#it’s something he’s used to. or perhaps it’s something he’s experienced when he’s tried to pry megumi for answers

[its-haughty]

ain’t no goddamn way this man should be in a long term relationship. especially with Shin. that is a Recipe for disaster…

and so that’s why they r perfect

[itsswritten]

Cauldron-born

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: When an unexplainable energy pulls the Inner Circle to barge into the Day court, they're all shocked at what they find. But it's Azriel who can't help wonder if his dreams have finally been answered.

“I hadn’t meant to hide this from you Rhysand,” Helion’s usual warm tone was replaced with something sterner, bolder— unwavering.

A breeze pulled on your skirt, the floaty material rippling under the wind. It was always warm in Day, but now, with the appearance of uninvited guests, there was a coldness in the air you hadn’t experienced before.

A bite that pulled at your skin raising goosebumps across your arms.

You guessed this reaction wasn’t a rare occurrence when facing the Night Courts Inner Circle.

Helion shifted his weight, his body stood in front of yours in a protective manner. A nervousness emitted from his energy, an emotion that actually seemed strange to even be associated with him. 

Helion wasn’t the nervous type. Charming and flirtatious, bold and defiant— not nervous.

Helion pushed his shoulders back, his stance flexing against the shadowy group that had just arrived. 

They had shaken him. 

Perhaps you were naive to think these people wouldn’t, naive to believe you could live your life quietly. Slip through the cracks. Go unnoticed. No you were not destined for that, as much as your dear friend may have wanted that for you.

So if a quiet life was not meant to be, then you would at least claim it as yours. 

With a light step you moved from behind Helion to his side, coming into full view of the group who had appeared unannounced in the courtyard. Your hand came to Helion’s gently, giving him a soft squeeze and light smile that stretched to your eyes.

How they had gotten through Day Courts shields didn’t come as a surprise really. Helion had divulged how powerful the High Lord of the Night Court was. That if he really wanted to take them all down, then Helion suspected in that unrelenting pit of power Rhys probably could.

But despite this power, Rhys had never ravaged control over the land. Helion was fond of Rhys and his family, they were allies. Perhaps he would even consider them friendly.

And yet Helion hadn’t told them about you.

Energies and rhythms rippling from their bodies, all with their own melody of colours unique to them floated toward you. Your eyes scanned over their features quickly, reading their expressions, the tight lines their faces made before one look pulled you to a hasty stop.

A hazel lock held you tightly as a males gaze ensnared you. 

Golden rays broke through a midnight blue aura, trapping you in a moment that seemed to expand and retract all at once. He was the most beautiful male you’d ever laid eyes on, and it took every ounce of will power to pull your gaze from his.

There was a simmering at the pit of your stomach, something familiar and warm, and you swore you could hear singing—

“She is like us.” A girl from the back of the crowd spoke, beautiful and sweet. Elain, you assumed. Her aura, one that resembled sunlight radiating in golden flicks. If you hadn’t known who she was you’d had assumed she was a Day court resident from her glow alone.

Elain stepped forward, another girl stepping beside her as if they’d both been pulled by the same magnetic pulse to the front of the group.

This girl. This girl was Nesta. You were sure of it. That silver flickering aura licked at her skin, an energy so similar and yet so different to her sisters.

“Hm..no not exactly like us…” Elain seemed to mutter, more to herself than anyone else. Her eyes scanning you as she tried to get a read, try and decipher what had pulled her here in the first place. 

Why you had pulled them here.

“Something other.” Nesta spoke.

You don’t think she’d actually intended for it to sound so venomous, but the words had snapped like poison. You noticed how for a split second there was a softeness in her energy. Whether she was regretful of her tone or not, you had flinched at the word.

Other.

Hm. Perhaps that was the best way to describe you.

Elain glanced at her sister, her face not changing as she digested Nesta’s words. There was a shuffling behind them, only slight and small. Would barely be noticeable if it wasn’t so hard for you not to notice.

Him.

His scarred fingers twitched at his sides, shadows swirling around them as they peered over those giant black membranes that were drawn in at his back. A tattoo creeped up the side of his neck, peeking through his shirt as you followed up to his jaw. Black leather’s covered his body, blue siphons shimmering under the setting sun. You tried so hard not to let your eyes wander back, but as though you had no control you gaze landed on his again. 

Only to find he was already staring.

Azriel.

Helion had mentioned him to you before and you recalled how you had rolled the name a few times in your mouth. The name feeling so foreign and familiar all at once.

“Not cauldron-made, no not quite.” Elain had turned her attention back to you.

You had stepped forward now, stepped out from the shadow of Helion.

Stepped out to face what you had been avoiding. 

“You are Cauldron-born.” 

✵

“Would you like to join us for some tea?” Your response had been after Elain’s heavy statement.

Your words coming out in a flurry to cut through the heaviness in the air. Despite being outside it felt stifling. Several eyes piercing into you. You could almost hear the way they were trying to decipher you— breakdown what Elain had said. 

You hadn’t allowed them the time. Quickly offering them tea, as you glanced at the small set up you and Helion had come to the courtyard to enjoy.

It was only a matter of moments before more furniture was erected and began the awkward silence while the piping pot of tea began to simmer to a cool.

Your hands were scrunched up in your skirt, fists full of fabric on your lap being an obvious tell of unease to those who knew what to look for. A strained smile was forced to your lips, expression light and brows arched in apprehension as you watched the uninvited guests silently take sips of tea. 

With a quick sideways glance you gave Helion a nervous smile, your lips wobbling as you took a sharp inhale. Helion responded with a gentle pat of your head, his large hand coming to ruffle your hair while a lazy smiled adorned his lips.

His energy finally shifting to one you recognised more, warm and teasing. He was relaxed again. Whatever shock the inner circle had originally caused, Helion now seemed...somewhat nonchalant.

That should have been reassuring, but the tension in your muscles didn't want to relax.

“This is y/n,” Helion finally spoke, addressing the people who had barged into his court. 

At the revelation of a name, the inner circle cast their attention solely on you. 

“These are my friends y/n, I’ve told you about them already. We had anticipated your arrival at some point,” he continued giving a knowing look to Rhys.

Your eyes scanned the expressions of the five people in front of you. 

Rhys, Amren, Nesta, Elain and of course Azriel. Not the whole inner circle, no there were members missing. But Helion had done such a great job at explaining them to you, that it really wasn’t difficult to figure out who was who.

“It’s l-lovely to meet you all,” you managed out, voice falling softer than you had hoped. Your own eyes gently moving across them all before flitting to the shadowy presence that remained stood behind the Night Courts High Lord. 

Azriel.

Spymaster and Shadowsinger of the Night Court.

You couldn’t seem to stop yourself from looking, among all the noise he sung the sweetest. His energy, amongst those swirling smoke coloured tendrils was the most beautiful display you had ever seen. Not the most powerful by any means, Rhysand and Helion’s outshone his aura in many ways but his was the most enticing— at least to you.

Composure wasn’t something Azriel usually lacked, but after hearing the softness of your voice fill the warm evening air he had to collect himself entirely.

From the moment he’d set his eyes on you, he couldn’t ignore the feeling in the depths of his chest. Maybe if you hadn’t been the cause of it, he’d have assumed there was something wrong with his heart. 

Azriel noticed the way your fingers nervously picked at your skirt, fists tight with the material as you sat up straight beside Helion. As if your posture would bring a confidence you were clearly lacking. 

He could sense it, your unease, nervousness. Picked up on it before even his shadows could whisper it to him.

Nervous, nervous, nervous.

He blinked them away. He already knew. 

Pretty. 

Another whispered. He already knew that too.

Pretty was putting it plainly though. You were breathtaking. 

Azriel wanted to reassure you. Comfort the anxiety he could tell you were drowning in. It was such a strange sensation, to feel this connection so deeply with someone he’d never met before, that Azriel couldn’t help but question why.

Azriel allowed himself to consider that perhaps something he’d been dreaming of for so long was finally his. 

That feeling, the ache in his chest you caused— was almost painfully lovely. He swore this was exactly how his brothers had described it to him.

Azriel found himself allowing the smallest curve spread to the edge of his lips, a gentle, secret smile. Just for you.

A smile that softened your own forced expression to something more relaxed and genuine. 

For a moment it felt as though it was just you two. The noise and vibrations of everyone else seemed to fade. An embrace of cobalt and hazel filling you with a warmth that felt so familiar.

“But Elain is correct. Y/n is cauldron-born.” Helion’s voice broke the trance you both seemed to be in.

Your nervousness from before simmering hotter.

“It cannot be,” Amren declared, disbelief tinging her tone as her gaze pierced into you.

“You think I lie?” Helion challenged. 

“How do you know for sure?” Rhys pressed back, an uncertainty in his tone.

“Because I know you all feel it too,” Helion’s voice was deep, a gleam in his eye as he turned to you proudly.

“She is the Mother’s daughter.” 

A statement. Even more bold than Elain’s settled a silence across the courtyard. This time it wasn’t stifling, their energy shifting to something of awe, admiration and then devotion.

In one quick movement a figure dropped to their knees. Head pressing to the cool stone ground.

Amren had bowed before your feet. 

And Amren bowed to no one.

a/n: Okay I know this a whole lot more of elusive-ness and I'm sorry, I just thought sharing this little bit more is better than nothing at all. I wanted to flesh this first out properly so here's the full part one! I've been so swamped with work and inspiration struck this evening so I quickly wrote this in my notes. I promise I will eventually finish it, even if it's just little updates here and there. I'm hoping maybe 2 more parts, so it'll be a nice little mini-series!

I also took it upon myself to try and tag everyone who commented and reblogged because you all seemed very invested so didn't want you to miss this installment even if it is tiny<3

Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

CB tags: @hannzoaks @je-suis-prest-rachel @awkardnerd @cleverzonkwombatsludge @faerieboismh @glitterypirateduck @paradisebabey @jesskidding3 @searchingforbucky @beardburnsupersoldiers @chubby-unicornz @toxicsociety17-blog g @sapphenaa @starsidesigh @kalistaangelsbane @bookishthoughtss @pit-and-the-pen

[helluvapoison]

Feelings

imagine being another fallen angel and experiencing lust for the first time

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

18+ only, minors DNI

warning: nsfw but no smut, slight but unintentional corruption kink,

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Unlike the other emotions, this one crept up on you slowly. It lied in wait most of the time, only revealing itself around Lucifer. Truthfully the feeling came so infrequently that you didn’t think to worry about it, forgot about it even. Then his hand would linger on your waist or he missed your cheek, placing a kiss on your neck and a tiny flame ignited deep inside you. You accepted his stammered apologies but the feeling did not.

The warmth itself was uncomfortable solely for the reason of being new, it never hurt! Not like this.

“I think I’m hurting again.”

The calmness of your voice shouldn’t have alarmed him but Lucifer jumped to action before you finished talking, worried eyes scanning you over as they always did. Without hesitation, he took your hand when you were close enough and sat next to you on the couch. Little did he know his touch on your knee scorched you.

“Where is it this time, darling?”

“Here,” You unabashedly gestured over your stomach.

Lucifer’s voice pitcher higher, cooing,“Hungry? I can have Alfredo whip you up—“

“We don’t need to bother Alfonzo. I’m not hungry.”

His brows pinched together in confusion.

“But you said..?”

“Here.”

You enveloped his wrist and guided it up your thigh. About an inch away, where the warmth bloomed stronger with his touch, as if drawing him near, Lucifer snatched his hand away. His pupils shrunk to slits, wings audibly popping out as he jumped. His fingers that had almost grazed you had stretched and closed taught, remaining a fist.

“Oh! Oh! Oh shit.”

His reaction pulled a downright pitiful expression from you. Lucifer drew in a deep breath, calming himself and folding his feathers away. Awkwardly, a different kind than what you were used to regarding him, he sat back down. You couldn’t not notice how far he sat from you, how he folded his hands in his lap and refused to make eye contact. Hell hadn’t made a liar of you yet; you were hurt by this.

“I-I don’t think I can help you with this one, sweetheart,” Lucifer swallowed thickly, curling a finger into his collar and tugging on it, “I-I-I don’t even think I gave Charlie ‘the talk’! That wouldn’t be…”

You tried to be patient, stars did you try, but while he took his time you were being burnt alive from the inside out! You knew you needed something from him and he was unfailingly the answer. Lucifer had never denied you before, outright or not.

“You said you felt everything down here,” You pointed out.

Leaning in on your hands, you tilted your head and searched for what he refused to share. His face blushed brighter and harder than before. Embarrassment wasn’t right. It almost looked as if he was praying for an escape.

“You’re ashamed?”

Lucifer blew a raspberry, crimson slits darting all around, deliberately avoiding where you sat, “No! Nope, no shame over here!”

If not him… then perhaps it was you? Could you drive the King of Hell to shame? Surely not, how arrogant of you to even dream of it. Yet the question rolled off your tongue before you could stop it.

“Have I done som—“

With a jolt he sits up rigid and serious, desperately trying to keep what little distance remained. You were a breath away, staring into his eyes with such adoration it made your problem that much harder to ignore.

“You haven’t done anything wrong. This—This is just… I can’t be the one to help you with this.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help.

He did. Desperately so. Disgustingly so.

He could sink his claws and teeth into you right fucking now and make you feel better— better than better! It was heart stopping, the idea that he could be the one to show you what pleasure is like actually made him breathless. Fuck, how he wanted to see how your face when he brought you to your peak. Your moans would be a symphony to behold, his name on your lips would be his new favorite song. The thought of being your first and only clouded his mind with desire.

He would claim you truly if you’d have him. And the look in your eyes told him you would.

But would it be right? Lucifer’s had plenty of experience, he’s not worried about disappointing you— however you regretting him afterwards? It might kill him.

“But I want you to,” The sincerity in your voice sent his heart racing, “It only happens around you—“

“You—“ Lucifer chuckled nervously, shaking his head, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Briefly, you shot him a warning glare before softening your expression. You cautiously grabbed his hips, slowly so he could deny you if he really wanted. (Never again.)

“I know what I’m feeling. I know you’re responsible.”You counter slyly, maneuvering him into your lap, “I know I don’t want it to go away.”

Lucifer swallowed hard on nothing, staring obviously at your lips as you spoke with lidded eyes.

“I thoug-thought you said it hurt.” He choked.

“I’m starting to understand why. I need you—“ His breath hitched when you ground up against him, holding him firmly in place to feel his hard on, “—to do something about it.”

Clutching your shirt like his life depends on it, he whines. You’re putting his restraint to the test.

And he’s about to fail.

“Please? You’re always so good at making me feel better when I’m hurting, Luci.”

[eccentricallygothic]

Sunshine

Pairing: Recovering Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes | Lab technician!You.

Description: As Shuri's top and most emotionally intelligent technician, you are the one Bucky ends up opening up to during his recovery in Wakanda… And then some.

Warning(s): Top Bucky, bottom reader, his vibranium arm, inexperienced reader, experienced Bucky, dirty talk, pet names, fingering, allusions to unprotected p-in-v sex, nipple biting, kissing, virgin reader, smut with plot, reader and Bucky like each other, brief mentions of his Winter Soldier days, age gap, teasing, humiliation, size kink, allusions to dacryphilia. Minors do not interact.

Type: Request by @imagine-all-the-fandoms, here.

Note: Can you tell I am obsessed with the arm?

MASTERLIST

.

It was usual for Bucky's corner of residence to remain deserted. He was still relatively new to Wakanda and people had heard enough tales about his past life to not welcome him with too much hospitality. They didn't take too warm heartedly to outsiders as it was. And a former killing machine was… well, you guessed it. But you were not sure that Bucky really minded. Apart from the bond he had formed with you -very slowly and steadily, might you add- during his therapy in Shuri's lab, you had observed he preferred being by his lonesome and did not mind the isolation.

The more you found out about him, the more you reckoned he probably needed it.

That was the reason why you felt guilt nip at your cheeks when you heard some leaves rustle behind you and when you instinctively turned to see what it was, you found no one other than Bucky staring back at you. Momentary panic settled in your bones but before you could try and ramble your case and embarrass yourself any more, Bucky offered you a small and friendly smile. You had no idea what it was about him that made you all shy and mum because usually you were a very confident and forthcoming person. You were Shuri's top technician after all. But there was something about the way Bucky's blue eyes watched you, how they flickered down your face just momentarily at times, the manner in which his lashes flexed if he looked further down south, and how his tongue subconsciously swiped across his lips during a conversation sometimes. 

It spread warmth throughout your whole body.

… Like right now.

