#no more hesitation - no more fear - no more shame

[grimmweepers]

— ★ 𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after waiting for so long, alhaitham finally loses his virginity to you on his birthday

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: VIRGIN!alhaitham x FEM!reader, established relationship, there is some fluff sprinkled onto all this smut i promise, p0rn with plot, virginity loss (m), slightly more experienced reader, pet names ‘baby’ ‘love’, reader wears a skirt & dress, handjob, masturbation (f), deepthroat, rough fucking, no protection, creampie, cowgirl, might be a little ooc. 5.7k wc (idk what happened) MDNI. 18+ only. | masterlist

𝐚/𝐧: a birthday piece! happy birthday alhaitham! 🎁

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Your boyfriend was a virgin.

And for most people, virginity was often a touchy subject. Still, when you started dating Alhaitham, you weren’t surprised by his indifference towards the topic. He never danced around it or became flustered when the subject of sex came up. When the two of you had first talked about it, he didn’t fidget, didn’t sugarcoat, he simply took a sip of his coffee and stated, “I’ve never had sex before.” Then after finishing his cup, he added, “Not for lack of opportunity. I just never prioritised it.”

There was no shame or awkwardness, just a fact laid bare between you. And, really, why would there be?

Sex wasn’t something he’d avoided out of fear or insecurity. To him, it was nothing but a passing thought. 

At the time, you grazed over his humble boast because, of course, Alhaitham had opportunities. He was, by all objective measures, incredibly handsome and you told him this very often as his girlfriend.

The Akademiya’s scribe might’ve been notorious for being difficult to converse with but people were still drawn to his appearance, whether he wanted them to be or not. 

That conversation weighed more to you now. Not because of what he said but because of what it implied. Despite the passing interest others had in him and the potential experiences he could have had, he had waited. Not intentionally nor with some frivolous romantic ideal in mind, but simply because no one before you had ever made him want to.

As your relationship progressed, you discovered Alhaitham relieved his needs like every other person (shocking!).  Contrary to popular belief, he was still a human, and like most humans, he was still prone to desire. So while he had no qualms admitting he was a virgin, he also never pretended to be entirely unaffected by the curse of morning wood or the curse of dating someone who was totally his type and much more vivacious than he. 

But when you turned him on (which wasn’t difficult), no matter how heated things got, they never went past a certain point. It wasn’t hesitation on his part, nor was it uncertainty on yours. 

It might’ve been because he’d never done it before, or maybe because it felt too significant to rush into. Either way, whenever things teetered on the edge of no return, one of you would always pull back. Every time it happened, it left you a little more restless than before.

It had started slow, as most things did.

Your first kiss with Alhaitham had been more curious than anything else. He always paid attention to detail so he was careful in how he studied you. The more he kissed you, the more he adjusted to the newness of it. You could even taste the hesitance on him but that had been months ago. Now, he’d memorise the way the shape of your lips fit against his, and kissing him felt as natural as breathing.

In the beginning, your make-out sessions had been tame. Nothing more than lazy, unhurried exchanges between reading breaks or in the fleeting moments before you parted from him. Uncaring for any responsibility he had prior, he would hold you close in his burly arms and take you in.

However, in time, those kisses evolved into something you had to be broken apart from.

His hands had also grown bolder. They would slide up your sides, paw at the curve of your spine, and settle on your hips to pull you closer. He noted the way you reacted to him—the way you tossed your head back when his fingers mapped your sensitive skin, the way your grip made home in his hair when his tongue delved deeper.

And you learned things about him, too.

You learned that even though the Alhaitham you first met had an air of mystery to him, there was something far more desperate laying dormant beneath that imaginary veil… lest his control slip. If you sucked on his lower lip, a groan would softly erupt from his mouth. If you allowed him to bury his face into the crook of your neck, the love bites he’d give you would feel much more erotic.

Then his touches became scandalous over time. Alhaitham seemed to explore you more. 

He started to kiss—no, lick along your jaw, then down your neck, sucking lightly at your pulse just to hear your breath stuttering. His hands, no longer satisfied with resting at your waist, began to push under your shirt time and time again, ghosting over your ribs, tracing the dip of your back, just to gauge a reaction to his touch.

Your body continued to hum with need long after you had settled on opposite sides of the sofa, swollen lips and skin warm.

Each encounter left you both embarrassingly sticky by the end of it so you never bothered to admit you’d touched yourself to the thought of him long after he’d gone home. And neither did he.

An invisible string was about to snap, and the most recent time was the hardest to walk away from.

On that particular day, Alhaitham kissed you with extra urgency while you were nestled on his lap—as if the taste of you wasn’t enough and every movement of your lips was drawing him into a slow-burning fire. Each kiss was another spark, every touch a flicker of heat that spread and throbbed in the most wicked parts of you.

His hands traveled all over you, fingers that normally stayed at your ribs and waist started drifting lower so you sluggishly rolled your hips to match his rhythm, losing it at how hard he was beneath you. 

Maybe it was because you’d worn a skirt that day but you felt closer to him than ever. Having your legs sprawled across his lap and feeling what you assumed was the head of his cock prod your sweet spot between made your body scream even more for him. So it didn’t help your case at all when he suddenly stilled his fingers under your skirt and gingerly kneaded the back of your clothed pussy. The touch was petal soft but enough to make you whine without permission.

“Holy shit,” your words came out in plumes. 

You half-expected it to escalate then but instead, he pulled away. A familiar pang settled in your chest. He didn’t do it out of regret—you knew that much, but all that racing intention now became idly slow. 

“I’m sorry,” he said a little too quickly, it almost sounded awkward but you were too busy trying to figure out what he was apologising for. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong. 

“For what exactly?” You asked.

Alhaitham took a moment to think. 

“For not having more restraint,” his glossy eyes searched you, uncertain of what he wanted. “That felt impulsive.” 

It was unintentional but you’d never seen him look so innocent. Or vulnerable. 

Tilting your head, you said with a chuckle, “If I’m ever caught complaining about my boyfriend not being able to keep his hands off me, alert the authorities because that’s not me.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” 

None of this was your fault either, of course. Stopping was as much of a crime to him as it was to you, but he quietly returned your laughter, and timidly squeezed your hips as if to ground himself. “I just don’t want this to be something that happened because we couldn’t control ourselves.” 

In other words, he wanted something planned. Maybe he had envisioned it unfolding differently.

Which was reasonable, you thought. It was his first time, not yours. And it wasn’t discouraging at all—that solid bulge pressing between your legs revealed enough about the effect you had on him. No part of him didn’t want to flip you over and fuck you senseless on that sofa but perhaps an impulsive make-out shouldn’t steer the wheel for something he held off for so long.

So despite how badly you wanted him, you stopped. You waited. You told yourself the anticipation was half the fun. “You’re right. You’re right. Must you always be right?”

“Just a gift bestowed from the Archon.” Sarcasm, even when all the blood that should’ve been in his head had rushed to his cock. He watched you sigh, “It seems you don’t agree?”

“Well if say I don’t, you could always ravish me until I do.” You smiled from ear to ear, satisfied when a pale shade of pink immediately dusted his cheeks.  

“Stop that.” 

Alhiatham was thankful when you rolled off his lap and collapsed beside him with a buoyant giggle.

Even then, he already missed the weight of you on his groin and the phantom tingle from when he allowed himself to touch you over your underwear was still fresh on his fingers. He didn’t dare look at you right away, afraid that one glance at your pretty face, kiss-swollen lips, and the tremble in your thighs would set his skin alight all over again.

— — —

Remnants of Alhaitham’s birthday were scattered around your home. Half-finished slices of cake on abandoned plates. Few too many empty glasses littering the coffee table. The lingering scent of candles recently blown out.

Looking at the mess, you felt a wave of gratitude that the last batch of your friends had already come and gone. 

Honestly, it was a good thing he chose to celebrate at your place. If he’d done it at his, there would’ve been an inevitable crowd, and he and Kaveh would’ve probably found themselves locked in some debate over something trivial like the spelling of a single word. The only thing to break it up would be the arrival of dawn.

Here, it was just the two of you. While you’d both enjoyed the company earlier, ending the night like this felt right.

As the street lamps outside flickered on to welcome the evening, Alhaitham lounged beside you. This was the most relaxed he’d looked all day, with one arm draped lazily over the back of the sofa, and the other resting on his thigh with a new tome balanced loosely between his fingers. The dim light softened the sharp lines of his face, making him appear boyish as his sea-green eyes read the pages.

But he wasn’t really reading.

It was obvious by how his eyes were fixed on the same spot. His pupils were slightly dilated and maybe he had the wine to blame. Or something else altogether. 

You finally broke the silence, leaning on the armrest to reach for your own glass. “It’s still your birthday, you know?”

Alhaitham returned his attention to you, closing the tome you bought for him without marking his place. “Is there a statute of limitations on celebrating?” 

Huffing a laugh, “Not exactly,” you said, swirling the wine in your glass before taking a sip. “But I’ve been thinking about your birthday gift.”

“Hm?” He replied, slightly confused. He’d thought you’d already given him everything earlier in the day.

“Just wondering if there’s anything else you might want,” you set your glass down and watched the dark liquid ripple. This was the perfect opportunity to bring up what had been on both of your minds.

“Oh?” He blinked at you. “Well, this book you sought was quite a rare find, I’m aware there are only two other copies. For that alone, I needn’t ask for more.” 

“And if I told you that was only the appetiser?” 

Alhaitham adamantly shook his head, “I’m not following.” 

But you both knew that was false. The entire conversation was laced with implications and this was a Haravatat genius you were speaking to. Nothing needed to be spelled out for him because you saw his throat bob with a subtle swallow. That alone told you he was already waging war with his thoughts. 

Tonight felt different. 

Aside from it being his literal birthday, ever since the morning you’d caught him eyeing your body on numerous counts. 

One instance was when you conveniently sat across from him while your friends mingled, positioned so perfectly that he could see the triangle of underwear between your legs. It left little to the imagination and when images flashed of him running his sticky tongue over your panties—he bit the inside of his cheeks in shame. 

Another time was not too long ago when you adjusted the strap of your dress—he was sitting where he was now and you had noticed his fixation on the exposed skin of your shoulder. When the flimsy strap irritatingly fell again, you pretended not to see him shifting his shorts by the crotch. 

Something other than enticement was festering behind his gaze. It wasn’t out-right staring but you had an inkling you were being carefully watched. 

Maybe assessed was the better word. 

There was only so much pretend-reading he could do before it became obvious that your boyfriend was undressing you in his mind and using his tome as a silly cover. All of that told you he was ready. 

He just needed a little nudge. A precious courtesy. 

“Haitham, you’ve been thinking about it. Haven’t you?” 

Alhaitham’s lips parted like he was about to deny it. But he didn’t. He wasn’t even sure he could. Between a sigh and a too-long pause, you were surprised when he admitted, “Of course I have. I’m not immune to… well, you.” 

An intentional smile formed at the drop of that last word and your cheeks immediately grew hot. “You look beautiful,” he continued, but then his tone dipped into something far more audacious. “I might be convinced you were trying to steal my thunder today.” 

The sincerity behind his delivery of it made your heart pound like a drumline beneath your ribs. 

When you dared slip your hand to his knee, his muscles reflexively twitched. He didn’t try to stop you as you slowly traced the outline of his leg. 

“That honesty is going to get you in a lot of trouble, birthday boy.”  

“Trouble?” He said with a knowing smirk. “I think I’m already in enough trouble for tonight, don’t you?” You let him take your wrist to his mouth and he suckled above your pulse, soft and slow.

Goosebumps danced across your arm before you stood up.

Alhaitham tracked every step you made and his burning hands instinctively moved to your waist when you stopped between his legs. As you leaned down, he almost shut his eyes, expecting a kiss. “What do you mean? I’m terribly innocent.”

The heat of his touch seared through your dress and you didn’t falter when he started bunching up the fabric. 

Alhaitham, he was different. 

Unlike the temporary touches of almost-lovers, every place his hands explored left a trail of fire in their wake. He always held you like the space between you was something he could not tolerate. Everything had to be met. Tongue. Hands. Body. Mind. 

Alhaitham loved you. Deeply. Utterly. In ways that contradicted his nature. It was neither measured nor composed, only barbaric and all-encompassing. 

And credit must be due to you for being the most patient person in the world.

“So,” you said quietly, brushing away those unruly greys that tickled his forehead. “Do you feel like this time is rushed?”

His long fingers tightened around you, answering your question before he spoke. Whatever hesitation he felt had apparently already passed. “No, this is perfect.” 

As he looked up at you through those curtain of long lashes, an indulgent question had accidentally slipped out of your mouth: “How often do you picture yourself having your way with me?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. Clearly defeated by your feathery voice, he exhaled through his nose, almost jaded, “Constantly."

For some reason, you were still caught by surprise, that maybe by some twisted fate, this was all a humiliating joke. But you were wrong.

"In fact, I’m thinking about it right now," he continued.

Without needing any more reassurance than that, you closed the distance. “Do you mind?” You asked over his lips. 

“Not at all,” he said like he was granting you a wish. 

One tender kiss bled into another, then another, until his tongue started rolling over yours, swallowing your gasps in between. Then it turned into something wet and visceral. Your body wilted each time they collided but when his teeth sunk into your bottom lip, a riot of sensations gathered between your thighs. 

Fuck, you swore internally. 

Alhaitham may be a virgin but he sure didn’t kiss like one.

Still standing, you snaked your arms around his neck and combed at the ends of his hair. No matter how often you’d done this, the sound of his grunts always drowned out the rest of the world. 

Your lips broke apart for only a moment when you were forced to find air. There were too many annoying layers between the two of you so the cycle of kissing and never crossing that line was forever broken when you pulled on his shirt, “Take this off.” 

Letting you go, even for a second, was unbearable so when he lifted his arms to rid himself of the barrier, he greedily chased another kiss. The fabric dragged over his torso, revealing inch by inch of warm, silky skin stretched taut over muscle, and as soon as the shirt was gone, you traced the broad plane of his chest. 

From this view, you wonder if he was thinking about how many times he had imagined this moment. How many nights he had stared at the ceiling, picturing your hands on him just like this? 

“Nervous?” You asked, following your palm over the firm ridges of his abdomen as you connected lips again, pecking them softly this time like a butterfly kissing the edge of a blooming flower.

“Impossible,” Alhaitham relaxed his shoulders and pulled blindly at your waist. You looked so pretty—if anything, he was excited to fuck you. “I’m in good hands.”

Your lips trailed downward, over his jaw, his throat, ghosting his uncharted collarbones before moving even lower. Cushions collapsed to the floor as he began to fray beneath you, his body keening toward your open-mouth kisses no matter how much he tried to hold himself together.

“Baby—” he rasped. Your knees wobbled at his sweet call. The quietest groan escaped his mouth and you felt it reverberate against your lips where they hovered just above his navel. His scent was richer here—clean but muskier, and engulfing your senses to the point of dizziness. 

Sinking to your knees, your tongue followed the dark path of hair that disappeared beneath his shorts while your hands nimbly pushed at his growing tent, “—Fuck,” he sighed, screwing his eyes shut.  It pulsed involuntarily against the restraint and already, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. Your heart was racing, the size of it felt even bigger in your hand. 

You toyed at the waistband, “Haitham, tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

He nodded, slumping back into the sofa. Sure, but he doesn’t think he will. His lack of words made you wonder if he’d actually heard you. 

You palmed his bulge one last time before pulling everything down and immediately, his cock sprung against his stomach, giving it a good slapping sound while you ogled at the sheer size. And weight. 

It was so much prettier than you’d imagine—not too veiny, plump and pink at the tip, slightly curved, and already glistening with precum under the hues of evening light. A handful of beauty marks dotted the underside of his shaft which would only help you out in the future when you had to decide which parts of him you wanted to kiss first. It might’ve been the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. 

Rubbing your thumb over the tip, you peered up at him, and as expected, “Oh…” he rolled his eyes back, lulling himself in the immediate pleasure. At that moment, he knew fucking his fist in the dead of night would never feel the same again. Not when they can be hugged by your soft, velvety hands.

Alhaitham’s body jittered under you with each small stroke along his length. Another fat ball of precum dribbled over your knuckles and made it extra slippery—he was so hard, he could barely look at you through his drowsy eyes. 

“Do you like how this feels, baby?”

His feelings wavered between bucking for more friction or letting you dictate his ruin. “I- ah- love it. Keep going… Please…” Either way, by the time this was over, Alhaitham was going to walk away a new man. 

His cock was so heavy, so wide in your hand that you briefly imagined it training your hole open. You desperately clenched around nothing—suddenly it was your to feel needy and as a result, your strokes became even faster as you thought about him stuffing you with it instead. 

Each languid pump chipped away at his resolve but it was you who was beginning to lose control. Your free hand couldn’t hold still for any longer so they snaked to the throbbing heat that had been building between your legs for too long. The first roll of circles over your clit sent a sharp jolt up your spine. “Mmmm,” you were already so wet, your slick drenched your fingers within seconds.

Alhaitham's thighs twitched at the sound of you. That was a moan. A real fucking moan. A multitude of things could turn him on but watching his girlfriend play with herself and moaning above his cock made him spasm in his spot. He was begging for more, even if he couldn’t form the words. 

“Ahh, Haitham…” you mewled his name softly as you slid two fingers inside your sopping entrance. Without waiting any longer, you spat on the leaking tip as a courtesy warning before taking the entire length in your mouth all at once.

“God…” Alhaitham groaned, drawn out like the sensation alone could tear him apart. He could’ve jumped out of his seat if not for the vice grip he had on the sofa, his knuckles white from holding onto it like a lifeline. The inside of your mouth was so warm, your tongue so blissfully foreign and you felt him stiffen up even more when you sloppily sucked and popped off with a messy slurp. 

“This definitely... isn't your first time,” His voice was rough with lust.

Every tantalising lick was written off as proof of your experience.  

The praise, while indirect, made your cunt clamp around your moving fingers. You hummed, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock before pulling back with another lewd pop, “No,” you casually admitted, licking a stray tear of precum from your lips. “But it’s my first time taking something so big.” 

“No need to flatter me,” he murmured softly, lifting your dripping chin with a single finger, “You’re already doing enough.”  

But damn, he thought. If that were true, he’d stretch you further than anyone else.

After returning your lips around him, he unexpectedly brought his hand to the back of your head. 

This time, he didn’t want to sit back. “Slowly…” he sucked in a breath. “I… want to try something.” 

Alhaitham apparently grew some confidence of his own which made your fingers work even faster inside yourself. Your lips sank lower and lower. Throat tightening as his thick cock tunneled its way through—

“Mmph—!!” Your sudden yelp was muffled when his mushroom tip nudged the back of your throat. The vibration of it made him buckle his knees beside you. 

Oh, he was weak for you. And he knew it. 

“Ugh— Look at you…” he groaned through gritted teeth. Still, despite the newfound confidence, he was losing the battle fast. He had buckled so hard, he was worried he’d already cum but he was relieved when you gagged and withdrew, leaving only strings of saliva connecting to his fat length. 

That was enough to tell him he couldn’t hold it off anymore. 

Alhaitham could barely think straight. His cock was twitching, aching, still glossy from your mouth, and somehow standing taller than when all of this started. 

