#the amount of self loathing if he were to break his arm/hand

[sogekyng-a]

because im not able to do much because of my hand being wrapped up like a club, imagine when usopp breaks his hand/arm and chopper tells him that he cant do much with it.

so he cant fiddle with things in his workshop until chopper gives him the okay. he'd feel useless.

NOT ONLY THAT the straw hats would be down a sniper until usopp is healed enough to use his weapons. he'd bury his head in gardening work since he can at least do that with one hand.

[utterlyotterlyx]

Sweet Creature

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - The bond snaps after a rather brutal breakup, and after witnessing you with another Vanserra, Azriel is trying to find a way to avoid being hurt once again.

Warnings - fluff, angst, pining, swearing, unrequited love, heartbreak, sad Az, happy ending (yay!)

Word count - 8.4k (oops)

Based on this ask

It had become so intense in the House of Wind that you had little to no choice in moving yourself to the River House. Between Nesta and Cassian's bustling sex life and the constant bickering arguments between Azriel and Elain, you decided that you needed some peace.

And fast.

Rhys had welcomed you at the door that day, his sort-of sister in arms surrounded by brown leather bags that he could almost envision you launching down the House of Wind steps just to escape as fast as possible. Flipping him off and smirking at his chuckle, you slipped around his form stood in the doorway and headed right to Nyx who was more than thrilled to see you, babbling incoherently and grabbing for you the moment you were in eyeshot.

"I take it that it's getting a bit loud over there?" Rhys turned to you, his shirt half unbuttoned and hands burrowed into his pockets. He was lucky. To have a mate and a child. To not have to live with the band of animals currently residing in the Night Court's most opulent residence.

"How am I supposed to get anything done wedged between that lot?" Nyx smiled at your cooing, lapping up all of your love and affection, "I'd much rather be here with my favourite prince."

Within minutes, your bags were taken upstairs by Rhys who was grumbling to himself about never being able to have any peace to which you blissfully quipped that you'd be out of his hair the moment he bought you a lavish apartment in the city. It wasn't as if he couldn't afford it after all.

Your position within the Inner Circle was irreplaceable. Not only were you Rhys' childhood best friend, the only one he could truly depend on before Cassian and Azriel flew into the picture, but you were also known as a witch. A powerful celestial being that had the capability to destroy and create as you saw fit with an affinity to sky and water magic.

The scales could have tilted in the wrong direction had you truly taken up Amarantha's offer to be her pet, the only reason you had confined yourself to that chamber Under The Mountain was to make sure that Rhys survived, and you played your part well, just as you always had.

A break was needed, the air in the House of Wind was almost suffocating, and no amount of your power was able to drown it. Elain was spending more time with Lucien, her mate, and Azriel was not happy about it considering that they were meant to be in a committed relationship. The barking insults and shouting had become too much to bare, so intense that your own power was itching for release in order to silence them for at least a couple of minutes.

"They're going to break up, aren't they?" Rhys certainly wouldn't be the first to tell Azriel I told you so, but he'd certainly be thinking it when the Shadowsinger would inevitably return to the River House just like you had to escape the nightmare of his life.

Humming softly, sadly, you looked up at Rhys, your godson in your arms resting his head on your chest, "I think so. Az hasn't been himself lately."

It was true, your friend had become a shell of himself, wallowing in self-loathing and doubt, and you cursed Elain eternally for turning him into such a thing. How anyone could hurt Azriel was beyond your scope of realisation, he was perfect in every way, devoted, kind, caring, and definitely a force to be reckoned with in the bedroom if your ears served you right.

Being attracted to Azriel was a natural bodily response, you had told yourself at least, it was difficult to not want to jump the bones of the illustrious Shadowsinger who kept a watchful eye on your every step. Like he was waiting for his moment to swoop in and save you.

But you had never needed saving, and you never would.

Elain and you had never really gotten along, it wasn't as though you hadn't tried to be friendly with the Made sister, she just couldn't stand to be around you. Maybe her own abilities clashed with yours, perhaps she was terrified of you. You couldn't blame her, the idea of you was one that stalked travellers and gifted nightmares to the young.

A celestial witch. In the flesh.

Anyone who knew you well enough would be able to dispel any wrongful intent, but Elain was not one of those people.

"I did warn him," Rhys' finger drifted to hook itself around Nyx's outstretched hand, and he shook it gently as he continued on, "A mating bond is not something to get entangled with."

"Az needs us to be his friends right now, Rhys. A breakup on its own is awful, but when it's so close, when he's been waiting so long for it, it's bound to hurt."

A firm hand on your shoulder comforted you, you knew how tough it must be for Azriel to go through it, after how painful it was to hold out hoping that he would be enough to suddenly not be, "I know, Witchling," you scoffed at the nickname as you always had and always would, Rhys pressed a dainty kiss into your hair, like a brother to a newly born sister, "Whatever he needs, I'm here, and so are you."

If you had known what awaited you that week, you'd take the telling words back in a second.

Like you had guessed, Azriel moved back into the River House, residing in his own room across the hall from your own. And boy, was he a raincloud if you ever did see one. Even his shadows looked solemn, and they didn't have faces. Azriel looked positively awful, constantly messy hair, large bags of onyx that imprinted onto the skin beneath his usually warm hazel eyes that had turned into nothing but dark pools of heartbroken sadness.

In the night, you had heard him crying, you'd stood outside of his door, not saying a word, but hoping that he knew that someone was there for him even if he didn't want them to be.

You had tried to talk to him, to coax him out of his haze by offering to train with him, or walk with him along the banks of the Sidra, you'd even asked him if beating your ass whilst you wore a mask of Lucien would bring a smile to his face. Unfortunately, everything you had tried had failed you, and you were at a loss as to help your friend.

"Honestly Rhys, how do you reach anything in here?" Rhys was hovering in the doorway, eyebrow raised with delight as he watched you try and scale the countertops to reach the top shelf of the cupboard.

There were chocolate chips for your cookies up there, and they had your name all over them.

"It's not my fault you're not Illyrian," his eyes darkened into a smirk, "Why don't you just hop onto your broomstick and fly?"

Even a silent Azriel emitted a gasp from his place on the opposite side of the centre island. If there was one thing you hated, it was being likened to the witches children sang about in their storybooks. It offended you how utterly unalike you were, and it made you seethe when someone, usually Rhys or Cassian, would use that hatred to rile you up.

"Oh," you stood on the countertop, towering over the High Lord by a few mere inches, "Is that why all of the doorways are so wide? Because your fat fucking head needs all the room it can get?"

Rhys stood speechless before you, the room fell silent.

Then a laugh.

Not yours of Rhys', you had to check it wasn't you making any noise before your eyes landed on the owner of the most joyful thing you'd heard in weeks.

A smile. Curled parted lips as a howling laugh ripped through them. Azriel's shadows danced to the sound, and his body shook with it. You could have cried, but you kept it together, you choked down your happiness to witness the momentary return of the one who meant the most to you.

It was no secret that you used to be Azriel's favourite. There was nothing that the two of you wouldn't do together, even if it was a medial task like taking you to the bakery or finding you a new Starfall dress that would make Mor dim in comparison. Azriel was always happy to come along. Until Elain, and then you had stopped seeing another, you'd drifted so far apart that he didn't even properly greet you anymore, all you were adorned with was a curt nod and tight lipped smile before Elain would whisk him away.

The male in front of you was nothing like that one, not in that singular glimmer of hope at least. Once his laughter died down, and a serene smile planted itself on his lips, Azriel opened his eyes and moved them to you, they glowed with something you couldn't quite understand, and then they widened. His eyes faltered. His smile faded.

Azriel gasped.

"Mate."

Darting your line of sight to Rhys, you pointed at him, flickering your gaze back to Azriel who had rose from his seat "Him?"

Rhys swatted your finger away, "I'm mated, y/n," Rhys glanced between you and took a step backward.

"So?" It couldn't be. Not right now. Not now.

"I can't do this," Azriel was struggling to breathe, his chest was rising and falling rapidly, sweat beaded at his brow and his skin had paled.

Scrambling down from the worktop, you went to take a step toward him, one that he mirrored in the opposing direction, furling his wings behind his back and clawing his shadows into submission, "Don't, Az. I can go."

The visible wince of pain that shot through you was enough for Azriel to suck in a breath and disappear from sight. The bond was dull, a golden thread soaring across the night sky to meet a shield of inked darkness. Azriel had closed you off. Shut you out.

Silence befell the kitchen, the chocolate chips you had gotten from the top shelf now scattered across the dark oak wood beneath your bare feet. Rhys had never seen you cry, he almost thought it impossible, but then he saw that single tear roll down your cheek, he could feel the pain radiating from you from finding your mate for him only to run from you.

"Hey, it's alright," he wrapped you into his arms, shushing you softly as he ran his fingers through your hair to soothe the quiet sobs rattling your shoulders, "It's going to be fine, y/n. Azriel's just confused, he'll be thrilled soon. Just you wait."

The snap had been gentle, like you had just come home after a long day, like you'd stepped through the door to see everyone you had ever loved all in one place and he was at the epicentre of it. Safe. Warm. Perfect.

Being a witch, you were never sure how life would look for you. Not even the cauldron understood your kind, you had always thought that perhaps the cauldron overlooked your species for the things most pure, like mating bonds and children. Witchlings were rare, you were the lone example of it, perhaps a part of you thought that you weren't allowed to have any love or joy, that you weren't good enough for it.

And there it was right in front of you, with the male a part of you had always yearned for, dancing in ash.

In the weeks that followed, Azriel did all he could to avoid you. No reason was good enough to make Azriel even glance in your direction let alone utter anything to you.

It had gotten to the point where you had asked Rhys for the keys to the cabin, you packed up your things and stepped through time to stand on that cold wooden floor with moonlight drifting through the small square windows.

You’d never thought that you could ever feel so alone, but as you stood there in a cabin so cold that you could see your own breath, the loneliness certainly began to set in.

There was little else to do other than light a fire to warm the little cabin on the outskirts of the city and run a bath; the tub was surrounded by candles, the ottoman at the foot of it was full of scented oils and salts which made your heart flutter. At least if you were to wallow in your own heartbreak you’d be able to do it smelling like the ocean surrounded by candlelight.

Bubbles crept up your neck as you sank into the wooden tub, it should have been a tranquil moment for you, but it was far from it in reality.

Az, please. Just talk to me. I'm still y/n, I'm still your friend. Things don't have to change.

Instead of enjoying the alone time like you should have considering that it was rare to have a minute of peace in a city full of needy children, you sat and let your mind wonder just how everything had gotten so messed up. You understood his confusion, really, you did, you understood how conflicting it must have been for him to separate with Elain, the female he was ready to spend the rest of his existence with, to then find out he was mated to you, not just you as his friend, but you as a witch.

Talk to me.

Too many tears had been spilled, you couldn't stop them from flowing from your eyes each time Azriel would fumble some excuse to get away from you. The bond was cold, it was like trying to break through a shield, an icy 10 foot deep floor that wouldn't even crack under whatever you would throw at it.

If you need me to leave then I will, Az. I'll leave for you, so you can have space, so you can think.

In the weeks that followed the revelation, you'd done all you could to try and get through to him, to let him know that you weren't expecting him to accept it, that he could take all the time he needed to process everything before speaking to you, all you needed was a sign that he was listening to you, that you mattered. It didn't surprise you that Azriel hadn't exactly thought about you in the predicament, of what it had done to you, and you couldn't even be angry at him over it because you'd be the same.

It didn't mean that it didn't hurt though.

Dark skies littered with blinking starlight was cast overhead, too beautiful to be real, too beautiful that you were sure that it was some kind of abstract painting on a black canvas. The cabin used to be one of your favourite places, Azriel and you used to escape there frequently, spending nights upon nights drinking Rhys' best wine and talking about everything and nothing.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from the memories, your eyes drifted to the clock softly ticking on the wall and you frowned, it was quite late. Lifting yourself from the tub, you wrapped a towel around your frame and padded over to the door, your wet footprints embedding themselves in the wood below. Slight disappointment sliced through you when you opened the door to see Mor, Nesta and Feyre on the deck shivering in the brisk breeze.

"We brought supplies," Nesta pushed past you, placing a wicker basket on the table and shrugging off her coat, "By supplies I mean wine, wine, and more wine."

Mor and Feyre entered, sniffing the air with soft smiles, they had always loved your scent, it was peaceful, like ocean waves lapping against the side of a mountain at dusk, airy, blissful, fresh.

The news had spread around the Inner Circle rather quickly thanks to Rhys, he had told Cassian, and well, Cassian wasn't exactly known for holding his tongue. The Lord of Bloodshed had apologised to you, feeling guilty for making things worse between you and Azriel, but you didn't mind. All you wanted was for the Shadowsinger to simply look at you. Anything else was a pointless worry. Not worth your time.

Tugging the towel tighter around your frame, you forced a smile, "This is really nice. Thank you."

Strangely, both Nesta and Feyre had been surprisingly supportive of the bond between you and Azriel. To them it made sense, you had been friends for over 500 years, you both struggled with fitting in, and you only felt truly comfortable to let your walls down around one another. To them, the bond had been there for a long time, waiting for the perfect moment. Too bad that the perfect moment had ended up making feel like the most worthless creature on the planet.

"Has he let you in yet?" Nesta rested her hand on your shoulder, her other hand was busy handing you a goblet of wine which you hugged closely to your chest and shook your head, "I'm sorry y/n. I really thought he would have by now."

"Give it time. He'll come around," Feyre draped her cloak over the arm of one of the dining chairs, smoothing out her skirt. It had always astounded you just how perfect they all were, the Archeron sisters that is, it was hard to understand how any male couldn't be attracted to them. They were quite heavenly.

"You've all been saying that for weeks," you shrugged off Nesta's hand, exasperated, "If anything he's become colder. Azriel doesn't acknowledge me, he looks right through me, he finds any reason possible to not be in the same room as me and when he sees me in the halls he turns on his heels and runs."

"I'm now living in this damned cabin hoping that some space will help him," your shoulders dropped, "I've waited my entire existence for this, I started to think that I wasn't worthy of it, and when it happened and the bond snaps with the one person I know that I could be truly happy with," your bottom lip wobbled slightly, but you choked it down and swallowed hard, "He ran."

Mor leaned forward in her seat, wide eyes under her perfectly sculpted furrowed brows, "It has nothing to do with you, y/n."

"How am I supposed to believe that when he won't even look at me?"

Something thick and fluffy draped over you, Nesta's robe that you always eyed was resting on your shoulders, "Go and get in your comfy clothes, then we can talk and bitch until all you feel is anger."

Amongst the chatter, you spied the three leather bags full to the brim of differing clothes and cosmetics, and then you realised that you weren't alone, not really, not when those three bags of clothes and trinkets belonged to the three females in the cabin with you, clearly ready to move in and stay with you until you were ready to face life again.

Who needed a man when you had three raging bitch queens?

Nesta was right, you just had to get back to work.

If anything was going to be able to distract you from that aching in your chest, then it would be work.

Luckily, Rhys, whilst he loved your abilities greatly, saw you as much more than just a celestial witch residing in his court, he likened you to a sister, blood family, which meant that he trusted no one more than you to act on his behalf when it came to court politics.

Holding such a position meant that you were rather close with the High Lords, they never saw you as Rhys' lackey at all, they saw you as a being that cared greatly about the continent who would stop at nothing to ensure harmony in all jurisdictions. Such a role meant that you were also required to entertain the High Lords whenever they visited Velaris, a place you had extended to them after the war to aid their research and better their own courts, with your help of course.

That particular evening, Rhys had asked you to entertain a certain High Lord of Autumn, Eris Vanserra; he was visiting Lucien and his new mate, Elain, and the entire visit was putting Azriel on edge. So, naturally, you couldn't say no.

"I always love our dinners, y/n," Eris' whisky amber gaze burned into you, searching the supernatural speckles in your own.

It was no secret that Eris had a flame for you, a being he found intriguing beyond belief, in the grasp of the Night Court when Eris knew how much you would thrive in Autumn by his side. The High Lord had offered Rhys pretty much everything he could to try and convince him to let him near you. All attempts had been swiftly denied.

Plates were littered with blotches of sauce and chicken bones, two empty bottles of red had been disposed of long ago, and you were just about to order that sticky toffee slice that made your toes curl when Eris asked, "When were you going to tell me about you and Azriel, hm?"

Candlelight drifted over the side of his face, illuminating his eyes against the darkening backdrop. "What are you talking about?"

Eris smirked, swirling the second glass of your third bottle that evening in perfect circles in his palm, "Come on, y/n. You reek of him, that cedar scent that even I have to admit is rather interesting."

In all of your self wallowing and sudden busyness you hadn't realised that the scent of the mating bond lingered on you, entwining with your scent of blissful oceans to create something new, something drowning. Something suffocating.

"I can admit that the news did hurt me, just a little bit," Eris, since the war, had allowed his hair to grow out. It sat just below his shoulders, layered and playful, he had it lazily pulled back low on his head. Something about that hair and those eyes made you question everything you knew, and you did know that you weren't the only one who felt like that when around the High Lord of Autumn.

Fluttering your lashes at Eris, you ran your fingers across the line of your bodice, "I apologise. It seems that fate wanted to lead me elsewhere."

Eris dismissed the waiter, eyes grinning at you through his lashes, "Let's go to Rita's. I need to drink some more, and you," he pointed to you, knowing that he was interrupting a rather important date with a rather important pudding, and said, "Need to loosen up, Witchling."

That fucking name.

You were sure that steam was emitting from your ears, but you couldn't deny that he was right, you couldn't really remember the last time you let loose and danced the night into oblivion. So you grabbed your purse from the table, a ornate gold cage that matched the intricate details of your skirt, and rose from your seat, "I hate how right you are, Vanserra. Let's go."

The High Lord towered over you, like all of them did really, stupid high fae and Illyrians and their stupid perfect genes making them so handsome and mysterious and utterly fuckable.

Stumbling from the restaurant at the edge of the Sidra, you looped your arm through Eris' and he practically had to pull you along the streets of the city or else you'd go and do a ritual in a field or something. Despite his crush, Eris found that part you a bit odd. In a way, you did too.

"When are you going to come to Autumn, Witchling? You know you'd love it there."

Eris propositioned you with the notion every time he saw you, he clearly thought that if he pestered you about it enough then you'd agree to it one day. Even just a fleeting visit would be enough to satisfy him. Just a day or two. You couldn't deny that Autumn piqued your interest, and with everything going on, perhaps a little break would do you some good.

"Maybe sooner than you think," despite the shameless flirting, you were glad that you could call Eris your friend, underneath that mask of loathing, you found the High Lord to be complex, and he appreciated your understanding. You were the only being that had ever approached him with kindness and treated him for who he truly was and not what he displayed. "All of this stuff with Azriel is spinning my mind. I feel like I'm going insane."

Eris hummed, tugging you a bit tighter into his side as he draped his arm over your shoulder, something completely platonic that you knew would send a certain someone spiralling, "That's what mating bonds do, y/n. I know that everyone keeps on telling you that he'll come around, I hope he does. Truly." It was the first time you had seen him say something and know that he was sincere of it "But, for tonight and tonight only, you are mine and we are going to drink and dance until we physically can't anymore, alright?"

Inhaling deeply, you met his gaze, "Alright."

Rita's was packed to the brim, you could feel the music thumping through the air so intensely that the ground beneath your feet was vibrating in time with the bass. Suddenly, you felt overdressed, but Eris commanded that you not think of it as he pulled you through the doors and past the guards who nodded at you with a curt smile as you clicked by.

In Velaris, you were quite known for being the wild one, the entire city was in awe of you and the powers you displayed so beautifully. More often than not, you would be found in the poorer parts of the city enchanting the children with your magic, curls of water would dance along their cheeks, and they would gasp when you would pluck a star from the sky and rest it in the palm of your hand. You knew what it felt like to feel alone and forgotten, being the last existing witch in your coven and all, and you didn't want anyone else to feel like that. So, if some water and a star would bring some form of happiness to those children, then you'd spend the rest of your life bringing them that wonder.

Eris tugged you through the grinding bodies, some of which parted as soon as they saw your eyes glistening in the lights, and stopped at the bar, shouting over the music to order drinks for you both before he turned, handing you a glass of what you could only assume was straight liquor, "To stealing you from the Night Court, Witchling," Eris raised his glass, rolling your eyes, you met it with a clink and wasted no time in downing the liquid, relishing in the burn that travelled down your throat and chest.

"Keep dreaming, Vanserra."

Hand on heart, Eris swayed into you, "Oh believe me, y/n, I do."

If you had known who was staring at you from across the room then you would have taken a step away from Eris, much like if you had seen the shadows followed you since you left the cabin that evening you wouldn't have agreed to go to Rita's. It was too late to do anything when your eyes connected with his, yours widened in surprise and solemn shock as his own narrowed, flickering between you and Eris before softening.

Of course, the first time Azriel actually looked at you was when you were stood beside Eris Vanserra, a High Lord, the brother of the one now laying with Elain.

Fuck.

It was like he didn't even see you really, he only saw Eris standing far too close to the one the cauldron had decided to be his mate. There was no way to be blind to the hatred between them, and with Azriel's temper and Eris' flare for the dramatics, you weren't surprised that Rhys had asked you to entertain the latter for the evening.

Noticing how your body froze, Eris frowned, he followed your line of sight to the Shadowsinger perched at a booth across the room ignoring both Cassian and Rhys who were trying to speak to him, to keep him calm.

Rhys. I didn't know.

I know, y/n. It'll be fine. We can handle Az if you can handle Eris.

Stiffly nodding, you turned to speak to Eris, to convince him to leave and find another place to drink, but he was gone. Then you saw his red hair moving through the crowd and you cursed, colourfully, and you scrambled through the crowd to try and reach him before he did something stupid.

Rushing up the steps to the usual booth reserved for the Inner Circle only, you stopped in your tracks as Eris' voice sliced through the chilled air, "When are you going to give our sweet y/n a break, Rhys? I keep on asking her to come to Autumn but she keeps on refusing."

Stop talking.

"It seems that she could use a break now more than ever."

Stop fucking talking.

"Especially since the bond is unrequited and she's sat in that little cabin day in day out wondering what her fate will be."

Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you tugged on him, harshly, like you were reprimanding a dog on a leash, "Stop talking."

Little did you know, that one touch alone was enough to make Azriel visibly flinch and shudder with pain. That one act pierced his heart deadlier than Elain ever had or could, the way your fingers rested just over Eris' pulse, the way you looked at him with flame in your eyes, it was too much.

Eris wouldn't hurt you, you were the closest thing he had to a true friend, bit his loosened lips would be the end of you, "You both know that this isn't fair on her. Why is she the one who has to sit in misery and move to the outskirts of this city in order to make your poor Azriel more comfortable?"

Tension bubbled, Rhys was slowly rising from his seat whilst Cassian angled himself in front of Azriel, probably to stop the Shadowsinger from doing something he would come to regret, "Eris, you're making it worse," he finally gave you his attention, "Just wait outside for me, we can find somewhere else to drink, okay?"

It took him a moment, but your pleading eyes convinced him to listen, and Eris moved from your side, disappearing from you and leaving you stood before three Illyrians, all of which you were sure didn't wish to be around you in that moment. Fiddling with your fingers, you looked up from the ground at them, "I'm sorry. I didn't know that you were going to be here. You told me to keep him entertained, I'm sorry."

Rhys froze, his breath caught in his throat, and Azriel was glaring at him with such intensity that it made even you shrink, and you didn't shrink away from anything or anyone, "I'll go. I'm sorry," your chest ached when Azriel didn't even glance in your direction, instead keeping his gaze trained on his High Lord who simply nodded once at you.

Then you left, you grasped Eris by the lobe of his ear and dragged him away from Rita's before Azriel could make him pay for his words, or even worse, Rhys. It took only a few blocks for Eris to swat your hand away, "I'm not a child, y/n." Eris rubbed the red tinged patch of skin at his ear with a pout.

Velaris watched on as you bundled down a cobbled path toward the bank of the Sidra, a place you went to often to channel your magic, it was serene and beautiful, and had been the perfect place for you to find your calm in the midst of such brutality, "That is my mate, Eris. Do you understand that? Azriel is going through so much already, he lost Elain to Lucien," Eris cocked his brow in warning but you continued, "Elain was meant to be the one for him, and as long as Az was happy then I could choke down everything I had ever felt for him because he deserved all of the happiness possible after everything he's been through. I could live alone for the rest of my days as long as he was happy. Then it turns out that he's mine, that he was always meant to be mine, it should have been the best day of our lives," tears pooled on your bottom lids and you were sick of it, of crying, you had never cried, it wasn't in your nature but it was all you could do these days.

"Azriel can't even look at me, I had to move out of the River House and isolate myself from everyone I love just to give him a moment to think and process everything," you turned to Eris, "You just had to prod him, didn't you? You just had to get under his skin. Do you know how this looks? Elain chose Lucien and then he sees me drinking with you?"

Eris ran a hand over his face and sighed, "I didn't mean to make things difficult, y/n. I just want what's best for you, what you deserve."

"I know and I appreciate that, I really do. I just wanted things to get better, not worse."

It astounded Eris how Azriel wasn't over to moon to have you as his mate, you were elegant and graceful, a formidable opponent, tactical and sharp, and one of the most beautiful creatures to ever walk under the skies of Prythian. Perhaps he could have been a touch more sensitive to the situation at hand.

The moonlight waltzed over the rippling waters of the Sidra which acted as a mirror to the sky above, clear and bright, full of possibility.

The bond strained in your soul, empty and unrequited, a lone dying ember searching for its flame, and you knew then that Azriel was going to pull away from you more than ever.

"You should go back to the House of Wind," your voice was small and weak, "I'll see you before you leave tomorrow."

Eris took a step toward you, fumbling, knowing that he had messed up, "Please, y/n."

"Eris," he paused his movements, "Just go. I'll see you tomorrow."

Knowing that nothing was going to change your stubborn mind, Eris retreated up the embankment and down the cobbled path, leaving you completely and utterly alone.

Pebbles brushed together under your weight, moving flat to accommodate your position. You hugged your knees to your chest, unclasping your heels and tossing them aside, rubbing the skin on your ankles softly to alleviate the pinching that was once there.

How long could you go like this? How long would be able to deal with the rejection before it broke you? How long until you took Eris up on his offer and left Velaris forever?

You didn't have much time to think of an answer, not when a familiar cool pressure coiled at the small of your back, travelling up your spine and over your shoulders. The shadows drifted through your hair and you smiled sadly at them, at the sweet sign to tell you that you weren't alone.

"How did you find me?"

A shuffle sounded from behind you, shoes scraping along the pebbles, "This is our place. Where else would you go?"

You turned then, peering over your shoulder at him, examining him for a moment. Azriel certainly looked better, his eyes had lightened by a couple of hues and his skin was healthy an tanned to perfection, though, sadness and doubt still lingered in his eyes.

Silently cursing yourself, you turned back to the water. It was yours and Azriel's place, it always had been, until Elain came along that is and then it became your place. Whenever either of you had a bad day, the other would bring them there, to listen to the water rushing up on the rocks and watch the stars, and you'd talk, about anything that was bothering you and causing you any pain, and then suddenly you'd be alright again.

You rose from the ground, brushing little fragments of twigs and dirt from the golden swirls of your skirt, and Azriel gazed at you as you did, wondering how his best friend had become a stranger so quickly, "If I had known you were there tonight I wouldn't have taken him."