“The… stars are so bright tonight” you tried your best to mask the awkwardness with a casual amiability. What? Bucky made you feel nervous, alright?  

The male only hummed in agreement as he quietly took a perch beside you, letting his longer legs down the edge of the lake that ran behind his cabin and letting his now bare feet touch the water that everyone used for swimming and fun.

The two of you stayed like that for a little bit, Bucky had never been much of a conversationalist in all the time you had known him and it was always you who had to prompt him to speak or engage in casual talk or even a discussion. A content smile played at your lips while you gazed up at the stars. You liked his corner of the land. It was very calming and serene. Perhaps even more so than the rest of Wakanda. Or so you felt.

It was Bucky's corner after all.

“So… how's the new arm?” You nodded towards the black and gold vibranium arm that the lab had finalized after various meticulous precautions and measurements while giving him the best mental and even physical therapy possible all the while. Shuri had called in Bucky this afternoon to finally install it into the socket you and other technicians had built into his side. After one last test to see if his HYDRA conditioning really was gone for good, it had been you who had with the use of tender and nimble fingers locked the arm into place. It had been a rather emotional moment and you were the only tech Bucky had allowed to touch him. Since he had never been allowed any liberty in his past life, Shuri made sure you all respected the man's comfort first and foremost.

You could never have a problem with that. 

“Pretty good, actually” your eyes followed the glint of the moonlight bouncing off the bionic limb as he flexed his fingers and slowly twirled his arm for you to see. “More comfortable too” you were a nerd so it got you excited. And no, the fashion in which the digits of his new hand had stretched had nothing to do with it.

“Yes! Shuri actually wanted to use…” You began the technical ramble Bucky didn't really understand but didn't mind either. “I suggested we instead use…” And it wasn't sympathy humming either, you had learnt that the Soldier had retained his sassy side and if you were boring him out, he had his quiet ways of giving you a shut up call. “Because I knew that it would bite on your skin…” You hadn't realized just how close you had scooted into Bucky and the way you were cradling his vibranium arm and its various crevices while it laid in your lap until his hot breath fanned some of the stray strands away from your face. “S- So…” Your voice wavered from the hyperawareness all of a sudden, eyes flickering down to his lips before you could stop them and your no longer coherent words quivered. “I- I… she… we…” A breathless chuckle escaped him.

“Y/n?”

“Bucky?” You tried to focus and as a result ended up widening your eyes so much that you looked like a fish out of water. What? Straight A bookworms like you didn't enjoy the luxury of knowing their way around the sex of interest. 

“Shut up” his words were outwardly blunt but the tone in which he said them, the half smile which made his lips handsomely droop to one side and the manner in which he leaned in soon after stopped you from getting offended just in time. Though you couldn't really visualize yourself getting mad at him anyways. 

“Okay, Bucky” was all you were allowed to blurt out before his pleasantly soft lips pressed against yours. You whimpered into his mouth from how tender the kiss was and how delicate he was about it. You had no idea what you were expecting and if you were even expecting something, but something so soft coming from a man with a stature like Bucky's, you were taken by a pleasant surprise. The kiss was warm and meaningful.

… But way too short. 

You gasped once you came to your senses and realized the gravity of the situation. You were kissing Bucky fucking Barnes! The kiss had been rather brief– too brief, but it had also felt like an eternity at the same time due to how your brain had declined you of its service.

Bucky was taken aback by your gasp and now a guilty panic began to mar his handsome features. “I… am sorry…” He wasn't as inexperienced as you but there were generations and years of lack of practice between you two and self doubt began to fill him. “I–” you vehemently shook your head when he began to back away.

“N- No! No, no!” You repeated desperately. “No, Bucky!” You finally had him after months of secret wondering and longing and you were not about to let it go. “No!” So you leaned in yourself this time and hurriedly pecked his lips before pulling back a little to look at him to see if he was still comfortable with it. The next kiss you pressed to his lips was admittedly one that caused for guilt to knot up in your chest because his expression had been difficult to read and in case he didn't want to take this any further, you needed to feel him one last time. 

Bucky wordlessly kissed you again and you didn't give him a chance to back away this time. And after that it was a passionate tussle of your hands and lips pulling and sucking down at one another until you were both undressed in Bucky's bed, tangled together. 

Bucky's vibranium fingers cupped the side of your face as he put his hot tongue into the kiss. You were laying down on your back in the middle of the bed and his huge form was bent over you, one knee pushed between your legs. The man knew how to kiss and he certainly knew how to eat, it was clear from how his tongue pressed against yours before it went to explore the rest of your mouth. The way he swirled it around your own sent heat and shivers down your abdomen and straight to your core that had begun to pulsate when you were still outside. 

“Tell me, doll,” his guttural voice made you moan into his mouth when he let his bionic fingers trail down the side of your body before they found a hold in the soft cut between your hip and torso. “Did you fantasize about me touching your pretty body like this when you used to ‘inspect’ the arm, hm?” You blushed severely. Bucky knew a slut when he saw her. Even the shy little inexperienced ones like yourself. He was twice your age and had ten times more experience. 

“B- Bucky…” You felt called out as your ticklish palms -courtesy of his stubble- began to moisten up from the shame his words made you feel. 

“Are you really gonna deny it?” His voice was low and sexily lewd. That tongue of his did the sexy thing again where he ran it along his flush lower lip and your thighs quivered in response to the visual. “Because I've seen the way you used to look at it… The way you looked at it today…” Images of him flexing his fingers as trial from earlier today appeared before your eyes and you couldn't help but wonder if you would feel them tonight. Or how they'd feel if one was to get lucky with him. The thoughts made you want to tighten your thighs against one another, only his knee hindered your wishes. 

“Bucky…” It was a whine this time and he chuckled. 

“Aw, what is it, huh baby?” He hungrily kissed your lips again before he pulled back just enough so he could be audible but not so much that the spit string between your mouths would break. “Tell me and I'll give it to you” you surprised yourself by placing your hand over his and eagerly pushing it down towards your aching pussy. Bucky snickered. “Is that what you want, pretty girl? My fingers in between these sexy little legs of yours?” You sheepishly nodded but said nothing, rolling your hips from the surge of lava his deep voice was causing in your loins. “I am sorry, baby. But this won't do” he clicked his tongue as he pretended to pull away. 

“W- What?!” Your imploration was unintentionally loud. “Why?!”  

The coral of his eyes had become so much darker than when he had first kissed you. “Because you must use your words for me first” his body weight rested on his elbow as he stroked your face with his right hand, speaking in the tone of a man addressing a child. “Tell me what you want” his metal fingers kneaded the tender flesh of your hip as his lips pressed against you in a series of pecks. 

You softly pouted. “B- Bucky!” The whine you let out was accusatory in nature. Because he knew exactly what you wanted. 

“Aw” he mimicked your pout. This man was so different from the recovering sunshine you had known before this night. The disparity caused for a drop of hot arousal to bubble past your opening. “Would you look at this pouty little thing here?” His thumb traced the shape of your bottom lip before he pressed it down with the tip. 

“P- Please…” He was being so mean. It embarrassed you. But it also added to your arousal. 

Bucky was making you work for it. 

“I know, baby. I know…” He pressed kisses along your jaw in consolation, metal fingers coming up to toy with the swells on your chest. “Pretty things like you aren't used to putting in much work, are they?” Well, no. Simply because this was the most action you had ever gotten. But it made your pussy throb nevertheless. “Well, that's not how things work around here, baby. You gotta tell me how you want me first” you whined past the thick bile in your throat but Bucky did not relent, instead choosing to intently watch you until you caved to him and your need. 

He could do that for the rest of eternity anyways.

“F- Fine…” Your voice was a begrudging whisper once you realized there was no way out. 

“‘Atta girl, go ahead…” His voice was a much agreeable velvet. 

“N- Need you…” You cleared your throat since you were barely audible. “Need you, Bucky” your back arched in shock and a whimper escaped you when you went to place your smaller hand on his bionic one to guide it to your pussy only to him twist your nipple that he had been fingering at the very last moment. 

“I am sorry, what was that?” The clamber in his breathing rate signaled that he had heard you loud and clear. But he just wanted to be cruel to your dignity. 

You were on the verge of tears. “Need you, Bucky!” Before you forced his hand down your body again. “... D- Down there!” The lower part of your abdomen was thumping like it did when you had first discovered the state of arousal. 

“Down where?” You felt like screaming at the tease in his tone.

“Y- You know where!”

“Do I?” 

You hissed. “Down there!” You made him cup your pussy. “Here! Right here!” Your breath quivered at the feel of the metal brushing past your sensitive petals. “B- Between… between… Ah!” Your blood curdled at the wanton moan you let out, surprised by your own ability to make such a sound. 

“Oh, so you mean this cute little pussy, huh?” His bionic digits finally spread themselves over your needy core and your mind nearly melted out of your ears. 

“Y- Yes!” You breathily admitted, flinging your head to the side as you gripped his shoulders from the sensory overload, your hardened nipples grazing against his hairy chest. 

Bucky tutted like the teasing asshole he was. “You gotta say it, baby” his fingers squished their way between your pussy lips and the feel of the textured digit running down the stripe between them had you shuddering. “Say it properly. Tell me you need me in this cute little pussy of yours” when you whined in protest, he licked a stripe on the side of your mouth and then sealed it with a hot kiss. “You can do it, pretty girl. You're already doing so well for me” his words had caused you to make a puddle of warm white liquid on his bed. But Bucky didn't seem to mind. “Come on.” 

“N- Need you in m- my…” Your throat dried out and your voice remained absent until Bucky hummed in an encouraging manner and dipped his head between your head and shoulder to pepper kisses along your sensitive throat, metal fingers flexing over your pussy in a rapid, circular design. Your smaller body quivered under his, knees buckling up to press into his sides from the sensitivity of it all. “Need you in my c- cute little pussy so bad– oh!” Your back jerked itself straight when Bucky's middle finger found its way into your weeping cunt all of a sudden.

“Sorry, whose cute little pussy?” His friendly smile had any intentions but.

“M- My cute little pussy!” Your toes curled at your own words.

“See, baby?” His teeth that were busy marking you his grazed against the soft skin of your neck. “That wasn't so hard now, was it?” 

“Oh, Bucky!” He scooped you up against his chest with his other arm and crawled with you until your head was on his pillow and he was hovering above you. Your lips were parted and your balmy pussy was tight around his finger that fucked in and out of you as a steady pace. 

“I think we have ourselves a problem here, doll” Bucky rasped as he tickled your clit with thumb, adding another finger to your opening. You were so wet that despite the tightness of the band, the metal digit slid right in. 

You couldn't help but rock your hips against his hand, your own stroking his arm that rested on your torso while he played with your nipples. “W- What problem?” Any volume above what classified as whispering was impossible for you in your lust dumb and still shy state.

“Your pussy is too tiny for me” and that night you lived to learn that he was right. 

Minutes– no, hours had gone into Bucky opening you up and preparing you for his girth, shushing and consoling you with kisses and praises before your taking. Though you had been insistent that he not stop what he was doing because of how good it felt, tears and snot had admittedly been spilled. 

But the way his thick cock had filled you up to the brim so completely, the manner in which all its crevices had pressed against your tight velvet walls, the fashion in which his tip had created for itself a sensitive spot deep up your cavern, the affectionate and intimate style in how Bucky had snaked his vibranium arm around your form to hold you close against him while his hips had done their eventually brutal work and the length of his cock had rapidly fucked in and out of your stretched out cunt, your fingers tugging at his dark locks whilst his mouth marked you everywhere he desired, the pleasure you felt from the sting his mouth produced, and the bobbing of your knees which lay atop his against his sides… the orgasms had been loud and many. 

Though when the two of you exited his cabin the next morning and entered the line of sight of your employer who was both surprised and impatient by your being late to work for the first time ever, the mangled expressions of passion from the night before were present on neither of your faces, content smiles having replaced them.

You had high hope it was going to stay that way.

.

[mxmollusca]

 A critique I've heard of season two is that we’ve lost a lot of our symbolic objects, archetypes, and motifs. Season one gave us the lighthouse, the kraken, the red silk and the unicorn, the seagull, the auxiliary closet, Gnossienne no. 5, Pinocchio…

And then I think back to Samba sharing a quote from writer Alex Sherman during the ECCC panel:

“Season one is Stede going from a puppet to a real boy, and season two is Stede becomes a man.”

And that’s it, isn’t it? The transformation from object to subject, from something that has things done to it versus someone with agency. We see that transformation throughout season two. Almost every significant object is discarded, every symbol realized in flesh. 

The process starts at the end of season one with the throwing away of all of Stede’s things. So much has been written about Stede’s potential response to that act, and so many folks (myself included) held on to the idea that perhaps Ed kept a little bit, maybe the auxiliary closet. Stede literally no longer cares about those things. He originally brought all the things he loved with him to sea because he didn’t have significant personal relationships. That’s why we hear Gnossienne no. 5 as he goes through the empty cabin pulling out all of the knives. The discordant love motif shows how his priorities have changed, how his love has transformed.

The red silk is gone as well, but instead we have Stede, real and in the flesh wearing the exact same color, clutched in Ed’s hand in the moonlight.

The kraken, a giant monster capable of rending a ship in two? Ed becomes that, literally, disassembling the Revenge to sail her into a storm and destroy her. 

The lighthouse? A warning, Ned Low in his silver suit, a beacon in the dark warning Stede of what he will become if he continues on his course.

The unicorn, the destroyed masthead, literally becomes Izzy, a man taken apart and rebuilt piece by piece out of the parts of Stede Bonnet to become a beloved and respected member of the crew, and perhaps one of the strongest examples of self-actualization so far.

The attempts at reversing the process are demonstrated to be ineffective. The catalyst is when Buttons becomes a seagull, which shows Ed that the process of change is possible—that someone can become something or someone else. And he tries, he throws away his leathers, dons Button’s old jacket, tries to become an archetype. Stede tries to become a “real pirate”, despite the warning from Low. Even in Ed’s vision of Stede as a merman, Stede is being reduced to the role of symbol—a mythical being rather than a very real, very flawed man. They are both still trying to be the object when they need to be the subject. They need to take action, to realize themselves. And it’s a gruesome process. Jim’s version of Pinocchio is about the horrific transmogrification from wood into flesh and the horrors that need to be faced in order to make that transition.

We, the audience, are experiencing discomfort in this process. We are being held right up against the lighthouse lamp, and it burns. This is the emotional equivalent of body horror. It feels like all of our beloved belongings are being thrown overboard, but I promise they aren’t.

They are becoming.

[dustofthedailylife]

Unaffected a teaching in humbling oneself

-> Masterlist || → Taglist

Pairing: Dr. Ratio x (gn!) Reader

Summary: Ratio is quite aware of his dashing looks and intellect. If he so wanted, he could use it to his advantage whenever he pleased. That was until he met you, who seemed to be entirely unaffected by it.

Tags: Pining, Crack, unreciprocated feelings towards Ratio, someone give him a clown nose - he's making a fool of himself, written pre-release of character, short one-shot

A/N: L+Ratio to Dr. Ratio himself.

Consider how the renowned Veritas Ratio would act if he had a crush on you.

No doubt, he was aware of his attractive appearance and masterful intellect. Why else would he only teach while wearing that accursed marble head? He's experienced it all too often that people stop paying attention to his teaching because they only get distracted by appearances. While conveying knowledge about science, it was nothing more than a nuisance to him.

He didn't want nor need hordes of students fawn over him. This still hadn't changed.

However, when you started working as his colleague at the same university one day, it was as if he had lost his composure for the first time in forever. Judging by your appearance, the Aeons themselves must have carved and sent you to smite him down. Let alone your wit and intellect. He was gone the minute he had first laid his eyes on you.

He absolutely wanted to get to know you better and make you fall for him how he fell for you when you first graced him with your presence.

There was just one problem - due to the boundaries he had set for himself, you had never seen his face. He never took the marble head off when he was at work. However, he was almost certain that, once he did so, you would fall for him the same way his students always did before he hid his face.

There was no way you wouldn't fall for a man of his caliber.

Self-assured and while putting on the most attractive smile he could muster he decided to take the mask off as casually as possible in front of you one day. He leaned against the wall beside you, eyeing you confidently. He was certain to see the stars of the galaxy sparkling back at him in your eyes. Your jaw would drop and you'd inch closer to him and then-

"You have something stuck between your teeth." You remarked unaffectedly as you motioned him to remove it.

You poured yourself a cup of coffee and sipped from it with an unwavering expression of apathy before lifting your eyebrows at him.