“Come here,” he pleaded and now his heart pounded because it was finally happening. 

His eyes were hazy when he hoisted you up, catching you in his lap to taste himself on your tongue. The kiss was feral and teeth-clashing and the curl of your name kept being whispered again and again between breaths. 

His hands wasted no time, sliding down your body, comfortably hiking up your dress while he met his cock with your entrance. Even with your underwear in the way, you felt just how girthy he was and squeezed around the head as much as your flimsy panties allowed. 

“Haitham~” you whimpered, continuing to grind on him. 

Between his own rolling of his hips, he eagerly helped you tug your dress over your head. Then you hurriedly removed your underwear and returned to his lap.

For a brief moment, he just stared. 

His jaw went slack. His chest rose and fell slowly. 

It was a showcase of your bare body, your soft tummy, your sweat-stricken tits, and your exposed pussy. 

Suddenly, you felt shy, but he reached out with surprising gentleness, smoothing his palm over your waist, then up to your chest. 

“I know I keep repeating myself but seriously,” he hushed, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you shiver. “You’re beautiful.” 

He looked at you like you were something divine and overcome, your lips crashed against his.

A guttural sound escaped his throat as he kissed you back with just as much hunger.

 “I love you,” you whispered to him. Another twist of your tongue. I love you. Another hand tangled in his hair. I love you. Another peek at your loving boyfriend, eyes shut and kissing you so tenderly like it’s the only thing he knew. I love you. 

His hand slipped between your legs, fingers parting the opening where you were dripping for him. If you hadn’t known him at all, you would’ve never guessed this was his first time. Perhaps preparing for this really paid off in the end. 

Your legs trembled around his hand, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. The need clawed at you.

His hand gripped your putty thighs, forcing them open as he stared at the pretty mess. 

Alhaitham flicked his gaze back to yours, “I love you, too,” his voice was hoarse. “And I need to be inside you.” It was then you understood why puppy eyes worked on people. No argument could ever shield him away when he pleaded for you like that. It would be like kicking a puppy in the most literal sense.

You gave him a nod of approval. It’s okay. 

He exhaled as he positioned himself. The downright weight of it jerking against your clit made you whimper. You couldn’t help but rock into it, circling his shaft with your juices while he was on the cusp of shattering. 

Finally, he lined the swollen head at your entrance and a sharp gasp left you as he slowly pushed in, stretching you apart like all those times you fantasised in the privacy of your bedroom but this was much, much better. 

Inch by inch, your walls latched onto him and—

“Shit—” Alhaitham cursed under his breath. 

Nothing has ever felt so warm or soft. Or all-consuming. His entire vision was a blur. There was no doubt he was already painting a clear, sticky mess on your walls. 

Your nails sank into his meaty arms, his name tumbled from your lips as he gradually slotted himself completely inside you. His groan was so deep and wrecked, that it made you tremble around him even more. 

Your legs tightened at his side, urging him deeper. “T-Thoughts?” You asked, barely. It remained a mystery how you stayed teasing even as pleasure threatened to steal your words away. 

“You’re so… tight,” he managed to breathe, thrusting up experimentally. His head dropped to your shoulder as he relished in the wet heat of you wrapped around him. “Better than my hands."

"Better than I ever imagined, actually." A strained chuckle left him, “And I imagined a lot.” 

Another slow thrust. His fingers embedded themselves around your waist, possessive, obsessive, and he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in.

You smiled even though you knew he couldn’t see, “You don’t have to hold back.” 

Your cute encouragement made him snap.

He lifted you slightly before slamming you down on his hips, plunging as far as he could. Right as he did, you arched your back and struggled to find your bearings. The sound of your jutted cries echoed freely in the living room, only for it to be swallowed by his muttering against your skin—

“You’re perfect.” 

A deep thrust, much harder this time. 

“I can’t believe you’re mine.” 

His teeth scraped against your neck. 

And then he really started fucking you. 

Every bounce punctured all the right spots and you could only whine while rivers of sweat glued your bodies together. You tried to keep up with him but he was so fervent with his hips, your mind went cloudy. 

More often than not, you tend to forget how strong your boyfriend was but you’ll never need a reminder after this. Not with how easily his large hands guided you up and down his throbbing cock. You were helpless against the feverish way he moved you. 

Plap. Plap. Plap. Each wet slap of your fleshy ass against his thighs sent a violent shudder through him, decorating his skin with flushed, red marks where you landed. 

Who knew Alhaitham could be so obscene and filthy?

“I can see why—people—enjoy this,” was all he could muster you as deliciously gripped him. Every word punched out of him from the force of your tight cunt. 

However, as good as it felt, most of his enjoyment came from looking at you. 

“Mhm…!” you babbled, brain foggy and hands abandoning his shoulders to roll your sensitive nipples between your fingers, twisting and tugging and arching your back so your tits were right in his face. “But are you—?” You tried to ask between ragged moans but he cut you off with a snap of his hips.

He’d never seen you in such a messy state, “Are you fucking kidding me?” He was nearly offended at the implication that he wasn’t. How could he not be? He was buried to the hilt and drinking in every filthy little sound that spilled from your lips.

He wanted to engrave the image of this memory into his mind forever.

The creak of the sofa legs as they scraped back and forth on your floor; the squelch of your soaking pussy; your arousal smearing the base of his shaft, running down his legs with every feverish roll. 

Even like this, even while he was losing every last shred of innocence, his mind was already latching onto something else—

“I’m already looking forward to doing this again…” 

Alhaitham, who fucking loved you, was also going to love fucking you. 

Oh, and the toe-curling sensation of his balls smacking the back of your pussy intensified. 

For each erratic push, your battered clit rubbed even more against his pubic bone. Your eyes were starting to drop and your voice only came in erotic moans. “Baby, please…” You’ve adjusted to the stretch by now but you’ll never get used to how you can feel every curve or ridge mind-meltingly dragging inside you. “Don’t stop—”

He wishes he could just record the way you coo at him like that, because your honeyed tone damn near made him bust on the spot. 

“F-Fuckk-Ngh… Love, I’m close,” he groaned, forehead falling against yours as his hips stuttered. His hungry, feral eyes—wild, desperate, blown back with lust, searched yours, now certain of what he wanted.

“Inside,” you panted, cradling the back of his head with your arms. “I bought a contraceptive tonic… You can cum inside.” 

Alhaitham froze, for just a second. 

But with your permission, he lost whatever fragile thread of control he had left. Using the last of his strength, he clumsily wrapped himself around your waist and attacked your g-spot over and over. 

“Quickly,” you urged him, “Because I’m gonna—!” A feeling in your stomach coiled before you could finish your sentence. With his hips rolling at an angle, everything you were holding together finally broke apart. Your ears abruptly rang and your vision went entirely white, as if months’ worth of pent-up energy was gushing out of you.

You pushed through the untangling in your gut, feeling everything all at once as your orgasm obliterated your senses. The downpour left you mewling, writhing, and spasming around him like a tightening knot. You've cummed to the thought of him but you always felt like something was missing.

Nothing but desperate moaning and the crying of his name met his ears while you blissfully rode him out.

A harsh thrust later did it for him, too.

His merciless rhythm shattered as he rutted inside one last time, a guttural groan ripping from his throat like all the air was being punched from his lungs. “Hah—I’m cumming!” His cock pulsed violently as he came, hot ropes of ivory spilling deep inside you, with him losing focus after each shudder of his hips. 

So much of it was already oozing out of you despite how tight you still were and you saw the ruin it brought on him. He was beautiful with his brows pinched tight and strands of damp silver sticking to his forehead. Every flex of his toned arms and chest showcased the primal strength beneath his elegance.

Alhaitham whimpered—it was barely audible as slumped against your chest. He clung to you, panting, hot breath fanning your shoulder as he pumped out the last tremors of his release. His balls tightened for the final time as they emptied inside you.

Neither of you moved. Just sticky heat, layers upon layers of sweat, and the aftershocks pulsing through your trembling bodies.

Then, slowly, his hands fell to his sides.

“…That was…” he started, feeling like his mind was still trying to piece itself together. His body practically surrendered against the sofa.

You swiped a thumb over his jaw, smiling. “Yeah.”

A beat passed.

When Alhaitham lifted his head, blinking at you, completely softened by the afterglow, it hit you.

Your boyfriend wasn’t a virgin anymore.

© 2025 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform.

divider: @/adornedwithlight

[caguaydreams]

Hm... never trust how you feel about your life past 9pm or however that goes and stuff, but sometimes I do be pondering what I do on the regular and it gets to me, the silliest things

[starbuck]

after SO many years of making myself the butt of the joke for not knowing anything, it’s overwhelmingly joyful to finally, truly open myself up to learning

[sylhea-raemi]

next shiraishi an event is gonna be bout for beside you part 2 with worse trust issues (thanks ken), worse abandonment issues, worse inferiority feeling

[u-know-too-much]

Be your damn self, babes. Regardless of anything. It hurts no one anyway.

[doestarkey]

summary: sneaking onto drew’s phone after a gnawing suspicion of him cheating on you

the age gap between you and drew had always lingered in the back of your mind, quietly eroding your confidence in the relationship. no matter how much you tried to push the thought aside, it left you questioning—doubting. if it was a concern for you, surely it was for him too… right?

at twenty one, you were still navigating life—balancing college, exploring career paths, meeting new people, and experiencing things for the first time. drew, on the other hand, was in an entirely different chapter.

he had everything already figured out—a thriving career as the ceo of a globally recognized company, financial security, a beautiful home, and the kind of life experience that only comes with time. and, of course, there was the attention.

women—his age—throwing themselves at him, drawn to his success, his confidence, and the effortless charm that came with being an attractive man in his late thirties. women who seemed like they belonged in his world more than you ever could.

so what made you any different?

late nights at the office became a routine for him. he explained it all—overtime, project deadlines, the occasional presence of a coworker or two in the building. you never questioned it.

until one night.

maybe it was real, or maybe it was just your own insecurities manifesting into something tangible. but as you washed his suit, you could have sworn you caught the faintest trace of perfume that didn’t belong to you.

it gnawed at you. the doubt, the fear. until, finally, you caved to the one thing you had sworn to yourself you wouldn’t do.

as he slept beside you, you carefully reached for his phone on the nightstand, your fingers hesitant but determined. the screen lit up, illuminating your face in the dark. you tried once. twice. a third time—

“it’s your birthday.”

his voice was soft, laced with sleep, yet fully aware. he lay on his side, head propped up on one hand as he watched you, offering the password without hesitation. a quiet reminder of the trust you were on the verge of betraying.

a lump formed in your throat, but you pressed forward. as the phone unlocked, you combed through everything—messages, photos, calls—desperate for proof of something that didn’t exist.

and there it was.

nothing. no betrayal. no late-night secrets. just the overwhelming weight of guilt settling in your stomach.

silently, you turned off the phone and handed it back to him, unable to meet his gaze.

drew chuckled, taking the phone and placing it back on the nightstand before reaching out, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“feel better now?” he asked, voice calm, understanding.

you didn’t answer, just stared at him with a deep frown, the shame too heavy to put into words.

“it’s okay,” he reassured you softly, though there was a hint of hurt in his voice. “but talk to me, baby. why’d you do that? what did i do that made you go through my phone?”

“you didn’t do anything, i just—” you hesitated, frustration bubbling up. how could you explain this without sounding irrational?

his head tilted slightly, reading you with ease. “been in your head too much, thinking things you shouldn’t?”

you nodded, exhaling shakily. “i just got scared… you’re always working late, and there are so many women—women your age—”

drew let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “that’s what you’re worried about? women my age?”

you pouted, not finding the humor in it, but his smile only grew.

“baby, if i wanted someone my age, i’d have them. but i don’t. i want you. age doesn’t change that.”

the sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten. “i’m sorry, drew,” you murmured, burying your face in your hands as embarrassment burned tears into your eyes.

“hey, none of that,” he whispered, pulling your hands away before wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against his bare chest. “c’mere.”

you clung to him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, your sniffles the only sound in the quiet room.

“m’not upset with you, sweetheart,” he promised, one hand threading through your hair as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“why not?” you mumbled into his skin, the warmth of him grounding you.

he chuckled. “because i know you didn’t mean any harm. just promise me that next time, you’ll talk to me instead, yeah?”

you nodded against him, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “i promise.”

“good.” he sighed, his arms tightening around you. “now, let’s get some sleep.”

“i love you,” you whispered.

“i love you too, baby.”

[acid-ixx]

that's my type! (again &. again drabble)

ft. yandere john constantine x gn! neglected reader w/ the batfamily

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

absolute shitpost, but i keep thinking in my series, again &. again, the awkward tension of having to reject all your suitors right in front of your family.

they don't explicitly force you to tell anyone off – suddenly, bruce believed in the means of gentle parenting after your abduction – but you can tell with their expectant eyes and damian's harsh glares or cass' fighting stance against the small crowd, that if you don't play with their whims, there might be more than broken bones and sore bodies after, compared to simply rejecting them as nicely as you could.

it's kind of like a peace treaty, a silent agreement between your side and theirs to ensure no harm befalls anyone you're close to, if you think about it.

you're still too considerate for your own good, after all.

"... sorry, haha... i'm not interested in dating any one of you right now," your voice is faint like the ghastly whispers of the hallways you're once subjected to, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, eyes downcast in fear of watching their reactions churn out.

if you don't take kindly to the past rejection of your family, then what of them?

imagine the silence that ensues first, then the short celebration after from your family's side. steph shoots your love interests a harsh glance, shooing them away in her high-pitched mockery paired with a mean grin and a tongue sticking out at the heartbreak plastered all over their faces.

there's a brief, "hn," on damian's side. despite the short reply and his still-crossed arms, you can tell it's a tone of satisfaction with just how his lips quirks up at the corner of his mouth.

you look away when your eyes meet his.

at first, you braced for the blinding shame that overcomes your being, these were people precious to you after all. yet the more you think about yourself even further, the more the cup spills with overwhelming anger instead.

anger at just how you allowed your sardonic, dictatorial family the belief that they could just control who you should and shouldn't spend your years of romantic pursuits with.

it's your dating life, not theirs! and you're a full-fledged adult, mind them!

no! this shouldn't be their moment, you shouldn't lose your dignity and reputation, seen as someone in the public eye allowing the very same people who estranged them the delusion of control over your emotional autonomy to romantic feelings.

you don't allow the time to stretch even further, touching your precious amber necklace when you're sure nobody's looking. it's gifted by someone special, and you hope your beloved on the other side, in another dimension, could hear your distressed signals.

there's an unsound churn, a melodic beat akin to the thrum of a heart that plays mechanically at the pattern your fingers run on the shiny crystal. a warm, intangible glow encases your body like a hug, he'll be here for you soon.

then before the celebration ensues, before dick could explode with absolute joy, praising his baby bird about how he's so proud that they're prioritizing themself or any other patronizing bullshit he wants to splurge, or before bruce can come over to you to give you a pat on the head, possibly even an awkward sidehug, and one of his rare smiles; you breath heavily, then with all your heart, retort with:

"— in fact," your voice booms with a sudden assertiveness that shocks even you, commanding everyone's attention on your furrowed brows and tired glare at the nuisance they're causing. once their eyes are looking expectedly on you, you continue with no hesitation.

"...i'm- well... i'm actually into older men...

— hell, i'm dating one right now..."

a magic circle appears right behind you, encasing your form in a sheer, yellow glow. goosebumps erode from across your body, both from giddy anticipation and the dramatic entry of wind that kisses your skin cooly.

after a momentary beat, alongside watching your wide-eyed crowd, john fucking constantine steps out of the space, his arms already wrapped dangerously close to your hips to be considered not intimate. you turn your back, head meeting his chest, and bring your arms to envelop his shoulders.

he smells of booze and pride.

"miss me already, darlin'?" john laughs and sweetly kisses your sweaty forehead, you giggle at the ticklish sensation of his shaved beard hovering above your head and the faint scent of cigarettes hitting your nostrils.

"oh, more than you could ever know, babe."

his lips find their way to your mouth in a quick peck, as your nose nuzzles with his. there were no other sounds surrounding you other than your shy laughter when his hands explored further below your hips.

after a moment of love-filled gazes, he turns his head to the crowd and offers them a bemused smile, the expressions of those watching makes your shameless pda all the more worthwhile.

alfred's jaw drops to the floor, the tray on his hands cluttering on soft, velvety capets, poor him. even your father couldn't even believe, in all his years of living, that this man had the balls of steel stealing the heart of his precious child.

he doesn't even have the contingency plan for- for this...!

cue the absolute shitshow that plays in everyone else's mind, as you try to convince your boyfriend to get you both out of the place because sloppily making out with you and fondling with the sensitive parts of your body in front of your suitors and family isn't the best course of action if he wants to lose all his limbs.

jason already got his guns out, damian his sword, and duke wouldn't waste a beat triggering his metahuman powers— you know your man, constantine, is a capable lover and fighter with years of experience, but against a crowd of metahuman love interests and a literal house full of trained combatants, you don't want him to sore his body out protecting you before the real fun begins in your shared bed.

all that trouble, when he's capable of teleporting you both away into a safer area, a different dimension where it's just you two. and, you know...

his hand playing with the fat of your ass is already enough to cause a heart attack for all of them, anyways.

a/n: woah, my writing style fluctuates a lot. as i've stated, the more i become invested with the dc fandom, the more i want to branch out with other characters too. i also want more creative plots ngl. this is inspired by my own fic, just a taste. please leave comments below, it's my main motivation bec i'm an attention whore (slash jay) and my works have been flopping lately LMAO. i hope you guys become as feral as i am for this british man.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏

Sukuna

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: Your deity calls you to his presence to worship him.

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, two-dick sukuna, bit of a size kink, spitting, oral sex (m. receiving), handjob, biting, gagging, vaginal sex, squirting, creampie

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“My lord.” You get on your knees, bowing your head in the presence of the deity. You were called to his presence, and you feel as if your heart is about to beat out of your chest while you’re in his presence. It feels as if his eyes burn into your skin when his gaze falls on you.

There’s a smirk on his face as he looks down arrogantly at you. Arrogance has always been a trait that you’ve looked down upon men, but Sukuna does not fit in with men. He’s anything but a man. He’s a God, a being worthy of praise and worship.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” His deep voice makes your breath catch up in your chest. You hear the amusement in his voice, which brings out a worry from deep within you. You’ve caught glimpses of the deity, a swift motion from him could snap you in half. “Rise.”

You get off your knees, keeping your head lowered. You respect him– You fear him. You were always taught that you couldn’t respect someone without fearing them first, and Sukuna has your utmost respect. You’ve heard the horror stories about him, the fear that he’s caused. The fear that he still causes today; it’s the reason why you stand before him, out of fear and… oddly enough, admiration.

“Lift up your head.” He says, and while you’re confused, you don’t hesitate in doing so. Not following his orders in a manner of seconds could result in much worse. Your eyes slightly widen at the clear sight of him, he’s everything you’ve imagined and more. He’s smirking at you, and you wonder why he suddenly shows interest in you. “Tell me your story.”

“My lord, it’s nothing interesting.” You answer, and your face grows hot as you bite your tongue. You know immediately that’s the wrong answer, yet you can’t bring yourself to immediately apologize. The smirk fades away as a frown overtakes his face.

