#Last two are both ch7

[honorthysalad]

Hikaru’s mom compilation. 3 times she shows up. Outside of this- I think she’s mentioned three times: cut up some watermelon, one of the reasons Hikaru doesn’t want to die, and then to say she, along with the hikaru’s grandma, doesn’t know anything about Hichi-san.

[patroxlos]

home base . ch7

"friends who use their phones in bed" - 5.4k words

ultraman: rising (2024). kenji sato x reader

can be read as a stand-alone. However, if you want to read their first kiss, you may do so for added context.

master post. ao3 link.

previous: ch6. "friends who are stuck together"

next: ch7. "friends who are for the people"

cw: EXPLICIT. First time fellatio. frottage.

Two weeks after your first kiss, you and Kenji get more comfortable with your new dynamic as friends with benefits.

And even in the heat of things, you still find something to argue about.

---

Los Angeles, Ten Years Ago.

“Any plans for tomorrow?”

You look up from your dinner as your Auntie Emiko asked. She sits across you at the dining table where you sat beside Ken. “Hm…I think we might stay in again for the day. Right, Ken?”

Ken is in the middle of shoveling some more grilled salmon into his mouth when you redirect the attention to him, and he nods in agreement, his voice muffled. His mom and you have matching looks of disgust on your face as he tries to speak with his mouth full.

“…yeah. It is stay-in day tomorrow,” you confirm.

Emiko looks puzzled. “But Kenji doesn’t have practice tomorrow. Don’t you guys want to head out to the city?”

“We don’t really know what else to see,” you say a lame excuse. In response, she curiously looks at you then at Ken, who finally swallows his food.

“You both rarely leave your room lately when last month you were bouncing to explore the whole state.”

“Training really tires me out,” Ken smoothly responds, rolling his neck from side to side in an exaggerated stretch. “Leaves me with no energy to want to do anything else. After a week on the field all I want to do is lie back.”

She pauses momentarily as she looks at her son, and you force yourself to maintain a calm demeanor. Is she onto us? “Maybe…when you have your days in, you can leave the door unlocked and open?”

Before Ken can protest, you subtly step on his foot to tell him, Don’t complain.

“Is this because you feel lonely, Auntie?” You ask sweetly. Emiko looks a bit taken aback by your question. “I understand it might feel like you’re all alone in the house when Kenji and I are holed up just playing video games together.”

“I…I guess it does…” She let her guard down slightly around you. She can expect Kenji to pull something, but you? The daughter she never had?

“How about tomorrow morning we head to brunch? Just the two of us! We can even schedule a last minute appointment to the salon,” you spun the dream mother-daughter bonding day. “We’ll be back in time for Kenji to wake up at noon.”

“Hey I don’t wake up—”

“Of course we can spend the morning together.” Your auntie places her hand over her heart, touched. All business with the door and how they spend their time completely forgotten.

She does not need to know what you and Ken do in your spare time nowadays.

And with the door locked for the evening, she definitely does not need to know how the sweet little girl she is so fond of has her head in-between her son’s legs.

“What was that earlier?” Ken asks, breathless. He sat up by his arms as he looks down at you, tracing with his gaze the path your lips followed, edging closer to the front of his boxers. You left the lights on, and it reflects off your trail of saliva on his inner thighs.

You don’t respond immediately, busying yourself with the soft, flexible skin good enough to bite. You expect everything about him to be taut and firm, an athlete to his core. It’s cute that he can get so pliable when your touch melts him like so. You anchor your palms at the back of his legs to hold him open as you continue to tease his thighs.

You hear your name tumble out of his mouth when your tongue swipes a fat line at his growing bulge, against the salty wet spot of his boxers, his muscles tensing under your hold. “You really want to talk about your mom right now?”

“I…I— oh…” He can’t think straight when you start nuzzling your face against his swelling size. “Shit—”

You continue to lick him through the fabric, his musk filling your senses. You try not to giggle when you feel him twitching eagerly against your tongue. You lift your head to give a small kiss once more to his thigh. “Mind taking it off?”

You’re still fully clothed, in your sleep shirt and shorts, compared to him. Shakily, he pushes himself to sit up properly. His hands reach for the elastic band of his boxers, trying his best not to look too eager when you help him tug it off his legs. Without the fabric keeping it down, his dick jumps to attention, long with a slight curve towards his right.

“Take it slow…” he encourages you, his voice a little breathless as you lower your head closer to his wet tip. He deeply inhales when you clasp your left hand around his base. His eyes screw shut, the anticipation making his toes curl.

A pleasant prickle crawls up his spine when he feels your warm, moist breath hit the head of his cock.

Your hand slides up along his thick vein, following his natural curve.

And as soon as it started, he feels a draft of cool air down below when you move away.

“Wait.” You back up and reach for your phone nearby on the mattress. “What’s the next step again?”

Ken freezes, and opens his eyes.

You’re busy tapping out your lockscreen passcode.

Ken flops backwards to the bed, his palms covering his face in frustration. “Oh, fuck me—”

“I’m getting there,” you snap as you scroll through your digital notes.

He groans impatiently, his erection growing painful as it stands proud in the air. His legs are still spread wide. “Just put your mouth on it, I said I’ll teach you.”

“And I said to wait.” You crawl back between his legs but your gaze doesn’t lift from your phone. “Maybe you should sit at the edge of the bed and I’ll kneel down? Or maybe sideways in case you want to finger me while we—”

“The current position is fine…” He tries to sit back up but you push him down with a hand on his chest.

You begin to mutter to yourself, running through the steps you have written down. “Mmm… warmed you up, yeah…consent?” You look up from your phone to Ken expectantly.

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, you did have my consent,” He hisses.

“Okay…hm…take of your shirt, kiss down your chest, tease your inner thighs…leave a few marks?” You glance down, at his legs. “Haha, yeah, nice—”

“Are you done? Because I’m growing soft here.”

“Hey, keep it hard, I’m doing my best,” you whine.