Why were you so unimpressed? Why didn't you fall for him yet? He was here. His handsome face exposed right in front of you in broad daylight. Were you not attracted to men, perhaps? No, that couldn't be. He happened to catch a conversation between you and another coworker about it. But why weren't you worshipping the ground he walked on yet?

"Is something the matter?" You poked quizically, noticing how his smile and his entire attitude and confidence had faltered and crumbled into dust in an instant.

"Huh? I j-just..." He stammered before hurriedly picking the piece of food out from in between his teeth.

This should've worked. His plan was flawless. Why did you not care about his dashing looks at all.

"Nothing." He said curtly, straightening himself up again to regain his composure.

"Alright." You nodded confusedly, forcing a smile and eyeing him as if he was completely insane.

The following weeks looked about the same. He tried to appear in front of you without the mask more and more often. He would try to initiate in talks and scientific discussions with you but you always seemed to end up annoyed by him. It was doing his head in what he could possibly be doing wrong - No. Surely, it wasn't his fault. It couldn't be.

That was until he overheard a conversation between you and another coworker.

"I have never seen him behave like that - let alone see him take his stone head off so often..." The coworker said puzzledly. "But I have to admit he is quite attractive."

"Pff, no way. Not with a character like that. Either way, I have no idea what his deal is." You sighed. "All I know is that he is grinding my gears with his big-headed attitude, ugh."

His heart dropped at your words. He had never heard that someone had perceived him this way.

Him? Big-headed? And you also don't find him attractive?

Maybe a change of plan was in order. Just... what was he doing wrong?

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about HSR or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

[romanteacism]

Aemond Targaryen NSFW Alphabet

Warnings: +18, Mature, NSFW Word Count: 3,175 NOT PROOFREAD

A - After Care (What are they like after sex?)

Completely focused on you. Gazing at every action and reaction on your body, savoring the remnants of pleasure in your face. 

Aemond would carry you to the tub and join you, as both of you preferred to sleep with a clean feeling. However, whenever you two are in the tub, it will inevitably lead to another session of lovemaking, rendering your cleansing moot. 

B - Body Part (Their favorite part of theirs and their partner's body.)

Aemond loves every part of you: your enchanting eyes, simpering smile— but he must admit he is partial to your tits. He loves resting his head upon the soft globes of your breast whilst you read to him. Playing with your bosom whenever he could, he always marveled at how your nipples would peak by his cold touch, at how soft your skin was. Often in the morning, when you woke in his arms, you would feel his hand grasping your tit as he slept. 

He also loved your lips, often just staring at them when you spoke. There was just something so captivating about your lips. The way they were always pink— almost red, the way you would bite them when you were deep in thought, or how they would turn glossy as you licked them. He especially loved it when you pouted; you often did that when he would tease you or if things would not go your way; it just made your lips even more kissable.

Aemond’s favorite part of his body, his eyes, yes, both of them. He used to despise them, having only one, but when he revealed his whole self to you, he expected you to grow in fear. It caught him off guard as you called him ‘beautiful.’ Softly tracing his scar, and marveled at his sapphire eye. He never used to take off his eye patch, but the moment he was in the privacy of your chambers, it was the first piece of clothing he took off.

C - Cum (Anything to do with cum.)

Aemond often indulges himself at the taste of your climax, licking it clean off his fingers and lips, not wasting a drop of the ambrosia that came from you.

Aemond insists on spilling his seed deep inside your cunt, but there were times when you took him with your mouth, and he tried to pull out— to hinder himself from spilling in your mouth, but your kept his cock lodged between your lips, him reaching his peak and spilling himself in your throat. He was quick to get a cloth, urging you to spit out his spent, but he only marveled as you swallowed. He grew with further need as you cleaned the spilled essence of him from the side of his mouth with your finger and brought it to your lips, moaning as you tasted him. 

D - Deepest Desires (What do they desire the most?)

You. You were everything Aemond had wanted. Sometimes, he wondered if he wanted a dragon as much as he had wanted you. 

The throne. He knew in himself that he would be a better king than his brother, that he had the tact to rule the seven kingdoms. And he would admit he often fantasized about you as his queen. Fucking you on the iron throne, the conqueror’s crown upon his brow, and you bouncing on his cock. 

E - Experience (How experienced are you they?)

Really experienced. And it did make sense; Aegon was his brother, and it would seem that he oversaw that Aemond was as well skilled in the art of pleasuring a woman. You were, however, skeptical at how good he was, that perhaps he had the same taste in depravity as his brother, but you did not like to dwell on such matters because Aemond never gave you a reason to doubt. 

F - Favorite Positions (This goes without saying.) 

Missionary. He liked how you would cling to him, wrapping your legs around his waist and your nails scratching his back. He also liked that the position offered him a view of your pretty face, that he was able to kiss your lips and take your breast into his mouth. 

From behind, but only when you two are standing before a mirror. Aemond wanted, no, needed to see your face every time you fucked. He loves to see every expression and reaction he would elicit from you. 

G - Gifts (What kind of gifts do they like to give and receive?) 

Aemond was never one for material possessions, but he did cherish the little trinkets and gifts you would give him. Once, you gave him a chess set. The one in his room was old and tattered because it was only passed down to him. You had commissioned the game pieces to the likes of their dragons: the King, Balerion; the Queen was, of course, Vhagar. He as well always keeps with him at all times a handkerchief you had embroidered for him, the both of your initials prominent and intertwined within the pattern.

You, however, were the complete opposite of Aemond. Your heart was always bemused and enthralled by pretty and shiny things. Aemond gifts you anything and everything your little heart desires. Often, you would just return to your chambers with parcels addressed to you, no particular occasion to warrant such gifts, only the love of your Aemond. 

H - Honor (How honorable are they?)

Aemond takes great pride in his honor. He always saw him mself better than his brother and nephews. He was never one to indulge, pious and cautious. He, however, made lapses in his honor when it came to you. The night of his fifteenth name day, with him having too much wine, he stumbled upon you in the gardens and boldly took your first kiss. He wanted to regret his actions, but he could not, for he had taken something he had wanted for the longest time. His honor was often tested when you bloomed into womanhood, him pleasuring himself every night with the thought of you, rendering him guilty in the morning, but he could not help himself. 

I - Intimacy (How intimate are they with their significant other?)

Aemond loses the sense of boundaries when it comes to you. Whenever you two are behind closed doors, he is completely in your space. It is either he was laid on your lap, or you were sat in his— you were initially surprised; you did not think he would enjoy such closeness, but your heart would double every time he sought to be near you. 

Aemond often waits for you to return at night, refusing to eat until you are in his company. He would usually be the one to fix you a plate, pouring wine into your chalice as you recalled your day to him, recalling each anecdote and court gossip you had encountered through your ventures. He was simply sitting there, listening intently and adoringly to every word you uttered. 

J - Jealousy (Self-explanatory, how jealous are they?) 

Completely and utterly jealous, bordering on paranoia. You were the best thing that has ever been his, so he was entirely cautious not to lose you. Any lingering look from any man and even sometimes women made him completely ready to challenge them just to show everyone how you were completely his. 

His jealousy did get out of hand once or twice. He recalled that he once cut out the tongue of a knight who dared make you laugh with his jest and how he had cut two fingers of a lord’s hand for daring to remove a leaf stuck in your hair. You, however, were oblivious to the extent of Aemond’s jealousy and possessiveness. Aemond wagers that perhaps one day, his jealousy may drive him to the brink of madness and may possibly kill a man just because of it. He did come close to it when someone during your adolescence dared to court you. Aemond was younger, and the man was a few years older than the both of you. He lacked the strength and courage to challenge him then, but if it were now, he would not hesitate to kill anyone who dared to take what was his. 

K - Kinks (One or more of the kinks)

Breeding. Gods, he loved to fantasize about you swollen with his child. He loved spilling his seed in your cunt, inserting his fingers after his cock as an added measure hoping his head would take. He could not wait for the day for you to grow pregnant with his child, and his impatience was showing, for he had been bedding you every time he could.

Face sitting. Aemond loves to feel your weight against his face. You were scandalized as he proposed such an idea, but it would seem you had grown fond of it. You writhing against his face, your nubbin perfectly aligned with his nose as his tongue thrusts in and out of your cunt. 

Somono. Often at night, he would wake with a great need for you. And instead of being cruel and waking you up from your slumber, he would just slip his cock in between your folds. 

Choking. He loved it when he would hear your whines as he obstructed your air; the way your cunt would clench harder around his length made his peak come quicker. 

Edging and Squirting. He loves to tease you and deprive you of quick climaxes, for he knows if he pushed you to the edge, your release would always be more enjoyable not only for you but for him as well. 

L - Love Language (What’s their love language?)

Touch. He loves to have a hold of any part of you, whether inside or outside of your chambers. Your fingers would always be intertwined under a table. A chaste kiss on your temple whenever he needed to leave. His arms linked with yours as you walked down the halls. His hand was on your waist as you stood together during trials. 

Gift-giving and acts of service. Anything that reminds Aemond of you, he will acquire it and send it to your chambers. Every start of the week, he would sneakily slip out of your chambers before the sun had risen, and before anyone else would wake, he would go to the gardens and acquire you a bouquet of freshly picked flowers, slipping back to your bed before you would wake. He had you believe that a servant was the one to bring you fresh flowers every week, but in truth, it was him. 

M - Motivation (What gets them going?)

Anything and everything you do. One time, during dinner, you just innocently sat there. You weren’t doing anything provocative. You even wore a more conservative dress to please his mother, yet he still had this great urge to be intimate with you. He had to excuse the both of you; unable to control himself, the two of you could not even make it to your chambers, Aemond readily fucking you in a dark, empty hall. 

He likes it when you wear red. It was pathetic of him to grow into a simpering simpleton every time you wore the color, but there was just something about you wearing red that excited him. 

Your jealousy. There are scarce times you get jealous, but Aemond prayed it would come more often because you get all jealous and territorial about him, which causes a great need and pleasure within him. 

N - No (Some things they would never tolerate.)

Share. As established, Aemond was an overly jealous man. He would not tolerate anyone who would dare come near you, let alone the possibility of sharing you.

You being gossiped about by the court. Once, he heard ladies talking baldy about you, and Aemond poured his rage on their husbands, beating and bloodying them; it was safe to say after that instance, no gossip in the court was about you. 

O - Oral (Preference in giving or receiving.)

Both. However, he was more biased in giving rather than receiving; he would always savor the way your cunt felt and tasted against his lips and tongue. He remembered the first time you took his cock in your mouth; it was something more normalized, the women fulfilling the man’s needs, but he still blushed as you knelt before him, sucking him off until he came undone on your face. 

P - Past Pursuits (Any past paramours to worry about?)

Aemond had admitted that he had employed a few whores before you, but there was no intimacy with them, except for one madame he had lost his virginity. He would often come to her not to fuck, but for comfort, for she already had Aemond in such a vulnerable state. That, of course, immediately ceased when both of you reached a deeper understanding. 

Q - Quarrels (How often do you quarrel?)

Rarely. Aemond was always cautious not to pick fights with you or place his anger upon you— he could not bear it. It sickens him when the both of you have disagreements; he cannot stand it when you are cross with him. Though he has a great deal of pride within himself, it is always shed when it comes to you. He always being the one to apologize first, even at the times you were at the wrong. It is only for you that he can actually apologize, own up to his mistakes, and put his hubris to the side.

R - Remembrance (Things they do and leave as a reminder of them. How well do they remember things about their partner?)

Aemond knows everything about you. Anything with regards to you was engraved in his brain. It surprised you with all of your babbling and anecdotes you share with him; he still remembers everything you say. 

He never forgets your name, day, or special days that are set with milestones for the two of you. 

He knows everything you like, from your favorite dish to your favorite dessert, your favorite flower, color, gemstone, and even fabric. 

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they last?)

All day and all night long. You were always the first to tire, and your Aemond was an insatiable being that could never have enough of you. 

T - Time (How many hours are spent with each other? How much time do they have.)

Every spare second was spent with you. He would often ask you to accompany him during his readings or watch him whilst he trained with his sword. He could not stomach any prolonged time away from you; it made his skin crawl and stomach twist not to have you by his side. Even when the war began, he took a risk and brought you to Harrenhall, not being able to leave you in Kingslading for a prolonged period of time. 

When it comes to your intimacy, Aemond likes to savor and prolong his intimacy with you. Nothing about your coupling was quick. However, there are times when your husband is busy with his duties, forcing the both of you to hasten fucking. 

U - United Front (How do they and their significant other show their unity and devotion to each other?)

You and Aemond often coordinate your everyday clothes, showing that both of you are bound to each other. Your initials would always be a constant on his clothes, your ribbon tied at the hilt of his sword as a reminder of you. You were gifted a sapphire pendant by Aemond during your courtship, and ever since, not once did you take it off, not wanting to lose that reminder of him. 

V - Volume (How loud are they?)

Aemond is fairly quiet, only letting out small groans and sighs; the loudest he would be is during his climax, an animalistic groan leaving his lips as he spills his seed. The loudest your Aemond was during coupling was when you had taken his cock in between your ample chest, him spewing out moans and groans that echoed through your chambers as you slipped his length in between your tits. 

W - Wild Card (Random headcanons about them.)

Aemond does straighten his hair. Before, it was done by his squires, but you now took their place and did the service for him. 

He hates desserts, often finding them too sweet; however, he does love candied lemons. 

He wishes to have a pet cat. When the rat catchers were killed by his brother, the hand decided to place a clowder of felines to catch the rats in the castle instead. You would often catch him petting the employed animals. One would even stray to your bed chambers, and instead of Aemond shooing it away, he would caress its fur and even let it sleep at the foot of your bed. 

Pretend as he might, Aemond enjoys the gossip of the court, indulging and voicing his opinions and criticism when you speak of the latest talk. 

He detests poetry; he believes if one wants to say something, one must say it plainly and not dance along the subject and offer flowered verses. However, he does try to like it because you absolutely love hearing songs and sonnets. 

Aemond likes to be held, especially after demanding days; he would lay his weight atop you and make you hold him to calm him down. 

X - X-Ray (What's underneath?)

Big, too big, if you were being honest. The tip of his cock was a nice hue of pink, and there was a long vein along the shaft, and it was slightly curved upwards. You never thought you would find something so phallic to be so… appealing, certainly not beautiful, but his was. 

Y - Yearning (How long had they wanted their significant other?) 

Aemond had known you since he was but eight, and ever since, he knew you were the one he wanted to take to wife. All he ever wanted and dreamed about was you. And the moment you declared yourself as his, he was wrapped in an overwhelming feeling that he could not even speak of. All he could say was that he was truly blessed that the gods heard his countless prayers and gave him you. 

Z - Zzz (What are their sleeping habits?)

He would often feel you kick his leg in the middle of the night, waking him, but he would only smile to himself and hold you closer to his chest. 

He is bothered by the number of pillows you have placed on your featherbed, but he does use most of them. And during winter, your legs would always grow cold, for Aemond would hog all of the fur blankets as his lithe form would be quick to grow cold, the fire in his veins dying down as he rested.

Aemond does not sleep well when you are not by his side. He would toss and turn as he had been accustomed to holding you in his sleep. The scent of you being the only thing to calm his raging heart. 

[easy-there-leftovers]

I See You, Darling (2)

[Astarion x reader] Due to surprisingly overwhelming demand, the previous fic, along with this one and many more to follow, will now be part of a series!! It was honestly very difficult trying to come up with what happens next, but here we are. The idea came to me during a fever!! |Word count: 2.5k.| Based off of this post I made.

Part 1 here!!

Next part here!!

The reader believes they are in a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time their fantasies conjured up such an obscure, yet somehow realistic scene. And so they’ve elected to treat the experience with as much realism as one would observe in a dream; little to none.

Alternatively;An ex-art-student-now-traveler accustoms themselves to the party.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

“Shadowheart. Shadow…heart. Hm.” His gaze bounced between you and her. 

“I’m sure her parents meant well, but the name is rather ominous, isn’t it?” He leaned over to your side, not bothering to hide his blatant distrust. Lowering his voice dramatically, if anything.

“Unless she chose it herself. Which is even more worrying, honestly.” He chuckled out.

It had been no more than two bells after mornbright when you met Astarion. Since then, you’ve come to realize how…different your presence has changed the course of the story. Though more subtle than you expected.

It would seem as if you had met the elven vampire before the party was formed, which was strange as your last save point was far later than that and the forest had been quite a long way from the beach.