“I didn’t ask. I gave you an order and you must follow it. Do you not know the rules of this place?” He doesn’t raise his voice like you’ve heard before. 

Sukuna has seen you around, and it’s fair to say that he’s taken a liking to you. You look so soft and so sweet standing to the other servants he keeps around, but it’s not just that… It’s something else about you. He can’t quite put his finger on it.

“I apologize, my lord.” You bow down your head, and when you lift it up, a sigh leaves your lips. He grows impatient, but he knows you’re about to speak, therefore he gives you a couple of seconds to speak. “You wreaked havoc in my old village”

“Out of fear? Is that it?” He sounds disappointed with the answer. He expected more… Yet when he looks at you, there’s this certain spark in your eye, making him lay his head on his fist as a smirk overtakes his face again. That’s not all.

“Not just that, lord. But admiration.” You confess. Admiration… It’s odd to come from you. As pretty as a flower, yet you admire a monster– Though he prefers the word God. “I was married to this man and well… You took care of that problem.”

“Forced marriage?” He questions and you shake your head. It’ll sound like a sob story which makes you hesitant to speak up, but you know you can’t shake your head and not give more details.

“We were in love, until we got married and he decided that he didn’t like me all that much.” You share, and he grows even more interested. “He had several problems between women and drinking, bringing shame upon my name. But then you came along, my lord.”

“Come here.” He orders, and you walk over to him. Once in front of him, your heart races even faster. Your legs feel weak, and you feel like you might pass out right in front of him. He’s even bigger than you imagined. His top right hand grabs your neck, and you almost cry out of fear, but unexpectedly, the hand goes under your chin, and tilts your head up. “Did you bear children?”

“I was unable to fulfill that task, my lord.” You tell him, too ashamed to admit that it’s the reason why your late husband lost all interest in you. That’s all he needs to know, that was the root of your problem. One swift look at you, and he knows you’re not the reason of it, but rather your late husband’s fruitless seed.

“Aren’t you a wicked woman? Worshiping the monster that killed your husband.” He fights back on smiling. He likes that. He finds some sick and twisted pleasure from it. Truthfully, it’s not the worst thing that Sukuna has smiled about. Maybe it’s the worst thing that has made him aroused though.

“I don’t view you as a monster, my lord.” You respond, and he cocks his eyebrow. “You’re a God. No monster could ever compare to you.”

“Hmm… You’re right.” A guttural laugh comes from him. You begin to feel proud at the fact that you’ve made him laugh. He begins to like you more and more by the second.

He licks his lips, looking you up and down. There was a reason he saved you and took you in as a servant. He called you in for a reason, he was going to fuck you even if he found you boring, but luckily for him, you’re even better than what he imagined. He orders, “Worship me like a God then.”

“I’ll do anything you need me to do, my lord.” You respond, and you watch him undo his robes. You expected this the moment you were called by Uraume to show up before him. Either this, or your demise. You’ve heard rumors that Sukuna has taken many lovers– Partners is the most appropriate word, either way, you didn’t expect him to lay his eyes on you. 

“Do what you must.” He tells you, your eyes landing on the two dicks that stack up on each other. You shouldn’t be shocked, but your eyes can’t help but linger on it. You’re curious, yet excited. 

You’re not sure how to proceed at first so you do what you’ve usually done. You spit in your hand before your lips meet his, and Sukuna is taken back by it. Do you not know where your mouth is supposed to go or…? Your tongue moves past his lips and enters his mouth, pressing against his while your hand wraps around his top cock. 

Your hand begins to stroke his cock while your tongue wanders around his mouth. When you pull away, you get on your knees to put his bottom dick in your mouth. Your tongue circles around the tip, getting his precum on your tongue. You look up at the man, the expressions on his face telling you that he’s particularly sensitive. You kiss the tip of his cock before taking in as much as you can in your mouth. 

Sukuna grabs the hand that strokes his cock, and guides it, setting a pace that’s more pleasing for him. He notices just how small you are compared to him, and it fucking drives him wild. Your free hand cups his heavy balls before you begin to massage them. He grabs the back of your head, pulling your mouth away from his bottom dick.

“Top one needs attention too, bitch.” He tells you, and you switch. Your mouth wraps around his top dick while you begin to jerk off the bottom one. It’s a bit overwhelming since it’s so much for you, but you’re enjoying the experience. 

You’re looking up at him, reading his every expression. He looks at you as if you were inferior, someone that’s barely even worthy of his consideration. It’s because you are– Though you can’t read the fact that Sukuna is fighting back from making any noise. 

Sukuna groans as you attempt to take more in your mouth. It’s not all, but it’s enough to bring tears to your eyes from gagging. Sukuna chuckles when he sees the tears that stream down your face as you try your best to bring him the most pleasure you can. What you’re doing is doing wonders, but not for the reason you think. One of his hands goes to the back of your head, and he forces your head to stay. Your eyes look the prettiest when they cry because of him.

“Doing a better job than I expected.” Sukuna says, letting go of your head. You take your mouth off his cock, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft. You begin to jerk both of his cocks off while you lean up to try and kiss him, but his thumb presses down on your bottom lip before telling you, “Open up.”

You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out which allows him to bring his lips together and spit in your mouth. It’s a gift from him to you, one that you gladly accept. He orders you to swallow, and you do so without a problem. You’re a blind follower to his word. 

You’re about to focus on his cocks again, but he forces you up. He wants more. Something different. He rips the cloth that covers you to pieces, and before you can even properly process it, Sukuna has you sitting on his lap. You squeeze your thighs together, a sudden shyness taking over you. As quickly as you shut them is as fast as he spreads them apart, “Too late for you to be shy now, woman.”

Two of his long fingers run through your slick folds, gathering your wetness. He isn’t all that surprised that you’re already wet, you’re about to be fucked by your God, of course you’re excited. Your slick goes down to your asshole and he begins to tease it. He wants to bury both of his cocks within you, but he knows that it’ll take a little more adjusting. He isn’t completely ruthless, and sometimes has compassion for things he cares about– Not that he cares about you, but he doesn’t want to hurt you either.

Sukuna’s tongue glides from your shoulder to your neck, his bottom set of arms lifting you up. The tip of his cock runs through your folds, and he bites down on your neck when he pushes his cock inside of you. You loudly moan as he fills you up. 

“Is it too much for you? I think you can handle it for your God.” Sukuna says, not giving you a moment to adjust before he begins to bounce you on his cock. He isn’t the type to give out praises, but fuck, you feel so fucking good around him. Almost like a fucking virgin. 

Your nails dig into the supple flesh of his arms, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as his cock hits every right spot. You’re meant to be pleasing him, yet he’s making you feel euphoric. He’s so generous with you, you don’t remember the last time someone made you feel this good.

“Oh, fuck– Sukuna!” You yell out, and he doesn’t recall ever giving you permission to use his name. But it’s pretty when it rolls off your tongue so he’ll allow it to happen just this once. Perhaps if it was someone else the situation would be different, but he’ll be generous with you this one time. 

Two fingers enter your mouth with the sole purpose of shutting you up. His mouth goes to your ear and he scolds you, “Don’t ever fucking use my name without my fucking permission, stupid bitch.”

He bites down your earlobe gently. He’s too much for you to handle. He moves you with his bottom set of arms, one arm has the hand that gags you, and his final arm goes down, two fingers beginning to play with your clit. You didn’t think that sex with a deity would be so… You’re practically out of the world. You feel as if you’ve ascended to heaven.

Sukuna takes his fingers out of your mouth, moving the hand down to stroke the cock that’s being left out. Being nice comes at a cost to his pleasure, and it’s fair to say that the selfish man doubts he’ll be doing it again. 

Your walls begin to tighten around him, your climax quickly approaching. You have never felt so fucking good before, especially not with a man. You know Sukuna can’t be considered a man though. 

“Fuck– I’m gonna–” You begin, and before you can even finish your sentence, you squirt all over him. Sukuna can’t help but chuckle, smacking your cunt as you release the liquid all over him. That’s certainly a first for him, although it’s not surprising since in sex he always cares about receiving and never about giving. 

You keep holding on to him, your sharp nails nearly digging blood from his skin. He’s grunting, his release near. You feel so fucking good around him, better than he expected. He can’t help but tell you, “Next time, I’m putting both of them in.”

The thought is driving you wild, yet you’re already excited even when he isn’t done with you yet. Sukuna loudly groans when he reaches his climax, cum shooting out both of his cocks. He fills your cunt up, while some of his cum goes to waste in the air. He’ll make sure that he’ll completely stuff you next time though.

Sukuna keeps his cock buried inside of you, catching his unregulated breath. He speaks into your ear, “Look at me, being nice to a little bitch and not completely stuffing her. Next time you’ll have to handle both.”

“I’m sorry, lord.” You respond, and he laughs.

“You did a good job.” He can’t help but compliment you since he hasn’t felt this good in a while, and you’re over the moon with his praise. 

“Thank you.” You reply, fighting back the big smile that threatens to come on your face. Sukuna takes his cock out, and he chuckles as he sees that your clothes are shredded to pieces. “I have to–”

“I’ll call a servant for a new robe for you. Nobody can see you naked but me.” He interrupts you. His hand goes under your chin and he tilts your head to look at every side of your face, “Don’t want anyone to look at my wife naked.”

“Huh?” Your eyes widen, caught off guard with his words.

“I’ve decided that you’re going to be my wife.”

[cherrixpie]

NEMESIS

part six of six

↬ you were supposed to steer clear of mattheo riddle. Shame that he was just so irrestible.

↬ eventual nsfw content (at ca. 8k words); wc: 14.8k (because why not); cw: mentions of violence, swearing, blood, smut (mdni) ; tags: gryffindor!reader, muggleborn!reader, enemies to lovers ; nsfw tags: oral fem receiving, praise, teasing, overstimulation, p in v, aftercare

( masterlist )

Your heart beat rapidly in your chest as you hurried past students and ghosts alike. In your vision, they were reduced to flashes of blue, yellow, green and red, or an ethereal shimmering, background noise, the first layer on a canvas.

Once you reached the top step, you were gasping for breath, but the lack of oxygen didn't stop you from running along the wall to avoid the crowd that would only slow you down, simultaneously mapping out Hogwarts inside your head to take the quickest route to Dumbledore's office. Half aware that many heads were turning after you, some whispering behind their hands, you crossed a corner into an emptier corridor and only hastened your tempo.

Fictitious yet haunting images flashed before your waking eye as your imagination ran wild with what could possibly have happened to Mattheo. He'd get in fights constantly, but, to your knowledge, had never been summoned to the headmaster. Though, Dumbledore hadn't asked for him but you. Fear tore at your chest, adding to the ache of running. Was Mattheo so badly hurt that he felt the need to console his friends- and significant other?

In the last corridor, you barely stumbled towards the stairs that led up to the headmaster's office and gasped the password at the gargoyle who nodded approvingly and let you in. Barely managing to climb the last few steps, you slumped against the door to Dumbledore's office and knocked your fist against it. “Step in!” the headmaster’s old voice called from the other end and you pressed down the handle to swing the door open.

You'd been in this office once already, the night almost six years ago, after you and your friends had found the chamber of secrets and Harry had slayed the basilisk inside. There'd been a feast after, but you weren't sure if Mattheo had attended it. You'd have to ask him. Over the last days, you'd continued your habit from the tutoring lessons, of teasing each other about the way you'd previously perceived the other- though it was a lot more fun on his part when you got to hear his side of the story, living through all the events you did but experiencing them so differently. Sometimes it was funny and you found yourself giggling about things like preschool children. Other times, it was melancholic, a plea for better times or an unwelcome reminder of the difficulty of your relationship.

The portraits on the walls were pretending to be sleeping, but you couldn't be fooled anymore since your fateful run-in with chattery Dorothy Dankworth. Filigree golden instruments stood along the walls, fulfilling their mysterious purposes, and a great golden phoenix, Fawkes, sat on his place on Dumbledore's desk. The headmaster himself sat behind the desk and looked up from his parchment when you stepped in, still panting audibly for breath. His thin lips pulled into a smile as he lowered his half moon spectacles and his piercing blue eyes met yours.

You knew he could do legilimency, just as Mattheo could. Only, Mattheo had promised you never to use it against you without your knowledge, and the man sitting across from you had never made such promises.

But Dumbledore averted his stare fairly quickly and rose from his seat behind the desk, walking around it and beckoning you closer. With hesitant steps, feet still hurting from your little sprint through a huge damn castle, you walked towards him and he offered you a chair he conjured out of thin air. Without a word - you were still too out of breath - you sat down on it and he reoccupied his seat as well, clasping his hands together over the table.

“Miss Lovegood may have told you why I wished to speak to you,” he said calmly, his expression painfully serious. Oh, what you would have given for a calming smile or a winking eye right now, the safety and comfort the headmaster always displayed at the start-of-the-term feasts.

“Is he hurt?” you asked, for once without regard to proper etiquette. Your hands were clenched into fists beneath your robes, nails digging into the flesh of your palm as you fearfully awaited Dumbledore's answer.

For a few seconds, Dumbledore surveyed you thoughtfully, slightly crooking his head, before giving you the smallest of smiles. “It is true, Mr. Riddle got involved into a fight today, but he is not seriously injured. Though he would do well with medical treatment, which I hear he refused.” You breathed a sigh of relief, as confusion rose within you. Why then had you been called to the headmasters office? Why weren't you already with your boyfriend, patching him up?

“Gossip spreads incredibly fast in Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore quietly, “as you have experienced yourself. So I must ask: are you aware what the cause of Mr. Riddle's disagreement with two very unfortunate Gryffindor boys in your year was?”

“No,” you replied truthfully, going through the Gryffindor boys in your year one by one. Ron and Harry were the most likely candidates, but to your knowledge, they had spent the whole day up in Gryffindor tower and had still been there when Hermoine and you went on your way down. You could rule Neville out definitively, which left-

“Though Mr. Riddle remains with no major injuries, the same cannot be said for Mr. Finnigan and Mr. Thomas,” said Dumbledore seriously. “If eyewitnesses are to be believed, Mr. Riddle attacked Mr. Finnigan upon overhearing him suggesting to Mr. Thomas how you would come to your senses eventually, that once Mr. Riddle would get bored of you, you would come, ah, ‘crawling back’ to them.” Dumbledore seemed almost embarrassed to say this out loud.

Biting down on your lip, you lowered your gaze. It was true, Seamus had been very reserved towards you ever since you'd kissed Mattheo the day after his fight with Ron. It really shouldn't come as a surprise that he had said these things, though you'd had more respect of him before. And Mattheo… you couldn't find it in yourself to be angry at him, not when a stupid fuzzy feeling in your chest betrayed how flattered you felt that he had tried to defend your honor, even though you ultimately would have preferred it hadn't happened and no one were injured right now.

“Miss y/n?” Dumbledore asked and you looked back up at him. “Your relationship with Mr Riddle seems to be a popular topic of discussion all around the castle these days. Just yesterday, I overheard the fat monk and Sir Nicolas talking about it. So I regret weighing in on a topic you are probably long tired of.” So that was it. Dumbledore wanted to know about your relationship to Mattheo. And he was right, you weren't really in the mood of discussing it with your headmaster.

You realized he was looking at you, awaiting some sort of reaction, and you nodded. “It's fine.” It was not fine, but really, you just wanted to get this over with quickly so you could see if Mattheo was really alright as Dumbledore had said.

“To my understanding,” said Dumbledore, “and you may correct me if I'm wrong, you’re Mr. Riddle’s first girlfriend- not counting his many -uh- exploits, as well as his only relation outside of his friend group.” Reluctantly, you nodded. This felt wrong. What was he getting at?

“You must have met a great deal of resistance from your peers, especially your own house,” he continued. “Tell me, my dear: what do you see in Mr. Riddle others do not?”

Though you were taken aback by the question, you didn't need to think about it long. “What people think of him is entirely founded on the assumption that he must be like his father," you said seriously, "But you yourself will surely agree with me that it's not blood that is important, or what family you belong to, but how you choose to live your life and what decisions you make for yourself.”

“But,” Dumbledore said gently, “Mr. Riddle has been notorious for violence for quite some time, as you yourself must know.”

“If you tell someone over and over again that they are going to be a monster, that that is the path cut out for them,” you said, your voice rising a little as you got more heated, “You are not allowed to be shocked or surprised when they follow the path you pointed for them all their life!” To make your point, you sat up a little straighter and placed your hands on Dumbledore's desk. “Mattheo is a person, he's always been, what did you expect would happen if there is no hand extended to him?”

“So, you extend that hand to him?” asked Dumbledore calmly and watched you very carefully over the rim of his half moon spectacles.

“No,” you said curtly, “that was your job. For god’s sake, Mattheo isn't my charity case!” Realizing how loud you'd become unintentionally, you took a deep intake of breath to calm yourself. Respect for your teachers had always been important to you, Mattheo was the one with the anti-authority leanings. “Headmaster, I don't know what you expect me to say. But I'm not with Mattheo to- to save him or something, I'm with him because I love him.”

“Love, Miss y/n,” said Dumbledore pensively, “is often the greatest weapon against darkness. But it is not always enough to save someone who does not wish to be saved.”

“What are you saying?” you pressed, not breaking eye contact as your fingers clenched around each other on the table, curled into a tight net.

Dumbledore breathed a long sigh, and for a moment, he looked older than you'd ever seen him. “Mattheo Riddle is a young man burdened with a name that carries a great deal of darkness. I fear that darkness is eager to claim him.” He leaned forward ever so slightly. “I quite agree with you that it is not our blood that defines us. But do you believe Mattheo understands that?”

You couldn't answer this. In whispers, Mattheo had confided in you about his parentage, what some called his legacy to follow his father’s footsteps. As an incredibly powerful wizard, he'd always been expected to use these powers for the worst. It had been drilled into his head, that nothing about him could be good, that he would always be the destruction of goodness, the epitome of heinousness. He had confessed to you how he never knew how to hold you, as if you were an angel from another dimension. Too good for him, too pure to be touched by him, incorruptible and therefore never to be his, truly.

Dumbledore seemed to sense your inner conflict and addressed you, making you look up at him. “There is a storm inside that boy, one that I believe he doesn't know how to quiet. And yet, with you, he may be able to. But I advise you to let caution rule. You may be his light in the shadows, but even the brightest light cannot force someone to walk out of the dark.”

“Is that all?” you asked, burning to escape the headmasters office that seemed to get more cramped with each second. Dumbledore examined you closely, but then he nodded and you rose from your seat in an instant. Your hand already on the door handle, he called your name one last time and you turned around.

“Miss y/n?” asked Dumbledore, and the lightest of smiles played around his lips, though it seemed tainted with worry and sadness. “I do sleep better at night, knowing Mr. Riddle has you in his life.”

Leaving the office, you took off to Gryffindor tower at once, sprinting through halls and up the stairs until your lungs seemed to be bleeding and screaming in protest. Stumbling through the portrait hole, you caught sight of a group of Gryffindors in your year huddled together, throwing you both judgemental and apprehensive looks as you passed them, but neither of your closest friends were among them, so you paid them no mind.