“Well all this talk isn’t helping.” He swats your hand away and successfully sits up, his elbows resting on his knees as you still sat in between his legs.

You roll your eyes and put down your phone to remove your shirt, exposing a modest bra. “There, have something to look at.”

“Can you at least take off your—” He does not finish the sentence as you throw the bra at his face. Grumbling some more, he tosses it to the side.

Normally, fooling around with you isn’t so clinical. Ever since your first kiss by the pool almost two weeks ago, it’s hard to remember a time when his hands aren’t on you. Your normal trips around town are now defined by rough makeouts in alleyways and end in hurried handjobs at the backseat of his jeep when you cannot wait to get back home. Your touch is an aphrodisiac at this point, and he fears he may overdose. Maybe you should have had separate rooms, because he is starting to feel the recklessness of his libido.

Because when you asked him the previous night if he could help you learn how to give a blowjob, he nearly skips training earlier today in anticipation for what is to come.

Apparently, no one is going to come at all now with how Type A you are with something as instinctual as oral sex.

Normally he will find it cute how your nervousness can translate to overpreparing. However, he needs to figure out how to turn your brain off.

“Okay, look…” He reaches forward to touch your bare shoulder. You hesitantly rest your phone on your lap as you hear him out. “How about you lie down and I eat you out? How about that?”

“No,” you reject him immediately, like how you rejected him the dozen other times he asked, offered and even begged. “I want to do you first.”

Even if you’re both equally stubborn, Ken still tries to be patient with you. Slowly, he shifts closer, pressing himself against you as he begins to rub your arm. “But, princess, how are you going to know whether a guy is doing it right if you won’t let me go down on you?”

“I don’t think this arrangement allows for pet names,” you huff, and he rolls his eyes. “Besides, I don’t get why you want to that much.”

“Baby,” he sees your eyes twitch, “it’s because you taste good.”

You slap his knee, flushing from the obscene compliment, but you can’t say anything back.

Taking it as a good sign, he lets his hand drift a bit lower to your waist, giving you a light massage. You let out a deep sigh, and you lean forward to give him a kiss, reaching forward to clasp around his girth. Your other hand loosens its grip on your phone, and it falls off your lap and onto the ruffled navy bed covers. 

He groans into your mouth deliciously with every shallow pump. Your lips are gentle, yet deliberate, and he marvels at just how good you move against him when you were a stammering amateur weeks ago.

You pull away, slowly, yet your hand still loosely holds him. Your thumb lightly swipes the slit of his head and his mouth falls open.

“You always make me feel good,” you murmur. “I want to make you feel it too. Wanna prove to you that I deserve it. You teach me so much so I want to show off what I now know.”

“God you’re so stupid.” He laughs without malice. “You don’t have to blow me to prove anything. I already told you that if the guy likes you enough it’ll always feel good.”

“You don’t like me that way though,” you point out. “So I need to prove my skills.”

“What skills?” He makes a face. “You can’t automatically expect yourself to be the blowjob expert on your first time. Just feel it out and avoid showing teeth. It isn’t something you can just practice—“

You turn away.

“…you practiced?”

“…I wanted to impress you?” You fiddle with your phone. “I studied really hard and tried to apply what I learned—“

“Woah woah, did you— did you, with other guys—“

“No! No, I never…I practiced in other ways.”

Neither of you understand why his body sags with so much relief when you say that, or why it mattered if you did anyway.

Still, he needs to pry. “So…how?”

“God I’m not telling you, you pervert.”

“Your hand is on my dick.”

You smear said hand against his face, his pre-cum wiped against his nose. He laughs and grabs your wrist with his left to keep your hand there.

“What are you doing?” You tug to get your hand back but he keeps it right in front of him.

“Just look at me.” His exhale tickles your fingertips.

And without breaking eye contact, his mouth opens a bit more, then closes softly over your index and middle fingers.

“K-Kenji?”

He responds with a gentle suckle, his lips passing your second knuckle. You feel the rough texture of his tongue run over your fingertips, pressing flat against its pads. A soft whimper leaves you, as a familiar heat unfurls from deep within. He notices the way your legs unconsciously shift closer, seeking pressure to alleviate your spreading itch. He chuckles, and the vibrations run through your body and settle just below your navel.

The entire time he continues to watch you, catching every quiver of your lip and twitch of your brow. He’s let go of your wrist at this point, yet you hardly notice, your eyes fixated on how your fingers disappear into his mouth.

You only break from your stupor when he scrapes you with his teeth.

“Ah— Kenji!” You flinch, and he chuckles as you take your fingers out his mouth.

“And that’s what I mean by no teeth, except it’ll be ten times worse down there.”

You cradle your hand to your bare chest, then slowly nod in understanding. “Okay…I see…”

“Did it feel good?” He smiles wider when you glare back. “Don’t be shy, baby, tell me.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sweetheart.”

He lives to make life harder for you. You push down your pride. “Yes, Ken, it did.”

“How good?”

“Don’t.”

He grabs your waist to pull you onto his lap, and you hardly resist. Your legs fold beneath you as his own straightens out. You stabilize yourself on his shoulders, and as you properly sat onto him, you feel his dick wedged between your abdomens. You can feel him throb against your clit, only separated by two thin layers of fabric.

His head dips down to the top of your breasts, his hair tickling your nose as he begins to lightly kiss the start of your cleavage. He stretches the band of your shorts before snapping it back against your hips. “You’re overly dressed.”

“H-Hngh… can’t take it off tonight until— ah, shit—let me taste you.” Your stubbornness will be the death of you.

“Dumb rule,” he sasses back, before he cups your right breast to push it upwards to his mouth.

You nearly cry out, the hot wet sensation on your nipple and the soft massage of your breasts are a dangerous combination. You rock your hips forward on his lap, greedy for more. His teeth grazes your nipple in response, hissing harshly when he feels the underside of his cock scratch pleasantly against your shorts.

Your head is thrown back, and your eyes are tightly closed. His hair brushes against your chin as his tongue makes its way to your left breast. He smiles against your soft flesh, rolling your hard bud around in his mouth. “Shit, you’re getting close from this?”

