first spoke today, and his teeth ground together in irritation as his foul mood overlapped upon hearing you calling out to him, your voice droning on repeat in a low whine in his ears as he slammed down the book in his hands, your voice cutting off as he turned to look at you. Your hands were wrapped around the bars of the cage, your body leaning against the cool metal as he looked at you, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, his fists almost painful as his nails dug into his palms by his sides. 

“What do you fucking want?” He hissed, your jaw dropping as you peered at him from within the shadows, and he knew he wasn’t angry at you, he was just in a bad mood, but you were an easy target for taking his anger at the day out on, the memory of losing his mother on this day all those years ago was flashing through his mind, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and a storm clouding his judgement.

“I don’t feel so good.”

“Boo fucking hoo. Get over it, I couldn’t care less that you’re feeling a little under the weather.” He scoffed, and you let out a low groan at his words, your head thumping against the bars as your head dropped against them and he rolled his eyes at your dramatics. 

“No, I really don-”

“Shut the fuck up! Just be quiet, okay? I'm busy!” His temper bubbled over, and he heard you huff quietly, the silence settling over the room in uncomfortable tension before the chains wrapped around your wrists rattled, and you were slipping back into the shadows to rest in the corner of the cell, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. 

Once he had calmed back down, he continued to shoot sly glances over to where he assumed you do be within the darkness, slight guilt clawing at his gut as you continued to sit in silence, but he rolled his eyes, knowing you would just be sulking in the corner because he had shouted at you. He worked quietly at his workspace, rearranging the jars on his shelf and relabelling those that had become worn and faded from all his use. 

He refilled each glass container, the quiet in the room reminded him of before you had been delivered to him, and an unusual sense of loneliness was creeping into him as the tense silence continued to drag on. It wasn’t until quiet rapping came on the door that he sighed out in relief as he paced across the room in large and rapid footsteps, smirking at the trembling servant standing outside of his door, a tray of food held out to him as he accepted it, dismissing her with a mumble in thanks, the door slamming shut behind her as he relocked the bolts. 

“Eat.” Placing the dish of broth down in front of the barred door, dropping a spoon to the floor beside it for you with a clatter as he took his own food across the room, sitting under the grated window as the final rays of the sun shone through across the large chair in the corner beneath it, the cushions warm from the heat and his book lay on the edge of the seat, and he settled down comfortably to read his book and enjoy his food. 

He was barely ten pages in, halfway through his food as he looked up, expecting to hear some kind of comments about the meal, when he noticed that the dish was still sitting on the cold stone, wisps of steam waving into the air and dissipating as he sat before him, and he placed down his spoon, a growl on his lips as he ducked down the item in his hands to stare at the vacant spot for a moment.

“Eat your damn food, no wonder you feel bad. What use are you to me if you die before I can get any more blood out of you, hm?” The snarky comment left his lips before he could stop it, and he waited to hear your sarcastic retort, something telling him you were listening to him, and yet evidently, you were still ignoring him. 

He wasn’t in the mood for your pathetic sulking, and so instead he chose to go back to his reading and his food, knowing that if you wanted to act like a child then he would surely let you. You would cave eventually and give in, this was the first meal you’d had in twenty-four hours and he knew how much you complained about him only giving you the one meal a day, and he hoped you’d get over it soon, because he was starting to miss your commentary on his every little action. 

Your silence was making him feel more alone than he had in a long time.

By the time it was getting too dark for him to see the words printed on the pages, he gave up, the dishes long discarded and he had moved through another few chapters of his book, deeply enthralled in the story he had chosen, a chill sweeping through the room. Getting up, he checked the windows were all locked, before moving around the room and lighting the few torches, an orange glow lighting up the stone tiles of his room walls, and he set off on piling logs and kindling into the stone fireplace. 

He watched as the flames curled up, a scowl on his face as the thick smoke disappeared up through the chimney as warmth began to spread through the room, and he lifted a metal safety grate over the exposed flames, unwilling to let the past repeat itself as he pridefully put all precautions in place.

Void spied the bowl of food still sitting by the cage doors, untouched as he glanced at it over at it. Steam was no longer curling up, and he frowned, moving to crouch by the door as he looked at it, even the spoon sitting in the same place it had landed all those hours ago. “I know you’re angry at me for shouting, but you need to eat!”

You didn't even shift, not even a grunt in response to his words and anger raced through his body once again, his jaw twitching and he scooped up the meal from the floor, uncaring toward its cold state as he swiped the collection of metal keys from his side counter, the bundle jingling loudly as he unlocked the door, sliding it out o the way with a loud clang as he growled at you.

“Fucking eat!” 

He waited, your silhouette barely moving and he felt furious, dropping the bowl to the floor as some of the food sloshed over the edge of the dish, spilling out onto the tarmac and wasting the broth meal as you remained still, and he tipped his head back in a long groan, before stepping towards you and crouching down. You didn’t shift, even at his close proximity and he hummed in irritation, finger raising to swipe some hair from your face as your head hung low, and he gasped at the coolness of your skin under his touch, all anger seeping away as worry took over his body.

“I need you to say something now, okay?” His voice was shaking toward the end of his sentence, and he tipped back your head to rest against the cold stone walls, and he became eerily aware of just how cold it actually was within these walls, the darkness making it much chillier than the rest of the room was and your eyes stayed shut, and he squinted, unable to find movement in your shoulders or chest. “Now would be a great time for one of your stupid comments.”

His teasing went unheard, and he fumbled for the collection of keys, scooping them up and quickly undoing the chains around your wrists, his arms scooping you up under your legs and behind your back as he lifted you into his arms. Your body slumped into him, and his heart raced with panic as he removed you from the cell, cursing under his breath as you lay like dead-weight in his arms. 

He dropped you down onto the bed, shaky fingers delicately brushing the hair the was glued to your clammy skin away from your face, his hands skimming along your body as he searched for anything to clue him in, the pale colour of your shining skin scaring him deeply as he looked at the deep purple rings around your eyes and the blue tint to your lips.

Dark red blood was staining the sleeve of your worn and ripped jacket, and his fingers hooked under the end, pushing it up your arm and grimacing as he took in the still running wound, white torn flesh from the place on your arm that he’d been taking blood from wasn’t healing, and your veins could no longer be seen under your skin, deflated around the purple and blue bruises, your skin gaining a yellow tint toward the edges before fading out into sickly white, skin even paler than his own. 

He rushed around the room, gathering up bundles of supplies and medicines in his arms as he tried to think back on what his mother had taught him about healing all that time ago when she had still been with him. With a bowl of warm water beside him, he balanced it on the covers, dipping in a soft rag and wiping it gently over the dried blood trails on your arm, taking both the old and fresh blood from the wounds, dipping it back in the water and ringing it out carefully.

Once he could see the damaged flesh, he pinched it together, glad you were unconscious for it as he lifted the metal pin up to one of the flames on the torches around him. The tips of his fingers were burning slightly from the pain, but he held out until the tip of the pin was glowing orange, before bringing it away and waving it in the air as he rubbed his sore fingertips from the heat exposure. 

Threading the needle carefully, he looked up at you, biting his lip and pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead, mumbling an apology into your skin and pinching the skin tightly as he focused on it, pushing the needle through the flesh and suppressing the churning of his gut and the desperate urge to wretch as he felt the needle pierce your flesh. He had never been good with needles, and yet he knew he had to keep going. 

Weaving the thread through your skin was tortured for him, your muscles and nerves twitching under his touch as he did and he whispered the most soothing thing she could think of as he worked, despite knowing it was falling on deaf ears. Once he was done, he was careful to wrap it in soft fabric, pinning the bandages carefully and running his knuckles over it. 

The skin around your wrists was raw and bruised from the heavy shackles he’d had you wearing, and he massaged the skin carefully, before picking up a fresh cloth and wiping the sweat, dirt and grime from your skin as he adjusted you into a more comfortable position. He took a spare blanket, hanging it between items of furniture as he warmed a blanket in front of the fire, taking a seat beside you on the mattress after he had cleared away all the sides and herbs he had used in his best bid to cure you.

He sat beside your bedside, your good hand clutched in his as he worried beside you, the blanket he had warmed up over the fire laying over your body, and he was happy to see the colour returning to your skin as your body warmed back up. His cheek had been resting on the edge of the mattress as he sat on the floor, his eyes just drifting shut when he felt your body twitch, his head snapping up and a second later your body jolted, a loud cry leaving your lips as you tried to bend your arm, and his hand closed over your wrist to hold it down as he leaned over you.

“Woah, woah, woah. Take it easy.” He mumbled, and you let out a pained sigh, your eyes watering as the pain shot through your body, and he bit on his lip, rubbing a hand over your shoulder as your bottom lip trembled. 

“Shit, it hurts. It really fucking hurts.” 

“Yeah, well, you should've told me before it got bad!” His voice was higher than usual as he spoke, and you fixed him with a cold glare, an odd sense of relief filling him as your attitude was coming back in droves already. 

“I fucking tried!” You snapped, wincing as the movement rocked your body and you struggled to sit yourself up, allowing him to help you as he positioned a pillow behind your back, frowning as he thought back on the way he had acted all day, and his eyes avoided yours, but your hand landed on his upper arm as he adjusted the sheet around you. “Thanks, for helping me. For patching me up. Also, this blanket is really warm.”

“I hung it over the fire to bring your temperature up.” He sighed, shaking his head and sitting on the edge of the bed beside your legs. “I should have listened to you this morning. I didn’t realise how cold it was in there, and the state you were in.”

“S’okay. I am starving though, did I miss lunch?” His jaw dropped as he looked at you, a surprisingly genuine laugh leaving him as he studied you before he was nodding, motioning to the darkness outside of the windows and your eyes widened as though you only just came to realise the late hour the day had moved onto. 

“I’ll get someone to bring you something to eat, alright? Take it easy.” You simply nodded at him, and he made his way to the main door, lifting heavy bolts and locks across the wood as he flagged down the nearest maid he could find, growling out his instructions as she nodded, fleeing the second he dismissed her, pride filling him upon knowing that even if you weren’t, at least some people were still scared of him. When he turned back to you, your fingers were picking at the loose threads of the blanket, your eyes locked on him already. “Can I keep this blanket?”

“No. It was my mother's and it lives on the chair. What do you need it for?” He tipped his head toward his favourite lounging place, a large and comfortable looking chair in the corner, worn but still plush-looking cushions sitting on the seat - the original resting place of the soft knitted piece - and your fingers stilled, smoothing over the surface as you shrugged at him, avoiding his gaze.

“Said it yourself, it gets cold in there. An extra blanket would be nice.” 

He swallowed, glancing between the cell in the corner and your form sitting on the bed, tucked under all his cosy sheets and lit up by the warm light coming from the fire, the crackling of logs filling the room as he took quick steps over to you, taking a seat on his usual side of the large bed as a prominent gap formed between your two bodies. “No, no you’re not going back in there.” Your brows raised at him, and he made himself busy with other tasks to avoid having to acknowledge the way you were looking at him made him feel. “You’ll be out here with me, from now on.”

“That sounds.. nice.” He merely nodded in response, his back still turned to you as he struck up a match, lighting the candle on his bedside as a comfortable quiet fell over the pair of you, and now that you were awake and sitting beside him, he once again felt a little less alone in the world.

You were sicker for longer than he expected, and it worried him for a while when your condition showed no signs of improving. Your body could now be found curled up on the covers beside him, the two of you rigid as your backs faced away from one another at opposite sides of the bed. 