Thankfully, the girl's dormitory was empty when you broke through the door, panting and gasping for air. Walking over to your bed, you pulled your medical bag out of your cupboard, flung the handle over your shoulder and took off down the stairs again. But when you went to make your way across the common room, you suddenly crossed paths with Ron. Assuming he'd ignore you, you tried to rush past him but his voice made you stop dead in your tracks.

“Can we talk?”

You turned around, finding him looking a little embarrassed and self-conscious, though he was still frowning. Even though the fight had been about a week ago, some of the bruises were still visible on his face, in spite of Madam Pomphrey’s medical miracles. “What is it?” you said, trying not to sound too impatient.

Ron blew out a long breath through his mouth, rocked lightly on the balls of his feet and looked anywhere but you. When you were just about to ask again, he glanced back at you and his frown deepened. “I was… a bit of an asshole last week.”

These barely muttered words stunned you enough to momentarily forget about Mattheo and concentrate your attention on the boy standing before you, who was rubbing his neck uncomfortably. “Yeah… kinda…” you said, suddenly realizing that you weren't even mad at him anymore. His words had been cruel, but you hadn't been innocent either, and he was one of your best friends. You knew he hadn't meant to hurt you, and he had gotten his comeuppance already.

“Look, I-” he seemed to be looking for the right words, “I didn't mean what I said about you being stupid and naive and throwing yourself at Riddle. I'm really sorry.”

“It's fine,” you said, after a short pause. “I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have lied to you all like that, you guys are my best friends. I was just afraid that you might react, well, disproportionately.”

“You're going to keep seeing him then?” Ron asked, barely managing to keep the bitterness out of his tone. At least he wasn't shouting anymore, and you felt confident enough to quirk a little smile. “Well, yes. Actually, I was just on the way.”

Ron clenched his jaw. “I don’t trust him. I probably never will. But if he ever hurts you, I swear I’l-” He stopped himself and sighed, giving you a hesitant smile. “Just be careful, okay? Look, you're like a sister to me, that's why I was such a bloody idiot about this. I just don't want to see you get hurt.”

“You won't,” you promised, and, after a second of hesitation, you closed the distance between the two of you and wrapped your arms around him. It was kind of hard because Ron towered over you with his considerable height, but nevertheless, he returned the embrace. When you shifted, he winced slightly and you broke apart. “Still hurts?” you asked empathetically.

Ron shrugged. “I guess I deserve that. Have fun with your boyfriend.” Though he rolled his eyes, he seemed in a much better mood than before.

Ten minutes later, you hurried down the steps to the dungeons and flew past the torches on the walls, blazing through your vision, in search of the Slytherin common room. When visiting the dungeons, you'd only ever been to the kitchens. There had never been an occasion when you'd felt the desire to enter the snakes den. Up until now.

Rounding another corner, you were suddenly faced with a dead end. Dark brick obstructed your way, cold and unsympathetic to your plight. You groaned in growing desperation, already turning on your heel to keep looking for the entrance, when suddenly, you gasped. Someone emerged from the wall, walking through stone, it seemed, as if it were nothing but fog. When they broke apart from the wall, you realized it was Theodore Nott. Equally surprised to find you, his eyes widened, then dropped to your medical bag.

“Did somebody already get you?” He asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. To be on the receiving end of Nott’s staring was slightly terrifying and your fingers closed around the handle of your bag.

“Nobody got me,” you answered, growing more self-conscious by the second. Nott seemed so hostile- did Mattheo not want to see you? “I just… heard what happened and I wanted to come and… well…” Gesturing vaguely to your medical bag, your voice drowned off uncertainly.

But Nott only said “good” and motioned you towards him. When you came to a halt next to him, faced with the dark wall, he cleared his throat and said “vaframentum” at the wall. It seemed to be the password, as he held you by the arm and walked back through the seemingly hard brick, pulling you through with him.

It was the most peculiar feeling to walk through a wall, it seemed to mold around you like a tight suit, unable to breathe, until you came out on the other side the split of a second later. You shuddered, looked back at the brick and shook your head. “No offense, but I prefer our entrance, I think. Do people ever get stuck in there?”

“I think there was a kid, few decades back,” said Nott easily. You noticed his eyes were quite cautious as they surveyed you, but he didn't seem as hostile anymore. “He's up there.” Nott indicated something above you and only now did you properly appreciate the sight before you.

The Slytherin common room was somehow just like you had expected. The whole room was tinted in a greenish hue due to it being beneath the black lake and the portraits of many stern looking witches and wizards adorned the dark walls. Though a fire cackled in the large sophisticated fireplace, the room was a good few degrees cooler than the Gryffindor common room. The couches were of black leather and very elegant and desks stood along the walls, groaning under quills and parchment.

You looked up into the direction Nott had indicated and saw a flight of stairs leading upwards, where the dormitories had to be. With a short nod, you followed him, struggling to keep up with his long strides as you climbed the stairs. Walking up the staircase in silence, you passed many doors though none seemed to be the right one. Finally, Nott came to a halt before a large wooden door, undoubtedly the Slytherin boy's dormitory.

For the split of a second, Nott seemed to hesitate, but then, he brushed past you and opened the door. Because his large frame obscured much of what lay beyond the doorway, you could only see several pairs of feet and a curl of smoke rising over their heads, and hear Mattheo's voice, rough and agitated as he snapped at his friend. “Not you again, piss off, Nott! I need everyone to get out of my damn face.”

“It's not a pleasure looking at your face right now, I can assure you, mate,” Nott replied, coolly, leaning against the doorframe. “You look like Frankenstein's monster.”

A humorless chuckle sounded through the room and you heard someone shift. His voice, his laugh was enough for you to know that whatever had happened during that brawl had not been enough to fulfill Mattheo's need to make someone bleed for it, and for a split second, you were almost worried about Nott, even though you knew Mattheo loved him like a brother. “Oh great, another lecture,” Mattheo drawled sarcastically, looking to provoke, “you know, for someone who is not my mother, you sure nag like one.”

You couldn't help it, you couldn't stifle the little chuckle that left your throat at their banter. Silence fell upon the room. Next second, Nott was suddenly pushed away with a rough thrust and Mattheo stood before you in the doorway. He leaned against the doorframe, one arm braced against the wood, his posture careless yet undeniably tense. His knuckles were split, seeping with blood, but he didn't seem to care. Neither did he seem pained by the deep cut that split his lower lip, swollen and dark, and the faint bruise that was already blooming on his cheek.

His hair was even messier than usual, like he'd run his hand through it too many times in frustration, and he removed the cigarette from his lips to flick it down and stamp on it to suffocate the glowing embers. As he scanned your soft figure and noticed your chest heaving slightly, every breath somewhat audible as a slight hitch, his dark eyes flickered, something unreadable flashing behind them. A smirk ghosted his lips, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Didn't think I'd be seeing you here, princess,” he drawled, his voice low and rough, yet his eyes had somewhat softened at the sight of you. “If I knew getting my face bashed in would get you sneaking into my dorm, I might have done it sooner.”

Though worry tugged at your heartstrings at the sight of his injuries, you rolled your eyes slightly as a little smile played around your lips. Mattheo's eyes seemed to cling to them like a drowning man to his lifeline and he lowered his head slightly, grinning irresistibly down at you. Before he could try anything though, you gave him a glare and a flick against the forehead. “None of that until I have fixed that lip.”

Your rejection couldn't wash the sly smile off his lips. “I'm sure this is one of those things you can kiss better.” Behind him, you thought you heard someone gag, and Mattheo turned around sharply, glaring at Malfoy who seemed to be the culprit. “Why don't you shut your ferret ass mouth in front of my girl, Malfoy, before I make your face even prettier than Finnigan’s?” In an instant, Malfoy fell silent, merely glowering at the ground. Beside him, Lorenzo Berkshire gave you a little wave and smile that you returned.

Mattheo's eyes flickered briefly between the two of you, but without another comment, he seized you around the waist and pulled you against him and into the room. It was very orderly, probably not because of Mattheo. Zabini, Malfoy and Lorenzo seemed to stand around the four poster you assumed to be Mattheo's, looking at you with varying expressions of interest, disapproval and encouragement.

“Oi, idiots,” said Mattheo gruffly as he sat down on his mattress and pulled you along with him until you almost sat in his lap. “Kindly get your stupid faces out of my girlfriend's sight.” He seemed to take great satisfaction in calling you his girlfriend and his fingers curled into the flesh of your waist as he watched the others with sharp eyes.

“Mattheo,” you said softly, attempting to calm the storm that still seemed to be raging inside him. His head snapped around at you and his expression changed in an instant, softening visibly. His lips ran a line up your temple as he pulled you even closer. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Malfoy storm out of the room. Zabini followed, dragging a pissed looking Nott along with him, and Lorenzo left last, with a friendly smile your way.

Once the door fell shut behind them, you freed yourself from Mattheo’s hold. A disgruntled frown crossed his face, but he didn't try to stop you and only wrapped his hands around your knees, thumbs rubbing lazy circles onto your thights. A trickle of blood made its way down his chin and you brushed it away with a fleeting touch, careful not to hurt him. Many of his wounds were already scabby, but untreated. A defeated sigh lift your lips and you noticed Mattheo's eyes snapping down to them. “Why didn't you clean your wounds, Mattheo? You must be in a lot of pain.”

A casual grin tugged at his lips as he looked up at you, his dark curls falling into his eyes but he made no effort to brush them away, perhaps hoping you would. “You worried about me?” he asked in a teasing tone, his hands traveling up your thigh almost indiscernibly. “Careful, princess, you're gonna make me all soft for you.”

Shaking your head at his antics, but unable to suppress a smile, you placed your medical bag next to Mattheo on the bed and opened it to grab a small towel. With a murmured “aquamenti”, you moistened it and started to clean his cuts and bruises. You could feel his eyes on you, boring into your skull with a new intensity as he crooked his head. When you reached his lip and ran the cloth ever so carefully over his swollen cut, he didn't even wince but only leaned up as if chasing your lips for a kiss.

Quickly, you turned away, shaking your head in disbelief. “Really, Mattheo, you’re impossible. You're bleeding and bruising up and you still-” Breaking off with another sigh, you averted your eyes from his that had begun to glint at your abashed expression. You discarded the towel and instead took the murtlap essence, dipped your fingers into the cold liquid and began dabbing it onto the cut on his lip.

“Not gonna lie,” he said, lowering his voice slightly and it resonated in the limited space between his and your lips. “You fussing over me is kind of hot.” His eyes searched for yours, and when they met, his gaze locked you in place, unable to take your eyes off of him. “I wanted you to do it,” he said huskily, “I didn't clean ‘em because I wanted you to do it.”

The way your brows scrunched together almost had him on his knees for you. You looked so fucking irresistible in the dim light of his dorm, looking down at him with worry etched into your gaze and the soft touch of your hands. No one had ever cared for him like this. No one had ever cared enough to heal him, patch him up. Mattheo himself had mostly just let the injuries be until they vanished or turned into messy scars. Not that he'd ever cared. If anything, it only made people flinch back even more. And as much as he hated them for their silent judgement, there was a certain satisfaction in seeing the fear in their eyes when they looked at him.

Fear. Mattheo had found himself reveling in it ever since he'd first experienced it: the summer after his father had returned from his Albanian exile. Before, it’d only ever bothered him how people burst out of the way when he walked down hallways. But now, doing to them what was done to him seemed not only just in a twisted way, but satisfactory. Even seeing his friends flinch away from him from time to time was a warped sort of thrill he relished.

But not with you. Mattheo hated the thought that he might see the same fear he'd seen in others reflected in your eyes. Your horrified expression after the brawl with Weasley had been enough of an appetizer to make him detest the very thought. No, you saw something in him, something good, something worth worrying about. And for the first time in his life, Mattheo didn't want to prove anyone's assumptions right by being as much of a monster as they all expected, but to be whatever you liked about him, though he couldn't really imagine what that might be.

“Knew you'd come,” he said, finally, after a short silence during which you had been dabbing at a cut through his brow, eyes narrowed adorably in concentration. “You're too kind, princess.” He couldn't resist urging you closer, his hands still cupping your lower thighs. Though his head was craned upwards, he couldn't have cared less about neck strain. He'd not let himself be deprived of the sight of you fussing over him with such tender care. A smirk played around his lips and he could see your eyes flick down to them, an almost unnoticeable tint of pink on your cheeks. Fucking hell, how he loved to see you blush.

Almost instinctively, his hands tightened and your breath hitched a little. Mattheo couldn't help the light groan that left his lips. “You should be in bed, not sneaking into the serpent’s den for your reckless boyfriend.”

To his surprise, you breathed an amused chuckle and ruffled his hair. He could have moaned when your fingers grazed over his scalp, he was damn near purring, leaning into your touch and catching your thumb between his teeth. You gasped in faux indignation and delivered the lightest of slaps to his temple. But a soft smile spread across your utterly kissable lips. “Tragically, I would do it any day.”

Mattheo felt something pull tight in his chest at your words, a warmth he wasn’t prepared for, something dangerous in its softness. He covered it the only way he knew how: with a smirk, with teasing, with the same careless charm that usually kept people at arm’s length. But it didn't quite work with you. Not when you were this close, your hands so gentle against his bruised skin, your eyes holding none of the judgement he was used to. He forced a chuckle, tilting his head as if unaffected, as if you hadn’t just unraveled something inside him with a single sentence. “Tempting idea, if it gets you all over me.”

It was meant to be flirty, meant to be light, but even he could hear the edge of truth beneath it- because, Merlin help him, he was starting to think he liked being taken care of by you. And that? That terrified him more than any fight ever could. The little laugh that spluttered past your lips didn't improve his precarious situation. “There are easier ways to do that, you know,” you said, quirking an eyebrow. “Not involving sending people to the hospital wing, I mean.”

Your heart skipped a beat when Mattheo's expression darkened visibly, as if the storm you'd managed to calm for a few minutes was brewing up again, swirling in his dark eyes. His jaw clenched dangerously and again, his grip on your thighs tightened as if on instinct. “They deserved it. Like I'd ever let them talk about you like that and do nothing." You could tell he was still agitated by what Seamus had said, his knee rocking restlessly and the words practically spat out of his mouth.

Frowning, you dabbed at his cheek and drew soft circles on his blooming bruise. “Mattheo, people just need time. Before I came here, Ron apologized to me. It will be the same with the rest, they'll get used to it.”

But your attempt to soothe his simmering wrath, it only seemed to spur him on as his eyes hardened. “Did you forgive him?” he asked through clenched teeth, still looking up at you with unwavering attention.

You hesitated upon recognizing the barely suppressed fury in his tone and leaned down peck his healing lips. Though his lips chased after yours, you didn't want to risk reopening the cut and drew away decisively. “Well,” you said, ignoring the way one of his index fingers started to draw a line up your thigh and the goosebumps it left in its wake. “Yes,” you confessed, “for what he said about me, at least.”

A harsh “tch” made its way past his lips and the next words he nearly growled. “Of course you did.”

Feeling a pinch of defiance, you got a hold of Mattheo’s hand that had been wandering up to your skirt and placed it firmly back on your knee. “So, you think I was wrong to forgive him?” you asked with a frown.

For the first time this evening, Mattheo tore his eyes away from yours and fixed them instead on a spot somewhere on your belly where your shirt was tucked neatly into your school skirt. “‘m not gonna sit here and pretend I don't benefit from you being so damn forgiving. But I guess that's what you have me for now.” Though he shrugged, you saw that his shoulders were tense and caught his fingers wrapping around each other, squeezing the bleeding knuckles that only emitted more blood.

“You’ll be my guard dog for the bad guys then?” you joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. A heavy tension had set upon the room, weighing down on you like a thick blanket. His touch and his intense, dark eyes paired with his agitation and words of boiling rage. The inevitable mood swings, when he'd attempt to shield his true feelings behind a well crafted mask of sarcasm and flirtatious teasing. Mattheo Riddle was a rollercoaster of a man, and it was hard to keep up with him at times. But then again, you'd always known that.

Instead of switching to a more conversational and casual tone, Mattheo suddenly brushed your hand off. You could practically see it in his eyes, like closing shutters of a dimly lit house. Mattheo was closing himself off, and he moved his head so your arm fell helplessly to his side. His hands had detached themselves from your thighs as his fingers seemed to look for another smoke in his inside pocket. “You're wasting your time, love. Not like a few bruises are gonna kill me.”

With an almost exasperated sigh, you crouched down before him so that you were now the one looking up at him and closed your fingers around his red and slimy hands. Not a muscle twitched in his face, it seemed to have frozen over into a mask of indifference. “Mattheo, I want to,” you said, firmly and in great earnest, “I don't want to see you hurt. Please-” your voice dropped down to a low whisper, “please let me help you.”

Fuck. You'd used the magic word, whether it had been conscious or not. Mattheo could never resist you pleading so sweetly, looking up at him with those caring, loving eyes, holding a gaze so heavy with tenderness as he'd never experienced it before. Your hand reached out to him, and he flinched away for the split of a second, knowing your touch would be too much, would burn down all barriers and barricades he could flee behind to hide from your disarming kindness. When your hand cupped his face softly, he damn near shuddered under your hold, leaning into your touch and looking up at you with blazing eyes. “You're really gonna waste those pretty hands on fixing me up, huh?”

You let out a smile laugh, aghast at how he could be flirty even in the most grim of circumstances, with blood running down his face. Shaking your head, you got a hold of his hands and started to treat his bashed in knuckles. “I think these pretty hands are put to good use.”

Seeing his lips quirk up into a smirk, you knew what he was gonna say before he did, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “I think I know a way to put them to better use.”

“You are a menace onto the world, Mattheo,” you chuckled in disbelief and his smile only seemed to widen. Dropping his right hand, you reached for his left one and started dabbing a soothing creme onto his scabby knuckles, moving your index finger in small, careful circles over the wounds.

Mattheo leaned forwards slightly, seeking your gaze with his distracting enigmatic eyes. “Mmm, keep touching me like that and I might start purring.” You delivered a light push to his torso in a feeble attempt to free yourself from his distracting proximity, but your eyes widened in alarm when Mattheo failed to conceal the lightest of winces. Immediately, he attempted to distract you with another charming smile, but your nurse instincts knew greater obstacles.

“Take off your shirt,” you said firmly and gave him a short glare. To your surprise, he didn't quirk one flirty brow at you and no low teasing whistle made its way past his lips. Instead, he turned and held your steady gaze hostage as he slipped his hand from yours and worked on the buttons of his shirt. You felt almost burned by his chestnut eyes as his fingers escaped your sight and he shrugged off his white shirt in a singular motion.

When your eyes wandered down his torso, you felt your breath catch in your throat- but not in a good way. The bruises and fresh cuts were bad enough, but it was his scars that truly stunned you. They were spread all over his upper body, some faded and thin, others deep and jagged and alarmingly recent, craving stories you weren't sure you could handle knowing across his skin. Your fingers, trembling slightly, hovered over a particularly brutal mark near his ribs, but you couldn't bring yourself to touch it, afraid of hurting him, afraid of what it might mean.

