#the loss of the last pieces of them clinging to innocence

[impossible-rat-babies]

I do wish SB did some things better, but truly it’s the playground of eyrie lore I love messing around in the most

[jolalibrary]

had to see you

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

summary: And then, he says, “It’s nice.” “You can tell me if it isn’t, I promise I won’t be offended—it’s not as though I cook often.” “It is nice,” he repeats, giving you a look which tells you to stop worrying as if you have any control over your feelings.

an: eventual smut. angst with happy ending. will-they-won't-they, but they do. smut. he loves you 100%. word count: 5.7k || there’s a part two to this here

simon ghost riley masterlist

You love the rain. 

Not so much when you’re away. When you’re strapped up, weighed down by all your gear. The additional weight of being wet makes for an uncomfortable experience, with hair clinging to foreheads and mud sticking to your skin. It also forces things to rub more, chaff. Your skin is often raw from where the buckles and belts sit. 

But, at home, it’s refreshing. 

It’s why you never hated your nickname, the one given to you in jest—to remind you that you are a female, soft, emotional. Only for it to grow more fitting. Because Rain comes from above, sharp, falling where needed—catching people by surprise, and leaving traces behind, but never enough to know where you’ll land next. 

Rain is also one word. One syllable. Short, sharp and easy.

It can be spat, it can be sweetly said and affectionately called. 

On good days, it reminds you of long car rides, staring out of windows at passing traffic as you watch beads of its travel down—racing. On bad days, it reminds you of more unpleasant memories, ones born in moments you’d sooner forget, an emptiness in your chest from betrayal, loss and bad choices. 

At home, rain itself keeps you rooted. The scent, for one, not allowing your mind to whisk you off too old memories of war and enemy territories. The sound, for another, hits your windows and dulls the silence. All three senses are busied by it. It all blends perfectly together with the crackling of your candles and the low-light vibe you have going off in your flat. 

Plus, there’s nothing more British than bad weather. 

Each time you’re able to come home, you hope it’s raining. Landing back, greeted with cold and horrid rain. Preferably the kind which looks misty through windows and soaks you in seconds when you step into it. The kind which makes it hard to know which speed to put your car wipers on, and socks get drenched as puddles form quicker than people can account for.

You didn’t care that you looked like a drowned rat when you unlocked your flat door. Or that your wet clothes were difficult to remove as steam filled your bathroom because you were always going to have a shower. A routine—a tradition of sorts. 

Hands desperate to wash the months away, let your expensive soaps and scents soak into neglected skin and smother old scars and newly gained ones. Plus, the water was hotter at home, almost scolding your skin as you stood under it, letting each droplet massage a part of your neck and upper back as your living room music drifted through the cracked door.

You dress before you really prune, sliding on silk PJs—the ones which you buy as a treat and wear once, maybe twice a year. Your skin sighs in relief, thankful to forget sand, bullets and bruises, the same as your mind. Busying your hands with preparing a lavish dinner, a large dish too ridiculous for one person—but again, you’d missed it. Home.

The scent of gravy, potatoes and meat.

When asked, you’d been quiet about your plans with the others. Them only having a slight idea of which city you call home. It’s not that you didn’t want to see them—not even sure you’d be able to fall asleep without Soap’s snores, Ghost’s huffs and Gaz’s odd bedtime stories. But, you’d gained new nightmares on the last job—ones which you needed to make peace with before they stole another fraction of your soul.

That’s what it did, eventually. Even to the best of them. 

Bad choices, untested intel and wrong moves left little marks before they claimed a piece of innocence, kindness and happiness. 

It’s a little different with the 141. Without realising it, you’re sure you all help smother each other's struggles away. But it’s only temporary. You know it, you can feel it in the muscles in your back and in the knots in your stomach. So, if you saw them now when you needed to heal—if you relied on them—you’d go back weaker than when you left. And they needed you; you needed them. A team where you could only trust one another—having been betrayed so often, you were all each other had.

It’s why you were taken back by a firm knock. 

Short. Deliberate. 

Pausing, allowing whoever they were to realise their mistake. Even if the sound didn’t appear as though they’d chosen the wrong flat or someone who was cherry-knocking. It was purposeful, direct, and your hands quickly dried on the kitchen towel as your feet crossed the tiles and laminate to your front door. 

When you’d left, you’d asked a friend to check in on the flat—fix the peephole. Something having forced it to get stuck, leaving you blind to whoever was on the other side. Your friend is good, kind, and sweet but forgetful. Something which also reminds you of home as you snort, undoing the chain, and unlocking the door, half expecting them. 

Only to see him. 

“Ghost?” 

He has a hood up, and a scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face. 

His eyes fall over you, taking you in centimetre by centimetre, digging into you as if he’d not expected to see you.

You find it just as odd to see the skin around his eyes not tainted in grey or black and that his frame is still as ridiculously large, even in plain clothes, as he holds a duffel bag in his hand.

Suddenly aware of the thin layer covering your body from him. Especially as his eyes drop from your face to the silk shirt with its three buttons undone and then to your legs, where silk shorts did their best but were futile in hiding thighs, knees or legs from him.  

“You lettin’ me in?” 

Instinctively, you move, not even questioning it. 

Even if he didn’t say it like an order, he was still your lieutenant. Even on home ground, you slipped into your sergeant role too quickly. Watching him pass you, turning to face the direction he moves in before pressing your back against the inside of your door. Fingers sliding to the side of you, turning the lock, the sound filling the small space as you watch him stop at your key hook, slowly sliding his feet from his boots—finding him wearing thick, bobbly socks. 

He turns to face you, eyes washing over you again as his hood remains up as he undoes the scarf. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen his face a handful of times, each time, it still renders you silent, if only for a second. 

Clearing your throat, you rub the back of your neck. “I don’t mean this to come out as rude, but why are you—“

“Someone broke into my place.” 

You move, almost too quickly, from the door. Your hand brushing his shoulder, wanting—needing—to comfort him, soothe him like you would a friend. Before you remembered who this was. 

Almost surprised he doesn’t flinch. Even if he does shoot you a surprised look before you wrench your hand back. 

“S-sorry. Habit.” He frowns, and you wish the floor would swallow you whole. “Not with y—when I’m home, I’m… well, I—did they take anything?” 

“Not sure.” 

Right. “Do you need somewhere to stay?” 

He looks at you briefly before his eyes flick away, the tell-tale signs of him processing and thinking. You’ve seen him do it often, especially when Price is talking and when he reads files. As if he’s choosing where to store it in the filing cabinet, he calls his brain. 

“Please,” he says, the word almost coming out as a whisper. 

As if it’s so rarely ever said. 

You’re unsure what to say, even if there’s so much swirling around your brain. So many questions you want to pepper him with, but he’s not Soap, who’ll answer them all or Gaz, who’ll have already told you everything. 

He’s Ghost. 

Silent. Quiet, Ghost. 

Your oven beeps, his head turning to the sound. 

Sighing, you rub your arms, suddenly aware of how cold your hallway feels, as you cover your chest with your elbows. “You hungry?” 

Silence. 

A beat or two blossoming, your eyes unable to move from his face, even if you know you should, before he licks his lips, saying, “Starving.” 

You smile, “Good. It's not a lot, just some chicken, potatoes… a bit of veg. Nothing huge. And, not quite a typical Sunday roast, but enough to ease me back in.” 

He doesn’t laugh, not that you expect him to. 

“Bathroom is there, to your right. If you need it,” you say quickly, almost stepping past him to answer your beeping oven. “I just need to dish up, and… yeah.” 

You expect to feel calmer by the time he’s back. Especially with your dressing gown on, loosely knotted at your waist, covering more of you from him. 

But you’re more nervous. 

Doubting the food you’ve plated, the scent of the candles, whether the low lights make it romantic and whether you should turn up the acoustic songs playing or let the rain be the soundtrack of the evening. Suddenly aware of how fucking odd this is. 

Him being here. 

And yet, not that odd at all. 

“Hope it’s okay…” you mumble nervously as you place the plate down.

He looks like he belongs at your table, even if your table is small and usually for one-person. He’d helped, in as much of a way as a stranger can in someone’s home, grabbing glasses from cupboards you direct him to, making squash for you and water for him. 

His hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie as he waited for further instruction, catching sight of the hood still being up, having noticed he’d swapped jeans for dark joggers before you told him to sit. 

“There’s more gravy… just wasn’t sure how you liked it,” you add. 

Ghost doesn’t answer, not even as you slide into the chair opposite. Your hands have a slight tremble to them as you pick up your cutlery, trying not to watch him take a bite—suddenly feeling like a contestant on a judging show. 

And then, he says, “It’s nice.” 

“You can tell me if it isn’t, I promise I won’t be offended—it’s not as though I cook often.”

“It is nice,” he repeats, giving you a look which tells you to stop worrying as if you have any control over your feelings.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the occasional sound of a fork grazing the plate and the knife slicing through food. It’s almost normal—as though this happens regularly. 

“Your place is nice, too,” he mumbles.  

Lifting your head, you find he’s looking at you already. “You don’t have to lie, Simon. You can still stay even if you think my decor is odd.” 

His eyes widen a fraction before it vanishes like it never existed. A brief moment of you wondering why, until you realise the slip—the way you used his name and not his alias. Making it feel personal. More so than the two of your knees occasionally butting under the table. 

“It’s not what I expected.” 

“You’ve thought about my place?” 

Ghost says nothing, hovering his fork over his dinner as he keeps his eyes down. 

You smile if only to yourself, pushing some meat and vegetables onto your fork, continuing—wondering if he’s hoping you would. That silence would settle over the two of you, the storm outside being enough background noise to keep it from being awkward. 

“I have to ask,” you say suddenly, keeping your gaze down, trying to still your pulse as you manoeuvre food around the sauce. “Why me? I mean… I don’t mind you being here, but I thought, well, I assumed you’d pick Soap—if you needed a place to stay.”

You try not to look, even when you hear a faint snort, seeing his plate—empty, only traces of broccoli stalks remaining—slide closer as the chair creaks in his movement. 

“You were closer.” 

Oh. 

Your stomach drops, suddenly feeling foolish for thinking there could be any other reason. 

Almost wanting to kick yourself for allowing yourself to consider another option, one which you’ve been stuffing down for weeks, months… 

It isn’t as though you were meant to fall for him. The man who originally kept his face a higher guarded secret than his own name. But, it stemmed naturally and out of nowhere. He made you laugh as you moved into an enemy building—nerves humming in your bones. He made it worse when he flung himself in front of you before a car exploded, gripping you tightly against him, not letting go for minutes later before his hand cupped your cheek, mouthing words you couldn’t hear as ears rang and rang.

Smiling, you nod, not sure what else to say as you take his plate and yours, turning your back to him as you hear him clear his throat. 

“I had to see if you were okay.” 

You don’t place the plates down, not immediately. 

Eyes trying to peer at him through the corner of your vision, slowly lowering the porcelain to the counter—too afraid to break the moment with a single sound, even as your heart hammered in your ears, in your chest, and throat. 

He had said it so softly, you have to wonder how long it’s been churning on his tongue. 

Slowly turning, you face him, finding his eyes already on you with an awkwardness in his shoulders as he looks up at you. 

“Well, I’m fine.” 

“Had to be sure.” 

You smile, pulling your dressing gown around you tighter. “Well, that’s because you’re a good lieutenant.” 

His brows knit, lips spreading into a thin light before you notice the subtle shift in his nostrils as though he’s sighed before Ghost nods with his usual professionalism. That’s when your stomach drops, fluttering ridiculously near your feet as you feel you’ve made a mistake.  

“Tea?” you ask. 

Ghost’s face shifts and you’re almost sure there’s a faint smile on his lips. 

“Don’t worry, I know how you like it,” you add, pulling open a cupboard as you retrieve two mugs and flick the kettle on. “I’ve heard you berate Soap for his piss-poor tea skills.”

You make him snort. 

And it does nothing to stifle the fluttering.

If anything, it adds to it. 

Shit. 

Even though it’ll be his bed for the night, Ghost refuses to sit on the sofa and doesn’t allow you to sit in the armchair. Practically insisting you sit how you would if he wasn’t here. Even if you’re worried he won’t be comfortable, the ridiculous chair was bought as a filler—an accessory, rather than something people actually used.

“Fine,” you mumbled, grabbing your blanket and curling up across both seats as he clutched the mug in his hand. 

You put something crap on the TV, the volume low—just in case he doesn’t feel like talking. Your eyes flick to it occasionally, half-listening as you softly wiggle your toes under the blanket—needing something to focus on. Because you couldn’t keep looking at him. 

Not with how your mind was running away from you, imagining ifs and buts and everything else in between. 

He fits here. Your home rarely feels warm and comforting, but with his presence, it does. As though your place has always wanted to be enjoyed by two people, not one person who rarely ever visited it. 

It doesn’t feel weird, even if it should. It makes you feel unsteady, and dizzy. Suddenly unable to stop focusing on the fact there’s a six-foot-something amount of feelings in your chest, twisting and tightening, trying to unlock everything you stuffed down. 

That same instinct and set of emotions which made you try to rip yourself from Soap’s grip when Ghost had entered a blazing building just for a stupid USB; how you’d been so angry, feral—as Soap called it—not able to think, how it had filled you, consuming you. How you’d even told Price you needed benching, unable to even look at your lieutenant, never mind be in the same room. 

He eventually cornered you on the base, pushing you, mixing between berating and taunting you until you slammed your small fist into his shoulder as you called him an idiot, a fucking cunt, a liability, a heartless cunt. How your tiny fist hammered into him with each array of insults until he grasped it tenderly, staring at you until tears bubbled in your eyes. 

You cannot die.

Why?

But, he had to know. His eyes followed a single tear down your cheek as he released your wrist, allowing you to walk away from him and begin the process of stuffing everything down again. 

Then you’d been shot. Through and through. Fire, gasp and fucking pain, your mind rendered uselessly, but he was still the person you called for. Not Soap, who was closer, not Gaz, who could actually stitch you. But Ghost. 

Ghost who came in a flash, telling you what you needed to hear—ordering you to do things like look at him, gripping his arm. 

“What?” 

Blinking, you didn’t even realise you’d been looking at him. Your mind blanking excuses tumbling from your grasp as you offer the quickest smile and a ‘nothing’. 

You forget how good he is at reading people. 

Especially you. Almost sure you make it easy for him, even if everyone else says they struggle. 

Ghost always knows, as though he’s in your head, digging his way through each time he stares at you. You wonder how much you let him in, whether he finds it easy before you want him in there—in your mind, in your heart. 

Now, he’s giving you a stern look, one which makes the truth rattle in your chest and snakes up your throat. 

Sighing, you shake your head. “Fine, I was thinking about how weirdly normal it is that you’re here. That it doesn’t feel weird, alright? That was it.” 

Anyone else, you’d think they’d smirk. 

But with him, it’s the slightest movement of his lip which tells you he has heard you. 

Ghost takes a sip, purposefully holding your gaze as he does so before filling the silence with, “You thought about it, then? Me being here.” 

“Of course I have,” you answer too quickly, wanting to kick yourself as the words hit the air, his brows raising as he sips his tea. “Not… Not like that.” 

“How then?” 

Shit. Swallowing, you sigh, trying to buy yourself time. Shit, bollocks, shit. 

“Should tell you, lying to your lieutenant isn’t smart.” 

You give him a sharp look of your own, and he snorts—actually snorts. Your eyes are all set to roll until he says your name. 

Your real name. 

Not your nickname. Not sergeant or soldier. 

“Fine. I’ve thought about it.”

“It?” 

You groan, pulling the blanket up further—not that it’ll hide the obvious warming of your cheeks or embarrassment. You’re sure that’s painted across the room, likely even doing a jig at your expense. 

“Us. You, me. In a bed,” you mumble. “Happy?” 

Wanting to hide your face, almost about to when the sound of his mug meeting your coaster makes you freeze. Your armchair—the one his frame has somehow fit into comfortably—groans as he moves, and you let yourself see him from the corner of your eye. His forearms leaning on his knees, his hand sliding his hood down as he watches you. 

He’s silent. 

So silent it almost kills you. The adverts in the background do nothing to stop it; the rain, now hammering against the windows, was not stifling it. 

Slowly breathing as you place your mug down, standing before you can even consider the options. “I didn’t realise how late it is,” you say, forcing a yawn. “I should… go to bed. Let you make your bed.” 

You fold the blanket, throwing it over the arm as you try to shrug, and play it off, but he’s quicker at recognising you—he knows you better than that. His hand comes to touch your wrist, like he did months ago, eyes scanning yours.

For what you’re not sure. 

Not wanting to get your hopes up. Not wanting to lose yourself in dreams and imagination. 

So, you smile. As sweetly and as believable as you can as you point to the coffee table chest. “Blankets, pillows, the lot are in there,” you say, almost breathlessly, as he releases you. “Have a nice sleep, Gh—Simon.” 

He swallows, his face remains unreadable as he chokes out, “You too.” 

But you’re already moving, desperately seeking your room—throwing the door open and shutting it as you place your back against it. She’s closing, chest hammering so hard you’re sure it’s trying to escape. 

Go back. 

Go back to him. 

Your eyes slowly open, catching sight of yourself in the mirror as the street lamps partially light your room.

He came to check on you. You. 

Rolling your neck, your fingers flex at your side, twisting your wrists, wanting to shake it all from you. Trying, desperately to rid yourself of the tension and adrenaline. Almost doing so until you hear the floorboards outside your door creak. 

It doubles your heart rate as a lump forms in your throat, suffocating you. You don’t want to give in, but wish to all at once. Your hand cupping your mouth, trying to hide the extra breaths the sound has forced you to make. Needing him. Wanting his calloused fingers to leave marks over your skin, his stubble to slice against your cheeks as his lips capture your breath, words and soul.  

It’s that which makes you shift from the door. Not sure what you’re expecting, what you’re going to see, as your hand twists the doorknob, coming face to face with him all over again. 

His hoodie is gone. 

Expression torn—that same awkwardness in his shoulders.

Your hallway light touches his unreadable expression, highlighting all the lines and shading of his tattoo that stand out against his skin. 

“Tell me to go back to your living room.” 

Inhaling sharply, your hand drops from your mouth and falls limply to your side. 

You are not thinking, thoughts all scattered, scrambled. Not even sure you can find words to tell him you want anything but. That you want him here, right in front of you; you want him to be rough and also kind, you want him to kiss you like he’ll never have the chance to again. 

As though reading you, he moves closer, not even touching you, but your body yearns for him, muscles tensing and spasming at the endless thoughts of what could be—what he could do, what you already know he’d be good at. Suddenly wanting to rid yourself of your dressing gown, of your PJs, of the thin lace between your thighs you’ve already ruined. 

“Words, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart.

Your legs almost give way, a smile wanting to bloom and spread across your lips, up your cheeks until it's radiating from you. 

“Tell me. Or I’ll kiss you.” 

Speechless, your lips part. 

Yes. Please, yes. 

Not even sure you are even breathing as you imagine his hands on you, his mouth against yours, against your neck, descending down and down—

His hand cups your cheek, pulling your eyes to his as he examines you. He studies you like he’s capturing every fucking inch of you: the curve of your cheeks, the position of your brows, the way your lips are waiting for him. The clear crisis you’re going through is rendered and broken at the mere thought of this becoming a reality. 

“Simon…” you manage to whisper.

Hoping it's enough. Needing it to be enough. 

He blinks once more before he lowers his head, his lips planting against yours and you’re sure you explode. Your heart furiously beating, ears buzzing and burning all at once.

Barely focusing on the way his arm snakes around you as your mouth moves to meet each one of his movements. His lips are soft, even if his tongue is rough; his grip tight, purposeful—desperate, even if yours are gentle, nervous. The pads of your fingers slide past the healed scar on his cheek, moving into his hair, his groan vibrating against your lips. 

Gh—Simon is almost lifting you, moving you back as his foot kicks your bedroom door shut behind him, blocking out the light from the hallway. Only the streetlights dance shadows across your room as kisses grow messier, fingers brushing over skin as he hooks a finger in the waistband of your shorts, then sliding, freeing you, until you’re stepping out of them. Your robe next, falling with a thud as your hands slide under his t-shirt, feeling taut, hard muscle and silver scars which paint stories as your legs find your bed. 

He smells different than usual.

Less sweat and fireworks, and more some combination of Ghost meeting sandalwood and amber as the two of you bend down onto your bed, the frame hissing at the weight and movement—not even aware of what’ll be expected to support soon enough. 

“Shit, woman. Y’know how beautiful you are?” 

His teeth nipping, sucking, leaving an answer to your prayer before you feel him unbuttoning your top, all slow and gentle, as if undoing a present he’s waited desperately for. 

“Rip it,” you moan, his teeth grazing over the space between your breasts before he lifts up. 

His eyes burn into yours, the smallest evidence of a smirk on his mouth as he slowly shakes his head. “I’ve waited too fuckin’ long to get here, I’m takin’ my damn time.” 

If you weren’t already soaked for him, that did it. 

All slick, swollen and hungry for him. Not sure if it’ll even take much, not with how precise you can imagine him being—how fucking thick his fingers are, how he’s staring at you like he wants to break you in all the ways he can before sunrise.

And you want it. Desperate for it. So much so that just the fan of his warm breath against your exposed nipples makes you rub your thighs together, needing friction—something he can tell, he must do. 

“Wait.”

It’s sharp, authoritative, and he’s going to be the death of you. 

Your body is so tense, you’re sure it’ll snap if you keep any more still as he undoes the last button and exposes your skin to the cool air and his breath. So focused on his eyes, you’ve forgotten all about his hand until you feel lace dig into your waist, tightening and tightening—snap.

And he smirks.

The devious bastard smirks. 

Your lips part to make a remark—one you’re not even wholeheartedly sure will come out right—but it dies when he touches you, one finger, one thick calloused finger sliding between your thighs, brushing where you need him. 

“Fuck…”

“Part them, sweetheart.”

And you do.

You do it like he’s said open-fucking-sésame. Two fingers sliding against you, diving between your folds. It’s intense, teasing and everything all at once. It’s making you burn and shiver, sweat building on your brow as you pant and whimper. His name falls freely, almost chanting it, like a song you’re the only one who can sing it. He captures what he can, tasting each syllable you say of his name until you’re tightening and clenching, and he whispers in your ear how good you are, how perfect you are, and you meet your orgasm with blinding lights and arched back. 

The sight of him licking your want from his fingers brings you back, his mouth crashing against yours as you pull him down, knee bent against his hip as his hand comes to rest on your hip—the one you hope he’s bruising. Wanting, wishing for him to leave literal fingerprints as your hand slides between the two of you.

You knew before tonight Simon Riley would be big. 

Almost too big. 

The weight of him against your palm is something else, the thickness of his cock in between your fingers as you make him hiss, thumb swiping over the head as he groans. 

He mixes kissing and nipping at your neck depending on what your hand does, the groans of your name making you desperate—needing him inside you, suddenly empty and desperate all over again, but not for his fingers. 

You want him so deep in you you’ll forever feel empty without him. You want to feel every inch of him, want to rock against his hips as you press half-moons into his skin as nails dig into him. 

The ache growing, worsening as his tongue draws a line from your neck to your earlobe, his fist clenching around your bed sheets at your side. 

“Fuck… stop. Stop,” he groans, a hand smothering yours, halting you as he stares at you before pressing his forehead against yours. 

Letting him go, touching his cheek—his eyes full of lust, searing into you. 

“I want you.” 

“Yeah?”

You nod, his lips sliding up into a half-smirk—a Simon special. “I’ll go slow.”

“I hope you fucking don’t.”

His eyes harden. “I’m going slow. I’ll ruin you later,” he whispers darkly, before capturing your lips, a hand gripping the back of your thigh—shifting it just over his hip.