You slept long hours, and often went so quiet in the night that he had to roll you over just so that he could check you were still breathing, and buy the mornings your arm would be brushing his as the two of you inched closer to the middle of the bed progressively during your unconscious states. You were tired, and sluggish, and for almost two weeks you never left the bed. Your skin grew paler and you grew weaker, and you didn’t eat as much of your meals as you used to, despite how much you insisted you were hungry. Deep bags hung under your eyes, the same pale and sunken look that he had gained himself after his mother had died, locking himself away as he refused to eat and go outside, and he had opened the curtains a lot and often helped your shuffle across the bed to sit on his side so that you could look out through the bars. 

In the third week since he had removed you from your cage, you got up on your own, shuffling uncomfortably in your clothes and wrapping your arms around yourself self-consciously, surprising him as you made your way over to him with cautious steps, and he resisted the urge to rush over to you in a bid to help you walk better. You had requested a bath, and a chance to wash your clothes, in which he had graciously accepted both. A wing to his room in which you had never been in was shown to you as your arm looped through his, your shaky and weak fingers clinging to his arm as he guided you through and tried to suppress the urge to scoop you up into his arms and carry you, because he knew how badly you needed to regain your own ability to walk, even if you had nowhere to go. 

You were still a prisoner, you were still just a bargaining chip, and he had to constantly remind himself of that, even if you now shared more than just his bedroom. 

You had bathed, and he had given you sets of his own clothes to wear as he disposed of the torn and blood-soaked rags he had left you in since the day you had arrived with him. You were smiling to yourself when you reemerged, your hair still wet and dripping along the cloth you had wrapped yourself in as you snuggled down into his clothes, and he had helped you back into bed before checking on your arm. You had fallen asleep before he had even finished rewrapping it, the sleeves of his shirt falling over your palms as your other hand sat in a loose fist, clutched to your chest as your nose buried into your hand, breathing even and soft but stronger than it had been, and his cheeks had flared with a very subtle warmth that he hadn't experienced since he was a child. 

That bath seemed to have been the trick, because the following morning you had been awake before he had been, colour seeping back into your skin as your fingers danced over the spines of the books on his bookcase, pulling some out and checking the titled, before adding them to a stack that had been growing on a stool beside you. 

The collection was one that you quickly worked through, taking a seat in his chair when he wasn’t using it and reading under the warmth and light of the days sunrays, taking up in idle conversations with him when you found parts of books you particularly enjoyed, or things you needed to talk about, and when you grew bored of the tales, you would stand on the other side of the workbench and watch up close as he did his tasks. 

A routine formed between the two of you, very quickly; a steady schedule that was quickly becoming uncomfortably comfortable for him. The mornings would be spent with the two of you eating breakfast together, a luxury you had teased him for lightly for a while as he had only allowed you one meal a day, to begin with, before he would leave you for his meetings and to go to the markets. You would read, and he would come back to find you deep in a new book from the shelf or snoozing in the chair with his mother's blanket tucked over you. 

He bought you a notebook and quill almost two months in, because the afternoons had come to consist of you watching him work, handing up different pots as he taught you the names and uses of different things, he allowed you to help him in wrapping and grinding plants and flowers, topping up the bottles and boxes of ingredients lining his shelves, and your own book was quickly filling up much like his own, your handwriting quite the opposite to his, neat and swirling and eligible, as his own barely readable chicken scratch filled the pages. 

He had worried at first, that he was going to return each morning and find you gone, find the room empty and the door hanging open from where you had smashed open the key lock and undone the bolts, or that you had climbed from the windows after pulling off the bars. He was waiting for the bubble to pop, for the day he would come back and find the room trashed, scratch marks on the door and a weapon in your hands as you tried to flee, and yet all you ever greeted him with when he returned was a barley present flick of your lips in a smile and a nod of your head, perhaps even a verbal greeting if you were in a particularly good mood. 

You were becoming a part of his life that he found hard to ignore, hard to deny that he wouldn't miss when he eventually had to give you up, and the summer heat faded as he found himself growing closer to you. 

Longer nights and shorter days brought fewer meetings or trips to the market and more time sealed away in his room as the temperatures dropped and your healing continued. Your arm was no longer red and inflamed, visible veins with blue and purple skin, but was instead back to its normal shade, a slightly raised patch of pinky-white pale skin with a red rim as a scar in the shape of a long slash found itself on your arm instead, and he often found himself racing it with a frown when you rolled your sleeves up to your elbows. 

He never felt guilty, not in his sacrifices or killings, but this he had felt guilty for because even if nothing else, he was beginning to look at you more like a friend than anything else. During the conversations you filled the extra time with, the chats you shared deep into the night as candles flickered and blankets were wrapped around shoulders for heat, you had learned more about him than anybody else ever had, he’d unwittingly bared his soul to you.

He knew so much about you in return, like your favourite meals or your preference on the genre of books you liked to read, and yet he still felt like he knew nothing. The more he learned, the more questions he had, the mystery that you were was becoming more and more tangled as he went, and yet he enjoyed getting to know you, in a way he had never experienced before. 

Stiles had friends, Scott and Derek and Lydia among them, he was used to having friends, but the more he awoke in the mornings to find your body almost pressed to his as your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks, or the way your eyes connected with his and your smile was just soft enough to make him want to smile back, or the way it felt more right to have your body working beside his with quiet laughs and innocent brushes or arms and bodies then it did alone that made him realise this was soon becoming something more than friendship to him.

By the time the winter had rolled around your sickness had passed, and the chill of the season was setting in. He clenched his jaw, the chattering of your teeth and barely visible shaking of your body was irritating him, and he glanced across to the side of the bed you were laying on, your eyes closed as you hovered as close to the edge of the mattress as you could, huddled under the thin blankets as you clutched them to your chin.

You took a deep breath, and he watched for a moment as you calmed, rubbing at the red tip of your nose, before burying it in the covers and rubbing your hands together, and a growl left his lips as your shivering picked back up. “Your fucking teeth chattering is driving me insane!”

You managed to still your body, a muffled apology leaving you as you adjusted yourself under the sheets, and he let out a long sigh, placing his book down on his lap and reaching a hand out, patting at the vacant space between you both.

“Just fucking roll over before I get irritated.” He swiped his hand up, and you paused, before shuffling over in the bed and moving your body closer to him, letting out a satisfied sigh as you gained some warmth as you moved closer to the centre of the large bed. He leaned over, pulling the covers back up over your shoulder as you nuzzled down into the pillow, his fingers brushing your skin. “Shit, you really are cold.” 

“Mhm.” Your eyes were squeezed shut, snapping open with a squeal as he scooped his hands underneath you, tugging you up until you were resting between his thighs, your cheek pressed to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, picking his book back up. Your body was stiff and tense, uncomfortable against his own and he rolled his eyes, glancing down at you as you avoided his eyes. 

“Oh, relax. I can’t concentrate with you shaking the bed with all your shivering, and the cold has never really bothered me, but I have a lot of body heat. I can’t have you getting sick again, so just go to sleep.” The aggressive tone he normally held was more of a struggle to get out now, and he huffed as you curled your arms around his body, getting yourself comfortable as you settled into him. 

He let out the breath he was holding, his stomach sagging under you and his muscles relaxing as your body curled around his, an unfamiliar feeling settling in his gut at the feeling of having someone holding onto him so comfortably. He ran his fingers over your body beneath the covers, noting the tears and rips in the thin material, the same rags you had arrived in the day you’d been brought here to begin, and he could understand your problem with the cold. 

Clearing his throat, he settled his hand on your hip, tucking it underneath the flimsy material of your top to stroke along your side and warm you up, the goosebumps that had been covering your body beginning to settle and disappear as you warmed up. “I’ll get you some warmer clothes tomorrow.”

Your face turned into his stomach more, a smile on your lips as you squeezed your arms around him, the silent thank you not going unnoticed, and the silence that enveloped the room hung heavy for a few minutes, the flicking of the pages as he thumbed them over with his one hand, the other still tucked under your shirt, tracing patterns into your skin absentmindedly as his natural tendency toward fiddling took over. It wasn’t until his fingers brushed over the collection of raised scars on your hips that he stilled, pressing down on the spot and you squirmed under him, swatting at his arm sleepily. 

“I noticed these when I pulled you up from the floor all those months ago. What happened?” You snorted at him, cracking an eye open to look at him before you rolled over, propping your arms on his stomach, your chin resting on top of them as you looked at him. You were judging him for his lack of subtlety in the asking of the question, but instead of acknowledging that, he simply raised a brow, the frown on his face not moving. “Tell me.”

“Alright, alright. Pushy.” You muttered, rolling your eyes at him and he scowled at you, glaring at you for your attitude but you seemed unaffected by it. He continued to poke at the collection, running his fingers over the raised flesh, waiting for you to continue. It was a moment before you did, your bottom lip clenched between your teeth as you nibbled on it for a second, shaking your head and shrugging, before settling yourself back down into his chest, your eyes closing again. “It’s where Gerard would cut me.”

His fingers stilled, body tensing and eyebrows furrowing. He closed the book in his hand, discarding it quickly as he waited for you to say something else, elaborate or explain that it was a lie, but you seemed to just have accepted it without expecting him to question it. You let out a sudden groan as he moved you unexpectedly, your body curling in on itself as he ripped the covers from your form, a knee on either side of your legs as he lifted up your shirt to expose your hip, and he smoothed a thumb over the cluster of pinkish-purple marks. “But, there’s a lot?”

“Yeah.” You seemed to give in, sitting yourself up a little and looking down at the healed injuries, smirking proudly as you looked at them, but his eyes were narrowed on you as he waited. “He tried to carve the Argent ‘A’ into me when he first took my prisoner and I kicked him off. He didn’t like the fact that I ruined the symbol, so he added another cut every time I disobeyed him.”

Stiles wasn’t quite sure how to handle this information, the cogs in his mind spinning as he reeled at the idea of you locked in another cell, bleeding and tending to your own injuries after refusing to do whatever it was that he had wanted from you. “You weren’t born in the Argent Kingdom?”

“No. I was born here.” He almost felt as though he’d been winded as he looked up at you, your gaze questioning as you looked at him, your brows raised and you licked over your lips. “They took me prisoner when I was younger. My mother and father died, I didn’t have much to work from and I accidentally wound up on their land, stealing apples.” You were far from the person he had assumed you to be, his jaw hanging slightly slack, and he looked between your eyes and the scars on your hip in confusion.

He moved before he had thought about it, pressing a kiss to the bundle, your muscles twitching under him as he did and he moved between cuts, pressing a light kiss to each one, your hand coming down to thread into his hair carefully as he did, and he made sure to press his lips to each one before dragging your top back down, his hand tucked under the fabric, palm covering the scars as he blew out the candles still flickering, his body covering yours as he lay atop you, just enough to cover you without crushing you. 

It was a moment before you moved, your hands pulling the covers back up and you timidly wrapped your arms around him, shuffling and clinging to him as you relished in the warmth he was providing you, your cheeks heated in the darkened room as his hands held you protectively to his body. 

“Would you like to walk to the markets with me tomorrow?” 

“Really?” You practically buzzed with excitement, rolling onto your side to grip onto him tighter as you peered at him in the dark, and he could still make out the grin on your face, and he had to suppress his chuckle at your excitement, choosing to simply nod in response as his eyes closed. “You’d take me out, even dressed like this?”

He frowned, shaking his head and inching closer to you until the tip of his nose was brushing your forehead. “We’re going out to get you new clothes. I need some new plants and jars, so we can pick those up too. Nobody will say anything to you.” You opened your mouth again to speak, and he groaned as he heard the intake of breath, your jaw snapping shut when he huffed. “Just go to sleep before I regret not being horrible to you.”

“You’re being nice to me.”

“No. I’m not nice, I’m just being less awful. There’s a difference.” He muttered, his fingers tightening their hold on your hip in warning of your arguing with him, and you didn’t speak, muffling the sound of amusement you made as you settled into sleep, and while the coldness had never bothered him before, he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the warmth you provided when your body was pressed up against his.