Were those all a product of his fury fueled fighting? Many of the fresher scars didn't look like the consequence of a hallway brawl. They looked like remnants of cruel torture, the kind you'd only ever seen in your healing books about treating wounds inflicted by dark magic. How many times had he been hurt like this? And worse- how many times had no one been there to patch him up? The thought sent a dull ache through your chest, made your heart clench and sadness settle heavy in your stomach.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, but he wasn't smirking anymore. His expression was guarded, wary- like he was waiting for you to flinch back, pull away, see disgust settle upon your features. But all you could think of was how much pain had he been carrying alone? Without your consent, you felt your eyes well up with tears and averted them, pretending to study the more recent bruises. But the deep, brutal cuts stood out to you as if there was a stagelight upon them, and you felt a stubborn tear slip past your defenses and roll down your cheek.

Before you could brush it away and pretend it had never been there, you felt rough pads of fingers under your chin, guiding you to look at the one they belonged to. Mattheo's brows were scrunched together in what seemed like worry. It was an unusual look on his face, it somehow didn't seem to match his features, as if someone had pulled and arranged them into an awkward interpretation of care. But you knew better. You knew he wasn't used to showing any kind of emotion, much less worry, care or empathy. All of which would be considered a weakness, and Mattheo couldn't allow himself to be weak.

Mattheo Riddle was an animal because his life had been guided by a single driving force: staying alive, making it to the next day. Roughening up with each new hardship was an adaption, a natural evolution. Hardening was a necessary precaution, because care for anyone else would mean less care for himself, and he needed all he could get. You knew what a precarious line he walked, and how eager the world was to see him fall. Because you had been them, and you had been watching. Only now did you realize how much.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding almost insecure. Though you tried to keep it together, this show of vulnerability only added to the pile weighing in on your poor heart that belonged to him way too much already. You tried to smile, but another tear made its way past your lashes and down your cheeks and your breath trembled audibly.

“I'm just-,” you said, unsure how to properly wrap the emotions welling up in you up in a sensible string of words, how to explain. “I'm just so sad,” you finally managed to confess weakly, plainly, the words so flat you could have slapped yourself. “For you,” you clarified, when his brows twitched with irritation, the urge to rid you of anything that might be dissatisfactory to his princess. “For all the pain in your life. I wish you hadn't needed to go through it.” Your voice was a mere breath, a dying whisper on your tongue. Finally, your shaking fingers lay upon the largest scare with such care that he would barely be able to feel it. “I wish I'd been there with you.”

“No, you don't,” he said firmly. Something flashed in his eyes, almost like panic, like a deer in the headlights as he imagined you with him, within his fathers reach. But they hardened the split of a second after. “Hear me, princess? You don't.” You couldn't help yourself, you leaned into his touch and his hand seized your neck, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

For a long while that felt like an eternity and a second at once, he didn't speak, only looked at you. Your care had taken him off guard. You'd shed tears for him. Nobody had ever cared about him like you did, with an unconditional love like yours, with a kindness like yours. Nobody had ever shed tears for him. He should have felt bad that you were crying for him, especially when he himself would say some of these wounds were deserved. If not for his direct action, then for the crime of his existence. But he couldn't deny the feeling of stupid stupid relief at seeing you care so deeply.

Having calmed your tears, you wiped the last remnants from your cheeks and gave him an apologetic look. But before you could even open your lips to mutter an apology, his free hand seized one of your wrists and the intensity with which his eyes met yours made any attempt at speaking die on your tongue. Slowly, as if giving you the chance to pull away any second, he guided your hand towards him until it touched the skin of his shoulder, one of the more faded scars. It felt hot against your hand, even though you'd made sure to warm your hands up before treating him.

Still keeping your gaze hostage, Mattheo slowly moved your hand, moved it over his collar bone and down his chest, running over smaller and bigger scars, clean and brutal ones. He didn't blink once, only looking into your helpless eyes as he made you touch every single scar on his body. When he let go of your wrist, it fell limbly against your side and the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips as he crooked his head at you. “See? Now they’re beautiful.”

A shaky breath left your lips and hung in the air between you, like a question. He answered as he tilted his head slightly and reached out to you in a way that didn't need hands. When you lowered your lips onto his, they were still impossibly soft from the soothing effect of the serum. His moved gently against yours, missing the usual heat and settling for a tender caress. His hands settled on your thighs once more as he caught every shaky breath with his lips. You knew he was no man of words, a stranger to comfort, but he had the right instincts.

After a good minute, you parted and you directed your eyes at his body once more. You were still here to treat him, after all. So, you sat down on the bed beside him, made him turn and face you and started applying diptam to his bruises. Checking that no ribs were fractured, you ran your hands over his sides and could practically feel him swallowing down a provocative comment.

When you were finished, you pulled away from him and stored your flasks in your bag. As you looked back at him, you felt your heart skip a beat. The neutral healer’s eye had been replaced, you could no longer see Mattheo's body as just another body to be treated. He was undeniably, unfairly beautiful. The sharp cut of his collarbones, the taut muscles beneath scarred skin, the way his stomach tapered down in a way that made your stomach twist. Even battered and bruised, sitting on his bed beneath your healing hands, he carried himself with, it seemed, effortless strength. Every line of his body was shaped by a lifetime of fights, of survival.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, warmth creeping up your neck as your eyes traced the ridges of his abdomen, the way his chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his dark gaze flickering over you like he knew exactly what you were thinking. And maybe he did- because when you finally dragged your eyes back to his, that damn smirk was back, lazy and knowing, and Merlin help you, it only made him more infuriatingly attractive. You felt heat rise in your cheeks and averted your eyes, afraid they might linger and betray your hunger for him. But of course, nothing could escape Mattheo.

When you attempted to bring some distance between you and his irresistible smile and body, he rose from the bed and strolled towards you with slow, deliberate steps. Backing away, you felt like a mouse fleeing a hungry cat, until your back met wood and your breath got stuck in your throat- audibly. Mattheo's eyes widened with pleasure at the sound and his infuriating smirk only deepened as his attentive eyes caught the way your gaze fixed on anything but him. Fucking adorable.

You even leaned back your head against the wood as his arms came up to cage you in, making you look up at him with rosy cheeks and an abashed smile. “Uh,” you said, squirming under his intense gaze, and voice shaking for a whole other reason than distress. “Don't you want to put your shirt back on?”

Mattheo chuckled at your words, he seemed to find your sudden embarrassment very amusing. “Blushing, are we?” he asked, ignoring your suggestion and inching closer until there were only breaths between your still clothed chest and his bare one. You found yourself aching for him, aching for him to close the distance, because you could never, and you would never ask it. But Mattheo only made a “tsk” sound and shook his head in playful scolding, “and here I thought you were being professional.”

Any response died on your tongue when he leaned down and all you could see was him, all you could smell was him, all you could hear was him. Your senses were overwhelmed with him, him, him, as you did your very best not to sneak a look at his bare upper body. For some reason, Mattheod seemed to be able to sense your distress, though he made no attempt to ease it. Quite the contrary. Another chuckle left his lips, growing ever more dangerous. “Relax, princess, you can look. I don't bite, not unless you want me to.”

“I-” you managed to say before the look in his dark eyes sealed your lips just as effectively as a charm might have. He leaned in even further until his breath fanned your lips and you closed your eyes in unfulfilled expectation. “Fucking hell,” he murmured into the little space between you, “you're adorable when you try to pretend you're not flustered. Tell me princess-” Without a warning, he grabbed your wrist and brought your hand to his chest once more, this time running it over his abs. His devious eyes seemed to notice every reaction, every nervous flicker of your eyes. “Do you want to touch me?”

Not trusting your voice, you nodded and he cooed, running your hand up to his chest and down again. Again, that suffocating smirk. “I know you want to look at me,” he said, “wouldn't even need legilimency for that. Go on. I'm yours now, remember? You’re allowed to look, princess.” For a moment, you managed to keep up the act, but then, your eyes flickered down to his body and you felt yourself shiver with desire. God, he was beautiful.

Suddenly, his hands released your wrist and found their way to your waist, pulling you with him as he walked slowly over to his four-poster. You felt almost dizzy from looking into his eyes, as if they were black holes pulling you towards him with irresistible force. Your heart nearly leaped from your chest when a light push made you flop down onto his mattress and he followed suit, swallowing all forms of protest as his lips clashed into yours with fiery heat.

The kiss was demanding, it had the edge the previous one had missed. Mattheo kissed you as if he wanted to devour you whole, as if he wanted to claim your lips as his forever. His rough hands dug into the flesh of your waist and guided you slowly to lie on your back, exerting full control over you. Yet you'd rarely felt more content, experienced such a thrill as when one of his hands cupped your cheek and angled your jaw just right for his lips to wander down your neck and leave red marks in their wake. There was little Mattheo loved more than marking you up, molding your soft skin into a shape of his liking, sully it with marks of his claim on you.

When he reached the spot just below your ear, your breath hitched in your throat and Mattheo damn near groaned into your neck. Your smell overwhelmed him, the feeling of your soft skin on his, listing to your labored breathing and you. You laying in his bed, in his sheets. When he was satisfied with the mark he was working on, he forced himself to part from your neck, from your skin, to hover above you. Your lips were kiss-bitten and slightly swollen, fresh hickeys adorned your neck and writhed so sweetly in his bed. His. This was where you belonged, with him, and he with you.

Your breathing was uneven as you looked up at Mattheo, his dark eyes glinting dangerously as they raked down your clothed figure. A crease appeared between his brows as he lowered himself once more, but refusing to close the distance between the two of you. His fingers played with the hem of your shirt that had come untucked at some point and his voice was nearly a growl. “Think we should be equal, don't you, princess?” His voice was heaving just slightly, enough to make him maddeningly irresistible. “Why don't you take this off?”

Though thoroughly flustered by your current predicament, by the way his bare chest moved against yours and the pads of his fingers brushed experimentally over the exposed skin of your waist, you managed to give him a small smile. “Why don't you?”

Something changed behind the guarded curtains of his eyes, something shifted, like a beast awoken from slumber. Mattheo chuckled dryly against your lips when suddenly, a resounding rip reached your ears. You flinched when he literally tore your shirt off of you, buttons flying in every direction. Your gasp was muffled by his lips as they crashed into yours once more, chaotic and wild, as he worked on discarding what was left of your shirt. In dire need for air, you pulled away and pushed at his chest lightly. “Jesus, Mattheo, my shirt!”

“Be that damn cheeky again and I'll do the same to your skirt,” he said lowly before propping himself up just enough to get a proper view of your exposed upper body. His eyes were captured with fascination, unable to tear themselves away from the soft skin, the curve of your breasts and your damn white lace bra. Fuck, if you hadn't looked enough like an angel already. Unsuspectedly, he could feel his heart hammering against his ribcage, his fingers almost trembling as he ran them up the side of your belly, over the soft flesh, until they reached your bra. Shivering deliciously beneath his simple touch, you looked up at him with your doe eyes and he felt the conflicting desires to absolutely ruin you and impale himself on a stick for touching something so damn holy with his sullied hands.

Sitting up slightly, you seemed to misinterpret his lingering stare and crossed your arms over your chest. Immediately, his shot forward to seize your wrists and pin them above your head, unable to hide the hunger brimming behind his cold facade. “Fucking beautiful you are,” he said gruffly and reveled in the way your cheeks heated up, the soft tint of pink. His eyes were drawn to the hickies on your neck and Merlin did they look good on you.

Your chest was heaving under his intense gaze as he dipped his head down to kiss, nibble and mark all along your collarbone. “Take that off.” You complied immediately, reaching behind your back to unhook your bra and discarding it somewhere to the side. “Won't someone- ah!” You let out the a high-pitched squeak when he bit down on the flesh just above your breasts and could hear him breathing in deeply. Determined, you tried again as his lips made their way down the valley of your breasts. “Won't someone come in?”

“No one who wants to keep their head,” he growled and you whimpered when he turned his attention to one of your tits. He let go of your wrists in favor of cupping the other and rubbing circles around your sensitive bud, making you stifle a soft mewl. “So, what about that skirt?” He pressed and your now free hands quickly made their way down, tugging at the waistband of your skirt. Impatient, one of his hands slapped yours away and pulled the skirt down your legs, along with your thights, leaving you with nothing more than your panties against the heated air of his dorm.

Mattheo buried his fingers in the soft flesh of your thighs and you could feel him against your thigh, feel his arousal. It was somewhat calming to know that he was just as effected as you, though he wasnt yet mewling helplessly. You felt his hot breath on your skin as his lips travelled down, down your belly, leaving a trail of unexpectedly soft kisses and whispering into your soft flesh as if in holy confession. “Merlin, you’re so fucking beautiful, can't believe it, cant wait to hear you scream my name-”

If you’d been blushing before, you definitely were now. Something hot seemed to pulsate in your cheeks as your heart fluttered with every word he spoke into your skin, spoken in the tone of a starving man praying for salvation.

Mattheo was in love with the little sounds you made as his lips made their way down your body, his fingers brushing over spots he knew would have your skin break out into goosebumps. Merlin, how he relished how responsive you were, how your soft, pliant body seemed to mold into his every touch and how your helpless little gasps and suppressed mewls sounded like music in his ears. He’d have you screaming for him in no time, have you screaming his name, and his heart raced in eager expectation.

But he had to take it slow with you. For one, he knew he was far more experienced than you were- when it came to the physical sense. But he’d never done it like this. With actual love behind it. The act of sex had always been about selfish pleasure on the one hand and power on the other. The power of someone else’s reactions, the satisfaction of knowing they despised him as they fell apart under his touch, that he’d be their dirty fucking secret but so powerless in that moment. There was no love behind it, just sex and power.

But now, he had to overthink. You were so perfect, so soft and gentle, so he had to try and be gentle with you, too- because you deserved it more than anyone. Mattheo was well aware that you deserved someone better than him, someone less tainted, less selfish, and better at loving you. But the heavens should strike him down if he couldnt give you the best time out of anyone in this damn castle. But it had to be perfect. It had to be just right.

As he reached your pubic bone and his deft fingers closed around the waistband of your underwear, you squirmed slightly and felt goosebumps spread all over your skin, in spite of how damn hot it was. “No no no, don’t run away from me now, princess,” he muttered against the skin of your pubic bone, and when you glanced down at him, you saw him look up at you with the utmost devotion and a carnal need that had you gasp lightly. Both his hands were on your thighs as he rested his chin on one of them and looked at your through his long dark lashes. The tension seemed to mount between the two of you, you realized he was waiting for something as heat crept up your neck.

Then, without any warning aside from a small twitch of his lips, he leaned down and blew a gust of air against your clothed core. A high-pitched yelp left your lips and he chuckled darkly, slowly pulling at the waistband of your panties. And even still, he was fixing you in place with those criminally seductive eyes of his. “What do you want me to do, princess?” he asked with raised brows and you swallowed thickly, chest heaving as you propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him. Your wide, pretty eyes almost had him folding for you, but he wanted to hear you say it. Wanted nothing more than for you to disregard your bashfulness, whatever means necessary.

But you found yourself unable to answer, not with the way his eyes bore into yours and you hoped he would read your desire in your mind, so you wouldn't have to say the words that felt so utterly filthy,you could never say it. Let alone the thought had your cheeks burn with shyness and you shook your head shakily, looking at him with pleading eyes. His teasing smile grew when suddenly, you felt his hand cup your clothed cunt, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. “Want me to eat you out like you deserve, princess?” he asked, smiling evily at your abashed whine, “Salazar, I bet you taste sweeter than sugar.”

“Mattheo,” you breathed, whether to spurr him on or to warn him you didn't know, but he cooed. “I know, princess, I know.” His hand drew away, but was soon replaced by his index finger drawing lazy circles over the fabric of your underwear. With a disgustingly smug look on his face, his eyes raked over your slightly trembling form as you practically shook in anticipation.

You looked so fucking sweet, barely holding it together, blushing and stuttering and he hadnt even properly touched you yet. Though he had planned your first time with him to be all about you, he could feel himself harden painfully as he burned to seek relief against the mattress. But if Mattheo could do one thing, it was to disregard his needs.

“Tell me, princess,” he drawled as he kept rubbing painfully slow circles, barely teasing your clit. Though you would never mentioned it, you’d heard from the other girls in your dorm how good he was in bed, you knew he was teasing you deliberately. “Anyone ever eaten you out before?” Hesitating for a split second, you shook your head and saw his brows twitch. He hummed lowly. “What fucking losers.”

You stifled a moan when he slipped his hand under your lace panties and grazed the rough pads of his fingers over your most sensitive spot. “There weren't a lot of them,” you almost whispered and his eyes snapped up at you. “A-actually just one, really.”

An almost mocking smile adorned his lips. “Really now? And how was it?” Somehow, he already knew the answer, you could see it in his eyes, the quirk of his brow, the edge of his smile. Whether it was legilimency or he had somehow read it off the curves off your body, you didnt knew. You only knew he’d derive great pleasure from hearing you say it.

“‘t was pretty short,” you managed to croak out and gasped when Mattheo’s fingers finally released you from his tortuous teasing and twirled around your clit in a way that had you mewl loudly. Embarrassed, you slapped your hand over your mouth, but his eyes hardened and he fucking pinched your clit, making you squeak in a mix of pleasure and pain.

“None of that, princess,” he muttered in a commanding tone, “I wanna hear you, if you want me to make you cum. You do want that, don’t you?” Bashfulness, paired with his diligently working fingers, made you whine pathetically and he smirked. “That’s what I thought. Be a good girl and take those hands off your mouth, yeah?” With shaking fingers, you did and he tutted softly. “Atta girl. Now lie down.”

In a twisted way, it went to his head, how quickly you let yourself sink into the mattress, how eagerly you obeyed his command, how much you trusted him with yourself. You could still afford to be trusting, he realized, other than him. But he would fucking make sure you’d never lose that. He’d never let the world wash away your kindness, he’d kill anyone who tried.

With an impatient grunt, he pulled your panties off and threw them somewhere to the side. A shudder went through him when he came face to face with your perfect cunt. Merlin, you were so damn soaked. Mattheo felt pride swell within him, so unlike the selfish satisfaction he'd gained from others' pleasure. Oh, how long he’d imagined this these past few weeks, having you all pliant and soft under him, making you fall apart on his tongue. But fuck did your sweet smell call out to him, so that he couldn't waste an time.

When his tongue came into contact with your clit, you squeaked in a mix of surprise and a sudden surge of pleasure, but Mattheo barely gavce you any time top adjust to the feeling. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason in the way he was practically delving into your soaked cunt, as if he meant to suffocate himself in it. His tongue leaped at your core, then sucked on your clit in a way that had you seeing stars and you moaned powerlessly as you became putty in his hands. Mattheo ate you out like a man starved, and every single on of your moans was like music to his ears. His tongue swirled around your clit and a high-pitched mewl fell from your lips, so addictive that he had to do it again, and again, and again-

Mattheo threw your legs over his shoulders to find a new angle and your hands shot down to bury themselves in his soft curls. You tried not to tug too hard, but when he licked one long stripe up your cunt, moaning so fucking filthily, you couldn't help but hold onto him as if he was your lifeline. And Merlin, how he loved it. Loved the way your fingers dug into his curls, loved the way you pulled at them in response to his ministrations, how he could feel your fingers quiver when his came down to your cunt to ease open your entrance.