You sharply tug his hair, pulling him off your chest, too embarrassed to admit that you are. Yet, instead of the annoyed grunt you expected, the pain on his scalp causes Ken to let out a strangled moan. Oh, you are stunned, he’s freakier than you thought.

He grins, bringing his left hand up to cup your face. You rest your cheek in his palm and your lips part, sighing at his foolishness. He rests his thumb on your bottom lip, coaxing you to open up further. “Your turn.”

“Hm?” You hum against his touch.

“Show me.”

Maintaining eye contact as he had done, you gently kiss the tip of his thumb, until you take it whole into your mouth.

“Oh fuck…”

His right hand grasps your hips to guide you into a rocking motion on his lap. You pant as you grind against him, the head of his cock tapping against your belly button. He presses down on your tongue, as you lean more into his palm for support. As your panting slows, you begin to suck lewdly on his thumb to stop yourself from being too loud.

You are close. Shit.

And he can tell from your sloppy pace as you grind against him without any real rhythm, to the fucked out look in your eyes. The only goal bouncing in your empty brain is release.

“Can’t even talk?” He teases. His balls feel heavy and painful as you suck his thumb, and he aches to feel your mouth elsewhere. “Open wider, princess.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, showing you’re not as out of it as he expected you to be, but still you comply. His thumb slides out, replaced by his index and middle finger. Your eyes flutter closed, puckering your lips to take more of him in. You gag as his fingers nearly brush the back of your tongue, and the sound shoots straight to his dick. You haven’t even fit it fully in your mouth yet.

 “Fuck…god you’re so hot. You’re also so, so stupid.”

You let out a garbled protest, still every bit of the fighter you are, yet he pushes his fingers deeper into your mouth until your front teeth nearly scrapes against the base knuckles. Your chest heaves at the sudden intrusion, yet you clench your thighs at the sides of his lap.

“Do you think I’d do this for just anyone?” He interrogates you, fully knowing you can’t respond. “You’re so smart, baby, but god can you be so fucking clueless.”

The other hand on your hips slides towards your shorts and dips low over your clit, rubbing circles over the fabric as you reach your high. Ken’s ego swells as you suck his fingers harder, your senses going overdrive from the pleasure.

“You’re getting off to this?”

His fingers are spat out of your mouth when you fall forward to rest your forehead on his shoulder, trembling from his touch. “Fuck you, Sato. Fuck you fuck you—“

“That’s it, ride it out…” He coos, kissing the side of your head as he slips his hand into your shorts to directly stroke you through your orgasm. He lightly pinches your bud. His other hand pats your hair soothingly. “You can bite, I don’t mind.”

You sob as your teeth bluntly sinks into his shoulder, and he groans from the pain and the dampness that coats his fingers. His dick weeps against your stomach from neglect.

You raise your head as he cleans his fingers with his mouth, groaning at your taste. “Oh god—” he curses even if this is far from the first time he has had a sample of you.

“Don’t…be dramatic,” your words are slightly slurred as you calm down from your high.

He kisses you in response, his neediness spilling out and his grip digging into your waist. He swallows your gasp as he guides you down to the mattress, caging you down with his body. “Please…” He murmurs against your lips when his thumbs hook on the band of your shorts.

He begins to pull it down by an inch.

You roughly push him away by his shoulders, appalled. “Motherfucker, you’ve been trying to distract me.”

“And I was so close too,” he grumbles when you catch him, and he tries to lean back in but you hold him at arm's length, your hands splayed against his defined pectorals. “You get all ditzy when you’re in it.”

“No.”

“Fuck, please just a little taste…” He lifts one hand from your shorts to cup your mound, your wetness having seeped through the cotton. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

You kick him lightly on the shin in response, and he rolls his eyes. You push him off of you, and he does not resist, but he still pulls you close to his side as you sit up on the bed. His hand tries to dip once more into your shorts but you stop it just as it tries to pass your navel. “I just came.”

“That’s even better.”

You shove him back down onto the bed, trying to resume your position from the start of the night. His dick blooms an angry red now, frustrated from being ignored for so long. “That looks like it hurts,” you comment as you settle in between his legs again.

“It does,” he confirms, pushing himself up by his arms as he lays bare, all for you.

You have always been intimidated by his length, and every time you hold it you worry at the back of your mind just how on earth it would even fit if you two ever cross that point. Of course you’ve never told Ken— he doesn’t need to know you’ve deeply thought about how he might feel inside you, or how the curve of his dick may pulse against your walls.

“Are you just going to stare at it?” He snaps you out of your thoughts. Ken tilts his head to the side, a bored look on his face.

Flustered, you shake your head immediately. “I-I just need a moment to…”

“You know, there’s a way to ease your nerves.”

“Really? What is it?”

“So the first step involves my tongue against your—“

“Ken. I’ll smother you in your sleep.”

“You know how many girls would kill for their boyfriends to go down on them?” He continues.

“Well you’re not my boyfriend.”

“Exactly, because boyfriends don’t go down on you. And with your type for guys I definitely don’t think any of them would be as generous as me right now,” he says as if it is fact. He’s conceited, but wouldn’t you also be if you were in his position?

Think about it. No one else can give you as good of a first time as he can, because no one knows you like he does. He pities you, really. Because no other guy would be as patient and careful as he is with you. They won’t take the time to hold you the way he does, to feel for what you like and push your comfort zone. No, all other boys just care about getting their dick wet, and they won’t even look half as good as him. You’re too pretty to settle for anyone less than himself. Six foot and still growing. A wide chest, slim waist. And he knows you know he’s a lot bigger than average. He has visible abs for god’s sake, does that mean nothing to you? It’s terrible but he is such a good, giving best friend. He could’ve left you alone to kiss mediocre boys and eventually marry a mediocre man, most likely someone your parents picked out for you. And you’ll never know the touch of what you deserve. He’s doing this for you. So at least when you go on to pursue whoever can give you that mediocre love, you’ll always know there’s someone better out there. It’s cruel to curse you to a perpetual state of wanting, but he can’t help it. You deserve the world, and you need to feel what it’s like to have it all, even if you may never find what you had with him ever again in someone else.