"I know," Azriel had his hands bundled into his pockets, afraid that if they lingered at his side then he would reach for you and risk a whole other world of pain, "I think we need to break the bond."

The world stopped moving.

"What?"

Azriel repeated, "I think we need to break the bond."

Break the bond.

It writhed in your chest, it writhed in pain and sorrow, striking you so deeply that you thought you may stop breathing, "I can't do it again. I can't be broken like this again, not with another Vanserra, not with anyone."

Thumping in your chest, your heart cried out, lurching around in its cage, and you struggled to form any words, "Az-"

"It's what's best for us, y/n."

No. No, no, no.

"How can you say that?" Azriel frowned, his hazel orbs softening, like he too was in pain, "I have done everything I can to give you space to process this, I moved out of our home, twice, to give you space to process whatever you need to process and feel whatever it is that you need to feel. I have gone 500 years being perfectly content of being your friend and that alone, because that was better than not having you at all. I stood by and watched you pine for Mor, and then her, the one who put such a wedge between us that I was reduced to polite hellos and nods. But I dealt with it, for you and your happiness. I dealt with all of the comparisons and pain, I dealt with the punishment of your feelings for her. I would deal with every ounce of hatred you throw at me if it meant that you would feel better, hoping that one day you'd realise that I have always been here for you, that I have always loved you in ways that no one else ever could."

You were pacing up and down the riverbank, pebbles knocking together as you walked, and Azriel stood before you unmoving, unknowing of what to say and only knowing that he needed it to end, "You never even gave it a chance," your choked whisper put him on edge.

Azriel had never seen you cry, had never heard of it happening, clearly Rhys had negated to tell him just how deeply the last few weeks had impacted you. To the point where you had actually cried. Tears gathered at your bottom lids and he noticed how you looked up at the sky to prevent them from falling.

"You never let me in."

Everything within Azriel was screaming at him to reach for you, the bond that he had frozen in place behind a wall of shadow was battering against the shield like a ram to break free and comfort you.

You were right, you had been his best friend, one of the few he could ever really depend on for everything. Elain had never liked you, she had always blamed it on her abilities not being able to harmonise with your own, but Azriel had always known it was deeper than that. Elain was a seer, and somehow it hadn't dawned on Azriel just how much she could have been hiding.

Elain hated it when he spent time with you, and being as in love as he was, he believed that it was down to some strange jealously that lingered on the surface. No one would have blamed Elain for her jealousy, you were truly a sweet creature, the other half to his marred coin that he had so carelessly tossed away. What if Elain had seen something and had chosen to lead Azriel away from you in order to preserve what she wanted them to share?

"I've given you everything I can," you sounded utterly defeated, "I don't know what else to do, Azriel."

His name was like a sonnet on your lips, one of heart-breaking sadness and longing, and he stepped to it, his shadows swirled around his body and drifted out to you. They had always adored you. They had always sought after you, a stark difference to their hiding from Elain.

"I would ruin you, y/n. You deserve so much more, so much better than me," his fingers twitched for you, he was so close yet so far from holding you, from inhaling the coconut scent of your shampoo and the scent of your soul, of soft salted breezes and jasmine, "I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted you to feel like you weren't worthy of love, and I'm so sorry for making you think that you were alone in the world," you had cocked your head to the side in question, "Rhys told me."

Azriel took another step forward, exhaling with relief when you didn't make a move to get away from him, "Love scares me. Elain had my heart in the palm of my hand and then crushed it, and then the bond snapped with you, with the one person I know would never hurt me, and I just couldn't risk it. I can't risk it. I can't risk being broken again, I can't risk hurting you."

All this time, when Azriel had been wallowing in the loss of Elain, of having to deal with her and Lucien's bond, he had completely neglected you, and your feelings. It was something you had never done to him, something you never could.

A gentle breeze flowed through the air, it carried your scent to him, and on inhaling it, he felt his entire body relax, he felt his aching disappear, and it was as though the world had gotten clearer. You turned away from him, hands folded over your chest and facing the river so that he couldn't see your tears, "I thought I was destined to be alone. The rules of your kind and the fae have never really applied to me, even the Cauldron doesn't understand me. I thought that it took the chance of love from me, but now I see that it was just some cruel joke."

Let her in. Feel her.

The shadows cooed to him, faintly, like a lullaby to a new-born babe.

"If it'll bring you peace," your voice broke, "Then break it. Break the bond. I'll find some other place to be."

Don't let her get away. Mate. She loves you. Love her. Let her in.

As though the world was tilting, Azriel let down that wall, he felt that bond slither over the seam of it to reach you, and then what he felt brought him to his knees.

Love. Wanting. Hope. Pain. Sorrow. Longing.

It consumed him with light, fighting off the demons that had been left to plague him, decimating them with the most pure substance in Prythian. Love.

When you heard his knees hit the ground you had turned and ran to where he knelt on the pebbles, meeting him as you slid onto your own, ignoring the stabbing into your skin, "Az? Are you alright? What's wrong?" You cupped his face in your hands and he felt each one of your fingertips flow life back into him.

The two tethers to the bond were dancing with one another, meeting in the middle and thrumming as two became one, turning dark skies into ones of bright sun and opulent warmth.

It was you. Sweet and fierce you. You who had always protected him, you who had always put him first even when he couldn't return it. You.

"Az? Talk to me, tell me what's happening. Do I need to call for Rhys? I'll get him right-"

Azriel stopped you before you could rise to your feet, the act of wrapping his fingers around your wrists enough to make your words vanish in your mouth, "You love me."

Settling into the space before him, knee to knee with him and his shadows itching to pull you closer, you didn't remove your hands from his, the feeling of it so powerful that it wiped all of your pain away, "I always have."

Walks along the Sidra. Visits to the bakery. The countless thoughtful gifts for Winter Solstice. The nights spent locked away in the cabin talking about dreams and fears.

Azriel's fingers drifted along your cheek before resting there, his thumb softly soothing the tightness in your jaw, "Why did you never say anything?"

"Because you deserve to be happy, even if it isn't with me," Azriel watched your bottom lip wobble, and that stream of love within him rippled with upset. His thumb moved to it, dragging across that plump flesh that he had always wondered of the taste.

Would you taste sweet or of lightly salted oceans? Of the air at dusk perhaps?

All he had ever chased was happiness, how foolish of him to be blind to the fact he had always had it within you.

"I think the only time I've ever truly been happy, at peace, has been with you. You've always felt like home," your eyes met and he offered you a small, genteel smile; his fingers moved to your hair, raking over your scalp and floating to rest on the small of your back, "I've missed you so much."

"You have?"

Azriel hummed in admittance, "The worst part of all of this was that I left the House of Wind to be near you, because I could be, nothing was in the way of us anymore, and I knew you'd be the only one patient enough to deal with me. It was selfish, but you've always been the rocks on which the ocean crashes, you've always been the one I can turn to without fear of judgement. You understand me."

"I can still be that person, Az. I can still be your friend."

Resting his forehead against yours, Azriel spoke lowly, like he had just awoken from slumber, "Do you know how hard it is for me to not take you back to that cabin right now and make you mine?" The carnal desire was dwelling within him, a rabid need that begged to be satisfied, "But you deserve better, y/n. Better than what I've done. So if you'll let me, I want to do this properly. I want to court you and make you feel like you're the only woman in the world, and when you're ready, not me, you, then you can accept it for the both of us. Because you deserve the magic of the bond more than me, you deserve this happiness."

"And if you don't want to, then that's fine. I can live with what I've done, and if you want to move to Autumn and find happiness there then I won't stand in your way. In no world would I ever stop you from finding love and passion and joy, because you deserve it y/n, you are everything that is beautiful in this world and then some. Every single part of you is destined for greatness, for a love so powerful that people drown in it."

"I hate what I've done to you, I hate that I've made you feel unworthy of a mating bond and I'll never forgive myself for it. But if you let me, I'd like to show you that I want this, that I want you, and you can decide for yourself if a life with me is something you want."

Silence fell between you but you didn't make a move to pull away, you knelt in place, peering up at him with your hands resting on his biceps, channelling the pulsing energy of the Sidra as it ebbed and flowed downstream, "A life with you is all I've ever wanted."

The bond glowed, golden and blinding, and Azriel was struggling to keep himself together as he basked in the ocean of your love and devotion, "Can I kiss you? Please?"

If he wasn't searching for it then he wouldn't have even noticed the tiniest hazed nod directed at him. Even the stars had stopped their flickering to focus on you, their most prized possession, the only one capable of harnessing their power and turning it into something blissful and good. It was why they chose you.

Closing the gap, Azriel tilted your head upward to give him better access to the lips that had often haunted his dreams; the scent of jasmine entwined with his own and he felt himself hold his breath as he closed that gap between you.

Your lips were as soft and warm as he had imagined them to be, they tasted of fresh saltwater and some kind of sweet fruit from the gloss you always wore that made them shimmer in any light. It stopped the world from turning for a moment, the universe watched on as Azriel sealed your fates. Moving his fingers from the small of your back to your neck and deepening the embrace of your lips, Azriel relished in the taste of you, in your warmth, in the way his soul sang and his shadows pulled you in closer to him. It was a feeling he had waited his entire existence for, one you had also yearned for.

Utterly magical. Soul consuming.

Everything made sense then. How everything you had both endured was meant to be, just so that you could end up entwined in that moment. All of the pain and sorrow, all of the false love and distance, all of the laughter and sweet memories, it was all worth it. It was worth every morsel of agony.

"Such a sweet creature. My sweet creature."

"Yours?" Azriel hummed, pressing dainty kisses to the tip of your nose and cheeks, and you closed your eyes to consume his touch and shuddered when his lips landed on your collarbone, caressing the skin there, "I think I could get used to that."

Authors Note

Hey besties!

I got very carried away with this - sorry if it's not great, these pain meds are really kicking my ass right now so I haven't even properly proof read this yet xo

Taglist

@crazylokonugget @fxckmiup @rogersbarnesxx @emryb

[winterarmyy]

Welcome Home... Soldat? | Part III

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end) || Extra

Words: 5.2k++ (sorry y'all)

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, fluffy stuff, tiny sprinkle of angst, soldat is heartbreakingly adorable until the very end, bucky not being very communicative, self-loathing, confusion, conflicted feelings between guilt and need, two idiots in love who are lost in a miscommunication, excessive use of the word 'fuck', and... what else? I'm not sure either lol.

P/S: This has been truly a journey. Thank you so much for the support y'all have been giving me. I really do appreciate all the comments and dms about my work regardless which one of them. Just wanna remind you that I won't be here without you; that's the degree of importance that you possess. Anyway, enjoy your reading.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

It's only been eight in the morning and the soldat had Y/N trapped between his arms as she focused on sifting the flour for the pancake batter. There were barely any space between them; not when he made sure that her soft plushy butt rests right against his crotch, while his fingers subtly move along her hips.

Those gentle trailings didn't last too long for comfort as he slipped his left hand under her sweatshirt. The soldat let his instinct took control as the metal of his touch draws invisible circles all across her bare stomach, while his lips peppered endless amount of butterfly kisses on the marks from last night; each one was now hidden under layers of color correcter and concealer.

"Wow." A raw sound of astonisment naturally slipped from Sam's lips as he found himself frozen in his spot at the corridor leading to the entrance of the kitchen.

Look at them. Acting like newlyweds on their honeymoon.

For a moment he forgot that the huge cuddly hunk in front of him was the winter soldier and not his fellow comrade.

But then again, it might as well made sense that it was not the Bucky he knew, because that man would've been a puddle of mess if he got the chance to touch Y/N like this.

Sam still remember that night when they had a Harry Potter movie marathon and Y/N ended up falling asleep on Bucky's shoulder. Even in the room that was scarce from light, Sam could clearly see the redness on Bucky's cheeks and ears.

It was an understatement to say that Sam had the best time of his life teasing the shit out of Bucky that night, knowing he can't do anything about it without waking Y/N from her comfy slumber.

"Soldat, please. I need to move around, you know?" Y/N's amused giggle pulled the soldat from his dreamy trance.

He shakes his head in the crook of her neck, snuggling deeper as he took a deep breath of her sweet scent,  "No, you don't. You just need to stay here." The soldat huffed as he pouted and tighten his hold on her.

Y/N chuckled at his child-like antics, "You do know that you're not gonna get any breakfast any time soon if you keep doing this, right?"

Sometimes, she couldn't help but wondered if this is how it would feel like to have Bucky doting on her.

"Родная (darling), I'll gladly have you for breakfast. I'm sure I'd have a feast on that sweet little pussy of yours." He whispered seductively into her ears, as he sensed Sam's presence approaching the kitchen. 

Y/N briefly fluttered her eyes shut as he purred in her ears, before slightly peel herself off from him, "Soldat." Her voice was stern and her eyes narrowed into a frown.

The soldat gaze down at her with a hazy grin on his lips, "Родная (darling)."

Unknowingly, the one-sided glaring battle began when Y/N refused to break their intense eye contact; each opponent uses a very contrasting approach, where one has a deep frown and a pair of blazing eyes while the other has the softest, droopy stare and literal hearts in his steel blues.

"Move." Y/N instructed as if it was a warning.

The brunnette let out a defeated laugh as he loosen his hold on her, "Okay, okay. Anything for you, sweet one."

"Thank you." She sighed. "Finally" she thought. She was worried that they gonna have breakfast for lunch if he refuses to let her go.

On the other hand, the soldat was unable to sit still on his own, so he continue to follow her around, like a hungry cat rubbing their forehead up their human's leg, mewling for attention.

"Morning, y/n and... her shadow." Sam finally make himself known as he greeted while naturally went to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"Good morning, Sam." she greeted back while the soldat swiftly put himself in between them like a barrier. He shot a menancing glare at Sam as the man was standing 'too close to Y/N' for the soldat's comfort.

Obviously offended, "Dude, calm down. I was just greeting her good morning." His voice raised as he defended himself for his rights, "Tell him y/n" he continued to tattle tail.

In which Y/N responded by patting the back of the soldat's shoulder as a reassurance before asking him to move away.

Let's just say that he begrudgingly agreed to just because it was Y/N's request.

"Unbeliveable." Sam rolled his eyes, "This your friend?" He asked as Steve entered the scene, greeting everyone a good morning before he quirked, "What?"

"Look at him." Sam accusingly pointed as the soldat, "He's hogging y/n." He continued to explain while purposely reach his hand to touch her. The soldat wordlessly pulled her away before he could reach any further, "See?" Sam pointed again.

Steve didn't defend anyone this time as he only laughed it off before finding his seat. His eyes sparkled with delight to the amount of pancake made by Y/N and the multiple choice of topping and sides; from the sickening sweet stuff to the oddly savoury ones.

He glanced over at his best friend, who was unsubtly trying to hog Y/N away from Sam and his baby blues soften as he thought maybe Shuri was right. Maybe Bucky was always present somewhere in this soldat's persona.

It was such a typical Bucky behaviour to be possessive as the soldat was being. Steve noticed that Bucky would always get a bit agitated when someone touch his girl, even if he doesn't actively show it as much. In the 40's he might've been able to hide it behind his charming smile and witty jokes, but nowdays anyone can see it on his ever-present frown and unintelligible grunts.

That applies for both Bucky and the soldat.

Y/N rolled her eyes at Sam as she pulled the soldat by the hand, "Ignore him, soldat. Now, come have breakfast with me." She sat him on one of the stool by the kitchen isle as she prepared his plate.

Perplexed by the lack response, Sam admitted his defeat for once and joined the isle to have his bite of the morning.

As soon as she settled on her own seat next to him, the soldat took her hand into his, briefly kissing her the back of it. "Thank you, darling."  He whispered before placing their locked hands on his lap as they ate, casually rubbing his thumb on her for comfort.

If you thought Y/N was the only one who was blushing at the domestic show of affection, well you'd think again when you see the shade of red on the tip of his ears or the way Sam purposely looked away.

The morning went by with mostly three of them having a pleasant conversation and the soldat silently distract himself by playing with her hand, apparently enthralled by the size difference and how fragile looking hers was.

Meanwhile, the rest of the team came by the kitchen on their own time since some of them prefer to sleep off the pain from the previous mission.

Half an hour later, she felt as if she was caught in a dejavu when she found herself in the same position as before. She laughed softly as she washed dishes, while the soldat stuck himself to her like a oversize koala to a tiny tree.

"I smell pancakes." Tony spoke as he made a bee line towards the kitchen, looking like he just survived a bio hazard in the lab.

"I made extra. Help yourself." Y/N announced, not even trying to look back at them, especially when the soldat had her trapped in his tight embrace.

Tony peeked to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of Y/N, "Did you see her? I didn't even know she was here until she spoke." He asked, though he sounded more like he was teasing her.

Before Tony could reach out for his plate, Shuri stormed to the kitchen, catching everyone's attention, "Pancakes can wait, Tony." She stopped him which only cause him to whine dramatically.

It felt as if Y/N's heart completely dropped out of her body when Shuri nodded knowingly, "It's time."

There was a quick briefing of the process with everyone involved while they prep the soldat in the other side of the glassed section of the lab. Y/N tried to focus on watching the simple simulation video that was prepared by Tony.

And she heard every single words of Shuri's but all she could think was if the soldat knew what they were doing. If he felt like he was being thrown, being disposed of like some kind of object.

By the time they the explanation ended, Y/N didn't think twice as she marched towards the soldat. The team didn't questioned her motive as they can see the determination in her eyes. 

She stopped on her tracks, right at the entrance when a thought ran across her mind.

Of course, she wanted Bucky back but why does this feel so wrong?

"How are you feeling, soldat?" She prompted as she walked over to him, passing the lab employee who scurried away leaving the couple to have some privacy.

The soldat brightened in her presence as he reached out to her with grabby hands, triggering a soft giggle from Y/N. She let her hands gravitate towards his, intertwining her fingers in his hold as he replied, "Much better now." He sighed in contentment the moment he felt her skin against his own.

There was a comforting silence in the room, but Y/N's mind was the complete opposite. There was only chaos of questions that felt so sinful and immoral to utter out loud.

The soldat grip tightens with tenderness, as if he could hear the loud havoc in her head. Moments later, he decided to break the silence with an honest confession.

"I know that I'm not welcomed here."  He glanced at the other side of the glass, watching the team pacing around. "I know that you're trying to get rid of me." His ocean blues changed its tides to gaze up at her; the smile on his lips was soft and pure.

"You know, I have been many things in this life..." the soldat looked down where his hands were entangled with hers, "...a killer, a weapon, a monster, you name it." there was a hint of grudge in his voice but mostly it was woven with regret.

"But, worst of all, I have been a thief." It felt as if he has been holding his breath as he avowed.

"I have stolen decades worth of his life, robbed him of his freedom for so many years, every single happiness and hope he could ever experienced had been stripped away right before his eyes," the soldat chuckled ironically before looking up to meet her teary eyes, "...yet I'm still greedy for more days with you."

Y/N found herself unable to speak, afraid that her words would do nothing to coax him; or maybe she just couldn't trust that her voice won't crack in the middle of her sentence especially when she was damn sure that her heart was already cracking for him.

The soldat's eyes softens when he reached his hand to her face, "I never knew that I was capable to feel these futile emotions such as joy and love, until I felt it when he looks at you." Y/N didn't even notice she was crying until he wiped them away with the gentle caresses of his thumb.

"Everything I felt towards you were his to begin with." He confessed as he felt the guilt of stealing yet another precious thing from him again, "That's why, I don't deserve this." The said as he recalled every moment he got to spend with her, "I don't deserve you."

The soldat knows that very well, but that didn't stop the natural curiosity that resides from within him, "And I can't help but to wonder..." he hesitated as he tried to construct the most raw and truthful question to sum up whatever this emotion he was currently feeling.

"Will you remember me?" His voice was small and quiet, almost afraid of the answer that might come his way.

More tears were spilling out as she unhesitantly replied, "How could I not?" Her hands raised to his face, cupping his scruffy cheeks in her palms.

The soldat's eyes sightly wobbled when he asked again, "Will you miss me?" At that time, he didn't know that the feeling he felt was called 'heartache', yet he was handling it like he had been experiencing it all his life.

Y/N leaned as she pressed the most tender kiss on his forehead, "More than you know." Her answer made the soldat smile as he purred in her hold.

He peeled one away from his face and pressed a kiss of his own on the delicate palm of her hand. The same ones that had showed him nothing but so much love and kindness.

When Shuri came into the scene, they know it was time to say goodbye. But, both refused to say anything remotely close to it. So, they wordlessly walked out towards the cylinder shaped glass pod, located right in the middle of the lab.

Until the very end, Y/N stood by his side as he lay on the tight space of the pod. And just as the door was about the close, the soldat smiled lovingly at his precious person, as he called for her nickname one last time.

"So long, Родная (darling)."

Three weeks later. At Avenger's private gym.

Steve re-adjusted his stance as he took cautious step backwards, "Why are you avoiding her?" He asked straightforwardly.

Bucky huffed a heavy breath as he lunged forward for a strike, "What are you talking about?" He missed when Steve easily swerved away and countered back, "Don't play dumb, Buck. I'm not in a mood for that."

The brunette blocked his punch with his left forearm but Steve uses that as an opportunity to grab him and pushed him on the floor. Bucky groaned as he landed flat on his chest, left hand on his back.

"Well, I'm not in a mood to talk about it either." He growled as he swing his leg backwards, toppling Steve on his back and pushed his metal arm against his neck, choking him out of his breath, "So, drop it." He warned.

Steve tapped the floor as a sign of defeat and Bucky released his hold while retreat his arm away. Both of them was out of breath but for entirely different reason; Steve was literally choked, so that's fair, but Bucky was breathing heavily as soon as Y/N stepped into the gym.

He stood there with an intense frown on his face, glaring at the woman of his dreams. Literal dreams, or memories of the soldat that was left behind for Bucky after what happened with the winter soldier situation.

Thankfully the method worked, Shuri and Tony managed to bring Bucky back but just like before, he don't have any clear recollection what happened.

While Y/N made the team swore to never speak to Bucky about what he did when he relapsed, while Bucky himself also hides the fact that, much like his previous experience where the memories comes in a form of unsightly nightmares, his memories of those few days were also coming back in a form of dreams.

Though they were never linear. There was no way of knowing the actual flow of his memories.

It came more like snippets of certain moments, sometimes repetitive, sometimes glitchy but they were mostly such good dreams, beautiful even, however they didn't last very long.

At least, not according to Bucky.

Y/N stopped on her tracks as she saw Bucky, who blatantly throwing daggers at her through his eyes. She didn't know why but she didn't want to think of the worst, so she went towards him in hopes of proving her own mind that the negative instincts that she had was wrong.

But the moment she got close, "Hi Buck--" Bucky walked passed her as if she wasn't there in the first place. And she had to admit that, that shit was painful to go through.

And he had been acting like this for two weeks now. Avoiding her like a fucking plague. And she doesn't know why.

He was acting normal during the first week of his awakening, or maybe a little bit more reserved that he usually would be.

She doesn't know how else to explain it but he seemed to act really shy whenever Y/N accidently touched him.

Did someone told him about what happened? Is that why he's mad? She doesn't get it, and she wants to know why.

So before Bucky managed to walk further pass her, Y/N turned on her heels and tugged him by his right arm to stop him. Little did she knew, that might just be the one thing she shouldn't do.

It was like a pre-programmed reaction, when Bucky's body move on his own, as he harshly ripped himself from her grasps, almost dropping her to the ground.

Steve was second away from reaching out to catch her but luckily she found her balance back on her own.

Bucky leered down at her as he spoke, "Don't touch me." His voice came out much more venomous than he intended, making Y/N flinched to his command.

But if that what he needs to do to chase her away from him then so be it, "Just stay the fuck away from me." Bucky spat a cold warning before marching his way out.

Not only leaving Y/N in utter confusion, but with her heart torn to bled dry.

"No... soldat." She whimpered in his ears as his finger drew slow circles on her clit, his mouth latched on her shoulder.

Salty tears started to blur her vision when she sniffled them back.

"Look at you. Look how well you're taking me. My darling is such a good girl, isn't she?" The soldat sounds sickeningly sweet when he murmured in her ears.

"Don't." she whispered quietly.

"p-please soldat, ahh." She mewled, scratching the metal of his arm. 

"That's it darling, cum for your soldat. give it to me,, aahhh" He motioned, forming an 'O' with his mouth as she clamp down on his fingers; with his wide eyes looking down at her exposed pussy.

Bucky's eyes snapped open, ripping him out of the distorted memories only to leave him gasping in the darkness. He woke up swimming in his bed, drowning in the flood of sheets with his heart pounding as if it was desperate to tear out of his chest.

He looked around suspiciously as if he didn't recognized his own room, until strain of his crotch distracted him. His eyes pried downwards to see his cock struggling to fit in his pants and the images of his lucid dream flashes again.

Bucky shuts his eyes tightly, hoping the torture would stop reminding him of his sins, "You sick fuck." A deep frown formed as he muttered curses to himself.

After hours and hours of free falling tears in her room, letting herself drown in a sorrow that she never knew she would ever experience, she let herself wonder back to those lovely moments of her with the soldat.

She found it ironic that somehow the memories of his touch was also the cure to the wounds left by cruelty of his words.

It's hours passed midnight and her tears finally stopped, at least until her body was able physically form more tears in her glands, she took the time as a chance for her to rest.

Y/N laid on her back, letting the remaining tears to fall into her ears.

Worst part of all of this was not knowing why, and being left in the dark, yet he managed to effortlessly left her heart broken into shatters.

"Don't touch me."

"Just stay the fuck away from me."

Bucky's words had been circling her mind like a raging tornado. It felt like the spitefulness of his voice was mocking the flaws of her fragmented heart, toying with what's left behind after the storm.

Y/N didn't even realized when did she started to make her way towards the kitchen, but it was as if her body knew its own limit when her feet walked her out of the confinement of her room and her mind remind her to hydrate herself.

As she entered the kitchen area, she wasn't expecting to see Bucky standing in the middle of it, leaning forward towards the counter tops.

Even with the little source of light from the corridor, Y/N could see the tiredness in his face as he stare blankly into nothing. But, his expression soon changed when he saw her.

She didn't know what she had done to make him so agitated whenever he laid his eyes on her.

The silence between them was so loud that Y/N couldn't help but to approach him.

"I..." She truly didn't know what to say but it felt like it was her fault. She did take advantage of him when the soldat took over; endless use of his body, hands, lips and not to mention what happened that night. "I'm sorry."

Bucky was truly appalled to her words, even though he didn't show it on his expression. Why does she had to apologize to him when he was clearly the problem, "Why are you apologizing?" his anger naturally slipped through as he spoke.

But Y/N didn't know that he was frustrated at himself, and not at her, so the tone that he used stung her as much as it did prior, "I don't know." She simply said.

Lies.

She knew exactly why apologized but she wasn't sure if Bucky knew what happened when he blacked-out. "I just... I don't want to stay away from you. I don't like it."

She can't; not when her yearning for him had grew stronger than ever before.

"Well, you better get used to it because it won't change any time soon." Bucky spat harshly.

Y/N felt her own rage started to bubble from within.

Why is he being so hot-headed and stubborn like a sulking child? Can't he just act like a fucking adult and talk it out?

Her brows crunched into a frown as she held back her tone, "Why?"

Bucky let out a frustrated as he tried to walk away, shooting a demanding glare as he was passing her, "Just do as you're told, y/n"

"Oh no, you're not gonna run away from this."

She grabbed him by his arms and pulled him back into the conversation. "That's not fair, Bucky."

"Not fair?" His eyes narrowed, as he looked down at the smaller.