Neither of you ever bothered to speak about what had changed between the two of you, but it was clear that something had. 

His touch lingered longer on your skin when he was around you now, and he was closer to your side whenever he possibly could be. The gap between you on the bed had quickly become nonexistent, the cold nights meaning he would hold you closer more often, and it had quickly become familiar to him to have your body pressed up to his during the night as your hands wrapped around his body and lips pressed to your hairline whilst your heart beat steadily against his chest, in a comfortable rhythm with his own. 

As promised, he had walked you down to the marketplace the next day, the excitement on your face as he finally allowed you an escorted trip away from the room you’d been locked up in for half a year had almost made him smile, your arm looped through his as your unsteady almost skips took place beside his even and long strides. He had glared daggers at anyone that had sent you unusual looks, your body draped in the large material of his own clothes as you waited for new garments. 

You had purchased a selection of loose-fitting pants and jumpers, skirts and even some dresses, the bundle building in your arms as you mumbled about not remembering the last time you’d actually had any new clothes of your own to wear, clutching them to your chest and waiting patiently as he moved between the other stalls and gathered the thinks he needed for himself. When you had returned home, he’d cleared a drawer in his dresser, for you to unpack them into, and the more you spent time with him, the more reluctant he was to let you go. 

You were becoming more and more intertwined with his life, his shoulders felt lighter when he was talking to you, or able to watch you work, and when your chin would rest on his shoulder from behind as you watched him work, your arms looped around his waist as you tried to stay out of the way but still wished to observe. You made his bad days feel a little easier, when he was in a bad mood you were able to soothe him, his eyes closed as he sat back against the bed, face pushed into your neck and arms around your waist as you read aloud to him or told him about your own projects and what you had been up to. 

He knew he should let you go, that he should stop letting the bond between you get so deep and meaningful. It kept him up on the occasional night, as he listened to your steady breathing and relished in the warmth of your body, that he was only going to end up hurting himself in the long run. He couldn't keep you prisoner forever, one day the king would come back for you, or he’d have to let you go himself and you’d run from him never to return. It only ended in him getting hurt, and yet he couldn't help but dig himself in deeper, drown in you a little more, because being around you was such a sweet taste in his mouth and he wanted to savour that, before it turned bitter and made him only the more darker, stormier, angrier version of himself that he would undoubtedly become when you left him. 

He was closer to you than he should be, the urges bubbling up inside of himself making him feel like he had to hold himself back more and more, because you confused him. He liked it when your fingers scraped over his scalp as you played with his hair and the way he sometimes wanted to get even closer to you, to be in your face, his lips pressed to yours as your body wrapped around his entirely, the two of you practically becoming one. He didn’t like the guilt that came with that feeling, the anger at himself for being too scared to take it that final step and let himself become yours entirely, to claim you as his.

He was used to having fear from others, but he also wasn’t used to having love, and you supplied him with enough for him to suffocate in, and die happily. So, in order to gain as much as he possibly could before you were inevitably torn from his arms, he made the most of every touch you gave him, every second of time he got with you, and every time you’d let him brush his lips across your cheek or sweep loose hair behind your ear, or lace his fingers with your own on the nights the two of you would lay in bed, facing one another on the pillows and talking until the darkness passed on the sun was once again cracking across the horizon to signal in a new day. 

Adjusting himself in the pillows, you shifted in his arms, his fingers stilling their movements from tracing patterns along your skin once again as he waited for you to get comfortable, and you eventually huffed out, trying to continue in you reading of the book before you were once again stopping as you looked up. Your arm was aching as you tried to hold yourself up to read the book, your thigh shifting from where it had been draped over one of Stiles’ legs as you leaned up, stretching your arms above your head as cracks and pops sounded, a relieved sigh leaving you. 

“This isn't working. My neck hurts.”

He chuckled at your words, his hand dropping to smooth along your thigh through the cover as you sat up further, rolling your neck from side to side as your body adjusted from the awkward pose you had been in. “It was your idea to read in bed.”

“I know that.” You scoffed, his brows furrowing at your tone and he let out a warning growl, your eyes rolling at him and he pinched your thigh, your body jolting as you scowled and rubbed over the spot. “That was uncalled for.”

“You sassed me. Don’t sass me.” He watched as you swung a leg over his waist, a smirk curling on his lips as you settled yourself onto his upper thighs, balancing the book on his chest. His hands found your waist, tugging you up closer until you were seated in his lap, and he popped his legs up behind you, letting you lean back on his thighs for support. His hands slipped down to your mid-thighs, fingers digging into the supple flesh on either side as he squeezed gently. “Better?”

“Much, actually.” You wiggled in his lap, and he bit down on his lip to choke down the sound he wanted to release, your voice soon picking up again as you began to read to him. For a while, he was able to focus on the words you were saying, his eyes closed as he listened to you speak to him about the different ways to preserve and use herbs best. It wasn’t until you jumped in his lap, his eyes opening suddenly as you let out a small yell, the weight of the book sitting on his ribs being lifted as you held it up before him. “Look!”

“What am I looking at, dove?”

“This! It says you should press wolfsbane and then powder it, instead of hanging it to dry!” You looked at him pointedly, letting out a long sigh as you marked the page of the book before throwing it to your side, a cheeky grin on your lips as you leaned down. Poking at his chest, you made a proud noise in the back of your throat, and Stiles tried to ignore the way you were practically buzzing in his lap. “That’s what I told you! All the way back on the first day, when you locked me up in that cage over there!”

His lips dropped into a frown at the mention of the abandoned cell in the corner of the room, the thought of you in there again making his stomach twist with nausea. He huffed out at the thought, and you leaned in further, your chest almost pressed to his and you pinched at his cheek, your breath fanning over his face.

“Now, now, Void. Don’t pout.” You grinned, and he rolled his eyes, raining a hand to poke at your side as you teased him, and he swallowed thickly. Your mouth opened, presumably to make another snarky comment, the attitude and humour he hated to admit that he’d grown so fond of beginning to shine through again. Instead, though, the fingers pinching his cheeks flattened out, your hand smoothing around until your nails were scratching lightly in the short hairs at the back of his scalp, a sigh falling from his parted lips at the feeling.

Watching you carefully, his eyes dropped to your lips as you licked at them, before you were leaning into him, your lips pressing to his delicately, a barely present kiss being placed to his lips as you bumped your nose against his, the breath between you both sharing as you moved your lips with his in shaky rhythms. The tension fled from his body, his hands flying up to hold onto you, his fingers in your hair as he groaned lowly into your mouth. 

He had been kissed before, but this kiss was different. This kiss was one that someone wanted to share with him, not one that was being given to him as maidens from around the palace threw themselves at him for one night to be able to say they tamed the darkness for a few hours. Your hands were cupping his cheeks, before smoothing down his shoulders to rest on his chest, your own body relaxing atop him as he pressed back with force. 

He leaned back into the pillows, pulling you with him until your hair was framing around his face as you kissed him, his tongue snaking out to lick along your lower lip, a whine leaving you as he did. His tongue tangled with your own, your breathing becoming lighter as you panted above him and pride swelled in his chest at the needy way your hands scrunched into fists in the material of his shirt, nails scraping at his pecs through the fabric.

Teeth practically clashed, as the kiss moved from shy and experimental to heated and sloppy, fingers grasping as you both dragged in raspy breaths, your lips meshing together in a connection that was long overdue, feelings rushing to the surface as overwhelming arousal flooded through the both of you, the air around you heating up. Tilting his head to the side, he earned himself a deeper access to your mouth, relishing in the whimper you rewarded him with as his tongue travelled the inside of your mouth, memorising the feel of kissing you so intimately.

Your hips ground down into his, a grunt falling from his mouth as you did, the sound muffled between wet and smacking kisses as his cock twitched in the thin pants he wore to sleep in, your hips repeating the motion, and he couldn't hold back the thrust of his hips up into yours this time, a cry falling from your lips at the feeling. You pulled back, pushing yourself up with your hands spread on his torso and he chased your lips, propping himself up on his elbows as he followed you.

The complaint he was about to voice died in his throat as you used your new position to rock your core down against him more firmly. “Fuck, darling, you need to stop.” He mumbled, and he slid down from your face to gain a bruising grip on your hips, moving you to a halt as you became steady in his lap once again. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes wide as you peered at him cautiously, and a blush crawled up your cheeks. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing you? Or at least, I was..” Your words trailed off in a whisper, your hands pulling back from the grip on his top so you could play with your fingers nervously, and he could feel your legs twitching around him as you considered bolting from your position, his hold tightening to keep you where you were.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to?” You offered, and he ran a hand over his face, huffing at the way you were practically answering his questions with more questions, and he fixed you with a stern glare. The silence between the two of you hung thick and awkward in the air, your eyes leaving him as you squirmed in his hold, uncomfortable with his stare on you. 

“Why did you kiss me?” He had taken on his deeper tone, the cold and menacing one that had always gotten him answers before now, and you sighed, your body practically deflating under his gaze as you let out an aggravated sound, dragging a hand through your hair. 

“Because I wanted to! Because I like it when you start rambling about all your herbs and mixes when you’re working, and that you let me sleep in the bed with you, and that you let me read your books at night! You also have really nice lips!” Your words were near-shouted, and you crawled away from him, pushing his hands from you as a scowl took over your features. “I thought that would have a better outcome, but I’m getting the feeling I was wrong and that I’ve messed things up, so I think it’s about time I headed back into the corner an-”

A loud growl tore from him as he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, tugging you back onto the bed as you tried to stand up, and he rolled your body under his, caging you in with a hand either side of your head. “Don’t you dare fucking mention that. I told you that you sleep here with me now, where you belong.” Your eyes widened at the tone of his voice, and he smirked lowly, dipping his head down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, before kissing along your jaw and down your neck, two fingers on your chin gripping tightly as he tipped your head to the side, exposing your collarbone to him. 

Nipping at the sensitive skin, he grinned as you moaned, finally letting the sound through when he found the sensitive patch of skin that made your back arch into his chest and your eyes slip shut. Sucking on the patch of skin, he made quick work of nibbling and licking at the patch, until a large red blemish appeared that would soon sink into an even larger purple bruise. “You’re giving me really mixed signals, here.”

Your words were slurred as you wiggled under his hold and he smirked, pulling back to look at you. Dipping his head down, he let one of his hands drift up to cup your cheek, his lips pressing to your own delicately, a sweet kiss being left on your lips as he bumped your nose aside, tilting his own head until he was letting his tongue dip out to meet yours between your parted lips, a slow and passionate exchange as you whimpered into his mouth, kissed breathless and flushed when he finally pulled back. 

“That clears up nothing. But I’d really like to do it again.”

“I intend to keep doing that with you. A lot.” He whispered, rolling onto his side and shuffling up until he was buried back in the pillows, a satisfied smirk on his lips, and he wiped the edge of his mouth with his thumb, poking your side with his foot as you continued to pant and stare at the ceiling. “Get up here before I kick you from the bed.” 

You scoffed at his warning, smacking idly at his foot as he nudged you, before rolling up onto your hands and knees, crawling along the bed and collapsing down beside him, his nose burying in your hair as your body pressed up to his side, the warmth from you spreading over his skin. Your leg came up to sit over his waist as your cheek pressed into his shoulder, and he stretched his head to the side for you as your lips tickled over his throat in feather-light kisses. 

Dropping a hand to your thigh, he gripped tightly at the exposed skin that was revealed from your nightgown, a grunt leaving him as your lips worked sloppy to leave marks on his neck. He dared to trail his fingers up, searching for the edge of your gown and his fingers toyed with the material once he found it, subtly inching it up further, one of your hands sliding over his chest to lace into his hair. Tilting his head toward you with the hand on his cheek, you guided his lips back to your own, a satisfied hum sounding from him as he puckered his lips to return the affections.