And Ken wishes he can say all that to you, but he knows you’ll just bash him on the head for even implying that you can’t get any better than him. Except he won’t even be implying. You just don’t get it— he can’t imagine anyone being good enough for you.

Unaware of his internal monologue, you search around for your phone. “Okay, but let me run through my notes again—”

You reach for it when you spot it close to his foot, but he reaches for it faster. He grabs your phone and flings it towards the sofa.

“Ken what the hell—”

He pulls you back between his legs, stopping you from chasing after it. “Don’t.”

“You could’ve broke my screen!” You nearly shout even if your phone is safe amongst the sofa pillows.

“I’m a varsity baseball player. You think I don’t know how to aim?”

“I can’t believe you—”

“Do you want to suck my dick or not?”

“I do!” You say weakly. You really do.

“Then you need to get it in your head that you’re being an idiot.”

You try to slap him but he grabs your wrist.

“Not every guy is blessed to have a pretty girl willing to even touch them, and if it’s you? You’re practically doing charity. All you have to do is bat your eyes and drool a bit and they’ll come before your lips even touch the tip.”

You’re…oddly reassured.

“Sweetheart,” he continues, sarcastic. “Why do you think we’ve been messing around this entire time?”

You’re confused, but answer anyway. “Because you’re helping me learn how to—”

“Wrong.” He cuts you off. “We don’t have to makeout all the time to teach you how to do it.”

You think for a moment. “Practice?”

“We cuddle.”

“Okay, that doesn’t mean anything—”

“Exactly. It doesn’t mean anything. So why are you trying to tackle this like I’m grading you?” He gets you there.

You actually don’t know what there is to be nervous about. And why are you giving him the satisfaction that he does make you nervous?

“Listen, we’re not dating, and I’m mature enough to admit that this ‘teach ‘me’ thing is just an excuse. You like this. I like this. We’re friends who make each other feel good and there’s nothing weird about it.”

His grip loosens on your wrist, but holds it just the same.

Your shoulders slump, realization sinking in. Kenji is right.

He presses your hand onto his chest, and gently, he drags it downwards. You swallow, still scared, but you let him take charge. “I’ll talk you through it,” he murmurs. “So don’t think.”

You feel him purposely brush your fingers against his toned core, just to let you feel how deep the ridges are. You snort, and give him a look to say ‘really?’ Arrogant prick. Show-off.

He ignores you, and soon, he guides your hands to touch the pulsing base of his cock. “Gently,” he whispers, “It hurts a bit now, since all your stalling gave me blue balls.”

“That’s not a real thing,” you scoff, but you soon lower yourself down with your face a few inches from his tip.

“I thought I’m the one teaching you. Your only job right now is to listen.”

“Did you shave?” You giggle, not listening at all as your other hand gently cups his balls. You feel his freshly-shaven stubble.

He hisses at your touch, and nearly bucks into your face, but he steels himself with his waning self-control. “Shut up. I thought it’ll make you more comfortable.”

“Is that why you were nearly late to practice today? I thought you just needed an extra long shower after what we did this morning.” You give him shallow strokes down his length, light enough to ease the blood pressure that built up inside.

“Just…if you want to tease a guy…try licking around at the base first,” He changes the subject, entering his teaching mode.

“Hm…” You nod in understanding, ducking your head down lower just for him and slowing the shallow pumps of your hand.

Tentatively, you lick the bottom of his base, tasting the salty tartness of his sweat. You close your eyes to gather a sense of courage, and soon, you let go of your shame and carefully begin to give him long, broad strokes highlighted by the roughness of your tongue.

You hear a strangled noise from above but you paid him no mind, getting lost in his flavor. The masculine musk clouds your judgment and you bump your nose against his pubic bone. With one hand still cupping him, you brought your lips down towards his balls, planting an open-mouthed kiss on them before carefully putting them in your mouth to suck.

You felt him jolt beneath you, your name ringing out to the room. “Oh, fuck—“

His fingers brush against your cheekbone when he rushes to grip his legs. His nails dig into his skin while you remain oblivious to his waning self-control. Because who taught you that? Not him.

His mouth is locked open. His chest rises and falls as he tries to maintain a semblance of sanity. Ken is so pent up right now, he’s worried he won’t be able to hold himself back from releasing prematurely.

But here you are— dick resting on half of your face, as if measuring your head against it, with your mouth on his balls and your sultry eyes lazily blinking open.

You whine when he hastily pushes your face off of him, and his dick twitches from the sound.

“Don’t look at me like that,” his voice is hoarse.

“Was it bad?” You ask, confused as to why he suddenly made you stop.

“I-It’s okay. It was good.” He’s going to blow any minute now. “I…I need you to take it slow.”

“Okay,” you nod, leaning back down.

“You can, uh, kiss up the shaft from the base,” he struggles to remember how to talk. “Then when you get to the tip—“

You push your head close to his crotch before he can say anything more, and he nearly keens when your longue laps at his protruding vein, following it up to his tip. Your head is spinning, eager to please and to draw out even more sounds from his throat.

You let a puff of hot air hit his angry head. You look up for assurance.

His cheeks are dusted with a light pink, eyes unfocused, but he still manages a weak nod. “Yeah…yeah, just spit on it.”

You gather your saliva in your mouth, and let it dribble on his cock. He curses, louder, and you’re glad that the Satos are rich enough to afford thick walls.

Because when your lips finally envelope his head he loses his filter.

“Shiiit….Baby that’s it, just take it—ah— take it slow… Remember to breathe through your nose, yeah? Yeah— oh fuck babe…”

You struggle to pay attention to his words, but you slacken your jaw to accommodate his size and try to breathe as he said. You are getting dizzy from how full your mouth is. You rub your own thighs together, your brain swimming with the thought of this inside you, and you clench over nothing.