She puffed out an angry breath as she glared up, "No, it is not fair! It's not entirely your choice to make." She can feel the flames started to spread, "Especially when you refused to tell me why." She yelled accusingly as she shoved her finger to his chest.

Blood roaring in Bucky's ears as his heart pounded hard, pouring the concealed frustration out like a broken dam as he explodes, "He almost raped you, y/n!!"

There was a few milliseconds of non-movements as both them let those few words sink into their processing brain, "I... almost raped you." His voice shook in both anguish and anger, leaving Y/N frozen in a speechless shock.

"Or maybe I already did and I don't even fucking remember." His hands roughly tugged his long hair back as if he tried to go through the pieces of shattered memories in his wrecked mind.

"And if that is not a fucking sign for you stay away from me, I don't know what else I should do to make you see that." Bucky was breathing heavily that his breaths echoed through the silenced space.

Y/N's mind was running wild as everything slowly clicked. Did he thought that he... No. She blinked several times before she could form actual words, "Bucky, what are you saying? It's okay, it's okay. Just please calm down first and--" she tried to reach for him but that only made Bucky retorted, physically and mentally.

"It's okay? No, it's fucking not. Are you even listening to yourself? Can't you see? I'm dangerous y/n." He sounded as desperate as he was for air. "Especially to you. And if my messed up past was not enough to prove it, then what happened between us when I relapsed certainly did."

His heart rate increase rapidly, and his lungs seemed to work double time. Yet, he refused to let her see how badly he needed comfort.

"Bucky, please breathe. And just.. listen to me--" Y/N was hopeless trying to pull him out of the chaos of his mind but he just wouldn't listen.

Bucky's voice started to waver as the dark revelation continued to cloud him, "He assault you, y/n. I fucking assault you. And I can't let that happened again. So, just please, stay awa--"

"It was my choice!" Y/N snapped as she grabbed Bucky by his shoulder, forcing him to focus on her. "Bucky, I let him touch me. I could stop him if I want to, but I didn't."

Bucky didn't understand, "W-why?"

"Because I know he wouldn't hurt me. You wouldn't hurt me." Y/N tried to lay it out for him slowly but then she realized that maybe he didn't need that right now.

"Fuck, Bucky! I'm not a saint." She cursed after a few short moments of hesitation, "I have a lot of feelings I need to deal with like every other human being. Lust, love, you name it. And he..."

In a brief moment, she thought of the soldat, "He gave me the opportunity to feel the love that I always wanted from you. He showed me what we could've been." There was a sense of longing in her eyes, "It started small, soft touches and loving kisses." She smiled to the memories of it.

"And the moment that I thought that it could've been you who's kissing me, touching me. I knew it was over." She didn't know how many times she almost slipped out his name whenever she calls for the soldat; the name 'Bucky' was always at the tip of her tongue but never out.

"One thing led to another and we... I didn't mean to let it stray too far." She confessed, "Bucky, I admit it was wrong for me to take advatange of you, of the soldat, and I know there's no excuse to my behaviour than my own inability to control my feelings for you."

If the soldat thought that he was being greedy, then that makes the two of them.

"I understand if you want me to stay away from you, but just let me say this out loud." Her hands slid down to find his, thankfully he didn't repulsed this time, "Bucky... I love you." She finally spilled the truth as her soften gaze trained on his eyes, "I have loved you for a long time."

Afraid that this could be the end, she refused to look away. She didn't care if Bucky would plunge daggers to her through his words, she want him to know that her feelings for him was unconditional.

And Bucky really tried his best to let all her words sink in, even though most of them were somehow redacted and lost in his head.

But, thankfully the most important ones was so loud and clear for him to draw a simple conclusion that would ease his relentless worries, "You...I.. I didn't force it on you?"

Y/N didn't know why she wasn't expecting him to believe her but she was glad that he did, "No" she replied simply.

Bucky's voice strangled while his hand gripping tighter in her hold, "I didn't hurt you?" His teary eyes pleaded for the truth.

"Not a even close." She smiled kindly.

Bucky felt as the unbearable burden on his shoulders was lifted off completely just by those few simple words that Y/N just uttered. The tears he was desperately holding back broke freely as they stream down his face, his shoulders trembled with the force of his emotions running through his veins.

He whispered, "You don't hate me for it?" He pulled her hands closer to his face, fluttering his eyes shut as he kissed the knuckles of her fingers.

"Never." Y/N reassured, as she cupped his face; stroking her thumbs on his scruffy cheeks, wiping the warm, salty tears away.

Bucky sighed to her touch, it seemed that his body remembered her more than his mind did, "And you love me?" He blinked as he placed his hand on top of her.

Y/N nodded with a loving curve on her lips, "Always have."

Bucky didn't know how she does it but she really did managed to mend and melt his heart all at the same time. It was magic. Or, maybe it was sorcery. But even if she ended up leaving a curse behind, Bucky would still be glad that he let her bewitched him.

Bucky stared down at her, admiring her the kindness in her eyes despite the swolleness of them. He felt bad for breaking her heart, making her cry. It tore his heart just thinking about it.

His tongue darted out for a brief second as his metal hand fell, wrapping around her body.

Y/N maintained to lock her eyes on his as her hand slid down, and pressed on his chest. Despite being comfortable with his touches, and with the amount of kisses the soldat had generously gave her, she shouldn't be nervous anymore but she was.

After all, the soldat never kisses her on the lips and Bucky had his eyes on hers since the beginning.

She wanted his too.

Seeing the anticipation in her eyes, Bucky leaned in to press a kiss on her lips, his flesh hand came up to tilt her chin up, then gently cupped her face as he pulled her closer.

Her lips was so soft against his, that Bucky was sure that he will crave to this every single day.

He briefly pulled away from the kiss to whisper a soft, "I love you too, y/n." Before coming down for another chaste, "More than you could ever fucking imagine." He almost growled as he dipped for more.

Their innocent kiss soon turned into something deeper. They kissed passionately, lost in the bubble of time and space, ignoring the silenced ambiance as they were fixated on the sound of their beating hearts.

And when they pulled away for air, Y/N giggled as a silly thought went through her mind, "Well, I kinda see the glimpse of it in those few days with the soldat, so I think I got the gist of it."

That caused Bucky to let out a genuinely hearty laugh before humming playfully, "Hmm, do you now?" He went in for another kiss, knowing full well that he was already addicted to the taste of her lips.

He just can't get enough of it.

Y/N answered briefly in between his kisses, "Yes."

Bucky smirked as he smoothly guided her backwards, until the back of her waist met with the cold tile of the kitchen isle, "Three times, was it?" his eyes glint with mischieve when he leaned again to steal another kiss.

"What is?" Y/N titled her head to the side, unknowingly giving access for Bucky to lead his kisses from her soft cheek down to her exposed neck.

His lips trailed along the crook of it as he whispered, "Was it three times that he made you cum?" If his goal was to seduce her; well it was safe to say that he did it rather flawlessly.

Y/N thanked god that the kitchen was dim-litted, because the redness on her cheek was rather embarrassing, "I-I'm not sure."

She lied. But, Bucky didn't need to know that.

Bucky chuckled lowly as he murmured, "It's okay, babydoll. We have all the time in the world to beat that record." his naughty hands had already made their way toward her ass before she even have the time to register what he suggested.

Lust decorated the blues in his eyes as he whispered, "Starting now."

End.

<< Part II || Extra >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Yeay, we have reached the end but I might have more of the couple in the future. Though I don't know when will it happen but I have hopes for it. Meanwhile, why don't you tell me what you think of the series and checkout my other work!

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hello I don’t know if you’re currently taking requests but let me tell you. I need more about Milo. If you can. Like he became possessive with reader, jealous of everyone near her.

Milo X Reader: You belong to me

Warnings: Fighting, bar fight, bone breaking, drunk men, sleazy men, smut, dirty talk, dom x sub (kind of), dom Milo, possessive Milo, ass bitting, fingering, making out, penetration ( p in v), unprotected sex, pet names.

Word count: 3K

He's staring again, he knows he is. He also knows he shouldn't but he can't help it. Not when you look like that. You're at the edge of the bar sipping a drink Milo can't quite recognize. He's known you for years but he never noticed what your go to drink was. Perhaps it was because he had been too occupied pretending the pain in his leg wasn't killing him to care or maybe it was because it didn't really matter. He would never be the one to approach you, your favorite drink in hand as he flirted his way into your heart. You'd never made him feel undesirable. He didn't believe you had it in you to make someone feel something like that but you didn't have to, his brain did the work for you. Self loathing does wonders to one's confidence. 

Milo has been watching you for a little while now. You hadn't invited him to the bar. It had been a coincidence. He'd sauntered into the pub, his mind set on finding a pretty thing to take home. He needed to test the waters of his new powers and he wanted company to do it. A special kind of company. He had expected to find someone random, anyone who peaked his interest enough. He wasn't expecting to see you, in fact, it was the last thing he expected but he would be lying if the sight of you didn't ignite something inside him. 

He still hadn't worked up the courage to walk over. This would be the first you saw him like this. The first time he'd talked to you since the "change". It thrilled him but it also scared him. He wondered how you would react. Would you just stare or would you scream at him for his irresponsible actions? He wouldn't be able to take the look of disappointment on your face. He remembered when you first found out about Michele's unorthodox studies. You didn't  speak to the doctor for a week which to some may seem like a small amount of time but that's because they had never met you. They had never had the pleasure of being around you long enough to feel the radiant energy that seeped from you. His fear of your opinion glued him to his spot but it didn't stop him from admiring you. Milo had almost accepted the fact that, despite wanting with all his heart to whisk you away from this dingy bar, you'd probably go home alone. It wasn't until a man approached you that Milos mind changed. He watched the man stumble towards you with a drunken smile on his face. You shuffled slowly to the side trying to put a small distance between the two of you. Milos' hands clenched at his side, his features turning into a scowl as he watched the scene before him. He saw you let out an uncomfortable laugh before shaking your head in a polite no. Milo noticed the way the man's body language shifted at your actions radiating a sort of dangerous energy. Milo didn't like it at all. Before his mind could compute what he was doing his body moved in your direction, his legs moving in steady steps. Milo had gotten to you just as the man had reached out to grab your arm, his body working as a barrier between you and the man. You glanced up at Milo with a look of visible confusion on your face.

“There you are darling. Was wondering where you'd gone.”

“Milo…”

His name left your lips in a breathy whisper sending a chill down his spine.

“Hey asshole we were talking.”

“You know this guy?”

You shook your head timidly, your body moving closer to Milos as you searched for safety. Milo placed his hand on your arm before turning to look at the other man.

“You heard the lady. She doesn't feel like talking to you.”

“That is not what she said.”

“Yeah because she's too polite for that. Luckily for her i’m not, so i'll say what she’s really thinking.”

Milo paused for a moment, his ears picking up on the beating of your heart. It was a bit slower than it had been when he arrived but it was still faster than it should be. The heartbeat of someone who was afraid. The noise seemed to snap something inside Milo's brain, a sudden feeling of rage coming over him.

“Fuck off.”

You let out a small gasp at Milo's words, your fingers digging into his forearm. 

“Milo leave it, let's get out of here.”

He hated the way your voice shook as you spoke. He hated the fact that this man had gotten to you. He wanted to rip this neck open in front of this entire bar. He wanted to show them all that you were under his protection and that anyone that messed with you would have to deal with him. But the way you clung to him brought him out of his rage filled daze. He turned to look at you, his hands moving to push a stray hair behind your ear.

“Okay darling, if that's what you want.”

With one meaningful glance at the man Milo turned around, placing his hands on your hips as he guided you away from the bar and towards the door. You’d barely made it five steps when Milo felt something wet on his shoulder. He heard your scream of his name followed by the sound of glass shards falling to the ground. Milo didn’t give himself enough time to think before he pushed you away, his body turning around to face his attacker just as the man prepared himself to land a punch on Milo's face. His fist came in contact with Milo's body but not in the way he’d wanted it to. Instead of knocking into Milos cheek the man's hand found its way into Milos open palm, his eyes widening in fear as he made eye contact with the vampire. Milo twisted the man's arm, cracking the bone with ease. You watched with wide eyes as Milo tugged the man against his chest and whispered something in his ear before shoving him away. The man stumbled to the  ground using his unharmed hand to drag himself away from Milo in fear. Milo turned towards you, one hand pushing his hair back as the other reached for your arm. You let Milo drag you away from the bar, your legs moving quickly in order to keep up with his long strides. It was only then that you noticed he was walking without difficulty and without a cane. You stopped walking, your body freezing in the middle of the sidewalk causing Milo to stop as well. He turned to look at you, the anger in his features slipping away as he saw the fear on your face.

“Milo how are you…how did you-”

“It doesn't matter.”

“How the fuck can you say that? You just broke that guys like it was made of fucking paper!”

You glanced down at his legs.

“And you're walking like it's no problem.”

“What a big deal? People do that everyday.”

“Well you're not like most people Milo! You’re-

“What? A sick man? A weakling? A good for-”

“Stop it! I’d never call you any of that and you know it you jerk!”

You turned your face away from Milo, your hands going to wipe away the tears that had started to fall from your eyes. Milos' shoulders sagged at the sight. You just been through hell and here he was yelling at you like you were in the wrong. He called out your name, making you turn to look at him. Your lip shook slightly, making you bite on it in an attempt to look strong.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Please forgive me.”

He opened his arms to you with a silent request for a hug. You waited for a second before letting your body collide into Milos. He pulled you as close as he possibly could, burying his face into your hair. He listened as your heartbeat calmed down, a small sigh leaving your lips.

“Thank you.”

“Gotta be able to protect what’s mine.”

The words left Milos' lips with little effort. It wasn't until he felt your body tense that he noticed what he had said. He waited in silence, trying to see how you’d react. You shifted against him, lifting your head so you could look into his eyes. When you met his gaze and  saw the primal like expression in them your breath caught in your throat. You had no idea what had happened to him. Even though he looked the same as he always had there was something different about the way he looked at you. He looked at you like he was a lion and you were a juicy piece of meat. And though it startled you it also sent a thrill down your spine.

“What’s yours hum?” 

Your hand trailed down Milos chest fingers running over the clothes ridges of his abs.

“Yes…”

“And what do you do with what’s yours?”

He couldn't take it anymore. Not with the way your body felt warm against him and the way you bit your lips as you spoke. Milos lips crashed into yours, his hands tangling into your hair as he kissed you. You let him grab onto your body, a small moan leaving your lips when he gives your ass a squeeze. He loved the sounds you made as his hands moved against you. You break the kiss, the need for air getting to you. Milos hands don’t leave your frame, his fingers digging into your hips as he rests his forehead against your.

“Take me to your house.”

“With fucking pleasure darling.” 

You’ve been inside Milo's house a thousand times and you knew the layout like the palm of your hand. Even so you managed to walk into the wrong room. You blamed Milo. The way he tugged at your body in desperation left your brain dizzy. You glanced around the room, eyes falling on the desk in the corner.

“This isn’t your bedroom.”

Milo raised his head, detaching his lips from your neck. 

“You’re right it's not. But this works.”

“There isn't a bed Milo.”

“Oh darling, who said we need a bed?”

A smirk spread across Milo's face as he watched your eyes widen before glancing to look at the desk once more.

“Well what are you waiting for? Get over there.”

“You want me on your desk?”

“I was thinking more like over my desk but on works too.”

You rubbed tights together at the sound of Milo's voice. You weren’t used to seeing this side of him. He was usually quiet and slightly melancholic. The man in front of you wasn’t like that at all. The man in front of you was demanding and sexy. You'd be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

“I thought I gave you an order darling.”

Milos hand wrapped around your throat squeezing lightly as he leaned down to give your lips a quick peak.

“Get over there. Now.”

“Yes sir.”

You turned around a yelp leaving your lips when you felt Milos hand come in contact with your ass in a rough slap.

“That's my good girl.”

“All yours sir.”

Milo licked his lips making his way to you. He watched as you hopped onto his desk, spreading your legs so that he could see your underwear. A moan left Milos lips as his eyes caught a look at the lace you wore.

“Planning on getting fucked tonight?”

“I was actually. Just wasn’t expecting it to be by you.”

Milos smile drops at your words. He leans in closer, placing his arms beside each of your thighs, caging you with his body. You swallow dry at the sight of the scowl on his face worried you’d angered him somehow. You had made him angry but not at you. Oh no. He was angry at everyone else. Angry at the others that had gotten a chance to look at you, touch you and taste you before him. He loathed them but he couldn’t change the past. The only thing he could do is make sure that for this day forward he was the only one who could have you like this. Milos eyes bore into you the silence making you uneasy but then he gave you a sly grin and you calmed down a bit.

“You think that…”

Milos hands made their way in between your legs rubbing your clothed clit as he spoke.

“Anyone could fuck you better than i can?”

Your hips bucked as Milo pushed your underwear aside playing with your folds for a moment before inserting a digit into your cunt. Your lips fell open as you moaned, closing your eyes as Milo fucked your with his fingers.

“I asked you a question.”

“No i-ugh shit- don’t think anyone can fuck me better than you.”

“And who do you belong to?”

“Ah-fuck please- you Milo. I’m yours, I'm all yours.”

“Good girl.”

You placed your hands behind you, fingers digging into the wooden desk beneath you as Milo kept up his brutal pace.

“Wanna cum pretty thing?”

“Yess please Milo…so close-oh-please don’t stop.”

“Okay i’ll let you cum but first you gotta give me a kiss.”

You pushed yourself up so that you were closer to Milo, one of your hands finding his cheek. He smiled at you, plunging his fingers as deep as he could. You launched forward, giving him a rough kiss. 

“Cum princess, go on cum on my fingers.”

He didn’t have to ask you twice. Your body stiffened as your orgasm washed over you, your hands snaking their way across Milo's shoulders as he worked you down from your high. Your body sagged into his as he removed his fingers from your pussy and brought them to his lips. He licked his hand clean of  your juices, head falling back at the taste of you.  

“Taste so good darling.”

“Yeah?”

“That perfuct fucking pussy.”

“Your perfect fucking pussy.”

Milos dick twitched at your words the sultry tone in them making him feel impossibly harder. You seemed to notice the way his hips shifted closer to you. Your hands made their way to his pants unbuttoning them before reaching into his boxers. Milo groaned as you pallmed his cock making you smirk up at him.

“Happy to see me?”

“You have no idea.”

“I think I got a pretty good feeling.”

Milo laughed, placing a kiss to your cheek as he pushed your hair away from your face. You moved your face so that you could place Milos fingers into your mouth. He watched as you sucked on his digits, never breaking eye contact. You removed his fingers from your mouth with a pop.

“Can I take care of you Milo?” 

“As much as I would love that darling, I need to be inside you.”

“OKay. How do you want me?”

Milo pulled you off the desk flipping you around so your back was pressed to his chest.

“Lay down darling.”

“Yes sir.”

You did as he asked your ass brushing against his hard on as you did. Milos hands moved to your hips pulling your dress up so that he could get a good view of your ass. He let out a wolf whistle as he grabbed your cheeks. 

“Now that’s an ass I could get used to kissing up to.”

“What's stopping you?”

Milos grinned at you leaning down and giving your butt a soft bite. You pressed your face into the desk at the feeling, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Delectable.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh don’t thank me just yet darling. I’m about to ruin you.”

“I wanna see you try.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh hum.”

Milos hands ran up your bare thigh, his fingers toying with the edge of your underwear before ripping it off in one quick motion. You gasped as the cool air hit your exposed cunt. It wasn't long before the chill air was replaced with the feeling of Milo's warm skin. He inched his dick into your pussy slowly, trying not to cum at the feeling of your walls fluttering against him and the sounds of your squeals. Once he was fully inside he tugged your hair, forcing you to lean off the table. You could feel the outline of Milos abs against your back as he leaned down to suck on your neck.

“This is that last warning darling. Last chance to back out. If I start now I won't be able to control myself.”

“Lucian i swear to god if you don’t fuck me right now.”

Before you could even fully finish your phrase Milo had laid you back down on the desk and started pistoling  into you. He’d bring his dick almost all the way out before plugging it back in all the way. Your nipples rubbed against the wood as your body rocked with Milos movements. You could feel the desk creaking beneath you a twinge of worry entering your system but quickly vanishing. So what if he broke the desk? He could afford a new one. What he couldn't afford was cumming before you. Milo's hands found their way to your clit, rubbing it exactly. He felt you clench around him as you came causing him to reach his own orgasm. Your body fell lip on the desk, whimpering as you felt Milo pull out. You shut your eyes listening to Milo walk to the other end of the room. He returned with a wet towel, gently cleaning up the cum that had started to leak down your thighs. You whispered a small thank you, far too tired to move. Milo threw the towel on the floor, his hands wrapping around your waist as he pulled you off of the desk. He sat down on his chair tugging you into his lap. You nuzzled into Milos neck, sighing contentedly. Milos' hands stroked your hair, observing you as sleep seemed to take over your body. He placed a kiss to your hair breathing in your scent. A scent that had been made for him and only him. Everything was just as it should be: you in Milos arms. The place which you’d always belonged to.

[chiyoso]

IMPERFECTIONS YOU LOATHE

▶PLAY. jing yuan can't wrap his head about it. who would've thought that acne will be the one to defeat you in body, and mind? it's just simply... baffling, for someone like him.

▶CONTENT. female reader, suggestive, reader is a lieutenant for jimg yuan, realistic interactions, romantic tension, subtle self insecurity, flirting, jing yuan's just confused

you were someone who worked under the arbiter general for quite a long time, you've fought a good amount of battles in your long lifespan, be it may from the corrosions of abundance, or the rare hoardes of enemies from the anti-matter legion, it didn't matter, you emerged victorious in every battle you participated in.

akin to your victories, there was this untouchable enemy that troubled you immensely today, an enemy you can never, ever beat by your skilled hand, growing and tormeting you from the inside as you look at the reflection of yourself, the negative emotions and accumulated stress, manifesting into reality, into your... flesh.

dawn in the next day, the cloud knights who fall under your command, took notice the black mouth veil along with your outfit change to fit the uncharacteristic cover over half of your face, you were beautiful nonetheless, strong in both will and physicality, but even then, no one will be able to undermine the hidden turmoil underneath your veil, your radiance, or so you internally claim.

you hear your name slip through a familiar voice during one of your training sessions with the cloud knights, looking over your shoulder to see your highly regarded general, moving towards you with his signature glaive in his hand.

“hm, you certainly never fail to continue surprising me, captain.” the general's lips grows into a faint smirk, referring to your mouth veil and complimenting outfit in contrast to your usual breezy, fit for rough sparring previously.

your relationship with the general had been proven professional with a sense of rivalry and a slight growing admiration as time continues to flow, except... today.

“general.” you greeted, arms crossed valiantly with your gaze continuing to loom over the cloud knights below, training their asses off with your eyes dead set on the field, which felt more intimidating and penetrating as it was the most visible thing from the veil you put on.

“you rang, general?” your eyes narrow slightly, only to be met with his free hand moving towards your mouth veil.

“hm.” a hum of amusement, you hear from the general, feeling the lingering curious gaze of his over your form, in a respectful way of course.

you think.

“to what pleasure do i owe from the visiting, fleeting arbitrator general of the luofu?” your tone carried a slight hint of mirroring amusement and sarcasm, earning a warm, uncommon chuckle from the general.

“captain,” his tone became lower, your gaze finally breaking from the scenery and towards the general's direction to heed his call.

tch. your honed instincts and reflexes itch, your hand suddenly grabbing his wrist, your eyes telling a thousand words not to reach out further while his only show genuine bafflement, following a curiousity after.

“i implore my general to... not do such a thing again,” you hissed, your monotonous tone slick with slight hostility and maintained professionalism.

once again?

your general, huh? his internal thoughts lingered to your words and actions, before retracting his hand from your releasing grasp.

“apologies... but,” he tilts his head to the side with that knowing, charming smile of his.

“surely you cannot blame your general for having his interests piqued today once again, hm?”

you showed annoyance, clicking your tongue with your brows furrowed during your hold on your flowing cover. “captain,” the general called your title once again, your attention caught, darting your eyes to the man nearing your veil, curious, golden irises studying you while you had a moment to yourself.

“... i don't know what you mean, general.” your voice softened, hinted with an amuse once more, feigning ignorance to the most obvious elephant in the room; your choice of attire today.

your gaze returns to the training grounds, only to be met with a strong, accursed breeze of the luofu that wavered the cover on your face, your hand immediately moving towards your mouth veil to secure any type of movement, intriguing the general further.

then with his veteran gaze, he notices it, the battle you hid across your face.

“ah,” “don't.” you immediately cut him off, tone coated with a little more hostility than before, your hands finding its way to his chest to push him away from your personal space respectfully, but he doesn't budge to your nudge, for a few long moments, the two of your eyes searched each other, one of curiousity, and the other of uncertainty.

jing yuan didn't understand one bit, he did not have a logical answer for himself as to why such a trivial thing can weaken such a strong woman who stood by beside him through countless immortal battles, countless victories, losses, it didn't make sense to the curious general as to why she would hide the missed view of her endearing— endearing?

“even the strongest of warriors... can still fall victim to nature of woman hm?” he broke the silence, stepping back from you in respect to your resistance and unwillingness of closeness.

“i-” silence. your expression was faltering from the mention of your troubles, even behind the veil you hid, your turmoil was clear.

the sounds of clashing, groans from the cloud knights, your deep, quiet breaths, and gulps only ensued, that's what you were doing for a little bit while the general only glanced back and forth towards you and the training grounds.

“cloud knights! at ease! take a break, all of you.” your powerful, commanding voice cut his train of thought, your voice ringing through the field, catching the undivided attention through the people who fall in your command, all simultaneously replying with a loud “yes captain!”

“general,” your tone of slight vulnerability in contrast to your powerful voice was met with his eyes to yours again.

“what are you here f—”

“why do you hide behind a mere cloth that hinders my ability to see you in your full glory?”

what? your thoughts raced like the strong currents in scalesgorge waterscapes, as well as feeling the warmth that you haven't felt in a long while grow within your cheeks.

“i will never understand why women fall and weaken under the natural biologies of the human body,” he said, moving towards you again, towering your form, locking his golden gaze with yours.

the two of the most strongest of figures, the highest of reputations, having a moment of uncharacteristic matured intimacy, witnessed by the strong breeze and the select few of prying eyes from the cloud knights, all witnessing his act of closeness.

“but it doesn't mean i, will feign ignorance to whatever chaos that resides within you, of course.” he tilted his body, your knuckles met his lips in a sudden motion, yet his eyes remained onto your veiled, flushing face.

“my deepest, most sincerest apologies to you for any negativity i invoked within you, my captain.”

his lips lingered to your skin, his eyes searching for any reaction, an indication to stop—but you don't retract, instead your gaze remained on his, softening with each passing second.

“stand tall, general...” you said softly, something the general hadn't heard from you for awhile, only to do your bidding with your hand still in his grasp.

“i've never heard you say my name in our time of longevity together, captain.” he chuckled, growing fonder of you, and his thumb subconsciously rubbing your flesh was proof.

you flinch in result of instinct and a sudden touch that neared your veil, but only that, he only traced his callused fingers along the laced, intricate cloth, his eyes never leaving yours in study of you with fascination and a hidden, growing admiration that even the general was unaware of.

then it happens.

your eyes linger a little too long on the features around his face, the piercing, unreadable gaze in his eyes, the texture of his fair skin, his locks that were flowing against the wind—ah, he has a beauty mark? h-

“gener—”

“jing yuan, my captain.” he insisted.