Kicking your feet at the covers, you tried to inch them up your body, and he chuckled as you pulled away, yawning into his shoulder as you hid your face. Leaning over you, he placed the book on the side table, catching it just before it fell from the edge of the mattress. Taking the covers in his hand, he tugged them up over your figures, huffing as you placed a hand on his chest and forced him back down into the bed, your form slumping against him tiredly as you buried your face into his neck.

Running his hand over your back, he leaned to the side, blowing out the final candle keeping the room alight and plunging it into darkness, tiredness sweeping over him, too. The warmth you spread to his chest was now no longer just from your body pressed to his, but filled him internally as you curled up against him, a smile tilted on his lips as he nudged his nose into your hair, his eyes sliding shut.

That night, he slept with kiss-swollen lips and a slightly off-pace heart, skipping beats and pumping erratically as your legs tangled with his. His mind had been spinning for hours afterwards, balancing out the pros and cons of allowing himself to sink into the idea of being in a relationship with you. The former heavily outweighed the latter, and he was somewhere between irritated and amused at himself for it, the idea that he might actually be capable of having a normal concept like love or affection was foreign to him, and he let himself drift off in distraction when you subconsciously nudged your nose into the spot between his neck and his shoulder, your lips brushing his skin, and his arms had wrapped around you tighter as he let unconsciousness take him. 

He noticed a considerable difference in you after that night, one that made his lips quirk into a cheeky look every time he thought about it, or studied the way you had begun to act. He was having a different kind of effect on you. His kisses had originally made you flushed and pink-cheeked, and now you teased him just as much as he teased you. 

Your nervous hands that would sit on his cheeks or chest would now wander, tugging at his hair or scratching at his chest lightly, enough to make him shiver and growl as he held onto you tighter and pulled you in closer. Your once sealed and soft lips were now more kiss bitten and swollen, your tongues playing together in familiar patterns as you sucked on his lower lip and batted your eyes at him in ways that made him breathless and dizzy. You took up all of his time and thoughts, letting him spend his days laying over you on the bed as your neck became littered in purple marks from his teeth moving across them, and his lips sucking at the skin until he was satisfied with his print being on your flesh. 

It never went too far, for the first time in his life he was enjoying something in moderation, he wasn’t rushing or struggling, but instead, he had faith that you didn’t want to run off anyway, that you wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to be with you, and so as the ice melted away in to spring and dead trees began to blossom once again, he found that he didn’t care if ting never went further than just your hips rocking up into his through layers of clothing as your mouths pressed together and you panted into one another's mouths, because what he had gained with you was more than physical, it was spiritual. 

It wasn’t just the affectionate side of you that had changed, but the mental side too. You were becoming more and more like him with every passing day, you were learning enough from him that you’d even begun to make recommendations and suggestions during his work, mixing your own little recipes and he was incredibly proud of how far you were coming. It was like you were made for him, a perfectly twisted match to his dark soul, and the more he got to know you the more it became true. 

You were a team, a unit, and the power of the two of you together far surpassed his power alone, even if it was simply that the feeling of no longer being alone made him more confident and sure in his own abilities than he ever had been before. He felt like the purpose of taking on a darker trait had finally come to light, long-buried and forgotten as he had gotten lost in the fear he inflicted onto others. He wanted this power, these abilities, that automatically instilled fear just at the mention of his name all as a method to protect someone, and now he had someone to protect. 

He had someone to defend, to care for and shelter, and yet you were also able to take care of yourself. You were strong-willed and determined and sharp, you were a jagged piece that fit his own cracks and splinters without cutting either one of you, he had a partner in an attack and someone to channel his power toward. You gave him direction.

Days felt more meaningful, he had the time to take on new hobbies once he had someone to complete all of his work with, and he no longer felt useless and bored during the time he spent off, because he didn’t have a shrouded goal to work towards anymore, a hidden ulterior in his own mind that made him feel unaccomplished when he didn’t work. Instead, he was fully aware of everything he did and you made him feel better about himself, you made him feel like the best version of himself. 

The only wrinkle in his joy, the only problem he had with his own joy was the knawing guilt he held every time he looked the front door tightly again, the way if you got too close to it his eyes would still flicker over to you untrustingly as he watched to see whether this was the moment you were going to bolt, and yet you never did. Now, he felt obligated to give you the benefit of the doubt, he felt like he owed it to you to try and give you freedom, because it was the last step he had to take before he could wholly, and completely believe that you were as invested in a future as him as he knew he was in having a future with you. 

He was selfish, and insecure, and he just had to take the leap in giving you the choice to come back to him, to give you the ability to leave and live your life, and simply trust that at night you’d crawl back into bed beside him instead of leaving his bed colder than it has ever been before.

That moment of reckoning, that day in which he would give you a chance to make the decision for yourself came as a split-second decision on one of the days that the spring rain was just clearing up, warm and humid heat sitting int he air as dark clouds loomed overhead and blocked out some of the sun’s light, and yet it was still a bright and warm day, because you had woken up in a good mood and forced him to enjoy it too. 

It had been quiet between you, only the flick of the pen across paper and your humming as you tinkered with different activities around the room as you had yet to decide what it was that you actually wanted or do was filling the silence, and he was more than content just sharing the space with you, occasionally looking up to watch as you move around. You had made the space your own as much as it was his, and his attention was torn between you, and the activity he had chosen for himself all those hours before.

He let out an indignant huff as you plucked the drawing pad from his hands, his fingers reaching out for it as you held it further out from your body, and he gave in, slumping back into the cushions lining the seat and shooting you a glare, his brows furrowed as he looked at you. “What do you want?”

“Well, fine.” You muttered, handing the pad back to him and crossing your arms, a pout on your lips as you looked at him and he smirked, taking the book from you and opening it back up to the page he was on, and you sighed, turning from him to walk away, his hand shooting out to grasp your wrist. Without looking up, he tugged you toward him, holding the book away from him as he made space for you to settle into his lap, his smirk only widening as you grinned, crawling into the seat and settling your legs across his own, your arms looping around his neck.

He adjusted the sketchbook to rest against your legs, his free arm sitting low on your waist as his fingers smoothed along your hip, your hands holding his face in your hands as you kissed at his cheek, his eye and nose scrunching up as you did. And the charcoal stilled on the paper as he waited. “I’m trying to draw.”

“Mhm, what are you drawing?” You continued to trace your lips along his skin, eventually giving in as you reached his neck, ending the exchanges with a final nip to his jaw before pulling back.

“You.” You straightened up, looking over at his drawing as you gasped with excitement, and he snickered at the way your body sagged in disappointment when you looked at the sketch, taking in the flowers on the paper. He looked at you carefully, and you placed a hand over his face, pushing him away from you, but you laughed as you did, and he grinned, biting playfully at the finger over his mouth. Instead, he lifted up the tattered paper bundle, holding it out to you and flipping through previous pages. “I normally draw you when you’re doing something.”

He held the book out to you, watching as you looked over the drawings carefully, your fingers brushing the edges of the paper and you smiled at him, handing the pad back to him. “You’re cute.” His lips pursed, and he raised up the block of charcoal in his hands, drawing a solid black line along your skin and you groaned out in irritation. “I take it back, you’re just annoying.”

“Don’t tell me I’m cute.” 

“Why not?” You were teasing him, and he leaned up, capturing your lips with his in a slow kiss as he pulled you in closer to him. He teased his lips over yours, your hands coming up to hold his face once again as you tipped your head to the side, granting him deeper access as he sucked on your lower lip. 

“I’m not cute, I’m fucking terrifying.” He argued, and you rested your cheek against the top of his head, a hum sounding from you.

“Are you planning to kill me?”

“No.”

“Are you planning to hurt and torture me?”

“No.” He spoke through gritted teeth, jaw clenched as he realised what you were getting at and instead he just shifted in the seat, dragging you down until your body was pressed up to his, your legs stretched out over the seat and your head resting on his shoulder so you were fully seated in his lap. He wrapped both of his arms around you, toying with the strings on the front of your dress, tugging on them until they fell loose, and you took a deep breath as the corset loosened. “I like you in dresses. They make you look-”

“Feminine?” Your mouth practically spat the word, but you let him undo the knots along the front, tugging at the stiff material until it was loose on your chest. 

“I was going to say powerful.”

He scowled at you for your assumption that he would insult you, before he was inching his hands up your legs, taking the heavy skirt of your dress with him, a smirk on his lips as you allowed him to, his fingers skimming over soft flesh until they were sitting in the middle of your thigh, his nose trailing along the underside of your jaw, and you let out a happy sigh for him.

“You and I could do great things, you know.” He mumbled, lips latching onto the spot beneath your ear, sucking lazily on the skin as you squirmed under him, a gasp sounding out as you twisted in his arms the moment he began to nip and bite at the sensitive place, and he licked over the spot, a proud smile on his lips at the red mark showing up on your wet skin. “We could rule the fucking world.”

“Together?”

“Always.” He growled the word out, his lips smashing into yours as you mewled under him, parting your lips for him the second he sucked the lower one between his own, his tongue snaking out to tangle with yours. The wet muscles dragged together, a breathy moan slipping into his mouth and dying out as his mouth moved relentlessly against your own in heated patterns.

You shifted, a groan falling from his lips as you turned in his hold, your arms looping around his neck, your fingers moving to play with his hair and tug on the soft locks to tease him, handfuls of the hair woven between your fingers as he continued to kiss you sloppily, the sounds echoing around the room, and his fingers tightened their grasp on your thigh, anchoring you to him as you shared the passionate embrace. 

When the burning for oxygen became too much, your mouth parted from his, your eyes still closed as you panted for breath, his own needy gasps washing over your lips each time, and your eyes only opened when you felt him run his thumb over your lips. He admired the swollen and darker colour of them, knowing he was the reason you looked quite so dishevelled, warmth bursting in his chest as he took in your flustered and flushed appearance, a small smile pulling on his lips when he backed away. 

“Stop staring at me.”

“You look beautiful when you look all fucked out.” He grinned at you wickedly, your cheeks flooding with more heat as you laughed, standing up carefully and brushing the skirt your dress back into place, and he followed suit, his hands on your hips as he looked down at you, licking the pad of his thumb and smearing away the charcoal that was still present on your skin. Your face scrunched up as he did, a grimace forming, and you rubbed your palm over the skin roughly until the wet feeling was gone, the dark smudge disappearing too, red and irritated skin taking its place. “I need a new sketchpad, and some more candles.” 

You looked up at him, nodding as you began to adjust the corset of your dress back into the correct place, and he lifted his hands from your hips to take the string between them, pulling tightly, your back straightening and a gasp sounding from your as the material clung around your torso. “Are we going to the markets, then?”

His gaze was focused on the intricate lacing across your torso, his fingers tugging on each strong carefully as he laced it back up, his eyes barely flicking up to yours for a second, but the edges of his lips pulled up in a barely present smirk. “No, I smell like soot and smoke, and I have some things to finish up.”

“Oh.” Your face fell, your eyebrows furrowing, and he tied the strings tight at the top of your breasts, the mounds swelling beneath the dress, his knuckles brushing against the plump flesh lightly as he retracted his hands, letting them smooth back over your sides.

“Why don’t you go and get them, and we can have a bath when you get back?”

Your eyes widened, your face splitting in a bright and beaming smile, and you were practically bouncing in your place as you watched him. “You want me to go alone?”

“Yes, but be quick, because it won’t take me long to find someone to heat water and fill the tub for us, and I’m not waiting for you if the water starts getting cold.” You nodded happily, and he took your hand in his, guiding you towards the large bolted door at the front of the room. His fingers stilled over the cold metal, doubting his movements for just a second as he glanced at you, before unlatching each bolt and lock individually, the heavy wood creaking as it fell open, and you peered out excitedly into the hallway. 