You're set to argue, and comment you can handle it until you feel him lineup, the head of his cock pushing against your folds. 

You gasp as his hips move forward, slowly pushing himself in, your nails digging into his shoulder, into his waist as shivers run down your spine. The stretch being both too much and everything all at once, your toes curling, him slowly burying his cock all the way in as his fingers stroke your jaw.  

“So fu—tight. Fuckin'-shit, sweetheart.” 

“Simon…” 

Your hips roll, moaning at the way it feels, having never felt so full. Never felt so stretched. 

He’s slow, as he has been since he stepped over the threshold. His determination to take things slow, to take his time, not lessening now that he’s deep inside of you. 

You’re sure you’ve left an array of welts and half-moon marks into his shoulders as he begins to roll his hips, his thrusts purposeful, desperately seeking that spot he already knows. 

“Eyes on me,” he says, thumb against your jaw as your eyes lashes beg to flutter, but land on him all the same. “There’s my girl.” 

It’s sinful the moan you let escape at his praise, your legs almost jelly as he steals it with a kiss—as though to taste it. Your mouth grasping for him when he pulls his head back, gripping your hip, helping you both to find a steady pace.

He does ruin you.

Not the first time, the second, but on the third.

Legs so sore, boneless and aching you can barely walk without his aid to the bathroom. 

You’re not surprised he places you down on the side of the bath, taking a cloth you point him to as he cleans between your thighs as your hisses feel the space. You catch sight of yourself, an array of colours developing across your neck, collarbone and waist—just like you wanted.

A painting in colours of his own design. 

You expect awkwardness once you shuffle back, giving him a moment. Finding underwear, sliding it over shaky legs before surrendering the idea of PJs as you slid between your duvet and sheets. When he returns, you brace for regret—for words you wish he’d swallow, face hidden in the scarf or behind a mask, but he’s in boxers and shuts your door with care. 

Simon crosses the room, lifting the duvet as he slides in next to you, reaching out, tugging your back to his chest as he places a single kiss on the space below your earlobe. 

You want to tell him everything. That you like him, could even love him by now. That you look for him too, that you worry, that you care. You'd tell him that he has pierced your heart, and you welcome the sting, that you'd be there, whenever he needed it. Even with knowing he likes space and distance and everything else in between.

"Stop thinkin' so loud," he grumbles against your skin.

Smiling, you fix your eyes across the darkness, finding the outline of your dresser as his hand finds your hip. Whether to soothe you or silence you, it makes your hands clammy.

Unsure if he knows that someone loves him. Someone wants him alive, wants him uninjured.

“I have feelings for you…” you whisper, fixing your eyes on your dresser as you swallow. “In case it wasn’t obvious.” 

He doesn’t tense, doesn’t move. 

Blinking, you try to trace the shapes of your handles, keeping your mind busy, the silence building and building. 

"Say that again." You turn your head, meeting his stare, watching as he raises his knuckles before he traces your cheekbone. "Please."

His touch is so gentle, so soft that it makes your heart swell—your face relaxing as you repeat it again. "I have feelings for you.

"I care about you and...I like you alive, Simon."

You don't expect a reply, a declaration of his own. The fact he hasn't moved and hasn't pulled his knuckles from stroking your cheek, is enough of a declaration. Your lips turn, meeting them, pressing the softest kiss to them as if saying I know, I don't need to hear it. I know.

Letting your eyes ensure the message lands as you hold his gaze, ever-so-slightly nodding.

“I texted him. Johnny," he says. His fingers spread, cupping your cheek, thumb stroking your cheek. “But, I had to see you. Had to be sure.” 

Your eyes lower briefly, feeling your heart almost stammer at his words. “Because I’m your sergeant or because I’m your girl.” 

You’re my girl. Mine. Fuck, you’re mine. Mine. All mine. You hear me, sweetheart? 

His thumb pauses against your cheek, likely remembering the same words he chanted over and over as he fucked you senseless. His eyes narrow ever so slightly as his lips twitch, and yours try not to smile.

“The latter.” 

You nod. Feeling your body flush with warmth, turning your head back away from him, grinning as he pulls you flush against him.

Your heart thumping mine, mine, mine. Hearing him get comfortable against the pillow, a soft sigh blowing past his lips and kissing your skin.

“You make shit tea, though.” 

read part two

a huge thank you to @ghostaholics for this absolutely gorgeous graphic. I can’t believe how much it encapsulates the entire piece and is just so me, and so pretty. thank you so much, I appreciate it so much 💕!

[idkyetxoxo]

Aegon Targaryen || Masterlist

This masterlist is solely focused on Aegon Targaryen, all written as xreader pieces without any specific physical descriptions.

All works have warnings stated before but please read at your own risk!

— ALL ONESHOTS BELOW ->

Fan favourites: 🌟 My favourites: 💓

The King's Obsession 🌟💓

• Sexual content (smut!)

She is the singular focus of his attention, the only person who matters to him and she knows it. One night, she expertly uses her charms and his infatuation to orchestrate an encounter that ends in pure bliss for her, fully exploiting his devotion to her advantage.

Tethering Ties 🌟

• Sexual content (oral f!receiving), violence, mild language

Betrothed by the King's decree to repair a fractured royal lineage, neither finds joy in their union. Tensions flare at dinner, resulting in a violent altercation that leaves her injured. Aegon chooses an unconventional way to apologise, his mouth between her legs.

In Her Embrace 🌟

• Sexual content (smut!)

Aegon can only seem to find consolation and loyalty in his wife, who fiercely defends him against the world's cruelty. He clings to her like a lifeline, craving the affection and comfort she uniquely provides, both through her words and through her body.

Lessons 🌟💓

• Sexual content (smut!!), strong language

Aegon's High Valyrian lessons take a tempting turn when his wife, sensing his frustration, offers an irresistible incentive, for every correct answer, another piece of her clothing falls away, turning language practice into an enticing game of lust.

The Ties That Bind 🌟💓

• Violence (slight), mild language

Standing united as a formidable power couple, they defend each other's flaws and virtues with unwavering loyalty. Even when a tense evening exposes deep-seated rivalries, their actions reveal just how far they are willing to go for one another.

No Control

• Sexual content (smut!!), Infidelity

Two souls entwined in their respective marriages, bound by societal expectations yet unable to resist each other, play a dangerous game of seduction and longing, where every stolen moment becomes a battleground of desire, guilt and risk.

Treachery Among Dragons

• Violence (injury?)

In a dramatic clash of dragons and family loyalties, Aegon and his wife face betrayal from within. In the fiery chaos, hidden confessions, devastating secrets and cruel rivalries come to light, culminating in a heart-wrenching plea that could alter the course of their family's future.

A Night on Silk Street 🌟💓

• Sexual content (smut!), mild language

 It was well known that Aegon Targaryen had a preferred brothel worker and he made no secret of his appreciation for her. His gratitude was as generous as it was lavish, reflecting his clear favour. Truly, Aegon the Magnanimous, they say.

Debt Owed 🌟

• Violence, infanticide, pregnancy complications (very slight)

A marriage, once feared as duty, blossoms into love. Tragedy strikes shattering their bliss when ruthless debt collectors demand a terrible price, leaving them adrift in a sea of sorrow. Now, haunted by loss, they cling to fragments of hope amidst shattered dreams.

To Pay the Price

• Violence (kinda?)

As the kingdom unravels in chaos, the queen is forced to pay the price that pushes Aegon, her husband, to the brink of fury. She finds comfort only in his arms, where his protective embrace is the last refuge from the storm threatening to tear their world apart.

Cradle of Love 🌟

• None

Heavily pregnant and tormented with late-night cravings and hormonal swings, the queen finds comfort in her husband Aegon, whose unwavering love and support provide a comforting anchor as they navigate the trials of impending parenthood.

Conquered

• None

In a court steeped in intrigue, Aegon becomes obsessed with a naive lady-in-waiting. Unaware of his manipulative intentions, she is drawn to his allure, sparking a dangerous dance of desire and power that challenges her innocence and forces her to confront her true desires.

For works involving other characters from House of the Dragon, please check out my House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

The thing about her musings on her youth in this album is not just about the spending her “prime” years with someone who ultimately couldn’t give her what she thought they both wanted (family, but also in general sense the happiness you get when you’re young and your whole lives are ahead of you).

There’s SO much about her youth in general here, and how the demons of the past have raised and broken her. How each of these experiences have chipped away at her youth. This whole album is give me back my girlhood, it was mine first.

It’s all the things she’s talking about had are part of the same big trauma of the loss of that youth and innocence. It’s snakegate and how Kim K and her lackeys deliberately set out to destroy Taylor’s reputation for sport, which ripped out Taylor’s last few grasps of that young adulthood freedom without her consent. It’s mulling the price she’s paid for spending her entire youth in the spotlight and becoming a commodity instead of a person. It’s looking at a friend’s child and wishing she could protect them from the world the way she wishes she could have been had she known. It’s putting your trust in your first love who ripped the rug out from under you and your faith along with it. It’s spending your time pining for your younger days in the haze of unspeakable loss. It’s carving off parts of yourself as you grow up to make yourself palatable to your peers and your partners and as a result not knowing what parts of you are left. It’s revisiting a love from your past when you still had it all, and after the initial frenzy realizing its hollow. And yes, it’s pouring your heart and soul into a relationship you think is forever and with each passing year the light in the window flickering dimmer and dimmer, only to realize the light wasn’t coming from your home after all, and you may lose your chance to find it again before it’s too late and the dreams you so desperately cling to vanish for good.

And that’s what the end message I think ends up being in So High School: she’s reclaiming the land as it were. All these things that were taken from her and that she gave up are up for a redo. And it’s not rewriting the past, it’s coming to the realization that all those parts are still within her but so is the good. That the freedom she gave up when she released her first album is still found in the backseat of a boy’s car all these years later. That she’s older and wiser and battleworn but that doesn’t mean she can’t find that joy and lightness. “I feel so high school when I look at you” is kind of a loaded statement from someone who didn’t really get to go to high school (both actually and metaphorically). “Bittersweet sixteen suddenly” (love that wordplay btw) because again— she’s been through so much that the feelings of new love that make her giddy like a girl are tinged because she’s been here before and also never been here before because she was never that kid.

(There’s also a whole tangent there comparing Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince to So High School and how fraught the first is vs the lightness of this one.)

That’s why this isn’t just a breakup album. It’s why she dredges up 2016 and Jake and Aaron’s son and childhood and high school and any other number of things. Because she has spent her entire youth and adulthood grappling with the issues that came to roost in TTPD, and while this whole experience underscores that you can never know what’s going on with someone (least of all Taylor, a stranger to us all), I also don’t think it’s a coincidence that she has stressed how much healthier and whole she is now. That is why this whole album is a bloodletting, but it’s not just about a broken relationship. It’s about a whole belief system that has stolen girlhood from her and she’s determined to piece back together in the aftermath of the autopsy.

[levisjinchuriki]

forever yours - chapter 2

summary: satoru expresses his deep regret and desire to fix things, revealing his struggle with the thought of you moving on.

warning: more angst

word count: 2.9k

“you need to get out more” mei mei scolds over the phone. she, along with a dozen of your closest friends, has tried her best to get you back into the dating scene. your heart knew you weren’t ready for that big of a step, so you declined every time. you know their intentions are pure, and you appreciate it, but it doesn’t feel right. 

“i’m not ready” you sigh. it was still too early for you to think about the possibility of falling for someone again. you still had to move on from gojo, and even that was proving itself to be difficult. 

“i’m not saying you have to marry the guy”, she laughs. mei mei had taken the liberty of setting you up with someone in the corporate office. she claimed he was nice, handsome, rich– the only quality she really cared about. it was only wednesday, meaning you still had a few days to back out.

“just go out, let him pay for your dinner, maybe have some fun after…” she suggests teasingly. you groan at the suggestion.

“you owe it to yourself to have at least one night where you’re not sulking” she continues, her voice softening as she tries to coax you into giving yourself a break, even if just for one evening. 

you consider her words, letting them sink in. for the last six months, your life has revolved around taking care of Haru and feeling the heavy, persistent ache of your husband’s absence. each day has been a blur of routines—getting haru ready for school, managing meals, keeping the house in order—while your mind drifts to thoughts of what once was and what could have been.

nights are the hardest, the loneliness settling in as you replay old memories, wondering how things went so wrong. the vibrant parts of you, the ones that used to laugh, dream, and hope, have slowly dimmed, replaced by the overwhelming responsibility of being a single parent and the lingering pain of a love that didn’t last.

mei mei’s suggestion– although daunting– feels like a lifeline, a chance to reconnect with a piece of yourself that you’ve buried under the weight of loss and routine. but even as you consider it, a part of you hesitates, clinging to the familiar pain, unsure if you’re ready to let it go and take a step toward moving on.

“what’s the worst that can happen?” she asks, her tone playful. the question catches you off guard, and despite yourself, you laugh. there’s plenty that could go wrong—a bad date, awkward conversations, the possibility of feeling even more alone afterward—but all those things would pale in comparison to the hurt you’ve already endured.

you glance over at haru, who’s peacefully coloring on the floor in the living room, his little face focused and content. the sight of him, so innocent and untouched by the turmoil you’ve experienced tugs at your heart. he deserves a mother who isn’t weighed down by the past, someone who can find happiness again, even if it’s just a glimmer.

hesitantly, you agree to her offer. 

“alright, fine,” the words slip out before you can second-guess them. you sigh deeply, rubbing your eyes in disbelief, as if trying to convince yourself that you’re really going to go through with this. the thought of putting yourself out there again feels surreal, a mix of anxiety and reluctant anticipation bubbling up inside you. hopefully this small step is what you need to start finding yourself again.

–

saturday approaches quickly. with haru at his dad’s for the weekend you're left alone with your thoughts, and the immense anxiety brewing within you. it’s been so long since you’ve done something like this, and the uncertainty gnaws at you, making you question if you’re really ready. 

as the afternoon turns into evening, you reluctantly begin to get ready. as you slip into your dress the weight of the evening ahead presses down on you. you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to push through the nerves. you fight the urge to cancel at the last minute. one call, one text, and you could be free of this anxiety. but then you think of mei mei, of haru, and of the part of yourself that you’ve neglected for too long. you’ve survived worse; surely, you can survive one date.

you check your reflection once more, trying to see the person you used to be—the one who wasn’t afraid of new experiences, who could step into the unknown with confidence. it reflects a version of yourself that feels both familiar and distant. 

as you head towards your destination, your thoughts swirl in a chaotic mix of hope, fear, and uncertainty. you wonder what ryo– your date for the evening– will be like, whether the conversation will flow or falter, and if you’ll even be able to enjoy yourself. 

the restaurant is a cozy little spot downtown, and your date seems kind, attentive, and easy to talk to. mei mei was right– ryo is undeniably handsome. his dark, neatly styled hair complements his sharp features and his eyes are warm and kind as he greets you. he’s everything you should be looking for: stable, charming, and uncomplicated.

throughout the evening, ryo displays the manners of a true gentleman—holding doors open, making thoughtful conversation, and showing genuine interest in your conversation. his polite laughter and attentiveness make you feel valued, and his gestures are considerate, ensuring you’re comfortable and enjoying yourself.

despite all this, you can’t help but draw comparisons between him and gojo. ryo’s qualities are admirable, but they are different from what you were used to, making the evening feel like a bittersweet reminder of the intensity you once had in your life. his charm and politeness stand in stark contrast to gojo’s more magnetic, sometimes overwhelming presence. gojo’s eyes, with their piercing, electrifying blue, had a way of making you feel seen in a way that ryo’s gentle gaze doesn’t quite match. the confident, almost reckless allure of gojo’s personality—his playfulness, his intensity—seems to linger in your mind, making ryo’s more restrained demeanor feel somewhat subdued in comparison.

as the night winds down, ryo walks you to your car with a respectful and gentle demeanor, making sure you’re safe and comfortable. he smiles kindly as he expresses hope for another date. he doesn’t try to kiss you, which you appreciate. you’re not sure how you would have reacted if he had.

—-

meanwhile, haru was enjoying his weekend with his dad. he was his usual energetic self, bouncing from one activity to the next, filling the apartment with his bright laughter. satoru found himself reveling in the moments of pure joy, grateful that he had the time with his son. 

when they both settle on the couch after dinner, gojo turns on haru’s favorite movie, knowing he’ll fall asleep soon. 

“daddy” haru began, his voice muffled as he snuggles closer under the blanket they’re sharing. gojo hums. 

“do you think mommy is having fun on her date?”. the question hangs in the air, freezing satoru in place. he turns to haru, trying to keep his expression neutral even though his mind is racing. 

“what date?” he asks as calmly as he can manage. haru looks up at him, blinking innocently. he doesn’t even realize he’s sold you out. gojo isn’t entirely sure if he comprehends what a date between adults means. 

“the one she was talking about on the phone” he answers honestly. satoru feels his heart drop. he wasn’t aware that you had started to move on. it was always a possibility–being that you two were no longer together, but the thought still made his stomach turn.

he wonders if you’ve already found someone else and questions if haru has already been introduced to the man that could potentially replace him. despite all that, he remains calm on the outside, forcing a smile. 

“oh, i see. i’m sure we can ask her about it tomorrow” gojo offers.

haru seems satisfied with that response, snuggling back down under the blanket, oblivious to the internal battle raging within his father. gojo watches his son for a moment, the weight of the situation settling heavily on him. it’s real, and it’s a bitter pill to swallow.

—

gojo’s figure stands tall in your doorway as he drops off haru. he’s dressed casually in a plain black shirt and jeans, his white hair tousled as always. he carries an easy confidence that makes your heart skip a beat, even now.

you greet haru with a hug and a kiss on the cheek before setting him down so he can go play. he’s quick to run to the living room where you’ve already laid out his toys for him.

“hey,” gojo greets as he comes inside to set haru’s bags down. 

“hey,” you reply, trying to keep your tone neutral. “how was the weekend?”. 

“great”. there’s a casualness in his demeanor, but you can hear the tension beneath his tone.

you nod, stepping into the kitchen to prepare a snack for haru to distract you from the awkwardness. gojo follows close behind, he leans against the counter as his eyes quietly observe your every move. you can feel his gaze lingering on you, and it makes the air in the room feel heavier. he’s always had a way of looking at you that made you feel like you were the only person in the world, but today, there’s something different. 

“how was your date?” gojo blurts out. his voice lacks malice, but you’re aware he’s not genuinely interested in the details. 

your heart skips a beat. mei mei isn't the type to tell gojo about your date, being they’re not close. and you’re certain ryo doesn’t know gojo personally. professionally, sure, but not to the point of the two men engaging in casual conversation for something like that to be brought up.

“seems we have a little spy on our hands” he replies in amusement. you look down, feeling caught. you were sure haru was preoccupied with coloring during your conversation the other night. even if he did overhear you, you hadn’t expected him to repeat the information, especially not to his dad. 

“it wasn’t anything serious” you admit, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you, though you can’t quite place why. maybe it’s the unspoken tension between you, or the fact that even though you’re no longer together and discussing your personal life with him feels strangely intimate, almost like a betrayal of the past you shared. or maybe it’s because you knew you weren’t ready to put yourself out there in the first place. 

gojo doesn’t respond immediately. instead, he watches you, his expression unreadable. the silence between you stretches out, filled with all the things neither of you are willing to say. his eyes betray a flicker of something deeper—disappointment, perhaps, or maybe even hurt.

“you don’t owe me an explanation. we’re… separated, and you have every right to see other people”. his words catch you off guard. you look at him with furrowed brows, not expecting that sort of answer. you thought for sure he’d be mad. instead, he stands before you with an expression that’s almost too calm, too accepting. there’s no bitterness in his voice, no trace of the jealousy you were bracing for. in its place is a sadness in his eyes that tugs at something deep within you.

“but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me.” he admits. the confession hangs between you, raw and unguarded. it’s a glimpse into his vulnerability, a side of him that’s rarely seen. you’re struck by the honesty of his words, and the impact they have on you is immediate. the realization that he’s still affected by your decisions, that there’s a part of him that’s struggling with the separation, hits you hard.

you look away, certain that your resolve will break under his gaze. 

“satoru, we both knew this was going to happen eventually. we’re trying to move on with our lives”. you’re not sure if you’re trying to remind him or convince yourself. maybe a bit of both.

he steps closer, his presence enveloping you in that overwhelming, familiar way that makes it hard to breathe. 

“i don’t want to move on from you,” he says, his voice low and almost desperate. “i don’t want to think about you with someone else”. you can feel the intensity of his gaze. the rawness in his voice shakes you. the distance you’ve been trying to maintain suddenly feels fragile. he’s the only man in the world who has the power to break you like this, to make you question the choices you’ve made and the path you’re on. his emotions pierce through the defenses you’ve built, leaving you grappling with the enormity of the feelings you still have for him.

your breath catches in your throat. this was what you’ve feared—what you’ve tried so hard to avoid. falling back into him. 

“satoru, we can’t” you say, the words coming out more pleading than you intend.

“i know,” he replies, stepping closer to you. this is closer than you’ve been in a long time. “but i can’t just let you go. thinking of you with someone else—it’s killing me.”. gojo takes your hand, running his thumb along your ring finger—now bare. the simple gesture feels heavy with meaning, a reminder of the life and love you once shared. it feels like so long ago now.

his admission is raw, and the pain in his eyes mirrors the turmoil inside you. the gentle touch of his hand, the sincerity in his voice, makes it hard to maintain your emotions. you want to be strong, to keep the walls you’d built firmly in place, but he always had a way of dismantling them with just a few words.

“we tried to make it work before and look where we are now. we can’t keep living in the past” you whisper, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

gojo shakes his head, stepping even closer. his gaze is intense, a mix of regret and determination. if he’s honest with himself, he knows he didn’t put in the effort to mend the relationship as much as he should have. he was always so consumed by work, pushing you to the side until it became unbearable for you. the realization that he neglected you has weighed heavily on him the last six months.

he understands that he might not deserve another chance or your trust, but he’ll try his hardest to prove otherwise. he wants to be a family again. he didn’t fully appreciate what he had until it was gone, taken away by his own doing. the realization hits him hard: he had taken the stability and love of his family for granted, and now he’s left with the painful understanding of how much he truly values it.

“i’m willing to do whatever it takes. just… don’t give up on us”.

you feel a whirlwind of emotions. there’s a deep ache in your chest, a painful tug of longing that his presence and words stir within you. the vulnerability in his eyes and the sincerity of his voice pull your heart, making it difficult to ignore the love that still lingers.

at the same time, there’s an intense level of fear. the weight of the past hurts and the uncertainty of whether things can truly change makes you hesitant and guarded. 

“satoru…” you’re not sure what to say. it was a big request and involved so many risks. too many to just blindly agree to. 

a tear slips down your cheek. gojo’s gaze remains steady, his eyes filled with a mixture of anxiety and tenderness. he reaches out to cup your cheek, gently wiping away the tear with the pad of his thumb. you have to resist the natural urge to lean into his touch. it’s bittersweet being held by him. 

“i don’t want to lose you” he murmurs. “i can’t lose you”. the desperation in his voice breaks your heart and makes it hard to stay indifferent. his eyes, shimmering with unspoken pain and hope, seem to reach into your soul.

“there’s so much to talk about” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “i need time”. the decision wasn’t just about you or satoru. it was about haru, and the life you want to build for him. you had been so determined to move on, to create a safe, stable environment for your son, but maybe there was a way to do that with satoru by your side. 

gojo’s expression softens, a mixture of relief and hope crossing his features. he nods slowly, understanding the weight of your request. he’s happy you’re at least willing to think it over. it’s a small, but significant victory. 