“someone of your caliber shouldn't cower away from the wrath of mother nature, you are far more superior,” he pauses, retracting his hand from the fabric, his gaze following the wind towards the training grounds, glaive downwards onto the platform where both of you stood, his hands both at the circular tip of the hilt.

“... a woman, labored with strength, hardship, and an allure, an enchantment that many fall and succumb to,” his breath got caught in his throat, perhaps realizing in this moment that he was maybe talking about himself in the last parts of his own open, honest words.

“you- you jest, gener-... jing yuan...” you mumbled, disbelief playing in your mind.

“do you know me as a jokester, valiant captain of mine?” he replies with a realization to his own words, chuckling after and, subconsciously fidgeting with his knuckles with his thumb brushing against it.

and you took notice to his mannerisms of course.

jing yuan was someone who didn't take matters such as this lightly, and you knew that full well since spending your immortality beside the general through rigorous training and honing your weapons together.

to sparring numerous times alone in one of the platforms in the divination commission.

to taking your hand in battle and performing a dance of death towards the enemies of the abundance

to claiming victory with him by your side, along with the little lieutenant yanqing and madam yukong's presence.

eons worth of defenses were being torn down in both sides unknowingly from that simple yet quite impactful act of his, but neither waver and fall weak into each others reeling gaze, standing tall and strong with radiating auras of unspoken attraction and endearment towards another, even if the circumstances were still brewing.

all was good, lasting satisfactory, fleeting moments, fleeting lonely moments, moments of tranquility and silence, days that lingered and crept up in your soul, a silence that deafened you from time to time and—“captain?” the general whispered once more of many times to regain your focus and attention to him, brushing off strands of your hair, tucked behind your ear as your irises return to the figure that towered before you.

“jing y—”

“capta—”

a fleeting silence with widened eyes followed both of your simultaneous voices, not long after sounds of genuine laughter of amusement fill the air with a strengthening admiration and sentiment to one another.

“you first, my lady.”

“i was about to say the same thing.”

“without the my lady part anyways,” you continued, bringing a hand over your veil to stifle a full chuckle.

“then,” his free hand slithered towards your lower back, making your cheeks flare up in heat as the sphere end of his glaive met your stomach lightly in a teasing manner, his lips mirroring your uncontrollable grin.

“i planned on sparring with yanqing today, but the little bird told me he had matters to tend to,” you tilt your head, interested in his actions, and where this leads.

“oh? quite unfortunate for you, general.” you mirror his tone with a little more dramatics as you place your knuckles on your forehead, your antics amusing the general further (as well as making him subconsciously smitten).

“unfortunate indeed, my lady.” he leaned closer with his signature, charming smile that was quite different, hinted with a hidden undertone of tenderness, his physique almost barely touching yours from your inviting, mischievous demeanor.

“however, you...” he lifted his arm, the sharp edge of his weapon pointed towards the training grounds, eyes determined and locked to your growing smirk.

“would you be so kind and generous to indulge your general in a spar, valiant valkyrie of the luofu?” he asked, tone coated with noticable playfulness, itching you to do the same.

“it depends general, do you promise not to slice my veil into pieces?" you mused, indulging yourself with his apparent playfulness.

"it was quite pricey you know? along with this outfit of mine of course,” you observed from his obvious gazes to your veil, your keen intuition leaving the general in his slight amazement and surprise.

“i can't even fanthom how you didn't take up the offer to be a diviner like fu xuan,” he said jokingly, lowering his glaive yet the smile only grew further on his lips.

“you read my mind as always, but can you blame your general?” his hand from your lower back moved up to touch the soft fabric of the lace that covered your face that he unknowingly longed to see.

“the darkness that looms half over of your features distracts me more than my taxing paperwork that awaits me in a later time,” he continued, his tone audibly serious this time with a slight frown forming on his face.

god.

except... the arbiter general finds himself in the same situation, subconsciously stealing glances towards you with heavy to minimal intent at times, asking for your presence through his lieutenant, sitting together at the edges of the divination commission's platform after an intense spar, sharing a glass of warm halycon milk, and the serene, comfortable silence that you two continued to share in many moments over the centuries...

“you will be the death of me, yuan.” you sigh in defeat to his enchanting words, while he only perked up to the nickname you uttered out.

it's true though, you've noticed a pattern over the years staying beside the general, you notice yourself holding back your full strength during mid sparring sessions with him to maintain a level of feminity, a feminity you yearned for since being one of the strong, leading figures along the general that you rose to with effort and relentless hardwork.

...

“apologies, i-”

the more he thinks back, the more cogs turned viciously in his mind, if the situated ordeals are with purpose, or... had everything felt natural with her since the beginning when it came to this astonishing, compelling and shining force of nature that shone over the luofu.

a prowess that—“jing yuan?” you called out again, hushed and soft, your voice carried, finally catching the attention of the man who was visibly in deep thought.

he didn't notice finger that poked his cheek lightly, accompanied with your innocent, confused look that he almost choked to in his throat.

“how about that spar, general?”

his eyes widened to your words, shortly before breaking into a wide, satisfied smirk, grabbing your hand that was near his face, continuing to hover you.

“only if you remove your veil-”

“no.”

“then i shall hold back.”

“oh? then please do my general, so i can set the stage of your devastating defeat against my blade, all for the cloud knights in the area who look up to their beloved, arbiter general of the great xianzhou luofu to bear witness to.”

he blinks to your words, two times, maybe three times, before breaking into a wide, uncontrollable grin, taking a step towards you with his head looking over yours.

“... little vixen.”

“your words, my general.”

reblogs help my audience reach, thank you.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Breaking Bonds Ch. 6

Synopsis: Rabban and you have a long-due honeymoon on Lankiveil.

Warnings: Masturbation, unprotected sex A/N: I'm not good at writing smut but enjoy this lil' treat either way! 💌

"No man chooses evil for the sake of evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks."

- Mary Wollstonecraft

[Previous Chapter]

There was no going back now - you've long since passed the point of no return. And still, no matter how much time passed, you couldn't shake this nagging conscience off...

...after all, you had selfishly become enamored with a man that had - and still causes - so much misery in the entire Empire and especially your home planet.

To be fair, while the Baron alone decided about the tax height, your husband has at least greatly lifted the burden on his colonies lately, concentrating on gathering ressources instead of harassing the populace. His men were advised to tone it down, and shall a village not be able to provide the demanded amount, they'll have two more chances before there'll be consequences.

That was his way of expressing what he could otherwise never put into words.

Rabban was snoring softly besides your insomniac self, shuffling close enough to wrap his arms around you. He pressed your body against his chest from behind, a content sigh escaping his throat at the feeling of your skin against his.

"Good morning, my Countess" he purrs, nose nuzzling against your neck before tracing kisses across your collarbone. You return the favour, nails tenderly raking across his scalp. "Good morning, my Count."

Your husband's touch soon becomes more eager, groaning shamelessly as his hands wander upwards to massage your breasts, who betray you and stiffen under the touch. "Glossu, you're insatiable."

"To my defense, I've waited more than long enough" he teases, nibbling on your earlobe. His hand rested under your navel just for a brief moment before wanderin downwards. "And besides, we still have an obligation to fulfill."

Your laughter soon turned into pleased moans as well, music in your husband's ears as he slid under the covers, head settling between your spread legs with an almost predatory glint in his eyes.

"Let me wake you up properly, dear."

This whole situation still felt like a bizarre daydream - one your past self would refuse to believe to ever become reality.

A short while back you loathed this wicked man with a passion, were nothing but repulsed and petrified whenever he was near you - but right now you were yearning for his touch at every opportunity.

After that first fateful night spent together marked the beginning of something more intimate, it was also new terrain for both of you.

While you expected a cruel joke, revealing itself just when he'd gain your trust, your husband feared his feelings being used to control him for your own benefit.

Needless to say, neither of it occured.

Maybe you had completely lost your mind, but at this point you couldn't care less - at least that was what you told yourself on this important day.

Since Harkonnen troops had now completely retreated from Arrakis, until your husband would be called to battle he decided to grant you this heartfelt wish of reuniting with your family.

The image of your planet in space was a sight to behold, never ceasing to amaze you. An ice world where seasons would last for years instead of months, known among the galaxy for it's precious whale fur.

From afar, it looked almost as sacred as your father had always described it in his tales.

He was a man of unbreakable faith - at least until the death of your eldest brother on the frontlines of the resistance. Your whole family stopped practicing the religion entirely since then, except for occasional prayers in time of distraught.

After his loss, your father said that god has left this planet the moment House Harkonnen set foot on it.

Whereas you still miss him painfully, the grief strickening to this day, you were also relieved that he did not have to see you like this - his beloved daughter, giving her heart and body up to the enemy.

"Welcome home" Rabban declared as you prepared for the spaceship to land, already preparing to descend towards the planet's surface.

You seemed both aloof and apprehensive at once, so it wasn't long until Rabban offered you his hand as means to placate. "It'll be fine."

Will it be, though?

Since birth you had been among them, attended this farce of a welcome committee alongsides the other natives. It was not a voluntary decision, presence was mandatory.

You remember very well how much you wished to have the courage and throw a rock at your oppressor - but knew what deadly consequences it'd bring for you and everyone else.

Yet right now you were on the other side of the coin, and taking a good look down on yourself - skin bleached through the lack of sunlight and dressed matching to your spouse - you wondered if they'd even differ, or simply see you with the same burning hatred that you felt back then.

"Now arriving: Your beloved rulers, Count and Countess Rabban!"

Eventually you felt nauseous as the shuttle opened and you were greeted with exagerrated fake applause from the capitol, retracting your intertwined hands before anyone could see.

With the planet being currently in spring, bright sunlight hit your face, eyes needing some time to adapt after the eternity you had spent on Giedi Prime.

The Beast looked at you with a mixture of worry and irritation, brushing his fingers over your back yet again you winced away. The current situation made it impossible to bid it any more concern, but your behavior left a bitter aftertaste.

Of course he understood. While in private you could act like lovestruck fools all you want, however it was dangerous to do so in front of witnesses.

Ironic, considering you're officially a married couple.

For that very same reason he was also unable to go too easy on your - otherwise the other Harkonnen's were to notice, and such weakness would not remain unpunished.

However this tiny act of affection might also be interpretated as courtesy among two weds...

...so why did you insist to tear yourself away from him?

As the two of you strutted through the tremulous crowd, accompanied by his best soldiers, he reminisced back to easier times.

Rabban vaguely remembered that at every arrival of his you stood out ouf the crowd - at least to his eye - even long before your ways would actually cross.

Oh, how drunk he got on your fear back then, excited by the defiance he detected in your eyes nonetheless. It was as if your emotions were written right on your forehead and damn, what a feisty little quim, weren't you?

He secretly prayed that one day you'd put those thoughts into practice, commit something so imprudent that he'd have an excuse to drag you into his chambers despite your status. Implementing his own means of punishment, without ever allowing you to escape....

...in hindsight, this might've been a precursor of this strange infatuation after all. Better keep this to himself though - even he knows this isn't exactly considered romantic.

In the midst of the formation your family awaited you - or rather what's left of it. Scatters of a once great bloodline.

Rabban looks over to you, only a silken dress cascading down your body in the shivering breeze. The cold did not seem to bother you at all, in fact the soft glow bestowed you an even more divine beauty.

The serenity you were radiating was slowly crumbling however, as you came to a halt far away from your kneeling loved ones. Seeing them like this felt horribly wrong, a perfect symbolfor the harsh reality of this marriage which you desperately tried to shove back into your head.

You were hesitating, eyes darting helplessly between your husband and relatives. "What are you waiting for?" Rabban speaks in this low, authorative voice of his. "You may leave."

His approval was enough for you to drop the composure together with your remaining dignity, running towards them as you broke out into irrepressible sobbing.

A sinister look decorated Rabban's face as you collapsed into your mother's arms, a dangerous mixture of jealousy and obsession stirring in his mind. He tries to ignore it, internally fights to contain himself for your sake.

You are the stunning image of your mother, he thinks, trying to distract himself with trivial annotations. The children however - your younger siblings, as it seems - he doesn't warm up to that easily. Not really his area in general, but he'll figure out once he has brats of his own. Better not think about it too much, the pending responsibility leaves him with an odd unease.

A girl around five years of age he overhears asking why you were accompanying the 'behemoth', timidly peeking over your shoulder as you had lifted her up. "You know, I can understand every word" he retorts flatly and in perfect Lankiveili. It catched you by surprise, since the Harkonnens on your planet kept mostly to themselves. Of course, as a leader it made perfect sense to at least know the common global language.

Sometimes you forgot that your husband was in fact a sophisticated man, just wildly - intentionally - underestemated.

"Leave my sisters alone!" your younger brother, barely eleven years old, leaped in front of you, a shakily pointing a wooden toy sword at the Beast.

"I thought we got rid of all the males in the Årud bloodline..." Rabban spoke in sadistic amusement, crossing his arms as he assessed the boy. Well, your mother was pregnant back at the time and the Count was not really paying attention the following years. But you wouldn't deliberately make things worse by pointing out his disinterest for politics, knowing he already felt inadequate.

"Please, dear husband" you try to appease him, hands clasping together in a begging manner. "He's just a child. No one's questioning your rule. It's not worth it."

"When I was his age, I already partook in huntings" the Beast harrumphed, face contorting into an almost-snarl. "Killed my grandfather a few years after." He reached out for your brother, who was rooted on spot, cowering in fear...

...and just when you were about to intervene, he put his hand on the boy's head, slightly ruffling his hair. "You have a brave heart. Become a good warrior and make your family proud."

Rabban then turned to you, looking at him absolutely flabbergasted. "Just leave" he spat, waving his men over. "Got important business to take care of. You'd be no help either way."

You crack a smile, tiptoeing to peck a quick kiss on his cheek before turning around, this unexpected public affection left this mountain of a man - and frankly everyone around you - completely baffled.

"What are you looking at, you dogs?!" he shouted at his squad and their chatters ebbed out with his command. "Get. To. Work! Anyone I consider useless, I'll kill on sight."

It wasn't until Rabban and his men were actually gone to run errands for his uncle that your folk was able to breathe freely again, now truly cheering and celebrating your arrival.

You were almost considered a national hero, your marriage being considered the most noble sacrifice, ensuring the prosperity of Lankiveil.

No one dared interacting with you more than necessary, though. It was simply not worth the risk of earning the wrath of the infamous Beast.

"This detestable waste of a mother's love! Threatening a child like that. Did you see how scared your brother was?!"

"Lower your voice" you interrupted your own mother, who felt comfortable enough to verbally lash out at the Beast now that you were in your own four walls. "My husband has eyes and ears everywhere. Just- just be glad he didn't actually do anything."

"Don't tell me what to do, young lady" she scolded you harshly. "You may be our Countess now, but you must never forget-" The words die in her throat, her soft caress of your cheek having pulled your hair far enough back over our shoulder to reveal the choke mark on your neck.

A mere lovebite of some sort - he had a bruising grip, and holding back was never his forte. This is nothing compared to what he's normally capable of, but a sadist remains a sadist.

You want to back away, but your mother got a hold of your wrist, pulling up one of the sleeves only to find more bruises scattered across your arm.

During the act you rarely ever notice - in fact it was rather enjoyable - but how should you tell your mother that the most hated person on this forsaken planet kissed those minor injuries afterwards, mumbling sweet affirmations as his hands draw circles on the sore skin?

She seemed desolate, on the verge of tears and yet may have realized at this moment to better not speak against a man that was capable of practically anything.

"Mother" you assure her, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled between you licke a thick haze. "You needn't worry, I promise."

"...if we had been informed of your visit, we would've prepared festives" she croakes as she changes the topic, needs to do so in order to keep her grace. "We'll make up something right away."

Guilt was eating her alive and you knew it - the day when the Baron proposed this alliance, she had to pick between loss and loss.

As a leader, she absolutely chose correctly.

As a mother? Not so much.

All logic asides, it pained you to be reminded that she put the fate of strangers over your own. If your father was still alive, he would've rather let this planet fall into chaos than willingly lose another one of his children to the Harkonnens - if only metaphorically.

To a certain extend you sympathized with Rabban's rage- the feelings of a child abandoned by their own mother.

But then again, what's one ruined life compared to so many others, an entire civilization even?

...and do you truly consider your life to be ruined?

"Sure..." You swallow harshly, try to suppress your emotions to enjoy the scarce time you had with your loved ones. "That sounds wonderful."

Meanwhile Rabban was in the greatest hall of his mansion, slumped on the throne of your ancient monarchs - which he stole it for his private collection long ago.

He tries soothing himself through meaningless pastimes, yet materialistic luxury and fleeting pleasures did not hold the appeal they once had...

...they could not substitute your presence, at last - and without it his thoughts spiraled back to the only coping mechanism he knew: Violence, or worse.

This cannot be love, the feeling he had heard so much about yet never experienced in all his decades of life.

Why would anyone want to feel this way, being so desperate for someone else?

Sadly the attempt to drown his violent urges in expensive beverage only intensified his intrusive thoughts, dampening the little self-control he still possessed. Luckily sober him had all servants informed that he was under no context to be disturbed - otherwise not all of them would make it to sunrise alive.

Wait a second...why did he even fucking care what you'd think of him?

This was his planet, his servants, his everything! And you were his wife! Your whole purpose was to endure and obey each and every of your husband's whims, no matter how depraved!

Shit, this is the exact reason you'll always shy away from him in the end. He just can't get out if his skin - and right now it was itching for blood...

...all just because you were currently not at his side, enjoying yourself with people that were what he could never be for you.

He loathed this godamn ice block of a planet, it's people and rites and especially the fact that he could never replace or even imitate the home your heart has on here.

Now that he saw how you acted with people that you truly loved, it was all obvious to him: You had merely arranged yourself with the circumstances - but would never willingly choose him.

Rabban's frustration wandered right down to his pants, sent an even more pulsing desire straight to his cock as he remembered the ethereal way you walked besides him in that delicate sin of a dress.

Fuck, it's been an eternity singe he's done the work himself - after all, he he had countless women to pick from to tend to this need...

...but he knew damn well that unless it's you, he'd only be left unsatisfied and eventually kill them.

Your husband spread his legs on the throne, pulling back one leathern glove with his teeth while the other squeezed the hardened member swelling beneath his belt.

Growling moans he had bit back until now fell casually from his lips as he pulled his dick from it's confines, gripping the angry shaft fiercely. Swiping across the slid already leaking precum, he intended to make a quick end of it.

His eyes fell shut, head rolling back as he tried dwelling in pleasant memories of your naked form beneath him, the way you moaned his name like a sacred prayer each time you came undone.

"Shit, Y/N..." he rambled out, grunts and groans mixing with incoherent Harkonnen swear words as he eagerly stroked himself.

"Yes, my Count?"

The sudden appearance of your voice made his blood run cold, eyes snapping open only to catch your silhouette in the doorframe, calmly watching the scene unfolding before you.

His face instanty dropped into stern hostility, peering at you like he was considering murder as nerest solution to escape this humiliation.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" he barks, not yet bothering to cover himself as to not admit his embarassment. "Enjoying the view, I guess."

"Bitch" he thought, contemplating to shove his cock down your throat just to make you shut up. Albeit you strode towards him keenly, a smug smile playing on your lips when his manhood twitches at your approach.

"You seem stressed, my love..." you chant oh so alluring in his ear as you lean over him, the nickname pulling at his heartstrings. "I can change that."

There was something so fundamentally wrong with doing it right here, giving yourself to an oppressor right on the throne of your people...

...maybe Rabban had already corrupted you, because that fact was exactly why it aroused you enough to discard all morality in exchange for temporary carnal pleasure.

All you knew was that right now you were in charge - and the very man that had done so much wrong was literally wax in your hands.

Irony of fate, one would say.

Your fingers teasingly ghost across his shaft and Rabban lets out a noise of both disapproval and desperation, hips bucking against your palm to find some release. "I missed you" you speak, invitingly batting your lashes.

"Stop lying" this utter wretch spat weak, tentatively, the lust in your scent feeling like being stabbed. You smile down on him in return, unimpressed by his vocal attempts to push you away.

His defense falters as you straddle his waist, kissing him with an affection like he was something precious and not in fact the most despicable person you've ever met. "I'm not lying, Glossu."

He wants to say something, anything, but his throat closes, a torn-out sob being all he manages to wring out.

Primal need takes the wheel again when you push your panties aside, folds sliding across his member in preparation and god you were so wet already, just for him.

Both of you sighed in relishment as you lowered yourself on his cock, meekly clawing into his shoulder as you adjusted to his size. Meanwhile Rabban's hands busied themselves on your ass, back, thighs, every damn inch of skin he can get while his hips chase yours.

The Beast kisses your pulse point as he pulls you impossibly close, face hidden in the crook of your neck so you won't see how he falls apart right in front of you. Yet your name keeps erupting from his lips as you ride him, not yet a plea but certainly endearing.

He holds you in an almost bonecrushing hug as you ride him, your tits spilling so scrumptiously out of your cleavage that he can't help but sink his teeth into the thin fabric, earning an ecstatic yelp in return. Soon his tongue dives into your mouth in exasperation, only ever breaking the kiss when the lack of oxygen became too hard to bear.

As the pace speeds up your husband finally brings himself to watch you grind on his crotch, the view enough to drive him over the edge. Both awe and passion wash over him in the tidal wave that was his orgasm, so much pulsing inside of you it borders on obscene.

Even long after overstimulation followed his peak, he couldn't stop the jackknife-like thrusts into your sensitive cunt as your high chased right after his.

Who wouldve thought that sex filled with laughter instead of cries could be this...enjoyable?

An odd tranquility sets above the two of you, remaining in the position for a while before either of you dared to move.

"Convinced now?" you ask between short, ragged breaths, heart fluttering while his practically beat like a drum.

"Dunno" he hums playfully, sweaty foreheads stuck together as he mirrowed your smile. "We might have to repeat this a few times, just to be sure."

Both of you broke our in boisterous laughter and you nudge his side, chuckling some sweet nonsense about him being insufferable.

"SERVANT" You almost fell down from the seat by surprise, and Rabban yelled for no one in particular once again. Panicking, you wanted to pop off his softening member and hide - yet your husband had other plans, still holding you tight.

"Nah -ah -ah" he gurred with a shiteating grin on his face as he felt his pride returning. "We don't want you to waste a single drop of my precious seed, don't we?"

Asshole. He really was incorrigible at times...

Gladly your dress had fallen down to your hips, far enough to cover your priavtes yet not enough to hide the peculiar embrace the two of you still shared.

"A partnership is no fight for dominance, you know?" you whisper as a maidservant entered - an elderly Lankiveilan woman looking down in unease. You wanted to be swallowed by the earth right then, being seen defiled by the enemy in front of one of your own people.

Oh, you just knew he was enjoying showing off what was rightfully his, didn't he?

"Just playful banter" he promised, hands still lazily roaming your body. "Run us a bath" he orders, "Then get lost. And leave some new attire at the door."

The servant nods and commits her work in silence, shooting you one last, pitying look before she disappeared as fast as she came. Rabban insisted on carrying you to the magnificent bathroom, sinking into the relaxing scented water and pulling you to his chest once again as he began to ponder.

For once he got what he wanted without taking it by force - you returned to him out of your own free will...

...and what an amazing feeling that was.

By Harkonnen logic, he should be terrified of the effect you have on him, put a stop to it immediately - all of what happened was considered pathetic weakness in his culture, nothing more than a flaw.

But damn it, he wouldn't trade it for the world.

"What are you brooding about?" you ask, fingertips tracing the several scars on his chest. "Why are you really here? Surely you did not just come for...this."

You snort in amusement, joking "I thought I'd look after my husband, before he gets bored and blows something up."

The Beast grinned at your words, allowing himself some sort of vulnerability as he seeks your reassurance. "I thought you'd seek the comfort of your old home."

His words made you furrow your brows in confusion, almost offended by his assumption. "This is my home now" you answer firmly, pressing a wet kiss to his knuckles. "You are."

The answer pleases him as it seems, pulling you in for another kiss, limbs tangled with each other in an inescapable embrace.

"Perhaps you want to accompany me tonight?" Your husband had helped you out of the now cold water, having stayed there until your discomfort became greater than the joy of closeness. "The people of the capitol will hold a small festival."

Rabban seemed bewildered, insulted even at the suggestion. "Why should I bother with those savages? This is beneath me." You roll your eyes at the man, not wanting to hear that belittlement for your culture coming from people who hunt others for sports.

Quickly towel-drying your hair before slipping into traditional clothes rather than the one he had picked out for you, he swallows the frustration of this separation through your different styles.

"Maybe because your wife is one of those 'savages', and so are you. You're half Lankiveili, hell, you even carry one of our names!" you correct him, pointing an index finger directly at his face just for him to gently slap it away. "You've been born and raised here, not on Giedi Prime."

"So?" he retorts matter-of-factly, glaring at you. "A dog born in a stable still doesn't nicker." You almost facepalmed, unnerved by his blatant stubbornness. "But you can't deny your blood. Your mother-"

"Was a Bene Gesserit, first and foremost." Rabban interrupted you, tired with the discussion already though he elaborates. "Their children are nothing more to them than means to an end."

There was a subtle hint of disappointment in his voice, one you could very well resonate with. "But- I mean, you weren't useful to her, right? Hence the younger brother."

Wow. That sounded way less insulting in your head - and you were sure had anyone else but you pointed this out, they'd been six foot under already.

"Thanks for the reminder that I'm inferior to my brother in every way" he gritted, not seeing the point of this useless conversation. You looked at him sympathically, cupping his face with both hands but he turned away in anger. "N-No, I didn't mean it like that. I-"

Well, things can't get any worse than this. Might as well speak your mind. "Bene Gesserit are ordered to kill genetically undesirable children immediately after birth..."

You see him clench and unclench his fists, but take his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. "...and yet you're here. What do you think that means? She loved you dearly, I'm sure of it."

He twirls you into his arms, effectively shutting you up with a breathtaking kiss. Your lips searched his again as soon as he pulled away, yet he already went for the door.

"Alright alright, I'm feeling generous today. We'll go. Just don't complain if I ruin the mood."

That very same evening, your husband participated in the festival with you - well, more or less. He mainly remained on the sidelines, following you like a shadow and eyes shooting daggers at everyone looking at you for too long.

His soldiers he had warded off to another place, so they'd leave your people alone for tonight - and als that there wouldn't be any witnesses to his tameness.

This whole parade reminded him of a rather unpleasant part of his childhood, what it means to be born in between two worlds and fully belonging to neither.

Many years ago his mother, Emmi Rabban, had dragged him to such an event in an attempt to make her son embrace his heritage.

People would look at him with revulsion and hostility - a natural reaction, considering his Harkonen outerior, even though he was a mere child back then. He used to tell himself the mantra that being feared something to be proud of, more reliable than some feeble goodwill.

Ultimatively, when one of the other children started throwing rocks at young Rabban, he saw red...

...and like so often, only when his anger subsided and he returned to his senses, the adults were able to pull him away from the bloody heap he had beaten the other into.

It was not the first time his mother had looked at him that way: Shame, disappointment, fear of her child and what he was capable of. Regret of having kept him alive, if your theory was true.

This core memory only strenghtened his taunting disconnection and self-loathing.

After that day, Rabban's mother had stopped bringing him anywhere public at all. Kept him trapped at home as often as possible, like a feral animal restrained by a cage.

And yet here he was again, watching you enjoy yourself as you sang and danced in the streets, never breaking eye-contact and gifting him the sweetest of smiles. Whenever you returned to his side, you clung to his arm and babbled about whatever, not minding what your precious subjects or even your own family might think of you...