You’d been out many times by his side, but he could practically sense the anticipation and excitement rolling off of you as you stared out at the castle corridors, and he dipped his head as he waited for you to be ready, his body warm and tingling as he took in the joy he had given you. Instead, he reached for the hooks, taking his favourite fur and draping it carefully over your shoulders, tucking it securely around you for warmth, and he let out a deep breath, his dark eyes finding yours.

“You know where you’re going?”

“Yes.” You nodded firmly, and he grinned, taking a small sack, the dirty material sitting in the palm of his hands as he took out a few coins, placing the cold metal into your palm and folding your fingers over it, holding your hand in his.

“This should be enough. If anything happens, if anything seems off, you find a guard. You ask for Scott, and tell them you’re under my protection, okay?”

“What if they think I’m lying?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nobody would optionally associate themselves with me, little dove.” Your free hand smoothed up to cup his cheek as he looked at you, eyes wide and skin warm under your touch as you stared at him, a look he had never quite seen in your eyes before shining through. 

“I would.” 

The simple words winded him, and he let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, nodding as he leaned into you, an arm wrapping around your waist to bring you flush up to his chest as he kissed you, deep and slow. There was no frantic need in this kiss, no lust or desire, just affection and longing, your lips sliding together in an intimate and meaningful exchange, your body buzzing with thrill under his hands as you looked forward to the trip. 

“I’ll be back soon. A sketchpad and more candles.” You nodded to yourself as you confirmed your small list, and he let out a small hum, not quite trusting his voice as he choked down whatever emotions were bubbling up within him. 

You turned towards the door, your body freezing in the entrance as you rocked on the balls of your feet, almost afraid to leave on your own, and despite his own worries about letting you out of his sight, he placed a hand on your lower back, feeling the way you relaxed into his touch, tension leaving your body as his he pushed you forward a little, taking your first step over the threshold, a small squeal leaving you. You turned, pressing a final kiss to his lips that he barely had time to return, before you were clenching the fist with the coins in, giving yourself an affirmative nod.

“Here I go.”

“Here you go.” He returned the words, slightly strangled in sound as he watched you step back, walking away from him as his touch left you, his hand falling back to rest at his side, and you turned your back to him, never once glancing over your shoulder as you bounded along the corridor quickly, disappearing from his sight once you rounded the corner. 

A strange mix of pride, anxiety and longing churned in his gut, but despite it all, he smiled, closing the door and for the first time since he’d allowed you out of the cell, he left it unbolted, choosing instead to trust that you would come back to him, that you cared for him as much as he did for you. 

[smallheathgangsters]

Victims of War | T.S.

A/N: Turned out kinda sad and angsty, but not in a negative way, at least in my opinion. I hope you all like it as well 🥰 Sorry for any mistakes I made!

Request: “I'd like to request from you're prompt list ! 20 & 34, w/ Thomas Shelby !” by @captivatedbycillianmurphy​

Tags: @tranquility-or-chaos​ @zodiyack​

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 1867

Type: angst, some fluff

--------------------------------------------------------------

On the 4th of August 1914 you had received the devastating news about the United Kingdom’s declaration of war against the German Empire. You and your family had known exactly what that meant for your younger brother. Because he was serving officer in the British regular army, he had unfortunately been one of the first men to be sent off. On top of that, he’d been placed at the front line only two weeks into the war, making you fear for his life every single day, hoping that the next letter from him to you was still one he’d written himself and not a notice from the army about them being sorry for your loss.

Even though your brother was born a year after you, the two of you had been like twins. There hadn’t been a day in your childhood where you didn’t play together and when you got older, he was the one protecting you from any harm, not caring about himself actually being your younger sibling. When you started getting closer to the gypsy boy Tommy Shelby, it was more important to you that your brother gave you his blessing instead of your father or mother. All you wanted was him to be okay with the man you were seeing, his opinion being very important to you. Luckily, he’d let you know that he liked Thomas a lot and even began hanging out with Tommy’s younger brother John, soon making them best of friends. All that ended up in countless evenings of the four of you spending time together, having a laugh and a drink.

A few days ago, Tommy had told that he and his two brothers, John and Arthur, had volunteered to join the war as well. His confession turned your conversation into a heated discussion and eventually into a crying fit on your part. You just couldn’t understand how he had the heart to put you through that pain of letting somebody go and not knowing if they returned, again. He had witnessed what seeing your brother leave had done to you. The knowledge of him being part of the infantry and with that one of the men with the lowest chance of surviving, if they were sent to the front line, in the back of your mind. He’d also been there when your fears turn to reality when you’d opened his letter in which he had informed you about his transfer to the front line. It had been too soon for you to accept, for you to fully process.

Tommy had spent every night with you after your brother had said his goodbyes, but since he’d told you about him volunteering, it hadn’t been the same. His warm embrace wasn’t as warm anymore and his kisses didn’t give you the same comfort as they did before. It had nothing to do with you loving him less. It had been the cold fear that had settled in your chest, knowing that your days together were counted. That realisation had made it hard for you to savour the time you had left with him.

The sun wasn’t up yet when you woke. Tommy was lying on his chest, his head turned to the centre of the bed, facing you. Soft snores escaped his mouth, making you chuckle quietly at the sound and sight. You sighed and sat up. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d got a good night’s sleep. Your dreams had been nightmares ever since, forcing you to wake up multiple times and eventually giving up, making you get up and start your day. You’d always let Tommy sleep, knowing he needed to gain his strength for the war, and it wasn’t like you to make it harder on him than it already was. You knew deep down that Tommy had only volunteered because of his brothers. They both didn’t have a girlfriend, so nothing was holding them back.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and your feet came in contact with the cool wooden floor when you let yourself slide off the mattress. You padded over to the armchair in the corner of your room where your light dressing gown had been placed the evening before. You grabbed it and stuck your arms through the long sleeves, tying it together in the front. It helped a little with the chilly air in the morning, keeping your skin from immediately getting goose bumps.

You decided to go down to the kitchen of your parents’ home and put on the kettle to make some tea. That would help you relax from the exhausting night you’d had yet again and seemed like a good way to start the day. So, you headed down the stairs, past the living room and into the large kitchen. It was your favourite room in the whole house because even though your home was rather tiny, the kitchen had so much space to cook, bake or just hang out in. It used to be like the gathering place of your family when your brother was still around.

You placed the kettle with water onto the stove and turned it on, waiting for it to boil while you took out a tea pot, some tea bags and a cup. A few minutes later, the kettle started whistling irritatingly and you promptly pulled it away from the heat. After preparing your cup of tea you wandered back to the living room and let yourself fall onto the sofa. You closed your eyes and tilted back your head, trying to breathe as calmly as possible. The dreams you had had that night had been horrible. You’d seen your brother’s face too clearly, too intensely and you tried desperately to get the images out of your mind. Not because you wanted to stop thinking about him or even forget him. You loved the thought of your brother but not the ones that your sleeping brain provided you with. They were awful and all you wanted was to reminisce in memories from before the war. When everything had been alright. When life was almost carefree.

“Are you up already?”

Tommy’s groggy morning voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

You lifted your head back up and gave him a kind smile. “I had nightmares.”

He sighed compassionately and came over to you, sitting on the sofa as well. He wrapped his arms around your body and pulled you to his chest. “I’m sorry you’re still having trouble sleeping.”

“It’s okay,” you said, inhaling your boyfriend’s pleasant scent. “I won’t be able to sleep until you and my brother are back. It’ll have to get used to it.”

Tommy sighed again, this time more deeply than before. “That’s not something I like to hear.”

“I know, but there’s nothing you can do about it,” you explained. He started caressing your back gently. You stayed in Tommy’s arms for a while, sipping on your peppermint tea and after you watched the sun rise and slowly peek through the windows, you got up to make him a cup as well.

“I’ll get the mail,” Tommy announced from the living room while you were working in the kitchen. Then you heard the front door open and close. A few moments later, Tommy was back inside with the newspaper and two letters in his hands. You carried his cup to the dining table and set it down. He handed you the letters, sat on the chair in front of his tea and opened up the newspaper to read about yesterday’s events. He only just flipped over to the third page when you let out a high-pitched scream.

Tommy’s head shot up in concern. “Love, what is it?”

You were holding the yellowish piece of paper in both your trembling hands, tears running over your cheeks uncontrollably. The sobs escaping your mouth were heart-breaking. You tried to finish reading the words on the letter, but the tears made your sight go blurry.

Sir or Madam, I regret to have to inform you that a report has been received from the War Office to the effect that (No.) 1563 (Rank) 2Lt …

“No!” you cried out. “No, please no!”

Tommy pushed himself off his chair and rushed over to you, pulling you into a strong hug, as though he would never let you go. You cried into his chest, staining his nightshirt while mumbling incomprehensible words to yourself.

Tommy knew from the moment he saw the pain in your eyes, that the message on your brother’s passing had been delivered to your house. You felt your knees become week and Tommy immediately scooped you up, carrying you back to the sofa and placing you on his lap when he sat down, cradling you comfortingly. He tried soothing you with sweet kisses on your hair, but in that moment, nothing was able to get you out of the dark place you were in. Not even Tommy could change that.

You wept and sobbed and screamed and hiccupped. But the pain was unbearable. You felt like there wasn’t enough air for you to breathe and the knot in your chest made it hard for you to inhale.

“It hurts so much,” you cried, your body shaking violently in Tommy’s arms.

“I know, love. I know it hurts,” he murmured, giving you a kiss on the forehead. His thumb wiped away the wetness from your cheeks, unsuccessfully trying to dry them.

You started gasping for air. “I … can’t … breathe.”

“You need to calm down, love,” Tommy said, lifting your head from his chest to stop you from hyperventilating. “Please, try to calm down. Can you do that for me, love?”

You nodded panicky, scared by the loss of control over your body. Tommy cupped your face gently with his hands, looking deeply into your eyes. “I love you. So much.”

You whimpered, torn between the pain the death of your brother inflicted on your heart and Tommy’s gaze, so full of love and support.

“We’re going to get through this, together,” Tommy whispered, brushing his lips over yours. You melted into his touch, closing your eyes to savour the moment.

“I can’t lose you too,” you sobbed. Tears were gathering at the corners of your eyes yet again. The thought of him leaving ripping you apart internally. “Please don’t go.”

You knew, Tommy wouldn’t stay. And he didn’t. Joining his brothers in France, digging tunnels and going mad. Luckily though, unlike your sweet, sweet brother, he returned. Alive. You had hoped the return of the love of your life would make everything okay again. But it didn’t take you long to realise that despite Tommy being fortunate enough to survive the war, something in him had died. Still, you were determined to get him back, no matter what it took. He was all you had and all you needed. And there was nothing that kept you from helping him get through the hard times after these horrible four years. You were there for him and you knew, someday the love and effort you were putting into your relationship would be returned by Tommy. Just not today.  

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Oh no! Watercolors all over the place 👀

It'a a lot, but I hope it makes you smile!

//============//

Cadmium yellow

Golden ochre

Titans

Burnt sienna

Rose

Ultramarine

Prussian azure

Yellow green

Burnt umber

Sepia

//============ //

cadmium yellow; when you think of the word “happy” what’s the first thing that comes to mind?

Well, either it's Scotland or the thought of good food.... or both... *cough* Haggis *cough*

golden ochre; describe the relationship you have with your closest friend.

We share exactly one (1) braincell. On some days we like to raise hell and on others we just do absolutely nothing at all aside from eating pizza in bed and sleeping through the afternoon.