When you finally stumbled upon Shadowheart, he was quick to share his inner thoughts that you haven’t heard from the game before. 

As they continued with their quest to find a cure for the Illithid problem, expanding their party as they did so, you had tried to make yourself useful by doing the dirty work for them. Looting and opening crates filled with camp supplies, armor, and potentially useful weapons and artifacts could always come in handy for trade or for “artifact consumption,” as per Gale’s need. Sorting them for your group’s convenience.

And while you did not have more direct and immediate practical use for your course of study in the modern world, the research you’ve created and reviewed for character creation and world building was doing wonders for your survival.

Or as much as it can for a magicless, not so athletic human. 

The “runes” of the medieval ages that have been carved into stone, along with the basic history and background of the common races and deities of the fantastical world that tabletop RPG has offered puts you at quite an advantage.

Not to mention your experience with the areas of the game giving you the same effect.

But this library of information had also aroused something akin to suspicion and concern. It would be understandable if you were a simple traveler just like them, or perhaps even an artisan from the guild, but you were not as astute as either background.

So how could you have access to this much knowledge yet be unaware of more practical matters? It’s as if you had simply read about it from somewhere. 

Astarion had been quick to give an explanation before you could form one of your own that could poorly convince your companions. Although, perhaps his suggestion was more outlandish than anything you could have come up with.

“They came with me. Property and all the formality that comes with it. A family pet, if you will.” A perfect excuse to justify your constant proximity to him, and a likely explanation to being well read, but not well experienced.

You thought nothing of the title, your apathy to the non-hazardous labels of this world apparent.

The same couldn’t have been said about your associates who had a few comments about this disclosure.

“I am unfamiliar with the–well, I shall not say ‘culture.’ ‘Customs’, perhaps. I did not think your kind to house such breed of cattle. Perhaps they could be useful.” Was Lae’zel’s. 

“I assure you, they typically don’t. Humans aren’t naturally subservient to Elves, at least in this manner. This setup sounds more akin to slavery. Blink twice if you need help.” Was Gale’s response. 

“It seems like Astarion's from the upper city, given the embroidery on his armor. I wouldn’t put it past them to have servants that follow them around.” Shadowheart’s nose crinkled at the thought. 

The party already had such an interesting rapport. Not entirely comfortable with one another to divulge everything, but loose enough to have semi-pleasant conversation with.

You thought this as you sorted out the fruits of your collective labor into neat pouches and bags, keeping items similar to one another factioned into their respective holding space. The chest being closer to Withers more than you’d like, but it was nice to hear the ramblings of an…undead person? Hearing someone continuously talking allows you to be more productive.

You’ll admit, handling enchanted armor and crystals does make you a tad nervous but you’re comforted by the thought that it will not be you who wields it in battle.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gale approaching your direction. Possibly to ask for his share of the camp supplies just a little earlier to sate himself as you had an abundance of it for now. You regard him with your back turned and he stops for a bit.

“I will say that I don’t have the lightest of feet, but I figured myself better at sneaking around.” It’s not his fault that he got caught, but the bright purple robe and the smell of the oils you’ve been crafting for them are particularly noticeable.

“You are, but I’ll assume you're not exactly in the best shape after dealing with a few goblins.” You hold up a bottle of a healing potion, swinging it a bit with your fingers to indicate that the smell had warned you of his arrival.

“You’ve got a keen nose on you. Must be from all of Astarion’s training but, speaking of which,” He nears himself to your crouched form, going in to lean against a very old and empty crate.

“Gale, wait–” Right as your warning leaves you, they seem to evade him as falls right through the wood. A comical layer of dust and lichen pluming out from the force. He tries to quickly recover from both the physical and emotional damage as he brushes himself off to make himself presentable once more. 

“Ahem, as I was saying,” He again makes his way over to you, settling for just standing close as his attempts to look unbothered temporarily cost him his ego.

“I was serious about what I said before. While I don’t know what to make of our pallid friend just yet, as enigmatic as he is, what he said before is quite confusing. Best make haste away from here if you want your freedom while we’re distracted with this worm problem.” His tone suggests a genuine concern which confuses you.

You’d be lying to yourself if the label of the set up didn’t sound odd, but you’ve never expressed discomfort as there was nothing all too worrying about it on your end. It was mostly for show, and you had as much independence as Tav would have in your game.

You endeavor to quickly dispel his worries.

“You don’t have to worry, I’m very satisfied with my servitude under Astarion. He’s very lenient and reliable, and I’m better off with him than on my own." You return to your task of sifting through your materials but pause and look back up at him to continue.

"I do thank you for turning my way though. Your concern is much appreciated but unnecessary.” You lowered your head a bit to show your thanks.

“Well if someone as generous as yourself says to trust you on this, then I have no choice but to concede! I’ll keep a watchful eye and offer guidance, should you need it. Also, do we happen to have something for—” As he asks you for some sort of salve, just a few ways off, your eccentric “handler,” of sorts, watches the two of you interact.

Don’t get him wrong, such matters don’t really catch his attention, but being an elf does curse him with the ability to have extensive hearing. Something that he thinks Gale knew, and something you forgot. That would explain the lack of distance between you two.

He thinks it’s amusing how the wizard is trying to make conversation with you as if you were some foreign creature. His usual eloquence nowhere to be seen, and you seemed as unbothered as ever. Like how he usually saw you when you conversed with someone through a crystal.

It was a phone, not that he knew that though.

“They’re a real nice one, aren’t they?” Karlach says from her side of the camp which was nearer towards his tent and yours.

“Hm, yes. While that may be an admirable trait, it’s hardly going to get them anywhere if they keep this up.” Astarion huffed out, not very keen on your altruistic playstyle so far.

He doesn’t know much about what you do and don’t know, all he knows is that you do know of the events to unfold and could be the key to defeating his master.

 All he needs is to keep you at his side. So he’ll allow you this much freedom.

“Oh come on, you. You can’t seriously think that after everything. Our camp’s pretty well maintained because of ‘em, not to mention the connections we’ve been able to get!” She fortifies her statement by knocking on her chest, the engine humming within feels lighter and newer since you’ve informed her of the tiefling blacksmith at the grove. 

He hums in response, returning to reading his book as he thinks about his growing hunger. He’ll have to hunt soon enough. While your positive reputation occasionally reflects on him by proxy, it can also reflect negatively due to the alleged nature of your relationship. If he wants the journey to a way of understanding the tadpoles to be a more comfortable one, he has to at least prevent their trust in him from diminishing.

~

Night falls later than he’d have liked, having waited for everyone to be asleep so that he may prowl the forest for sustenance.

The rest were sound asleep in their bedroll as the skirmish from earlier on in the day had proven to be sufficiently tiring. The crackling fire surely brings a lulling warmth that he supposes he’ll have to miss out on for a while.

As he begins to slink off into the darkness, he looks back to gauge his surroundings and catches your form from across the settlement. It seems you were tallying away the items in the shared chest and double-checking to see that everything is checked and balanced with your records. 

Your shoulders jump at his suddenly standing form, but try to understand his intentions. You mouth, “where?” with a very confused face, to which he responds with a simple shushing motion and waits for your acknowledgement.

You nod slowly, and he holds your gaze before sneaking off once again.

‘He’s coming back, right?’ You wondered. The progression of your experience now in comparison to the game was vastly different, and you didn’t know if all scenes, or only some, would present themselves in this world. You assume he planned to hunt, and while you trust his abilities, you want to make sure he’s attended to properly should he be harmed in any way.

So after retrieving a few potions, a journal, and a pencil, you stashed them in a satchel and positioned yourself at the base of the tree in the direction he left in. You weren’t particularly sleepy tonight, and planned to pass the time in wait of your companion. 

There wasn’t much to do in this century to keep yourself entertained. The only things you’ve found so far were a few instruments and all manners of journals and inks.

The inkpot that you picked up appeared to be red this time. The game of, “which ink dye will I get this time?” will have to be the most of your entertainment for now. Not all too different from home, you suppose. And while writing keeps your mind at bay, illustrating all manners of wildlife have proven to be quite the fun exercise. 

You’ve made a few notes on creatures that you and your company have encountered. The visual elements of a drawing allowed you and the others to keep track of materials that could be salvaged from them, and their resistances to certain attacks. 

Though as much as you liked depicting such lifeforms in paper, you’ve come to be very interested in portraying your vampire friend.

Evidence of your interest present in the pages filled with his likeness as you search for an unmarked page. You’ve made a few of the others, yes, but anyone who would gain access to your journal would surely see which member of the group you favor more.

You continued to draw, and occasionally write, on the parchment as you waited for Astarion to come back. All sense of time evading you as you focus on the task at hand.

A perfect opportunity for a tired rogue to surprise an unsuspecting human.

“And what are you still doing up, little one?” He appears from behind the very tree you rested against, causing you to spill a bit of ink on your thumb.

You clicked your tongue, not at all annoyed by the character but by your absentmindedness and now stained appendage.

“Sorry, I was just waiting for you.” You sealed the inkpot, and gathered your materials. Effectively, but unknowingly, hiding your work from peering eyes that were the same deep red as your finger.

“I’m very flattered, darling. But couldn’t you wait until morning? I'm sure this couldn’t have been all too important, yes?” He gestures to your satchel, referring to your journal, but you misinterpreted it as him asking for your medical supplies.

“Oh, that depends. Are you hurt, by any chance? I stayed awake in case you might've needed help tending to yourself.” You opened the pouch to reveal its contents to him, your stained thumb in full view.

The sight makes him sigh out, but is thankful for your offered service.

“I’m alright, nothing of interest happened while I was away.” He considers telling you about the nature of his little…'escapade.' He's unaware if you are of his condition, and he doesn’t wish to out himself if not necessary to avoid possible conflict. So he settles for advising you to rest.

“We need you well rested, my dear. You sleep. I’ll keep watch.” The dialogue is familiar, and you can’t stop yourself from letting a small laugh out as you responded with an equally familiar line

“Thank you. I’ll sleep better for that.” You lower your head as you usually do in gratitude.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He mirrors your gesture, albeit in a way that is most appropriate for someone of his character. “Sweet dreams.”

You walked back to the chest. Returning the potions and ink you’ve plucked from the supply, but keeping the rest of the pouch’s materials with you as you turn in for the night. Awaiting the promise of further study that a new day typically makes.

As Astarion is left with his own thoughts, a sour taste still in his mouth from his earlier meal, he thinks about the man in the journal you kept. He did not see much, only a vague outline of the figure. He thinks about who, or what, it could have been but dismisses the thought rather quickly.

He has no time for a mysterious person with hair less perfect than his own, touching his untainted locks as he does.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Thank you everyone for your interest in the series!! As per the request of some, I'll now be adding a taglist!

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, and @tiannamortis for asking to be tagged!!

[anantaru]

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ synopsis. reminiscing about the start of your relationship // ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡ cw. mentions of guns, tw guns, fluff & established relationship, a/n. this is just a random idea that came to me, not proofread, gn! reader ♡

the unfolding of a relationship can truly be something magical.

with a warm contentment, you settle yourself against boothill's chest as you indulge the drifting thoughts in your mind, humming lightly into your chest as you felt a large palm cradle your hip.

you cannot lie to yourself, can you? but you're rather nostalgic about the early stages of your relationship with your boyfriend and how the two of you got to know each other.

at that, you realise it's a fun story, a great one even.

to boothill, you were the first person he's had a genuine interest in having a relationship with, and remembering how he thought he should tackle it— well, it was almost tragic, in a humorous way.

people who saw him as a dangerous individual weren't necessarily new to him. he'd be naive believing that he wouldn't be scary to look at.

the man understood that his risky occupation, aside from his outside demeanor could come across as unsafe and frightening to the outside spectator.

what boothill didn't realise, however, was that no matter how hard you try, you cannot hide yourself.

you see, boothill doesn't lie— although frankly, he did try to make himself seem a little less intense to you. especially on your first dates.

it all began with his job and how it doesn't fit with your usual cookie cutter profession. in order to appear a lot softer and less frightening to you, he wasn't the most honest about what he's been doing for a living, nor did he actually plan to reveal it to you right away.

reflecting back on it, his cheeks instantly burn of embarrassment— the sheer confidence he must've experienced when he believed, for a single second, that he could be able to claim and sell the lie of him having a bakery would actually fool you in the slightest bit.

quoting his exact type of wording; a renowned bakery owner with a strong liking towards lemon cake.

well, perhaps you bringing it up from time to time and teasing him with it was a consequence of his own actions now. yet, his sweet sense of humor made you fall in love with him the most.

it's adorable, he is, yet it ended up being slightly dangerous— with such words shrouded in your mind, you're thinking back at one specific moment where you accidentally found one of hid guns.

naturally, he's tried to downplay it immediately, hands turning sweaty as he couldn't keep eye contact with you while working himself through a story of claiming that, well, it's not a real one silly, see? but a fake one, okay? that he's been using for an upcoming, top secret, performance he's been planning for a while now.

for his bakery. you know.

little did he realize you accidentally pulled the trigger right when you were about to hand over the weapon and shot a bullet through the wall, right into the living room— you were fortunate enough that the knock back didn't hurt your shoulder too much, it stung a little, yes, but you were able to recover from the shock quickly.

yeah, it's safe to assume that this was a clear awakening to boothill, that he most likely needs to let you in on a couple of silly, little details about his life.

well now at least, after being in a loving relationship for a good couple of years already, you tilt your face and prop yourself up by your chin as your boyfriend shakes his head the moment you mention it to him again, "don't remind me of that," he begins to panic, a big and embarrassing smile plastering across his mouth as his heart drops to the pit of his stomach, "hey! we promised not to talk about this again,"

he's shrouded with a sudden feeling of helplessness, scratching the back of his neck before you slant yourself closer with an airy laugh brushing against his lips, "but it's our origin story," you smile and hoist your body up so you could be on his eye level.

you continue to affirm, knowing it makes your boyfriend weak in the knees, "and you're so sweet when you're embarrassed," before applying a sultry kiss on his cheek, breath holding, mind numbing, as boothill quirks up the sides of his mouth softly at your plush lips touching him.

truly, how beautiful it was that no matter what, he knows that you are one and if anything, a story such as yours only brought one closer.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[yandere-sins]

Never-ending Pleasure

HC that Malleus likes ice cream because it soothes the magic-induced burns in his mouth. Also HC that his darling’s kiss has the same effect (;

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Yandere!Malleus Draconia x GN!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Implied Sexual Content, Non-/Dub-Con Behavior (Kissing), Kidnapping, Possessiveness, Delusional Behavior/Thoughts

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

It was strange. Truly curious.

Nobody looked at Malleus and would have guessed the heir to Briar Valley's throne had a sweet tooth. That his freezer was always stocked with an assortment of ice cream for him to consume, nobody daring to touch what belonged to him. They had it wrong, though, as it wasn't the taste luring him towards the delicacy, the sugary sweet delightfulness of it, but its ability to soothe the heat collecting in his mouth when he used magic. His genes were remarkable, but the fire glands he had inherited were rather impractical for his the form he chose to present himself. Not that it was too uncomfortable to bear on occasion, but a nice spoon of ice cream usually managed to soothe the aftermath of any bad tastes or feelings left behind.

And yet, you, with your head tipped back, tears in your eyes, emitting sounds of displeasure and the loss of air, had the exact same effect on him as the ice did. Perhaps even more so, his whole body tingling from the tip of his tongue to his toes. Malleus couldn't help it, the comforting heat emitted between your mouths so very different from his beloved ice cream, yet almost better. It was exhilarating and new, and Malleus wouldn't be lying if he said he had never experienced a more thrilling moment, even when you shifted beside him, your fingers tearing at his clothes desperately. Thus, Malleus did the only thing he could think of in that situation:

Deepen the kiss.

Given, you were no vanilla-strawberry swirl or a deep, rich chocolate flavor, but there were benefits to your taste, too. In fact, you tickled more senses in him than he ever thought could harmonize at the same time. Be it the sensation of his tongue against yours making his eyelids flutter, pants tenting uncomfortably; the sound of your lips smacking against his running a shudder down his spine; or the way your body was so perfectly aligned with Malleus' while the wall in your back kept you trapped, leaving a feeling of a million fireflies behind in his belly.

Had he known about the benefits of a kiss before, he would have done it so much sooner. For months, he kept you waiting for that sweet, sweet confirmation of his feelings, assuring you only in words but never in actions while he kept you locked in the highest tower, trying to figure out how to best approach you. You had become desperate, downright crazy, locked up there all alone, crying and screaming hysterically despite his frequent visits to keep you company.