“i’ll wait,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “i'll give you all the time you need”.

the words hang between you, a promise wrapped in vulnerability and patience. you nod, grateful for his understanding yet overwhelmed by the enormity of the decision before you. the weight of the past six months, the effort to create a stable life for haru, and the complexities of your relationship with satoru all swirl together, creating a storm of emotions that you need to navigate carefully.

the path ahead is uncertain, filled with potential for both joy and heartache. but for now, you allow yourself a moment to breathe, to collect your thoughts, and to prepare for the conversations and decisions that lie ahead.

---

ch 3>

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ thank you for reading!! everyone is welcome to leave feedback and requests in my inbox!! please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

(tagging some people who liked the previous chapter. plz lmk if you want to be removed <3)

@tardis-23 @clearlysworld @sloppynatoppy @shaytoru @concealedeuphoria @svt-backup @padmaaaa @gojosatorumyoneandonly @satoru2716 @eldweiss @luvuyuuji @dark-agate @gojolovrrrr @wysefyre @s-x-m-m-y @jeankirsteinwh3re @funkyotaku7 @um-no-ok @ghostlymilkshakeglitter @domilovestoru @pepperyduck @celestialgojo @smolpotatosstuff @sanriovin @himi009 @yourpalheapass @scgsposts @gojoswaterbottle @sasukun @meforpr3sident

[eastwindmlk]

Written for @jilymicrofics prompt: Melancholy, March 20th Word count: 667

Lily had always loved the idea of moving, picking up your things, and making a new place home. She had more than once considered getting a wagon and just travelling the world until she got sick of it. Have a new view to wake up to every morning. 

With the war looming over their heads, that dream washed out rather quickly. Lily could not imagine herself touring the world while there were people hurting. People like her. So, that plan was shelved until further notice. 

Her sights were set lower. Get out of her parent's house. 

A goal easily accomplished after Hogwarts, she and her friends split rent on a six-story walk-up in a dodgy neighbourhood. But it was the best thing that ever happened to Lily. 

A different adventure began when she moved in with James somewhere after leaving Hogwarts. She had been thrilled. This was the first move Lily made, leaving something behind. Shedding her single bed without hesitation. 

Neither of them owned much. Which gave them the opportunity to fill their space with things they both loved. Trinkets of their adventures and conquests of many a trip down Portobello Road had made their place unquietly theirs. 

Which made it all the more heartbreaking as the target on their back forced them to move out. Having little time to sort through their things. Packing everything they could into boxes. Some of which they left with friends; others were donated. 

They left behind things too big to move—things that they’d grown fond of, but nothing they truly held dear. 

A few months passed, and they were living in a cramped studio in Elephant and Castle. The old building creaked in the sweltering summer heat. The small room was impossible to keep cool, but they made the most of it. 

It almost felt fitting when this one went up into flames. The pyre burned a box of their books and photos of a happier time. A more innocent time. 

But they moved on, feeling like every time they moved, they were shedding pieces of themselves. Clinging onto relics in the hopes of protecting the things that they held dear. The pieces of themselves they were afraid to lose. 

Even so, they could not help but feel less and less grounded in their lives. Involuntary nomads. 

The first relic they lost was a sketchbook, so sacred that James barely dared use it. A final gift from his mother. Now lay forgotten on a desk in Portsmouth. This was the first night that tears were shed.

Which was the start of more and more precious things being lost and left behind. Favourite books, records, and pictures. Keepsakes from a better time. 

The last of the relics to be lost was Lily’s favourite mug, which had travelled with her since their fifth year at Hogwarts. Shattering into shards on the linoleum of a kitchen, they never even got to know. Eyeing the shards, her vision was distorted.

She really wanted to feel sadder than she did, but this was the second time they ran in as many weeks, and she was tired. So, she swept the shards up and left them behind. 

After all, what was the loss of a childhood trinket?

[thepaintedlady00]

Burden

Chapter 8 | Chapter 10

Chapter 9: The Last Star

TW: angst, blood, violence, fire, character deaths, dark Daunt, badass Daunt, demons, mentions of Hell.

Soft fur filled your palms, warm and comforting as a snout pressed into your cheek. The creature the stone had brought to life was patient with you, waiting only until your sobs began to lessen to speak. “Why do you weep?”

You pulled away, marveling at the white fur and the twinkling of the creature’s blue eyes. “Because I am sad.”

“Why are you sad?”

“I thought I knew someone…” you answered. “But I didn’t.”

The white wolf let out a soft breath and set his head in your lap. “Is there anything I can do to make it hurt less?”

With a sad smile, you ran your fingers through his fur and breathed out the hate and anger that had consumed you. It would be cruel to cling to such things while your new companion held many questions. “Having you beside me lessens the pain immensely.”

He looked proud as he nuzzled into you. “What is your name?”

“Daunt,” you said, though even that name held the bitter, twisted anger of the Endless beings that gave it to you. “I am the lady of this realm.”

“What is my name?” He asked.

“What do you want it to be?”

The blue of the wolf’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at you. “I wish for my name to be something that will bring you joy.”

You scratched behind his ears. “That is generous of you, but your name should be yours. One you love.”

He sat up and watched you curiously. “If it brings you joy, it will be something I love.”

You thought for a long while as the wolf familiarized himself with the space, carefully using a blanket to cover the broken pieces of your furniture and trinkets you’d destroyed in your blind pain. As the creature moved, you couldn’t help but think his fur looked like light, brilliant, and white sparkling with every move he made. “What about Sirius?”

“Sirius,” he repeated with a soft noise. “What does it mean?”

“It’s the name of a star,” you answered. “The brightest star in the sky.”

The wolf hurried to one of the windows, looking out it and up, hoping to see the thing you spoke so fondly of. “I see nothing but trees and heavy fog.”

With a sigh, you moved to stand beside him. “Yes, sadly, the stars do not shine in our realm. Mist and thick tree branches block the sky from view.”

“How do you know of this star, then?”

“I have seen it in my travels to the human world,” you answered. “You will likely see it as well, should you wish to remain at my side.”

“Sirius,” he repeated. “I quite like it.”

You knelt down and lovingly stroked his fur. “Sirius it is, then. You will be the first star in The Forest.”

The months spent with Sirius at your side were bittersweet. Dream’s words still haunted you… the loss of whatever relationship you’d had with him stung like a stubborn wound, refusing to heal. What hurt more was the knowledge that The Dreaming was once again closed to you. All the friends you’d made over the years, all the things you’d once loved beyond the Gates of Horn and Ivory. You hadn’t returned, not even to the beaches, for fear that he would spit more vile words at you and bar you from even that small comfort in his realm. So you’d accomplished your function in The Waking World instead.

Sirius enjoyed the outings immensely. He found humans to be curious creatures and enjoyed studying them. His favorite nights were when you’d travel somewhere with tall buildings so he could gaze up at the night sky and find the star after which he’d been named. Both of you found great comfort in the simplicity of it. The dreamers seemed normal to you, though you never stuck around long enough to risk drawing Dream’s attention. Not even The Corinthian had come to find you… such only added to the sting of the wound.

You and your new companion grew close quickly. Sirius was innocent and curious, harboring a deep love of green things and the scaled serpents that found peace in your realm. The two of you would sit beside the lake, and he would chase the fish, sometimes diving into the water to retrieve a rock that had caught his eye from below. He healed the hole in your heart as much as a tiny creature could, and though you still felt a deep and lingering sorrow with the knowledge that you and he would be alone in this world, it was enough just to have him.

*

“Here in the Darkness.” 

The roots of The Great Tree hummed all around you as the voices of the dreamers faded. They grew quieter each passing day you lay beneath the tree of falling leaves and frail bark. Sirius never left your side, pressing small patches of moss that had not succumbed to the frost to the gaping wound in your chest, the wound left by The Corinthian’s blade. Your strength returned to you slowly, and even when you could finally stand on your feet again, you were weakened. The Forest, too, grew weak. While you appeared to be recovering, the wood around you remained shrouded in darkness and falling snow.

“Here in the Darkness.” The disembodied words floated through the trees, a lingering stain of dark magic left by whoever had captured Dream of the Endless. Dream. All thoughts of him were bitter and filled with regret and hate, and pain. You had failed him again. Failed him and proved to the world that they were all right. You were nothing but a mistake. A burden that could not even use the power you were cursed with to save the being that actually meant something.

As you stood, looking at The Great Tree’s peeling, scratched bark and broken branches, you could only hold to the slight glint of hope that shined in the blue of your companion’s remaining eye. Sirius rubbed his nose into the deep red water until mud covered it. He carefully pressed blotches of it to the tree’s wounds and sneezed as the rough bark tickled his nose. You helped him, carefully applying the thick mixture of dirt and blood to the tree. “Will this work?”

“I’m not sure,” you answered honestly. “There is little else we can do now but wait.”

Sirius sighed, his eye trailing off to the side where the barrier of mist held firm against the shadows and spirits and nightmares raging against it. “How long will this barrier hold?”

The question was one you dreaded finding out the answer to. If the barrier fell, then the monsters it held back would return to their assault on the tree, looking to siphon whatever power that it held inside. “Long enough.”

“My lady,” He began. “Why do we not leave? Surely the human world or even The Dreaming would hold more sanctuary for us.”

“I cannot leave.” You leaned against the tree, listening to the weakened hum of its song. Then, lifting a hand to your still-raw wound, you looked down at the sweet wolf. “I am too weak to travel between realms. Too weak to protect our home. Too weak to protect you.”

He crawled up into your lap, pressing his head against you. “You will recover, and until then, I shall be strong for the both of us.”

Tears wet his fur. “Oh, Sirius, what would I do without you?”

“Let us never find out, my lady.”

Day after day, you listened to the creatures scream, wail, and throw themselves at the barrier of mist. Day after day, you waited for the border to give in under the strain, and day after day, it held firm. You had no idea where these creatures came from nor why they wanted the tree’s power, but it was your final duty to protect it and your realm. You would not fail.

*

Your eyes filled with orange and red hues as the flame before you engulfed the trees. Smoke filled the forest, choking the life from your lungs as you push yourself toward the burning wood. Ash rained from the black skies, coating the ground in its thick grey must and leaving a clear path behind you. From your side, Sirius coughed, struggling to keep pace with you through the haze of fire and ash.

Waving your hand, you sent a wave of mist over the woods, dousing the fires with the light moisture until they died out, leaving nothing but smoldering embers behind. The trees were black now as you carefully pressed your hand to them, listening to the pained groans of the roots beneath your palm. “It’s alright,” you soothed, pulling back to look at the dark charcoal that now stained your skin. “How many trees are still burning?”

Sirius climbed one of the taller, still sturdy branches lifting his head to look around. “Too many.” He carefully jumped down and returned to your side, pressing his dirty furred head into your leg. “We should return to The Great Tree.”

Snakes slithered beneath the ashes, writhing in agony as they tried to shed their burnt scales. Kneeling, you lifted as many as you could into your arms, whispering soft words and granting them one last gentle touch so that they might remember that in place of their fiery ends in whatever life awaited them beyond this realm of decrepit wood and shadow. In the distance, you could hear them laughing. The demons mocked you with the boisterous sound of their violence and crimes upon your realm.

You gently placed the dead at your feet and rose. “No. These demons have tested my patience long enough. It’s time they return to their master.”

“I shall stand with you, my lady.” Sirius lifted his head, the blue of his eye shining bright as he hardened himself for battle. “To whatever end.”

“My brave star,” you said, petting him gently, perhaps for the last time. “Let us show them what happens when they challenge The Forest.”

Together you and Sirius followed the laughter and the sounds of your forest screaming. Then, together, the two of you attacked them with teeth, knarled roots, and mists of burning cold. You drove the demons into a small clearing, dousing their fires and casting them into darkness. For once, you and The Forest were one. It bent to your will and heeded your commands. Sirius blended into the mist, leaping into the clearing to latch onto one of the demons before dragging it back into the mist and vanishing.

Demon after demon fell, but no matter how much blood you spilled, more came to replace them. This wasn’t possible… there couldn’t have been this many demons free of Hell’s chains. Unless…

The sound of harsh wings flapping behind you echoed through the glen, and in an instant, the embers still lingering in the burnt trees roared to life, and the fire blazed brighter and hotter than you’d ever felt. A chill of fear ran up your spine as you watched the shadow of two great wings unfurl behind you. “Hello, Daunt.”

“Lucifer Morningstar,” you breathed, turning to face them.

Their delicate features and golden hair stood out against the darkness of your realm, but the ebony wings and black leather armor they wore blended into the shadow and smoke that swirled around you both. “It is a great honor to see your realm.” Lucifer chuckled, crumbling a burnt leaf between their fingers. “I’ve heard great tales about The Forest.”

“You were not invited,” you told them. “Leave.”

“My army and I shall go on one condition,” they replied. 

The tree roots curled around you, groaning as The Forest filled with your anger. “You are in no position to bargain with me.”

The devil only laughed. “You’re not as strong as I am, especially now. You know this. I do not wish to kill you, Daunt. I simply need to pass through your… lovely little woods to get where I’m going.”

“And where would that be?” You demanded. “We aren’t exactly neighbors to The Silver City.”

Their wings bristled at the mention of their former home. “The Dreaming. I have it on good authority that our beloved Dream has abandoned the realm. I simply wish to save it from further destruction.”

Baring your teeth, one of the roots shot out toward them. Lucifer stepped to the side, out of the way of the pointed blow. “Go back to Hell.”

“If you are so eager to die, then I suppose I’ll have to grant your wish.” Lucifer shrugged their shoulders, circling you for a moment with a smile. “How will we battle, dear Daunt? An honorable game of wits, perhaps?” They chuckled. “Or do you wish to test the metal of your little trees against that of hell?”

“No games,” you spat. “I’m just going to kill you.”

“Your magic verses mine then,” they breathed with a grin. “I agree to the terms of this challenge.”

Balls of blazing fire filled their hands as they threw them out toward you. The roots pulled up from the ground and blocked the fire from your skin, the heat you could still feel through the wood. Shrieks and pain vibrated from them as the charred roots fell to the ground and writhed as the embers of hellfire continued to burn. You breathed into your palm, filling it with the coldest mist you could muster before you breathed it across the field, dousing Lucifer’s flames and trapping them in a frosty hold that made their movements sluggish and slow.

You willed the living trees to bend, twining and twisting around their wings to pull them into the dark forest. With a shout, Lucifer flexed, and their leathery wings tore through the thin branches. They growled, looking back at the scars that now littered them. Blow after blow, you both dodged and blocked, but blow after blow, the weaker you grew. And Lucifer could feel it. Finally, they breathed out an icy breath and smiled at you. “Getting tired already? How amusing.”

“Leave.”

They threw a heated blast at you again, the trees catching fire instantly, and the shockwave of their fire meeting your roots sent you to the ground. Lucifer’s heavy boots crunched the bodies of snakes and ashen roots beneath them as they walked forward. “It was a valiant effort, Daunt. But you cannot beat me.”

Your hands pressed into the dirt beneath the ash and the ever-piling snow. A song hummed around you as The Forest’s life flashed before your eyes. Silver leaves falling from the tallest tree, voices of those that were and those that are, flashes of faces young and old, past and present. Help me, you asked it. Help me save you. The ground trembled as tiny seedlings sprouted beneath your hands, curling around your fingers and sending a surge of power through you. 

Cracking and twisting noises echoed behind you as the trees molded together, taking the shape of a great forest warrior. It stood taller than anything you’d ever seen, groaning beneath the weight of its own limbs as it focused on the devil standing in front of you. With a roar of every creature known, it swiped forward, throwing Luciver aside and into the trees. Every demon for miles came running toward it with steel and fire and claws, but the warrior refused to fall. With heavy feet, it crushed those below it, and with long limbs, it grabbed fists full of demons and launched them into the darkened sky. Their bodies fell like rain, cracking and snapping in half like twigs.

Soon The Forest was filled with their screams instead of your realms. You felt a spark of hope ignite in your chest. That spark quickly turned to a burning fire as the singing steal of the devil’s blade tore through your back and protruded from your chest. You choked on the blood filling your throat as you scrambled, gasping for air. The warrior shrieked as if the pain you felt was its own, clawing and writhing until it crashed to the forest floor with the screams of a thousand trees.

Lucifer pulled their blade from your body and walked around you, looking down. “I’ll be sure to tell Dream of your valiant efforts, should he ever return.”

They lifted their sword again, aiming for your neck, but before they could swing, Sirius leaped from the trees, covered in blood and caked with clumps of ash. He latched onto one of Lucifer’s wings, pulling them back with a startled cry. “Sirius!”

He fought the devil for as long as he could, but you weakly ordered the remaining tree roots to move when he faltered from a blow to his shoulder. They bound Luciver in a tight hold, pulling them deep into the soil and hopefully back to Hell. From where you knelt, you could only watch as the barrier of mist fell away and the monsters slammed against the trunk of The Great Tree. “NO!”

Pain tore through you as they cut and cut and cut until, at last, the tree groaned and shifted, falling to the ground with a shake that sent the world into shatters. Sirius dragged you through the ash toward the glen, and what snakes remained followed. The snow fell harder until you reached the flooded meadow.

The Great Tree had fallen, and all around it, decay began to spread. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you looked around you. Life began to fade as far as your eyes could see. Sirius whined, pacing in every direction as the sounds of Hell’s armies grew louder. “My lady, we must do something! What can we do?”

“The Great Tree must live,” you told him. “If it perishes, so too will our realm, and The Dreaming will be left unprotected.”

“What must we do?”

You kissed his head. “I must give my life to the tree.”

Sirius growled at the very thought. “There must be another way.”

“There is not.” The Forest was not yours, not truly. It lived and breathed only because of the magic of The Great Tree. If you did nothing, this was the end of not just your realm, your home, and all within it that you loved but The Dreaming. If all that stood between the armies of Hell was your realm, was the mist and the confusion that came with it, then you knew what needed to be done. “You will have to tread the wood alone,” you told him, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Be brave, Sirius.”

The white wolf whimpered, pressing his head further into your waiting palm. “I will not let the realm fall, my lady.”

“Wait for the Dream Lord,” You whispered as the roots began to bind you. “He will help us.”

When they began digging into your chest, burrowing deeper and deeper toward your heart, Sirius had to close his eye. He could not watch as they ripped your chest open, making way for the thicker roots. He could not bring himself to acknowledge the smell of your blood filling the water below. Your screams filled the surrounding woods, shaking the earth beneath his feet as what remained of The Great Tree bound itself to your still beating heart.

A wave of power washed over the meadow, pushing back the demons. Every tree close enough stretched and twined together, blocking the fallen tree and the living field from the threat of darkness and monsters and demons. The Forest and The Dreaming would survive so long as your heart kept beating. Sirius sat beside you, whining softly as the water turned red with your blood.

*

To Sirius, time passed slowly. Each day was cold.

Sirius was one with these dark woods. He’d been brought to life within them and had grown from a naïve newborn into what he was now. A killer. A protector. A companion. This was still his home even after the snow and ash, after the fires that decimated half the woods, the beasts and demons of gnarled shadow and bone. The Forest was his, but more than that, it was hers.

His paws tread atop the snow, barely leaving any prints beneath him as he hunched forward, camouflaged against the crisp white. In the glen ahead, he watched a small group of demons huddle around a fire. They joked about how the tree screamed when they cut it down and laughed at how pathetic his lady’s efforts at protecting it were.

Pathetic, he thought with a pointed-toothed sneer. These trespassers are pathetic indeed. He would make quick work of them. The deep growls echoed through the trees, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once as the demons looked at the clouded wood surrounding them. Sirius used his environment well, climbing the lower branches of the twisted trees to gain a better vantage point. He stared at them for a moment before letting loose a deep bark that signaled the snakes beneath the snow.

The white serpents were perfectly camouflaged as they slithered toward each demon, jumping out to latch onto their legs and pulling them down to the ground. The sulphuric tint in their corrupted blood made Sirius’ nose burn as he dove down into the center of the glen, kicking a mass of snow over their fire and casting them into total darkness. He could see them; even blind in his one eye, he could see them clear as day.

Sirius barked twice, and the snakes let go of the demons, slithering back beneath the ground and away from the danger. He would finish these foul creatures off with his own teeth. One by one, he circled the demons, listening to those once confident and humored voices fill now with terror. It was a fitting end, one he would cherish almost as much as he’d cherish the knowledge that they would carry this failure to their winged master.

In the darkness, all the demons could see was the glowing blue eyes of the white wolf just before his teeth pierced their throats. Their blood spoiled the ground beneath them, melting the snow with a wicked hiss and turning what dead lay beneath it to little more than black ash. Sirius mourned this. He mourned The Forest’s green for a moment before returning to his Lady’s side.

Once he’d enjoyed the quiet walk back to her, but now there was little to enjoy. The trees were bare of leaves and all color, and the cold ground beneath him stung the bottoms of his paws. The thin mist made it easier to see just how dead his home had become. He quietly approached the thick wall of woven roots and tree limbs, pressing his nose to the course bark and watching as they parted, just large enough for him to slide through.

This was the only place that held any heat, the only palace that wasn’t dead... yet. The space where The Great Tree once stood was now only filled with mist as the ground below was littered with the remains of the fallen tree. The leaves turned to mulch, not even crunching beneath his paws as he moved through the red water and approached the small bed of twisted roots and vines to where her pale hand hung over the side.

Sirius pressed his head into it with a soft whine. Her stiff fingers twitched as she tried to reciprocate the loving act. He could hear her wheezing breaths and her whisper of his name. “My star,” she said. “Stay with me a while.”

He obeyed, gently climbing into the bed and moving to curl beside her, minding where the roots connected to the gaping wound in her chest. He laid his head beneath her neck and closed his eyes, listening to the weakened heartbeat of his lady. “I shall stay for as long as you shall have me, my lady.”

The white wolf fulfilled his promise. Against shadows, nightmares, and demons, he stood tall, unwilling to yield even one frozen blade of grass to the monsters that threatened to take his home and his lady. While he defended The Forest, your mind… your consciousness floated adrift through the cosmos connected to The Great Tree. You were you… but not. Past, present, and future blurred together as you followed The Corinthian’s path of death, destruction, and fear. Haunting every step you could, reminding him of what he’d done to you… warning him of what would now come to pass.

When you let yourself drift further, you could see him, Dream. He was distorted, blurred, and hazed behind magic and glass. The hum of his power sounded like the song you once danced to as it rattled against the glass of his prison each time he looked into the eyes of those that held him. The anger and pain he felt matched your own the longer he sat in the silence of his capture. For so long, you were stuck there, a specter, a ghost watching The Prince of Stories wither away, much like your world had begun to wither. Then, when the man that spoke and never listened had grown old, you felt it, a shift somewhere in the universe, a shift that gave you a spec… a tiny moment of physical power. You approached the glass and pressed your hand to it, looking into Dream’s eyes for possibly the last time. “Find me.”

The wheelchair moved, and with it, you used that sliver of power to drag it down, breaking the seal that held back the power of nightmares. Dream looked up, and for a moment, you thought he could see you, but his eyes looked through you to one of the older men. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you whispered to him, urging him to forget his promises to his beloved, to forget the fear of what might happen should Dream go free. And so Paul forgot the fear that had kept him from helping years ago. He turned his back and wheeled Alex away to sleep and never awaken.

*

The throne room stung with power, his and hers, as you forced yourself into being. Solid for as long as you could hold it and then back to mist, whispers, and nothing. “Sight alone will not tell you her secrets.”

Lucienne sobbed at the sight of you as Dream finally beheld the remaining shell. “Lady Daunt…”

He moved slowly forward, steps unsure and breaths filled with choked-back words, but you heard them. You heard all the words he’d ever spoken and all those he’d yet to speak. Dream lifted the veil that kept the view of him hazed and fractured, and once it was gone, you saw the flashes of that day in Fiddlers Green before that, too, shifted, moving like sand in a storm. You saw him again, regal and looking at you with adoration, stars glowing in his eyes, all for you. He reached out, fingers grazing across your skin like blazing fire consuming the vision and fleeting feelings of warmth and love. “Daunt.”