I know that I can talk to my bestie about absolutely everything and we have a very established judge free zone. I'm grateful for exactly that. No matter the bullshit we always listen to each other. I could go on about my Ducky for waaaay longer, but there are still other questions waiting....

titans; do you prefer slow mornings or relaxing evenings?

Can I have both? If not.... relaxing evenings! Sometimes I'm really bubbly and energetic in the morning. I don't even want to have it slow during those mornings!

burnt sienna; is there a painting that brings you peace when you look at it?

I could get super elaborate on that, talking about how I like that one painting that shows Cesare Borgia and it's in that nice triangle composition that gets mostly used depicting Jesus and so on and so fort, but....

rose; what’s something really positive going on in your life right now?

My new job! I am so...soOoOoOoOoO damn happy about my new work place!!!! :3

ultramarine; when was the last time you were in a good mood? do you know/remember what sparked it?

We are getting up close and personal, eh? Like long lasting in a good mood...? Oof... that's been a while, uhm... I really don't wanna say "The time I started writing that Night Hunter fic." because it's almost a year ago, but, honestly, that's the first time that comes to mind. If we don't talk about "long lasting"... just about each and every time I start dancing through my flat listening to Mötley Crüe.

prussian azure; what’s your favorite scent?

Peat briquettes!!!!! Either that or bergamot. Honourable mention: Garlic, onions and chillies frying in a pan 👌🏻

yellow green; picture yourself walking in a field. what do you see & hear in this scenario?

Okay, we are talking about any kind of field, right? Could be a field of grass, could be a field of corn, could be....

When I'm walking through my favourite field I see some weeds that are growing on the border of soil and sand. They are pretty tough for still growing there considering the harsh breeze. I see a herd of cows strutting along the beach that I'm walking towards to and I smile as I think about how free they must feel. Just as free as I feel while I hear the waves softly crashing at the shoreline. I'm eager to touch the cold water and taste the salt on my fingers later. It'll remind me that I was there, felt happy, free and at home.

burnt umber; what’s something you plan to do before the day is over to take care of yourself?

Imma take a nice, hot shower, make myself a big cup of tea and maybe....really just maybe... I write something. And since I have a lot of time today I'll cook something nice for lunch.

sepia; name five things that always make you happy.

1. My pets

2. That moment when the first sip of coffee just hits your soul

3. Good music

4. Good food (Or as you have put it "May it just occur that eating is your passion???")

4.1 While we're at the things you say... seeing you nerd out about something I have no fucking clue about ❤

5. Winter / Autumn... it's nice and cold and the the sunlight finally fucks off. ✨Hoodie time✨😌

Thank you so much for sending that aks 🌸💕 I know I'm a whiny puddle at times and you still put up with that @demotalias 🐻

[tokoyamisstuff]

Protector - Bucky x Reader

Synopsis: Your boyfriend Bucky Barnes has his own ways of supporting your musical career.

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Bullying

Words: ~4000

A/N: I think this is a good opportunity to tell you that you can always reach out to me, no matter what. If you guys are experiencing any kind of emotional distress, don't hesitate to text me 24/7!

You are not alone. You are loved. You deserve better!💌

Some mornings, Bucky would feel like a bag of bricks when waking up. Most of the time he’d just laugh it off as being “a hundred year old man, after all.”

And today was no different.

He groaned when he felt the phantom pain kicking in, involuntarily waking him up before the sun even rose. The metal plates in his arm turned as he cracked his bones, trying to get his body to listen to him.

After getting the sand out of his eyes, your boyfriend finally turned around - just to be disappointed when he found your bedplace to be empty again.

He knew exactly where you are.

Well, morning cuddles with you were almost impossible due to the strict training schedule you put upon yourself.

It was kinda sad, since you were the only reason Bucky was able to sleep soundly again, without being interrupted by hellish nightmares. Yet you were already up way earlier than a goddamn elite soldier.

To not disturb you, Bucky would stagger to the bathroom first, taking a shower as he heared the “Moonlight Sonata” echoing through the whole house.

When you were playing, your boyfriend couldn’t help but to at least hum the melody, no matter when. His silent voice turned into a loud whistling as he enjoyed a hot shower, before striding to the kitchen.

His enhanced hearing allowed him to experience music in a whole new way - and goddamn it, the way you produced pure art on this piano was unlike anything he had ever heared.

The pace, the rythm, the fact that you never missed one note let alone emphasize the right tones...

Everything was simply perfection.

Especially the way you gave old classics your own twist. It was admirable to have such talent, he thought.

He used his super-soldier powers to sneak up to you playing way too often, as he did today, leaning to the doorframe which led to the living toom, munching on a cereal bar to reveal himself.

For some reason, you didn’t like him or anyone else to listen to you play, humbly stating that you were still way too bad to have any audience.

And that was the one thing bothering him as he scanned your face: You didn’t seem like you were enjoying it at all.

Quite the opposite, actually. The only thing he could see was a tired, strained musician.

Well, artists were always stressed. They were special persons, after all. It was hard to understand them fully, as they often didn’t even understand themselves.

“Music is the art of self-discovery” you once told him, almost tempting him to learn an instrument himself.

And your music was the most soothing thing that ever graced his ear, so shouldn’t you be enjoying it, too?

Today, you didn’t even seem to notice him, that was just how invested you were in your work.

Well, it wasn’t simply a hobby. It was your dream. And he knew just how hard you were working on it ever since you were a child.

Bucky was eager to support you in any way possible, giving you what you needed and trying not to be all too clingy. You needed space sometimes, no matter how much it pained him.

“Good morning, babycakes” he hummed loving, interrupting your trance. James would put his arms around you from behind, quickly pressing a kiss in your hair. “Up so early again, I see?”

Eventually your stony expression would falter and you gave in to his touch, leaning against his bulky chest as you blinked rapidly between still narrowed eyes. A weak “Hi...” was all that escaped your lips.

“You look tired. How long have you been up?”

Things would only get worse the closer that certain date would come “I’m still not good enough…” you stammered, elbows leaning on the tiles and releasing a horrifying sound. “Far away from acceptable, even…”

You already snapped out of it, forgetting your exhaustion and getting ready to start again - but Bucky would softly grab your wrist, putting his other hand under your chin so you would finally look at him.

“Doll, you know that’s not right. You’re amazing! Everyone says so!”

“What would they know.” You instantly regretting that sentence. He meant your friends, after all. “I-I mean, it’s nice and all, but they aren’t professionals. And Thomas says-”

“Shh.” Bucky began to rub small circles on your back until he got to your stiffened neck, carefully massaging it. Your voice sounded so full of self-hatred that even Bucky had to swallow.

As much as he knew you valued his opinion, Thomas was top notch. Anyone elses opinion meant very little in comparison with the best teacher in New York.

He had trained many of the biggest pianists in the world, and you dreamed so very dearly to become one of them.

Bucky was good at reading people, and he had that feeling from the very beginning: That your teacher was an asshole.

But every time he tried to find out more about your lessons with him you’d completely block his attempts or defend that guy.

“He’s my only chance to become better than myself. And he even planned that gig for me. I owe him!”

James bit his cheek until he felt blood coming- Fuck it. He knew just how important that concert was for you and your career. And he’d be damned if he ruined it by being overly protective.

But it was putting a stroll on his heart, too, seeing you that way even though he thought you to deserve nothing but happiness.  

Since you helped him to accept his past and love himself again - through loving and helping others. Through loving you, to be precize.

And now he was here, helpless at how to assist you in that time of need.

Right now, he didn’t feel like a hero in the slightest.

So he simply shuffled down on the seat next to you, clumsily starting to play a part of “For Elise”.

That whole time through, you wouldn’t move a muscle as you stared at his big hands with an open mouth. It wasn’t really what one would call well played, but it was a surprise nonetheless.

“Where-”

“My parents” he already started explaining, “They were never quite fond of me becoming a soldier. Considering everything that happened, I should’ve probably listened to them.”

He chuckled, shyly and dumbly as he’d always do when he made a joke that dark, and your glare changed into a compassionate one. Buck didn’t like you pitying him, but he knew it was to no avail.

You’d always care about him. And that wasn’t so bad, after all. He was a lucky man.

“Well, they wanted me to learn something else than the way of hurting and killing people. Bringing them joy, you know? Be sophisticated.” He shrugged, then kept on as his fingers ghosted over the tiles, then wandering to your knee to squeeze the flesh of your leg.

“It was great to impress woman, hehe.” You weren’t really fond when he was talking about his time as a womanizer, yet you loved seeing him reminisce in easier, happier times. “I may be a lunk, but I have one or two asses up my sleeve. I never liked playing at all, but now...It’s the only way to feel connected to my parents. My heritage.”

“Darling...” you sniffled, weakly snuggling up to his chest just to feel his fastened heartbeat. When he put his strong arms around you, it was like all the problems of the world couldn’t affect you any more.

You felt safe.

“Never doubt yourself again” he demanded, silently whispering into your ear after an eternity of enjoying this closeness in complete silence.

With him, you were finally able to relax. And it didn’t take you long until your body gave in, falling asleep as he gently stroked your head and covered you in the most tender kisses.

“I love you, Y/N. And I’m very proud of you.”

...

It was already noon when you awokened, much to your surprise in your bed. Seems like Bucky carried you there.

For a moment, a wide smile stretched over your face as you took in his scent that was present in the sheets.

“Fuck!”

Bucky knew what was going on before you even got downstairs.

“I’m way too late!” you yelled at him, running around in only your underwear, carrying a huge pile of clothes and make-up to the bathroom to get ready. “Why didn’t you wake me up?!”

Your boyfriend did nothing but chuckle at how easily irritated you got when you were stressed, then facing the stove again when you locked the bathroom door behind you.

Loud music jammed out of the radio, and before the song was even finished, you took a seat, being all ready. “You cooked?”

“Everything for you, doll.” When he turned around, Buck was wearing a huge ‘Kiss the Cook’-apron, making you almost choke at your drink out of laughter. “Well, if that isn’t a cliché.”

“A man from the 40′s doing the housework is a cliché?” he mocked as he placed your favourite food on the table, gifting you the most heartwarming smile. “Well, I want to help you wherever I can.”

“You’re simply the best!” you told him between munching quickly, “Sorry that we don’t get to spend much time together, lately.”

“I enjoy every minute, doll. Even if I just listen to you play. As long as I fall asleep next to you, I couldn’t be happier.”

God, he was so sweet all the time. It only caused your guilt to skyrocket.

As soon as the concert was over, you would gift him that holiday on Tenerife as you had planned to! Just the two of you, all alone on a romantic trip, sipping drinks at the beach...

You really needed a time off.

“Lost in thoughts again?”

“No. But I need to go now.” You were already standing up after having devoured that lovely prepared meal in record time, putting on your boots and jacket.

“Doll, you know I can simply drop you out the-”

“Never!” you blurted out, then quite embarassed getting a hold of yourself. “I-I mean it’s fine. You have other things to do, right?”

Of course he had not. It wasn’t even a fifteen minute ride from here. But he didn’t want to pry, so he just sat there with crossed arms, sighing deeply.

“Fine. But I get my goodbye-kiss, right?”

Racing towards him to peck his whole face, hoping it would suffer for the time you were away, you murmured “Love you” and rushed out of the door as quickly as always, leaving the love of your life alone with all of his worries.

Little did you know that the master spy had a plan of his own:

Today, he was gonna find out.

...

“Can’t you do anything fucking right?!”

You flinched at Thomas words, but kept on playing the best you knew how. He dramatically threw his hands into the air, cussing under his breath.

It hadn’t even be three minutes until his first outburst, even though you only played “Flight of the Bumblebee” as a warmup - and in a pace that would even make the composer envious.

But after so many months training, you were already quite used to his ragefits.

“You play this as slow as a snail, for fucks sake!” he added, only making you more nervous with every step he came closer.