...kissing him so openly, so deeply, as if you were proud to be his wife, despite everything.

Maybe this planet wasn't that bad, all things considered.

"You know, you could stay here. Until I secured Arrakis for your arrival, I mean" he promised solemny later that night, as you warmed each other under the sheets. "And I'll take you to Lankiveil as often as I can."

Rabban's offer made you stirr in your almost-slumber, witnessing his pale face glow more lively under the chimney's embers. "Why would you do that for me?"

The question caught him off guard, fumbling with his words. "Don't mock me, woman. This is the first time I felt something like this. Its...difficult for me, to say the least."

"Well, I'm grateful for the offer" you mumble sleepily, guiding his hands to rest on your hip. "But my place is at my husband's side."

After this long and eventful day it was no wonder you couldn't stay up for much longer, the security your husband's hug provided guiding you into a sweet slumber.

Rabban lets out a shaky breath, unable to fathom how he deserved feeling such bliss. He covers you with the blanket, waits until your breathing pattern indicates you're fast asleep until he dares speaking his mind.

"I love you, Y/N" he whispers, feeling a profound sense of happiness encase him after confessing this - mostly to himself.

[Next Chapter]

[bl-inkstone]

"when the fire takes and leave me nothing but ash, cup me in your loving palms and make me human again."

a short kaveh thoughtspost about you loving him, burnt edges and all.

i think loving kaveh, for all his brilliance and fancy, is exactly what loving an artist is like.

it's not uncommon for him to come home with tired eyes and aching, reaching limbs honed onto you. most nights, you like to tease him and compare your love to a particularly needy limpet, where not even the crashing waves of alhaitham's annoyance at his "shameless displays of affection" (punctuated by sharp, pointed remarks and long side-eyed glances) are enough to draw him from your side. he says he clings to you because he missed your warmth, and that not even the most potent of electro slimes could ever compare to the amount of energy you give with one embrace. you only laugh in return to his poetic musings with one hand raised to hide your flushed cheeks from sparkling red-wine eyes.

but what is uncommon, however, is the first night kaveh came to you, tired and aching and physically reaching as he always does, but hiding behind halfhearted eyes.

at first, you feared what you believed to be the worst: has he fallen out love? have i been lacking in some way? am i not good enough anymore?

he reached for you and held you, yes, but you could feel just from his touch alone just how distant his mind is from you. were you any weaker, you would've stayed quiet, unsure and hurting, and internalized all of these little unspoken things until the day you could not take anymore and leave behind your heart (your love, and only love) alone in the four walls of his shared home.

but you aren't.

so here you are now, with kaveh near-catatonic on the floor and your anxious, worried hands doing all you can to bring him back to you.

it's been a rough few days, weeks, months for kshahrewar's golden boy, chasing deadline after deadline and just barely maintaining his own self-imposed standard of quality, and kaveh is barely holding himself together. and try as he did to keep such unsightly matters away from you, you've noticed. you always do. and it's the sight of your worried, asking eyes and the sound of your voice flowing through him, "what's wrong, my heart? what is it? how can i help?" that finally breaks him.

he has never denied you anything (not his joy, his company, or his pleasure), and as loathe as he is for his weakness, he won't start now.

so kaveh falls to his knees, strangely disconnected from his body with frustration and fatigue raging in whatever hollow he left behind. he tilts forward when his strength leaves him (when he finally allows it to, after months of pushing more, just one more deadline—) and feels himself physically melt when you catch him in ready arms and hears the steady beat of your heart. his genius is a passionate, fiery thing, lighting the way to grander ventures and innovations that could lead sumeru's tomorrow, but just as all fires do, it burns.

but here, he thinks, in the scorched ground of your embrace that no fire could ever touch, he can rest.

kaveh hates to disturb or inconvenience you in any way — being his lover, he'd often joke with quick, unsure eyes and a crooked smile, is enough work already. but you recognize his doubts as well as you recognize your own. he can't fool you. not about this.

so, you reach down and curl yourself around him, guardian and shelter and lover all at once, and allow him refuge from the burning embers still glowing in the dredges of his beautiful, beautiful mind.

"it's alright," you kiss the reassurance into the crown of his tired head, heavy with the weight of all that he carries with his name as the light of kshahrewar. "take all the time you need, my love. the world can wait for you. rest."

dampness invades the cloth of your robes and you feel them, his gilded tears (always gilded, because everything about kaveh, even his grief, is golden) soak through the skin of your lap.

"i have so much work to do." his voice is a fragile, ruined thing.

"the world will wait, and i will help you. there is nothing you can't ask of me, kaveh."

"you already do so much," he gasps through a stuttering sob. "i will - i will not begrudge you, my heart, if you choose to..."

no. he can't say it. he doesn't want to say it. there's something to be said about the old warnings his elders had about not speaking ill fates into existence, and the fear that he almost did so makes him shake like a battered leaf, barely holding onto his branch, in the raging wind. he shakes and muffles sobs that tear at your heart, hoping you wouldn't hear and think any less of him (because you must, you must, oh, how could he ever show something so ugly to you), and you understand.

"i'm not going anywhere." the words leave you like dew falling off leaves after a storm, and they sting and soothe in the same breath the burns he's hidden for so long.

(am i good enough for you? is all i am enough for you? when my hands no longer hold my pens the same and my words escape me, and the clay has become too hard for me to shape, will you still love me then?)

"i'm here, kaveh. yours, for as long you'll have me, and you're mine, for as long as you'll allow."

forever, then. through the blur of his tears, he raises his head and presses himself, cheek and nose and crown, to your waiting hands like a devout believer laying worship to the first temple that has given him solace in years. forever, forever and ever until the sands of time erode whatever is left of us that loves away.

he drinks in the comfort of your shared silence, basks in the security that even now, at his worst and most unbecoming, you still love him enough to allow him this. his heart settles, slowly, and his mind calms into something less frenzied, less a forest fire, and into something he can recognize as himself again.

kaveh has always loved your hands, endlessly gentle and comforting as they are. he could recognize you blind, deaf, and mute, from the sheer comfort your touch brings him alone. he grasps them in his own calloused fingers and lays soft, grateful kisses to each segment, knuckle, and stretch of skin wound around it. it's these hands that have soothed his physical aches with skin-warmed salves and massages. it's these hands that have calmed his mind in the worst of his passionate genius, running careful fingers through golden strands and reminding him "that the mind can churn and charge all it wants, love, but the body has needs too." it's these hands that have cupped him, left as nothing but ash and bitter tears and dead dirt by his own fiery resolutions, and sculpted him into something human again.

i love you, he does not say because the weight of all the love he feels, both in him and from you, chokes him to silence. instead, he closes his watery eyes and presses himself closer, closer to you, and breathes.

he shakes again in your embrace, but more softly, this time. calloused fingers curl around yours in a desperate bid to keep you close, so much like the stubborn limpet you'd liken kaveh to during nights when the fires hadn't burned him yet, and you understand.

i love you too.

[i may not know much about kaveh, but he is very precious 2 me. i hope i did him some justice with this, and that you enjoyed reading it!]

[phoenix-flamed]

The weight of failure was heavy upon his chest, threatening to cave it in at any moment. As it should -- for failure was a burden one must carry 'til their end, and carry it he would without complaint, for his failures were many.

Every action that Elwin had taken, every decision he had made, had led to this very moment, like ripples upon the water's surface. It had culminated in a perfect storm of tragedy and betrayal, and by his hand had he not only brought his sons, friends, and loyal soldiers low, but had also sentenced The Grand Duchy of Rosaria to the death he had so desperately tried to spare her from. No amount of apologies would make amends for it; he knew he didn't deserve forgiveness, nor would he ask for it from the families of those who had been lost.

The former Archduke shifted on his knees, and as he did so, the chains restraining his hands and feet rattled in protest amidst the dark quiet of the gaol cell.

His neck throbbed and burned in a way unfamiliar to him, and across one cheek the brand of a Bearer had been seared into his skin. The latter was so fresh that blood still wept from it, dripping down that side of his face and jaw to collect haphazardly on the cold, unforgiving stone floor directly in front of him.

How long had he been here now? He didn't know, had no way to tell, and he certainly wasn't going to ask his captors.

Every time a pair of Imperial guards would stop by to check that he was still alive, he refused to utter a single word in response to their taunts and jeers. They may have stripped him of everything, from his weapon to his clothes and his personal possessions, but they would not take away nor break his pride. He wouldn't give Anabella that satisfaction, either.

Parched lips pulled back to reveal gritted teeth. Despite the futility of the movements, he nonetheless attempted to wrest his arms free of their captivity, yanking against the chains until the clamor from them became almost deafening in its frantic energy. The grief and despair that he oft felt periodically gave way to anger -- a rage so blindingly intense welling up within him, that he thought he might burst into flames on the spot. (And part of him wished he would.) It was this emotion that bubbled up now, rising in his throat like so much bile, threatening to choke him if he didn't spit it out by way of almost animalistic snarls and roars.

"Damn you!" Of course there was no reply. "Damn you to hell!" Only his words echoing in the still air of the dungeon, with their intended target far, far away, likely wearing that beautifully deceptive and self-assured little smile of hers that he had now come to loathe the memory of.

[lemonsandstrawberries]

Christmas Delay

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony),

summary: Christmas is around the corner, and Tony has absolutely no time to celebrate and feels guilty. 

length: 870 words

a/n: Happy Holidays! you will read this fic in three minutes, while it took me like an hour to write, December as usual has kicked my butt. Hope you all get plenty of rest during holidays, be good to yourselves! feedback, reblogs and likes are welcomed and needed!

—————

Christmas Delay

"Babe... Tony!"

"Hrrr... HNG?!" Tony's head jumped up and he opened his eyes wide. Oh, he fell asleep. On Steve's shoulder. A still moist trace of drool on Steve's shirt was clear evidence. Ew. 

Steve's chuckled, not that bothered. He watched Tony rub his face and sit up straight, movements a little slow and stiff. The end of the year was always a busy time for his boyfriend, with wrapping all the work for Stark Industries, closing shipments and sells, invoicing, and all the other things that gave Steve a headache just from hearing about it. Of course, Tony had Pepper to help, but with all respect to Pepper's skills, even she couldn't keep up with the enormous amount of work. Tony made sure that Pepper ate enough, slept enough, and kept her out of the office when he saw that Pepper's bright eyes became red from staying up all night over documents. It was sweet. It was less sweet that Tony didn't apply the same politics to himself. 

"Go to bed," Steve said softly, leaning in closer to press his nose over Tony's cheek. It was still early, just after 7 pm, but Tony clearly needed rest. And if Tony won't take care of Tony, Steve will. 

"But, you wanted to decorate the Christmas tree," Tony said, eyes drifting to the part of the room where a huge, bright green tree stood, boxes of ornaments nearby. He already felt guilty, that Steve had to go and choose the Christmas tree all by himself, while Tony was in the office, doing phone calls after phone calls. 

"We can do it later."

"But - " Tony looked at the TV, seeing a scene where the McCallister family was rushing through the airport. Oh, great. The move barely started and he had already fallen asleep. "I feel rested now, we can still watch the movie - "

"It is fine, Tony, we can watch 'Home Alone' for the twelfth time another day."

Tony was running out of arguments. And patience. Towards himself. Why Steve was so nice when he was letting him down time after time?

"I am sorry," Tony gave up, putting his face in his hands, smothered by the weight of everything. December was supposed to be a joyful time, but it wasn't when you were a head of a multi-billion dollar company with an overfull schedule. 

"You don't have to be sorry, I know you have a lot of work. And soon you will go on a Christmas break, and then we can binge-watch all the movies and eat all the cookies," Steve said in a cheery voice. 

Tony laughed weakly. There was sincerity and love in the voice which he didn’t expect to get. He turned to look at his boyfriend and smiled tiredly. "I don't deserve you," he said truthfully.

"That's some bullshit and you know it," Steve warned, making Tony's smile a bit wider and more real. No self-loathing. Seeing Tony smile, made Steve smile too. "Go to bed," Steve repeated, leaning in again. Tony expected to be nosed in the cheek again, instead, Steve placed a tiny, tiny kiss on his cheek. And another one. And another one. And some more.

"He-hehey! Steheve!" Tony giggled, tipping his head up to escape from the ticklish feeling.

Steve laughed too, placing more tiny kisses on Tony's jawline and neck, just to make him smile and giggle, nothing too intense. When Tony became too wriggly, Steve wrapped arms around him and pulled him closer, making his boyfriend squeak in panic. 

"You're so cute," Steve laughed at the high-pitched sound, pulling Tony into his lap and curling with him.

"I am not!" Tony argued stubbornly, trying to move his face out of the range of the ticklish kisses. 

"You are. And you are ticklish in all cute places like here," Steve said, gently running his fingers over Tony's ribcage.

"AH! Ahahaa! No!" Tony protested, trying to push himself out of Steve's embrace. The tickling wasn't bad, it was quite nice actually and Tony felt his overtired mind-melting, but his body still had some fight left in. 

"You are not ticklish there? Then... how about here?" Steve's fingers walked lower, softly kneading over the sides.

"Hahahaha! Steveehehe!"

"Definitely ticklish. But you know where the cutest place is?"

Tony had a hunch. Still, he squeaked in a very undignified manner when Steve's warm hand slid under his shirt and fingers traced his belly button.

"PHHH HIHIHIHI!"

"Sooo cute," Steve said gleefully, continuing the very soft tickling over the quivering stomach and sides, not bothered by Tony's constant wriggling and kicking legs. He didn't want to be too mean and kept it up only for a few seconds before stopping and cuddling Tony close, not letting him bolt away. 

Tony took some deep, calming breaths, settling down. His head felt heavy, and his body relaxed greatly, not so tense anymore. Huh. Who would have thought that something so silly would be so helpful. 

"Mmm... Steve..."

"Yeah?"

"I think I need to go to sleep earlier."

Steve smiled, loosening his hold, but still keeping Tony close. "I think so too," he agreed, letting Tony stand up and walking with him into the bedroom.

Christmas could wait.

[fernweh-writes]

Hi dear, I was wondering if you could do headcanon about slashers having s/o, who is really insecure, that she is not pretty enough, doubts herself and is afraid that she is not worthy of them.. So basically some comforting fluff? 👉👈

Some of these are kinda nsfw. Mostly just Jesse and Asa’s though.

-Fern🌿

Michael Meyers

Michael was a person who didn’t understand social cues and had no clue how to deal with people and their emotions. But he’s also a stalker who is good at observing people and you’re the love of his life.

He notices the way you look at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes so sad and also so filled with hate at the same time. Your eyes always focus on the same parts of you and it’s like he can almost hear the criticizing thoughts in your head.

Today as you stood in the mirror your hands squeezed your sides, wishing that your waist was small like all those models on TV and magazines. You wish you looked like the girls you noticed Michael always looking at, the kind of girls he always seemed to admire.

You were so busy glaring yourself down you hadn’t even noticed Michael walk up behind you until he was setting his hands on top of yours. His mask was still down over his face, so your eyes met the empty dark holes of it in the mirror. You had only ever seen him without it once before.

Spinning around in his arms, you turned to look up at him, “You’re being extra sneaky today, I didn’t even hear you unlock the door.” He didn’t look down at you, his head still tilted up, watching you in the mirror. The fact he didn’t acknowledge what you said made your heart drop.

That was until his hands left yours and crept up to his mask, slowly removing it. His blue eyes searched yours before tilting your chin up and placing a firm kiss to your lips. Without breaking the kiss he grabbed your hips and picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you over to the bed.

He planned on showing you just how much he appreciated you and your body.

Bo Sinclair

It was pretty common for Bo to make comments about your body. His sexual comments sometimes made you feel slightly better, like you were desirable. Other times it made you feel like a piece of meat, like all you were good for was a quick fuck.

Bo may be insensitive and he usually never thought twice about what he said, but he was also observant and good at picking up on people’s emotions. He noticed when his comments stopped making you laugh and shove his chest and you began to force a smile that looked more like a grimace. Still, he was Bo, and he figured that if it really mattered you would just tell him to shut his trap.

After some time though he figures it’s best to lay off the vulgar comments and switch on the southern charm. He can sweet talk anyone he wants but he especially loves the power he holds over you whenever he uses that charm against you. You’re so easy to fluster, you melt into him every time he compliments you.

He quickly decides that he enjoys praising you. After all, it seems to make you so needy for him. The fact you seek out his praise just fuels that big ego of his.

Comes up with plenty of pet names. His favorites are definitely darlin’ and pretty girl though. Calling you honey is one of his cheesier favorites. You can expect him to start saying “Honey, I’m home,” whenever he comes home in a good mood. If he doesn’t say it, it’s best to just hand him a beer and let him yell at whoever he decides to be upset with.

If you open up to him about your insecurities he really won’t say much. Bo has never been a big feelings person and he doesn’t know how to do a good job of comforting or relating to people. However, you’ll notice him being extra sweet and affectionate. Just don’t mention it or else he’ll feel the need to be an asshole. He’s gotta keep up hsi reputation after all.

Long story short, Bo isn’t all bad and he can be soft and sweet sometimes.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent saw you as his muse, his goddess, his reason for living and he made sure to always show you exactly how much you meant to him.

He knew your body better than you ever could. His hands had traced every curve, every dip, every perfect imperfection of you and he could always find something new about you to admire.

Vincent knew the parts of you that he hated, so he always made sure to pay extra attention to those parts of your body just to show you how much he admired everything about you. Everything you thought was the worst part of you would quickly become his favorite.

He’s no stranger to insecurity, he grew up in a small town where people loved to talk and gossip. Talk and gossip isn’t much fun when you’re the kid with only half of a face who wears a mask everywhere he goes because his parents didn’t like to look at him. He would rather die than to ever let you feel that way about yourself.

He still has a favorite part of you though and that’s your eyes. They tell him everything he ever needs to know about what you’re thinking or feeling. He’s seen your eyes show how much you hated your reflection to the amount of love for him that was bottled up within you. Your eyes always gave away what you were thinking, which allowed him to be able to swoop in any time you were troubled.

You quickly become one of his favorite things to draw. He no longe needs a reference for you anymore either, he has your whole body memorized. He couldn’t forget anything about you no matter how hard he tried. Even then, why would he ever want to forget something as beautiful and perfect as you.

Brahms Heelshire

He completely understands feeling insecure. After all he had to hide in the walls and cover his face after the fire. He watched his parents love a doll more than they could ever love him. So he makes sure to tell you how beautiful he thinks you are even if you aren’t a blonde. But he doesn’t understand why you feel like you don’t deserve him.

Brahmsy thinks you’re the best person ever, he wouldn’t have kept you as his nanny if he didn’t think that you were perfect. After all you take care of him and handle everything your strange life throws at you.

He’s seen every part of you while hiding in those walls and there isn’t a single part of you that he isn’t mesmerized by.

There really isn’t ever anyone for you to feel lesser than in the manor. After all, it is just you, Brahms, and Malcolm. However, if anyone ever came along and made you feel inferior or undeserving Brahms wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of them. He can’t have you feeling upset.

He’s touched starved and handsy so he uses each and every single chance you give him to explore your body. There’s nothing he wants more than to touch every part of you. He’s in awe of you and he wants to show you just how much he needs you.

He makes sure to express to you that if either of you weren’t worthy of the other it would be him. After all, he got extra lucky for you to have stumbled into his grasp and there’s no way in hell he’s letting you escape.

Thomas Hewitt

There’s not a moment where he isn’t showing you just how much he loves you. Once he becomes comfortable with you, Thomas is surprisingly affectionate. He is not against PDA and the family never mentions it. After all Luda Mae wants grand babies and Hoyt knows better than to anger Tommy. Besides, Luda Mae thinks that the two of you are absolutely adorable.

Thomas is well aware of how it feels to hate the reflection in the mirror and he hates that you could ever feel that way about yourself. He does his best to show you that he sees you in a completely different light than you see yourself in. To him, you’re the sweetest most beautiful thing to ever walk the earth.

The fact you think you don’t deserve him leaves him feeling flustered. He never expected anyone to love him the way that you do. For you to say you’re not good enough for him blows his mind. He’s a murderer and he doesn’t see how you could ever find him attractive. He. Can’t even speak to tell you how much he adores you but there’s times where he really wishes he could.

Whenever you’re having days where you feel more self critical than usual he puts off his chores to take care of you. Hoyt can bitch all that he wants, Thomas is always going to put you first. Will spend all day in bed with you running his hands over your body and placing gentle kisses against your skin.

Listens to anything you have to say. Although he can’t contribute much to the conversation, Tommy is still a very expressive person. You can see the criticizing look he gives you anytime you say something negative about yourself. He’s not above huffing and rolling his eyes either, grumbling anytime you say something that he doesn’t like.

Billy Loomis

It’s no secret that Billy had plenty of people throwing themselves at him. Sure, he never really paid much attention to them, but that doesn’t change the fact that so many people wanted your boyfriend. So, it was easy for you to begin to think about how easy it would be for Billy to find someone better than you.

As soon as you open up to Billy about these things he’s quick to shut those thoughts down. After all, Billy rarely ever let’s people get as close to him as you have. In fact, the only other person that comes close is Stu. Billy wouldn’t have opened up to you if he didn’t think that you were permanent and he makes sure that you know that.

Begins to shut down all your self critical comments as well. Before he just thought you were joking, and in a way you still were, but he knew that you thought there was some truth to your words. He’s basically going to force you to be kinder to yourself whether you like it or not.

Billy can be an ass sometimes, he likes to pick fights, and he can be insensitive, but never would he use something he knows your insecure about as leverage against you. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did.

Lots of heavy petting and make out sessions whenever your having days where you feel more self loathing than usual. You may not like the person in the mirror but he sure as hell does. He’s gonna make sure you know just how much he loves you and how much he loves your body as well.

Stu Macher

Simply cannot allow you to think that you are anything but the hottest and coolest person on the planet.

Before, it was pretty common for Stu to flirt with the girls at his parties, sometime he could even get kinda handsy. However, as soon as he finds out that you’re doubting yourself, he cuts it out quick. No one could be better than you and he feels bad that he even allowed you to think he could ever be interested in anyone else but you.

He enjoyed showing off but once he finds out your insecure he begins to flaunt the fact you’re his. Points out how many people wish could be him whenever he’s showing you off. He believes that if you see how many people want you but can’t have you, you’ll start to feel more confident.

Stu has always been very affectionate, which includes being physically affectionate. Don’t think that he would ever shy away from PDA either. You point out someone staring at him, jealous of you? Great, he’ll make sure to make out with you right in front of them to prove he’s off the market. Won’t hesitate to feel you up in front of people either cause he’s definitely a perverted little shit.

Lots of cuddling and compliments from him. Also enjoys spoiling you to show you just how much he loves you. Shopping sprees to find clothes you feel confident in become very common.

Jesse Cromeans

For you to not feel good enough for him insinuates the idea he has bad taste, and Jesse does not have bad taste. He will go to any length to prove that to you as well.

His favorite pet name for you is princess because to him you might as well be royalty. He wants you to know that your a treasure to him. Expect to be spoiled with the finest clothes, expensive jewelry, you’ll be living lavishly once your Jesse’s. He sees himself as your protector and provider, prides himself in that fact, so obviously you deserve nothing but the best there is.

Jesse understands what it’s like to be insecure, especially after what Gem did to his face, so he’s quick to shut down any negative comments. He knows how to say all the right things as well so you can expect plenty of messages from him that make you absolutely melt. This man can charm anyone, but he mainly focuses that charm on you.

Likes to dress you up in expensive lingerie and tell you how pretty you are before absolutely wrecking you. Jesse will make sure to praise you the entire time.

Feeling insecure about what his employees think of you? He’ll make you sit on his lap during his meetings just to show you off. If you’re blushing like crazy it just makes him feel more justified in caressing your body while his employees can do nothing but stare at the pretty little thing in his lap. Although, if they stare for to long they’ll no longer be an employee or alive.

Would most definitely fuck you in front of a mirror just to show you what he sees. Look at how pretty you are when he’s absolutely wrecking you, how could he not be in awe of you.

Asa Emory

Do you really think that you would be the most prized part of his collection if you weren’t the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. You’re his favorite pet, he keeps you in his home, in his bed, you don’t get to feel unworthy. Although, the fact you feel like you don’t deserve him would fuel his god complex.

If you’re having a hard time with your insecurities his rough touch will turn into gentle caressing. It’s a rare occasion so make sure to savor the moment.

He notices when you’re feeling upset. Asa knows that being away from you so much gives your mind more time to run rampant. So whenever he’s been away longer than normal he makes sure to indulge you a little bit, even if he is busy. Expect him to let you sit in his lap while he works on grading papers and assignments that he’s gotten behind on. Occasionally he’ll rub your back as you snuggle against his chest. He’s allowed to be soft sometimes to.

Admires everything about your body and he makes sure you know it. Gently caresses and kisses every part of you, especially the parts you’re insecure about.

Much like Jesse, mirror sex is 100% on the table. Asa would love nothing more than for you to see just how beautifully you fall apart because of his touch. He knows your body better than you do and never fails to get exactly the reaction he wants from you.

Domestic Asa Domestic Asa Domestic Asa. If you’re having an extra hard time with your insecurities he would definitely make you breakfast in bed. For just one day you’ll be allowed to call the shots. Or at least you’ll believe you’re the one calling the shots.

[miyagihawk]

why’d you only call me when you’re high? pt. 2 | eli “hawk” moskowitz x reader

part one

here’s part 2 by popular demand! based off the arctic monkeys song and amazing request by @deadbeatharlz <3 thank you guys for the support on part 1 im so happy you liked it :)

warnings: self harming behavior, LOTS of swearing, alcohol and drug abuse, sooo so angstyyyy buckle up

summary: it’s been 3 months since your last night with hawk, and you haven’t been yourself.

word count: 3,062



The past 3 months have been rough. Maybe the worst you’ve ever been. You fell into the deep hole that you dug yourself. The hole of loving Hawk Moskowitz.

You never thought you’d be one of those people who let unrequited love devastate their whole being. In fact you always thought the whole heartbreak thing was pathetic and melodramatic. Until it happened to you.

You hate yourself for letting him have this effect on you. But there’s a pestering voice in the back of your mind that reminds you: it’s all your fault. He didn’t ask you to love him. It’s just easier to blame him for your downfall.

Parties, drugs, alcohol. Sex with people you don’t even know. High on the same drug that compelled him to call you in the night.

You’ve become so desperate to forget him that you ruined yourself. It hurts your pride to be the whiny heartbroken girl who let a stupid boy’s rejection shatter her self worth. But the hole is too deep and there’s no hope trying to grasp onto the dirt walls to get out.

The worst part of it is that he sees it all. At school, (if you even go) he looks at you like the scum of the earth as he passes by with his little karate gang. When you end up at the same party, he’ll have a disgusted expression on his face and leave as if he can’t bare to look at you. 

Tonight is one of those nights, and you watch him from across the backyard as he goofs around with his friends. He hasn’t noticed you yet, hence why he’s even still here and not on his way out the door to get away from you.

“If you stare at him any longer, I think he’ll shoot up into flames,” your best friend Robby hands you a cup, and you don’t hesitate before downing its unknown contents. The burn in your throat makes you hum with content.

“That’s the plan,” you take your eyes of off Hawk to look at Robby. You gesture to his own cup in his hand, “Are you gonna drink that?”