Mindful of your teeth, you try to move a bit further down, greedy to see how much more you can accommodate. He notices, and immediately his hands reach for the sides of your head to stop you. “D-don’t push it…” he slurs. “You’ll choke.”

Your eyelashes flutter, and you feel tears forming at the corners of your eyes. You don’t mind that at all.

Still, you’re realistic with yourself. You can’t make it to half of his length without gagging, and you feel him twitch in your mouth when you do. He likes it when you’re noisy.

You grab his hips to hold him down, aware of how he’s struggling not to buck up into your mouth and fuck your face. His fingers massage your scalp as a thank you for the added leverage.

“Does your jaw hurt, princess?” He reaches for the hinges of your jaw. His thumbs press down and lightly massaging your face. “Fuck— I can tell by that dumb, pretty look on your face that your brain s’all empty.”

You hollow out your cheeks, and your tears fall as you bob your head up and down dutifully. He wipes your tears as they slide down your cheek, cooing about how cute you look.

“You’re so good to me.” He brushes your hair out of your eyes. “You like sucking dick this much, huh, girl? — Oh god, that’s it. Drool some more for me sweetie… You’re a natural. Wouldn’t have guessed from how much you hate shutting up.”

You let your bottom teeth poke out slightly, and he pulls your hair as a warning. “Hey, ah-ah, behave.”

Your tongue is placed flat against the bottom of his cock, warm against his pulse. He lets out a relieved sigh, patting your cheek condescendingly. He can’t help but want to be a little mean to you. “See, baby? Don’t even need me to tell ya what to do. You lying about being shy? Only wanted to hear me say how much I like you?”

It’s so embarrassing how much you needed him to say more.

His grunts grow staggered, and his breathing picks up. He tugs harder on your hair as he gets closer to his release. The burn on your scalp feels so good when you’re deprived of oxygen.

“I-I’m…gonna…” He tries to properly warn you. “Don’t swallow. You’re not ready.”

He tries to pull your head off of him but you’re stubborn, sucking down even harder. You hate it when he tells you not to do something.

He curses out your name. “Fuck, I’m being serious, don’t—”

You flinch at the hot release that hits the back of your throat, and you sputter around his cock as the amount quickly overwhelms you. It leaks out the corners, dripping down his length and onto the sheets.

He wishes he can take a picture of your fucked out, tear-stained face. You look up, his cum still on your lips when you take your mouth off him. “That good?”

God, you’ll be the death of him.

A/N: hi i hope this wasnt awkward it's my first time publishing anything explicit fsdihodfs.

this was about to be a 15k word chapter with three acts: bedroom, gas station, first time— they all take place one after the other. the chapter wouldve been called "friends who run a marathon" bc it was just marathon sex lmao i wanted to convey that the two kind of fall into this hedonistic routine That is Actually Kind of Bad for them! still...15k words of you two fooling around like who wants to read that in one go (i did. i rlly did. i rlly didnt wanna split this chapter but it narratively makes sense fsdiohdfs)

i was starting to feel bad about how long it will take me to update if i stuck w the original plan so I decided to split the chapter into two and reserve the gas station and first time for chapter 9! next chapter we will go back to the main timeline. i dont want to write them too much in their teen years bc they are a lot crazier when theyre young adults, which is why i wanted to cram it all in one long chapter.

[llondonfog]

also made myself sick turning around and around the idea of lilia & silver making the journey to wild rose castle after the events of ch7

the sight it must be— the imposing veil of vines draped like an ironclad curtain over the silent castle walls; the way they yield for silver like a beloved pet upon his approach, curling away from their prince's touch lest he prick his fingers upon their thorns

how silver might hesitate at the gate, staring out at the path his mother must have walked to greet her returning knight; the same grim path his father took to leave behind his family for the last time, a path that held the footsteps of fleeing innocents and rabid conquerors. (lilia squeezes his hand without a word— the castle yearns for its prince, after all.)

the thought of the two of them picking their way through the tomb-like halls; lilia remembering a time when fae voices rang loud and clear, silver staring at the very walls themselves as if to wring from them forgotten memories. there are portraits lining their steps, faded and dim in the cool shade— they depict both nobility and scenery of great battles long past, and silver half fears the golden strokes caught in their paint. if he stares at them for too long, he wonders if they might absorb him entirely, a creature of the past left to linger on this earth far beyond his time.

i just want them to discover silver's cradle still standing where lilia left it all those years ago, with the very blanket silver's mother tucked around him still folded inside. for silver to brush a hand over the thrones where his mother and father might have once sat, for lilia to watch his son with stolen breath and glimpse a mirage— the phantom of meleanor in all her glory upon the dais, a glimmer of a crown upon silver's head. things that once were, ought to have been, and will never be.

and it kills me to think about how heartbreakingly tender it would be for them to both discover silver's nursery. the rooms where the knight and leia had so joyously decorated in preparation for their newborn son, their baby prince, the light of their life. the stuffed toys, now slumped and worn by time; the once colorful paint and plush bedding faded and moth-eaten. for lilia to pick up a carving knife and a half-finished wooden block, and be struck (for the hundredth, thousandth time) with the tragedy of war. of a man who would never be a father, of a family that would never realize peace.

i just want them to both sit in that room, surrounded by the eternal, aching love of silver's parents, and have that long, painful conversation about lilia's past and their present— unknowingly watched by the ghosts of a woman who creeps close to hold her child the only way that she can, and a man who lays a hand upon his once-enemy's shoulder, finding forgiveness at last after four hundred years.

[maskedemerald]

Weaving Webs CH7

Here is chapter seven of my Invisobang fic and the last one of the week! We are now half way through the fic but I need a little time to tidy up the other chapters because of IRL chaos so after this I'll be only posting one next week while catch up.

The wonderful @pricklenettle did some fantastic art that you'll see embedded through out the fic! If I had to pick I would say that this chapter has my favourite art but that is mostly because I was just so excited to see a certain gremlin Danny that shows up at the chapter's end!