Malleus tried to honor your wishes. If you told him to stay away, he did. If you said he needed to leave, he sighed but obliged. If you didn't like the food, he sent Sebek or Silver to get you something different, and when you asked for better accommodations, he had them redecorate your room. Letting you go and leave forever weren't requests he could fulfill. But Malleus had paintings of your hometown made so you could hang them up and admire them when you got homesick.

But he ran out of options quickly, unfortunately. And when all of his expenses didn't help, he reconsidered how to keep you happy. It wasn't proper, not protocol at all. He should not have considered desires of the flesh to woo you, but it couldn't be helped when nothing seemed to please you anymore—nothing to shut up your panicked rambles just long enough for him to think of more and better ways.

With his tongue capturing yours, sucking and releasing it over the many sore spots he had acquired from his magic that day, Malleus couldn't help but think how beneficial this was—for both of you.

Sure, tears kept streaming down your pretty face, diluting your gaze. You were shivering, holding on to Malleus desperately. Still, at least your vocal cords had a moment of pause, your body recovering from the wailing and sobbing, not even having to stand on its own as he supported you. Really, what more could you even want in your life when enjoying this kiss was all that was needed to satisfy even Malleus?

But then again, as he pressed forward, wanting to sink deeper into the delicacy of your kiss, he frowned as you struggled, still so very displeased with him.

Perhaps it was not enough.

Perhaps you needed more convincing how wonderful your life was with him. How well you were cared for and loved. More actions that showed you how greatly he admired and desired you. A clearer sign that he loved you very much and would always be by your side.

And perhaps Malleus needed another taste of you. Another chance to learn how else he could soothe the magic burns in his mouth while being elated by the fact his whole body was reacting to yours as if you two were meant for each other. Meant to be together, to kiss, to love, to devour.

So when he pulled away, both of you breathing heavily, and you turned your head away, baring your neck, Malleus' mind began to wander, his mouth feeling terribly dry now that his tongue was so very lonesome without yours, missing the stimulation you gave him. He wondered what you tasted like elsewhere and how good it would feel once his tongue laid down on that bare neck of yours, driving down your shoulders, chest, and lapping at your stomach and legs until it would find the sweetest of spots, the forbidden aphrodisiac to his love-crazed mind.

You might have flinched when he caressed the side of your neck, but with thoughts so beautifully, who could have stopped him?

He just needed one more taste of you.

One lick.

And then only one more for good measure.

Never-ending pleasure just for him.

[itsswritten]

Cauldron-born.

“I hadn’t meant to hide this from you Rhysand,” Helion’s usual warm tone was replaced with something sterner, bolder— unwavering.

A breeze pulled on your skirt, the floaty material rippling under the wind. It was always warm in Day, but now, with the appearance of uninvited guests, there was a coldness in the air you hadn’t experienced before.

A bite that pulled at your skin raising goosebumps across your arms.

You guessed this reaction wasn’t a rare occurrence when facing the Night Courts Inner Circle.

Helion shifted his weight, his body stood in front of yours in a protective manner. A nervousness emitted from his energy, an emotion that actually seemed strange to even be associated with him.

Helion wasn’t the nervous type. Charming and flirtatious, bold and defiant— not nervous.

Helion pushed his shoulders back, his stance flexing against the shadowy group that had just arrived.

They had shaken him.

Perhaps you were naive to think these people wouldn’t, naive to believe you could live your life quietly. Slip through the cracks. Go unnoticed. No you were not destined for that, as much as your dear friend may have wanted that for you.

So if a quiet life was not meant to be, then you would at least claim it as yours.

With a light step you moved from behind Helion to his side, coming into full view of the group who had appeared unannounced in the courtyard. Your hand came to Helion’s gently, giving him a soft squeeze and light smile that stretched to your eyes.

How they had gotten through Day Courts shields didn’t come as a surprise really. Helion had divulged how powerful the High Lord of the Night Court was. That if he really wanted to take them all down, then Helion suspected in that unrelenting pit of power Rhys probably could.

But despite this power, Rhys had never ravaged control over the land. Helion was fond of Rhys and his family, they were allies. Perhaps he would even consider them friendly.

And yet Helion hadn’t told them about you.

Energies and rhythms rippled from their bodies, all with their own melody of colours unique to them floating towards you. Your eyes scanned over their features quickly, reading their expressions, the tight lines their faces made before one look pulled you to a hasty stop.

A hazel lock held you tightly as a males gaze ensnared you.

Golden rays broke through a midnight blue aura, trapping you in a moment that seemed to expand and retract all at once. He was the most beautiful male you’d ever laid eyes on, and it took every ounce of will power to pull your gaze from his.

There was a simmering at the pit of your stomach, something familiar and warm, and you swore you could hear singing—

“She is like us.” A female from the back of the crowd spoke, beautiful and sweet. Elain, you assumed. Her aura, one that resembled sunlight radiating in golden flicks. If you hadn’t known who she was you’d had assumed she was a Day court resident from her glow alone.

Elain stepped forward, another female stepping beside her as if they’d both been pulled by the same magnetic pulse to the front of the group.

This girl. This girl was Nesta. You were sure of it. That silver flickering aura licked at her skin, an energy so similar and yet so different to her sisters.

“Hm..no not exactly like us…” Elain seemed to mutter then, more to herself than anyone else. Her eyes scanning you as she tried to get a read, try and decipher what had pulled her here in the first place.

Why you had pulled them here.

“Something other.” Nesta spoke.

You don’t think she’d actually intended for it to sound so venomous, but the words had snapped like poison. You noticed how for a split second there was a softeness in her energy. Whether she was regretful of her tone or not, you had flinched at the word.

Other.

Hm. Perhaps that was the best way to describe you.

Elain glanced at her sister, her face not changing as she digested Nesta’s words. There was a shuffling behind them, only slight and small. Would barely be noticeable if it wasn’t so hard for you not to notice.

Him.

His scarred fingers twitched at his sides, shadows swirling around them as they peered over those giant black membranes that were drawn in at his back. A tattoo creeped up the side of his neck, peeking through his shirt as you followed up to his jaw. Black leather’s covered his body, blue siphons shimmering under the setting sun. You tried so hard not to let your eyes wander back, but as though you had no control you gaze landed on his.

Only to find he was already staring.

Azriel.

Helion had mentioned him to you before and you recalled how you had rolled the name a few times in your mouth. The name feeling so foreign and familiar all at once.l that you couldn’t help ripple the syllables on your tongue.

“Not cauldron-made, no not quite.” Elain had turned her attention back to you.

You had stepped forward now, stepped out from the shadow of Helion.

Stepped out to face what you had been avoiding.

“You are Cauldron-born.”

—

a/n: little rough draft of a new idea??! maybe?? I literally just came up with it and not really sure where I'm taking it hehe or if I even will. I know it's super vague so if an idea comes to mind when you read this then please share in the comment hehe

forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

[ravengards-rogue]

the evening stretch | warm-up series.

ft. the prompts, nsfw / "dinner" / arthur morgan.

✧ tags : afab!reader + fem!reader outdoors sex, oral (f!recieving), reader is an outlaw, established relationship, desperate arthur morgan, 18+

✧ wc : 2.7k

✧ a/n : hello! this is part of a little warm-up series i do on my other blog where i pick three prompts and try to come up with something. i normally do them in a rut. im working on a commission and im super stuck so.

this actually landed on javier four times in a row but im being kind and sparing a friend so. here's mr. morgan.

✧ synopsis : arthur thinks the place between your legs would suit him quite nicely.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

Honest to God, Arthur's never been like this before.

He ain't all that pious to start, so perhaps the sentiment doesn't stretch as far as he would like it too. But it's true, all the same - that in all the lives he's lived, he's never experienced this much bone-deep desire for another human being.

Which is outright ridiculous, since right now you're just making supper. Dinner, you always clarify with that yankee accent. You're going to have dinner together, 'cause Arthur needs to eat. He works hard, according to you.

It's not much, but you're a better cook than Pearson. Even if that's not saying a whole lot. And you're insistent on making the man eat, always on his case about how it's hardly enough for a man his size.

Arthur can chalk it up to being that you love him, as you have told him foolishly many times. He's sure you're not gonna be happy with him in a minute since again - all you're doing is making dinner.

It's just... something. Something about you today. Dammit, he doesn't understand it neither. You've got a job together, and you and Arthur play convincing husband and wife since you practically are anyway. Arthur's been watching you today closely. You lie pretty. Smile with all your teeth, clever with a careful finesse and an honest knack for debauchery and indecency.

You love calling yourself an awful woman. Joking about dying an unweddable spinster given your crudity.

But Arthur likes it in you. Of you. Likes it so much he's done nothing but readjust his pants watching you squirm your way out of every difficult situation and sling the revolver on your hip like a tried-and-true gunslinger.

You're a fine woman to him. A fine one.

The fire crackles as you place a pot over the little flame of the faux stove. You've made a real dinner somehow - with some vegetables and creeping thyme and carefully butchery of meat. It smells good and you seem proud of it, stirring the thing with the sharp end of your knife. Careful not to scrape the pot.

Arthur watches the light glow orange on your face, carefully observing the way it shines on you. You don't look up at all when you speak.

"Gonna stare a hole into me, Morgan."

He feels something warm crawl up his cheeks. He scratches his beard instinctively, tucking his hat over his eyes.

"'m sorry," He says, unsure of how to cover for himself. "Been thinking about some things."

"Don't hurt yourself," You reply, sardonic and dry. Arthur adores you. He laughs to himself and feels warmed by the pleasant smile that seems to give you.

"I'll try. Ain't much used to thinking,"

"Penny for your thoughts, then Mr. Morgan." You reply, carefully moving the pot around so nothing burns. "Might help you clear your mind if you get some of it off your chest."

He's backed himself into a wall. Goddamn him and his big mouth. He hesitates, taking it off this time. Fidgety.

"Yanno, there ain't a lot women like you. Not that I've met at least."

You give him a look. Your lips pressed into a flat line, unimpressed by him.

"Is that so?"

He laughs to himself. "It is indeed. You're a real piece of work. 'Specially going around batting your lashes, making yourself out to be a housewife."

"Aw what, did you like seeing me all doe eyed?" You smile to yourself, teasing but not entirely insincere. "If it helps, since you're the fake husband, I'm only half-acting."

That makes him grin. Though you say it with confidence, the sincerity it makes you flush.

"It ain't that," Arthur says again, looking at your face for the second time in a few minutes. "Just that you're a fine woman to be around. What do they call it...resourceful. That's what I'm thinking of."

"Who taught you such a big word, Morgan?"

"Trelawny, I'd guess."

You laugh, loud and beautiful and Arthur smiles. You look at him from across the fire. "Well, I'm glad you like my company, Mr. Morgan."

"I do more than like it," He hums, offering a reprieve. He nods at you carefully, head tilted. "Come 'ere,"

Your eyes widen at him, but you don't deny him of what he's asking. For that he is awfully grateful. You're more than capable and much less than needy. There's victory in your deliberate desire for him, Arthur thinks. You want him enough to let him chase you.

You come sit by Arthur. You're a little awkward with him still but he don't mind. It adds to whatever he feels for you, sugar-sweet affection and all. You sit on your knees and Arthur turns his head looking at you.

Beautiful. Beautiful thing you are, really. He has a hard time finding the words to tell you.

He reaches up, hand cupping your face. You lean into the touch, palm resting on calloused hand. He adores you.

"And quit with the Mister Morgan nonsense. Drives me crazy."

"Arthur," You say, slow and deliberate. "You know you're looking at me like you wanna eat me."

'"Read my mind, then."

"Arthur," You repeat, scandalized. He would smile if he wasn't so serious. "We're supposed to be eatin' dinner. You got into a whole spat with them Leymone Riders just today. You need to recover,"

His smile widens.

"Lettin' me go down on ya will heal me just fine,"

You look at him exasperated. Arthur leans into your neck, placing chaste kisses down the line of your jaw. He kisses you just there - underneath your earlobe, knows it drives you crazy.

"Lay down, sugar. Help a poor, injured man heal."

You pull away from him with faux exasperation, fond smiling breaking your face.

"You can be such a dog some times, do you know that?"

"I'm afraid I do,"

You give him another unimpressed look, but you listen anyways. Arthur moves so you can lay down on the bedroll - his bedroll. He takes off his coat just before you lay your head, playing it underneath you to get you more comfortable.

"Dinner's gonna burn," You tell him, almost reflexively. He laughs as he looks at you, your hands folded over your stomach and flat. He laughs at you.

"Burn? You feeling warm?"

"Arthur!"

And he laughs again, catching your boot in his hand as you go to kick his chest lightly. He sets it back down as he stares at you. You're quite the sight. Adoration bubbles up into his throat, blooms out into a hum. The sound of crickets and owls and all sorts of night wanderers sound - but none are distracting enough to pry his gaze away.

"You're looking too much," You say, your voice a half tremble. He nods.

"Got too," Arthur hums, leaning forward into your space. You always smell good to him, some cross between soft earth, and sweet liquor and clothes left in the sun. Skin and salt and sweet. "Who knows how long I'll be around."

He presses his lips to yours gentle and you kiss him - but only once before pulling away. Your eyes suddenly serious, warm palm on his cheek.

"Don't say something so morbid. If you go, I go,"

"Sweetheart—"

"No buts." You affirm, pressing your thumb to his lip all serious. Your eyes meet and for a moment - just one minute, all he wants to do is stop time from moving. From stealing him from you in life at all. Even a few seconds, intolerable. "Don't feel to good to hear, does it? So don't say it."

"Alright, alright," He huffs, laughing against your neck. He kisses it again, right against your pulse - quickening under his teeth as he bites and scrapes. He mulls over how much he wants you, and how little time there is to do everything. "Jus' lemme...I dunno."

Now you're cheeky, smiling up at him. Lord above, you do something so terrible to him. "Now that's just not true, baby."

He laughs deep and raspy. It's not true, because he knows exactly what he's after.

Arthur lets his hands plane over your clothed body. He doesn't bother with the ritual of undressing you entirely - since the act doesn't deserve the intimacy. You do, maybe - but Arthur's head feels too foggy to do anything civilized. He has to settle for letting his hands grip the fabric of your skirt and push it until it bunches around your waist.

There's no real delicacy in it, save for the way your breath hitches as Arthur gives himself better access. He moves to lay on his stomach between your thighs. He wishes it were brighter to give him better view. He's seen it plenty but looking at your pretty pussy alone gets him harder than steel.

His hands go underneath every layer of fabric to undo the little tie of your undergarments. You squirm when Arthur takes them off, but you don't pull away.

It's pretty. Even with the dim light of just the moon and fire to let Arthur see it. What entices him mostly though is the scent, after a long day of riding out alone - there's something about the way you smell - sweat and all that makes the back of his mouth ache with want. Makes his teeth hurt just dreaming about it.

He doesn't let his animalistic urges take him yet. He knows you need the build up. His hand is soft as he grips onto your waist. He pulls your legs further apart and lets his lips brush the inside of your thigh. Starts at your knee and works his way up, his mouth burning hot - open kisses. You giggle at the sensation of his beard, but it's tamped down with lust Arthur knows like the back of his hand.

Slow, deliberate, sinful. He knows the way you liked to be touched so exactly, but the pace is set more by his desperation. It grows ten sizes listening to you sigh and huff, feeling your hands come down to touch his hair and play with it.

"Arthur," Your voice calls. Pleading. Wanting him. You're so good at making Arthur loose his composure with so little. It's hard to tease you as your voice clips off into a whine. "Arthur,"

"I've got you," He says, assured. He means it as much as he means anything he's ever said. He ain't a decent man, but this much he can say full ways. "I've got you, sugar. Ease up. Let me take care of you,"

And so you again, breathless - boneless and eager. You let Arthur into your space, and something about that. Something about you. His heart races, blood pumping through his body. It pulses in his ears, head swimming with nothing but praise for you.

You're a fine woman. You're a good girl. The best he knows.

Arthur can feel the way your clit pulses with want before he ever puts his mouth on you. Makes him chuckle, gloved hand resting on your navel. He uses his thumb to pull it back, before using both hands to spread you open. Then, in an act less then gentlemanly, spits on it hard. He watches it land, lewd as it drips between your fold. He laughs to himself.

Another pitchy call of his name and Arthur decides he's had enough fun to get him through the evening.

He kisses your clit first, thinks it's only gentlemanly. When your hips buck up trying to chase the feeling of his mouth - he laughs. His hands dig into your hips. You're soft, skin dimpling from just how tight he holds onto you.