“Did I allow you to stop?!” your teacher yelled, slamming his balled fists onto the wooden piano. “Can’t you even do the basics? God…”

You quickly rubbed your face and started all over, wondering why he took you as apprentice in the first place.

If you were that bad, why would he make you play in front of a great audience this Saturday?

But well, you were just too kind-hearted and naive. You thought this was just his method of motivating his pupils to become even better.

“You look terrible. Aren’t you embarassed?! How can I present you to my colleagues if you look like a homeless? Shit!”

He was kinda right. You took the firs things in your wardrobe so you wouldn’t get too late. Thomas hated it, and you were afraid of the punishment And then the messy hair and dark rings under your eyes...

“I’m just a litte sleep deprived” you explained calmly. “I trained the whole night, so-”

Thomas bursting laughter interrupted you, and he’d even wipe a tear out of his face while doing so. “You trained yourself?”

His voice became more grim now, and he got so close that the stinging smell of his aftershave tainted your nose. “Do you think you can train on your own? You’re nothing without me! Get that in your head!”

Your eyes widened with fear when he opened your bag, puling out some scribbles. “And this! Don’t think I didn’t notice you were composing on your own.”

“Plea-” The words dissolved into nothing but a whimper when you saw Thomas ripping apart all of your attempts, everything you’ve worked so proudly on. And he didn’t even read or listened to them...

“You think you’re some hot shit, huh? I told you to stick to the fucking notes! No one wants to hear your version to old classics of the greatest!”

Pressing himself against the piano, he said “I heard you even have a boyfriend. What poor being has to spend his time with you? Or is he a freak, like you?”

Right now, the image of Bucky in your head was the only thing that kept you sane.

“Yeah” you sniffled, even managing to crack a smile when you remembered how uplifting and supportive he was all this time. “He is a freak. The best kind of.”

A loud noise snapped you out of it.

It took you a while to realize what had just happened, but the burning sensation on your cheek, heat rising in the skin told the whole story.

Thomas had slapped you.

“Get that stupid grin out of your face!” He wouldn’t even apologize. It never stopped, wouldn’t it? And you were too weak to fight back, the only thing you were able to do was holding back the tears who were already collecting in the rim of your eyes. “We’re not in kindergarden! Get yourself together!”

"Stop. It. Right. Now…” a menacing but familiar voice called out from the back.

Oh no.

It was Bucky.

“Babe!” you blurted out, running right to him as he was nearing your teacher with firm steps. “H-how much di-did you hear?”

“Enough” he muttered under heavy breaths, shooting an icy glare to Thomas who was still ranting on about how your boyfriend got in here and starting to insult both of you.

His mechanical arm was well hidden under his fabric, yet even if he wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, you could feel how he air around him had changed.

This was dangerous.

You needed to de-escaalate this situation - otherwise there’d be a disaster.

“Please.”

Your voice was more than enough to calm him down. But he didn’t understand why you would still protect this cheap excuse of a man.

His eyes wandered down to your shivering from, grabbing on his shirt and whispering “You promised me...Never again.”

Bucky gnarled his teeth, still clenching and unclenching his fists, thinking about how he wouldn’t even need weapons to give that guy what he deserved.

But he couldn’t do this to you.

If that was your wish, it’d be his command.

“Let’s just go home, okay?” You cupped his cheeks in your hands, softly brushing his lips with yours to make him calm down. “Don’t become a monster again. Not because of me. I couldn’t live with that.”

Those words really hit his heart like a bullet never could.

“Allright.” His voice was still dark and gruffed, almost as if he was about to cry at any moment.

He gulped harshly, to remove the lump out of his throat, squeezing your small hand way too hard when the two of you turned around and left - but it was alright. You could bear with it.

Thomas had no idea what kind of wrath he just put on himself, neither what had happened just now. Yet it was in his nature to say more than good for him, so he kept on pouring oil in the fire.

“Yeah, and you never need to come back here, you maniacs!”

One last time, without you noticing because you were too busy crying, Bucky turned around to look at your teacher. And the look in his eyes told him everything he needed to know, pulling shivers down his spine.

This wasn’t over. The last word had not yet been spoken.

…

After the two of you made your way home, you would finally tell him the whole story: About the bullying, the abuse - the violence.

And Bucky felt like the worst partner that had ever been.

How could he not have noticed?

No - it was way worse than that.

He did notice. He knew the entire time, yet he turned a blind eye to the situation at hand.

Why hasn’t he tried to find out?

It was so obvious now. All of your reactions, the excuses. The bruises on your body, telling him you had tripped.

How you cried yourself to sleep sometimes, telling him it was just the stress.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. So sorry...” Tears pattered down his face as he watched your sleeping form, covering you in the blanket.

One last time, he would brush your cheek, placing a kiss on the very same spot before he disappeared.

Because he had a mission that couldn’t be delayed.

It wasn’t all that late, but already dark, due to it being winter. And Bucky couldn’t help to remember how often you ‘forgot your jacket’ after your lessons, walking home in the freezing cold. Was that another one of his punishments?

That man would have to suffer. He’d finish him, take him down for good, he-

No. He promised you: No crimes, no murder - and as tempting as it was, no torture either.

The way to Thomas music school wasn’t that long, but Bucky sure took his time, kicking every stone while pondering just how he could make that bastard pay for what he had done to you.

Not once it came to his mind that you could’ve cheated on him, yet he always wondered why you wouldn’t take him to those piano lessons.

Now he knew, and it was hard to bear with it.

Because you were experiencing horrifying things this whole time, while he was enjoying himself in the safety of your shared home.

That was inexcusable, for him as weil as for Thomas.

Meanwhile, Thomas was the last one in the building, having carefully put together the ripped pages.

“Incredible. Magnificent!” he was talking to himself, playing some of the notes you had written. “One masterpiece after another. If I lable them as my own, that’ll be my second breakthrough after so many years of not producing anything!”

Bucky huffed. It was obvious that your teacher was just envious of you already being more talented than he ever was.

“That stupid bitch is so easily to control. I’ll-”

At that very second, Thomas felt a blade being pressed to his neck, already cutting the first, thin skin layer. He was standing in front of a giant mirror, making him able to see his own blood slowly dripping down his skin.

He began to hyperventilate, trying to grab the arms of his attacker - but to no avail.

While Thomas was struggling, James could see himself in the mirror. It was the first time in years hat he was fully geared, even wearing his muffle again.

You were right. The person in the mirror wasn’t him.

Yet it was a part of him. His dark side.

And he could control it. To do the right thing.

“Move, and I will kill you. Make a sound, and I will kill you. Try to fight or fool me, and I will kill you.”

Oh, he could basically see how that man was almost pissing himself, and he had to keep himself from laughing about it. Yet he kept a straight face, seeing how Thomas listened to every of his commands.

All of a sudden, it was all quiet. Thomas wouldn’t even flinch or cry.

“If you understood what I just said, slowly close your eyes.” And so he did, sweating heavily.

“Not all that mighty now, huh? Do you know who I am? If you do, open them again.”

Thomas was a piece of shit, obviously, but he wasn’t stupid. So he wouldn’t do anything.

“Good” Bucky grumbled, balling a fist in the mans hair. “Since you have no idea just what I am. Now listen: You’ve never seen me. You won’t go to he police. You won’t talk about this at all. No one can help you.”

“Wh-what do you-” Smack. One of his teeth flew as soon as Buckys metal backhand hit his cheek.

“I didn’t allow you to speak, pig. I wanted to wipe that obnoxious grin out of your face, you trash. Or should I cut off your hands, so you can never play again?”

His blade was gliding over Thomas body, leaving marks everywhere. “I should make you as ugly on the outside as you are inside...” He wanted to scream in pure terror, but his survival instinct kicked in, telling him to stay silent. Yet his heart was racing so loudly against his chest that it could be heared from afar.

“Anyway: I promise you, I’ll find you anywhere on this world and make you wish you were dead. Not even god will help you, then.”

Bucky threw the whimpering man to the ground, slamming his combat boot just an inch away from his face, leaving that man a shaking and screaming mess.

“Never show your filthy face to us ever again.”

...

It was the night of your concert, and you were as nervous as never before.

Ever since that day, Thomas had disappeared into nothingness, but Bucky assured you that he was alive. You just knew he had something to do with this - but you trusted him.

He was your protector, after all. And you were already feeling guilty enough for not telling him. It took you forever to convince him that he had done nothing wrong.

Just your luck that the descendants of Buckys old piano teacher were still leading that school, welcoming you with open arms.

Finally, your passion for music was enjoyable again. Life was so much easier after you had opened up to Bucky. Something like that would never happen ever again.

“I am so proud of you, Y/N.”

His words gave you strength and confidence. And when the curtain dropped, you felt as if you had been born ready.

All of your friends were sitting in the first row, with Bucky already clapping before you even started, a giant pack of roses on his lap to throw in your direction later.

He was simply baffled by the way you looked in that formal wear, beautiful as always. But the most important thing: You finally looked happy again. Relaxed, content with yourself and everything else.

Sitting down in front of that magnificent piano, you felt everyones glares being stuck on your every move. Calmly sipping on a glass of water, you cleared your throat.

“The following song I composed myself.”

Everyone was curious about what song you would’ve chosen for your great debut.

“I wrote it for the most important person in my life.” At that moment, Buckys and your eyes met, and you felt yourself melting at his passion.

That was for him. For everything you’ve gone through and experienced together.

And everything that would happen in the future you shared.

“I love you.”

As you began to play your song, fingers dancing over the tiles, you tried to pour all the love you felt for this man into your music, honoring his very existence and the fact that he came into your life.

He was your muse.

And you meant everything to him.

_______

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[girl4music]

Suicide/Self-Sacrifice/Manic-Depression

This may well be my best post yet regarding philosophical theories and artistic interpretations, using the characters and storylines from the show, ‘Xena: Warrior Princess’, as a staple, if I can explain my thoughts and feelings on it well enough. I want to tackle the themes of ‘suicide’, ‘manic-depression’ and ‘self-sacrifice’. Some posts I’ve reblogged on Tumblr have inspired me to write down my take on these subjects, and the situations, circumstances and consequences that follow. This will probably be a very long post, so bear with me. I’ll try to keep on topic as much as possible, as this will be very hard to explain in a way that will not be offending, ignorant or just plain stupid. I want it to come across to people in a positive way!

Callisto:

The character Callisto was introduced in Season 1 and her story was very complicated. It was difficult to understand her consciously and morally for the awful things she was doing, and her reasons as to why she was doing them. Eventually there came to a point in the show where she felt she had nothing left to live for and she wanted to die. This was right after she heard the screams of Xena mourning the death of her son, Solan, in the Season 3 episode, ‘Maternal Instincts’. You see the expression of pure ecstasy on her face, as she had desired this for so long. To make Xena feel the pain and the grief she caused her when she burned her hometown and murdered her family. To give her a taste of the immense torture it had inflicted on her all throughout the years growing up alone and full of revenge, driving her to psychopathy. I’ve said this before, but I could never quite look at Callisto as a villain, as I could see she was so damaged and depressed, that she really couldn’t help becoming the way she did. I feel she was seriously misunderstood, and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who feels this way about her. This scene in the episode was supposed to be her moment of accomplishment and relief. But then her facial expression begins to change to confusion and apathy. She realized it didn’t do anything to cure her condition, it only made her empty and numb inside. She was waiting for the relief to wash over her and for the pleasure to settle into her system and it didn’t. After so many years of wanting to destroy Xena’s soul, she finally got her wish… and it did NOTHING!