Daunt, you thought. It sounded so familiar and yet not familiar at all. The haze was gone now, the visions too, as you looked at him. Dark hair and pale skin, older… different. New tears slid down your cheeks. Dream… It’s me… I’m here... “It fell before its time. Cut to the bone. Crying out and bleeding, left to burrow. Left to rot. The roots dug too deep, and the leaves wither... Darkness. It falls... Falling deeper and deeper. Drowning. Drowning. Drowning.”

No. Speak clearly. You pleaded to yourself. Tell him where we are… tell him to help us. He touched your cheek. “Daunt...”

“It wasn’t real.” Your words were fueled by lingering anger and hate. The echoes of Daunt, the burden, the mistake. Echoes of a being you weren’t sure you were anymore. “King of Nightmares… King of lies.” No. No. Dream, please!

“It was real, Daunt,” he whispered, voice soft as silk and morning dew on blades of grass. Your soul hummed with the song, filling your being with longing as he continued to speak. “Every moment. “I…” He sighed, the breath curling in the air around you, taking the shape of silver ravens as ice spread through the throne room. “I love you.”

You love me… You wanted to ask him to say it again. To say it for eternity. I love you too… Your lips quivered as your body began to tremble, the weight of holding yourself to this plain finally catching up with you. “You cannot love a dead thing.”

“You are not dead.” Not yet. “Where are you? Tell me, and I shall come.”

“The Forest,” you whispered. Go to Fiddler’s Green. Go to the woods and find the mist. “The trees know... The roots protect. We will be gone soon... Consumed and swallowed by the earth once more. Drowning... Drowning...”

“Daunt-”

You dug your hands into his arms, desperately clinging to him, trying to keep yourself from fading away as you sobbed. “Find us.”

*

You could hear the sorrowful sobs of the woman, but you felt nothing. No sympathy or remorse, only a steady hum of power directing you toward the spirit. You raised your hand, covered in frost and frozen vines, “Come.”

“Hector!”

“She’s here for me.”

“You can’t go with her. You can’t go!” the woman cried. “I can’t… not again.”

“What is lost will always be found.” 

“Daunt,” he whispered her name like a desperate prayer, a caress of a lover’s words. Dream, your whole being unfurled at the sound of his voice, filling you with a moment of reprieve before the harsh memory of his past words clouded over all else.

The spirit, Hector, spared the woman he loved a look before pressing a kiss to her lips and cradling her round belly in his hands. “Tell the baby I love them. Never let them forget just how much I love them.”

With a weak sob, she nodded. “I won’t, not ever.” She sobbed as she cupped his cheeks. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” the spirit whispered. “Goodbye.”

He turned and lifted his hand to yours, vanishing in a wave of mist, and distant wolf howls echoed around them. Dream took a half step forward at the familiar sounds of The Forest’s call.

“Child born of death and dreams,” you said, a warning… a simple thing that was all you had to offer her. “Evil will seek it out to steal its power.”

“No!” She shook her head, holding her stomach tighter. “No.”

The Vortex, the girl named Rose, rubbed her arms. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep them safe.” She looked at Dream, eyes gleaming with tears. “Right, Dream?”

He was frozen for a moment, still looking at you, before he answered. “So long as I live, no harm shall befall your child. Not in the Waking World and not in dreams.”

“We are running out of time,” you said to him. Please. Please come, Dream.

“Then help me,” he pleaded. “Open your realm and let me in.”

It is open. It always was. Even when you were your most cruel to me, I never closed it to you. You tilted your head, “Only you hold the power to do so, Dream of The Endless.”

“What do you mean?”

“My realm was never closed to you.”

“I do not understand.”

You lifted a frozen hand to his face, tracing over his eyes. “You do not need to understand. You only need to see.”

*

You could see the end before your eyes as the familiar presence of the Endless being and his most powerful nightmare filled The Forest. Rose Walker drifted closer to Dream’s blackened figure as everything shifted, solidifying into the dying realm. “What is this? What’s happening?”

The tree roots wound around The Corinthian’s limbs as The Nightmare tried to flee from you as you emerged from the darkness. “Daunt.”

“At last,” you said softly, letting that stream of endless memories of the bridge and the blade fill your being. “You have come to see the damage caused by your hands.”

Tighter, you urged the trees, and they listened, squeezing the nightmare so tightly his bones began to creak. “This is still your dream Rose.”

“No.” You said, cold and angry. Don’t you dare steal this from me. You do not know what he’s done. What he’s allowed to happen.

Rose shivered as she hid behind Dream’s back, “This dream is over.”

“NO!” you screamed, moving as quickly as possible to try to grab the nightmare.

They were gone. Dream and the Vortex Rose. The Corinthian. Your teeth ground together as you clenched your fists at your side. “No.” The ground shook beneath you as frost slithered up your arms, biting your skin. “No.” You could still see the horrors The Corinthian had committed with his own hands and those he allowed to happen because of his betrayal. “NO!”

As you screamed, The Forest answered. The trees grew taller, shooting through the mist and darkness and breaking into the human world. You followed them through, mist filling the room as The Forest started to bleed into the Waking World. The Corinthian looked at you as you emerged from the mist, breathing heavily with wide eyes and anger filling your lungs. “You do not get to leave me again, Corinthian.”

“Daunty,” the nightmare said softly, bringing all the other times he’d called you the nickname to replay before you. Corinthian… Roots twined around him as you walked past Dream to stand in front of his rouge creation, the creation that you loved.

“Have you any idea what it was like?” You asked though you knew no answer would be enough. “Knowing all this time that it was you that plunged the blade into my heart. That you… my friend… would doom me to this.”

“I’m sorry.” Why did you do it? You wanted to ask.

A sob echoed around you. “LIAR!”

The roots stabbed through The Corinthian in various places, digging deep into his body. He took it all with a sheer grit of his teeth, never looking away from your face as you stepped closer to him, willing his blade… the blade that had been used to start the century of pain. You pressed it against The Corinthian’s chest. “Do it. I deserve it.”

“Daunt…” Dream tried to step between you.

“No,” The Corinthian told him, his rows of teeth eyes clenching. “Do it, Daunty. Finish me.”

 “Was it worth it?” You demanded, looking out at all the humans he urged to follow in his footsteps. “Was all this worth it?”

“The only thing I regret is what I did to you,” he said.

“Regret? You do not know regret… not nearly enough to satisfy me.”

“Daunt,” Dream called out, but you could hardly hear him over the sound of power and pain rushing through your projected being.

You stabbed The Corinthian’s ribs, twisting it as you knelt. Look at me. “Look into my eyes, betrayer. Look and see what you wrought.”

You then showed him the events that had transpired because of his carelessness and cruelty. You showed him your home vanishing, the trees withering, the creatures attacking you, and everything around you. The trees closest to you caught fire as you showed him those that had died when Hell’s legions came to your woods. You forced him to listen to the sounds of fear and screaming. “Daunt…”

“You did this!” You screamed, tearing the blade from his ribs and stabbing him again.

The Corinthian bowed his head for a moment before he pulled the blade from his flesh and held it out to you, “Please.”

The sharp pain of your power draining as The Great Trees roots wound tighter around your heart forced you back slightly. You quietly cried, holding your hands to your now bleeding chest. “I trusted you…”

“I didn’t mean for this,” he whispered. “I didn’t…”

You cried harder as the unspoken words filled your ears. “I cannot kill you, dear Corinthian. No matter how much you deserve it. Our fates are sealed, yours and mine.”

He looked back up at Dream. “Finish it, Dream.”

“I brought you into this world to serve humanity. Not to feed upon it.”

“I do it to taste what it’s like to be human.” The Corinthian admitted. “You don’t care about humanity, none of them. You can’t even bring yourself to care about her. You only care about yourself and your realm and your rules.”

“I contain the entire collective unconscious. Without my rules, it would consume me. Humanity would be consumed.”

“Or you might actually feel something. I am not the problem, Dream.”

“You are right. This was my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you, but I created you poorly then. So I must uncreate you now.”

You could feel the power of dreams and starlit nights at your back as the face you’d once called friend. The sand swirled, glowing red as The Corinthian smiled at you. “Yours is the last face I will see.” Goodbye, my friend.

The sand fell through your fingers until all that remained was the nightmares skull. You stood, offering the tiny thing to Dream and looking up at him through a red-stained gaze as blood filled your vision. “Find us, Dream. Please.”

We’re running out of time.

*

He was so tired, so cold. Sirius trudged through the shoulder-deep snow, panting as the fatigue and the pain from his still-open wounds began to take hold of him. Year after year, he hunted and fought to protect The Forest from the creatures lurking in its dying woods. The snowfall never ceased, making the journey across the forest’s buried paths even more treacherous. It had been days since he’d left Daunt’s side to track down a particularly persistent creature. He’d found it quickly, but the fight had been more challenging than anticipated. Perhaps it was the creature’s speed or ferocity, or perhaps it was simply the fact that he had grown older over the hundred years of fighting.

Sirius found the closest ice bed and pressed his wounded back to it, groaning as the cold’s sting helped seal the wound shut. He licked the frozen water, hoping the small amount of melted liquid would sustain him a while longer. Then, with his one good eye, he looked down at his reflection, a bitter sorrow filling his thinning body. He was no longer the joyful and curious companion that his lady had brought to life in that small, humble hut. He was a killer now. A warrior forged in frozen blood and lingering scars. 

For a moment, he wished he could go back to when things were good. To when it was just him and the fair lady Daunt walking the green forests and chasing the fish and gathering rocks. He wished they could be together again. A snap in the distance made his ears twitch. He let out a huff of air and turned away from the frozen lake. The past was gone, and now he could only remain true to his promise. He could only protect what remained of his home and his lady. 

What creature would be foolish enough to lead a predator to it? Sirius followed the echoes of flesh tearing apart. Whatever it was that had been caught allowed him to find the beast he had been hunting. A white stag lay in the glen, half dead and trapped beneath a shadowed beast’s talons and teeth. The poor thing reminded him of his lady. Of how pale she’d grown and how fearful she seemed to be whenever she was coherent enough. Then a rustle of darkness caught his eye, drawing him to the tall, pale figure that stood at the treeline.

“Holy shit,” a little bird said from a low branch beside the demon. Fools. He trod the snow quickly as the beast reared its head and let out a loud screech. The beast pounced, claws tearing free of the stag and slicing through the air, excitement buzzing from it as it moved to make the killing blow. Sirius shot out through the trees, throwing the black creature onto the other side of the clearing, back into the safety of the mist. He growled as its claws dug into his side, trying to throw him off and free itself. “No fleeing this time, foul beast.”

He struggled, digging his paws deep into the uncomfortable blackness of its thin flesh as he found an opening and quickly latched his teeth around its throat, biting down until its head snapped off and rolled into the snow. The ground shook beneath his paws, and his head shot up. “I’m coming, my lady.” He said to the trees, hoping she would hear him. His head turned to the little bird, now standing in the snow. “I just have two more demons to rid our realm of.”

“Where the fuck are we?”

Before the little bird’s demon master could answer the pitiful question, Sirius leaped from the mist and pinned its black wing to the snowy ground. He bit the cold air to make the creature stop struggling and growled, bearing his bloodstained teeth. Finally, the bird stilled, and he raised his head to look up at its master. “What manner of demon are you?”

“I am no demon,” the tall thing said, voice deep and rich with a power lurking within his voice alone. “I am Dream of the Endless.”

“Dream?”

With a nod, the being stepped forward. “King of All Night’s Dreaming. The Prince of Stories. Lord of the Dreamworld.”

The bird twitched beneath his paw. “I don’t think reciting all your titles is helping, and I know Lucienne won’t be happy if I come back with one wing.”

Sirius’ ears twitched, and he lessened his pressure on the bird’s wing. “Lucienne? You know Lucienne?”

The bird cawed quietly. “Uhh, yeesss?”

“Lucienne is my librarian.” The dream man said. “She resides in The Dreaming, my realm. How do you know of her?”

He lifted his paw off the bird and turned toward the man. “You are the Dream Lord?”

“I am.”

“My lady and I came to your realm long ago, offering aid.” A glimmer of recognition lit up the man’s eyes. “I can only hope you’ve come to offer the same.”

Dream took a step forward. “You are Daunt’s companion.”

The bird stretched its wings before flying back to the branch beside its master. “You know this crazy dog?”

“Only in passing memory.”

Sirius bowed his head slightly. “Forgive my boldness. I mistook you for a threat.”

He waved the apology away. “Where is your master?”

“Not far, but the path is dangerous.” Sirius turned to the stag, who wheezed with eyes darting wilding. He pressed his snout into it, sighing. “Forgive my slowness, fair beast. Follow Death’s warmth and pass into the realms beyond this frozen waste.” He bit down around its neck, waiting until its breathing ceased to pull away.

“What happened here?”

Looking up at the Dream Lord Sirius filled with pain. “A great many horrors.” He turned and started down the hidden path. “Follow closely, or you shall meet an end like the stags.”

[lynnthefrenchtoast]

🌱lynn's favourite fics

(and quotes from them♡)

requested by: @thejollyshiner & @misterjelliez

Poisoned Dreams by StrangeDiamond

14 CHAPTERS & 3 BONUSES

do you desperately want kaeya and diluc to go back to being brothers again? then this! is the fic! for you! haha! prepare to cry! and slam! your head! on a table! multiple times!

"He's ours now," Diluc wants to tell Kaeya's father. "He's my father's son, not yours. My brother. He's Mondstadt's, and we're not giving him back to you."

thats probably my favourite quote, as well as every piece of fischl dialogue

A Liar's Truth by internetpistol

2 CHAPTERS

sakusa-centred sakuatsu fic. i think this'll hit harder for you if youre closeted or have an unsupportive family but i still enjoyed it regardless

"Love me not despite the fact that I’m gay, but simply because I’m your son."

there were a lot of good quotes but that one takes the cake. absolutely. its now one of my rules to live by

i get to love you by indawn

ONESHOT

childe dies and zhongli gets to mourn his loss.

"For he will always live on in his memory, and in all that is beautiful in life, he will reside."

short but a huge fuel to my writing

How To Finish Your Bucket List Before You Die- A Guide From Kaeya Alberich by OHai_Here

3 CHAPTERS & AN AFTERWORD

kaeya is given a little extra time before he has to go.

"He thinks of Master Crepus who looks at a too-skinny too-dark boy with midnight hair and says, come with me. He thinks of his mother, clinging to Kaeya like the last lifeline she has as she sobs so hard her throat gives out, but through her tears, lets her only son leave for a better life, thinks of his father who sacrificed his life to walk his son through a land which rejects him, who gives his final smile and hug and says, my boy.

And then he thinks about Klee and her innocent smile and understands why they all did what they did and then he thinks, my girl."

i have a soft spot for klee and that line hit me hard.

Parallels by Lancaliii

17 CHAPTERS ONGOING

i havent been into the bnha fandom mood for a v long time but this is DIFFERENT, the characters are totally lancalis own and I LOVE THEM

i dont exactly have a favourite quote since its still ongoing but all of chapter 'blind till now' is my favourite. probably the slutshaming dandelions and "When you hide, you're cowering from the eyes of the world, my friend. Let it see you."

apparently i cant only reccomended angst? smh this isnt fair🙄

bringing a boquet to battle by wormkinnie

ONESHOT

the itto characterization,, hh,, HHHHHHH im pretty sure wormkinnie has a tumblr uh dont let them see this im shy but THEIR WORK IS SO GOOD SORRY IK I NEED TO BE SUMMARIZING THE FIC BUT SRSLY.

itto is chaotic and everyone has to deal with it essentially (ittorou)

“Well, Itto, my only real experience on these matters is with political marriages. I don’t think that’d be much help to you.”

“Well, hey, hold on now. Can I politically ask Gorou to go out with me?” IT REALLY ISNT THE TYPE OF FIC YOU CAN SELL ON A SINGLE QUOTE ITS MORE A WRITING STYLE + COMEDIC GENIUS THING

lessons in beetle battling by wormkinnie

ONESHOT

ive said it once and ill say it again misuse of authority is not good but ayato is an exception. poor thoma. poor, poor thoma.

more wormkinnie fics bc as weve established..

"Lord Kamisato?” Like an answer from Celestia, like a miracle, like some kind of divine blessing that says Yes, Ayato, you can uphold your family’s honor and go fight insects in the streets,"

my actual favourite part is the gorou part but that needs context and i cant spoil it so hhhh

"oh im gonna reccomended fluff now" said lynn, like a liar

the truth (and nothing but) by communist_sasuke

ONESHOT

chuuya gets hit by an ability that forces him to tell the truth. mild hurt/comfort ensues

"Because it makes me human."

no, lynn, you should, in fact, not, share the smut fics you read on a tumblr acc with the same username as every other social media you use because your family can and will find you

..." said the logical part of her brain which she unfortunately tends not to listen to

OK I WONT SHARE THE FICS BUT *COUGH* IM JUST SAYING... jisxangie and seredemia.. thats good enough to be considered art not smut.

please (and i means srsly, pls) reccomend fics in the comments... im starved... i wanna read... give...-🌱

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Cat and Mouse Game - Fred Weasley

Title: Cat and Mouse Game Pairing: Fred x fem!reader Warnings: NSFW, mentions of masturbation, semi-public sex, fingerfucking, unprotected sex A/N: I have a lot of feelings about Fred Weasley and very few of them are innocent. This is like 95% filth with some fluff thrown in at the end because I love Fred Weasley and he’s my only source of serotonin.

Tags: @tonksichu​

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

They’ve been playing the same game of cat and mouse since their Hogwarts days. They’d take turns leaving flirty notes for the other to find, grabbing the other’s hand under the table at dinner, pulling the other into a dark corridor for a few minutes of stolen kisses. Not much has changed between them since then, although their games are far less innocent.

“Mail’s here!” Verity calls from somewhere in the shop.

Fred doesn’t move a muscle, his focus completely taken up by the potion he’s stirring in front of him. He and George have been working on a new product for weeks, a candy infused with truth serum that only lasts for one question – the perfect addition to any game of truth or dare. They had planned on launching it next week, but they’re still having problems getting the formula of the truth serum just right.

“For fucks sake,” he mutters to himself when a puff of black smoke rises out of the cauldron. “Too much dandelion root.” He shoves himself away from his desk, stalking over to the sink so he can start over again. He’s so focused on scrubbing that he doesn’t hear George come in.

“Not going well, eh?” George asks, chuckling when Fred drops the cauldron, clearly startled by his brother’s sudden presence.

“I’m going to make you wear a bell for Merlin’s sake. You scared the shit out of me,” Fred groans, picking the cauldron back up. He rinses it one more time before stalking back to his desk. He’s about to start working again, when he notices that George is still standing in front of him. “Did you need something? Or are you just gonna stand there to annoy me?”

George smiles at his brother. Partially because he finds his frustrated demeanor amusing, but mostly because it’ll annoy Fred further. “Oh, I just popped in to bring you your mail.”

Fred rolls his eyes, getting back to work. “Just put it in the tray, I’ll get to it later.” He gestures lazily to the incoming work tray on the corner of his desk, which has started to pile up. He’s going over his notes so he can adjust the amount of dandelion root for the fifth time, when George shoves a letter into his line of vision.

“Actually, dear brother of mine I think you’ll notice that this particular letter requires your immediate attention,” George snickers. He drops the letter on the desk, and with a waggle of his fingers he’s gone.

Fred had only gotten a glimpse of the envelope, but as soon as George has closed the door behind him he pushes his work aside to pick it up. He recognized Y/N’s delicate writing immediately, he had become quite familiar with it during their time together at school.

In fact, he’s been waiting for this letter for the past three weeks. That’s how it is with them. One of them is the aggressor while the other waits for the next letter, waits for the details of their next meeting. It had been Fred’s turn to wait, and wait he had. Most nights he found himself laying in bed, hand around his hard cock thinking about the things he and Y/N had gotten up to during their last rendezvous.

That’s the one thing he truly misses about his days back in school, how easy it was for him to force her hand when he was tired of waiting. He knew her too well, knew how to get under her skin. Whenever he missed the feeling of her hand in his, or when he had nearly forgotten what the inside of her mouth tastes like it was all too easy to get her to make her move. All it took was some innocent flirting during breakfast, usually with Angelina Johnson, and by lunch time there would be a note in Y/N’s delicate scrawl detailing their next meeting time and place on his pillow.

But now he truly has to wait for Y/N to need him. They had gone longer than three weeks before, but that had been during the war, when it was too dangerous to play their game. Fred knows that he could always break their little game, he could owl her any day and have her in his bed that night, but he enjoys the chase, it’s part of the fun.

His mind wanders as his fingers tear at the envelope, wondering which of their games Y/N had chosen for them, silently hoping she had chosen his favorite.

Sometimes their game was romantic. They’d meet at a fancy muggle restaurant, all dressed up. Fred would wine and dine her for hours before he’d take her back to his. Their sex was always slow and intimate. Fred would make sure she could feel all of him and wouldn’t stop until his name was dripping from her lips as she came. He’d kiss her slowly as he came insider her, wanting to feel as close to her as possible.

Other times, their game was quick and dirty. They’d meet at a hotel room in London and from the second the door was shut behind them they were all over each other. They’d both be naked in a matter of minutes, their hands roaming each other’s bodies and Fred’s mouth leaving marks on her wherever he can. Their sex was quick and hard, both of them usually on their lunch breaks. Often they came together, and Fred’s lips wouldn’t leave her skin until they were back on the bustling streets of London and parting ways to go back to their lives.

Fred’s favorite game by far was the perfect mix of the others. They’d meet at a muggle club, just a few minutes apart from each other. Fred would arrive first and grab a drink from the bar before settling at a table. When Y/N would enter they’d lock eyes, and the game would truly begin. Y/N would spend the evening doing as she pleases: drinking, dancing, and most importantly, flirting. Fred would watch her from his spot, jealousy and arousal building up in his stomach. He’d let her push it and just as some unsuspecting muggle is trying to get her to leave with him, Fred would swoop in and remind her just who she belongs too. Their first round is quick and dirty, usually in the toilets of whatever club they happen to be at. Then he’d apperate them back to hers, and they’d spend the rest of the evening tangled in the sheets of her bed, kissing softly as he ruined her.

Fred fumbles with the envelope as he pulls the piece of parchment out, too excited to be careful. A grin spreads across his face as he eyes scan over the few words written down. She had chosen his favorite game, and he couldn’t wait to play.

Malibu. Tonight. 10:30.

-

Y/N stands in front of her open closet in nothing but a dressing gown, nervous butterflies in her stomach as she contemplates what to wear. Upscale muggle clubs are not her usual stomping ground and she wants to look perfect, so she’s at a loss for what to wear.

Of course, she could have picked one of their other games. She had plenty of dresses she felt confident in that would have been perfect for a night at a muggle restaurant, but it had already been three weeks since she’d seen Fred last, and she didn’t want to wait any longer for a reservation to open up. A lunch time meet up would have been perfect as well, since her and Fred managed to get naked in under 10 seconds her clothes wouldn’t matter, but she needed longer than an hour with him.

Plus, this particular game is Fred’s favorite, and she needs him nice and riled up for the night she has planned. They’ve only played out this game two other times, but both times Y/N was barely able to walk the next day.

She decides to go with something white, for a few different reasons. For one, Y/N had bought a white silk dress that hugs her curves perfectly last weekend and seeing her in something new and tight will rile Fred up even more.

But mostly, she knows that seeing her in white awakens something carnal in Fred. Y/N had once made the mistake of wearing a brand new set of matching white bra and panties to one of their meetings, and after Fred had ripped her panties off he fucked her hard, growling in her ear about how innocent she looked in white, but that they both knew what a dirty slut she was for him. He had made her cum so many times that she cried from the overstimulation, the only downside was that she had to replace her ruined panties and they had been quite expensive.