When he finally gets what he wants, his own body lurches forward from want. He nearly slumps into the ground - half-way between relieved and utterly addicted. It's a sense of euphoria unmatched by the finest liquor or cigars money can be.

The taste of you fills his mouth as Arthur eats.

Arthur is not used to playing predator. Not interested in the act of devouring. You often compare him to some sort of herbivore. But there's something too hungry, too visceral, too primal for him to be anything but a coyote. A teethed thing, all screwed up from hunger.

He lets his tongue slip against the seam of your cunt, all the arousal collecting in his mouth. His senses flood with something heady, sweet but bitter and he groans shamelessly as a result. Spoiled by the taste and utterly debauched.

"Oh, god - Arthur, you're—"

Arthur is pleased by the way your words are cut off by your own moan. He slides his tongue back up, wet muscle firm as it lays flat against your clit. There's a slight twitch like it's asking for more attention.

Arthur is all to eager vtoo provide, closing his lips around the twitching bundle of nerves. He knows what you like. Learned over time just the amount of pressure he needs to suck with and the speed he needs to draw his tongue over your clit to get you right at the very edge of your orgasm.

He teases you to that pace. Slow increases in either or, until it's just at that perfect medium. Once he hits that spot, you always moan so pretty.

You shudder, your body lurching up as your hands get tighter in his hair. "Aah, fuck. Ngh, Arthur. Don't do this t'me."

You begging him not too makes him want to do it more. If Arthur were any less aroused, he would. But his brain can barely think up enough to stamina to do that. His own cock is strained against his work pants - hips instinctively rutting into the bedroll just beneath him. Silently seeking friction all while hoping he doesn't get enough to distract him.

It'd be a damn shame, he thinks - letting anything pull him from the taste of your pussy. From the smell of it, from the sight of it, from the feeling of you. Sticky, pulsing strings of arousal coating his tongue and turning all his thoughts to dust.

His cock throbs again as you rut against his mouth. Arthur pins you in place.

"Please," You say. A magic word he ain't much stronger than. "Please make me cum,"

You really are a good girl, the way you know exactly what makes him tick. Arthur moans into your cunt as he sucks and licks and eats. He'd die over it, and he does not mean it lightly. It's the only thing in the world he wants to do in the moment. He laser focuses on finding that sweet spot again.

And he knows he does when you start whimpering. Squirming and holding onto his soft brown locks and pleading for something you don't know about. He can feel how wet your getting - dripping along down his beard and face. Thick strings of your arousal stick and slide down his neck.

He's never been a messy eater, but you've been disproving many of his prior understandings of himself. He supposes it's only natural.

"Oh, baby," You say, not even his name. Arthur knows it's a warning that you're gonna cum. All he can do is encourage you. He hums into your soft, wet cunt and you groan again. "Fuck, Arthur. I'm gonna cum."

Arthur knows better. He doesn't do a thing but keep going. Lets you move and thrash and pull away but keeps you firm in his place and eats your pussy until you can barely think.

He knows the knot is untying before you do because of how much you squirm. When you cum, you cum hard. Your back arches up into a picture perfect curve, toes curling and hands tugging at his roots for purchase.

He can feel every pulse of desire as you finally do let go. You cry out, loud enough to startle any nearby critters. Your fingers grip tight at the base of his hair as the orgasm washes over you. It's just as magnetic as it was the first time.

He's sure that will always be true.

When Arthur pulls away from your pulsing, wet core - he can feel just how much of his lower face is sticky. He's sure you also know, if the way you laugh is anything to go by.

And he's not long to follow after. Not even a few seconds and he can feel something in pants tighten - a mess of white staining the front of the denim in an onset of lust damn near shameful. Is he a teenager again? Lord above.

Breathlessly, you look down at him after you've ridden your high out.

Pulling up Arthur by the collar, you look at him slowly and frown. You look impassioned and a little frustrated.

You kiss him tender after you've come too. Once, then twice, then a another time with your hand still drawn into a fist. Arthur grabs it closed, opening your palms before kissing the palm of your hands until you're no longer mad.

"Hate how good you are at that," You admit, a little drunk of the euphoria of all of it. "Make me feel so crazy."

Arthur beams at you unapologetic.

"It's good to be that with me, sweetheart." Arthur says, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Now how about you go and give me one more?"

You laugh breathlessly but don't go to stop him at all.

"Insatiable man."

"Only for you, my girl."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yay I was the anon who asked if you watch the new John Wick film, I hoped you enjoyed the movie!

Can I request some yandere marquis de gramont headcanons? (it can be romantic or platonic)

man was the biggest prick that i had seen in a while from a movie lol

Yandere Vincent de Gramont Headcanons

A/N:You read my mind Anon lmaoo - I was literally planning on writing some HCs for the Marquis <3

Despite the initial conception one may have about Vincent's dedication to a lover – that being none – he's actually surprisingly...loyal.

While he has the playboy exterior, enough money to soak up the oceans of the Earth and all the allure that comes with his occupation, he secretly feels as if he has nothing at all.

What he wants, what he really, truly wants, is to feel something new. Something he’s never experienced before.

Love.

Not just for himself - for someone else.

His brush with John Wick made him realise how empty his life was by comparison to the Boogeyman, who lived and almost died for the memory of love.

And that stuck with Vincent. Affected him more than he’d like to admit.

But, his heightened status above most others has left him isolated with few who wish to know him in a capacity beyond acquaintances for fear of incurring his wrath with a misplaced word or an overstepped boundary.

Thus, love is almost an impossibility for the Marquis.

And then he met you.

And grew obsessed intrigued. Fast.

He likely met you in passing completely separate from his usual crowd – which is to say hunters and murderers.

And he's taken aback by you; your beauty, your charm, your personality. In a way that, while many others have tried, have never breached Vincent’s superficial interest.

Or perhaps you nurse that same melancholy void he harbours; the desire for something more. Which, divulging it to him, a complete stranger, the Marquis finds oddly endearing. Vulnerable.

He’s enchanted. The void in his chest seems to tighten somewhat. Heal.

You’ve given him what no other has before. Genuine, friendly, interested conversation. All without even knowing who he is.

Now, having to rush off, apologising with a smile for taking up his time with “Trivial banter,” Vincent watches your retreating form.

He has his sights set on you.

Over the next few days, while conducting business and going about his everyday life, Vincent’s mind keeps crawling back to you, those fateful minutes wherein he felt he knew everything about you and nothing at all.

Though, he doesn't actually want to admit it at first.

While, yes, he does want to experience true love, he is entirely unwilling to acknowledge the disgustingly human need to feel something.

So, he tries to hide it. Bury it beneath his work, French desserts and luxuries you've never even heard of.

But, over time, you spring back up in the forefront of his mind when you are no longer content with being a voice in the background. A memory of a time where Vincent felt as if he’d truly been seen.

And Vincent, passing off his secret enthusiasm as boredom, a mere meandering of memories, ‘allows’ the odd thought of you to trickle in here and there.

You are a form of medicine. Whenever Vincent feels something undesirable brewing in his chest, he finds himself back with you on that bench in the park, your warmth and presence sun rays against his face as he’s transported from one of his many mansions to beside you once more.

And, even if he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, you scratch the right spot in his psyche that material gain just can’t. Not in comparison to the human touch you have.

Gramont’s so used to people regarding him with favour or fear that it still takes him aback now how kindly you treated him, not knowing who he is or what he does.

You had nothing to gain from your kindness. And yet you still gave it to him.

Healed him with it.

Vincent’s daydreams start to grow more intense the longer he thinks about you.

An emulated conversation. Additions and projections of the recollections of your encounter, no matter how brief. Anything to let Vincent feed off the feeling you gave him when he’s exhausted the phantom of your first encounter.

There comes a point, weeks after you first met, where Vincent spends more time in these memories, both real and fabricated, than in the conscious world. And they strengthen, pulling his focus from his work, from his duties.

At first, this manifests as a glazed look in his eyes, one which, to all those who knew of him, could pen as the typical, uninterested Marquis stare.

He wears the same one in the comfort of his private rooms, one where nobody can see what he’s thinking. But now, people can see Vincent couldn’t care less about the projected bounty of this one killer from Wales; he just wants to be left alone with his thoughts.

His men have started to notice, too.

And, one evening, Vincent decides to lay upon them a task.

“I need you to find someone for me,” he says, his chin resting atop clasped hands. There is no jest, nor leniency, in his stare.

The task itself sounded easy enough. But with only a physical description to go on, not even having gotten your name, Vincent, for the first time in his life, is anxious.

Anxious his men won’t find you, no matter how deep his connections run.

Anxious that, while he’s lived in his dream world for the last month, you’ve since disappeared. Been killed, perhaps, or exposed to some freak accident.

Vincent pains at the feeling in his centre whenever he considers this a possibility. It tears the scabbing void in his chest wide open again.

Sometimes, while he lies in bed, the thought that might have perished somehow, that his men will have misinterpreted his specific instructions not to interact with you, only report on what you’re doing, plagues him.

He knows his men are loyal – that they’ve never failed a task before now. And he clings to the hope that their winning streak won’t run dry one of these nights.

One day, sat in his office, glancing over a document he’d tried reading for the last half hour yet couldn’t because, surprise, you were distracting him, one of his men came into the room.

“We have them, Sir,” he said, the image of victory. Vincent couldn’t help but scan his suit for any sign of blood. Your blood.

To say Vincent was excited is an understatement of epic proportions.

At first, he’s just numb.

Then, a few minutes later, his chest burns and sparks with an electric passion one acquires when meeting an idol.

Vincent wishes to deploy himself immediately. But he knows this is a waiting game.

So, he remains far enough away from your life that you do not suspect a single thing is wrong.

You don’t even glance over at the guy who’s been tailing you for the last few hours.

You don’t think twice about the stranger who’s been sat in perfect view of you in the cafe for the last two weeks.

You don’t even consider that the guy you bumped into earlier is responsible for your house key going missing.

Now, with access to your inner sanctum and your daily routine burned into his mind like a holy scripture, Vincent makes his move.

He stages meetings between the two of you.

Starts ‘bumping into you’.

At first, you simply recognise him, ask him how he’s doing and what he’s doing in the area.

And, Vincent, the man with an answer for everything, finds himself doing something he never has before.

He fumbles.

Even when he imagined you in a most vivid detail, nothing compares to this moment, where what he says has consequences, where he has one shot at getting this right. Or risk your uncertain stare.

He can feel fear rising in his chest as he stutters. Only once, but enough to knock him down a few pegs in your mind’s eye. At least, that’s what he thinks.

But, he completes his task, albeit not as pristinely as he wished.

He asked you out to coffee.

And you, with a signature smile, accepted.

And now, your fate is sealed.

Vincent beats himself up over his ineptitude of speaking to you like he did in his head: suave, cool, collected.

And, given the fact that he’s never had to take accountability for anything he’s ever done, he tries to blame it on someone else.

Not you, though.

Never you.

Regardless of this minor hurdle, as Vincent sees it, he purses this…friendship with you.

He isn’t used to the concept. Not in a visceral sense, anyway.

The saying ‘It’s lonely at the top’ comes to mind when describing Vincent’s relationships.

There is always a power imbalance, no matter who he’s speaking with.

He is always above them, and they are always below him.

But that’s when they know him. Know his dynamic.

You, you have absolutely no idea who he is, or what he’s capable of.

To you, he’s just Vincent, the owner of a successful manufacturing business.

No, Vincent couldn’t quite ditch the theatrics. He still needed an out to impress you – to have a valid excuse as to how he owns so many nice cars, how he never wears the same designer suit twice.

He doesn’t tone it down with the suits, by the way.

He’s too enthralled by the fascinated look you wear when you’re taking in the patterns, the chains, the craftsmanship.

Which, to his surprise, makes his face warm.

People have only ever looked at the label of his outfit, never the ensemble itself.

That’s just another of the ways you make him feel seen.

You tell him so much of yourself, yet not enough to break your mystique.

Vincent knows more about you than you think, and he uses this to create another version of himself – one which likes the same records as you (though, he unironically does enjoy them. But, he knows he likely wouldn’t unless you listened to them, too), has the same preferences for how you fold your clothes, whether you should brush your teeth before or after breakfast.

And Vincent devours every detail you grant him like a meal, saving them, storing them, testing them out in his newest daydreams when he gets home, his heart thrumming and his breathing short as an unfamiliar feeling of wholeness and anxiety overtakes him.

And yet, there is little he can offer in return.

Nothing that isn’t a lie, anyway.

He keeps you as far away from his work as possible, hence he meets you in such public spaces.

His men are always stationed nearby, disguised as civilians. Should the need for bloodshed ever arise.

Eventually, your weekly coffee meet-ups evolve into something else.

Vincent, after asking one of his men (under strict confidentiality) ”What do you do when you…like-like someone…?” starts taking you to restaurants.

He tries not to scare you off with anything too fancy, but he can’t help but feel part of himself die whenever he thinks about how dull the food here in this 5-star restaurant is compared to his usual dining preferences.

But you’re happy, thanking him for the meal with a gratitude that isn’t borne from a life-or-death scenario.

You’re not paying for these dates, by the way. Vincent won’t let you.

“I brought you here; I’m paying.”

He also has a tendency to go overboard with the gifts.

You tell him your watch is broken ? Here are five designer timepieces imported from a selective brand whose clientele is vetted and chosen by the CEO himself.

Of course, you can try to refuse these gifts – tell Vincent that you “Can’t possibly take them from you; it’s too much !”

But he plays the guilt card well.

“No, I insist,” he says, pushing them into your hands. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

If you actively wear or use anything he buys you, he’ll be overjoyed. Prideful.

You’re wearing something he got for you. That basically means you’re saying you belong to him.

Of course, he does get a little carried away with his…delusions. But he means well !

He’s just territorial.

Vincent can be a gentleman when he wants to be.

And can also be a vicious creature when he doesn’t.

He only presents one of these sides to you.

The other is reserved for his more…private affairs.

When he started feeling more intensely about you, his mind wandered to some rather unsavoury places – places that, usually, VIncent would walk through without batting an eye.

But now that he, dare he say...liked you…he felt as if he’d been drenched in cold water whenever he imagined you doing anything risqué.

So, with the steadily growing number of these thoughts, these images of you, piercing his mind, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

He beds people who look like you. 

The two of you aren’t dating yet; haven’t even held hands (though Vincent agonises over finding the right opportunity to do so).

But he still feels wrong. Like he’s cheating on you.

His sanity tries to prevent him from thinking like this, tries to keep itself intact by urging Vincent to pursue another mindless conquest.

Your name does slip out between his panting, though.

Much to the chagrin of whoever’s beneath him right now.

He wonders what you’d look like, what you’d feel like in this same position. What your preferences are.

There’s only one way to find out.

He tries turning up the boyfriend factor after he decides now’s the time to pursue you. Properly.

He sits a little closer to you whenever you invite him over for movie nights, holds you for just a little longer whenever you engage in your traditional parting hug.

And he can’t help but think about how much he wants to stay with you like this forever.

And permanence is a rare commodity for people in his line of work. No matter how many bodyguards he has, or how skilled he is.

Nothing is certain.

Which is why, one evening, lying awake in bed, he decides to act.

He knows it’s a risky manoeuvre, but he can’t deny how careless he’s been with you these last few months.

Not that you’d know, but his men have intercepted five people who’ve tried to kill you, take you – or worse.

All just to get to him.

He can’t leave you in the wide open world like this. He can’t let you be at risk. Not because of him.

So, that night, his heart in his mouth as he commands his men to “Find (Y/N). Bring them to me.” Vincent awaits your arrival.

And, eventually, he hears you. Clamouring in the halls outside his office, screaming and fighting. Resisting.

Vincent can’t help but crack a smile, knowing how defiant you are – how stubborn you can be in your method.

As the heavy footsteps of his men come to a stop outside his door, your screeching is blunted only by the thick wood.

And, doors open, here you are, shoved into the room.

Your captor revealed.

You look at him with what you could construed as almost-neutrality, your bewilderment a damper to your anger, your fear.

“Vincent,” you say, breathless. You take a staggering step towards him. His men take a step towards you, reaching for weapons concealed by their coats.

Vincent raises a hand, and they retract.

He looks at you.

His eyes are filled with nothing less than adulation, misplaced happiness in a situation you view as dire.

“Sit,” he tells you, casting a glance to the seat before his desk.

With little else you can do, you obey.

And your world begins to unravel.

Vincent, in the lamest, most gentle of terms, explains that he is “Not who you thought I was,” – that he does “More for a living than make vases and luxury dishware.”