You can check out the fic here or on AO3!

If you like this consider dropping us both a follow!

Warnings: Body horror, manipulation, Spectra is her own content warning, Burns, Spider - for like 2 chapters then it goes away.

The Fenton parents were there when the accident happened, they saw Danny die in an act of sabotage. Now they’re just trying to go on with the strange ghost that is all that's left of Danny. While their old college friend is wondering where the subjects of his revenge are.

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Chapter Seven

Maddie leant against Jack on the sofa, the week had left her drained from all the stress on top of the grief. She watched him stitch, the needle going in and out. His hoop had been returned, after some convincing. The hoarding behaviour hadn’t been an expected trait. The ghost was currently sitting on the floor cuddling Jazz’s Bearbert while Jazz was reading in the armchair.

Danny’s ghost made a strange popping noise, like pressure bubbling up against the glass face plate. It spasmed a shiver and then shook its head. A pale white mist hissing out of the cracks in the face plate. Maddie watched cautiously as it happened another two times. Was this it? Was this the ghost becoming more like what they expected? Or was it some other anomaly they hadn’t known ghosts did.

Jack beside her laughed, “hiccups? Were those hiccups? Can ghosts even have those?”

Maddie frowned, “that requires breathing Jack,” she stated.

There was little point considering the hypothesis. It might be something like a hiccup but an actual hiccup required breathing. Depressurization of the suit was more likely but that still required it to act more like the real physical version of the material and by this point the suit should have been long since depressurized with the torn open arm. It made the noise again, this time the spasm and noise harsher and longer lasting.

“A sneeze?” Jack questioned beside her.

Once again that required breathing. Also irritants and she couldn’t think what might have triggered that. Before she had much time to further ponder the strange action that seemed to be confusing the ghost as much as it was her. It tilted its head. Then there was a rush of green. Ecto green shapes bursting up from the floor. A swirl of limbs. Danny’s ghost carried off with them. Jazz scrambled back, knocking over the armchair.

Maddie leapt to her feet grabbing her ecto gun. One she wished she had reached for the moment the, for lack of a better word, hiccuping had started. Jack was not far behind her. Flashes of teeth and claws slashed at the ghost’s hazmat body, splattering green as they pulled it up through the ceiling followed by a couple of just too late shots from her blaster.

She rushed for the stairs, Jack behind her and Jazz clinging to him to avoid getting carried off as well. She hated that she was hoping that they were intentionally just targeting Danny’s ghost. At least the ghost would fare better than Jazz.

There was a crashing sound from their bedroom and she burst through the door. The ghost of a ragged looking wolf had been somehow thrown from the mass of ghosts attacking and into their mirrored closet door. It shook off and bounded back to the mass, she took it out with a strong blast that appeared to knock it out. She didn’t trust it but there wasn’t time for much more. The ghosts had to be dealt with before they ended up putting the ghost proofing of the roof to the test.

Jack had found the bazooka, she noted as he barreled into the room behind her as she shot into the mass trying to break up the ghosts. She didn’t get the chance to warn him to watch his aim. The blast fired, a large mass of charged ecto green. It slammed into the ghosts, repelling them till they impacted the walls. Danny’s ghost was not an exception and was the exception she had wanted to warn Jack to watch out for. She winced as it was thrown against the wall. A nasty thud and the sound of something impacting the glass of its visor.

No ghosts moved.

Maddie held her pistol ready, eyeing the other ghosts as she approached Danny’s. Jack rushed past her.

“Danno! Sorry… sorry! Arg… idiot,” he called himself.

The lights flickered overhead and the alarm clock whined. The ghost looked up, its eyes wide but dazed, green spots failing to actually meet his. A green splatter marked the inside of the visor glass where its forehead would have been. The suit scattered with scratches and cuts. There were clear bites glowing green as they leaked ecto.

She crouched down, “just a bump, the others took most of the blast. It will probably be fine Jack.”

“But… I shouldn’t have even… I just didn’t think about it affecting him.”

The ghost pushed itself up and slumped against Jack. Another whine.

“What a strange ghost,” Maddie commented, her grip tightened on her weapon for a moment, “it clearly doesn’t blame you.”

Jack gave a sad smile, “he still got hurt.”

“Pass it here, I’ll take it to the lab and do what I can to patch it up, while you check on Jazz,” she offered.

She was the one more experienced in first aid though how much use that would be to a ghost was another matter. Then there was the matter of Jazz, dealing with the defeated ghosts and making sure there wouldn’t be anymore.

Jack let her take the ghost from him, “any ideas what to do with the ghosts? The other ones?” she asked, they didn’t really have any tried and tested containment.

“There’s still some leftover anti-ecto insulation. I’ll grab it!”

She scooped up the ghost, finding it not quite what she had expected. She hadn’t really touched it before. It was cold yes and sent shivers down her spine from the cold but she hadn’t expected the feel of the hazmat to be so realistic. She avoided the burnt arm, not wanting to feel the cracked, charred skin.

Jazz lingered in the corridor, “is he going to be alright?... I mean… you know…” she asked looking worriedly up at the ghost in her arms.

“It will be fine, just going to get it patched up,” she comforted again. Probably best not to let Jazz know that Jack accidentally shot him. Jack didn’t need the worried big sister attitude right now. He already felt bad enough.

As they approached the lab stairs the lights above sparked and there was an electrical whine. The ghost started to squirm and phase awkwardly through her. It really was like it was concussed in the fact that it failed. Was there some sort of cognitive center like a brain that had hit some sort of outer shell during the impact.

She cringed as she found herself hushing the ghost like it was Danny. It was but it also wasn’t. Though would it really hurt that much to treat it like it right now. It was clear there was no malicious intent and it did seem to feel something.

She comforted it on the way down into the lab, mentally throwing out the ‘ghosts don’t have feelings research’ that she should have dealt with days ago. It became more and more aware as she did. More on edge. It’s grip tight but not struggling. Lights flickered and whined. The only light that didn’t change was the dreaded portal that green eyes latched onto. It… he stared at it as she set him down on a workbench as far from the portal as she could get.