When he slipped a first finger inside, you practically whimpered and Mattheo could’ve sworn he lost his sanity right then and there. He added another finger to your sweet little cunt and scissored them, pushed them in and out of your glistening folds, angled them upwards and unerringly hit the spot that had you break for him so fucking deliciously. What he didnt expect was for you to breathe a mewl of his name that went straight to his aching cock. Oh, you little minx.

He chuckled against your sensitive bud and your breath hitched in your throat. “Say it again,” he murmured against your folds as his fingers and tongue worked tirelessly to bring you to your high. “Say it, my name, say it.” You didn't even need his instructions, the repeated high-pitched moans of his name rolled off your tongue as if it were the only word you had ever known and, glancing down, you saw him grind his hips into the mattress. Your hips bucked against his face when the pleasure mounted up to new heights and he accelerated the speed of his tongue and fingers.

Allowing himself one look at you, he wished he could engrave the sight into his skull: you, shaking and blushing under his ministrations, whimpering helplessly and writhing in his sheets. His sheets, his girl, all his. Even his mind was growing hazy, but he willed himself to stay focused for you as you got closer to your high. You were on cloud nine, feeling only pure bliss and goddamn had everyone been right about him: Mattheo Riddle knew what he was doing. His deliberate movements overwhelmed your senses with unknown pleasure and your thighs started shaking, as did your fingers.

“‘M close,” you barely managed to breathe out, lips quivering with the intensity of the orgasm you felt building up in your core.

You weren’t sure if he’d heard you, buried between your thighs, but his fingers only picked up speed, his tongue flicked against your clit and with a guttoral moan, you fell apart on his tongue. You could almost see the gates of heaven as pleasure unlike any you’d experienced before wiped any and every thought from your head but him, him, him. Mattheo worked you through your high as you kept mewling his name as if in prayer. How ridiculous, someone as heavenly as you praying to someone as depraved as himself- and how utterly twisted it was that he enjoyed it so fucking much.

Even as you began trashing in his hold, he couldn't stop, couldn't have it be over, couldn't depart from your sweetness. “Mattheo, ‘s too much,” you whimpered, but he was like a man possessed, kept going as if he couldnt stop himself. “I can’t!”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, lapping up your juices, and you couldn't help yourself. As you felt a scream build up in your throat, you ripped your hands from his hair, earning a grunt of displeasure, and threw them over your mouth to muffle the loud cry. He stopped.

For a second, relief flooded over you, but then his face entered your field of vision as he hovered above you. His curls were as messy as you'd never seen them before, due to your restless hands, and your juices covered the better half of his face, making his lips glisten. His pupils were blown wide and a frown adorned his beautiful face, a frown that made you breath hitch and goosebumps spread all over your skin.

“Sorry,” you gasped, so short on breath as if you’d just run a marathon. “Sorry, Mattheo, I couldnt-”

His frown softened when he heard your voice quiver, looked into your pleading eyes. You were so fucking sweet, he’d never even think of punishing you. No, he only wanted to spoil you rotten, see the bliss in your eyes and hear his name on your tongue as he pushed you over the edge.

“‘S fine,” he sighed, wrapping an arm around your waist and lowering himself down to meet your lips. You seemed taken aback to taste yourself on his lips, making him smile into the kiss, but then, you opened your soft lips to allow his tongue access into your mouth and readily gave in to its push. Feeling his skin against yours, chest against chest, your tits pressed against his sternum and his sweat mingling with yours. It was so intimate you sighed into the kiss, which made him chuckle lowly.

Just then, you felt it. Something hard, clothed, dig into your thigh, and a trembling, daring hand of yours slipped between your intertwined bodies and grazed the tent in his pants. Mattheo let out a sharp hiss and his lips departed from yours to bite down on your ear lobe teasingly. “Well, aren’t you nice, always thimkin’ of me?”

You ignored his comment, sittin up a little to establish eye contact. Something was burning on your tongue, something you needed to ask before anything else happened between the two of you. Your heart beat nervously against your ribcage, but when you met his chestnut eyes, you felt all worry wash away in an instant. “What is it, princess?” Mattheo asked, crooking his head in a way that had his curls fall adorably into his eyes.

Before he could, you brushed them away softly and kept your hand on his cheek, as if to stabilize yourself. “I- I want to keep going.” God, your cheeks burned from just these words and he took notice with a light smile. Mattheo made no attempts to interrupt you as you searched for the right words in your head, arranged them in order, just to discard them. You weren’t good at this, he was, he could just talk about this kind of thing without turning into a blushing mess.

“Mattheo?”

“Hm?” he made expectantly as one hand of his started rubbing slow circles on your hip. “I-” you broke off and wet your suddenly dry lips with your tongue. God, this was so embarrassing you wanted to crawl in a hole and die. “I’ve heard from others about- well-,” you stuttered hesitantly and Mattheo, slowly piecing it together, grinned teasingly, only worsening your embarrassment. With a shaky breath, you dared to meet his eye and decided just to get it over with. “Would you mind not being as- as rough on our first time? I mean, now? It’s not that I don’t- I mean, I just-,” you rambled but he placed a quick peck on your lips, effectively shutting you up.

His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, more open than you’d ever seen them, more vulnerable, more loving. “Hey, hey, princess. We do it exactly the way you want, the way you enjoy, alright?” he said, still drawing soothing circles on your skin.

But you frowned lightly, brows drawing together. “But that’s not right,” you protested, “what about you?”

For the split of a second, Mattheo was startled, simply because he didn't remember ever being asked this question by anyone. But of course you would. You, with the kind smile and the soft hands and the warm look in your eyes. You, who never failed to think of him even when he really didn't want you to. But who was he kidding, it felt fucking amazing to know how much you cared about him.

“I’m getting my fair share of pleasure either way,” he smirked against your lips, playfully pinching the skin of your hip. You nodded slightly, your hand shakily resting upon his clothed cock once more and he covered the shaky breath that left his lips with a growled chuckle. “Careful there, princess,” he teased, head dipping down to trail kisses up your jaw, “You’re playing with fire.”

Nothing could have prepared him for the next words that left your mouth as you brought your other hand to his chin to make him look at you. “Then maybe I want to burn with you.”

Something seemed to snap within Mattheo and he surged forward, stealing the breath out of your lungs as he cradled your face and kissed you with such force you fell back into the sheets. Your chest heaved against his as you brought your hands to his hair and he groaned into the kis, biting down on your bottom lip. “We don’t have to do it tonight,” he managed to rasp against your lips, summoning his last remnants of morality that kept him from ruininmg you right here, right now, and drinking up every single sound of pleasure you made.

“I want to, Mattheo,” you whimpered as his hand found your clit once more, rubbing slow circles over the oversensitive bud. “I want you.”

“Fucking hell, primcess,” he straight up moaned and your breath hitched when he ground his clothed erection against your bare core. But you didn't let up, bucking your hips up to meet his and mewling when the fabric of his trousers rubbed over your clit so deliciously.

“Please,” you breathed against the shell of his ear when he started sucking on the already blooming hickeys on your neck again. “Please, Mattheo, I need you.”

Holy hell, your pleading shot straight to his cock. Your slightly whiny tone, the begging. Please. Please. You repeated it and Mattheo wished he could hear you say it forever. He fucking loved hearing you beg, loved the way your breath hitched in your throat when he bucked his hips into yours and your fingers tightened in his curls. His impatient fingers fumbled with his belt, tugged at the zipper of his pants until he was able to discard them to some corner of the room he didnt care to know. Because all there was now was you. Your breathing, your little moans, your squirming figure beneath his and your god damn pleas that had him weak in the knees. And, of course, the feeble but of fabric still separating you from him.

Pulling his boxers down as quickly as possible without departing from your neck, he finally managed to get them off and his cock, an angry red and already leaking precum, slapped against his abdomen with a filthy sound. When you felt his erection rub over your core, no fabric seperating you anymore, you bit down on Mattheo’s shoulder to stifle a mewl and dug your fingers into his biceps. His lips departed from your neck as he hovered above you, his curls framing his face like a halo. God, how you loved that man.

Your eyes were locked with his as his cockhead kissed your clit and you let out a high-pitched gasp, giving him a needy look. But Mattheo’s usual teasing manner had been replaced by an almost somber look in his eyes, as if he wanted to savor every second of this. He didnt have to ask if you were ready, you only nodded and he pushed in the first few inches.

Mattheo moaned loudly, unabashedly, and you tightened your grip on his bicep at the uncomfortable stretch. God, he was big, bigger than the one you’d had before, and anxiety curled in your stomach that you wouldnt be able to fit him inside. But Mattheos seemed to sense your worry as his breath shuddered over your face and he pecked your temple. “Relax,” he cooed, whispering praises into your ear that had you tremble and blush helplessly.

He didnt move, and it seemed to cost him a great deal of willpower, but as his tip pressed into your entrance and you breathed in and out through your mouth, you slowly managed to adjust as the sting turned into a comfortable stretch. With a little nod, you signaled him to go further and he pushed in another few inches, straight up whimpering into your ear. The sound made you clench and his fingers tightened around your waist. “fuck, princess, you trying to kill me?”

You shook your head and buried your face in his shoulder, trying to relax to make him fit. Mattheo cooed at your determination, rubbing lazy circles on your clit to ease you in. “M’gonna make you feel so good, princess, promise.”

Finally, with a lot of patience and willpower, Mattheo managed to bottom out and both of you struggled for air. His hands wandered down to your hips as he chuckled against your ear. “Such a good girl, taking me like a champ, arent ya?” All you could do was whimper in response, you felt so damn full, could almost feel him in your stomach. But the uncomfortable stretch became more enjoyable by the second and you let out a shaky breath against his skin.

“M- mattheo,” you croaked out pathetically and he cooed once more, breathing in the scent of your hair. “Feel so full,” you almost slurred, as if your mind had gone permanently blank, and you could feel him chuckle darkly into your hair.

“Do you now, princess?”

You nodded and his grin persistet as he started to rock his hips against yours. He pulled out and slammed back in, eliciting a loud moan from you, and reveled in the way your face scrunched up with pleasure. Your fingers shakily tried to grasp anything, his biceps, the sheets, any sort of halt, as he repeated the movement and you mewled helplessly. Mattheo burned to pick up the pace, ram into you with all his might, claim you like the animal he was, but he forced himself to discipline and established a slow pace to help you adjust.

Hiding your face in his shoulder, soft moans of his name slipped past your lips that made it impossibly harder to keep up the slow pace, but for nothing in the world would he stop now. He couldn't. His cock fitted so perfectly into your warmth, your little moans rung in his ears like a heavenly symphony. This was truly heaven, had to be. Especially when he looked down on you to see your fucked-ut expression, the crown of your hair around your face. He’d been wrong. You weren't an angel. You were a fucking goddess.

Without him even realizing, he’d picked up the pace and your fingers dug into his shoulder. “M- mattheo,” you whimpered and he had to stop himself from mercilessly ramming into your perfect cunt. Instead, he let his head fall to your neck and bit down. The cry it elicited from you made him shiver and moan in response, as his teeth dug into your soft flesh in search of some sort of support. He knew it would be the most prominent mark of all, and he relished the thought of you walking around with it, cheeks heating when someone asked about it. Damn right, they’d know, know you were his.

As if you’d heard his thoughts, your shaky little voice rasped into his ear: “Yours, I’m yours.”

Had he said it out loud? He couldnt tell anymore as any and all resolve crumbled and he rammed into you, all the while craessing your soft body with his rough hands. “Fucking right,” he spat against your lips - when had you come this close? - “You’re mine.”

Nodding helplessly, you seemed to be at a loss for words, or maybe too fucked out to string a single sentence together. The thought made him chuckle amd you whined. When you squirmed, he held your hips down, desperately stopping himself from cumming before you. As he felt his own high approaching, his fingerds slipped back down to your clit to draw hurried circles on it. “You’re mine to worship, mine to protect-” He pistoned in and out of you and each push was met with soft little “ah”s from you as you threw your head back and exposed your neck to him, your neck that was covered in his hickeys and he moaned uncontrollably.

“I’ll kill ‘em all,” he rasped against your lips as you tightened around him and the pleasure seemed to pierce through you like arrows, blinding you as you squeezed your eyes shut and cried out his name. “Damn right,” he murmured and you werent even sure what you’d said anymore, only holding onto him as you release cam crushing down on you. “I’ll kill anyone who’ll ever hurt you, nobody touches my girl.” You were pretty sure that he, too, was merely rambling right now as his hips bucked against yours uncontrollably, having lost all steadyness or rhythm.

As the world slowly took form again around you, as you came down from your high, you could practically feel him pulse inside you and crashed your lips onto his. He kissed you back like it was the last thing he’d ever do. Between kisses, you managed to catch fragments of drunken ramblings, until you realized it was a singular phrase, repeated agin and again, breaking off and whispered repeatedly against your lips, in a way that had you wondering whether he himself knew he was speaking.

“I love you.”

Your hand closed around his as he pulled out in a rapid motion and you could feel him release his cum all over your quivering thighs. For a few seconds, there was nothing but your breathing, the soft heaving of your bare chests against each other, the desperate attempt to refill your lungs with air. Then, Mattheo rolled off of you and sank into the sheets next to you. His strong arms came to wrap themselves around your waist as he pulled you towards him. One hand found its way to your neck where he tilted your head just right to softly peck your lips, and again, and again, but giving you room to breathe.

This was new territory, but it felt almost natural to trace soft lines down your sides, card his fingers through your hair and swallow up your little sighs. Mattheo was a stranger to aftercare, as to so many things you had taught him, beginning with airplanes and ending with unconditional love. He’d almost feared this moment, but the tenderness seemed instinctive with you as he grabbed the towel you’d used earlier for his wounds, cleaned it with a bit of wandless magic and ran it over your oversensitive core.

Exhausted, you rested your head against his chest and your hand on the prominent scar on his abdomen. Finally, you dared ask. “What happened there, Mattheo?”

His lips came to softly caress your temple and one of his hands rubbed soothingly along the curve of your hip. “Nothing you’ve gotta worry about.”

“Yes, it is,” you said, but your tone suggested that you would not insist upon hearing the story tonight. “It’s you, and I worry about you, because-” you hesitated for just a moment before opening your eyes and looking up at him. “Because I love you too.”

Mattheo couldn’t answer, any ability to form words seemed to have left him as he stared into your wide, trusting eyes. Again, he felt that if there was a time to die, it was now, with you. But there was another voice too. You loved him. You cared for him. And he had sworn to you that nobody could ever hurt you again. So he had to stay, for you. He wished he could have expressed in this moment how much he appreciated you, how much he loved you, how he’d never thought he could love anyone, given his parents- how could someone coing from pure evil carry anything good inside him? But he did, you’d proved him wrong and he’d never stop being thankful for it. Even better, when you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, he knew you understood, even without his words that would never manage to express his true feelings.

“I hope we find those clothes all again,” you said in a lighter tone, and Mattheo was thankful for it. “Not that Malfoy finds my bra or something.”

Your nose wrinkled in disgust and he laughed quietly, rubbing his nose against your temple affectionately. “Don’t you worry, they’ll know what we did anyway. Don’t think anyone could’ve missed those screams of yours, princess.”

Instead of blushing or looking alarmed, Mattheo was surprised to find you smiling sheepishly. “About that… I think I’ll have to disappoint you.” Biting down on your lower lip, you glanced at the door. “I might have put a muffliato charm on your dorm.”

“No,” Mattheo said disbelievingly, pinching a roll of your stomach and making you squeak. But he knew you weren’t lying. “When’d you do that?”

Now, there was the slightest tint of pink on your cheeks as you shrugged. “When you sent the others out. I thought… just in case…”

“fucking genuis, my girl,” he muttered into your hair and couldn't find it within himself to be irritated at you. “And here i was thinking the whole of the dungeons had heard what a good time you had tonight. No matter,” he smirked, looking back at you and examining the work he’d done on your neck and throat. “You still have the hickeys to show tomorrow.” Mattheo would gladly admit that he took pleasure in the way your eyes widened and you scrambled up in search of a mirror.

When you swung your legs over the bed to stand, however, they wobbled so hard you plopped right back down onto the mattress. Your thighs were still quivering with the last aftershocks and felt about as stable as cooked spaghetti. You glared at him when he laughed and pointed your finger at his face. “This is your fault.”

“Indeed it is,” he admitted and sat up as well, patting your bare hip. “‘m sure you’ll manage though.”

You gaped at him in indignation. “You’re not gonna help me?” When he grinned at you, you groaned, exasperated, and rose to your feet hesitantly, wobbling carefully over to the bathroom.

“‘M gonna pick your clothes up,” he said, getting to his feet as well and grabbing a pair of sweatpants to pull on. “Not that Malfoy actually finds your bra, I’d hate to have to explain to his mother why I gauged his eyes out.”

“You’re deranged!” he heard you call from the bathroom, but he could detect the smile in your voice. When you reemerged, he let his eyes run over your bare form, satisfied with his work.

You cleared your throat. “Can I have my clothes back?”

“No need,” he shrugged, storing the heap of clothes that belonged to yours in one of his drawers. “You can borrow one of my shirts.” When he caught your confused expression, he raised his brows at you. “What, you think I’m gonna let you walk back to Gryffindor Tower past curfew in your condition? You’re sleeping here tonight.”

“And your friends?” you asked hesitantly, and he flashed you a grin that could be mean no good. “Will keep their eyes to themselves if they like them.”

Once you’d pulled his shirt over your head, you slipped under the covers and Mattheo placed a soft kiss on your temple before leaving the room to notify his friends that they were allowed in again. You could still hear your heart beating in your ears amd had to suppress a squeal when the realization of what you’d just done hit you. In order to seem like a well adjusted person, you buried your head in Mattheo’s pillow and breathed in his scent. It was almost like having him here again, and you considered asking him whether you could switch pillows in the future.

But that was talk for tomorrow. How you’d get to class was talk for tomorrow. How the fuck you’d cover up the battlefield Mattheo had left on your neck was a talk for tomorrow.

After a few minutes, you heard several footsteps outside and looked up from Mattheo’s pillow. He was the one to push the door open, and his eyes softened considerably when he saw you laying in his bed, under his sheets. Behind him, the other boys trailed in, all of whom, you noticed, were purposefully avoiding to look at you directly. Malfoy seemed to be pissed about something, and you didn't have to wonder what, and Lorenzo smiled at you again, only to raise his hands in surrender when Mattheo sent him a withering glare.

Turning back to you, a smile tugged at his lips and once more, you were taken aback by his quick mood changes. Without another word, he slipped in beside you, turning his back on the room to hide you from sight and wrapped his arms around you. His breathing was calm against your ear as his chest rose and fell against your back and his smell engulfed you whole. You found yourself relaxing completely in his arms, all tension leaving your body as you leaned into him and he pressed another kiss to your temple.

“Sleep, princess,” he murmured against your skin and you nodded, resting your head against him, clasping his hand around your belly with your own and letting sleep consume you, knowing you were the safest in his arms.

a/n: thank you all so much for sticking around till the end and going on this ride with me, I hope you liked it! 🫶

taglist: @aespaslut @kricketwritesstories @catching-fire-in-the-wind @a-little-funny @thejediprincess56 @polireader @voidangxls @artsyle @nkvgt @ashrocker123 @chimchoom @onlytenkos @yvonne-dump @alwayslatetothefandoms @ravisinghs-wife @eneywey @viylikecats @darksss5516 @cocosparkel @stereading @helendeath @workof-a-rr-t @k0z3me @nottriddlethis @urfavetheaterkid16

[120189hearted]

#2 Astrology Observations.