What brought her to the point of yearning for death was the fact that she couldn’t feel anything anymore. Not even her hatred for Xena… which was what was motivating her to hold on to her life to begin with. She believed the only meaning to her life was to destroy Xena’s. The delicious scent of fulfillment never came, and she was done with it. From that point onwards she craved oblivion, and unfortunately for her, since becoming a god, that wasn’t possible. The Olympian gods cannot take their own lives. Another must do it or they must get permission from Zeus, as their roles as immortals are important and too valuable to be wasted, according to the king of the gods. This was the fatal flaw in her plan. She wanted to live long enough to sate her vengeance. But what she ended up doing instead was giving herself no way out of her emotional and mental torment. What did, however, relieve her of that, as we see later in the show, was Xena sacrificing herself to save her soul from eternal damnation in Hell. Thus, as an angel, she was reformed and could forgive Xena without question. She helped Eli bring her and Gabrielle back to life, as well as provide her with what she once took from her. A child. A human life, that to which would conceal her reincarnated soul, giving her what Xena once took from her. A mother. Such a beautiful and satisfying end to her story. If she had found a way to destroy her existence, that would have never happened for her, as it was impossible for her to not experience consciousness. No matter which reincarnated body, denomination of the afterlife or alternate reality she was in. Committing suicide would not have helped anything. It would not have given her any kind of respite whatsoever. Suicide was not the answer. Xena’s self-sacrifice was. It was down to Xena to save her, as Callisto was well passed the point of saving herself.

Xena:

Now this is where I need to be very careful because I don’t want to upset anyone who has had personal experiences with losing loved ones to suicide, or give those who might have suicidal tendencies an excuse to act on them. I’m going to try my best to express myself in a respectful way regarding Xena’s story, and whether she was suicidal or not, as some Xenites have pointed out parts of the show where it’s explicitly implied that she was because she had no regard for her own life and felt she never deserved forgiveness. We’ll start off with the pilot episode, ‘Sins Of The Past’, as this is where her story starts after changing her ways and reforming into a heroine for the ‘greater good’. Turning away from her darkness, and her desire to destroy anyone who got in her way of conquering entire nations. We see her riding Argo into smoke-filled areas, where an attack has evidently struck. Her mind occupied with images and sounds of the sins of her past. Remembering all the lives she had destroyed physically and emotionally. She comes across a boy in the wreckage of the village she was passing by and gave him some food before speeding off out of the area. I personally think this scene was a delusion, as the boy was talking about how it was Xena who killed his parents, and that she came out of the sky “throwing thunderbolts and breathing fire.” I believe the boy and the decimated village was real but the experience he was relating was not. So, therefore, I feel it was just her deluding herself with the memories of the horrible things she had done, and the consequences it had on the lives of those she victimized and destroyed.

Next we see her in a wooded surrounding taking off her armor and leathers, leaving her in only her under-shift, and burying them, covering them with soil and leaves. It is here where it is possible she was thinking of committing suicide as we also see her staring blankly, presumably deep in thought at what she was about to do. Contemplating on going through with it, I would assume. Now if we go all the way to the second to last episode, ‘A Friend In Need Part I’, we see her do the exact same thing, only this time, her last look and thoughts were of Gabrielle, walking in the opposite direction, with absolutely no inclination of what she was about to do, which was to allow the army to kill her. We watch her put up enough of a fight to take out as many men as she possibly could, until finally meeting the general face to face as he cuts off her head, in first-person view, with blood covering the camera screen, shocking us all. She was allowing him to kill her as she could have easily stopped him if she had wanted to, as Gabrielle points out later. She evidently was wanting to die. So these parallels definitely allude to her being suicidal and caring nothing for her own life. Only Gabrielle’s and the people who were about to be attacked by Yodoshi’s soldiers. I don’t blame her to be honest. The 40,000 lives she had taken all those years ago would have drove her to that conclusion. Their blood on her hands, if only figuratively, making the decision for her. So considering those scenes, as well as her confession to Gabrielle, in the Season 6 episode, ‘Legacy’, that she was the one who changed her decision to “wanting it to end”, it is very conceivable she was plagued with suicidal thoughts throughout the entire show. And given this theory is accurate, it tells you Gabrielle saved her life without even realizing it from the moment she first met her. That is an astonishing revelation, and it completely changes the tone of the whole show. The thought that Xena could have been suicidal all that time. She was only happy when she was with Gabrielle, who she referred to as her “light” and her “source”. Her reason for existing at all. Therefore, what the meaning of life was for Xena wasn’t a theme of any kind. It was a living and breathing human, who seemingly enjoyed her life and was very peaceful about it to begin with… but was she really? We’ll get on to her next…

Gabrielle:

This is a perspective that might be a little bit of a reach, and there certainly isn’t any reason to make this show seem any darker than it already is from what I’ve talked about previously, but I feel I must include this character in this topic of conversation, as she is my favourite character in the whole show. @brifigy made an enlightening post that I would like you to read:

https://girl4music.tumblr.com/post/168126126575/girl4music-brifigy-girl4music-brifigy

I think @brifigy had a valid theory, and I’d like to elaborate on it to support it. I am quite observant, so I notice things others completely overlook. There are certain traits from Gabrielle’s psyche I want to bring to light to you all, in continuation of @brifigy’s theory. Gabrielle might have been struggling with manic-depression. However, because of her incredible capacity for emotional strength, she was able to hide it from the audience and convince them that she was a happy person, as she so evidently appeared to be from the outside.

You must look very deeply into her character to pick up instances of depression and mania. It is very probable she could have been manic-depressed. Obviously, back then, there was no such term or diagnosis available for mental and emotional disorders. It’s a very relevant and logical perspective to come to, as her character is very layered and complicated. Though, it’s rather hard to pinpoint exactly where it might have been accurate. This is my attempt at pinpointing moments in the show where this perspective makes sense, with my limited knowledge on manic-depression.

The first thing I want to mention is Gabrielle’s insistence to cater to and sacrifice herself for others, both physically and emotionally. We see this side of her right from the start. In her introduction scene, she is shown sacrificing her own life for the health and freedom of her family. The very same event that saved Xena from committing suicide… was also the one where Gabrielle offered her own life to the slave-traders. In fact, throughout the whole of the season we see her constantly doing this for others. Putting herself in harm’s way. Throwing herself in front of strangers. Doing dangerous tasks to prove herself as a responsible young adult, and worthy of being Xena’s sidekick. Bravely stepping up to the plate time and time again to protect and defend others, even with her lack of fighting skill and strength, all the while showing extreme naivety and recklessness.

But what for? What was her motive? Why did she behave this way? Why was she so compassionate and selfless? Well, if you’ve ever met someone who struggles with manic-depression, you will also most likely meet a person who is the most caring, kind and optimistic person you’ve ever encountered in your life, as this person is so tormented by their inner-demons, that they would never wish the same on others, and will endeavor to be a person who will always be there for others, and offer as much help and emotional support as they possibly can. They are usually very empathetic, artistic and adventurous. Always wanting a change in routine and schedule to keep them passionate about life. Always looking for meaning in everything, as they want to be able to give to the world their help and healing. The very thing they do not have for themselves or know how to give themselves. They are also somebody that always doubts themselves, and believes they have more faults than skills, but they express it in such a way where it seems like they’re not being serious. It just comes across as a funny passing joke. Laughing at themselves and their imperfections, but deep inside really struggle with them, and believing in themselves and their capabilities. They give to others what they cannot give to themselves. Pointing out their potential and strengths to lift that person’s confidence and vibration. They talk about subjects that refer to overcoming obstacles and finding the meaning of life. But you never really notice that they’re talking about themselves because they’re just so damn good at putting it into a non-personal way.

If this does not sound like Gabrielle to you in the first season, you haven’t really been paying enough attention, because I can point out many times where Gabrielle has shown these personality and behavioural traits, and not just in the first season either. Gabrielle had an immense evolution, and a lot of what happened to her in Season 3 made her really grow up. She became stronger and wiser because of it. Initially, she appeared to be an overly enthusiastic, loving life, kind of person. But was she just putting on a show? And if she was suffering with manic-depression, (or what has come to be known as ‘bipolar disorder’ nowadays) what caused this manifestation of mental issues in the first place? Childhood trauma, perhaps? It seems like Gabrielle’s first experience of trauma is in Season 2 and Season 3. But we have no idea what was going on before that in her hometown or inside her head. We’ll never know. But what we do know is that Xena saved her, as she confesses that in the Season 4 episode, ‘The Ides Of March’, as @brifigy​‘s post said. It’s as good a confirmation as any. 

Thank you, @brifigy for enlightening us with this insight into Gabrielle’s character. I merely only wanted to elaborate on it and support it. I hope you don’t mind. I’m done! That was long-winded, but I hope you took something from it. It’s a hard topic to talk about, but I thought I’d express my thoughts and feelings on it, thoroughly, anyway. If you got this far, thank you so much for reading. I love my Xenite family. I hope none of you ever take your own life, or put yourself in a situation where you could die, because you don’t care about yourself. You are deserving of so much in this world, and it would not be the same without you. Do not follow Xena!

IF YOU EVER WANT TO TALK PRIVATELY… MY DM’S ARE OPEN!

[intothewickedwood]

1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 10, 13, 14, 17, 18 (even though I think I know about that one XD), 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 29

Oh woweee! Thanks so much! You’re so kind to me :D! *hugs magically*

1. what song makes you feel better?

Listening to ‘The B*tch of Living’ from Spring Awakening is so cathartic. 

2. what’s your feel-good movie?

Any Harry Potter movie. I literally watch a film every Saturday. It brings me such comfort, especially Prisoner of Azkaban.

(Above is exactly my expression when watching)

3. what’s your favorite candle scent?

Probably a nice, simple vanilla.

4. what flower would you like to be given?

I guess a rose because then I’ll know that I’ve finally made it in life.

6. say three nice things about yourself (three physical and three non-physical).

Oh dear God. I am not a confident person. I’ve been told I’ve got nice skin and teeth. And I guess I kinda love my long, skinny feet xD.

I get very dedicated to things, I try to always be kind to people and I’m pretty loyal.

8. tag someone (or multiple people) who make you feel good.

Literally all my mutuals and followers. It brings me such joy that anyone would want to follow my coocoobananas blog! Icluding you, Lovely!

10. what’s something you’re excited for?

Starkids next musical, ‘Nerdy Prudes Must Die’ I loved TGWDLM and  ‘Black Friday’, which has just been released on youtube and I’m excited to see the story continue. I’m preparing my soul. Oh, and Easter! Coz I’m planning to do my anual rewatch of Starkid’s A Very Potter Trilogy!

13. what’s your comfort food?

Papa Johns’ cheesey jalapeño bites.

14. favorite feel-good show?

Once Upon A Time for sure!

17. fairy lights or LED lights?

Fairy Lights are magical!

18. do you still love stuffed animals?

I do! And I’m still working on re-building my collection! No new ones thus far.

20. what do you want most in the world right now?

For my poor doggy, Happi’s eye to get better :(. She scratched it and now she has an ulcer in it. She’s on eye drops though, so she should hopefully be alright.

21. if you could tell your past self one thing, what would it be?

Research things before you believe them, for sure!

22. what would you say to your future self?

Future self, guide me Goddamnit! I’ll give you cookies! White chocolate! I know they’re your favourite because, well…

23. favorite piece of clothing?

Shirts! Shirts! Plaid Shirts! Denim Shirts! All the shirts! I have gathered quite the collection over the years.

24. what’s something you do to de-stress?

I go in my dark room, block out all noise and engage in one of my special interests.

25. what’s the best personal gift someone could give you (playlist, homemade card, etc.)

Honestly, your wonderful fic gifts! I still re-read the Wicked Cricket one and I plan on reading the other one many more times as well. I absolutely love them and I’m forever greatful to you for being so kind!

29. morning, afternoon or night?

Night! I love the darkness! I especially like walking outside at night! It’s so beautiful!