“Easy there, Y/N. We got here 5 minutes ago,” he warns, but holds out the drink towards you anyway. Robby’s always been worried about you and your habits, but he knows how you can be when you’re told no.

You swallow down the drink in a few seconds, ignoring his remark. “5 minutes? I can beat my record!” you cheer sarcastically, and start walking to the kitchen in search of a keg. Robby follows closely behind you, a wary look on his face.

The fuzzy feeling starts to take over your body as you throw back drink after drink. It’s the buzz you crave every second of every day because it just makes you feel so good. Everything is happier and your cares feel so far away. Hawk feels so far away.

You sit on the couch next to Robby in your dazed trance, drunkenly rambling to him about random things. He glares at anyone who comes near you and looks like they would take advantage of you in your state.

Robby really hates you like this, but he can’t help but feel protective over you. He’s not even a fan of parties; he really only goes to keep an eye on you. You’re grateful even though you act like you hate it when he babysits you.

“Heyyy pretty Y/N! Want some?” Yasmine approaches where you sit, a joint held between her fingers. Her eyes are drooped and she sways as she stands.

You reach out to take the blunt, but you feel Robby push your arm down. “You’re already drunk. That’s enough,” he says sternly, making you roll your eyes.

“I can do what I want, Dad,” you taunt, and take the joint from Yasmine. Smoke fills up your lungs, immediately giving you pleasure. Robby just shakes his head in disapproval as the air around him becomes hazy.

“I’m going to the bathroom. Stay here,” he orders, getting up from the couch.

You nod, but of course, you don’t listen. The sound of splashing from outside sets off a lightbulb above your head and you feel like you’re floating while you walk to the backyard.

Right as you step out of the house, you make eye contact with none other than Hawk. He gives you a distasteful look like always, before turning back to his group. Asshole.

You just scoff and stumble towards the pool, where a couple is making out and a few people are drunkenly playing with the water like little kids.

Reaching the edge of the pool’s rim, you let yourself fall in with a splash. You feel the pressure in your ears start to build as you sink to the bottom. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re cross faded, but being underwater feels like a world of bliss.

The loud music of the party is muted, creating a sense of serenity. The legs of the other people in the pool make you laugh to yourself, sending bubbles from your mouth to the surface. It’s glittery and pretty and you want to stay forever.

You don’t know how long you’re under there for, but you don’t notice your lungs running out of air. It just feels good to be alone for a second. Next thing you know, you feel your eyes start to droop closed; a strange peace overcoming your body.

A loud thrashing noise in the water makes you wake up with a gasp. You swallow too much water as you feel someone grab hold of your arm. It’s all a blur and you’re being pulled up to the surface, taking you away from the tranquil world you were just in.

The music is pounds against your ears again and the air is cold on your skin. You feel your body being laid down on the concrete of the poolside, but everything feels numb. You just feel sleepy and you want to close your eyes again.

“Y/N, hey, wake up. Wake up,” a voice makes your eyes shoot back open. Someone is looking down at you, with a hand shaking your shoulder. Your vision is somewhat blurry, but the mohawk gives it away. It’s him.

You suddenly become aware of the large amount of water in your lungs and you turn over to your side to cough it up. After you get it all out, you notice the people at the party looking at you with eyes of pity mixed with judgement.

“What the fuck were you doing? You could’ve died, are you fucking stupid?” Hawk curses, but even in your inebriated state you can hear a hint of worry in his voice.

You sit up to face him. He looks angry; his clothes and hair are as wet as yours.

Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen in your brain, or maybe it’s the marijuana and alcohol, but you just feel the urge to laugh. So you do. Like a complete maniac. The way he probably just saved your life like he cares is sickly comedic to you.

His face twists in confusion as you break out into a fit of giggles. “Are you serious? You’re fucking insane, Y/N,” he gets up, shaking his head at you. He gives a glare to the people staring, and they look away in fear.

You think he’s going to leave like usual, but he surprises you by grabbing your arm to pull you up. People whisper amongst themselves as he drags you through the backyard, going through a gate that leads to front of the house. You trip over your own feet, still feeling dizzy from almost drowning, but he just pulls you along.

“What are you doing?” you ask, tugging on your arm to try and release it from the tight grip he has on you. You’re both dripping chlorinated water, leaving a track of drops on the concrete below.

“You’re going home Y/N,” he says sternly. You two arrive at his car and he opens the passenger door. “Get in.”

“Hey!” a voice yells from the house and you both turn to see Robby rushing towards the car. He looks pissed, and now you remember him telling you to stay put. Shit.

“Robby I-”

“Don’t get in there with him Y/N,” he says, sending a death stare to the boy next to you.

“I’m taking her home, Keene, so back the fuck off. Get in Y/N,” Hawk snaps, clenching his fists.

You keep quiet, not wanting to add to the fire already starting. They loathe each other; if not because of the karate rivalry, then because of you. To Robby, Hawk broke your heart and made you spiral. To Hawk, Robby is the piece of shit who he thinks is your boyfriend, and he won’t admit it but he’s jealous.

“You’re not driving her, asshole. You’re probably as drunk as her,” Robby reaches to take your arm, but Hawk pulls you back.

“You don’t know shit about me, Keene. I’ve been sober for three months, so yeah, I will drive her,” Hawk picks you up like you’re a doll, placing you in the passenger seat and closing the door. You don’t resist, you just feel tired and your head starts to pound as if the mix of drugs in your system are punishing you. The window’s down, so you can still hear the two boys loud and clear.

I’ve been sober for three months, his voice echoes in your head.

“Oh so now you care so much about her? It’s your fault she’s like this!” Robby raises his voice even more, starting to move towards Hawk threateningly. You begin to feel scared that a physical fight might actually break out, but you don’t know what to do.

“I’m not the one who almost let her die a few minutes ago, am I? Just fuck off, we’re leaving,” Hawk dismisses him, walking around the car to the driver’s seat. You’re surprised by his self control to not throw a punch, especially with his reputation.

“Robby, it’s okay. I just want to go home. I’ll call you, alright?” you reach your hand out of the window in reassurance and he takes hold of it. Hawk clenches his jaw as he turns on the engine.

“Promise you’ll be careful? I’m sorry I left you,” Robby furrows his eyebrows in worry. When he came out of the bathroom, someone filled him in on what happened to you and he almost had a heart attack.

“Promise. And it’s my fault,” you hook your pinky with his, before the car pulls out of the curb and separates you from your best friend. He watches you guys drive away, an anxious expression etched on his face.

The whole situation has sobered you up pretty well, and now you’re left with a throbbing headache, wet clothes, and awkward tension. You hate it. Being sober. You miss the foggy feeling that prevents you from thinking too hard about things. But now you’re inches away from the boy who broke your heart, all by choice.

You don’t know why you agreed to go with him, but did you even have a choice? You’re confused by his actions. He acts like he hates you but he jumps in a pool for you. He yelled at you but he’s driving you home. It all makes you overthink and it causes your head to ache even more.

You hold your head in your hands to try and ease the pain as Hawk drives quietly.

“You good?” he breaks the silence. His voice is softer compared to how he talked to Robby minutes ago.

“Head hurts,” you mumble.

“What were you doing back there? If I didn’t get you out, you’d probably be in the hospital right now,” he says. You peek at him through your hands and his eyes are on the road.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “It was just peaceful. I didn’t really even think about breathing.”

He scoffs. “Well that’s just fucking stupid. You’re lucky I noticed you were under for so long.”

“Well thanks,” you reply quietly, feeling like a little kid being scolded.

There’s a couple beats of silence before he speaks, “What happened to you?”

The question makes you sit up and look over at him. “What are you talking about?”

“The old Y/N wouldn’t even touch a drink. You’re different,” Hawk taps his finger on the wheel in thought. His icy blue eyes quickly glance at your confused look before returning to the road.

“You happened, Hawk.” You pinch your temples in frustration. Anger starts to bubble up in your stomach at his criticism. At the mention of “old you”.

“I didn’t do this to you,” he shakes his head, as if trying to convince himself of his own words.

“You did,” you raise your voice, making him flinch. “You know it.”

“What, because I stopped sleeping with you? I didn’t make you fall in love with me, Y/N. You did that to yourself,” he spits, sending a knife to your heart and making you see red.

“You knew I loved you way before I said it. But you still stringed me along, didn’t you? You knew I would pick up everytime you called. You knew that I would let you into my bed because I was the girl who loved you no matter how fucking shitty you were!” you fire back, vomiting out words that you’ve wanted to say for months. The alcohol in your system makes you bolder than usual, but you’re grateful for it.

He’s at a loss for words at your outburst so you continue, “I didn’t ask for this Hawk. Loving you. I’m sorry that I’m such a burden and that you hate me so much that you can’t stand being in the same room as me. But please just answer me this and I’ll leave you alone forever. I’ll leave when we show up at the same party and I’ll even hide in the halls so you don’t have to see my face.”

You pause, choking on your words. You didn’t even realize that the car is already parked in front of your house and your clothes are halfway dry.

“Why don’t you love me?” your voice cracks as you spit out the question that has caused you to throw yourself away. The question with an answer that could dissipate your self worth in a mere moment.

Hawk finally looks into your glassy eyes with shock. He could’ve never anticipated what you asked him and his mouth runs dry.

“I told you, I- I don’t deserve someone like you loving me,” he swallows, but you shake your head.

“That’s not what I asked.”

He blinks slowly, trying to come up with an excuse. Any excuse, to avoid telling you the truth. You can see the inner conflict on his face, the panicked speed of his running thoughts.

“You should go home, Y/N,” he deflects, turning away from you. Putting on his mask to keep you from reading him like a book.

“I’m not going until you tell me,” you demand.

“Just get out of the car, fuck!” Hawk yells, slamming his hands down on the steering wheel. It makes you jump a little, but you’re too angry to fear the flames in his eyes.

“Why can’t you just tell me!” you fire back. “You came to me almost every night, so why do I feel something that you don’t? Is it me? Is there something wrong with me?”

“What do you want me to fucking say Y/N! That I do love you? Fucking fine. I love you. Is that what you wanted to hear? Just get out.”

I love you.

The same words you said that made him leave.

“You don’t even mean that,” you blink back your tears.

His voice is softer now, more gentle. “If I didn’t mean it then I wouldn’t have said it.”

“You said you needed me and then you left me,” your voice shakes and you hate how pathetic you sound.

“I-I didn’t leave you,” he stammers before taking a deep breath. “I left because you wanted something more than I could give you. I would’ve felt like a selfish asshole if we became more than just sex, Y/N. You deserve someone like Keene and yeah he’s a pussy but he’s good. Better than me.”

It feels like every piece in the puzzle is being put together. Everything makes sense. He does love you, but he was just afraid. He can’t be near you because it hurts too much to see someone he can’t have. Somehow, you can’t find the anger you’ve held against him for these past months; you just understand him now.

“I’m sorry, alright? For everything. For treating your feelings like shit. All of it.”

You swallow, thinking about his words. It all feels too much and the truth is now looking you in the eye, demanding an answer. You love him, but he dropped your heart on the floor for you to pick up every shard. Is one sorry going to magically fix everything?

“I- I don’t know what to say,” you admit, and he nods in understanding.

“You don’t have to say anything. Let’s just... move on. And you get better... I hate seeing you like this,” Hawk scans your red eyes and dilated pupils. “We’ll get to a better place and you and me, we’ll be good.”

It’s bittersweet, but he’s right. Being together now just because he loves you back would be a huge jump that would only end in broken hearts and toxic cycles. It would be foolish. As much as you want him, the only person who can fix you is yourself.

So it’s a meet up at the top of the mountain, when you’ve both made the journey from opposite sides.

“A better place,” you reiterate, before placing a light kiss to his cheek and leaving the car with a new sense of closure.

a/n: that was longer than i planned and a freaking roller coaster!!!!!!! im not sure if there should be a part 3? lmk what you think maybe it’ll just be short. but hehe i added robby into the mix he was so cute. ty for reading!

taglist for people who wanted part 2 :) ty friends for the support <3 @littlered6307 @deadbeatharlz @spiderman-berries @axastasiasstuff @r0-xie @estupidteen @hawkwhore @idkwhatishouldput4

[velveticamoon]

‘LIMERENCE IN IT’S PUREST FORM’

DAZAI OSAMU X FEM! READER

— dazai finally takes off his bandages, but with that his insecurities seem to be bubbling up to the surface, scared that his s/o’s love for him may waver because of the imprints of his past upon his skin. 

WARNINGS: angst (but turns into fluff??), mentions of suicide attempts (it’s dazai folks c’mon-), self-harm mentions, implied sex, profanity

[lowercase intended] 

A/N: was this fic my way of professing my love for dazai? yes no ofc not. this gets so painstakingly soft at the end even i’m not sure how tf that happened but hope y’all enjoy nonetheless (feedback and reblogs are appreciated!! have a lovely day folks)

“are you sure about this?” you asked as you held his hand gently in the palm of your hand, the two of you sat cross-legged in front of each other on your bed. he sat with his clothes off, shirt discarded somewhere along the floor of the bedroom, his trench coat neatly hung across the back of your desk chair. he looked calm, despite the storm that you knew was brewing within his mind.

he slightly chuckled, his eyes closed for a split second before reopening, allowing you the chance to bask in the pools of brown that were being illuminated by the moonlight filtered through the window, casting a shadow over his form in an ethereal manner. how he always managed to look beautiful, no matter what it may be that he was doing at that moment? you’ll never know, but you’d never pass up the opportunity to bask within his beauty.

“if i wasn’t sure, i wouldn’t be sitting here in front of you like this right now, belladonna,” he said, in a hushed manner, not wanting to break the atmosphere around the two of you. he flipped his hand that was facing upwards, gently intertwining your fingers as though he was trying to calm you down. but you knew he wasn’t trying to calm just you down, for the slight shake in his fingers gave him away despite his smile-graced face.

you sighed, shutting your eyes gently for a second, giving his hand a light squeeze before reopening them to look at him.

“it’s ok to be scared, you know?” you said, watching his expression morph from one of calm to surprise, to genuine relief. if there was someone he was willing to let his guard down with, even if it was merely one of the many walls he’s caged himself in that surrounded him in an everlasting maze; it might as well be you.

“i’m fine love, but the longer you linger on this feeble task, the more i’ll be tempted to just rip them off myself~,” he said in a teasing manner. when in reality he knew that if that was the case, he’d most definitely shrink back within himself, too scared to let you know what truly lies beneath the shield of his bandages.

he just didn’t want you to abandon him, for he believed that someone as ugly as him didn’t deserve to be cradled so gently within the innocence of your touch.

“i just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, i just.. i want you to feel safe with me,” you said, eyes looking straight into his, and he saw all the unadulterated love you were pouring into his being with merely your gaze, and he almost let his breath hitch because of how overwhelmingly in love he was with you, almost.

“i want you to do it, i trust you,” he said, his voice dripping with a sense of honesty you’d never heard spilled from his lips. that small reassurance was enough for you to finally grip the ends of the everlasting bandages layered over his skin, finally tugging at the bit that would begin the anticipated unraveling of the truth that lay on his skin.

this time, his breath did hitch, your ears caught onto it, and your eyes snapped up to meet his eyes immediately. “do you want me to stop?” you asked, concern laced within your voice, and that alone made his heart melt, the initial shock of the action fading away.

he brought his hand up to stroke your cheek with his thumb, the warmth from your skin sinking into his cool hands, a soft smile tugged at his lips.

“no, i want you to keep going,” he said, and so you did.

you slowly unraveled the rest of the slightly worn-out white bandages, to the point where the pull of gravity finished the job for you. you began gently pulling away the bandages and toss them to the side, only to look back and freeze.

scars upon scars littered his pale skin; some varying in sizes, some faded, but others still fresh. but in the end, the ones that broke your heart the most were the ones engrained on his wrists, indicating that the pain had been inflicted upon him by his own hand.

your lips parted, eyes wide, the shock was ever-so evident on your face. your fingers ghosted over his skin, as though you were afraid to touch him, which in a way, you were. not because you were disgusted, but the thought of you hurting him caused you to refrain from doing so.

dazai stayed silent while watching your movements, calculating his next movements to help stimulate you but to still manage to maintain his facade, but all his thoughts got cut off as he felt you pull him into your embrace.

“i-i’m so sorry, osa, none of- fuck- none of this should’ve happened to you,” you said. dazai could only stay silent as you held him.

dazai’s mind went blank, and he could do nothing but relish in the feeling of your arms around his being, actually getting to feel you without the bandages acting as a barrier between the two of your bodies.

“something as ugly as this shouldn’t have had to even be near your skin,” you said, but despite the sentiment that dazai knew you meant with the words, he couldn’t help the feeling of them rubbing him in the wrong way.

but he didn’t say anything, he just wrapped his arms around you too, and leaned his head atop yours, closing his eyes.

‘she thinks i’m ugly..’ the thought kept running through his head, no matter how much he tried to push it away. dazai had always been one to never let his insecurities show on the surface, but this was one of those moments where he felt as though he couldn’t possibly get more vulnerable than he already was. eventually, the thought had gnawed at him enough, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

with a sigh, he pulls away from the hug and asks “do you want me to put the bandages back on?”

you look at him confused, “does something hurt? if that’s the case, then go for it. otherwise, why?”

he shrugs, averting his gaze towards the blanket that laid beneath the two of you, and says, “i don’t know, i figured because you said that you don’t think they’re beautiful.. you didn’t want to look at them anymore.”

your heart shattered, and you couldn’t help but look at him in disbelief.

“excuse me?” you asked in an exasperated tone, you genuinely couldn’t understand where that thought came from and felt guilt pool in your chest when you realized.

‘he thinks i don’t wanna look at him anymore.. because of his scars..?’

your features immediately softened, and with the way you gazed at him with tears in your eyes, one could only describe your expression as heartbroken.

you cupped his cheek with the palm of your hand and turned his face to look at you, but his eyes remained averted.

you sighed, “osamu, look at me.” you said, voice gentle but held a sternness to it that he knew he’d be an idiot to refuse to comply with.

“what in the fucking universe gave you that idea?” you said, his eyes slightly widened, lips barely parted at the way your voice shifted.

but the thing that shocked him the most was the pure determination that was spread across your features. you gazed at him with such sincerity that he felt utterly enamored by it, almost getting lost in your eyes if it weren’t for your voice bringing him back.

“your scars, although yes, i don’t think they’re beautiful, i’d never want you to hide them from me. the only reason i don’t think of them as beautiful is because of the amount of pain i can only imagine that came with them. and it's ironic, considering i know how much you hate pain.. yet you’ve had to endure so much of it,” you let out with a bitter chuckle. “it doesn’t mean i would try to turn a blind eye and move on, as though they were never there in the first place.” you paused, forcing your throat to not close up on you as you spoke, trying your damn hardest to keep your tears at bay, to stay strong, all for him. you knew that that’s what he needed the most right now, and that became all the more prominent when you noticed the tears beginning to prick at his eyes as well.

you shut your eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to recollect your thoughts, before looking back into his eyes.

“when i told you i loved you, i meant it. every word,” you said, and his breath hitched at your words, but that didn’t stop you, no.

for nothing could stop the way your heart beats for the man in front of you. no matter how ugly the scars may be that were permanently ingrained in his skin, that wouldn’t cause you to lose sight of the true beauty that lies within his soul.

“when i told you that i love you.. i made a promise to myself. to love and cherish every part of you, the good and the bad, the quirks and the flaws, the beauty, and the pain. i promised to love all of you.. even the parts you’ve come to hate yourself.” you said slowly, with a bittersweet smile lining your features, dazai could do nothing but stare at you as you spoke your heart out to him.

“..why?” was the only word he could croak out. he internally loathed how weak and feeble he sounded in that moment, how he didn’t want it to show how much of an effect you had on him with just your mere words, but that was something that he knew he’d never be able to hide. everyone in the world knew that if there was one thing dazai would never lie about, it was his love for you.

you smiled softly, and brought your other hand up to brush the messy tuft of hair atop his head back behind his ears, and leaned your forehead against his, the one that was resting against his cheek reaching down and grabbing his hand with yours and holding it against your heart. dazai’s heart fluttered at how earnest you looked in that moment.

“because.. it’s you. it doesn’t matter to me which part of you it may be.. in the end, it’s still you, and that’s all that matters to me.” you said, and he immediately connected your lips with his, as though with the simple action he was going to be able to pour all the words he wanted to say to you at that moment into your heart and mind.

and it did. it always did.

when it came to the way he kissed you, you could always tell the meaning behind each one.

the playful kisses from when he’s running away from kunikida, always coming in the form of quick and rushed pecks, only for him to continue running right after.

tender kisses to your forehead when the two of you are in the comfort of your home where you both know that no one’s watching, the kind that makes your heart flutter in the best way.

the kisses that occur when he’s managed to come back from a dangerous mission, all in one piece and he always makes sure to come back and give you a lingering kiss, to reassure you, and him, that you’re both still there and alive.

and the soft and delicate kisses to your cheeks for when he’s feeling particularly nostalgic. whether he’s reminded of something from his past, or on the days where the remembrance of his dear friend oda becomes too much to handle.

you always knew the meaning behind dazai’s kisses, and at that moment you knew that the kiss you two shared was a symbol of both of your love being poured into one another’s souls.

the two of you parted, your foreheads resting back against each other’s, breathing slightly heavy from the kiss, but that didn’t stop dazai from murmuring the words ‘i love you’ against your lips.

and he meant it, because why lie about the one thing you’ve never been more sure about in your entire life? even if he felt as though he never deserved it in the first place.

you smiled, and he’d forever feel entranced by the way the moon now cast its glow along the features he’d always found himself to be completely infatuated with. the way your hair graced and complimented your entire being only added to that infatuation.

“i love you too, my beautiful prince.” your lips captured his once again. “let me show you just how much,” you murmured against his lips as you started to gently push him back towards the bed, trailing gentle kisses along anywhere your lips could reach.

and dazai knew, no matter how many times the world may lie to him, that if there was one thing he could always believe in, it was the love the two of you shared, for it was more than love.

»»————　　————««

dazai let his thoughts wander as the two of you laid next to each other, basking in the feeling of your naked bodies tangled up within the sheets, and he watched as you littered gentle kisses along his wrists, kissing each of his scars that your lips could reach.

his heart swirled in a sensation that he could only describe as peace. _no, _it felt like more than that.

“hey, y/n..” he quietly called out. you stopped your actions, humming in response and tilting your head up to face his, which was now staring at the ceiling of your bedroom.

“what’s a word that might describe the way i’m feeling right now?” he asked, you scooted up the bed, raising yourself onto your elbow to begin playing with his hair.

“i don’t know osa, you’re the only one that can answer that,” you said, and he hummed, shutting his eyes and reveling in the feeling of you toying with his hair. “if you want to know, there might be a word to describe how i’m feeling though?” you suggested, and he fluttered his eyelids open to look at you.

“of course, belladonna, what are you feeling?” he asked, a soft smile gracing his features.

“limerence,” you said, and he tilted his head in a questioning manner, not understanding the meaning since the word you had spoken was in english. you lightly chuckled, and said, “it’s an english word, meaning ‘to be infatuated or obsessed with another person,’ and i think it’s pretty fitting, don’t you?”

he smiled even brighter at you and pulled you closer to his body so that you were now laying on his chest.

“limerence, that's this moment.. in its purest form, no? that’s what i feel, at least,” he said, and you hummed in agreement, that’s all you felt in that moment while resting in his arms.

how beautiful is it that someone could make your heart beat so fast, while remembering the times when you didn’t want it to beat at all?

[nightowlwriting]

summary: fjord takes care of the mighty nein. you take care of fjord. (part 4/13 of the kindness series, a thematically connected series of c2/exu imagines)

word count: 2.7k

warnings: mentions of self-hatred, bullying, lack of self-confidence

note: idk why this one took me so long and, honestly, it was almost super nsfw lmfao

masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Fjord is a man who appears to know exactly what he needs and when he needs it. You’re not so sure. You tend to hang back when the group talks to people, or finds jobs for coin, just to watch. That’s what you like to do - get information, tuck it away, use it later.

It just happens that sometimes you end up watching Fjord. There’s no reason, not really. He’s the leader by default, no matter how much Nott will say that it’s Caleb. He does most of the talk, smiling all coy and leaning against things to charm the party’s way through whatever Gods forsaken situation you end up in. It mostly works, with some exceptions. There are things you begin to notice in the nights after Fjord has failed to charm someone with a well-placed wink, or a sir or a ma’am. He makes the fire just a little bit larger, stacking logs and kindling and using his flint so that Caleb doesn’t have to use his magic. He cooks heartier food, sometimes even disappearing and coming back with a skewered animal from the forest to add to the pot of simmering soup. He takes the first watch and doesn’t wake anyone until halfway through the second watch so that everyone can sleep longer, even if it makes him crabby the morning after.

You come to a conclusion. Fjord takes care of people when he feels like he’s not enough. He overcompensates in his acts of kindness when something he does fails - but why? To make you all stay? To make sure you know his worth in the group? To make up for whatever he sees as a downfall? Honestly, you’re worried it’s a little bit of all three. You’re not really sure about how the mind works - that would be more for Molly, or Caleb honestly - but growing up in an orphanage with children who pick and prod at your every physical characteristic cannot be good for a person. Especially with Fjord insisting that he doesn’t have a last name, despite the times that he introduces himself and you see it die on his lips before he can say it. There’s something there, but you won’t pry. People deserve their secrets. They deserve to keep something for themselves.

If he wants to keep his last name, that’s fine with you. If he wants to keep the self-loathing inside of him until he explodes, well, that’s not fine with you. That’s why when you realize that he decompresses by making himself useful, as if the group might dismiss him just because a few people were immune to his charms, you decide to do something. No amount of reassurance from anyone will convince him otherwise and the rest of the group tends to shrug away from his slightly overbearing kindness when something goes south. Caleb, Beau, and Molly are just uncomfortable with it while Jester is usually too engrossed in journaling, Tusk Love, or talking to the Traveler. Nott is somewhere between Caleb and Yasha (uncomfortable and straight-up not around to be doted on.) And… Well, that leaves you.

It’s not that you mind Fjord’s constant doting after he perceives something to have gone wrong, but it’s hard to let him in. Your life before the Mighty Nein wasn’t exactly peaches and cream, either, but you know that he needs this. He needs to feel like he’s doing something for someone or he’ll break. You only notice that, though, after a particularly rough, rainy day of trying to get information out of people for a job. Fjord had forgotten something important which threw off the communication and sent everyone you were working with into an angry tizzy. By the time you make it back to the tavern, everyone is soaked to the bone and cranky, even you - and you tried your best to avoid getting out in the rain. What you really want to do is go back to your room and change out of your wet clothes and then go to fucking bed, but you hold back. The group disperses one by one until it’s just you and Fjord left at the bar, and before you can make your leave you see his hands shaking. His hands, which are large and calloused and strong, are shaking like a leaf in the wind. There’s no other outward sign that he’s feeling stressed or upset, and that surprises you. It also worries you. This is not how Fjord acts when something goes wrong. He doesn’t sit at the bar and brood over an ale - he mother-hens his friends until they’re sick to death of hearing his deep, drawling voice.

The combination of these things is probably what makes you pause halfway out of your seat, eyes narrow and trained on him. He makes eye contact for a brief second before looking back down to his drink. You know that approaching and asking him if he’s okay will get you nowhere but you can’t leave him alone at the bar, not when you know he’s stewing on every mistake, every misstep, whether they really happened or he’s just overanalyzing his movements. He’s your… He’s more than a friend to you, despite the fact that he doesn’t know that and you don’t show it outwardly. Fjord means too much to you to be able to let him sit and spiral into a funnel of self-doubt. You know that it will be weird to put your pride to the side and ask for help, but you also know that you don’t really need help.