"If you live for people's acceptance, you'll die from their rejection." -Lacrae Moore

Saturn, Chiron in the 2H can struggle with insecurities and anxiety, have a low sense of self worth. They can also have financial problems and be prone to sore throats or other neck related problems. These people need to find stability in their dignity and material security, they have to attain self worth & respect through their own efforts rather than seeking validation from external sources. It's like, no matter how many things you buy, anything that is outside of you won't guarantee you more confidence or happiness. There's a fear, restriction, trauma around money, overspending and values (your values physical or not and your dignity).

People with Uranus in the 3H may forget to: think before speak, study, communicate with others like neighbors, siblings or cousins, may forget to be overall more social.

Aquarius Lilith might be reluctant in self expression, might feel ashamed or hesitant in truly being themselves because of past experiences where they might have been ridiculed for their unconventional ideas or way of being, and people being too judgy towards them and that could've scarred them. As a consequence, they could feel like an "alien" and tend to hide being themselves because they might feel shameful of that. For example: Aquarius Lilith in the 3H may be shy or quiet, problems with communication skills, they maybe used to be expressive and social but they were shamed for it so they experienced being silenced and made fun of their interests too, made fun off of their / by their siblings, cousins or neighbors, avoidant of talking too much, insecure when talking or standing up for themselves.

Mercury in Taurus, Scorpio, Pisces and Cancer may have a singer-like voice, fluid voice too for the water signs.

Sun in 8H might have faced trauma related with male figures in your life and also have an absent father, physically or emotionally.

Natives with Libra, Taurus, Venus in the 12H might prefer keeping their relationships and their romantic partners a secret, and keeping secret their self care and healing as well. They can also keep their crushes secret, not even telling to their friends or family. They might also like to gatekeep where they buy their clothes, make-up, skincare products from or just not show off these things. They can also prefer keeping their money, income, financial status a secret and not boast too much about it, their possessions or valuable things. This placement can also mean you often have people who have secretly a crush on you but they'll probably never say it / hardly admit it.

People with Moon, Cancer, Venus, Libra in the 12H, 8H and 6H can be queer, part of LGBTQ.

Moon in Aries people can be impulsive, have a hard time controlling their feelings like they're a volcano, their emotions can be explosive. They're the kind of people to go crazy over the smallest inconvenience.

Mercury in Scorpio or 8H can make natives interested in or like doing research about the occult, dark topics or other taboo things that don't have to necessarily be like the previously mentioned.

Taurus, Libra Risings or Venus in 1H is an indicator of beauty. They can have a very harmonious, symmetrical face.

Capricorn / Saturn in the 12H are karmically protected, as well as natives ruled by Saturn. As a side note, I would beware hurting or messing with people who have Saturn in 6H, 8H and 12H, and again especially those ruled by Saturn at the same time. But usually those who do them wrong are most of the times supposed to learn a lesson, that's Karma.

Venus in Aquarius can dislike it when their admirers are overly obsessive or expressive of their love for them. It can feel uncomfortable for them especially as a first impression.

Moon in the 6H or in Virgo too much overthinking and being overly anxious or emotional that it becomes an actual obstacle hindering them from daily life tasks, stress or too much negativity can manifest as health problems for these people. They could feel so much that they start getting stomachaches, headaches etc.

Saturn in 5H / Leo or 7H / Libra can be either hopeless romantics or just less interested in romance. Their love life can be very dry and not have much of that. Delay in marriage, may happen later on in life.

[prince-geo]

literally pleased with almost all of the new atla trailer except as per usual, Zuko's scar, idk why studios are so scared to commit to the intensity of the thing, its supposed to be shocking and obvious and textured and the first thing you see... that's the point, Zuko is supposed to struggle with feeling like it defines and brands him before finally coming to the point in his journey where he defines it.

Hollywood/big studios are known to hesitate or straight up avoid properly and honestly and unapologetically showing people with disfigurements/disabilities/facial differences etc. with the realism they deserve. Which is a shame in general for representation and humanization but ESPECIALLY in this case as its minimization actively harms it's narrative purpose as well

I promise making the scar more intense (shrivel up the ear a bit, make it intrude in his hairline, make his eye in a permanent squint due to nerve damage, for god sake REMOVE THE EYEBROW IT WAS BURNED OFF) will not make Zuko "ugly", (the actor is incapable of looking ugly and also the implication that scars make people too unappealing? yikes) but will actually do the character and his journey justice, not to mention really show Ozai's brutality, another essential narrative tool. Especially when he's bald like hello??? It should be even more stark and intense when he doesn't have hair to distract from it and cover his ear!!!

When transitioning from 2D to live action, of course some visuals are up for interpretation but that usually involved ADDING detail because the constraints of having to stay on modeling frame to frame is gone, not minimizing, removing or airbrushing. Doing Zuko's scar right to me is absolutely essential and I'm disappointed they seem just as as scared to go there as I thought they might. It doesn't have to be gory, if you've ever seen burn victims in real life or in pictures or even cosplayers/artists who are skilled in realistic burn makeup you'd know its possible to balance realism with humanity. It's possible especially with their resources to avoid the "scary Halloween makeup" route while not holding back on the brutality of the original injury.

Budget is definitely not an issue, or "scaring the kids" considering this remake is likely aiming to go a lil darker in tone than the cartoon (which was already super dark with its target audience of nickelodeon 7 year olds so no excuses) Audiences SHOULD be unsettled and upset when they see him but not because he's hard/disturbing to look at but because we are human and do not want to imagine someone doing that to a child.

It's a deliberate choice out of the all too common fear/hesitation to allow someone who is destined to eventually become a protagonist and is meant to be sympathized with to be "too ugly" while this hesitation is very rarely applied to straight up villains (again we come back to media's historic villainization of facial deformity). It's a trend that's always ticked me off in fanart too. The boy's face was melted, for gods sake. Zuko was always portrayed as an attractive boy in the cartoon (fire nation girls fawn over him) even with the intensity of his scar which is something I've always admired! People exist with scars similar to Zuko's in real life, and should not only be permitted to be represented as good guys and/or as attractive when their scars are toned down to be "palatable"

Like I said there's more that I loved than didn't love about the trailer, that can be a whole essay on it's own but I needed to get this very specific vent off my chest because it missed the mark so hard and stands out like a sore thumb in comparison to all the other visuals that hit the nail on the head to me

[diaryofawhoretbh]

it's too late. | thanos (choi su-bong)

| in which a pregnant girl encounters her ex-boyfriend in a game of survival, for a shot to win some money to pay off their debts.

wc: 1.1k

warnings: none really... just a lot of angst!

NOT proof-read!!

"hey señorita... y/n!"

oh don't tell me that's who i think it is...

i turned around slowly, my heart hammering in my chest. it was like time had frozen for a moment. the moment i had feared, the moment i never expected. there he was.

choi su-bong.

my high-school sweetheart. the boy who once promised me everything. the boy who left when i needed him the most. the boy who broke my heart and disappeared without a trace.

i could hardly breathe as i met his eyes. those same eyes i had fallen in love with at sixteen. the purple hair that was styled but messier than i remembered. the tattoos that covered his hands and his fingers; each one a reminder of who he'd become. the coloured nails, the silver rings that flashed with every movement. that same damn smile; the one that made my heart race, now felt like a dagger lodged in my chest.

"su-bong..." i said, my voice barely above a whisper. the words so heavy with unspoken moments of pain and longing. my hand moved instinctively to rest on my stomach, the one thing that had grown in his absence. but i didn't expect him to notice. why would he? not after everything.

he froze for a moment, as if he didn't know what to do with me. his eyes flickered to my stomach, then quickly shifted away, the confusion creeping into his expression. he looked...lost. like he was seeing me, but not really understanding. i could see the change in him; the same boy i loved at sixteen, but somehow... different. colder.

"you look different," he said slowly, taking a step forward, his voice carrying a touch of hesitation. his eyes searched mine, like he was trying to find the girl he once knew in the woman standing before him. but he didn't get the chance.

"yeah," i replied flatly, trying to keep my composure, my voice colder than i intended. "a lot has changed su-bong."

i wanted him to know how much he had missed, how much he had left. i wanted him to feel the weight of his absence, the pain of being alone when i needed him the most. but i didn't want to show him any weakness. not now. not after everything.

he shifted uncomfortably, like my coldness was making him second-guess himself.

"look i know it's been a while, but we need to talk."

we need to talk? what the fuck. my mind screamed. we've already had this conversation, haven't we? but the words caught in my throat. i couldn't bring myself to say it. not yet. the truth, the pain, it was all so close to the surface, and if i let it out now, it would swallow me whole.

"what do you want, su-bong?" i asked, my voice tight, trying to keep the shaking at bay. "why are you even here?"

his face darkened, the usual cocky swagger replaced by something more... raw. something real. "debt," he said, the word coming out low, reluctant. "i invested everything into crypto. lost it all. i’m here because of my mistakes."

i nodded slowly, the reality of his words sinking in like ice water. "yeah, i know," i muttered bitterly. "i’ve been paying for it too, haven’t i?"

he looked away for a second, but i could see the shame in his eyes. the guilt. it didn’t matter, though. it never mattered before, so why should it matter now?

but then, as if the silence between us wasn’t enough, his eyes flicked down to my stomach. a quick glance, but it was enough. his face went pale, his breath catching in his throat. the shock was instant.

"wait…" he whispered, stepping closer. his voice cracked slightly. "are you-"

i didn’t let him finish. i couldn’t. i felt it welling up inside me—everything i had kept hidden for months. the hurt, the anger, the grief. i pressed my hand to my stomach again, my heart racing as i forced the words out.

"i’m pregnant," i said, my voice barely a whisper, but it felt like it echoed between us. "and it’s yours."

his face went blank. completely blank. like he couldn’t process it. like the words hadn’t even reached him yet. i saw his mouth open, but no sound came out.

i stepped back, keeping my distance, my chest tight. "you weren’t there, su-bong. not when i needed you. not when we needed you."

his expression crumpled, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "i didn’t know," he said hoarsely. "i didn’t know, y/n. i swear."

"you should’ve known," i shot back, my voice cracking despite my efforts to stay composed. "you should’ve been here. but you weren’t. you walked away when i needed you the most."

he took a step closer, but i held up my hand to stop him. "no. don’t come near me."

"i messed up," he said, his voice rough, guilt and regret flooding his words. "i was stupid. i didn’t mean for any of this to happen. i thought… i thought i could fix it. i was trying to make something of myself, but i messed everything up. i messed us up."

"us?" i scoffed, shaking my head. "there was no 'us,' su-bong. there was only you and your damn dreams. your rap career. your crypto, your debts, your selfishness. there was never any 'us' when i needed you. i was alone, and now you think you can just walk back in like nothing happened?"

i felt my hands shaking, my breath coming faster as the anger bubbled up. i wanted to scream. i wanted to cry. but all i could do was stand there, staring at the boy who had left me. the boy who would never understand the weight of what he had done.

"i should’ve been there," he muttered, the words barely a whisper. "but i wasn’t. i’m sorry, y/n."

the words meant nothing anymore. they were hollow. meaningless. he was sorry, but sorry wouldn’t change anything.

"yeah," i said, my voice trembling now. "you should’ve. but you weren’t. and it’s too late."

i took a shaky breath, pushing the tears back. i couldn’t break down in front of him. not now. not after everything.

"you can’t fix this, su-bong," i whispered, the finality in my voice cutting through the space between us. "you can’t fix what’s already broken."

he stood there, staring at me like he didn’t know what to do with himself, with us. i turned away, my heart pounding in my chest. my body felt heavy with the truth i had finally told him.

"i’m done," i said softly, my voice breaking. "you should leave. just go."

without another word, i walked away, leaving him behind.

[dulcescorderitas]

𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓽 𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷 C.Kent

the barn creaked around you, the night still and heavy with unspoken tension. clark’s chest heaved as he stood before you, his eyes aflame—not with his power, not yet, but with the kind of yearning that bordered on painful. his hands were warm on your hips, fingers flexing as if testing his own strength, afraid he might break you, though the idea seemed to excite him just as much.

“i can’t believe this is happening,” he murmured, his voice low, his breath brushing your cheek as he leaned in closer. his lips hovered over yours, hesitant, trembling, until you finally bridged the gap. the kiss was electric, his softness giving way to something raw as he surrendered to it, the barn’s dim light wrapping around you both like a cocoon.

your hands moved instinctively, sliding up his broad chest, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. he shivered under your touch, a deep groan escaping him as your fingers brushed his collarbone. but it was when you trailed your hand down, over his taut stomach, and cupped him through his jeans, that he stilled entirely, his breath catching in a strangled gasp.

“is this okay?” you whispered, your voice soft but teasing. his pupils dilated, swallowing the oceanic blue of his eyes, and his answer came not in words but in the way his hips pressed forward into your hand, seeking more.

“y-you’re perfect,” he stuttered, his voice rough, needy. you smiled and leaned in, kissing him again as you unbuttoned his jeans, your fingers slipping inside to find the hard, pulsing length of him. he groaned loudly, his hands gripping your waist harder, his body trembling like a live wire under your touch.

“clark,” you murmured against his lips, your voice dripping with amusement. “you’re shaking.”

“i—” he tried to speak, but his words were lost to another sharp intake of breath as your fingers wrapped around him, stroking him slowly, testing his reaction. his head tipped back, the muscles in his neck straining as a guttural moan escaped his throat. “oh god… oh god…”

and then it happened.

a flicker of crimson danced across the room, the hay bale nearest you smoking as a stray beam of heat shot from his eyes, searing through the wood. clark froze, his entire body rigid, his breathing erratic as his glowing eyes snapped to yours, terror and shame painting his expression.

“i—” he began, but you cut him off with a soft laugh, your lips brushing against the corner of his mouth.

“it’s okay,” you soothed, your hand not faltering, your strokes deliberate, coaxing. “i trust you. besides, it’s kind of hot.” you grinned up at him, and his face softened, the fear giving way to something darker, more primal.

“kind of hot?” he repeated, his voice gravelly as his gaze darkened, the ember in his eyes simmering as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a ferocious kiss. his hands moved with more confidence now, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him, his cock twitching under your touch as you stroked him faster, firmer.

the barn filled with his groans, low and guttural, mingling with the sound of your breathing and the creak of the old wood under your shifting weight. he was coming undone beneath your hands, his composure unraveling with every stroke, every kiss, every whispered tease.

“god, you feel… i can’t—” his words dissolved into a strangled cry as your hand twisted at the tip, your thumb brushing over the slick bead of precum. another beam of heat flashed from his eyes, charring a beam above, but neither of you cared now. you were lost in each other, in the heat, the danger, the overwhelming pull of him.

[arpicityandneed]

Hell Hath No Fury

(sequel to this ask.)

18+ f!reader. on the run Winter Soldier!Bucky. Dark Bucky. Angst. Violence. Hydra. Kidnapping. Threats of sexual violence. (No actual noncon) Rumlow (he's his own warning.) happy ending.

3.9k

~

The Asset was going to be punished. Maybe not right away, and never in a way he could anticipate, but he would be punished. The truth of it rattled in his bones.

He'd had pleasure, warmth, connection. All things that were forbidden to him.

So he'd ran.

But no matter how well he hid himself, the memory of you haunted him. Your conversations, the way your pussy felt on his cock when he split you open, the way you'd bitten his neck like he was yours.

He'd spent months simply observing you before you'd started teasing him. You were quick witted, a bit of a brat, more than a bit spoiled, but never cruel. You touched him without fear and only looked at his arm with curiosity.

You'd started confessing things to him when you realized he really wouldn't speak unless he had orders to. You told him you missed your mother who'd died as a child in an 'accident' you were sure was actually an assassination to get to your father. You told him you wanted a regular life with kids and maybe a cat. You even told him you hated being your father's daughter, the weight of expectation to be perfect and a pawn for him to marry off to whoever would get him the most power.

All the while the Asset had listened, tucking away the information deep into his heart because for some reason he knew it was important. He carried you home after parties left your feet too tired to walk another step in your heels and felt his heart flip in his chest when you nuzzled into him.

Then you'd started testing his patience, showing off your curves without remorse or shame. Tempting him with the softness of your breasts, the chub of your stomach and thighs, the wet heat between your legs.

When he'd finally snapped you'd taken him balls deep without hesitation. And it made him so angry (you'd let that pathetic dildo inside you? maybe you'd fucked other men before he'd been assigned to you. he hated the thought of anyone or anything but him fucking you) he'd used you like a whore, fucking you hard and deep without much thought of your pleasure. But to his surprise the harder he'd taken you the more you responded, clinging to him and begging for more.

Your pussy was sucking him in, milking his cock for his cum while you moaned and drove him crazy with your whines. "Do it, cum in me, get me pregnant I don't care--"

He'd had to cover your mouth, your words worming their way into his brain until all he could think about was seeing you grow round with his child.

The Asset knew he didn't deserve this pleasure but your pussy wouldn't stop fluttering around him, and the second he played with your clit you started fucking squirting on his cock.

How was he not supposed to cream you after that?

Maybe leaving the pillow under your hips was over kill, but some primal part of his brain wanted his seed to take. So he stuffed his fingers into your pussy to push his cum back inside you when it leaked out. You moaned in your sleep but didn't stir.

He licked his fingers before sneaking out the window- but not before he planted his own bugs in the room.

~

"Where did he go?" Listening to your father rage at you was killing him. Bucky- his name, lost for so long but knocked loose by the shock of being with you- knew you had every reason to turn him in. But for some reason, you weren't saying anything.

"I don't know dad. I had a one night stand and he was gone when I woke up." You muttered quietly, and Bucky wished he'd had camera's installed. He needed to see you. Make sure you were alright.

"You're lying to me! These people, darling, they don't like losing an Asset like that. If you don't tell me where he went we'll all have to face the consequences." Your father's voice was tight, anger and fear wrapped together in his tone.

"I already told you I don't know!" You yelled, and Bucky felt a fierce pride in his heart. The longer he was on his own, the more emotions he was able to feel. It had been months since his last wipe and his serum enhanced body seemed to be healing at an astonishing rate. So he was able to admit, he was proud of the woman his whole being had decided was his.

"Then we'll just have to hope they show us mercy."

~

Bucky now knew what his punishment was. You.

When he'd heard the chatter on HYDRA wavelengths discussing a possible reproduction of the serum, his heart was instantly in a vice grip. Of course they'd find out, and any child of his might be enhanced. How stupid could he have been?

By the time he made it to the hotel you were gone, your father dead from a bullet between his eyebrows. HYDRA worked quickly and quietly and Bucky was forced to reckon with his choice to leave you behind.

He had to do something, and fast. The thought of you in the clutches of HYDRA did something horrible to his breathing.

So for the first time since he remembered his name, he went to the only person he could for help.

~

Stevie was still an idiot. And though Stark's son was smart, HYDRA had been stealing his tech for years and Bucky was familiar with them.

He slipped into Steve's apartment without a sound and found the captain sleeping soundly. When Bucky allowed his presence to be felt Steve was up and searching for his shield in an instant. I still got it punk.