Y/N grabs the new white dress out of her closet, a shiver running down her spine at the memory. Three weeks is far too long to go without having Fred both in her bed and just in her life generally. She makes a mental note not to wait that long next time as she heads over to her dresser. She opens the top drawer, trying to decide which pair of panties would really get Fred going.

“Well, if I’m being honest with myself,” Y/N thinks out loud, quietly. With a wicked smile she slams the drawer shut. “No panties it is.”

-

Fred is already nursing a whiskey sour at a table when Y/N strolls into the main room of the club. Their eyes lock across the crowded room, and after sending her a sly wink his eyes trail down her body.

“Holy hell,” he groans, the grip he has on his glass tightening. He can already feel himself getting hard in his trousers just from the outfit Y/N is wearing alone. Fred can tell by the way the lights reflect off of it that the tight piece of fabric clinging to her every curve is made out of silk, his absolute favorite. The fact that it’s white drives him even crazier and he quickly downs his drink, needing to calm himself down.

From where Y/N is standing at the bar Fred has the perfect view of her bum. He absent mindedly signals for a waitress to bring him another drink, his eyes trained on Y/N. Fred has to stifle a groan when her dress rides up the back of her thighs as she leans forward to shout her order to the bartender. He’s fully hard in his trousers now as he thinks about how badly he wants to feel those thighs wrapped around his head.

Just as a waitress sets another drink down on Fred’s table a young man with tousled blonde hair comes up behind Y/N, blocking his view.

He takes a sip of his drink. “Let the games begin.”

-

Y/N feels someone come up behind her, and a moment later she can feel them press up against her. “You come here alone?”

She smiles to herself before turning to the stranger. There’s no doubt that he’s attractive, and Y/N knows that she had positioned herself directly in Fred’s line of sight, so she knows that he’s watching their exchange.

“I did actually,” she drawls, her hand running down the length of the glass the bartender had just set in front on her. “Was hoping to find someone that piques my interest here.”

The man’s eyes follow the languid movement of her hand on her glass for a moment, before he looks into her eyes with a smirk. “Oh really? Any luck so far?”

Y/N takes a sip of her drink, willing herself to keep her eyes on the man in front of her instead of searching for Fred’s. The alcohol burns her throat as arousal begins to build in her stomach. She knows Fred is out there, watching her intently as she flirts with someone who isn’t him. But they both know who she’ll be going home with, and that though alone has her pussy aching.

“I think so,” Y/N responds, her voice dripping with arousal. It’s not due to the man standing in front of her, but he doesn’t need to know that. She looks him up and down, taking notice of his strong hands and long legs. She nods to herself, almost saying ‘yeah, he’ll do.’ She downs the rest of her drink quickly and slaps some muggle money down on the bar. “Care to dance?”

-

Fred’s eyes are trained on the dance floor, his second drink abandoned on the table next to him.  He’s too focused on Y/N, watching her hips sway to the beat of whatever muggle song is playing. Her back is pressed up against the front of the bloke that approached her at the bar, and his hands are gripping her hips. They’ve been dancing like that for at least 30 minutes and Fred feels like he hasn’t even blinked, he’s too entranced by Y/N.

His cock has been aching in his trousers for what feels like hours, and his stomach is a pit full of arousal and jealousy. On one hand he finds Y/N’s actions downright dirty, and he knows he’ll be thinking of how good she looks tonight next time he’s alone in bed and desperate for her touch. On the other hand, he wants to be the one dancing behind her, gripping her hips so tightly he leaves bruises to remind her of him for days after.

Fred clenches his fist, his eyes trailing up Y/N’s body to her face to try and calm himself down. They’ve only been at it for 45 minutes and Fred already wants to storm over and claim Y/N. The first time they had played this particular game Y/N had been shy, and Fred had watched her flirt with a few different guys before she had settled on the dance floor with one. He watched her with him for the better part of two hours before he intervened, no longer able to stand the fact that it wasn’t his hands gripping her bum.

The second time Y/N was bolder. She had spent only 30 minutes at the bar talking to a bloke before they moved to the dance floor. Fred had managed to watch for over an hour that time before his hands ached to touch her and he sent the muggle man Y/N had been with away.

When he first entered the club that evening he had planned on waiting longer. Y/N had made him wait three weeks, and he planned on punishing her by making her wait for him. But now that he’s standing there, watching her move in that sinful white dress against someone who isn’t him he can barely stop himself from stomping over there and taking her right in the middle of the dance floor.

Usually he can contain himself. She’s always driven him mad, but he enjoys their little game too much to break the rules. He loves the uncertainty of the chase, it’s what had drawn him in all those years ago at Hogwarts. Not knowing what the next note would contain, not knowing how long she would make him wait, not knowing what wicked plans she had made for them. Y/N was just as unpredictable as Fred and that usually drove him crazy in a good way. But now, as Fred watches her grind up against some stranger he would give anything to know what’s going on in her mind. Fred isn’t sure if it’s because it’s been three weeks since he last saw her or because she looks absolutely ethereal tonight but he’s ready to end their game early and take his woman home.

Luckily for Fred the song Y/N and her partner had been dancing to fades into another, and the pair head back towards the bar. Fred adjusts himself in his trousers so his arousal isn’t so obvious, before he throws some money on his table.

“Time to end this game.”

-

A light line of sweat has begun to drip down Y/N’s back and she can feel the wetness of her pussy coating her thighs. Her and Darren, she had managed to remember to at least ask the name of the poor bloke she planned on blue balling, had been dancing right in the middle of the dance floor where Y/N knew Fred could see. She could feel his gaze on her as she moved her hips to the beat which did nothing but heighten her arousal.

“So, what are you drinking?” Darren asks as they reach the bar once again. Y/N had suggested they get another drink, needing to take a break from Fred’s stare.

Y/N can smell Fred before she feels him. He’s always smelled the same, like cinnamon, fireworks and something Y/N can only describe as home. She’s about to respond to the question when she feels someone press up against her back. Fred grabs her hips tightly and Y/N has to bite her lip to keep from moaning.

“Actually, I think she’s had enough to drink,” Fred answers for her as he pulls her even tighter against his chest. His voice sends waves of pleasure through Y/N’s body, and she tries to subtly rub her thighs together to try and get some relief on her aching pussy.

Darren glares at Fred, and if Y/N wasn’t so turned on she probably would have laughed. “Oi, mate, d’you mind? We’re having a good time together.”

Y/N can feel Fred’s chest rumble against her back as he laughs, clearly unphased by what Darren had said. She feels Fred lean down, and a shiver runs down her spine as his lips lightly caress her earlobe.

“Is that true, baby? Were you having a good time with him?” Fred whispers in Y/N’s ear before he begins to press light kisses to the side of her neck.

“I was, yes,” she admits, with a nod, her voice shaking with arousal.

Darren looks like he’s about to tell Fred off, but Fred’s lips stop their movements on her neck so he can whisper in her ear again. “But what about me, baby? Are you ready to have a good time with me?”

Y/N is barely able to nod before Fred is spinning her in his arms and kissing her deeply. She can hear Darren say something rude as he stalks off, but her mind is too full of Fred to register it. Fred trails one of his hands down to Y/N’s bum, giving it a tight squeeze, and when she parts her lips to let out a soft moan he takes the opportunity to lick into her mouth.

When Fred breaks their kiss a few moments later Y/N is breathless, her cheeks tinted pink. She chases after his lips, desperate for more but Fred grabs her chin. Her eyes flick up to meet his gaze, and a tingle of pleasure runs through her pussy at how dark Fred’s eyes are.

“You drive me so fucking crazy, Y/N,” he growls into her ear. “You show up here in this,” he pauses so his fingers can tug at the bottom hem of her dress before he continues. “Knowing that I can’t touch you.” Fred trails off for a moment, letting his lips press slow kisses up and down the column of her throat. “Such a naughty girl, aren’t you?”

Y/N lets out a whine, letting her head fall back so Fred’s lips have more skin to kiss. “Just wanted to look pretty for you is all,” she gasps. Fred’s mouth had found her sweet spot and started to slowly suck at it.

Fred hums against her neck, his hands wrapping around her waist. He pulls her body flush against his, slowly rolling his hips forward so Y/N can feel his hard cock press up against her. “You look so pretty baby. And so, fucking dirty. Grinding against some random bloke while I watch, putting on a show for me.”

Y/N is soaking wet at this point, Fred’s words and actions only turning her on further. She pulls his face away from her neck, unable to contain herself anymore. She presses their lips together messily, moaning as Fred’s soft lips move with hers. Their kiss is uncoordinated, but Y/N doesn’t care. “Need you, Freddie. Need you so bad,” she whines into his mouth.

Fred kisses her for a moment longer before he forces himself to pull away. Y/N’s mouth is intoxicating, and he could spend hours just standing there and kissing her. But his cock is aching and Y/N needs him and he can’t deny her anything.

In the blink of an eye Fred has lead them away from the bar and is pushing Y/N up against the closed door of the women’s toilets. He presses their lips together hungrily as he grabs her thigh, hitching it around his waist to give him access to her core.

Y/N moans into Fred’s mouth as they kiss, his right hand gripping her thigh tightly while the other trails up her other leg towards her pussy. A smirk forms on her lips as Fred’s hand inches closer to where she needs him most, knowing that he’s about to discover her little secret.

“You dirty little slut,” Fred growls as he breaks their kiss. He had planned on teasing Y/N by softly rubbing her clit through her panties, but when he finally reached her folds he was met with her dripping entrance. He rubs her exposed clit with his thumb, causing Y/N to let out a long whine. “Look at you. Trying to fool everyone in your little white dress. Pretending you’re so innocent while your pussy is bare, anyone able to get a glance.”

Y/N is barely able to speak, her breath coming out in hard pants as Fred toys with her clit, his index finger beginning to slowly circle her entrance, just barely letting the tip of his finger enter her heat. She opens her mouth to respond, but a moan comes out instead as Fred finally lets his index finger sink fully into her.

“Is that what you were hoping for? Hm?” Fred asks as he curls his finger, smiling when Y/N clenches around him. “Hoping someone else would get a flash of your sweet pussy? Hoping someone else would notice and get a turn with you before me?”

Y/N shakes her head wildly, her mouth running dry as Fred adds another finger. Her fingers dig into Fred’s shoulders to try and steady herself as his thumb starts to rub her clit harder. “N-no,” she manages to stutter out a few seconds later when she remembers how to speak. “Did it for you. Only for you. Only want you.”

Fred buries his face in Y/N’s neck to hide the blush that has started to tint his cheeks. Even though they’ve never defined their relationship Fred knows that Y/N doesn’t see anyone else while they’re apart and he doesn’t either. But hearing that she only wants him makes him want to say things he’s felt since he was 15 years old. So he presses kisses into the hot skin of her neck instead, because it’s not appropriate to tell someone you love them for the first time while you fingerfuck them in the bathroom of a club.

“’M close,” Y/N breaths, one of her hands leaving Fred’s shoulder to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck. She can feel her climax approaching quickly, and with one more curl of Fred’s fingers against her sweet spot she’s tumbling over the edge, Fred’s name falling from her mouth.

Fred fingers continue their movements, his touch much lighter and slower to help her through her climax. When Y/N’s breathing has somewhat returned to normal Fred slowly removes his fingers and presses one more kiss to her neck so he can look at her face. Her cheeks are flushed red and her lips are swollen.

“God you’re so beautiful,” Fred whispers, kissing her deeply once again. He pulls away a moment later, pressing their foreheads together. He’s painfully aware of how hard he is in his trousers and he grinds against Y/N’s bum, trying to get some kind of relief.

Y/N giggles at Fred’s actions, bumping their foreheads together lightly. “You gonna take me home and fuck me? Or should I go find that bloke from earlier and see if he’ll give it to me?” she teases.

Without another word Fred is gripping her tightly and apperating them away.

-

As soon as they land in Y/N’s flat Fred reattaches their lips, keeping it slow and intimate. Now that the rushed part of their evening is over Fred wants to take his time with her. He moves them to her bedroom slowly, Y/N’s fingers working at the buttons of his shirt.

They reach her bed just as Y/N has worked the last button of Fred’s shirt, and he breaks their kiss so he can lightly push her back onto the bed. He rids himself of his shirt before he crawls over Y/N and reattaches their lips in a heated kiss. He grabs one of her knees and pulls her legs apart, settling in between them.

“Take this off,” Fred demands, his hands tugging at the hem of her dress. “ I wanna see all of you.” As Y/N takes of her dress Fred fumbles with his belt, quickly undoing it before moving on to his trousers. He falls back onto the bed so he can kick the rest of his clothing off, his cock finally getting some relief from its tight confines.

Before Fred can crawl back on top of Y/N she’s straddling his waist. She acts as if she’s going to kiss him, but at the last second she turns her attention to his neck and starts peppering kisses along the exposed skin.

Fred’s hands come up and grip Y/N’s hips tightly. “You’re such a tease.”

Y/N laughs into Fred’s neck as she kisses it, causing Fred to chuckle as well. While there are many parts of a healthy sex life Fred loves and enjoys, kissing is certainly in his top 3; which Y/N is fully aware of. They had once spent over an hour in one of Hogwarts’ secret passageways with Y/N pressed up against the wall as their lips moved together. It was one of the first times they had met in secret, and Fred still gets butterflies in his stomach when he thinks about it. Which he does far more often than he’d like to admit.

Fred lets her kiss and suck at his neck for a few moments longer before he flips them over, causing Y/N to squeal both in delight and surprise. Fred bites at her shoulder momentarily before he starts to peck her lips several times.

“I was gonna ride you ya know,” Y/N says with a soft laugh in between kisses. Fred laughs as well, one of his hands coming up to cup Y/N’s cheek while the other starts to massage one of her breasts, his thumb teasing her nipple. “Fuck, Freddie. Feels so good,” she moans.

Fred pulls away from her slightly so he can look Y/N in the eyes. “You do look exceptionally pretty when you sit on my cock, my love.” Fred pauses, his thumb rubbing her cheek as a pink blush spreads across it. “But tonight, I want- no I need.” Fred’s sentence is cut short as Y/N grabs him by the neck and brings their lips together.

She kisses him slow, letting Fred take the lead and lick into her mouth. Y/N doesn’t need Fred to finish his sentence, she already knows what he was trying to say, because she feels the same way. After an evening full of teasing and putting on a show for each other there’s nothing either of them want more than to be close to one and other.

“Please, Freddie,” Y/N begs as Fred’s fingers begin to pinch at her other nipple.

Without another word Fred hitches Y/N’s left leg up on his hip and lines himself up with her entrance. He pushes in slowly with a roll of his hips, both of them letting out low moans. Fred doesn’t stop moving until he’s fully buried inside her, his lips coming up to suck at the skin just below her earlobe.

“Feel so good, baby. Always feel so good. Oh God-,” Fred’s words cut off with a groan as Y/N clenches around him. Fred rests his forehead against hers so he can look her in the eyes. He pulls out of Y/N halfway before he pushes back in, slowly starting to fuck her. “God I love you.”

Before Fred has a chance to regret what he’s said Y/N is kissing him hungrily, her hips moving to meet Fred’s thrusts. She breaks their kiss to let out a whine as Fred’s thumb starts to rub slow circles on her clit in time with his thrusts.

“Merlin that feels good,” she breaths, tilting her chin up to kiss Fred briefly. “Not gonna last much longer,” she moans.

Fred speeds up his thrusts as he hitches Y/N’s leg higher on his hip so that he’s hitting her sweet spot with every thrust. “Me either, love. Come for me baby.”

With a few more thrusts, Y/N is coming, her toes curling and nails scratching down Fred’s back from the pleasure as she moans his name. Her walls spasm and clench against Fred’s cock, helping him to reach his climax. Her moans are cut off by Fred kissing her deeply as he reaches his own high, emptying himself into Y/N.

Fred slows his thrusts down, helping them both come down from their highs, his mouth still moving against Y/N’s softly. After a few final thrusts he slowly pulls out, and rolls onto his back, his hands gripping Y/N’s waist so that she rolls with him and their kiss doesn’t break.

They just lay there kissing for a few minutes, Y/N’s hands tangled in Fred’s hair while his hands rub circles on her hips. Y/N pulls away first, her breathing heavy and her cheeks flushed red. Fred smiles at her and brings one of his hands up to stroke her hair.

They sit there for a few moments in silence, just looking at each other. Fred feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest as he studies Y/N’s familiar features. After tonight he’s more sure than he’s ever been, he doesn’t want to spend another moment with out her in his life.

“I meant what I said, you know,” Fred says quietly, not wanting to disturb their peaceful moment.

Y/N kisses him briefly. “That I look pretty sitting on your cock? ‘Cause I’ve known that for ages,” she teases.

“Well yes I did mean that,” Fred says with a chuckle before kissing her again. “But that’s not what I was talking about. And it’s okay if you-”

He’s about to say something else, when Y/N lurches forward to kiss him. “I love you too you idiot. Always have.”

-

When Y/N wakes up the next morning and turns over she’s disappointed that Fred isn’t in bed next to her. While they never usually spent the night together, last night had been different and she had fallen asleep last night dreaming of what round three would consist of in the morning.

Y/N is halfway through cursing Fred out in her head when she notices an envelope sitting on the pillow Fred’s head had been cradled against only a few hours ago. She grabs it, letting her finger trace over her name written in Fred’s messy scrawl on the outside before she tears it open.

My flat. Tonight, tomorrow, the day after that and every single day for the rest of forever. 6 pm.

Love you forever and always.

Y/N scans her eyes over the words several times, letting Fred’s message sink in. She smiles to herself as she falls back against her pillows, her hear swelling with more love than she ever thought possible. “Game over.”

[ellievickstar]

A Court of Little Shadows (Chapet 7)

Warnings: Violence

Ship: OC x OC, Azriel x Platonic!reader

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

A/N: I know that this series is crashing and burning. So I’m going to probably take a break for this series to focus on one shots and stuff or other series. For this one I wanted to focus on the sibling relationship that is starting to bud between the reader and Az and I also wanted to ship my characters together. I do not own any SJM characters only my own thank you.

Beron shielded barely fast enough to block Feyre, but the wake singed Eris’s arm, right through the cloth. And the pale, lovely arm of Lucien’s mother.

My sentries, Mathew and I were instantly on my feet with others as we shielded my dark shadow swirling. I did not dare interfere. It was a bit back and forth but when it was settled, The other high lords were all stunned. Feyre had revealed the secret of her power.

Beron was panting so hard he looked like he might spew fire.

But Helion rubbed his jaw as he sat down once more. “I wondered where it went—that little bit. So small—like a fish missing a single scale. But I still felt whenever something brushed against that empty spot.” A smirk at Rhys. “No wonder you made her High Lady.” “I made her High Lady,” Rhys said simply, lowering his hands from my face but not leaving my side, “because I love her. Her power was the last thing I considered.”

Feyre looked to be beyond words, beyond basic feelings. Helion asked Tamlin, “You knew of her powers?”

Tamlin was only watching me and Rhys, my mate’s declaration hanging between us. “It was none of your business,” was all Tamlin said to Helion. To all of them.

“The power belongs to us. I think it is,” Beron seethed, he turned to me, “You knew, with your spies and all you knew, you pathetic piece of trash of a High Lady!” He shrieked at me, I just flinched slightly, not for show but because that child-like fear overtook me.

Azriel shattered through Beron’s shield, his fire, his defenses. Shattered through them like a stone hurled into a window, and slammed his shadows into Beron so hard he rocked back in his seat. Then that seat disintegrated into black, sparkling dust beneath him.

Leaving Beron to fall on his ass.

Glittering ebony dust drifted away on a phantom wind, staining Beron’s crimson jacket, clinging like clumps of ash to his brown hair.

“Don’t ever,” Azriel said, hands sliding into his pockets, “speak to her like that again.” I was shocked as I glanced at the shadow singer. The sudden might of Illyrian power. Why would he defend me?

Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

But Nesta rose from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”

Even Beron paused at her tone. Eris sized up the space between Nesta and his father.

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce. “You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?”

Beron did not deign to answer. But he did not leave. Eris subtly motioned his brothers to sit.

Nesta marked the gesture, hesitated. As if realizing she indeed held their complete attention. That every word mattered. “You may hate us. I don’t care if you do. But I do care if you let innocents suffer and die. At least stand for them. Your people. For Hybern will make an example of them. Of all of us.”

“And you know this how?” Beron sneered.

“I went into the Cauldron,” Nesta said flatly. “It showed me his heart. He will bring down the wall, and butcher those on either side of it.”

Truth or lie, I could not tell. Nesta’s face revealed nothing. And no one dared contradict her. She looked to Kallias and Viviane. “I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one is abhorrent.” She shook her head. “But beneath the wall, I witnessed children—entire families—starve to death.” She jerked her chin at me. “Were it not for my sister ... I would be among them.”

Nesta breathed again. “Too long,” Nesta said. “For too long have humans beneath the wall suffered and died while you in Prythian thrived. Not during that, queen’s reign.” She recoiled, as if hating to even speak Amarantha’s name. “But long before. If you fight for anything, fight now, to protect those you forgot. Let them know they’re not forgotten. Just this once.”

Thesan cleared his throat. “While a noble sentiment, the details of the Treaty did not demand we provide for our human neighbors. They were to be left alone. So we obeyed.” Nesta remained standing. “The past is the past. What I care about is the road ahead. What I care about is making sure no children, Fae or human, are harmed. You have been entrusted with protecting this land.” She scanned the faces around her. “How can you not fight for it?” She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them. I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.

Beron only said, “I shall consider it.” A look at his family, and they vanished. I breathed a sigh of relief. After that it was mostly questions on Feyre’s powers and my army while making other battle plans. We decided to stay at Thesan’s beautiful home to get to know the other High Lords. A few seemed me out but I looked for a particular shadow singer first.

“Why did you do it,” I asked, “Why did you defend me,” He sis not say anything. I was frustrated with the silence so i turned, wanting to leave when he suddenly said, “Because you are my High Lady,” I turned to him, “As much as Rhysand or Feyre you are my High Lady, my shadows sing and dance in your presence and it is my duty to protect you,” He answered. I didn’t know what to say so I just nodded simply at him, nodded before turning away ad leaving.

Maybe the shadow singer wasn’t so bad after all.

tag list: @moonfawnx @bankerfrog @younxii @starlit-terror @hideing @flightlesslittlebirdie @menagerofmischief @famousbasementpainter @owllover123 @bookworm-nerd6 @gigisssz @bethany-bee0128 @cityofidek

A/N I’m kind of starting to give up on this series so I’m taking a break to work on one shots and stuff. Hehe love you guys thanks for al the support so far <3

[alberivh]

Their Lover Remanence

ficlets of genshin men and their lover’s only remanence (and how do they hold onto it)

Kaeya, Diluc, Zhongli X (GN!reader)

angst + slight fluff, comfort/hurt (implied death)

a/n ; enjoy this before i’m in s/ia and i’m currently in writing-block so fuck it, but anyways thank you for reading, have a pleasant day ahead! :)

Kaeya — a broken wedding ring.