Danny’s ghost sat on the bench, his legs swinging back and forth. They twisted between legs and half formed tail. Eyes darting around the room as the dazed state lowered. Still its eyes would always drift back to the portal. She would say the adrenaline of being taken back to a traumatic place had shook off the majority of the dazed state but ghosts didn’t have adrenaline.

Maddie paused as she hunted for the first aid kit, would it even be any use. She shook her head and pulled it out anyway before returning to Danny’s ghost.

She gently brushed the antiseptic over the fresh cuts in his exposed arm, it was hard to differentiate with the already mangled and burnt state of his arm. It also probably didn’t matter, he was a ghost and their previous studies indicated that any flesh was just a mimic of it. That as far as ghosts went even Danny’s hazmat was a mimic. That hazmat might well be his body now. Ectoplasm leaked from scratches in it just like it had from his exposed arm. As if it was his skin.

She eyed the extra glow beyond his visor, a splatter of ecto green. She hadn’t expected a ghost to be able to bruise. Not that ghosts had been anything like she had expected. Cuts in the skin made sense but the equivalent of a bruise didn’t. His body shouldn’t have had any real structure under the skin layer that was the Hazmat. Aside from maybe something like a brain. Bruises required sub-surface vessels. Vessels he shouldn’t have. There was little she could do about the bruise. It was probably as superficial as the cuts had been once she had gotten a closer look. The glass itself was intact aside from the crack he had gotten when he’d… died.

Even as she checked him over one more time she could see the plastic start to knit itself back together on the slightest of cuts. The exposed arm was slower but still healing. Ghosts were far more elastic than humans. It was fortunate it was him who was carried off and not Jazz. He’d be healed up before long.

The clasps on his collar caught her eye, shiny and silver against the burnt black. He still had the clasps. It was a perfect mimic of the hazmat that he had been wearing. Would it move like it? Could the clasps come undone? What would that mean for the helmet? Could it come off? She reached for them and there was an audible click as she flicked it open. Danny’s head tilted wondering what she was doing. What did it mean that it opened? She clicked open each one. It hadn’t fallen right off. She wondered if despite the clasps it would be sealed to the neck. Just a surface imitation or maybe…

Maddie’s hands shook as she settled them either side of the hazmat helmet. If this worked would there be something to see? She almost wanted to see nothing. Nothing rather than the burnt and broken dead face. Blackened and charred down to the bone. There was another part that wanted so much to see his face, his face the way it should have been.

She cringed as Danny’s rough burnt hand touched hers. His hands joined hers and then they were lifting together. There was a light hiss, almost like it had been under a vacuum even though with the burnt away arm that was impossible. At the flash of singed skin of his neck she froze. Her mind realled, at war with herself. A deep breath was taken and she steeled herself. She had to know.

She lifted the helmet the rest of the way. Translucent almost pearl-like white hair fell round his face. A face that was marked with a sharp series of lichtenberg scarring that arched up his neck and across his cheek. It lanced across his eye where the crack in his visor had been. The skin around the scar was burnt but it faded out into smooth skin. Unnaturally so. His freckles were so familiar but even they glowed like little specks of starlight. Bright green eyes blinked at her, squinting in the bright lights of the examination table. His hands lowered from hers to shield them.

That was him, more him than she’d ever thought the ghost would or could look. There wasn’t supposed to be an underneath. The imprint should have been surface level only. Seeing his face hurt. Maddie choked back a sob that caught his attention. The helmet dropped to the floor, Danny caused the lights to crackle and flicker out leaving his glow the only source. He shuffled back, back and off the table into the air. Hands now covering his face in a way that was no longer about the light.

The black of the collar oozed and warped. It twisted up and wrapped around his head once again hiding his face behind the visor. The lights made an almost tentative popping noise as they flickered back on and Danny lowered his hands hesitantly as he hovered closer.

He thought he had upset her, did he think she didn’t want to see. She didn’t but at the same time she did. She hated seeing his face like that, dead but that face, there was something comforting about it too. That despite the expected. Despite the theory. Despite everything that should say otherwize there was enough of him there to create a face when it should have just been the hazmat and nothing else. A face she was worried he might not remember enough to recreate.

She grabbed him and pulled him close into a hug. “Its okay, I’m okay… just a little surprised. All fixed up right? We should head back up.”

Danny nodded and seemed to brighten, the edges of his eyes crinkling. Maddie let him go and led him back up to the kitchen.

“Mads, how’s he?” Jack asked, her blaster and the bazooka on the table in front of him.

Jack unscrewed the bazooka’s casing and removed the barely spent battery. That was a bad sign.

She paused, “just a few scratches. He’s healing fast so none of it was as bad as it looked by the time we got down there.”

She dropped into a seat, “the ghosts?”

Jack shook his head, “gone, fled before I’d gotten the insulation. Guess that means we need to figure out something that actually works.”

She sighed, she had guessed that was the case. Jack being this prepared to change batteries after only one shot meant he expected to need it again. Her own pistol was probably already changed. As he spoke the battery was waved along with his arms.

Danny watched him like a cat. Perched on the back of a chair that he had floated to. Then at the widest wave of Jack going on about how they might contain the ghosts next time he lunged. Snapped at the waving vial, his visor opening up like a mouth. Pointed broken glass like teeth in the black empty void. Said teeth clamped round the battery as Jack froze. Pulling it from his hand before retreating to the floor. Maddie stared, she couldn’t help but think about how that void should have shown his face.

Maddie pulled herself quickly out of her shock. Scratches were one thing but the ecto battery exploding in his face was going to be more damaging if he broke it open wrong. She wrestled the battery away from him to a crackling whine of the electronics in the room.

“Danny! Don’t eat that!” she tried to get him to let go of the battery.

The fridge growled for him, as he chewed on the battery.

“Its not safe Danno,” Jack approached, hands raised placatingly.

Another whine but they were able to pull the battery from his… mouth?