"I need your help." Bucky spoke before Steve could panic and call his teammates.

Steve paused, blinking and fully waking up as he took the assassin that was once his best friend.

"B-Buck?"

"We don't have time for this, Captain. I need your help." Bucky hissed, his own panic making itself known. That finally got Steve's attention and he nodded, his face growing serious.

"What can I do? Anything Buck." And Bucky could tell the man meant it. He still didn't trust the memories that had started to resurface, but he did trust the man in front of him for some reason.

"There's a woman. Might be carrying an enhanced child. HYDRA has her and we have to get her out." Bucky was tired, this was the most he'd spoken in years. But Steve was smart, listened to everything Bucky didn't say. She's mine. Can't let them have her.

"I'll tell the team-"

"NO!" Bucky's voice rattled the windows as he felt ice grow in his veins. If HYDRA saw the entire Avengers coming to their base? You'd be killed in an instant. "J-just, just us. Or else they'll terminate."

"Okay Buck, okay." Steve held up his hands gently in surrender, and took a deep breath before squaring his shoulders. "Then lets get to work."

~

It had been a month since the Asset disappeared when it happened. You woke up in a sterile white room with a throbbing headache and in a paper hospital gown. Your skin crawled at the thought of someone touching your naked body when you were unconcious.

"Hello? What kind of B list movie bullshit is this?" You called, trying to cover the fear that was taking over your body with bravado.

"I can see why he likes you." Came the reply when a man opened the door, his scarred face and leering eyes making you push back into the wall to try to get farther away from him. "But too bad. He's no where to be found. Ghost man you know?"

The man seemed to be enjoying himself until a second man popped his head in, an equally ugly look in his eyes as he looked over you. "Says there's still been no alarms tripped, Rumlow. He hasn't made a move."

"Thanks Walker, good job." When it was just the two of you again, Rumlow came over to crouch in front of you. He took a lock of your hair and rubbed it between your fingers. You wanted to throw up.

"You're pretty enough I guess. But honestly I'd just fuck you to make your precious little soldier boy pissed. He's the one who did this to my beautiful mug." He grinned as you cringed away, seeming to enjoy your revulsion.

"Don't worry, as soon as you pop out his brat I'll put another one in you." The threat made your stomach twist, but thankfully that was all he seemed to want to say. He stood and turned to leave, only pausing to smile at you once more- as if he knew that's what made you the most uncomfortable, seeing his scars pulled tight over his teeth.

When he left you curled around yourself, and the life inside you that you hadn't even known about until now.

We're gonna be okay. Your daddy is gonna come get us. I know it.

~

In the end it took four weeks. Four weeks to find information on where you were being held, plan out points of entry and exit, as well as transportation.

Bucky thought he knew pain, thought he knew everything there was to know about ways to torture a human being. But hearing chatter from some asshole about how he couldn't wait to force himself on you as soon as the baby was born was a new form of hell. That asshole, Rumlow Bucky found out, seemed to be the only real leak about you.

Everyone else barely mentioned you, trying to keep their new treasure to themselves. But Rumlow couldn't help himself. His putrid personality on full display as he talked about 'some girl' that Bucky knew in his bones was you.

It was the only connection Bucky had to you, listening to Rumlow go on about how fiesty you were and how he wanted to break you. It made Bucky decide Rumlow would be the last one to die. So Bucky could let you watch if you wanted.

By the time Bucky and Steve were heading out, Bucky couldn't even sit still. He paced the outdated quinjet Steve had stolen like a feral animal on a dangerously thin leash.

"We'll get her back Buck. We would've heard if something had happened." Steve had been a good partner in this, Bucky knew. He had done his best to reassure Bucky everytime he felt like tearing his hair out. (Could only admit to himself that Steve matched up with his memories almost eerily well, kind funny and protective of those he cared about.)

"Rumlow's been quiet. What if-" Bucky couldn't finish the thought. You were his. If Rumlow had touched you in any way, Bucky would have to start by breaking his fingers one at a time.

"He would've been bragging by now." Steve muttered as he flew the quinjet to the HYDRA base, one of their smaller facilities to distract anyone searching for you.

"Fly faster."

~

Something was different today. Instead of Rumlow coming in to taunt you, you'd been left alone. Every time your door opened for them to bring you a meal you heard lots of footsteps rushing around.

"What's going on?" You asked the tech assigned to feed you, not surprised when all you got was a look.

"Just tell me some gossip dude, I've been stuck in here for weeks." You tried to hide your desperation behind a charming smile, and it almost might have worked if Rumlow hadn't chosen that moment to stroll in.

"Get away from the subject." He growled and the tech snapped their mouth shut before scurrying out.

"Looks like its your lucky day princess. You're gonna get to see your boy toy get killed." You didn't rise to the bait even as your heart leapt in your chest, narrowing your eyes at the waste of space as he started pacing. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

You noticed three things right away. One was the massive gun strapped to him, one that looked more like alien tech than anything else. Second was the fact that he was blocking the door. Third, was that the son of bitch looked a little nervous, his mouth pressed into a flat line instead of his usual sneer.

"This? Oh I'm glad you asked," Rumlow held up the gun and pressed a button. The machine hummed to life and started glowing an odd shade of blue. "This is the newest HYDRA enhanced SHIELD knock off. Should even be able to destroy vibranium. Can't wait to test it out."

You heard a blaring alarm through the door, and for the first time in weeks it was your turn to smile.

"That gun you got?" You stood up, hand instinctively going to your belly as you taunted the man. "Isn't gonna be good enough. Cause he's coming for both of us and nothing will stop him. That's why you're afraid."

The slap surprised you, in your entire stay in this hell hole he’d never hit you. You cradled your cheek and glared at him with all the hate you had in your heart. You knew it would bruise, knew the throbbing pain wouldn’t go away for hours.

“Shut up! Just shut up! I’ll kill him, then I’ll kill you. But not before I get what I want.” He took another step towards you and you scrambled away, something clicking in your brain. You would have to survive—even if he touched you. For your baby if nothing else.

“I’m not going to die here.” You weren’t sure who you were trying to convince more, but the door opened again and Walker barked at Rumlow,

“He’s here. We need all hands.”

“In a minute!” Rumlow growled, but Walker shook his head.

“Directors orders.” Walker spoke firmly, and Rumlow cursed as he looked at you with something unhinged in his eyes, his grip on the gun tightening like he wanted to use it on you.

“We’ll continue this later, princess.”

You waited till he’d left before allowing yourself to sink to the floor, gasping for air as the reality of what was going on hit you. If your Soldat didn’t come for you, if he died (and fuck you didn’t even know the name of your child’s father) you’d be at the mercy of Rumlow and Walker with no way out.

You wouldn’t let that happen.

~

Bucky didn’t hesitate to slit the throat of any HYDRA agent coming his way, while Steve merely incapacitated them.

“Really Bucky?” Steve groaned as the pile of bodies grew. He had some misunderstanding that the lower ranked agents were somehow less guilty. But no, Bucky knew better. Ever single one of them would sell innocent lives for a chance for more power.

Bucky didn’t bother to respond.

12.

He moved with deadly grace, his knives slicing through the air before landing in the bodies of his enemies with frightening accuracy. He’d been armed to the teeth and hadn’t even touched a gun yet. That would’ve been too merciful.

15.

He kept a running tally of his kills as he was taught, his entire body searching for signs of you and Rumlow. Somehow he knew you wouldn’t be far apart. So as he worked his way deeper into the base and found two men, one with a scarred face that was vaguely familiar and a blonde who looked like a cheap knock off of Steve in front of a door with a heavy lock, he knew he’d found you.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Bucky would know that voice anywhere, and he merely stared at Rumlow. He knew his icy flat stare was unsettling and used it to his advantage. But despite the fear Bucky could smell off of Rumlow as Steve finally made it to Bucky’s side, he continued to talk shit.

“Too bad you’re too late. Your girl’s cunt is good stuff. I see why you’d kill for—” The knife lodged itself in Rumlows shoulder with a sickening thud and the man cried out in pain. And then Walker tried to back away, looking for ways to escape.

“Son, just don’t.” Steve warned before the coward ran, making Steve curse before going after him.

“Open the door.” Bucky’s voice was monotone, another knife appearing in his hand before it was thrown into Rumlows thigh.

“Over my dead body.” Rumlow tried to aim his gun at Bucky, but it was quick work to break his hand and toss the gun away. Bucky grabbed Rumlow by the throat in his metal hand and began to squeeze.

“Open. The. Door.” Bucky murmured lowly, watching with satisfaction as Rumlow slowly turned purple from the lack of oxygen. Just before he would’ve snapped Rumlows throat the man gasped out,

“Open, code R-two-D-seven-alpha-eight-six.” His voice was barely audible but the technology beeped anyway, the lock turning green. Bucky loosened his grip on Rumlow but didn’t release him.

Dragged him behind as he walked to the door, hesitating for the first time since this all started. Would you even want to see him?

When he stepped inside he was ready to grovel, apologize in every language he knew.

What he wasn’t prepared for was you launching yourself at him blindly, kicking and biting and screaming,

“You’re not gonna fucking touch me!” Rumlow got dropped like a sack of bricks, gasping for air and choking on it as Bucky grabbed your hands gently, speaking as softly (he didn’t even know he could do that.)

“Это я. Я не позволю им прикоснуться к тебе.” It’s me. I won’t let them touch you. Bucky watched as you slowly stopped trying to attack him, looking at him for the first time.

“Y-you’re really here?” You couldn’t stop the way your voice trembled, your eyes darting over him as if you couldn’t really believe it.

“Da.” He nodded before looking over his shoulder at Rumlow on the ground, trying to force his body to move despite his injuries.

“You want me to kill this guy for you?” Bucky asked in English this time, making you blink in surprise.

“You can speak English? You can speak?” You blurted out in your typical sassy way, making Bucky smile for the first time in months.

“Focus, do you want me to kill him? Because I will.” He was completely serious and he watched you truly consider it for a while, before shaking your head.

“You can put a knife in his dick though.” You were completely serious and Rumlow tried to crawl away, but Bucky moved faster easily.

“Тебе не следовало брать ее.” You shouldn’t have taken her. You watched with bitter satisfaction as Bucky kicked Rumlow onto his back and threw his final knife into the bastards crotch. Watching him howl in pain made you smile, and you went to your Soldat’s side grabbing onto his metal arm.

You looked down at Rumlow and grinned. “Told you, asshole.”

Then some other guy, Captain fucking America you realized with a start poked his head in the door and glared at your Soldat.

“Bucky we need to go. Reunion can happen later. They’re going to destroy the base.” The blond spoke swiftly and your Soldat, Bucky?, nodded.

“Let’s go.”

“You’re name is Bucky—?” You tried to ask before you were swept into Bucky’s arms, his grip on you secure as he started running behind Steve.

“My name is James, but apparently my friends called me Bucky.” He explained quietly, not even the slightest bit out of breath as they ran until they found a car. Bucky set you inside like you were made of glass before coming to sit beside you and slamming the door shut. Steve took to the drivers seat with a roll of his eyes. Tires screeched as you all drove away, and for the first time since you’d been taken your body allowed itself to break down.

You breathing started to grow fast, too fast, as you hyperventilated and started to shake. Tears fell down your cheeks as you hugged yourself. Bucky reached for you and you flinched without thinking.

“It’s over. I swear I will never leave your side again. You… or the baby.” He spoke with such conviction, fierce protectiveness in his gaze when you finally did look at him.

“You knew about..?” You asked as you tried to keep your sobs in, feeling like you were going crazy with the different emotions raging through you. Fear, relief, hope, it was too much to process at once.

“I’ve been trying to get you back since the day they took you.” He admitted quietly, holding his hand out slower this time, palm up in supplication. “I’m so, so sorry I left you. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“They hurt you too. That’s why you worked for them.” It wasn’t a question, you’d seen the way his ‘handlers’ had treated him when you first met him. They spoke to him like a dog.

“I didn’t have a choice. You were what loosened their grip on me.” You took his hand, even though your fingers were trembling, and he brought your knuckles to his lips. “You saved me.”

“Then I guess we’re even.” You smiled a bit sadly, knowing it would be a long road to deal with everything that happened. But you were safe. And so was your baby. Even Bucky was back with you.

“10 minutes out to the quinjet.” Steve spoke quietly, and you startled. You honestly forgot he was there.

“Thanks Stevie.” (You noticed the way Steve’s eyes went wide, grew misty as he drove, and you wondered why that was.) Bucky carefully pulled you closer so he could wrap his arms around you, so his bones could know that you were safe.

“Where are we going?” You asked, looking up at him worriedly. “What about the baby? They wanted the baby, won’t they come for me again?”

“Let them fucking try.” Bucky growled, his arms tightening around you. “I’ll figure something out. But for now, just rest. I’ll keep watch.”

Now that he mentioned it, you were exhausted. And you trusted him. He’d come for you, just like you knew he would. And no matter what happened in the future, you knew he’d always come for you.

So you nodded, cuddled closer into his chest and promptly fell asleep.

~

Bucky carried your sleeping form into the plane, and Steve was amazed by how gentle his friend was with you. Bucky wouldn’t let you out of his arms let alone his sight.

Steve still couldn’t believe it. Bucky, who he’d thought was dead, was alive and somehow freed from HYDRA’s control. Bucky, who he’d thought was so broken by HYDRA that he barely remembered Steve, had called him Stevie like they were kids again.

And Steve knew it was because of you.

He was glad he’d put some other plans into motion while they’d been preparing to come get you. Plans that included Pepper creating a legal case in Bucky’s defense and sending Natasha to uncover HYDRA’s secrets to expose them.

It wouldn’t be easy, and there would always be people looking to get their hands on your possibly enhanced baby. But with the way Bucky was curled around you like a dragon with his treasure—Steve wasn’t worried. Anyone who tried to come for you again would have to deal with a wrath the likes of which no one had ever lived to tell.

Hell hath no fury like Bucky when it came to you.

[mo7hmmad]

Your help saves my children and my family from war, hunger and genocide

Hello, I am Mohmmad AL-Swasy ,l am from in the north of Gaza Strip. Despite my feeling of shame, I am writing this letter and appeal after hesitation and confusion.

Fear forced me to tell you that I have been living through a genocidal war for more than 10 months. Many times I stayed with my family after the destruction of our home and the martyrdom of my relatives, as we suffered from hunger, poverty, and lack of the minimum necessities of life, and we fled to many places. I am still afraid of losing any member of my family during the journey of displacement and suffering. There is no safety anywhere in Gaza. We have lost everything, our health, our dreams, our future, our ordinary life. I never expected in my entire life to ask for something like this or financial assistance from anyone, but the current situation Disastrous and crazy, as my family and I need this money to escape this nightmare and cross the border at a cost of approximately $75,000 in lives. Now I have no options so I created a GoFundMe link for Your Humanity to support me and my family to survive

This fundraising campaign is a last resort for me to help us escape the war and reunite with the family, finally I am collecting these donations to escape with my family from this war and try to reach safety

Your help and contribution means a lot to us, as it means compassion and solidarity for justice, and any donation from you will enrich our lives.

[redflowersociety]

Reacting to you getting hit on - Mouthwashing HC

Includes all characters. Pretense of you being their partner (excluding Swansea, though he is included).

Jimmy

He is beyond pissed off. Both at the person hitting on you for coming anywhere near what’s supposed to be his, and at you (as if it’s your fault for being perceived). He curses the person out, making it clear to them and everybody around that you’re HIS partner. He makes a show of it in front of this stranger to repair his ego after the event. He’s the type of guy to drag you away, and forcefully make out with you within eyeshot of the person. He made a point to push all the right buttons to get you melting into his touch and meeting all his demands. He knows how to get you subservient, and that fact reassures him of his control.

After this, though? Expect him to be extra insecure for the following days. He’s completely convinced that you’d try to wriggle out of his grasp given the chance, and he just couldn’t let that happen. So he doesn’t let you go out the house without him, and when you both *are* out, he’s always got a hand on you, never allowing you out of his grasp. He needs both you, and everyone around to know that you already belong to somebody: him.

Curly

Curly trusts you. For him to settle with you, he must have a connection strong enough to reassure him that he won’t be used for his kindness, so of course he trusts you. He watches as you gently turn down the stranger, standing by but never once moving his gaze off of you two (mostly you). If he notices the stranger doesn’t take the first no, he steps in. He doesn’t mean to make you feel like a damsel in distress in need of saving, but he can’t bring himself to stand by and watch you get harassed. He promised to himself he wouldn’t stand by instead of protecting those he cares for, so he won’t.

Overall, it doesn’t stick with him in a negative way. Instead, your handling of the situation reassures him that he’s your only interest.

Post Crash

Although he has the same mentality as pre-crash Curly, there is an extra piece: He is horribly insecure of his appearance, and all that it represents. He shared to you the events that transpired on the Tulpar as a way of holding himself accountable. Every moment that passes, the guilt and hatred of his body plants seeds of doubt into his mind: Anybody is more attractive and could provide for you better than him. His past with Jimmy doesn’t help these feeling either.

So, it’s safe to say that the situation sticks with him. It makes it harder for him to accept reassurance. It takes a long time, and a LOT of reassurance for him to move on from it.

Daisuke

Daisuke is completely trusting of your love for him, but not of his own abilities or accomplishments. So, when he sees a guy with expensive jewelry or a well-kept appearance trying to get your number, it stings his heart. It’s not jealousy, as he knows that he’s the only one you want: it’s shame. He feels shameful that he can’t the perfect guy for somebody so perfect (you).

It’s not hard to notice that he’s feeling down when you hurry towards him after the interaction. You pull him somewhere a bit more private and cup his squishy cheeks, asking him what’s got him so upset. He hesitates for a moment, but soon leaves his emotions in your hands with the tears in his eyes that he just can’t manage to keep back.

He’d spill his guts to you about his worries, how he feels inadequate. You would have expected this, seeing how hard he tries to impress Swansea for approval. With a whole heap of kisses all over his face and neck, and soft spoken reassurance and words of encouragement, he’ll be back on his feet in no time.

Anya

Anya struggles to accept that others may see her for more than her body. So when she sees a woman with a more conventionally attractive body or face than her own hitting on you… she can’t help but feel a twinge of fear. Watching you reject the stranger kindly, however, reassured her again: she knew you weren’t that kind of person. You were never that shallow.

If a man happens to approach you, and won’t leave you alone, Anya pretends to be your sister or something similar to try to drive the man away. Safety in numbers, as they say. She’ll pull you away, and when times get desperate, it’ll be the first time you found out Anya never leaves her home without pepper spray!

Generally speaking, seeing you hit on doesn’t make her jealous or anything! She just wants you happy, letting your actions do the job at reminding her why she decided to give her heart to you.

Swansea

Who you share time with isn’t Swansea’s concern, he’s not your dad (or at least that’s what he tells himself)! But, if he did catch a glimpse of somebody making you uncomfortable…? Yeah, he’s stepping in and intimidating the shit out of the other person. Like hell he’d let some creep treat you that way when there’s something he can do about it!

If he caught you flirting back with someone, knowing you’ve got a partner… he’d definately be dissapointed.

Unless your partner was Jimmy. If it’s Jimmy, he’s hoping this stranger plays their cards right.