But asking Fjord for help means that he’ll feel better and you think that’s a very good reason to shelf your pride for a night.

He barely looks up at you when you approach, still dripping all over the tavern’s floors and hesitant to speak. He doesn’t speak, either, just takes another long pull from his ale to bide his time until you leave. (Probably.) You take the leap first and say his name. “Fjord.” He doesn’t look at you. “I know we’ve all had a bad day,”

“You can say that again,” He snorts.

“We have,” You stress, one hand finding the hilt of the dagger on your waist for some sort of comfort. You’re wildly uncomfortable and can feel the urge to run, get away, flee building up in your gut. If you’re not careful, it’ll spill out your mouth and you’ll be forced out of the tavern for the night in humiliation and self-preservation. “It has been one hell of a day today. I do not want to be alone.” Your sentence cuts off briskly and Fjord looks up in surprise. Your face mirrors his - untamed surprise. You had really opened your mouth to ask if he wanted to find a table and listen to your vent but what came out was I do not want to be alone. You blink and think what the fuck? Before Fjord is shaking off his surprise and standing.

“I suppose I can give Molly the room for the night.” He extends an arm towards you but doesn’t look at you. He’s doing a much better job of hiding how strange you’re acting than you are but still, you’re not going to let this opportunity pass. You wrap your own arm around Fjord’s and he begins to lead you toward the stairs. “Anything specific bothering you?”

“Nothing really,” You hum as you respond, hoping that by allowing him past your walls that it will help him, “Today is just a bad day.” Fjord halfheartedly agrees and your nerves shoot through the roof when he leaves you at your door, explaining that he’s going to warn Molly that he won’t be in the room tonight. You nod at him and slip into your own room, leaving the door cracked so that he won’t feel awkward about entering. Your laundry is everywhere and you grit your teeth, doing your best to hold back a scream. God damnit, you’re about to have the man that you have a crush on in your room and today is the day you threw your laundry all over?

It doesn’t even matter that he’s traveled with you in carts where there is no possible way to not overlap on laundry slash unmentionables. You still dash about, shoving your laundry into a pile in the corner and covering it with your weapons and shield just before Fjord raps his knuckles against the door frame, calling your name. You shiver and invite him in, wringing your hands as you stand in front of the unlit fireplace. “Are you okay?” He’s so earnest and it makes you feel… A little bad. You don’t want to say no to having Fjord be with you overnight because his presence is so calming, but it’s also… He’s not in your room because…

Ugh. “Fjord,” You say before you can stop yourself, “Okay, so, you can’t be mad but I noticed when things go wrong you’re really, really hard on yourself and you shouldn’t be. And I also noticed that when you’re hard on yourself you dive into taking care of other people because, I don’t know, maybe it feels like you’re doing something good? I’m not sure, but I really meant to ask if you wanted to talk but then that came out instead but I can’t let you stay in here if you don’t know why I asked.” He stands there, taking in what you’ve said, and then shakes his head. Your room is dark - too dark for you to see whether or not the small smile on his face is actually there or if you’re imagining it. When he chuckles, you’re more apt to believe that Fjord is actually smiling even after the day he’s had. “Um,” You finally cut the silence, “Please say something.”

“You mean to tell me,” He drawls, stepping slowly closer and removing his chest plate. It’s like his mood has gone a full 180 from where it was when he left you outside of your room, “That you looked so awkward and like a li’l kicked puppy because you wanted to help me feel better?” He sets his chest plate on the table, coming into your sight as your vision begins to adjust. You don’t get a good look at what’s happening on his face because you look away very quickly, setting your jaw.

“Well, when you put it that way,” You grumble and cross your arms, “You just like to help people - it makes you feel better.”

Fjord comes to a stop in front of you and sighs, but doesn’t say anything. Your hands begin to shake and honestly, you regret your stupid fucking decision to try and help Fjord out. You wouldn’t be here, standing in front of him and purely humiliated, if you didn’t look at him and notice so much. He finally responds, one of his hands coming up to touch at your bicep and then trails up until he’s cupping your shoulder. “I do like to help people,” He’s speaking more from his chest than his mouth, and you can almost feel the rumble through the grip he has on your shoulder. It’s not tight but it’s there, heavy and comforting. “I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

“I notice a lot,” You supply, tugging your chin away when Fjord tries to use the other hand to make you look at him. It’s only after he says your name in a soft voice that you look. You’re surprised to see that he looks soft… Soft and fond. “Please,” You whisper, uncrossing your arms to grab both of his wrists. You’re not even sure what you’re asking for but the way that you whispered please is the closest to begging that you’ve ever gotten.

“Please?” Fjord says, sounding incredibly confused but soft at the same time. You shake your head, trying again to look away from him. He ducks down, catching your eyes again, “It’s just me, remember? This is why you asked me here, isn’t it? To help you feel better?”

To your horror, you feel yourself mist up. “I invited you here so you could feel better, Fjord. I don’t want you to be so hard on yourself, and the only time I’ve seen you calm down after a bad day is when you’re taking care of one of us. I thought… Even if I don’t really need to be taken care of, that would help you. I just want… I want you to feel better.” He steps closer toward you, caging you into the rough stone of the fireplace but doesn’t speak. You’re almost worried that Fjord is going to cold clock you, but then he does something that you expected even less.

He surges forward and kisses you. Every part of him nearly engulfs you - the hand on your shoulder moves to the back of your neck, anchoring you to him, while he groans deep in the back of his throat. Your hands scramble for some purchase to express your surprise, landing on his hearty shoulders, clenching in the fabric of his shirt. You sigh into Fjord’s groan, and press as close as possible to his body heat. No matter how much you don’t want to admit it, you’ve been craving this: closeness with another person, pressing tight against their body… You’d be lying if you didn’t admit that when you thought of that, of intimacy, that you pictured Fjord. You just didn’t think he pictured you.

Fjord surges forward again, and you feel the soft scrape of tusks against you when he opens his mouth to breathe, keeping his nose pressed tightly to yours. “I didn’t think,” He says, accent thinner than you’ve heard previously, “I never dreamed that you would feel…”

“Oh, I feel,” You tell him, slowly moving your hands until you can intertwine your fingers behind his neck, “I feel so much, Fjord.”

“You never said…” He sneaks another kiss between his words, dropping his hands to squeeze at your waist, “You never even let on that you see me this way.”

“I do a lot of looking and not a lot of showing,” You remind him - it was something he had said to you when you first joined his group. I always catch you lookin’, but you never show. It’s terribly funny because he’d said it while the Mighty Nein were all naked, sudsy, and sharing a bathhouse at Molly’s insistence. The group had a field day with that and still does. The memory is apparently still fresh in Fjord’s head because a blush creeps high over his cheeks and he looks away, flustered. “You’re strong and pretty and beautiful and you take care of us so well. Even when you’ve had a bad day. I look up to you so much, but at the same time I want, perhaps selfishly, to take care of you in ways that you might not take care of the group.” He almost looks surprised at what you’ve said, but then it melts into a look of soft adoration. Fjord kisses you again and then drags his lips lightly over the arch of your cheek before he rests his head on your shoulder where he inhales deeply, his breath tickling your throat. You can feel his hands contracting against your waist, like he wants to touch and feel but is settling for keeping them where they are and feeling the soft give of your flesh. You know your heart is spinning at what feels like a million miles per hour, and you know that he can probably hear it, too. You can’t find anything in you that cares, though, because you’re so close to Fjord. He smells like saltwater, you realize. Not in a way that it seems like he’s been coughing it up again, or in the ocean, but just sort of… Naturally. Like he’s always smelled that way. Like you’ve always known he smelled that way. Like you were always meant to know and to find comfort in it. You pull yourself closer, relishing in the way that you hold each other, and Fjord sighs. You can feel the way that he relaxes underneath your hold and you relax, too.

This… This is the way that it’s supposed to be. This is how you can do for Fjord what he’s done for your team - except different. Except more.

[siriusmydeer]

hi gia!, kissing prompt 39 & remus or harry?

whichever you want :)

kisses to your cheek

remus lupin x gender neutral!reader

summary: after a particularly hard full moon you kiss remus’ tears away.

word count: 1.0k

warnings: undertones of mentioned drugging, insecurity, self hatred, crying, sad!remus, undertones of angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of scars, fenir grey back is a warning, overthinking, mentions of bad childhoods

a/n: in this oneshot the reader wears makeup but there aren’t any pronouns or gender mentioned.

prompt: ‘Kissing tears from the other’s face.’

june, 24th 1975

the air was tinged in an aura of an abiding dark essence, you weren’t able glimpse at it in the distance of your viewpoint, you couldn’t hear the blaring shriek within the haunting aura, you couldn’t touch the sensitive innocence that now laid upon it in darkness. but it was present, you knew it was.

ones insecurities are bound to lay within themselves however the devil pleases, within the crevices of their minds, within their beating hearts as the muscle palpitated their chest, and resting upon their flesh in permanent markings. the small pallid ripples of flesh that laid engraved in the boys skin were perpetual reminders of the insecurities that lie beneath him.

the boy was almost to frantic for a distinct emotion to take over the sensorium of his nervous system, the overwhelming swirls of melancholy and sorrow colliding into his hormones like a surge of medication pumped through his veins unwillingly. the sting of torment incessantly reminding him of the new scratches that imputed on the surface of his fair complexion.

two vermillion aging lines now slit right through his eyebrow, trifling scarlet lines were scattered across the planes of his forearms after he had dreadfully turned back from his terrorizing fear into the boy you awaited for after each passing month. the sorrow swirled into his hazel irises, mixing with the hues of viridescent and umber brought a surge of pain to your heart at the agony the boy had been stricken with since the endearing age of four.

a small boy supposing to chuckle with his friends while on playground swing sets was set on the path of self-hatred and despondency, prior to your praising affirmations were met to his ears when you had learned about his condition.

it brought churning tears to your waterline about to over pass onto the flushed dermis of your cheeks at the amount of suffering he had been burdened to endure for the past eleven years, the diminished attempt he could have possibly  had at a childhood had been distraught by a man, rather a coward, fenir greyback.

the only current sound audible in the calamitous dormitory was the small swish of the stygian curtains colliding with the coils of wind of the somber day, completely unusual for a relatively searing month of solstice. but maybe the clouds above could decipher the overbearing degrading thoughts of remus’ bleary mind, and decided to reflect his feelings with the menacing weather.

the only thing that brought remus out of his piercing stare towards the opened window was the small creak in the aged hinges from his dormitory. he lay dejected in his bed, bandaids ridding his body while he was sunken into his crinkled ivory sheets. his hazel irises peering at your slouched figure after you had entered his dormitory shared with his three best mates. your eyes were whirled in clear thick coats of your sympathy towards him, just adamantly begging to release onto the planes of your skin.

you took the decree to dreadfully stroll till you were sat atop his comforter, his own eyes glazed in guilt, fear, and most of all, hatred.

remus lupin hated himself, and there were very few things, or rather people, that were willing to even counter the thought. 

he pondered for a moment, curious as to what you were thinking of his state. your eyes scattering over his worn figure in deliberation.

did you think he was weak? were you petrified of him? maybe james or sirius were waiting outside incase you couldn’t be alone with him, he suspected while the deafening silence over clouded the dormitory. 

but rather the warmth of your palm was delicately against his cheek. he tilted his head for a moment, the congestion in his throat almost barricaded his words from being spoken into existence from his esophagus. the streaks of his tears embedded from previous minutes onto his skin, down his eyes and towards the explicit curvature in his jaw.

your thumb was in fragile contact with the sultry apple of his cheek, almost afraid the boy would break at any touch that wasn’t treated towards him with uttermost care. his eyebrows were almost sunken into his forehead, the creases between his skin remained prominent until your lips sponged against the streaks tears that were slowly drying onto his skin.

“m’darling boy, deserving none of this pain.” you muttered quietly into the despairing silence. his cheek melding with your palm while the adoration that slowly filled the absent presence of his self-loathing heart, his hand timidly grasping onto the ivory comforter throughly wrapped around his body and allowing you to embrace his tender figure after being embraced of his fragile state from the past twenty four hours. 

your arms were rested in a slight clutch around his torso, his ear feeling the reverberation of your empathetic heart beating for his strength and dreadful perseverance in this lifetime; his body feeling the respire of your midriff as your breathed in synchrony, the simple beat of your heart lulling him to keep fighting, fighting for you.

he craned his neck ascent towards your face, seeing the curving soft details that were embedded into your facial features in his direction. the curvature of your nose, the roundness of your jawline, the slight prominent apple of your cheek and the small smears of mascara that laid beneath your eyes and treaded down the planes of your cheeks.

he laid a soft kiss into your cheek where the makeup had descended, placing a few more pecks before placing a final kiss on the pulse-point of your neck, a reminder of your beating heart. his cheek nestling into the crook of your neck, the searing flesh of your body radiating onto his cheeks like a small encasement of warmth around him.

he was finally starting to settle into your arms, the stroke of your fingers against his spine soothing him into sleep.

“you’re not a monster, baby. you’re my moony.” you whispered faintly into his ear as he was falling into an unconscious state of dreams, from the cycle of your lulling beating heart, rather than the recurrent nightmares of the pellucid gleaming planet that hung as a whole in the sky along with the decorations of the golden stars. 

maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as much as of a monster as he suspected he was.

taglist: @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @georgeswh0re @amourtentiaa @fangouria @five-cups-of-coffee @dracofknmalfoy @emmaev @serenitywilderness @i-love-scott-mccall @artemis1orion @falling-loki @siriusbarnesslut @inglourious-imagines @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @kirascottage @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @slytherclawbitch @velmasteas

[caravelmp3]

FEAR AND LOATHING IN DOMESTICATION

pairing: josh kiszka x reader warning(s): mentions of alcohol, references to sex, depression, & anxiety  synopsis: in better terms, josh kiszka is a rolling stone, and when the pandemic causes the band to settle down for an undisclosed amount of time, reader helps josh come out of his slump note: title & reference to that one interview. you know the one. as someone with a fear of domestication as well, i related so hard to josh when he talked about settling down, and this came out of that. it’s just a lil something !! also posted on ao3 if you would like to check it out there instead. hope you all enjoy !! x 

Josh was a vagabond, a nomad, living a peripatetic lifestyle of hopping from city to city overnight by bus or jet, bouncing between venues and interviews as if he was born to do so. Staying in three-star motel rooms in the middle of nowhere became a part of his lifestyle, one that he became quite adjusted to after three years on the go. Even while visiting home he was between family and friend houses, checking in on old stomping grounds, visiting studios hours away, anything to stay busy. In the clearest sense of terms, he was a rolling stone.

So, as everyone imagined it would happen, he began to lose his sense of self in 2020. One second the band were planning the release of an album, preparing to hit the road and play stadiums in South America with Metallica in the spring, and then the next they were hit with the news of cancellations and push-backs to everything they had been working towards. With the rise of a pandemic they were forced into a hiatus and into the first real break any of them had received, if they didn’t count the few days visiting home last holiday season.

He and the rest of the band hunkered down in Nashville and Josh started to live in his worst fear - domesticity. He was waking up at the same time every day in the same city, he was living the same life day after day, and it became old very quickly. While catching up on rest and exploring a new city was fun at first, it started to look like every other city before long. The adventure he would wake up to with excitement was no longer around. He had been forced to settle down, and he felt like a trapped animal trying to gnaw its own leg off.

And like the rest of the band and the management team, you hated seeing him that way.

The relationship between you and Josh was short, but you knew Josh for years, and you noticed the differences in his personality immediately once you followed him to Nashville following the shut down of your own job.

You once swung by the studio with a surprise lunch for the boys and the team and he was struggling to write lyrics on a notepad in the other room, surrounded by crumpled and balled sheets of paper. He would stay up later at night scrolling through airline websites for flights out of Nashville to random cities (as long as he was traveling, he told himself), and he shifted through hobbies to find anything that stuck (which eventually was reading and painting) (there was a corner of the living room filled with stacks of books and canvas paintings).

And you tried your best, even when times were hard on you, too. In order to boost Josh’s spirits and get his mind off the persistent idea that he was stuck in time, you attempted baking new treats and made him try them after dinner, you dabbled in bartending and made new drinks with tequila, set up painting dates in the backyard after work, bought books from second-hand stores you thought he would enjoy, and bought new and random vinyl for the nights spent in during summer storms.

But the bright blue, cloudless summer skies and warm breezes rustling the trees of summer became the red of maples and the bronze of oaks of autumn. Everyone hoped things would be different, maybe even just slightly, but nothing had changed at all. The band was still in Nashville, making the best of their time off to expand the album and the universe it was set in, and you were back to working, but only remotely, so Josh insisted you stayed with them instead of traveling back home at seemingly the height of the worst so far.

When the long, hot days turned into cooler mornings and long nights with the sun setting at five p.m., the effect of the year had finally hit everyone. Everyone was tired, they felt defeated.

So in one last desperate attempt to boost spirits and morale, everyone set off on their own adventure and escaped Nashville in the early days of December. Danny was going to Los Angeles, Sam was going skiing in Montana, and you knew that Josh and Jake needed their own trip. So after a few phone calls and exchanged emails over a week, you booked a trip for the twins and their family in Key West. It was something small - a rented RV for the dreaded sixteen-hour drive south, but what awaited them was a week in a rented beach house and days on a boat in the Gulf.

You booked it for everyone, you wanted the boys and their family to let loose and spend some time together before work drove them away again, but you weren’t going to lie and say you didn’t book it with Josh in mind. He was a fan of the beach and islands, history, and the water and sun and sand, and after months hunched over a studio coffee table writing and working endlessly on the album design, he deserved time to himself, to recover, to recoup.

You told him before bed on Thanksgiving day. The Kiszka family had come down from Michigan to celebrate the holiday, and they did with dinner and a fire in the pit in the backyard with music and plaid blankets and smores under the stars. After staying up talking to his mom, Josh had come to bed last with the lingering scent of fire smoke in his hair and Corona on his breath, and he met you under the covers, nestling his face in the crook of your neck before pressing a soft kiss against your skin while wishing you goodnight.

Humming, you rolled over and rolled into him. He chuckled and wrapped an arm around you, and that’s when you, in a sleep-deprived state, began to rattle off all of your plans,

“Tell your parents to stay for another week.” You said, eyes still closed, half-asleep.

Josh paused. “Why?” It wasn’t something he was opposed to, but it caught him by surprise.

“I booked a trip for the rest of us. While Danny and Sam are gone.” You laid your head on his shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest. “We leave for Key West in four days.”

And the shot of adrenaline that ran through Josh was something he hadn’t felt in quite a long time. The last time he got excited about going anywhere was to a new record shop that opened up a few streets over from the house. He quickly sat up in the bed, looking down at you (now laying sideways) in the dark with a smile.

“You’re fucking joking,”

You laughed and reached out for his hand. “Not at all,” you said bringing his hand up to kiss the palm, “I’m going to pick up an RV in a couple of days, and we can surprise your parents and take them shopping for clothes and everything else we need.”

Out of what seemed like a rush of euphoria, Josh threw himself on top of you, peppering your face with kisses and you laughed at the show of affection and at the tickle of the growing mustache he managed to grow (and pull off). You turned your head, holding his cheeks, and kissed him.

“Now, come on, let’s get some sleep.”

“Well that’s unlikely - now I’m going to lay here and think about all the dumb shit we can do.” He said, sliding under the covers and sliding an arm around you.

You just laughed and nestled your cheek against his chest, listening in to the quiet shuffling in the hallway outside the door of everyone going to bed, to the ticking sound of the clock on the wall, and then to Josh’s voice,

“Do you think they have pirate themed dinner cruises?”

“If they do, I’m sure you’ll find out about it.”

And he did.

(There wasn’t one.)

But you found so much more than you two ever dreamed of. Trading dreary Nashville for a bright and warm island, you welcomed the hot breeze and sun-kissed skin.

And even though there wasn’t a pirate themed dinner cruise, you watched Josh come alive in a new environment. You strolled hand-in-hand with him through the butterfly and nature conservatory, letting him rave about the multicolored birds and point at flowers he thought you would like while capturing them on film. On Duval Street he pulled you to get caricature portraits done, he ordered shots for everyone in the bar after a night spent swimming. He roamed Dry Tortugas National Park with Jake, admiring the view and history within the brick fort walls, and first thing one morning he pulled you out of bed to get breakfast and visit the Ernest Hemingway Home, so you sat with him on a bench in the morning light and drank coffee and pet the roaming cats that passed by.

The last night on the island you woke up naked without Josh beside you, and you turned to see him sitting on the balcony with the white sheer curtains billowing around him, writing in the journal he always kept on his person. A smile tugged on the corners of your lips.

Josh was falling in love with life again.

And you were falling in love with life again, too, because Josh was so passionate about living it.

[slytherinknowitall]

To Bed A Death Eater

Chapter 4: Devotion [Part I]

(Click here for chapter 3!)

(Click here to start from the beginning!)  

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Snape’s sudden question knocked all wind from her lungs, immediately bringing her brain to a standstill.

At first, she was not even sure that she had heard him correctly. Surely, he had not just said what she thought he had; there was simply no way. But as the words echoed through her addled mind over and over again – may I kiss you, may I kiss you, may I kiss you – she could not help but turn to him in shock, with her honey-brown eyes opened wide.

“W-what?” she asked in a breathless whisper, her voice sounding awfully choked.

His face contorted seemingly in agony.

“If this is your first time, I want to –, I would like to try to make this an at least somewhat enjoyable experience for you.” He spoke in a manner which was a lot faster than he usually did, nearly causing him to stumble over his own words. “And it would also make the whole process significantly easier if you were … aroused to some degree.”

Hermione stared at him open-mouthed. All of a sudden, she was painfully aware of the blood rushing through her ears, the rhythmical throbbing inside those minuscule veins being almost deafeningly loud. She was completely and utterly speechless, something which had only occurred so rarely in her life. Snape actually wanted to kiss her? To have this be more than just a quick, rough shag of necessity? Her eyes wandered to where his hand was laying on top of her thigh. Was this why he had been touching her this whole time? To arouse her?

“Though I would of course understand it if you would rather I did not,” Snape was quick to add when she did not reply straightaway, still too flabbergasted to speak. The hint of self-hatred was back in his tone, and Hermione loathed herself for making him feel this way, for making him think she was rejecting him.

Because she was not.

Without thinking, she grabbed his arm and held it in place when he made to remove his hand from her thigh. It sounded insane, but she liked him touching her there. She wanted him to keep touching her there. Even amidst her current emotional turmoil, the feel of his firm hand against her clothed leg was nothing short of heavenly. She dared not think of how his hands might feel on other parts of her body, of how his fingers might feel stroking her bare skin.

“You can kiss me,” she heard herself say. “If you want.”

Snape remained completely motionless; however, the muscles of his hand tensed up beneath hers, and Hermione thought that even with the blindfold on, she could see his eyebrows draw together at her words. Although it had been his suggestion, he was clearly still hesitant for some reason. Perhaps he did not quite believe her, not after she had failed to answer him right away. Hermione wanted to scream.

When she had originally volunteered to help him break the curse, she had admittedly not given much thought to how it would all actually transpire. Even whilst she had been vehemently sermonising in an attempt to persuade him to accept her offer, she had not given any significant amount of consideration to the inevitable consequences of her efforts. Only when he had presented her with the second potion had reality truly set in; only then had she become fully aware of the fact that this could quite possibly end up being a very painful and traumatising experience for her and begun to feel frightened.

But now, Snape had just openly confessed that he would prefer her to be an active participant in this rather than an expedient object. He was willing to kiss her, to touch her – and Hermione desperately wanted him to, she realised. She needed this to be something more than a clinical, mechanical act, needed to trick her brain into believing that she had simply embarked on a sensual adventure with someone who actually cared about her and her well-being rather than think about the fact that she was actually about to have sex for the very first time because of a curse which had been meant to eradicate her kind.

Just like he had done not minutes earlier, Hermione bent her knee and turned her body until she was able to look at Snape straight on. The change in position caused their joined hands to slip towards the inside of her thigh, and she had to suppress the hiss that was threatening to escape her. Reaching out, she took hold of his other hand and slowly brought it up to her face. The feathery touch of his fingertips against her right cheekbone felt electric. With his hand so close to her nostrils, she was able to detect his unique scent which had been cultivated from years of daily brewing and made him smell of fresh-cut grass, sandalwood and smoke.

The way his shoulders abruptly stiffened told her that Snape understood what she had tried to wordlessly convey, and so she let her hand fall away from his. The old, somewhat saggy mattress shifted under his weight as the wizard leaned forward. Hermione closed her eyes. She could sense his hand slowly wander lower, capturing her chin between his fingers. The way his thumb just ever so slightly skimmed across the contour of her lower lip sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

Snape continued to draw nearer until he was close enough so that she could feel his breath on her skin, and then he stopped. Hermione knew that he was giving her enough time to pull away, and for just a split second, she wondered if she should. But no, she knew in her heart that she wanted this. She wanted to help him, wanted to break this goddamn curse, and she also wanted him to kiss her. Hence, she gave a single tiny nod of her head, and that was enough for Snape to close the distance between them.

His lips brushed against hers only lightly at first. They were rather thin but incredibly soft somehow, and though they were barely even touching her, this simple caress was enough to make something explode inside her chest and send sparks flying all the way down to the tips of her toes, making it very hard to breathe. When she did not shrink back, Snape dipped his head down and pressed his mouth against hers just a bit more aggressively, and Hermione felt like her entire body had been set ablaze. She was so overwhelmed by sensations she had never known she was even capable of feeling that she thought that if she were to open her eyes right now, the world around her would be spinning and whirling and tilting. In fact, she was so sure of it that she reflexively brought both of her arms up and clung to him as though she was trying to keep herself from collapsing.

“Okay?” Snape muttered against her lips, and not quite trusting herself to speak, Hermione simply pulled him back into the kiss.

Their lips moulded together, dancing in perfect harmony almost as if they had never done anything else. Hermione let out a wild gasp when his hand promptly wandered to the back of her neck, gently tipping her head to create a better angle, and once more when his tongue suddenly darted out to tentatively trace the seam of her bottom lip. She could not believe that it was Severus Snape of all people making her feel this way – like her blood was boiling underneath her skin, like the air around her was bursting into blasts of electricity – with nothing more than a simple kiss. Following an instinct, she parted her lips and was rewarded when his tongue slipped into her mouth. His taste was clean if a bit sharp, a hint of Firewhisky in the essence of his breath. In her callowness, she tried to mirror his actions, and soon their tongues were moving in unison, exploring and teasing and worshipping.

Hermione felt so hot. This kiss was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. The smooches she had secretly exchanged with Viktor back in fourth year, which had always been rather awkward and drooly more than anything else, had certainly never felt this good. It was clear that Snape had more expertise and that he knew what he was doing. His skilled movements were doing unbelievable things to her. It felt like her lips were burning, aching almost, but in a good way.

Wanting – no, needing – more, her hands left his shoulders and moved upwards until her fingers knotted in his raven-black hair. She twisted and pulled, roughly beckoning him closer, and he happily complied. Their lips met with more force, and Merlin, was it glorious. When his hand then all of a sudden squeezed her thigh, Hermione could not stifle an unintentional whimper. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clutched him to her; and she silently rejoiced when one of his sneaked around her waist in response.