Kaeya loves the sweet lingering feels he gets, whenever the crook of your hair surrounds-it’s feelings to his chest. Whenever the sound of a silent lullaby clinge to his ears and whenever you stayed in his arms, he adores it. He wished he could treasured it for years after years, the feeling was an addiction..a pure love story. Although, he never thought it would be gone just like that. He wasn’t so sure to finally let go. Kaeya is a man full of regret, but he never once felt this much pressured of guilt; when your body were just an empty-shell of you, who could only rest in his company by arms. you’re so peaceful when you’re asleep, it makes your eternal rest more hard to accept. the mutual feeling of denial and acceptance couldn’t be more a pressure to kaeya, than the face of you whom shown him the end, a peaceful end; the way of an end. The broken ring on your fingertips is shining through out the breaking poin of the sun, making a space between the clouds and him. It was hard seeing his name and yours combine, even when you’re not here any-longer, even when you still hold the name of your husband till the end of it’s legacy. This was a fast journey and i hope you could stay longer than the due. Kaeya never cried, void and numb, just a hollow behind a replica. And maybe that’s the reason why the only thing keeping him sane were one thing, the broken memories of you, your shattering piece of broken dreams; a wedding ring he bought to propose you in another life. He was numb, holding back the memories. He wasn’t sure if this is right, but this is how he wanted to live. Remnants of you will sure keep him sane, even if memory loss hit his mind; he’ll be sure to protect those piece of you he didn’t remember any longer.

Diluc — clothes and fragrance of home

A home to diluc and his love, you are his treasure he never dare to trade. The heartbeat who only belongs to you, the yearning of endearing love connected to his veins. He was sincerely thanking the gods for the freedom of loving and the curse of it. He wasn’t so sure if it’s right to abandoned his duty just to love you…but he never though this would be the last. he seeks your comfort, not your corpse, so why didn’t you breath for him any longer? The fragrance he adores, where are they? The home he yearn the most…where are those? Is this the one person who treasured his life the most? why are they leaving me behind then..i thought they treasured the world i brought upon them. he wasn’t ready to seek comfort when you’re not even with him any longer. You are the hook of the pond, and he was the one who needed you. He wasn’t sure if this was right, so whatever it is or whatever will happened he will make sure to keep your fate to be fair. And thus, he began to search the counsel of home. But nothing…nothing, empty and numb. The clothes you wear at the accident was his only source of remembrance. He was so close on losing each part of you, but the thing he hold now, aren’t they belong to his once home? Maybe if he forgot your smile, he could still turn back to see you again. To see the plain clothing and scent of melodies, the resistance of a warrior; to forgot their lover.

Zhongli — heavens of petals

The beautiful plain leaves over the centuries history, flew to the atmosphere of you and him. Lingers of kisses, warm of embracement and lastly..love. He land a contract to you to be forever within his lines, to never write the history back into a tragedy Zhongli never predict. He told the wind and the guide to freedom a never-ending story, a beauty and a beast. A tyrant and the innocent. I shall remained with them..even if the time was near to say goodbye one more time. He shall remained with the creature who fall within his sin, to be in love with a mortal who remained flowers in his eyes, were a cursed to be found. You found glaze lilies to be fond, you found his eyes to be worth to treasure. You found him to be warm, inside and out you find him to be a pleasant one. Although the time to end all of the contract you signed, was within the last petal of glaze lilies you pick. He watches you fall in your knees, begging the petals to bring you peace. Zhongli just stand there watching the contract in your eyes dull in embrace of lilies. The lilies his old lover would adore, the lilies you treasured whenever you were in love. He held the petals in his hand, whispering devotion to the endless void in his mortal heart. His belief wouldn’t allow you to go, but the cruelty of fates are out of his reach. So he began to count the petals you pick, the lilies you grown, and the ground that took your life apart. He began to count the nights where you would pick flowers with him, he began to ask more question, what memories were left within you and him?

© all rights to alberivh. do not copy nor plagiarize my works.

[jadequeen88]

Smart Girls Make Fast Learners

NSFW 18+ ONLY. MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

My contribution to the BNHarem’s monthly collab. The theme was SEx work. ⛓This piece is a first real deep dive into darker themes and was actually really, really exciting to write. 🖤 A massive thanks to my dear friend @libiraki​ for beta reading this.

TW: yandere behavior, toxic relationship, degradation, non-con, dub-con, degradation/praise kinks, mind break, oral (M and F receiving), over stim, loss of virginity, mentions of physical violence.

DISCLAIMER: I do not condone this type of relationship. This is a work of fiction and if this happens IRL please get out of the relationship!

There is a very specific type of dread that occurs when you discover that the person you built your world around has been lying to you. Tamaki Amajiki was experiencing this brand of betrayal for the first time in his twenty-one years on a rainy Tuesday in October in the dim lighting of your dorm room. His grip tightened around the open laptop as he stared at glimpses of flesh in the thumbnails of the many, many videos posted to the site. Previous live streams with thousands of views. He gulped down the bile in his throat as he scrolled through the videos. His shock and disgust morphed into a pure rage as he counted up the live streams that you’d had since first kissing him. 12. There had been twelve. Three times a week for the past four weeks. 

Those big doe eyes that looked into his eyes as you tentatively licked the tip of his cock for the first time… mere hours later they were rolling in the back of your head as you got off for strangers on the internet. He couldn’t take it. You were his first… everything… he knew that you hadn’t been innocent in your past. The way your tongue expertly wound around his when you first kissed him amongst your plush pillows and goose-down comforter reminded him of the fact. The low violet LED lighting of your bedroom made him feel like the two of you were in your own ethereal world. He could forgive you for not waiting for him as he’d waited for you. 

For the past four years, he kept to the shadows. He was there when the football player from freshman year cheated on you with one of your terrible friends (and when it happened the second, third, fourth time). He was there to binge your favorite shows with you (“*insert current guy you were fucking* just doesn’t get it, he’s not into it. I’m so glad I’ve got you to watch it with!”) He bit back the heartache that would wash over him when you’d pet him and coo over him… you didn’t see him as a man. He wanted to bend you over and prove he could fuck your brains out. He KNOWS he’d be perfect for you. But he never rejected the attention. He smiled and accepted whatever crumbs fell from your table. Whether it be helping you study or letting you complain about your shitty friends or your shitty jock boyfriends or your shitty parents… He gave and gave and gave… until that one day, 35 days ago to be exact, a shift in the tide occurred.

 ⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

“So why don’t you have a girlfriend, Tama-kun?”

“Wh-wha?”

Tamaki dropped the pencil he’d been using and before he could bend to get it himself, your hand was on his thigh and he was putty in your grasp. You giggled and cooed over him like you always did, but this time you did it while assaulting his mouth and neck with your skilled tongue. This time, for the first time, you made Tamaki feel like a man. Like YOUR man.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

Over the next few weeks, Tamaki had become quite skilled in pleasing a woman. It only took a little guidance to have him sucking at your clit with just the right amount of pressure. He learned on his own how to couple that with his long, delicate fingers twisting and pumping in and out of your slick hole. You’d cling to his silky hair, pulling him closer as a constant stream of praise tumbled from your lips:

“No one has ever made me feel this good.”

“Your fingers are perfect Tama-kun”.

“I love your mouth on me so much, baby.”

The first time you came on his face, Tamaki knew there was a god because he’d found heaven between your thighs.

But that was gone now… ripped away with one mouse click on the night he was going to finally give you his virginity. He had held on to it like it was a treasure. A treasure he’d present to you one day wrapped up in life-long devotion and worship... But Tamaki wasn’t in heaven anymore. He wasn’t going to worship you tonight. For the first time since laying eyes on you, Tamaki wanted to hurt you.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

You turned the shower off and dried yourself. Wiping the condensation from the mirror, you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. You felt like this was going to be the first time giving your body to someone. Tonight was a redo. You were wiping the slate clean. Your first time would no longer be underneath the football captain in the passenger seat of his truck, left feeling sore and unsatisfied. It was going to be with the guy you should have noticed long ago. It would be soft and slow… passionate and filled with sweet words and caresses… limbs tangled in soft sheets that smell like lavender and vanilla. 

You applied your lotion and moisturized your face. The red lace adorning your body was arranged perfectly, accentuating the soft swell of your hips and chest. With one last glance in the mirror and adjustment of your bra, you opened the door to the cool air of your dorm room…

...And saw Tamaki looking murderous. 

His eyes slowly left the screen to meet your gaze. His tear-stained face had never looked this harsh. His normally sweet eyes were narrowed and red from crying. The sweet lips you’d licked and sucked with such tenderness were hard and cold as they pulled upward in a grimace.

The only thing he said before rising from the bed and setting aside your laptop was your camgirl username. Then he was on you before you could draw a breath to explain.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

Tamaki always thought he liked you best on top of him showering him with kisses and threading your fingers through his hair, but he had to admit… having your arms tied to a bed frame with the silky sash of your bathrobe cutting into your skin was doing things to him. When you sniffled, face stained with tears and snot, his dick twitched in his boxers. The whines you were choking back behind the silky red panties stuffed down your throat sent chills up his spine. You had to learn the hard way not to spit them out after a harsh slap echoed against your skin when you fought back the first time.

Tamaki stood back to survey the mess of skin, spit, and tears for a moment. You were a blank canvas for him to mark up with his rage and lust. You tried to hide away your bare pussy by clenching your thighs together. It only spurred him on.

“Do you have any clue what you’ve done?” he hovered over you, sleek muscles rippling over your own soft body, “I waited, and waited, and WAITED,” he bit down on the side of your exposed neck and you screamed behind the silky gag, trying your best not to expel it from your mouth and receive more punishment.

“I want to give you everything, Y/N,” he licks over the bite, almost apologetically, “I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want it to happen like this… FUCK, why?! Why did you ruin this?” his long fingers dug into your cheeks as he forced you to meet his fiery gaze. You couldn’t help whimpering and sniffling back more clear runny snot. You were so humiliated at how disheveled and disgusting you must look. His head ducked into the soft spot between your neck and shoulder and you felt him sob. 

Despite the abuse he’d inflicted upon you in the last ten minutes, you nuzzled your cheek into the top of his head in an attempt to comfort him. And he let you… he hated himself for it and he hated you for making this all so hard for him.

“No… no, no, no,” he rose from the bed to set up your ring-light and laptop, ice running through your veins at the sight. Your mind couldn’t accept what was about to happen.

“I’m... I’m not letting you get away with this,” he shook his head and pulled at his hair as he finished setting everything up, “If you’re insisting on being a slut, you’ll be MY slut. And everyone will know…” he jerked your ankle to force you flat on your back.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

Maybe if he’d let the gag out of your mouth, you’d be able to tell him this was just a job to you. That it was clinical… that he was the only one who had ever been able to get you off, that his face was the only one you’d come on… that you needed the money since your parents had disowned you…

But you only laid there, accepting whatever he was going to dish out. You knew he was hurt. You weren’t stupid. You overlooked him while knowing how he felt about you. It took years of horrible one-night stands and countless frat parties pretending that whatever guy you’d picked that night was interesting for you to come to your senses. You hated yourself for being so blind for so long… You adored Tamaki, truly. And you hated yourself for all the times you’d hurt him… so you swallowed your fear and tried to prepare yourself for whatever came next.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

Any soft parts of Tamaki that you’d grown to love were gone, hardened by heartache and desperation. After angling the laptop to get the perfect shot, he started the live stream countdown. Subscribers started trickling in, commenting on how this was a pleasant surprise since it wasn’t one of your regularly scheduled streams. You shut your eyes to pretend this wasn’t real.

Without fanfare or warning, Tamaki ripped apart your thighs, exposing your bare slit. A raw shrill was pulled from your lungs, your back arching from the sting of an abrupt slap. Neurons fired off in your brain… were you in pain? Was it pleasure?

“Since my girlfriend likes to keep secrets from me, I can’t trust what comes out of her whore mouth,” he emphasized his point by stuffing his fingers past your lips, pushing the soaked silk further into your throat, “So she’s going to keep this gag right here until I can fuck the truth out of her,” he trailed his fingers along your reddened folds. Were you getting wet? Horror and shame blossomed in your chest. The fact that you were growing aroused wasn’t lost on Tamaki. His foreign, sadistic grin was back… aimed directly into your soul.  

“So that’s what you like, huh?” His nails bit into your thighs leaving tiny crescents behind, “I’ve been too nice? Too soft?” He pushed your thighs impossibly wide, the stretch causing you to moan. He hovered over your core, onyx orbs blown wide with a mix of hate and lust. Tamaki looked like the devil himself and you wondered just how fucked up you were for wanting his punishment.

He opened his mouth and lolled out his tongue, never severing the desperate gaze you both shared, his intertwined with hunger, yours with fear. You’d never noticed how long and thick his tongue was and couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel caressing every ridge and crevice of your inner walls. He flattened the warm, wet muscle and pressed it along your slit. As he slowly slid it closer and closer to your burning clit, you whimpered and bucked your hips chasing the pleasure you knew he was capable of giving… but this was not your sweet boy and he wasn’t doing any of this for your pleasure.

He slung his arm over your lower stomach and growled into your drenched lips. You were pinned down, helpless against his torturous tongue. Fresh tears pricked at your eyes as you remembered how he’d let you pet him and buck into his face, how sweetly he’d ease you into a gentle release. Not this time… it was all teeth and sharp sucks, his tongue forcing you open violently. You were being shoved over a cliff and despite the horror and violence of what was happening to you. You were approaching an orgasmic state at record speed. Tamaki caught on and doubled down. The arm that wasn’t pinning you into the mattress pulled your leg down straight, your knee in a death grip. The new angle made the sensations even more intense. His face pressed harder into your core and you noticed that at some point, he’d started weeping, small sobs vibrating against your skin. The overwhelming mix of emotions and the vigor in which he was eating you shoved you over the edge.

He kept going along at the same speed with the same determination through your orgasm until it became painful. You pushed past it as best you could, allowing him to sob into your over-sensitive skin until he had his fill. As the pain started intermingling with pleasure, your legs shook and the gag couldn’t hold your screams back any longer. You released against his tongue once more, both of you sobbing. He laid against your thigh for what felt like an eternity before he lifted himself to lay on top of you, his hip bones digging into your soft thighs. You could feel the bulge through the thin material of his boxer briefs. Your hips rose to meet it, a pleading gesture filled with the desire to comfort and please him. Your eagerness encourages his mercy, there’s a meek cry that leaves your lips when the damp silk slips from between your teeth.

“Please baby… I’m so, so sorry I didn’t tell you…” your voice was as weak as a kitten’s cry and Tamaki couldn’t deny it made his heart (his dick) clench.

“Say it…” his lips were close enough to kiss, but you resisted… fearful of what he’d do if you did.

“Say what, Tama?” your eyes were wide with concern and confusion. You were desperate to please him.

He turned your face to the camera that you’d forgotten was there and the gravity of the situation crashed around you again. New tears leaked from your stinging eyes as Tamaki whispered into your ear.

“Say that you’re a lying whore…”

“I..I’m a lying whore…”

The last syllable broke as your abused throat grew accustomed to speaking again. He rewarded you with a soft kiss to your cheek and your eyes closed at the tender gesture. The familiar pain in your chest welled to the surface causing even more tears to escape.

“And tell everyone that you’re my own personal slut”

You repeated the phrase to the audience behind the screen and he hummed with approval, trailing one finger along your wet cheek. 

“Good girl…” the praise sent shivers through your wrecked body.

“And tell them from now on, your boyfriend will be the only one making you come… that they only get to see you be HIS slut.”

You noticed the chat going absolutely haywire at your announcement. Before Tamaki shut your laptop, you realized you’d made three times as much as you’d ever made before and a twisted sense of accomplishment filled your cloudy mind.

“Please,” your voice came out in a croak, “Please untie me. I wanna make it up to you,” his clothed bulge was burning into your core and you could tell he was close to breaking.

“Please let me make you feel good. I’m so, so sorry,” the clench of your thighs around his waist made him whimper.

He reluctantly pulled away to sit on the foot of the bed. The way he curled in on himself hugging his knees made him appear so small, so fragile… a complete change from the man who’d just manhandled you into restraints.

“You’re a liar…” you almost didn’t hear the whisper, his face buried into his knees.

“Please!” you were losing feeling in your hands and all you wanted was to be free to comfort him.

His eyes met yours and it was your Tamaki again... Your sweet boy… the snarling, green beast that threatened to devour you was sleeping now after it reached its fill of violence. He crawled over your body and released your restraint. Before you even regained feeling in your hands, you wrapped your arms around him. You littered his collarbone with sweet kisses and apologetic sobs. He began to melt into your affectionate gestures and you wrapped your legs around his waist pulling him impossibly close. Wet lips met and your tongues fought against each other for dominance. Hips began to roll against each other, increasing pressure until you both gasped. 

The violence was gone, but this was still not a gentle coupling like you’d been planning. Tamaki pulled away and freed his straining cock from his boxers. The skin-to-skin contact made your eyes roll back into your skull. You felt his long fingers grasp your throat, squeezing to remind you just how powerful they were. You shuddered in response, arching upward into his touch, chasing that high his dominance was giving you.

With one swift motion, Tamaki speared you onto his cock. With the minimal prep he’d given you, the stretch was agonizing. This was by far the largest cock you’d ever taken and it stole your breath from your aching lungs. You moaned earning a visceral reaction from the boy on top of you.  

Tamaki stayed as still as he could. He refused to come so soon… not when he’d waited so long for this. He tightened his grip on your throat and tentatively rocked his hips into yours. It didn’t take long for it to progress into the most frantic love-making you’d ever experienced.

There was no other way to describe it, he was hate fucking you… biting and sucking your chest until blood bloomed under your skin… hammering into your sore, sticky cunt with total abandon… he was using you like a toy, taking out all his frustrations on your body.

It was ecstasy.

When his hips stuttered as he met his release, the spasms of his tip against your gummy walls sent you into a painful orgasm. You were spent and it seemed like he was too. Your fingers twitched over the crown of his head, wanting to run your fingers through his hair but too scared to initiate any contact with him. As if he could read your mind, he grabbed your hand and placed it on his head. You sighed and began carding through the tangles, gently undoing them. You felt a stream of tears running down your chest as you worked your fingers through his strands. Lifting his face gently, you met his teary gaze with your own.

“Don’t…” he drew in a shuddering breath, “ever lie to me like that again…” the monster behind his eyes stirred quietly, a malicious glint in his eye, before shifting back into your gentle boyfriend. 

“Never, I swear to you, baby…” he lets you lift his chin gently to meet your lips. His eyes close and he sighs into your kiss. His muscles relax and when his eyes open again, his warm, adoring expression falls over your face. The hand that wanted to choke the life out of your eyes minutes ago now caresses your jaw tenderly,

“I trust you…” his lips turn up into a grin that’s just a little too wide, “Because you’re a smart girl, aren’t you?” his top lip brushed against your still trembling bottom lip…

“Y-yes…”

You were fucked. This whole situation was fucked up and you weren’t blind to the fact. But as Tamaki nuzzled into your neck placing soft kisses and whispering praises into your skin, you let yourself bask in the gentleness of the moment…

Because you were a smart girl and smart girls learn their lessons quickly... 

[amonrawya]

The Greatest Gift of All

(Inspired by^ for the people who asked :D hope it was worth the wait!)

*

Long before the war, before Captain America or the Winter Soldier, there was simply Bucky and Steve. At least, that's what history says. But they missed out one very important person, a girl called Y/N.

Women in those times often found themselves with little opportunity, and only two easily attainable pathways in life: wife and mother. But Y/N carved out a life for herself that defied all expectations, and it all started in Brooklyn.

She dived headlong into scuffles, usually next to Bucky in defence of Steve. Regardless of the opponent, Y/N stood by them both, and often held her own quite impressively.

Her dress style borrowed from more masculine cuts, and Y/N was never seen without her cap. A lot of people had a problem with this, but she shut them up fairly swiftly.

Everything about this girl drew Bucky in, a battle he fought with little effort. They reveled in each other, flaunting their love at every opportunity. More than a few were jealous that the rough and tumble girl got the best looking boy in town. 

In a way, before even coming of age, they started an adult life together. The three of them moved into a flat. Y/N and Bucky took hard labour jobs, or anything they could get. They had little room to be picky. 

Both managed to hook steady summer jobs at the local docks. They used most of their money to keep a roof over their heads, buy food, and pay for Steve's medical needs. He attended art school, and sold his work every now and then; but physically, he was in no condition to work.

The war appeared on the horizon, just as they started to pull themselves an inch above the poverty line. Y/N saw it coming, the inevitable. She treasured every second they spent together, and dreaded the day when the draft came.

A lot of the older women she worked with were disrespectful, looking down on her pre-marital relationship with Bucky. They claimed she couldn't possibly understand their grief, despite the fact Y/N had seen Bucky off at the docks that very morning. 

In truth, they already planned on being married, but at the time, they simply didn't have the funds. Bucky promised, once the war ended, that ring would be on her finger.

Except, he never came home. Not properly. The person Hydra gave back to Y/N was damaged and jaded, angry at the world, angrier than she ever saw. But still, they loved each other. Though she never forgave them for stealing away his innocence, for trying to snuff out the light in his soul. A part of him would always belong to them, and she hated it.

Refusing to stay home while they risked their lives, never knowing, Y/N trained as an army nurse, working specially with the Howling Commandos unit.

Then one day, she went out to welcome them back from a mission. Every face looked devastated, but none more so than Steve. His eyes, red-raw and streaming, seemed incapable of rising from the ground. At first, the realisation didn't process, the idea simply incomprehensible. He promised.

Dugan was the one to finally break through and catch Y/N as she fell, holding her as the tears poured. Once he shook off his daze, Steve took his place, sharing in her grief.

Her world fell apart so quickly, with no warning and no mercy. Their commanders celebrated the capture of Arnim Zola, while Y/N and Steve sat, staring at an empty place at their side.

Everyone mourned Bucky, and swiftly after, began to mourn Y/N, too. The loss took a part of her...the sparkle, the happiness, the laugh that lit up her face. It all vanished. She worked hard, looked after them all, but only Steve was able to make her smile. Even then, it looked pained.

So when Steve went down with the plane, the very last shred of Y/N died with him. No tears left her eyes, no screams ripped up her throat. A cold numbness took over, freezing the woman from the inside out. 

V-Day came and went. The Commandos stood and drank to their lost comrades, and Dugan silently drank another...for the loss of a bright, fiery girl who had virtually nothing to lose, and still lost everything.

She spent her days as a robot, doing nothing but going through the motions of badly imitating life. The flat was empty and quiet, yet somehow, bursting with the ghosts of her loved ones. Nightmares plagued her, terrible images of Bucky's body, forever trapped in a freezing hell, nothing but food for the birds. And Steve, his body...was it cast adrift in the ocean? Or destroyed, burnt to ash in the belly of a metal beast. 

They were simple folk before the war turned them into soldiers, into weapons. Before symbols and flags stole away their names, driving them to sacrifice their lives for a greater cause.

Y/N knew their fight against Hydra was important...knew the honour behind their sacrifice. But when it's you left sitting at an empty dinner table, it's much easier to be angry and bitter.

She never married, never settled, bouncing around countries working as an army nurse. The Commandos slowly died around her, each one fading to grey as the curtain drew the show to a close. Each death, each funeral ripped open her wounds, bigger and deeper each time. Until eventually, Y/N let the blood flow freely.

Or at least, that's what would have happened. But one choice, one decision, made by a boy she thought dead in the far future, changed it all.

*

Bucky Barnes struggled to find himself again. His memories were mostly all returned, if a bit hazy and fragmented. He had Steve there to right any wrong recollections, and connect with on their shared experiences. But something always seemed to be missing, a piece of the jigsaw that hadn't been found.

He remembered Y/N. He remembered her clearer than anything. She was glowing like honey in the sun when Bucky closed his eyes and brought her back to mind.

Face covered in muck, hair tousled and streaked with grease from the boats, soot on the very tip of her nose and a cap perched jauntily on her head; wearing the deepest expression of concentration as she aimed a hanful of rotten fish guts at the sleezy Connell boy from Fifth, who decided his opinion on her backside mattered. The image shone crystal clear. Her laughter, rolling out from between curved lips, beautiful and full of mischief. 

It never failed to make him smile. Or cry. Or sometimes, both. He missed Y/N than he thought possible for a human being. 