“I,” he says, watching your eyes carefully, glassy and holding no less potential for terror. “Am the Marquis.”

Vincent stands, and when he sees you flinch, something in him withers. Hurts.

He shoves it aside.

“I am responsible for making sure that the right outcome is brought to the right people.”

His hands behind his back, pacing the length of your field of sight, he swallows. 

You’re judging him now. In a way you never had, you’re judging him.

His desire to display how grandiose his lifestyle is doesn’t seem so forthcoming anymore, hiding, shy.

This is more difficult than he anticipated.

“What does that mean ?” you say, voice tight and quiet.

Vincent’s fist clenches. He doesn’t want you like this. You should be happy he’s rescued you ! Albeit from threats you didn’t know pertained to you, but still !

“I’m…” he starts. His gaze wanders to his men, who, with perfect understanding, leave.

You almost don’t want them to go.

“I’m a reaper, of sorts,” he says. He draws closer, taking a step in your direction. You bite back the urge to flee.

“A face to a cause.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, instead watching you with what you think is scrutiny (but couldn’t be further from it), you ask, throat dry, hoarse from your screaming. Crying.

“What cause ?”

Vincent bites the inside of his lip. And, for the first time, he can feel himself cracking under your gaze.

You’re scared. He knows you are. He just wished he didn’t have to see it painted so blatantly on your features, downturned with grief should everything end on this night.

Where was your smile ? Your crinkled eyes, your sonorous laugh, your upturned lips ?

“I fix problems,” he says. There’s no way he can put his occupation lightly. “I used to do it with knives. Guns, a pencil, perhaps – whatever was at my disposal.”

He’s closer now, approaching. His arms are at his sides. And he stands before you.

You don’t want to look up. You want to look – be – anywhere but here.

But Vincent doesn’t let you.

“But now,” he says, and he gets to one knee. His hands trap you, on either of the arm rests of the chair. Yet he does not possess the face of one who is a captor, instead a mask of total capitulation to a feeling he couldn’t even begin to understand before you showed him.

“I do it with diplomacy. With people who are much better suited to that life than I.”

His voice is soft, quieter than before. There is a hint of a smile at his lips, pulling the corners, beginning the total eclipse of his eyes from full to crescent. An offset to the anxiety bubbling in his centre.

Your hands in your lap, he takes them in his, slowly, gently, fingers resting atop yours.

And he squeezes them.

Holds them. Just as he’d always wanted to.

“Why–” you swallow a sob, turn your head so you don’t let him see your face scrunch into the epitome of fright. “Why am I here…?”

Vincent’s lips part. His hand slips up to your jaw, urges you to look at him.

He’s forbearing. A butterfly.

Nothing like how his men handled you.

That in itself could almost convince you that he’s not such a bad guy. Even after all he’s told you.

“Because–” your face in his hand, he looks up into your eyes. Barely contained tears fill them.

“Because you’ll be safe with me,” he promises. There’s an unencumbered optimism in his eyes. A dangerous one at that.

“Because I can’t trust that my men can protect you when you’re so far away – alone – in the city.”

“What do you mean, Vincent ?!”

You don’t mean to snap. But since you’d just been kidnapped and the truth behind the matter is no clearer to you, you can’t help it.

Vincent almost seems to flinch, his eyes narrowing just for a second. He returns to you with his puppy stare.

“There are people out there who know who I am. What I do.”

He squeezes your hand again, his other still wrapped about your jaw.

“The problem now is that they know you, too.”

He swallows thickly, looking down for a split of a second. Guilt.

“And it’s my fault. I should’ve been more careful. Should’ve just left you alone, let you live your life…but I can’t undo that now.”

He laces his fingers between yours. And you’re too frazzled to refuse.

“What I can do, what I will do–” his hand comes to the point of your chin, holds it gently between his fingers like glass.

His gaze falls to your lips, and you try to ignore it.

“Is keep you safe. Here. With me.”

You’d have laughed if you didn’t believe everything he’d just said.

It all just made sense to you.

The lavish gifts, the people watching you that you hadn’t dared notice before because you’re just being paranoid. The hard glares Vincent would grant to all that passed you by in the rooms of higher society.

And now, everything shatters. You cry.

“Oh, non, mon Cher, don’t cry–” Vincent moves to wipe the tears from your cheeks, but you pull away. Retract from his kindness.

"You're insane–" you’re breathless, gasping between sobs

"Not insane.” VIncent tells you. He stands so he’s perfectly level with you, his eyes piercing yours. And, just as he had many times before in your presence, he smiles. Genuine and heartfelt. Then, a statement. A declaration.

“Just… in love.”

[aniqua]

error: v1r2ous | yandere!qimir x reader

✧content: 18+ mdni, y/n not used, everything that comes with yandere tendencies, a prequel to [f13nd] that can stand on its own

✧anon says: "im super curious to perhaps see flashbacks of reader and qimirs relationship before their death but whatever u choose to do w the plot im sure itll be great!!!💓"

✧note: anonie, my self-control is laughable. this originally was a couple of bullet points until it wasn't. I even foreshadowed it when I said, "I keep pretty much be convinced of a lot of things if it's in the form feedback."

✧word count: 1.4K

✧series masterlist

Qimir and you originally met when you entered his shop to buy something for an illness you were experiencing.

From his perspective, a pretty customer--wide-eyed, slightly frazzled, but sincere--comes in walking in like a blown-in dandelion, and his brain halts at a blank. All of his senses were taking you in except for sound. He was picking up on your scent, taking in your appearance, trying to taste your fragrance like a madman, all the while he couldn’t hear a thing coming out of your rosy lips.

There are no quippy jokes, clever back and forths, or sarcastic upselling. He just saw someone with shining eyes and an unintentional constant pout to their lips as they explained their problem and he was just staring.

Through what he heard when he finally checked back in, you chose to entrust him with your health because of what you heard through grapevines and gossip which led him to take on a deep sense of responsibility to get what he was making down to the right gram.

From your perspective, you didn’t expect the apothecary to be so breathtaking. You expected to meet the face of an age-old man who you’d have to convince to take your symptoms seriously. So when you had materialized at the first jingle of the door and you saw Qimir look up, you’d almost waited for his master to come walking out of a room. Even as you spoke, you sort of hoped it would still happen since his sharp features but kind eyes were too overwhelming for your sensitive self to stomach. If he was to be your saving grace, you feared that your timidness to his aura would have you killed before a progression in your condition did.

Through nervous small talk from you and shaking hands that only Qimir could feel, he works on something as you watch with a look that could only have him describe you as a rabbit. In the end, he fervently insists that you return for weekly refills since swore he could only make so much with the supplies that he had. This was untrue. But you were so dazzled by the way parts of his warm hand ghosted yours when he passed the medication that you didn’t even think twice about it.

By a few months, you both had established an unspoken comfort that resided between each of your meetings. 

You were expected to call ahead so that Qimir could ensure it was just him and you in the shop. Your appreciation for the gesture made you believe that he was entirely selfless but let Qimir tell it and it would be the most selfish thing he did once a week. The days would meander as he spent time forgetting faces until he’d get a call in which in that moment, the time ran like a jackrabbit. 

There was a night when you called so late that the sun had already set and he was already in bed. He picked it up without a second thought and felt his spine turn into water when he heard you on the other end profusely apologizing. The name of the game was reassurance and patience as he tried to keep you talking. He so effortlessly did it that you would almost believe him when he said he didn’t mind the call if you didn’t feel immense guilt.

Qimir spent the time listening to you ramble about the series of unfortunate events that had led you to break your medicine vials and lose your travel ticket. The way your weak voice spoke and the shaking in your cadence made it clear to anyone who cared--so Qimir--that you had just been crying. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” you heard from the other end. He waited for you to come down from your panic while twistedly picturing how beautiful you must have looked when you cried. Red eyes, clinging lashes, and swollen lips flashed across his mind just for him to say “I know a guy who can get you a much sooner ticket and when you come here tomorrow I’ll make you more. Free of charge. How does that sound?”

Another good amount of back and forth was spent with you refusing his generosity until his persistent rejection of your rejection caved you. Sure, you felt unworthy of the offer but you also were terrible at resisting the way he sounded over the phone. 

It was in that moment that Qimir determined to make you his permanent problem. From his perspective, he couldn’t stay just your good friend, but he wanted you to see him as the lighthouse that you were a permanent resident of. He was transfixed on the image of you and him together.

Did Qimir actually know a guy? No, but he wasn’t going to find a guy since he knew how to be both hell and high water.

On another one of your later visits, you made some remarks about your uncomfortable trip to his store as his hair curtain his face while he worked. 

Qimir saw this as a rare window of opportunity to take advantage of the trust between the both of you.

“You know, long trips are taxing on the body,” he said as he was dicing a specific plant.

“How else do you expect me to get here?” you teased as you layed your head on the counter and watched him so focused. It was when you liked watching him most. 

This was now routine for the both of you. You would pretend like you weren’t watching the way his biceps flexed and his brows knitted together when he was focused. All the while, Qimir was trying to use every bit of his self-control not to drown in your fresh scent and the warmth that came from your close body. If he didn’t use every bit of the discipline he was taught, he would have devoured once for every time he looked up to find you desperately trying to look anywhere else out of shyness.

“You’d walk here if you just lived in the city,” he told you while peeking through his lashes.

You sighed as you waited for another lecture from him that he practically had memorized but it never came which surprised you. He was playing offensive this time.

“The city is expensive,” you said.

“Hm” he quirked a brow in acknowledgment as he kept dicing. Although he was calculating, he loved the way your voice sounded when you were passionate.

“And who knows if I’ll find somewhere to live on such short notice.”

“So stay here.” he dropped so casually as he went to grab something off of a high shelf.

“Huh?” That was new.

Qimir didn’t say anything until he came back. He made his way back to the counter and leaned over it. You felt so scattered as you watched his striking features get closer as you swallowed. He was intentionally playing dirty.

“Stay here and you can work in the shop in exchange.” When he shrug so nonchalantly, strands of his hair framed his face so well.

“Qi-Qimir,” you manage to get out. “You don’t want me here,” you joked trying to get out of his intense soul-eating eyes. However, he took your hands as you tried to lean back into the chair you were sitting in.

“What makes you say that?” You almost lost your breath at the way he lifted his brow.

“You really want to become roommates with a customer?” you said only half teasing.

The way his expression shifted like a cloud had gone over him. You wondered if you had said something wrong. With his thumb, he made circles in your hands as he straightened out the fabric of your shirt. He was still silent as you held your breath until he said, “Did you really think I’d empty out a store on a weekly basis for just some customer?” His voice was steady as he practically loomed over you from across the table.

You had no response to his words but you were getting hot in the face.

“I don’t even answer Osha’s calls in the middle night,” he laughed. The way that he went back to his light demeanor and the smile that eclipsed his eyes gave you enough whiplash to say stupidly vomit “alright” without any clue as to what you were signing up for.

leave a comment, send an ask, or reblog. i might write a whole fic because of it or maybe send a meme, but I always respond.

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

Moi Devochki: NSFW Alphabet, Alpha Natasha

WandaNat Masterlist Marvel Masterlist Moi Devochki Masterlist

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Despite what she’d have you believe, she's a cuddler. After helping her Omegas clean up and get settled, she's pulling you both as close as possible and keeping you wrapped up in her strong embrace. There's a security in knowing that you're both near, a security she no longer takes for granted. And though she’d probably deny it, she also highly enjoys words of affirmations and declarations/reminders of yours and Wandas love for her. 

And she of course cares for both her mates in their desired ways, being sure to offer up as many sweet words as possible along with the same reminders of love that she seeks, as well as caressing you both softly until you all drift off to sleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Her favorite body part is her arms. She works tirelessly in the gym to keep them in peak shape, and she's very proud of where she's gotten them. So to be able to hold the two Omegas she cares for most within those very arms is very fulfilling. She feels like as long as you and Wanda are there, within her hold, then nothing bad could possibly happen. And she knows if anyone ever tried anything, she'd easily deck whoever it was causing you or Wanda strife.

Her favorite body part of both yours and Wandas is your/her thighs. What can she say, she's an Alpha that knows what she likes. And she loves thighs. She enjoys their plushness, how they wrap around her head or waist when she's pleasuring you/her, how they tremble when you/her are cumming, and how all it takes is a few touches to them to get either of you riled up.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

She's used to producing a large amount of semen when she cums, that's just how an Alphas biology works. But she was rather unprepared for just how much her output would increase when her Omegas were in heat. She produces enough then that it causes her balls to get a bit heavier and ache, but perhaps that's just what happens when you claim two Omegas and must satisfy both when mating.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

To her embarrassment, before the three of you got together, she had to sneak off quite a few times after training to relieve herself. At first it was just when she’d get one of you in a certain position by accident or when one of you would end up brushing up against her. But after a while it was simply enough to just watch the two of you spare together.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Being raised in the Red Room unfortunately made her experienced at quite the young age. She can very easily work someone up with her words alone, and her hands and tongue are beyond skilled. She can pleasure you and Wanda multiple times before even sinking her cock into you. But once she does do that, its an even ore incredible experience. She knows exactly how to move, what to say and where to touch. Though she is still learning a few details about each of your preferences.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

She's torn between missionary and doggy. She loves the closeness and comfy feelings that missionary evokes in all three of you, and she does enjoy being able to look her mates in the eyes. But there's just something about doggy that gets her feeling more primal, and she loves being able to just let lose and feel that side of herself as she fucks either of you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It really depends on the mood set by her mates. She can crack a few jokes or tease if either of you are feeling jovial. And she does love being able to share laughs and smiles while in such vulnerable situations. But she can also be straight to the point and no nonsense. Usually though, this only happens to an unbendable degree when something is bothering her or when she's in her ruts. A horny and pent up Alpha is nothing to play with.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

She has a happy trail from her belly button down to her bush, which she lets grow freely since its not too wild . And yes, the carpet matches the drapes. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Surprisingly to her, she's found that she is actually quite romantic. She has a very big soft side that just yarns for love. To both show it and bask in it, and once she knew you both wanted to be hers that soft side showed itself.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

In the rare times that she does masterbate she always cums with a moan of “Omegas!” Because even if you or Wanda aren’t directly responsible for giving her pleasure at that moment, there's no one else on her mind other than her mates.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

She has a bit of a possessive side, especially after everything that happened with Steve, and she's not afraid to let that be known. She enjoys reminding both of you that you are hers and she isn’t afraid to leave hickies or have either of you leave scratches in places that are noticeable to the rest of the team.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Her favorite place is your shared nest. Not just because it's where she first had you both and was able to claim you, but also because of its comfort and scents. The bed is nice, but nothing compares to an Omegas safespace that they welcome their Alpha into.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When it comes to you and Wanda there's frankly not much that doesn’t turn her on. But she's especially a fan of when either of you becomes a bit handsy with her, squeezing her ass or groping her bulge when you're wanting her is a quick way to have her hard and twitching.

Being vocal about wanting/needing her is also a favorite. She just loves hearing you both tell her what you want//need from her, or how you want her to touch/take you. It drives her wild in the best possible way.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

She absolutely under no circumstances would partake in impact play or weapon play. Both of these things were not only used against her in the Red Room by superiors, but she was also made to use such tactics. She always hated it, and it made her feel so uncomfortably small. She never wants to relive those memories, nor does she want to cause you or Wanda to feel as she had so these kinks are off the table.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

She prefers to give. She loves being able to taste her Omegas and bring them pleasure with only her mouth. She is very skilled with her tongue, but she's always eager to see if there's even more for her to learn about how best to pleasure you both.