The increased physical contact felt marvellous, though their positioning, with their legs trapped between their entwined bodies, did make things a bit difficult. Still, wanting more – always more – Hermione leaned forward and pressed herself against him as much as she possibly could. In return, Snape let out a deep rumbling sound. She sensed him tighten his grip around her midst and squealed into his mouth when he suddenly lifted her up and pulled her towards him, seemingly without any effort. She soon found herself on top of him, straddling his lap.

Although she had just been furiously snogging him, this sudden closeness nevertheless did not fail to make her face and chest flush bright red. It was all just happening so fast. It felt like only a second ago that their lips had first touched with such caution, and now her body was already wrapped around his so intimately, hugged to his so tightly.

Worst of all, in her inexperience, everything somehow felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Hermione simultaneously wanted to stick her tongue down his throat and run away screaming. Even though she should probably be thankful for the fact that this whole situation was not nearly as awkward and uncomfortable as she had predicted it might be, it almost scared her how good merely kissing him felt. But of course, there was no turning back now. She could not possibly show any hesitation, not now, not before the curse was broken. Snape had already been so reluctant to go through with it to begin with, had been so unwilling to in any way “compromise her virtue”. It was essential for the safety of all womankind that he not pick up on her uncertainty, even if she was half mad with dread right now.

However, unfortunately, he seemed to have noticed already.

Releasing his hold on the nape of her neck, Snape pulled back until she could see him clearly, and she yet again internally thanked the stars that his usually so penetrating gaze was hidden behind a strip of plum-coloured silk. Moreover, the blindfold also graciously protected her from his Legilimency skills – or at least she was pretty sure it did. From what she had read about the topic, he should not be able to delve into her thoughts without at least looking at her. But then again, he was such a talented wizard … maybe he could? No, no. Best not think about that.

“Is everything all right?” he asked in that gruff voice of his, a burning edge to his words which nearly coaxed a tremor out of her.

Hermione gulped. “Yeah,” she breathed softly, trying her hardest to keep from faltering.

“Are you certain? You seem a bit flustered.” His brows scrunched up in a frown, and he let his hands fall from her form. “Perhaps I have acted too impetuously. I beg your pardon … I forgot myself.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“No, it’s –, it’s fine!” she hurriedly reassured him. “Really! I was just startled, that’s all.”

“Don’t you lie to me! I may be without sight, but I can still sense how much you are trembling,” he spat in a dangerously low tone. “This was obviously a mistake. I should have never even come here.”

With that, he made to shove her off of him. Hermione felt a wave of acid well up from her belly.

“No, r-really, I swear!” she spluttered feverishly, resisting his attempt to push her aside. “I’ll admit that I may be a bit nervous, but that’s only because I have never done this before! But that doesn’t mean that we have to stop!”

Snape did not answer, but she could see his mouth slowly set into a grim line. Blind panic began to well inside her.

No! You cannot let him leave, not now!

Hermione’s wild thoughts were spinning around in her head at lightning speed. Oh, but what could she possibly say or do to prevent him from darting out of the room this very second?! The curse had to be broken, and it could only be broken if he stayed. She had to convince him somehow, someway – even if that meant that she would have to practically beg her erstwhile teacher not to leave her bed. It was a humiliating thought, but it simply had to be done. For the greater good. For his life to be saved. And, she realised, for her, too. Because deep inside, she knew that she did not want him to leave, curse or no curse.

“We don’t have to stop, because –” The witch willed herself to swallow her embarrassment. “Because I like this.”

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to grab his hands and put them back on her hips.

“I like the way you touch me.”

She reached out and took his sunken face into her quivering hands.

“I like the way you kiss me.”

She pressed a soft, closed-mouthed peck onto his unmoving lips.

“I-I,” she stammered, her voice but a whisper. “I like the way you make me feel.”

She kissed him again, and for a painfully long, drawn-out moment, his lips remained hard as stone. Hermione’s heart dropped into her stomach. Oh no, now she had messed it up for good – now he was going to reject her once and for all! She had failed in her one mission.

But then, she suddenly felt Snape clench the fingers on her hips, roughly pulling her closer. She barely had any time to think before his lips attacked hers, fiercely and hungrily and passionately. A choked sob escaped her when he unexpectantly bit her lower lip with his worn teeth, giving her the sensation of that good kind of pain.

“Do you mean that?” he groaned low in his throat between kisses.

Hermione’s head was spinning. “W-what?”

Snape’s lips left hers and trailed down to her throat, nibbling their way to the crook of her neck in warm and wet kisses.

“Did you mean it,” he muttered against her skin. “When you said you like me kissing you?”

His mouth latched onto the very spot at the side of her neck underneath her jaw where her heartbeat was pulsating at a rapid rate, and Hermione thought that she was about to lose her sanity. Her eyes fluttered closed.

“Y-yes,” she managed to stutter out.

Snape slipped his hands underneath her woollen sweater, almost making her jump, and let his potion-stained fingers dance across the small of her back.

“You like me touching you?” he whispered.

“Yes ...”

His lips wandered back up and stopped just shy of her mouth, hovering right above it. She breathed in his heady scent.

“You like the way I make you feel?” he murmured hoarsely.

Hermione licked her dry lips. “I do.”

“Why?”

Confused, she opened her eyes. “What?”

Letting out a loud growl, Snape seized her waist again and pulled her towards him even more, in doing so rolling her hips against his crotch and eliciting a breathless “Oh!” from the young woman.

“Why?” he repeated almost with a snarl.

“Because you make me feel … make me feel … so … alive.”

In an instant, his lips were back on hers. His insistent tongue delved into her mouth, ravishing her mercilessly, and Hermione could not help but mewl when his hands moved downwards and took a firm hold of her buttocks. His touch felt divine, and it made her body ache in all the good ways.

“G-gods, yes!” she moaned weakly into his mouth in a voice that sounded foreign to her own ears when he drew her nearer, making her rock against his groin.

It just all felt so unbelievably good. So good, in fact, that she could not stop herself from grinding back against him – and that was when she felt it.

Something hard.

Hermione nearly froze. Indeed, it took all of her carefully crafted self-control to keep from showing her shock and surprise in any discernible way. She could not give him even a single miniscule reason to doubt her certainty, of course, lest he should try to take flight again. However, that which she had just felt down there was irrefutable proof that he might just be just as affected by all of this as she was, and it also served as an all too real reminder of what was obviously soon to come. The thought alone was enough to give her a sudden stab of anxiety in her gut.

Don’t be ridiculous! You’re a Gryffindor, you’re brave! You can do this!

The Muggle-born swallowed hard. She knew that the most vital thing to do right now was to quiet those multitudinous frantic voices inside her head. So, in a bid to keep from overthinking, she simply continued to kiss him, excitedly and desperately and voraciously. And despite herself, her unsteady fingers began to work on opening the first of the many buttons running along the front of his black frock coat – which, though having fought face to face with bloodthirsty Death Eaters on multiple occasions, may just be the most terrifying thing she had ever done in her entire life. But all the same, she thought it a good idea to keep her hands busy right now, and unfastening those countless tiny buttons without the aid of magic seemed to lend itself.

By the time she undid the last button, the tips of her fingers had practically grown numb. In lieu of knowing what else to do now, Hermione gingerly pushed apart the fronts of the garment, and Snape shrugged it off along with his outer robes, revealing a tight-fitting, all-white dress shirt. She toyed with his regency-style cravat whilst his mouth wandered down to her neck again, leaving faint love bites in its trail. Hermione strained her neck and leaned into his caress, relishing in the involuntary shudders his sucking and nibbling induced.

After a while, Snape righted himself and leaned forward to kiss the corner of her mouth.

“May I?” he enquired, tugging at the hem of her jumper.

A nervous frisson shot through her. She was painfully aware of the fact that she was not wearing any sort of undershirt underneath her sweater, and the mere idea of being so exposed in front of him made her feel awfully shy all of a sudden. She almost wanted to smack his hands away; however, she immediately chided herself for that thought. It was surely silly to act all coy about being topless in the presence of someone who was blindfolded, especially if the sole objective of this whole endeavour was for them to shag anyway – and even though she might be lacking experience, she still knew that that required at least some amount of nudity. Besides, she reasoned with herself, she had started it when she had begun to fiddle with those stupid, little buttons of his.

And so, she simply gave an affirmative “Mm-hmm.” that sounded more confident than she actually felt and dutifully lifted her arms when he proceeded to pull the jumper over her head, tossing it onto the floor behind them.

The frigid air hit her bare skin like an arctic breeze and made every single hair on her body rise into goose bumps. Hermione shivered, though she was not quite sure whether that was by virtue of the cold or rather the way his calloused hands felt against her back. They roamed her body, travelling from the waistband of her jeans up her spine all the way to her shoulder blades, caressing her as Snape kissed her again, softly and sweetly this time. This gentleness was hardly any less maddening than when he had been so brazen earlier; it caused her stomach to do somersaults and nearly made her forget all about her self-consciousness.

It was only when he slipped the straps of her bra off of her shoulders that she grew tense again. Yet as if on purpose, Snape chose this exact moment to deepen their kiss, fuelling it with newfound ardour; and Hermione well-nigh melted. She was so distracted by his lips that she did not even seem to notice when his hands sneaked down to her bra clasp, quickly unhooking it with expertise. The delicate undergarment falling from her form took her by surprise, but the man left her little time to react. Never breaking their kiss, he circled her in his arms and gathered her against him. Her nipples brushed against the rough fabric of his shirt, and it sparked off thrills of pleasure throughout her body.

The world was all heat and tension. Snape sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, and Hermione was shocked at how eagerly she responded, pressing herself against him and consequently heightening that delicious sensation caused by having his chest rub against hers. She could sense Snape’s right hand travel up the line of her body and slip between them, cupping her ample breast. His digits skimmed against her taut nipple, and she trembled all over.

Her lips instinctively parted when he turned his attention to her neck once more. Dipping his head, he slowly worked his way down her throat. As his mouth at last closed around the mound of her other, hitherto disregarded breast, Hermione felt her chest grow so tight that it became impossibly hard to breathe. He flicked his tongue, and she felt something hot shoot through her. The wet warmth of his mouth made her feel like she was only one spark away from exploding and kept her mind occupied enough to numb the insecurity she would have ordinarily experienced, now that his fingers were grazing the nasty scar that she had acquired two summers ago at the Ministry of Magic – the one unconcealable remnant of Dolohov’s curse which still marred her torso, spreading across her ribs like veins of lightning.

Without thinking, Hermione reached out, allowing her fingers to entangled themselves in Snape’s lank hair. She hauled him up only to promptly crash her lips against his. Her kiss was fervid and unyielding, and he answered her with enthusiasm. He grunted when she rocked into him again, and she was glad to notice that she was not the only one breathing heavily.

Desperate for more skin contact, her hands found his neck and fumbled around until they finally managed to free him of his cravat. Next, they tackled his dress shirt, working so clumsily that she very nearly ripped off a button or two in the process. When she had at long last succeeded in opening the shirt, she greedily pulled it apart and made to touch him – but before the edges of her fingernails could even graze his chest, Snape shackled her wrists without warning, stilling her hands with such force that it hurt.

Hermione yipped and gave him a bewildered stare. “What’s wrong?”

But Snape did not respond. He simply kept holding onto her arms with a grip as hard as steel, his face strangely expressionless.

A deep line formed between Hermione’s eyebrows. To say that she was confused would have been an understatement. Just a moment ago, he had been so zealously kissing and touching her, and now he sat as still as a statue. This sudden change perplexed her, and that feeling only continued to grow until she could no longer bear to look at him. She finally dropped her gaze – and that was when she saw it.

At the sight of his naked torso, Hermione could not stifle a sharp intake of breath. Snape’s entire upper body was absolutely littered in countless bruises and scars, both faded and fresh. Thick, jagged furrows cut across his chest, intersecting here and there with deep, angry gashes, more or less healed puncture wounds and circular lesions which looked suspiciously like cigarette burns. Some of the marks were seemingly new and still pink in colour, whereas others were so silvery white that they stood out noticeably, even against his deathly pale complexion. Her widened eyes had trouble finding an untainted part of his chest, one which had not at one point or another fallen prey to brutal violence. Her qualms about her own scars suddenly seemed more than infantile.

“What … what happened?” she rasped in an anguished whisper. “What in Merlin’s name was done to you?”

No response.

“Who did this to you?”

Snape opened his mouth, but not a sound came out. He slowly closed it again as his hold on her wrists loosened. He let his head slump forward, his hair falling around his face like curtains.

Hermione pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She could feel her eyes start to burn with tears. For so many years, she had seen Snape as nothing more than her dour, surly Potions professor, an enigmatic man of unmatched brilliance, crude words and ruthless insults who had always either caught her and her friends in their idiotic escapades or helped clean up the mess afterwards. Yes, once she had learnt of his bravery in the fight against evil, she had begun to regard him with an entirely new type of silent admiration. But up until now, she had not been able to fully fathom just how great the price he paid for his loyalty to the cause. Before her was a broken man – a man who was forbidden from ever breaking but still already had; who had been broken and forced to mend himself over and over again; and whose battered body told harrowing tales of degradation, torment and suffering. The realisation threatened to tear her heart into a million pieces and only made her more determined to spare him the punishment he would undoubtedly receive should he not find a way to break the curse.

Slipping out of his grasp, her hands reached out and made contact with his skin. Snape did not move a muscle as the tip of her index finger cautiously traced the smooth and straight seam of a particularly prominent scar which ran diagonally in a vicious, red line from where his left collarbone connected to his shoulder down to his sternum. Next, she felt the irregular ridges of the scarring that sullied the right sight of his abdomen, creating a large, sunken recess in his skin. Hermione continued in this manner, mapping his chest with her touch and committing every single undeserved mark to memory for safekeeping, determined to brand them all into her mind so that she should never dare forget his sacrifice.

“It’s not right,” she ultimately told him as she delicately removed the silver-coated cufflinks which fastened his sleeves together. She slid his shirt off of his shoulders and watched it pool around his haunches. Laying her hand flat against his stomach and feeling the rapid rise and fall of his shallow breathing, she pressed a gentle kiss right above his heart. “You don’t deserve this. Any of this.”

Snape flinched when her fingers curled around his inner left forearm, where she knew his Dark Mark to be.

“You don’t,” she repeated, and she did not protest when he wangled out of her grasp and roughly pushed her backwards. His hands groped at her breasts, twisting her buds between his fingers. As he lapped at her throat, he emitted a pained groan that for some strange reason sounded like music to her ears. Hermione moaned and threw her head back. She did not stop him when he unzipped her jeans and shoved his hand down her knickers with savage urgency.

Yes, do what you want to me. Whatever you want, you brave, brave man.

Running his fingers through her thatch of soft curls, he found her wetness. He pressed down on the swollen nub between her damp folds, and Hermione bucked against his touch. Straightaway, a warmth blossomed within her, unfurling in her belly like roaring fire, as his index finger brushed against her clit in such a deliberate manner that it caused her breathing to seize and her thighs to tremble.

His inexplicable command of her body was utterly incomprehensible to her. She could not understand how it was that Snape seemed to know exactly where to touch her, how to caress her sensitive skin in a way that made every single muscle, every single tendon of hers twitch excitedly in agonised anticipation. They were virtual strangers, having never so much as exchanged more than a few sentences at a time before tonight, and yet he was currently coaxing her to levels of ecstasy she had not believed possible. Never before had she experienced something like this, a pleasure so raw that it was almost painful. With each slow, circular motion of his finger, an unbearable pressure was beginning to build within her; it created a type of sensation which she had never known previously, but one which she intuitively knew she would now continue to chase until the day she breathed her last. She was teetering at the edge of something she did not know, and she thought she might die – die if he did not stop but also die if he did.

Hermione wanted to cry out in unexampled frustration when he suddenly pulled his hand away, but the only noise that left her lips was a surprised yelp as he flipped the two of them over, trapping her between the mattress and his broad frame. In an instant, his mouth was back on hers, and she lost herself in the feel of him. Through her half-lidded eyes, she was able to vaguely make out the ungraceful movements of his long legs as he hurriedly kicked off his dragon skin boots. She could but feebly slide her limbs around against the sheets when he sucked at her pulse, momentarily paralysing her ever-active mind.

Snape moved from her neck down to her chest, his tongue tracing an invisible path leading from between her breasts to her belly; and ironically enough, the only thing she could think of was how glad she was that she had happened to have showered earlier in the afternoon. He licked the outline of her navel, leaving a tingling sensation in his wake, before he sat up and shuffled down to the end of the much too small bed, which squeaked alarmingly under his weight. Wrapping his wiry hands around her ankles, he gently eased first one and then the other foot out of her tennis shoes, which soon came to a rest on the room’s wooden floor with two loud thumps. Then he leaned forward again, hooking his fingers in the loops of her jeans, and Hermione obediently lifted her hips, allowing him to pull them off along with her underwear in one swift motion.

The cold draught, which was somehow omnipresent in the Black family residence even during the summer months, immediately nipped at her exposure, mercilessly clawing at the wet heat emanating from her arousal. Hermione briefly mused that she should probably have felt abashed again, being totally naked except for her knitted socks, but truth be told, she was beyond caring at this point. The only thing she wanted right now was to feel his hand between her legs again.

The old bedspring gave a grating creak when Snape bent down and lifted her left foot towards him. Hermione arched her back with a content sigh as he showered her calf in open-mouth kisses that tickled her skin. She ran a finger over her tingling lips, subconsciously yearning for the moment when his talented tongue would yet again collide with hers – preferably whilst at the same time continuing his oh so titillating efforts from before.

But evidently, the wizard had other plans in mind. Slowly sliding his hand up behind her knee, he kissed his way up her leg, and it was only when his sensual caressing reached the inside of her thigh that Hermione suddenly realised where he was headed. A bolt of panic hit her.

“No, don’t!” she shrieked as she writhed in his arms. Clamping her knees together and accidentally almost striking his jaw in the process, she tried in vain to scramble away from him.

With his strong arms still wrapped around her squirming legs, Snape raised his head and fixated his sightless gaze on her.

“Hermione,” he said calmly, but it was as if she could not hear him. She simply continued to struggle in his awkward embrace, kicking and flailing her limbs.

“Hermione!” he repeated himself, louder this time, and finally she stopped her thrashing.

The brunette watched with bated breath as Snape let go off her and sat back on his heels.

“What is the matter?” he asked evenly. “Would you like us to stop?”

All colour drained from her face.

“No! No, not –, not stop, just –” She swallowed dryly, unable to wet her parched throat. “There’s no need for you to do … to do that. Can’t we just move on to –”

Snape pursed his lips. “You are not ready yet.”

“But –”

He cut her off by abruptly leaning forward until he was almost looming over her. He nudged one of her knees with his elbow, and at first, she was afraid that he might try to pick up right where he had left off. But no, he was moving upwards and not downwards, and so she let him push her legs apart.

Snape carefully settled himself over her. Through his clothes, she could feel his erection press against the cradle of her thighs, making her stomach churn with both excitement and dread. His hand found her cheek, and he brushed his thumb against her temple almost tenderly.

“You trust me, do you not?”

Hermione took her bottom lip between her teeth. “Yes.”

“Then relax.” He pressed a chaste kiss on her Cupid’s bow. “Please.”

His other hand glided down the smooth curve of her body and came to a rest on her hip. His fingers massaged her muscles, urging away the tension which had gathered there.

“I … I don’t know if I can,” she confessed in a whisper.

Snape kissed her. His mouth never left hers as his hand moved from her waist down to her knee and back up again, eventually taking hold of her backside. He squeezed her arse, and despite her current state of restlessness, Hermione still could not help but delight in the feeling of his rough palm against her overheated skin.

“I understand. But just try.”

His hand had somehow found its way between her legs again, and Hermione felt a heinous whimper being pulled from her when the pad of his thumb rolled over her clit.

“Try to relax. Try to let go enough to allow me to do this for you. Believe me, it will make … everything after this a lot easier.”

She groaned throatily when the friction against her most sensitive flesh increased, and Snape hushed her cries with his mouth. He was positively devouring her, his tongue subduing hers as he resumed his relentless attack, rubbing and stroking her bundle of nerves in a way that made a sudden flare of heat pulse through her. Tendrils of fire began to pool deep inside her core and her hips jerked helplessly against his touch. His lips slid down her jaw whilst her hands reached out gracelessly, clutching at his back and feeling countless more, yet unseen scars there.

Nuzzling her throat, he lightly nipped the lobe of her ear before he descended further, laving her breasts and sucking at her sensitive nipples. Hermione briefly tensed up when Snape’s thumb slipped lower, but he just dipped into the slickness of her folds for a second before quickly turning his attention back to her clit. Her own wetness only added to the sweet torment of his touch, and that – in addition to his flattened tongue running over the gathered tip of her left breast – had her heated and chilled and panting and breathless all at once.

Damp breaths scudded across her fair skin as Snape marked his way further down her body in covetous kisses, the agonisingly slow movements of his thumb never stilling. Once he reached her lower belly, he diverted to the right and dragged his lips across her hip bone and down her leg. At her knee, he inclined his head and journeyed north again, only this time on the inside of her thigh, his sleek hair tickling her skin.

Sucking air in through her teeth, Hermione scrunched up her eyes. She tried her best to hold still, she really did. Yet as soon as she felt the ghost of his warm breath dance across the most intimate parts of her body, she could not stop her legs from kicking out minutely, could not stop her muscles from clenching up in nervous apprehension. But Snape held on tight to her hips. His sinewy arms, which had at some point unbeknownst to her hooked underneath her legs, kept her pelvis firmly on the mattress as he drew back and began kissing her other leg, downwards on the top of her thigh and then upwards again on the inside. Before he reached her centre though, he switched sides anew. He repeated his actions, his thumb meanwhile maintaining a steady pace on her clit, and this exasperating process was duplicated over and over and over again, to the point of utter vexation. Every time, his face inched closer to her pussy, but he never quite made the expected contact, never quite touched her where her traitorous body demanded it most.

Hermione was caught in an infernal spiral of anxiety and desire. She thought her whole body must be vibrating, humming with the sheer force of what could only be described as mounting, borderline angry frustration. Every spot of skin his lips touched was scalding hot, every kiss like a searing brand mark. She somehow felt like yelling and sobbing at the same time. Because right there and then, even though her heart was in her throat, more was the only coherent thought in her mind. This slow torture was simply not enough. She needed more. Something. Anything.

“Unnnh!” she grunted out – and he deigned to show mercy at last.

Giving her engorged nub one last upward stroke, he removed his hand and rested it on her belly. His fingers were drenched in her excitement; the witch could feel it being smeared onto her skin. But before she could ponder that particular oddity any further, something warm and wet traced the line of her sex. A silken caress parted her folds, and the sensation was so suffocating that she had to grab onto both of his forearms as though they were the only thing that could possibly keep her tethered to the real world at this very moment. A low, ragged noise resonated through the darkened room, and Hermione could not have said for sure whether it was coming from her or from Snape.

The feeling of his tongue… it was exquisite. Her toes began to tingle curiously as the soft flesh lapped at her wetness with bird-like fluttering movements that were not slow, but languid. Unhurried. Sweet Merlin. Twinges of pleasure licked up her spine as Snape tasted her. He explored her all over – straight up the centre, along the sides, left to right. Hermione could feel her legs begin to shake when the tip of his tongue finally dragged across her tender clit, so plump with aching need. As if on their own accord, her hands found the back of his head. Nimble fingers intertwined in silky tresses at the same that a strangled sob burst unbidden from her throat.

With his face poised between her thighs, feasting on her essence, the dark wizard growled – no, rather, he positively purred – in response, and the resulting vibrations caused every single nerve ending in her core to fire off in rapid succession. He was teasing her now, she was sure, drawing wide circles and then narrow ones, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, flicking his tongue every now and then in a way that made her eyes roll into the back of her head.

It was ravishing agony. This systematic deconstruction of all she had ever known to be true, this complete unravelling of her very being – it lasted for what felt like days. His skilful tongue kept pushing her higher and higher, closer to some unknown precipice but never quite allowing her to fall. Somehow through this thick, hazy mist of delectation and carnal bliss, she was eventually able to sense Snape shift his position on the bed. But even so, she was still taken by surprise when just a moment later, she felt something stroking her sex, an unaccustomed, gentle caress tracing her entrance. This sudden development caught her off guard. Her body merely stiffened at first, and it was only when she felt the slight pressure of something trying to push its way inside that she snapped out of her stupor and attempted to pull away, to push his head away from her.

A firm hand wrapped around her waist and held her in place. Not hard enough to restrain her, but with just enough force to temporarily still her movements.

“Shh.” His breath felt wickedly hot against her skin. “You’re doing so well. So, so well. Just trust me. Please.”

Hermione was sure that she was going mad. Someone must have secretly hexed her earlier, causing her to now suffer from the delayed effects of a poorly cast Confundus Charm. Or perhaps one of Snape’s potions had indeed been laced with something after all. There was simply no other explanation as to why she so willingly and swiftly settled back on the mattress – settled back into a position where she was so entirely at this man’s mercy – just a moment or two after his quiet utterances had registered in her brain. Her irrational actions could most certainly not be attributed to the low ripple of his voice that was still reverberating through her bones, bringing fresh need, fresh desire. It also definitely had nothing to do with the fact that the Potions professor had just actually praised her for the very first time in all the years she’d known him or the fact that his tone sounded desperate. Like he was begging – for reasons other than the curse.

Still, as soon as she felt it once more, that something trying to breach her opening, her legs involuntarily tried to clamp together. Yet Snape persisted, always pausing but never stopping, and in spite of her innocence, her body in its highly aroused state offered little resistance. By and by, his finger slowly pressed forward until it had at last slid all the way inside her. There was no pain; just a strange, somewhat uncomfortable fullness. Whatever stinging there may have been was quickly soothed by fleeting brushes of his tongue, and by the time he started to move, to plunge and twist, she was fidgeting again – not to escape his touch but rather to fight the sensory overload which threatened to inundate her wholly. Every measured stab of his finger, every drag of his tongue was marked by a whimpering moan.

Another finger joined the first at the same time that Snape sucked her clit into his mouth, and Hermione gasped. She sunk her heels into his lower back as the dull burn of being stretched collided with the curious sensation of feeling the blunt edges of his worn-down teeth graze her swollen bud. Her toes curled when his tongue began to swipe back and forth, the slow but steady movement causing her knuckles to turn white from her death grip on his hair. She bucked beneath him as if to remove him from her.

“Please, I –, I don’t think I –, I can –”

Her barely coherent words became lost, bleeding into one another when Snape curled his fingers within her, suddenly brushing against a hidden spot deep inside her core that caused her inner walls to clamp down around his slender digits nearly to the point of pain. Still, he worked in and out of her tight opening, each inbound thrust stimulating this newly discovered part of her femininity in a way that stole all the air from her lungs.

Clutching fistfuls of black hair, Hermione threw her head back against the pillow with a wretched sounding wail. It was too much. It was all just too much. His fingers, his mouth, his tongue, his nose – his goddamn, perfectly hooked nose, pressing up against her pubic bone like that. The sensations were so intense that she was certain there was no way she could handle them all without falling apart. He was going to kill her.

The tingling feeling was moving up her lower limbs now, making her thighs quiver and tremor and jitter. All of a sudden, every nerve ending seemed to originate from between her legs. It felt like her entire body was convulsing. Flashing stars were falling behind her eyelids as something tightened in her belly, curling tighter and tighter around itself. The feeling continued to build and build until it became almost unbearable – and then the world exploded into colours as she finally reached her release with a strangled cry.

(Click here for chapter 5!)