Bucky often wondered about her life, whether she went on to marry, or maybe even have children. Was she happy? Did she bury him and move on? If they met today, would Y/N even recognise the man he was now? 

More importantly, in his mind, something he both feared and longed to know: would she still love him?

Unbeknownst to Bucky, Steve saw all this. Understood, to a degree, his pain. But he and Peggy never got the chance to bond so strongly. He knew Bucky needed him, but Steve also knew he needed Y/N more.

So once his goodbyes were said, he looked one last time at Bucky, and smiled beneath his suit as he vanished into time.

*

The living room looked exactly the same as he remembered. Bucky's coat, slung over the back of the chair, his sketchbooks strewn around the desk. Every rip and chip. His heart swelled with nostalgia, and pain, thinking of the life they were supposed to have.

What must have been in their heads...running off to fight, so eager to throw everything away. And who was left to stare at empty beds and eat breakfast alone every morning? Y/N.

His chest constricted, hearing the keys in the door, the lock rattling three times before letting her in. His nerve faltered for the briefest second, wondering if he was ready to see her again.

"Who the hell are you?!"

Time's up.

Slowly, he turned, and watched as Y/N's eyes widened, all the bags in her hands falling to the floor with a crash.

"...Stevie?" The name came out as a whisper, nearly inaudible.

He grinned, laughing as tears stung his eyes. "Hey, spitfire. Long time no see."

"Steve!" She launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and clinging on for dear life. 

Catching her by the waist, he swung Y/N around, burying his face in her hair. They held onto one another as if they might vanish if they let go. But after a minute, Steve gently pushed her back.

"How? How are you here? What are you wearing? I don't understand, Steve, they said you died! Your plane went down in the ocean," she stammered, hand on his forearm with a grip like a vice.

"I survived. The serum kept me alive in the ice for seventy years," he said, questioning his own sanity momentarily; standing in the flat again made everything that happened seem like a distant dream.

Y/N frowned, brows knitting together. "What? Did you hit your head? Steve, this is 1945."

"I know, I came from 2023. I'm alive," he said, and saw her mentally backing away, so added, "I'm alive, and so is Bucky."

Her head snapped up, eyes immediately filling with tears. A dozen emotions whizzed through them in a second; disbelief, pain, hope. It shone clearly in her face as she stepped closer.

What did you say?" She asked, voice choked as she brought her shaking hands up to her mouth.

"Bucky's alive," he repeated softly, "and I can send you to him, in the future. But we don't have a lot of time. You need to listen to me, carefully, and do what I say."

She spluttered, struggling for words. "I, but...what about you?"

"I've made my decision," Steve said, and gently took her hands in his, "now, please, listen."

*

Bucky watched the machine, feeling a wave of numbness wash over his insides. Nothing was a better deal than the pain, the cruel sting of betrayal fighting to be felt. But he beat it back, unable to allow those thoughts validation.

Steve gave up so much for him, he fought for years to get him here. Steve deserved this. And no matter how wrong those words sounded in his head, he resolutely stood by them. 

The seconds ticked by, noted by Bruce's countdown. A flash of guilt almost made Bucky explain what was going to happen, explain that Steve left them. Left him. But he possessed no energy to speak, they'd see in a second, when no one appeared-

Zap. A blinding flash of light.

There's someone there.

Bucky frowned, hands falling from his pockets. Did Steve change his mind? Did he...

All the thoughts in his head stopped as the figure stepped down. Too small, too lithe for it to be Steve. Bucky's heart rate quickened, something in his unconscious already registering his recognition. 

The suit fell away, and if he weren't frozen in place, Bucky wouldn't have been standing. A quiver shot through him, nearly buckling his knees. Shock, fear and pure disbelief all delayed his reaction.

Y/N looked around, amazed, but turned to stone as she set eyes on him. Her face went utterly blank, a strangled sound leaving her lips.

Wearing her yard slacks, with a small bag on her shoulder, her face covered in dirt, hair streaked with grease, cap perched on-top, slanted to one side...she was everything he remembered, and his heart tried to leave his chest to go to her. To be whole again.

But fear held him back. She didn't know the things he'd done, the person he became after the train accident. What if-

"Who is she?" Sam asked, glaring as he stalked towards her, an accusation rising on his lips.

Bucky answered without hesitation, or thinking; the question had been asked countless times over the years. It always recieved the same reply. "My doll."

Sam stopped short, glancing between them, the way neither took their eyes off the other. He nodded, brows still closely knit, and backed off.

Slowly, Y/N approached, encouraged by the sound of his voice. She reached out carefully, when she got close enough. Trembling fingers brushed his cheek, and a shudder ran through her. 

"My Bucky..." She said quietly, eyes roaming over his face, a small smile tugging at her lips, "...you're here, in front of me. Alive."

He swallowed dryly, heart thundering away beneath his skin. "I'm different...you don't know..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth that her eyes found the cold metal where his flesh used to be. In reaching to hold it, she'd been taken by surprise.

Gently, Y/N took the hand in her own, examing the limb with a careful gaze. Moments passed, and she met his eyes again. Bucky steeled himself for rejection, for the disgust and horror.

Her hand went back to his cheek, and he involuntairly leaned into it. The warmth seeped into his blood. She stood on her tip toes, the smile on her lips blossoming into a bright beam of sunlight. "You've always been my Bucky, and always will be. Metal appendages and all."

He fell apart and dove down to capture her lips, clutching her to him with the hunger of a starving man. She pulled herself in, hands tangling in his brown locks, and both tasted salt on the others' lips.

So filled with joy his heart could burst, Bucky revelled in the feeling of holding his girl again. Laughing through the tears, he buried his face in her neck.

Thank you, Steve, for the greatest gift of all.

[malghra]

a chorus so sublime: chapter 1

I must admit, I can't explain

Any of these thoughts racin' through my brain

It's true

But, baby, I'm howlin' for you

Alright

There's something wrong with this plot

The actors here have not got

A clue

Baby, I'm howlin' for you

For Darklina Week, Day 1, Songs & Lyrics, Title from Breath of Life by Florence + The Machine

Chapter title and lyrics from Howlin' for you by The Black Keys. 

This fic starts in episode 5, so you can assume that the story is mostly canon compliant up until episode 4. Any changes pre-episode 5 that will be referenced in the story will probably concern Mal. I lowkey ship show!Malina, they're very cute, but then again I lowkey ship almost everyone with everyone on this show 😂 Darklina is just the only ship compelling enough to tempt me into writing. Anyways, I'm probably going to write Mal closer to his book counterpart, just because I feel the relationship needed a bit more conflict and it will add to Alina's inner struggles.

For now, what you need to know about Mal is that he did sleep with Zoya and that he didn't react well to the revelation of Alina's powers. Just remember that for future reference.

What else? Alina is going to leave the Little Palace at some point, and after that, events will unfold similarly to what happened on the show from episode 6 onwards, but I wanted to develop the Darklina relationship a bit more before it all falls to pieces and I try to come up with a way to put those pieces back together.

The first chapter is Aleksander's POV of his and Alina's first kiss.

I spent a bit of time debating what Aleksander should call himself in his POVs. I honestly couldn't see him referring to himself as the Darkling. I also decided that in the universe of this fic, he hasn't told Alina his real name yet. I imagine that at the beginning of this story, he mostly identifies with his title, and not with his true name, so for now, he'll be referring to himself as The General.

Chapter is below the cut, I hope you'll enjoy this!

The day of the winter fete had arrived, and the General had been up since before sunrise. Despite his mixed feelings regarding such events—especially ones such as today when his Grisha were expected to perform like a troup of otkazat'sya clowns, there was a tinge of excitement to his disgruntled thoughts.

Today was the day Ravka and the rest of the world would learn what the Sun Summoner could do. She still had a lot to learn, she still needed time to grow, but she could give them a good show. Their audience of royals, nobles and foreign dignitaries would be easily enough beguiled by the light spectacle they had practiced.

It was a new start, a day of hope and promise, but that wasn't the reason he had risen before dawn. Sleep tended to elude the General for long bouts of time every couple of years. It didn't matter though. He didn't need much of it anyway, but it was an easy way to pass time when he got bored or tired of life.

Fortunately for him, that was not the case right now. These were exciting times. He had never been closer to achieving everything he'd been working for during the last couple of centuries.

He finished his cup of tea, and as he passed the mirror, he reached up to close the top button of his shirt he must have missed earlier.

He heard the soft padding of footsteps in the other room. It was almost time.

"Ivan!" he called out. "My kefta."

As he turned away from the bed, he found himself eye to eye, not with his loyal Heartrender, but with his Sun Summoner.

"You're not Ivan," he blurted out, taken aback by her sudden and unexpected presence in his bedroom.

"Sorry to disappoint," she retorted sardonically. Saints! Why was she always saying or doing the unexpected thing, usually displaying an utter lack of the deference he was so used to being treated with by everyone else around him? And why did that make him want to smile instead of chiding her and reminding her of decorum and etiquette?

"Do I sense a little disdain for my Heartrender?" he asked, mostly to distract himself from his train of thought. "You know, once you get to know him he's actually quite funny."

Ivan Krasimirov tended to have little patience with people and he didn't care much for pointless social interactions, but the General had known him since he was a boy and he liked to imagine he knew the reserved Heartrender better than anyone else. And Ivan was a loyal man, who understood the cause and had display unseen measures of dedication.

"I bet you find volcra hilarious," his Sun Summoner huffed.

Her innocently intended quip stung, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, but he managed a wry smile. It was rather hilarious after all, perhaps even more so if one knew.

"May I?" she asked. For the first time since she'd entered, he noticed that she was holding his kefta.

"Thank you." His arms felt oddly stiff as he turned around and reached back so she could help him into the garment.

"I hear you were able to focus and split light without the gloves," he told her. She had shown tremendous progress in the last couple of days, but it was better to be prepared. He'd ordered Kostyk to make the gloves weeks ago, just in case.

"I appreciate the gesture, though."

"Well, they were only a safeguard, really," he assured her. "In case of nerves." She was standing closer than he'd expected when he turned to face her again.

"I imagine there are few gatherings in Keramzin that involve such..." He found himself looking for a word that wouldn't sound as an insult to the humble childhood she still seemed to be clinging to so stubbornly. That stubbornness had its charm at times, but in this case he couldn't really appreciate it. "Spectacle," he decided.

"None, in fact," she answered with that some sarcastic aplomb from earlier, and then she whirled around and darted away from him.

Frowning, but intrigued, he followed her out of his bedroom.

Despite her sudden jitteriness, she confessed that she wasn't nervous anymore, though she had considered throwing herself down the stairs to get out of it. Almost certain that this was just her odd sense of humour, he reminded her that he had healers.

He tried not to smile as she laughed at his retort. He studied her as she stood with her back to him, wondering at her suddenly anxious demeanour and the tension he could feel rolling off her body.

He sat down on the edge of the table, listening as she explained why she wasn't nervous anymore. Confusing, unfamiliar warmth pooled in his chest as she spoke but he tried to ignore it.

"That we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope for the future," she concluded her little speech. She was so close to where he wanted her. He almost had her. He knew he would be able to make her see reason. What she was sharing with him, the fact that she was sharing it with him at all, it all made him hopeful.

Triumph made his chest swell, and his power hummed just below the surface of his skin, ready to surge, to call out, but he wouldn't show her the immense satisfaction that overtook him in this moment. He settled for a heartfelt, "That means a lot to me, Alina," turning her name into a soft caress.

She turned around, half surprised, half... proud, he decided, satisfied that she had pleased him. He could take it a step further.

"You mean a lot," to me, he meant to say. It should be easy to feed her the lie that had come to carry more truth in it than he cared to admit. He needed her, but that should be the end of it. Hadn't he taught himself to stop wanting a long time ago?

She'd lowered her eyes, making it even easier for him, but he found himself incapable of saying the words. "To everyone," he concluded.

She blinked and met his gaze again. Before he could even try to decipher the look on her face, she had closed the distance between them, her hand on his collar.

Some deeply ingrained instinct almost made him recoil. He wasn't used to this. It had been a long time since anyone dared to approach him in such a way.

And then that pull was drawing him in again, that tug he had felt from the first moment he had laid eyes on her, that he had dismissed until he had touched her arm and knew, even before cutting her skin. The confusion and discomfort that always came with it must be clear on his face, but if she had seen them, she must have decided to ignore them.

Then she surprised him by kissing him, softly and tentatively, tender fingertips gently grazing his beard. He couldn't remember when he had last been kissed like that.

He had expected that sense of elation so akin to the triumph and satisfaction he'd felt earlier. He should have predicted the ringing in his ears, the thumping of his heart, the tingle running through his veins as her power called to his, begging to answer her call, as overwhelming as it was.

But the urge to respond to her kiss, the desire to surrender, the sudden, vast fear that gripped him, they all took him by surprise.

Something that had laid dormant for ages bubbled up from a place deep inside of him, frustratingly elusive and only vaguely familiar. It slipped away from him like water he tried to cup in his hands before he could recognize it.

He might have started kissing her back—he was too stunned to tell—but then her lips left his, and she nudged his nose with hers as she pulled away. His eyes flew open at the sudden loss of contact. He couldn't remember closing them.

She was searching his face, colour high on her cheeks. As he rose to his full height, he could see that sliver of doubt growing, that fear of rejection creeping up on her, even as hope sparkled in her eyes, her lips curling into a cautious smile.

He offered her a smile back, let the surprise he didn't need to feign show on his face.

"Not many people surprise me, Miss Starkova," he told her.

Her face lit up, and he followed her example as she lowered her eyes, allowing himself a pleased grin. He started leaning in to initiate a second kiss.

The door was pushed open and Alina jumped back, turning her back to him.

He cleared his throat, pushing his shoulders back to compose himself.

For the briefest moment, Ivan's eyes flitted from him to Alina, but he hid his reaction well.

"Excuse me, General," he apologized. "Your presence is required at the fete."

"Of course. Thank you, Ivan."

He glanced back to find Alina's cheeks flushed and her eyes on her feet.

"Miss Starkova," he said coolly, and she bit her lip.

"Next time, knock before you enter my chambers," he snapped at the Heartrender on his way out the door.

"Apologies, moi soverenyi," he mumbled.

The General dismissed the man with a nod. He should be thanking Ivan. He had almost acted on impulse, like some common fool. So then why was he clenching his fists to keep from strangling his most loyal Heartrender?

[hellsbedroom]

NSFW Alphabet // Peter Parker

peter parker x reader

*peter is an adult here.

Masterlist

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

Talk about basking in the glow. Peter smiles with his eyes still shut and his chest heaving as he presses a kiss to your cheek and collapses next to you. “God, you always feel amazing,” he whispers hoarsely. But soon he’s grabbing your hand and tugging you along with him for the next part. You trot to the bathroom to get cleaned up and then it’s onto the kitchen to pick out snacks — you both prefer to do aftercare together, where you can still enjoy each other’s company and laugh all the while.

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

He appreciates his arms. Sometimes he forgets it but he’s very strong (sorry about the accidental punch, Flash) and his arms do so much of the Spider-Man acrobatics. Hugging you is one of his favorite feelings in the world and his arms take care of that, too. And the best of both worlds is when he’s clutching you as he swings both of you high above the New York skyline.

For you? He adores your neck. It’s his favorite spot to hide his face when he needs a break from all the pressure and you welcome him with open arms. Your soft skin against his cheek calms him immediately. Your neck is also a place where he can so easily affect you with a kiss or his teeth. The sweetest little sound comes from your throat when he brushes his lips along your neck and he can’t get enough of it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum basically)

When you’re protected by a condom or birth control etc., Peter prefers to cum inside you. Being completely tangled up in each other is an unmatched feeling and he loves cumming when his hips are lodged all the way against yours. But sometimes you let him cum down your chin and throat when you give him a blowjob and he’ll look at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

D = Dirty secret (an interesting dirty secret of theirs)

His senses are dialed up to eleven, remember? So he can sense everything about you. When your heartbeat quickens, when your skin heats up, when you’re that close to the edge. And he uses it to his advantage. He knows exactly when you’re ready to go from Netflix to chill with a single glance. When he tries something new — a smack to your ass or grabbing your wrists a little harder — and your heart skips a beat, it’s game on. And don’t get him started on knowing that your climax is near. “You’re close, aren’t you?” he’ll murmur, knowing full well what he’s doing to you.

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

This is the internet age. So while Peter may have been too busy with school and saving the world to get a lot of experience, he’s knowledgeable as hell. And god is he eager to learn how to apply it to you. After a little trial and error and a lot of communication, he’ll know exactly what he’s doing. And while he’s sometimes surprised by your reactions, it’s never a bad thing. He just smirks and tucks the little piece of information away in his mind. 

F = Fantasy (what’s their favorite fantasy/roleplay?)

Grateful damsel in distress. All you have to do is squeeze his arms or cup his cheek and say, “My hero,” and he’s suddenly keen to show you just the kind of hero he is under the suit. He’ll play it up in public by swinging by you unexpectedly and scooping you into his arms, making you yelp and cling to him. You’re very grateful for your very own Spider-Man and are not afraid to show him just that ;)

G = Goofy (are they more serious or goofy in the moment?)

Peter is a goofy and playful guy, especially with foreplay. He’s the king of turning tickle fights into makeout sessions into everything else. Even when he’s bossing you around or his voice has turned husky with pleasure, he’s got a smile on his face when he slides into you. That being said, he’s also smart as a whip and as soon as he can tell you’re really enjoying yourself, he’ll get a little more serious. How could he not stare in awe at the way your head tips back and your mouth drops open in pleasure.

H = Hair (how groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes?)

He’s well groomed and likes to keep it that way. It feels cleaner.

I = Intimacy (how are they in the moment, romantic aspect)

Very intimate. In the rest of his life he always has to have a persona — as Spider-Man, as regular Peter Parker, etc. — so when he’s with you? As your Peter? It’s all about the intimacy, baby. Asking how you’re doing while pulling off each other’s clothes. Kissing you relentlessly and feeling his bare skin against yours. Even on nights when you’re being rougher with each other he wants to keep you close, to bore his eyes into you as he forgets the rest of the world. 

J = Jackoff (about masturbation)

He’ll do it regularly if he’s away on missions but you’re the real deal and that’s what he prefers. You’re not afraid to send him pictures and videos letting him know just how much you miss him, as long as you get a video of him jacking off in return.

K = Kink (any kinks)

Bondage — his webbing, specifically. You discover it accidentally when he’s being impatient and webs your hand to the wall, making you gasp when you look at him indignantly. His eyes darken when he sees you unable to move or retaliate and now it’s common to find the remnants of webbings on your bed posts. He likes it when you pull his hair, especially if it’s followed by a bite to his neck, because Peter Parker shows off hickies like they’re trophies. Edging goes both ways in your relationship. Being able to keep you on edge by sensing it is one of his many talents, but he also loves it when you bring him to climax achingly slow.

L = Location (favorite place to do it)

A bedroom, with all the doors locked. He’s had enough surprises throughout his life and he just wants some privacy when he’s with you. It doesn’t really matter which bedroom (your place, his quarters at the Avengers compound, etc.) as long as it’s sealed off and has a bed that gives him plenty of room to explore you. For a quickie, however...the Quinjet parked in the compound garage is a new favorite.

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

Peter loves seeing you focus. Whether it’s your eyes flitting around your computer screen or the way you pull your lip between your teeth when you’re concentrating hard, he can’t help but want to provide a distraction. But the way to turn him on out of nowhere is to act innocent when you know you’re not. You’ll slide your foot up his leg at a dinner with other Avengers while your facial expression doesn’t change. Or you’ll send him a wink when you bend over in public to pick something up, and in the next second you’re chatting with someone else like nothing happened. He loves to play along, innocently teasing you right back until you’re ready to pounce on each other the moment you’re alone.

N = NO (something they won’t do, turn offs)

Choking you, because he’s scared of his own strength.

O = Oral (giving and receiving)

Loverboy is a giver. He loves having you writhe underneath him and sensing your heart racing and hearing the little (or loud) sounds you make. He’s talented with his tongue and it fucking shows, you barely have to give him instructions before he figures out exactly what motions affect you the most. His voice drops the deepest when he’s going down on you, saying how good you taste or how good it must feel. Webbing your hands up is also usually part of this scenario...

But the loss of control when you go down on him is intoxicating. He’ll never ask for a blowjob (he’ll only “tell” you to when bossing you around is part of the plan) so you often surprise him with one, making him grin like a Cheshire cat. Digging your nails into his thighs will have him cumming the quickest, by the way.

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

Peter’s in between the two. He’s eager and while he does rush to get his hands all over your body, he never skips proper foreplay. His touch will be rougher if he’s freshly back from a mission and needs to forget it all but even then he’s still slower and more sensual when finally thrusting into you. 

Q = Quickie (opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

It’s part of the superhero gig. Either there’s just not enough time or too many goddamn people in the Avengers facility or your school or job makes late nights full of work instead of time with your boyfriend. In that case you’d both rather have a quickie than nothing at all, so you can expertly push each other’s buttons to make it work (even though his suit can make it tough). Peter’s adamant that you orgasm even during a quickie so it’s not a waste of your time, and honestly you do have fun with the rush of it all. However, quickies are not what he prefers. He’s with you because he’s in love with your mind and every inch of your body and having to rush through sex isn’t as worshipful as being able to take his time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment?)

Later on in the relationship, yes. He’ll bring up things he hears friends talking about or what he finds on late-night internet dives for y’all to try. He also likes to play the game “how many New York rooftops can we fuck on” because what else are proper Spider-Man dates about?

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

He’s superhuman, including his strength and stamina. Not only is picking you up a breeze (the guy can throw school buses so getting you up and onto a bed or counter is completely doable) but he can go for as many rounds as you want. He usually doesn’t have a problem lasting a while before he cums but if he does, he just makes sure to focus on you until you’re even.

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

Peter Parker? Basically the son of technological wizard Tony Stark? Using toys? Duh. He refuses to let Tony give him any toys or advice but he likes trying out new ones with you. The first time you let him use your vibrator on you he couldn’t stop smiling at how easily it affected you. And turning that vibrator on him made him the loudest you’d ever heard in bed. Also he’s not opposed to buying those sets of fluffy pink handcuffs, gloves, feathers, blindfolds, etc. Why not have it all on hand?

Side note: yes, there are Spider-Man themed sex toys and no, Peter does not want them anywhere near you. He’ll fuck you in the suit or use the webbing of his own making, thank you very much.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It’s a surprise to you the first time you get really frisky with him — but Peter’s a tease. He can sense your desperation, after all, and he likes it. Irking you and making you “be patient, please” as he riles you up gives him a rush. He knows just where to kiss and suck to make you whine and there’s a rumble from deep in his throat as he chuckles at your anguish when he moves away too fast.

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

He talks a lot during foreplay, teasing you and praising you and asking, “feels good, yeah?” As things get hotter and heavier he turns to panting and gasping. It’s never very loud but the constant rumble of his contented moans lets you know that he’s enjoying exactly how you make him feel. But the strangled cry when he cums, that’s your favorite sound in the whole world. Especially if he’s crying out your name.

W = Wildcard (random headcanon)

Seeing you in lingerie: Peter’s a sucker for a good lingerie set and will drop whatever he’s holding when he catches sight of you. His hands immediately brush over the lace or satin or silk as he pulls you to straddle his thighs and his gaze devours you. “For me, hm?” he murmurs, and you nod proudly. He’s not the type to rip it off you — he’ll fondle and finger and fuck you around the saucy little outfit.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s in those pants)

Long, like enough that it takes some getting used to. Average girth but a big tip. 

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

Peter’s a busy guy and his attention is always being pulled in many directions but when you’re around he’s tuned in to you. So any time the opportunity for sex is on the table, he’s up for getting it in while he can (pun intended). Sometimes even hearing you laugh from the next room reminds him of times you laugh and gasp when he sucks on a certain spot on your skin, immediately making him want to do that again as soon as possible.

Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Usually you’re both out pretty fast afterwards — giving each other your all can be exhausting. As soon as the aftercare routine is complete and you’re tucked in his arms again you can feel sleep dragging at your eyes, especially if Peter is tracing his fingers along your skin. A few times your post-sex sleep has been so deep that Peter misses an Avenger’s call, meaning they’ve walked in on you two curled up in the sheets more than once.

[missgarnet]

Stay

pairing: king taehyung x reader

word count: 5.4k

Genre:royal au/fluff/angst

Summary: There are boundaries and rules for interacting with royals, Y/N's been around long enough to figure them out for herself. But what happens when the widdowed king returns to the palace and she begins to see him as more of a person than a ruler. Can the two of them stay to put back the broken pieces left from their pasts, or will everything go wrong when the truth comes out?

Warnings: brief mentions of blood, brief mentions of death, brief mentions of child loss

Link to ao3

The sweat seeped into her nightgown, making the fabric cling to her shivering body. Her chest rattled with cough as her breath grew labored. Taehyung sat in the rocking chair by her side, studying the small crack in the arm rest as he tried to avoid seeing how small and frail she’d grown over the last few weeks. The pains started all too soon, the king grew worried as her hands pressed against her swollen stomach. It was too soon for both of them, and he was pulled away before the labor had truly even started. 

He paced in the hallways as her pained cries sounded out from behind closed doors. It pained him to see the pale faced nurses carrying armfuls of bloodied sheets away from where she layed, scared and alone without the one person who was supposed to be with her no matter what. They wouldn’t let him in the room, even after she was gone. Neither of them lived long, she was too young, too lively to go this soon. And the king’s child had barely even taken his first breath when things started going downhill. The physicians tried everything, but they couldn’t save either one. 

When you joined the palace staff, everything was in a state of mourning. The halls felt so empty without the queen, and chests of her belongings being sent away only made it worse. You knew that the king had requested you to take this position, but he had refused to see you or anyone that he didn’t have to. Soon after the palace grew even emptier as the king began preparing for a trip to the Southern Palace, where he would be staying with the Parks and one of the lesser Kim families. His absence and lack of greeting toward you was unusual compared to your previous experience, but you didn’t mind. Oftentimes you found it better to avoid meeting with nobles, especially those employing you. 

Your job was difficult enough without the added stress of having to interact with them. Most nobles had no clue how to run their staff, it was much easier for them to pay someone else to make sure their manors ran smoothly. It was your job to make sure the kitchens were stocked and well staffed, as well as seeing to the gardens, art collections, and countless rooms to be cared for. You’d been hesitant at accepting this offer but as soon as Duchess Min heard, she demanded you take this opportunity. She was a force to be reckoned with, and yet the duchess was your favourite household to work in. It was one of the more unusual places you’d worked, normally a duchess would be reserved and follow her husband's lead. However, she was more intimidating than him and that’s saying a lot. You’re half convinced she would have murdered you herself if you didn’t take her advice on going to the palace. If only she could see you now. 

In the years since you joined the palace you were sure to make one thing very clear. Even though the king had not returned, your standards would be just as if he were in that very room. You had made it a point to keep every room spotless, and a constant rotation of culinary experts for when there were guests. Unfortunately, there were certain rooms you were unable to access and the annoyance of a couple locked doors that not one of the staff could find keys for. Which was why it struck you as quite unusual that one of those damn doors had found itself slightly ajar, as if someone had found the key. You nearly had a heart attack when you saw the man curled up on the floor. 

“Excuse me. What in the hell do you think-” you freeze mid sentence as you take in the man before you, he wore no crown and looked different from the portraits you had seen but it was impossible not to recognise him. The man sitting there before you was none other than the king. You dropped into a curtsy as you frantically attempted to make up for your mistake, “Your majesty, I am so so sorry. I was not made aware of your arrival and the open door just gave me a bit of a fright. No one’s been able to open most of this wing and seeing you here startled me.”

The king sniffles, looking so small for a man of his importance, “I- I didn’t want to be announced. I thought it would be best if I had time to adjust, being here it’s just a little much. And besides I’d rather not have people seeing me like this. It’s shameful really. Kings don’t cry.”

You carefully take a step forward, watching for him to react or ask you to leave but instead he stays still as you seat yourself on the floor across from him. “Maybe not, I don’t know enough about kings to say one way or the other. But I know people, and people need to cry sometimes, and yell, and laugh, and just express whatever it is that they’ve got trapped inside of their heads.”

“I’m not just a person though, there’s too many expectations for me to do that.”

“Maybe not,”you pause for a moment trying to think of the right words. “What if even just for a moment, you and I sit here and just be a normal person for a little while. We can talk or just sit in silence, but without all the pressures and responsibilities of everything else.”

“One condition, I don’t want anyone to know you found me like this. I just needed a minute, please don’t tell anyone.”

“Your Majesty, it’s my job to notice everything and nothing at the same time. Trust me, your secret’s safe with me. I’ll do my best to make sure the staff allows you to have as much privacy as you need.”

“Thank you.”

Mina’s feet were pressing against your spine when you woke up before sunrise the next morning, for such a small child she really had a talent for taking the entire bed. As you slipped out from the covers, you couldn’t help but notice how sweet she looked as she curled herself into a little ball the second you got up. Getting dressed without waking her up was usually difficult but you had years of practice with this. You’d found it was easiest to start your day by being the among the first to be up and about in the palace. It gave you enough time to brew coffee for the other staff about to start their days, and a time and place where you didn’t have to worry about anyone else. That was before today of course. 

One thing you’d learned early on and come to rely on was the fact that most royalty did not know where anything was, and they made it a point to avoid the servants' side of everything. This was why you found it so surprising when you walked into the kitchen to find a certain king  attempting to figure out how to brew a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning,” he said, looking up at you with a boxy smile.

“Good morning, Your Majesty. Please forgive me for asking, but are you lost?”

He seems to find something entertaining in your response and proceeds to start laughing at this. “No, I’m pretty sure I was still in my palace last time I checked. I just thought it’d be easier for us to talk in your office, but you’re not using it.”

“I’ve found it’s easier to run everything if I’m the one going to them, so I never even opened the door to the staff office. This way I can move around and see what’s going on at all times. I can’t be in charge if I don’t know what is going on around me. I could start using it if that would make things easier on you, Your Majesty”

“No, I like the way you’ve been handling things. It's just that you’re quite a difficult person to keep track of. And I wish you wouldn’t call me that all the time, it’s exhausting having to hear your majesty this and your majesty that. I just get sick of hearing it so much.”

“It’s your title, what else would you have me call you?”

“Taehyung,” he grins. “Or Tae if you want. I think I’d rather just be myself around you, it’s one less person I have to worry about impressing.”

“Very well, Your- Taehyung.” You found your eyes wandering from the soft curls framing his face to his warm smile and lips that were begging to be- No, absolutely not he was your boss and a king, you could not start thinking of him like that. But maybe he wasn’t so bad, maybe the two of you could be… friends. 

“Do you want breakfast?”

“You can cook?”

“A little, I’m not very good at it but Jin’s been teaching me.” He seemed confident, so you figured what’s the worst that could happen and left the young king to attempt cooking on his own.

Turns out you were right to be concerned with him being in the kitchen, despite Jin’s lessons he had a long way to go before making anything unsupervised. Apparently the worst thing that could happen was not him breaking the eggs and leaving the shells in, but rather forgetting what he was making and almost setting the kitchen on fire. 

A few weeks later Taehyung had started meeting with various ladies of the court. You were aware of the arrangement but something bothered you about the sour attitude he had every time he returned from being with one of them. It was a peculiar feeling that made you want to reach out and comfort him. Even as you told yourself that this was just a platonic feeling, something innocent between friends, you couldn’t help but noticing a growing jealousy for these women. 

The door slammed behind the king as he returned from his meeting with Lady Nam. “Y/N, I’ll be in my office. Could you bring dinner up when you have the time?”

“Of course, I’ll have it finished immediately.” By the time you got to the office, you found the door half open like it was the first time you met. “Taehyung, I brought food, and I asked them to make a couple desserts just in case. I don’t mean to overstep, but what’s going on? You seemed upset.”

“It’s nothing, I just didn’t think they’d be so forward with their intentions. I know I’m supposed to be meeting with the noble ladies as a way to find another wife, but I didn’t think they’d be presenting me with a marriage contract the first time I ever meet her.”

“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine someone having the audacity to do that, especially under the circumstances.”

“It’s not your fault, most nobles don’t get to marry someone they already care for. My wife and I didn’t really get along in the beginning, but I cared for her. We ended up becoming friends as time went on. It’s not much but it’s better than most. I feel a little bad for admitting this, but I wanted more this time.”

“It’s not wrong to want something more. I don’t know if this will help but I don’t think loving someone else doesn’t mean you cared for her any less.” The two of you sat in silence for a moment, what you said was true but it also wasn’t your place. You were there to serve and manage the household affairs, advice was overstepping and you had learned better.

“I know. It’s just so much harder than I thought it would be, moving on. She used to make jokes about how something wasn’t her problem, that it was something for my next wife to deal with. Sometimes I wonder if she knew, especially towards the end. She was just so small.” He lowered his head, curls falling before his saddened eyes. “I just want someone to love me, I want someone to stay.”

“Tae, I can’t promise much but please know you have my unwavering loyalty. I’m here to stay however long you’ll want me for.” You were falling and you just couldn’t stop. There were boundaries kept in place for a reason, but somehow you just kept crossing them for the young king. It felt like he was a little broken too, and maybe just maybe you could be the one to put each other back together. You couldn't stop yourself from pushing the hair out of his face and meeting his eyes with yours. This is the closest the two of you have been, barely a breath apart. 

The two of you were so focused on each other that neither noticed the door opening. That was until a certain small child came tugging at your sleeve. “Y/N, it’s snowing! There’s really snow outside! Can we go? Please!”

A panic snapped you out of whatever strange feeling had come over you just moments before. You grabbed Mina by the hand and began guiding her towards the door, “Mina! What did I tell you about wandering around? You could have gotten lost or hurt, and you know there’s places that are off limits for a reason.” You turn back to the king, trying your best to repair the situation. “Your Majesty, I am so sorry. I didn’t expect-”

“Please don’t worry about it, I actually like kids but there’s not many around here.” He walks over to where you’re still holding on to Mina and kneels so that the two of them are almost the same height. “Hi, I’m Taehyung. And you know, I think we might have some extra winter coats around here if you want to go and see the snow up close. I think I might take a break and join the two of you, if that’s alright with Y/N.”

“Please Y/N, please? I’ve never got to see it in person.” Mina says turning around and begins tugging on your skirts this time, to your surprise Taehyung joins in her pleas asking you to join them. 

“Fine you can go,” you tell them as you try to hold in your laughter. “But you have to put on coats and gloves first, both of you. It’s too cold out and I don’t want either of you getting frostbite.”

“Y/N, you’re coming with right? It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Why not? I don’t see the harm in a little snow.” The three of you dug through the little storage closet, tossing gloves and hats around at each other until you had matching sets. Coats were much easier to find, they were already organized by size to make things easier for staff.

For most places a first snow was barely enough to dust the ground and disappeared within a few hours at the most. However, this palace was unlike anywhere else you’d been. Somehow the snow had already formed a thick blanket across the grounds despite it’s unusually early arrival. It looked like something out of a fairytale and there was a certain kind of magic in the air as the three of you stepped into the gardens that day. 

You couldn’t help but feel a warmth in your heart as you watched the two of them playing together in the snow. He looked carefree and unburdened for the first time since you’d met, and Mina finally got the chance to play like most kids her age. The two of them were running circles around the snow, chasing each other in a game of tag. It came as quite the shock when you felt the cold ball of ice striking you in the side, especially when you took in the king’s laughter and his reddened cheeks from the cold. Without even thinking you sunk your hands into the snow and packed it into a dense little sphere, chucking it in his direction as hard as you could. 

Mina laughed as she watched your snowball glide directly over her head and strike Taehyung hard enough to make him lose his balance. Tae flopped back in the snow, and you began to worry you’d hit him too hard. Getting closer you notice Mina throwing herself down in the snow next to him, the two of them flapping their arms as they lay on their backs.

“Y/N, come help us. We’re making snow angels!” Mina calls from her spot on the ground. You sigh as you plop down between them, trying to ignore the cold ice seeping into your gloves as you wave your arms through the snow. 

Mina and Tae hop up from their spots and each hold out a hand to help you up. The mischievous look in their eyes should have given their little plan away, but somehow you took their offer anyway. Sure enough they started to help you up right before letting go and laughing as you fell back into the snow. 

You ended up having to find a way out of the snow on your own and turned to look at the little figures left in the snow. Three little angels laid out side by side, the bigger ones were messy and rough around the edges but the littlest one was perfect. “Mina, how do you make a perfect snow angel your first time?”

“Because I am an angel.” She says with a smug little grin.

“Sure you are,” you add. “Speaking of Angel, your favourite person is going to be here pretty soon.”

“Who’s coming here?”

“Angel, it’s a nickname we have for Duchess Min. A bit ironic really, but you’re supposed to be meeting with her sister-in-law and they’re all coming with.”

You’d gotten used to the duchess dropping in whenever she felt like it, but with the king finally back it seemed as though she’d finally have to announce her arrival like everyone else. It was always exciting to see her, but she made it a point to see you on as little short of notice as possible. This time you’d been in the kitchens planning menus for their stay at the palace when you were given the news.

“Excuse me Miss,” one of the younger maids interrupts “The Duke and his family have arrived.”

She had barely gotten the warning out when Duchess Min burst through the door and practically launched herself into your embrace. “Y/N darling, I’ve missed you so much! The manor has been positively dreadful without you. I swear they’re trying to drive me completely and utterly insane.”

“Angel, I’m pretty sure you were already that way when we got married,” the duke jokes from across the room.

“Oh please, I’ve had about enough of that nickname. I am a delight compared to you. Thank you very much. And besides I’ve missed my best friend, Y/N it's bad enough that you left me there all alone but now I have to deal with his bore of a sister.”

Yoongi sighed heavily at his wife’s remarks, “My Love, how many times do I have to ask you to stop calling my family whor-”

“Bore Yoongi, BORE with a B. I am quite aware of the fact that you wish to turn a blind eye to your sister’s recent flings. I however enjoy being able to express myself in the way that I see fit, so I would advise you to stop trying to censor the language I use. It’s bad enough I have to deal with your sister, I don’t need this too.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to have the manor to yourself again.”

“Yes, exactly! Because when we have the manor to ourselves we can,” she pulls her husband down by his collar and begins whispering something in his ear that makes the confident duke grow flustered.

You made it a point to clear your throat at this moment, drawing their attention away from each other for the time being. “I just wanted to remind you that I’m still here. And you’re supposed to be meeting the king to chaperone your sister and him, not planning whatever it is the two of you can’t wait to get home and tear each other's clothes off for.” 

“There’s where you’re wrong, A few of our guards are serving as chaperones. We’re here to visit you because my wife is insistent on proving another one of her theories.”

“Oh, please it’s not a theory,” the duchess scoffs. “I received very reliable information about a certain situation within the palace, and I wanted to verify it for myself. And now that we’re here it’s obvious that I was right once again.”

You can’t help but sigh at your friend once again interfering in other people’s personal lives, “What is your brilliant discovery this time?”

She beams at your choice of words, ignoring the sarcasm surrounding them, “He’s not going to take an interest in Yoonji.”

“You don’t know that, Yoonji can be sweet and charming when she wants to be. And you’ve seen how great she is at negotiating for whatever she wants. It’s a little amusing how similar the two of you are.”

She made a horrible gagging noise at this, “No I am nothing like my sister-in-law. Why would you even- Yoongi stop laughing, it’s not funny. I would not care if you compared me to anyone else, but her.”

“Very well, Angel.” you say with a smirk. “If you don’t mind me asking why do you think you’re right about this.”

“Trust me, I know how to read people and there’s something there that’s…” your friend sighed for a moment in thought. ”He’s already got someone else in mind.”

“So, how did things go with Yoonji?” You asked later that night, passing a pastry to Taehyung.

“Better, I suppose. At least this one didn’t send a marriage contract during our first meeting. I just don’t think that any of these women are what I want.”

“Tae, you have to give her a chance. At least try, maybe we could ask them to stay with us for the holidays.”

“Us?”

“Yes, there’s only a few days til Christmas and I usually take Mina to spend it with the Mins. But I was thinking maybe I could stay here this year, spend Christmas with you.”

Before you knew it, Christmas eve had arrived and the three of you had set out to mark trees for the staff to bring in. Each of you held a little red ribbon to be tied around a Christmas tree of your choice. The Mins were supposed to join, but Angel had sent a note this morning that they had all been feeling under the weather and were exhausted from last night’s festivities. 

“I think this one’s my favourite so far.”Tae announced, already choosing a tree within moments of entering the tiny forest.  “I can just see us sitting around this tree drinking cocoa and unwrapping gifts in the morning.” 

“Not in the Great Hall, it’s too small,” you felt bad the second you spotted the disappointment in his eyes and began to take the ribbon in your hand to tie around the tree. “But I haven’t picked mine yet, and maybe we can have a smaller Christmas tree just for us.”

Mina came running up to grab your hand, practically dragging you off in the opposite direction. “Y/N, look at this one! It’s small like me, I want this one!”

You take a quick lap around the miniature tree, there was no denying it’s lack of size nor it’s lack of branches. It’s top was barely past your knee, and the few branches it had were either short or nearly broken off. “Mina, I don’t know about this one.”

Tae seemed to notice the child’s disappointment from afar and rushed to make things right again. “Maybe we could put it in a planter and bring it with, so it can get even bigger and stronger.”

Mina smiled as the two of them tied the little ribbon around the tree. It became sort of a game between them at that point, trying to pick trees that were too small, large, or misshapen for the great hall. In the end the three of you had to choose quickly because it was starting to grow dark outside. 

The next morning you found that Angel and Duke Min had miraculously recovered from any ailment and were waiting in one of the parlors around the Christmas trees you had stayed up decorating the night before. They were seated as close as possible, each of them resting an arm or leg against the other. Hot cocoa steamed in the mugs on the table before them, but that was meant to be shared between the five of you.

“Where’s Yoonji?” you ask, eyeing your best friend. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? I didn’t do anything to her.” Angel looked back at Yoongi and elbowed him as if trying to remind him of something.

“She actually didn’t meddle this time, Yoonji’s not much of a morning person and she’s lucky enough to not have someone dragging her out of bed at the crack of dawn.” Despite the tone of his voice, you could tell that he wasn’t cross with his wife. You knew from experience that he would do anything if it meant making her happy. 

Angel laughs at his complaints, “Oh please, I mentioned presents and he came running down the stairs.”

“Did someone say presents?” You looked up to see Tae rounding the corner with Mina shyly trailing behind. The two of them were dragging velvety red bags filled to the brim with boxes and bags for everyone. 

Tae sat in the armchair across from all of you as Mina nestled in beside you. Reaching in the bag, Tae began to pull out gifts calling out names from the miniature tags tied to each. The room buzzed with joy as each of you began tearing open the wrappings, even Tae was overjoyed as the Min’s surprised him with the presents they had snuck in the night before. 

Finally it was your turn to surprise them, getting up to reach around the back of the tree you retrieved the four little packages you’d hidden when the decorations were brought in. “It’s not much, but I wanted to get each of you something special.”

The room filled with little gasps of joy as they each saw the personal touch you’d put into each of their gifts. The Min’s had a strict no weapons for Christmas rule after an incident years before, but there wasn’t a rule to stop you from getting Yoongi cuff links in the shape of his sword. Admittedly you had bent the rule just a little when it came to Duchess Min’s gift, the necklace of angel wings surrounding a dagger was beautiful and the matching blade was hidden in the false bottom of the jewelry box for her to find the next day. 

Tae looked at the little glass case in confusion. “It’s a snowflake, sealed and preserved between the glass. I had it made that day we were in the gardens, it was the first sign of winter at the palace and the first snow we spent together. Something about it was too perfect to let go, so I wanted to keep even a small part of that day and give it to you.”

“It’s perfect,” he took your hand in his as he lowered himself onto one knee and pulled out a small jewelry box. “If I’m being honest there was one last present I was looking forward to for a very long time. Y/N, these past months I’ve spent with you have been the happiest I’ve been in my life. You make me feel loved, and I want nothing more than to do the same for you. So please Y/N will you marry me?”

“Your majesty,” you say as you pull yourself away from him.

“Taehyung, please,” he corrected with a hushed whisper.

“No, your majesty. I can’t do this. I’ve grown to love you over these last months, but my feelings don’t matter.”

“Then what does? If we both want this, who's to tell us any differently? I don’t care about you not being a noble or any other reason you don’t feel like you aren’t enough. Because you are more than enough, I love you and that’s all that matters” he remained there on his knees as if begging you to give him a chance.

Your voice raised barely above a broken whisper, “I’m not fit to marry you, because I’m not fit to be a queen.”

“Y/N,” he said cupping your face between his hands. “You are brilliant, self-assured, and unbelievably kind. If anyone’s qualified for this it’s you.”

“That’s not what I meant, it’s more than just being good at something.”

“Then what do you mean Y/N, you can tell me anything. Just please let me in, give me a chance because I’m not just going to give up when things get difficult.”

You take his hand in yours, “Tae, it’s a long story and trust me when I say it’s better off if you don’t know. I don’t want you to think of me any differently.”

“It’s okay, nothing you say will ever change the way I see you right now. You are my world, and if you have a story you need to tell, I’m here to listen.”

“I can’t be queen because of something that happened years back, when I had first taken over the management of a noble house. One of the first things I learned was that you never say no to the baron. Anything he wanted, he got whether it was another drink, playing cards, or providing company for him and his guests. The baron I worked for took a very one sided interest in many of the women that worked for him, myself included. I’ll spare you the details, but I had my daughter nine months after he acted on this… interest.” you paused for a moment looking at his face for signs of the horror or pity you had seen in others who’d found out before him. But none of it was there, instead he held out his hand and waited for you to hold it.

With your hand in his, he gave a reassuring squeeze as if to remind you that he’s still there, “I’m alright, you can keep going if you want.”

“I had to leave the estate long before I had her, and when I returned I had to tell everyone that she wasn’t mine. We weren’t allowed to run a noble’s household if we were married or had kids, they thought it would be too much of a distraction. So I told them that she was my sister’s, she knows the truth but it’s still hard. I tried to hide it, but there’s still rumors and I can’t do that to you. This is my burden and I can deal with it, but I will not make it yours.”

“Y/N, you were right. I do see you differently now. I can see that you are more resilient than I ever thought. And I know that you would do whatever it takes to protect those you love, even if it means holding back part of your story to avoid upsetting them. You may not want to talk about what happened now, but you might someday. I want to be the person you can tell everything to… So I am asking you, forget I’m a king for a moment and please, will you marry me?”

“Taehyung I-”

From across you hear your best friend’s voice interject, “Y/N, if you don’t get it together and say yes already, I will leave my husband and marry him myself.”

“Angel, you know just as well as I do that’s not possible.”

“They didn’t need to know that,” the duchess pouts as she leans back against her husband’s chest. You chuckle at seeing them so relaxed around each other.

Tae clears his throat as if to remind you of the question still hanging heavily in the air. “Yes, a million times yes.”

As the five of you sat around the fire basking in the joy and warmth of the new engagement, the sound of carollers began to echo throughout the halls. Tae pulled you closer and the two of stayed curled up together as the Min’s began passing the cocoa around along with the flask Angel had hidden in a secret pocket. “Merry Christmas Y/N”

“Merry Christmas Tae Tae.”