But she certainly enjoys receiving it as well. Seeing either of her mates on their knees before her with her cock in their mouth as they hollow their cheeks is a sight and sensation like none other.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Normally she prefers things slower and sensual. She sees no need to rush intimacy with her mates, and believes the more time spent slowly appreciating each other only strengthens your bonds. However this all flies out the window when her rut hits, and during that time she tends to be faster and rougher.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

She loves quickies, and especially so when she's in rut. Normally she indulges in them a fair amount, as she finds it very hard to keep her hands to herself when her Omegas just look so good. When in rut it's not unusual for her to indulge in several a day through her ruts duration.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

She's more than willing to experiment and take risks as long as it's within her and her mates comfort levels. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Her stamina is very impressive and is likely due to her intense training. She has more energy than even she's prepared for sometimes and therefore she can last anywhere from two rounds to seven before needing a break. And during her ruts she can last even longer, going for hours at a time.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

The only toy she currently has is a pocket pussy. Usually she uses it on herself in those rare times that she masturbates, but sometimes you or Wanda will hold it and stroke her with it. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

She likes to tease on occasion, but its never for long because she often finds herself just as needy/turned on as whichever Omega she's teasing.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

She's quite vocal, always letting out praise or grunts/groans. And she lets out moans when she's really feeling good. She's loud enough that she can be heard by you and Wanda, but it's not loud enough to alert anyone else on what's happening. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

When she masturbates she loves playing with her knot. It's so sensitive and touching/teasing it with her hands evokes a unique feeling of pleasure that was only ever replicated once she felt what it was like to bury her knot in her mates pussies.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

She has multiple scars from both her time in the Red Room and her early Shield days. Some are from bullets, others from knives or explosions. She can at times be insecure about how marred her skin is, but you and Wanda always reassure her. She also has quite a few freckles across her body. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Quite high. She finds it incredibly hard to resist her Omegas, and she honestly wouldn’t even want to. Thankfully her mates' drives match her own.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Not very quickly. She loves to care for her mates, helping clean them up and cuddle them before she allows herself to get comfortable and drift off to sleep. There are however times, like when she's in her ruts, that she fucks until exhaustion and will just pass out, and she always feels terrible about it even though you and Wanda don’t truly mind.

Taglist: @wandaromamoff69 @when-wolves-howl @danveration @sheneonromanoff @sayah13 @likefirenrain @nighttime-dreaming @chaoticevilbakugo @crystalstark02 @wackymcstupid @lovelyy-moonlight @blackwidow-3 @mistressofinsomnia @that-one-gay-mosquito @yomamagf @yourfavdummy @justarandomreaderxoxo @scoutlp23-blog @whoischanelle15 @lissaaaa145 @eline03 @wizardofstories@imthenatynat @marvelonmymind @fluffyblanketgecko @bitch-616 @dakotastorm @zoomdeathknight @aeroae @sashawalker2 @maggieromanov @doveromanoff @mommyluvu @404-almostdone @tarathia @ayoungexwife @loki-laufeyson68 @elle161989

[aprilthearcher]

me and you... were meant to be.

[remus lupin x f!reader] [platonic james potter x f!reader]

slytherin!reader (because i myself am one). use of (y/n) (though i tried my best to not overuse it)

angst, but happy ending. remus' insecurities get in the way of your fresh relationship. 3k words.

i haven't written for remus for a long, long time so i tried to do my best because i love him to pieces and recently i've been experiencing a remus lupin era so... here it is. also, that spell she uses to protect her home... i've no idea if it exists, i just liked it.

english is not my first language, so there could be some mistakes. pictures are not mine.

thank you for reading!

i wrote this while listening to "Don't Delete the Kisses" by Wolf Alice and "What if I Love You" by Gatlin.

“What if you and I… What if we were never meant to be?”

“What are you saying, Remus?”

“I'm saying that I don't think we… I don't think it’s good for us to keep seeing each other.”

“But, but why? We are so good right now, we… I’m trying here, Remus, but I don't get it. Why would you do this?”

“I've just told you, we are not meant for each other. You… you des…” He stopped mid sentence. “I don't see you like that anymore, I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise.”

Now, on top of a bus that would drop her off a couple of blocks from her flat, she couldn’t recall a single moment in their short relationship that could’ve propelled something like this. They were good, really good. After dancing around each other for so long during their Hogwarts years, they had finally admitted their feelings one summer afternoon while looking at the sun go down and the moon rise up. Four months later, he was ending it. Salazar, could he have been high? She knew sometimes the boys would smoke those muggle herbs Marlene would bring them, overcharging them of course, but he had never said something so… heartbreaking under their influence. No, he couldn’t have been high, he would become even touchier when he’d smoke some, ignoring his friend’s presence and delighting in the passionate, even primal, effect they’d produce; the lightheaded feeling that allowed him to relax and run his fingers through her arms, her hands, her neck and jaw…

She pressed the palm of her hands against her eyes when they started to water for the fifth time that evening after leaving Dorcas’ apartment complex. Was he so desperate to get rid of her that he couldn’t even wait to do it at home? What would her great-grandmother think of her if she saw her like this? “Crying over a half-blood, a HALF-BREED, you are nothing but a blood traitor. You’ve tainted our legacy, you and your good-for-nothing parents, you are no more worthy than those mudbloods you hang round, affiliating yourself with muggles, living a life surrounded by them." Why did she keep caring about what she would think? She had never shared her views on blood purity and how any wizard or witch that wasn’t part of the Sacred Families would be undeserving of its magic. She hated people like her grandmother. She hated that the old hag had tried to drill these thoughts into her head since a very young age. She was glad she had died and she was glad her parents were nothing like their parents, so why was she remembering her now? Perhaps it was the fear of losing her entire friend group that made her sick mind resort to conjuring the old witch’s voice in her head.

She truly hoped for her great grandmother to be rolling in her grave at the sight of one of her descendants crying over a werewolf and the possibility of losing her entire friend group made up of blood traitors, half-bloods, and muggleborns. 

She knew they weren’t like that, that they wouldn’t isolate her for something like this. Merlin, they didn’t even know, at least until tonight, of their relationship! Though she was sure it wouldn’t take long for them to figure it out after how she had left in such an abrupt manner, without saying goodbye and barely making it to the door without the tears falling down her cheeks. She had left the task of explaining everything to Remus. 

“Lady, this is the last stop!” The bus driver called out from the front of the vehicle.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck Remus Lupin for breaking her heart, for making her cry and making her miss her bus stop. Fuck him for making her feel so in love she left her guard down, fuck him for assuring her that he could trust him. 

Although she had planned to take the muggle bus to get her mind off things and not get home immediately — for she was sure her lonely flat would make her feel worse, for she was sure there was one of Remus’ sweater idle placed on the back of an armchair she was hoping to return tonight after he’d accompanied her home —, she had not anticipated missing her stop and having to walk ten or so blocks home. It was not that she felt unsafe wandering through London this late, but she just felt emotionally exhausted.

She almost jogged all the way home, not wanting to encounter any trouble on her way home for she was not in the right state of mind for fighting anyone, muggle or not. Though, perhaps, the rush of adrenaline that would come from a brawl would bring her back to life, a little at least. 

She’d taken two steps into the hallway when she saw the light coming from her flat. Stopping on her tracks, she got her wand out of her leather holster strapped in her left shoulder and approached her door. Good thing she had opted to climb the stairs instead of apparating inside; if she were to be ambushed, she wouldn’t have had any time to prepare. 

With the whisper of an incantation the door opened slowly. For a moment, she forgot about Remus and the only thing on her mind was to find out who was inside her home. Her mind was reeling with ideas. Death eaters. 

Death eaters. Death eaters. Death eaters.

But how? She had secured the place with some, if not all, of the best protective spells. Dorcas had helped her set them up. The locks were unbreachable, as well as the magical barriers protecting the walls from all sides, there were only two people that could apparate inside, her and…

“Prongs?”

She had chosen James as the only other person to be able to apparate inside her home. The spell was infallible and it had taken them several months of hard work, but it was worth it since not even someone who had induced the polyjuice potion, impersonating James, could get in. 

She saw him pacing round her living room, his fingers twirling his wand in the air, a trick she had seen muggle musicians do when playing the drums. He stopped once he saw her, quickly coming to wrap one arm around her frame while the other pushed the door closed. The hiss of the invisible sigils increased for a second.

“I thought something had happened to you on the way home, you took so long. Why did you take so long? I was worried sick.”

“Merlin, James, the baby is making you act just like your mother.”

“Shut up, I was genuinely worried. Was about to go searching for you.”

“I took the bus but missed my stop, so I had to walk.”

He nodded, relaxing a bit now that he saw his best friend was okay. Physically, at least. Her emotions were still all over the place, her heart had calmed down and decided to break again after realising there were no intruders in her home. 

“What happened back then, dove? With Remus? You, you just run away.”

“I think you know what happened, James.” She said, while hanging her coat in the rack and taking out her boots. She knew he knew, he wouldn’t have left Dorcas’ flat without an explanation from Remus after seeing her so distressed.

James sighed. Even though her own feelings were messed up, she could still realise this was a difficult position for James, and the rest of them, to be in. (Y/N) and James had been friends since they were young, younger than now at least, knowing each other because their parents introduced them the summer before beginning their third year at Hogwarts. She was a Slytherin thus making it hard for the boy to trust her, even at that age, but one stern look from his mother Euphemia had the boy overcoming his prejudice against her in a heartbeat. It had been quite impossible to separate them since then, which meant introducing her to the rest of his friends. Sirius had been apprehensive, Peter quite terrified… Remus… Remus had been intrigued, you could say. All of his previous interactions with Slytherins hadn’t been pleasing, but this was the girl he had Transfiguration with, who would raise her hand faster than anyone and answer correctly, getting all the spells right on her first try. This was the girl he had glanced at maybe once — he definitely did more than glance — at the library, carrying way too many books for her on one hand while the other, holding her wand, pointed to the floating pile of heavier tomes behind her. 

Remus is also one of his best friends, the four of them are like brothers. She couldn’t deny she was quite surprised to see James here, attempting to comfort her instead of him.

He still had his arm around her shoulders when they started to walk towards the kitchen. If James intended to stay then she was in dire need of some tea to pass the bad taste the fight had left in her mouth. He would want to hear her side of the story. Turning to light up the room, she saw pints of red covering James’ knuckles. She disengaged from his hug, positioning her body in front of his then grabbed his hand, harshly. She heard him wince. His eyes scrunched and his lips closed in a thin line, she knew. He knew that she knew.

“Did any of his teeth fall out?” She pressed her fingers to his bloodied knuckles.

“No, but… Ow! Would you stop that?” He tried to release his hand from his grasp, she tightened her hold.

“I don’t need you defending me, James.”

“You’re my best friend, of course I’ll…”

“He’s your best friend too!” She yelled. Salazar, she was pathetic. Defending the boy who crushed her heart no more than two hours ago. “I don’t want you fighting my battles for me, James, especially when it’s against one of your friends.”

“I’m sorry, dove, you are like a sister to me. I couldn’t help it.”

“It’s not like he did anything wrong though. He… he is allowed to change his mind. I - I was the one to get too caught up. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have…”

“I didn’t punch him because he ‘changed his mind’, dove. I punched him because he was lying about that.”

“James…”

“No, no, listen. Listen to me.” He grabbed her face, wiping the new set of tears that had begun to cascade down her face. “I know Remus and I know that he loves you, that he’s loved you since you jinxed one of the fourth years after bad mouthing Peter, perhaps even before that. He’s not telling the truth and he’s pushing you away because he’s terrified of how much he loves you. That’s why I hit him, thought it’d make him realise he cannot lose you.”

“Salazar, you really are your mother.” James laughs at your comment, heart soaring with desperation at the new turn of events. He knew something more was going on with Remus and (Y/N) as of the last couple of months because James Potter was observant and this new bond didn’t look like the shy glances they’d throw from across the Hall during their Hogwarts’ years. These were slow, delicate touches; soft smiles and bodies that would look to be close to each other every chance they got. So he wanted nothing more than for his friends to be happy; although he should’ve seen Remus’ self-sabotaging tendencies coming because he knew all of his friends like the back of his hand, he didn’t. He blamed the uprising war for that. He blamed it for everything, from clouding Remus’ judgement more than ever to forcing him and Lily, and consequently the rest of the Order, to be constantly on the lookout for danger. None of them had had a good night’s sleep for months now. 

“You should still apologise, you’ve been friends for years and I…” 

Rapid, loud knocks against her front door interrupted (Y/N). She and James looked at each other, he had a hunch of who it might be but getting his wand at the ready didn’t hurt. (Y/N) had the same idea, she started to move towards the entrance with her arm up, wand always pointing at the door.

“Who is it?” The banging stopped.

“It’s … It’s me, Rem - Remus. I - I.” She could hear him shuffling outside, as if he were moving round the place, jumping from one foot to another; he probably was. “It's really me, I - I got you that black leather holster for your wand as a gift. You bought the rug on your bedroom floor in a flea market last month, you said it reminded you of the one you had back home. Your favourite colour is red and you hated yourself for it because James always joked how you should’ve been in…”

“Gryffindor.” By the time Remus had been at the end of his ranting, she had unlocked the door and opened it all the way, hitting the rag on the way. 

“Yeah, but green always looked better on you.” Remus looked at her face, he could see the trail of black makeup going from her eyes to her chin. She must’ve felt his stare because in a swift movement she got rid of the marks, or at least she tried to. It smudged a bit more than he knew she would’ve preferred. 

“You’ve got blood on your face.” She said.

“I know, I - I tripped down the…” Remus tried to explain while cleaning the blood with the back of his sweater. She could’ve told him she’ll clean it up for him with the touch of a finger. She didn’t.

“You don’t have to cover for him, I know James punched you.”

“Damn right I did.” She heard from inside the flat. James was leaning against the arch that separated the living room from the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest and a look that must’ve frightened Remus because of how he bent his head down and then looked up again, nodding as to show he’d understood his lesson. (Y/N) stared at James with an eyebrow raised, he sighed and then said: “I’m going to get Lily back at Dorcas’. See you, dove.” With a crack in the air, James disappeared.

“What I said, earlier, it - it wasn’t true.” Remus began once they had settled on her velvet green sofa. She had found it on the street, a bit tattered but nothing magic couldn’t repair. “I’m an idiot but I’m just so scared. So frightened that.. that what I - what I am will put a higher target behind your back. I’m a half-breed, a monster, and people like me … No, no let me finish. People like me don’t deserve someone as pure as you so I thought…”

“You thought pushing me away, breaking my heart, would solve any of that?”

“Well, yes! If I’m not putting you in danger during the full moon, then I’m putting you in danger because they - they won’t hesitate to come after you if you are with me.”

“You bloody git. They are after all of us, even if we aren’t together, they’ll still come after me…”

“You don’t know that.”

“What are you saying, Remus? I’m a blood traitor in their eyes, my best friend is a muggleborn. My own great-grandmother would put me on the ground if she could see me right now so don’t try to make me understand you with this bullshit. You may be scared of love, of loving me, but I’m not. I love you and I’ve loved you for so long that I’m not going to give you up, not at times like this. I don’t care that you’re a werewolf, I’ve never cared. And I get that it’s hard for you, that you feel guilty when we try to alleviate your pain, but I’m fucking exhausted that you think I won’t be able to handle it, to handle you and your transformations.” She inched her face closer to his, a hand moving up to cradle his jaw while the other grabbed his hand. “I chose to be with you, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be easy and not because you’re a werewolf but because you are an insufferable arsehole who doesn’t let people in, who is afraid of hurting others while not realising that he’s still hurting them when he pushes them away.”

He didn’t respond, he just leaned further on the touch of her hand. It grounded him. How was he able to think, even for a second, that he would survive without her light-feathered touch, without her hands running through his hair or his arms that would give him goosebumps?

“I thought that you had grown tired of me or that you had never loved me the way I loved you. That you’d thought I wasn’t loyal to the Order, that somehow I would…”

“No, no, no. I’d never, (Y/N), truly, I’d never. I got lost, I- I thought someday you would realise how you had ruined your life by spending it alongside… me. You could do so much better, and yet…”

“I’m sure there are men out there, wizards or not, that are less frightened at the idea of love than you are, Remus. But they’re surely not you, because they’re not as funny, or smart, or witty, or sensible, or great as you. I’d probably get bored of them within the hour and then I’d be lost because you wouldn’t be beside me. The only man I want is you. No one else. You drill that into your head or next time you try to pull a stunt like this I’ll kill you.”

“Got it.” He whispered before leaning in even closer, his lips barely brushing hers. He wanted to be sure she was okay with this; he wanted to be absolutely sure he hadn’t completely messed up their relationship but for that he needed her to confirm it; to accept his apology. She did, sealing their lips desperately, trying to transmit everything she had just said but with a kiss. She had been so terrified that the only way to have him in her life would be through meetings to discuss missions and war plans; that she would never get to touch him, to kiss him, to hold him after a rough full moon again. “You wouldn’t actually kill me, right?” 

“No, but I would tell James to punch ten times harder.”

“Please don’t, he’s got a sick hook.”

“Then you better behave.”

She kissed him again, deeper this time. Their lips moved synchronised, familiar with each other; her hands travelled all the way up to his hair while his circled around her waist, bringing her closer. Chest against chest, with her legs propped up into his lap, they stayed like that for a long time before Remus laid her down on the sofa.