Maddie sighed, “I think we might have some less volatile samples in the lab,” she slipped downstairs to lock up the pistol batteries and returned with a sample flask.

Danny guzzled it down, still without a face.

“So ghosts eat then?” Jack laughed a little watching Danny

Maddie groaned. “You saw that too right? He didn’t have a face…”

Loook at this creature! The art is so cool! As I am writing this I am realizing that I now have three fics with Danny having some sort of broken glass/porcelain imagery. I swear I don't have a problem, I can stop reusing the imagery whenever I want... I just don't want to.

For this fic it was basically a case of I wanted to have ghost hunger but not loose the hazmat aspects for other future parts of the fic and then this idea happened.

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[raindrop-21]

Scarred Love - Chapter Eight: Do You Wanna Know?

a/n: Took a long bit of writer's block, but I got it done!

Word count: 1,359

Cw: Ghoap x f!reader, soulmates, Simon's family, small mention of murder, a bit of angst with comfort(Tell me if I missed any)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8 ~ Masterlist

You laugh at Simon’s chiding. Your friends might be a bit over-the-top sometimes, but you still love them and their protectiveness of you.

“So, uh, when will I be meeting your guys’ parents?” You say as a way to try and bring the conversation back to what it was originally, “We’re already here in England, so why wait?”

“Well… You were given two papers right?” Johnny Questions.

“Yeap, one for England and one for Scotland. Figured I'd at least meet whoever's parents that are in England while I'm here.”

Simon looks away for a second, “... My Ma's no longer with us…” You see the sadness in his eyes and the sympathy given from Johnny.

“Could I still visit her? Let her know her boy's in a second set of good hands?”

“That's a good idea, Luv.”

Some of Simon's sadness disappeared and is replaced by something softer, something sweeter.

~The next day~

You've been riding in Simon's car for two hours now. It's an older car, one with a full row of seating in the front seat. You're seated in between Simon and Johnny. You half expected both men to place a hand on your thigh during the ride, but to your surprise they've both been really respectful to you, unlike men in the past. The radio is softly playing and you think you hear Take On Me by a-ha playing and Johnny humming to it.

Johnny taps you on the knee to get your attention.

“Lass, we’ve got about another two hours before we get to the ferry, if ye want ye can take a wee nap.”

“Got it.”

You nod and lean in closer to him, your side closer pressed into his. Johnny’s quiet humming is quite relaxing, the reverberations of his voice against your side makes you somewhat sleepy. You don’t think you’ve fallen asleep, but you’re awoken by a gentle hand on your shoulder lightly shaking you awake.

“C’mon Luv, wake up, we’re here.”

Simon’s voice, gruff, opposite of his touch, wakes you up.

“Hm?” You hum as you rub your eyes.

Once you’re fully awake, you grab the flowers you wanted to bring and your other items that you need. Johnny offers to hold the flowers for you, but you decline. You hold the flowers in one hand, and the other hand, well more like your pinky on that hand, is being held by Simon. You can tell it means a lot to him.

You go on a nice hike up the mountain, to a beautiful clearing, bare except for a singular tree in the middle and some flowers in the grass. Under the tree are four gravestones, the tallest one says “Liliana Riley, Loving wife and mother.”, the next on says “Tomas “Tommy” Riley, loving son, husband, father and brother.”, the one next to it says “Beth Riley, loving wife and mother.”, the last one has small picture of toddler on it and says “Joseph Riley, loving son and grandson.”.

“S'my mom, brother, sister-in-law, and nephew.”

Your heart breaks for Simon. His whole family is here, but gone. You hug Simon, the raw emotion flooding off the two of you. Simon wraps both his arms around you, its gentle yet strong; like he doesn't want to hurt you, but thinks you're going to get taken away from him. 

It feels like forever goes by before the hug ends. When it does the two of you walk over to where Johnny has already set down the blanket you guys brought in front of the tree and graves. You divide the flowers and set some on each of the graves. Johnny places a little toy car on Joseph's grave, there's already around three there, it must be a tradition. You look at the dates on the gravestones, all on the same day.

The realization that they were most likely murdered saddens you even more. Tears prick at your waterline, threatening to spill over, to betray the calm facade you wanted to portray today. Your hands instinctively search for Johnny and Simon's, you grasp their hands in yours, not wanting to let go. 

“S'okay Bonnie,” Johnny coos at you, “I wasn't much calmer.”

You lean into Simon and the hand that was holding yours wraps around your shoulders and pulls you closer to him. You want to ask what exactly happened to all of them, but you don’t. You leave it to him to tell you. The three of you spend a while just enjoying the slight breeze and quietness of the mountain top. 

“I bet yer Ma’s happy tha ye brought us both, Si.” Simon nods in response to Johnny's comment.

~Simon’s POV~

I’m nervous. So, so nervous. Not even Johnny was this quick to ask to see my family, but then again he knew me before we knew we were soulmates. It took a while before I offered for him to ‘meet’ them. But now I’m driving to the ferry to let her meet them. It’s nerve-wracking, it truly is. What will she think when she sees the graves? Sees the date on the graves? Will she ask why my father isn’t there too?

I’m barely pulled from my thoughts when Johnny tells her to take a nap for the rest of the drive. I get fully pulled from them when I hear Johnny call for me.

“Si. Simon? Hon? Luv? Honey-boo-boo-bear?”

“Don’t call me that.” I say in annoyance, hating the overly sickly sweet way he said it just to annoy me.

“Whatcha thinking abou’?”

“I know he’s worried, I’ve been silent, more silent than usual, “Nothin’ hun.”

He clicks his tongue, “It’s not nothin’. Yer bein’ deadly silent over there. The only time you’re like that is if yer lost in yer own thoughts. So, what’s weighin’ on ye Si?”

I sigh knowing I can’t win when he’s onto me, “I’m just worried s’all.” I say as I reach for my pack of cigarettes.

Johnny’s hand stops me.

“Two things; We dinnae ken if she’s okay wit cigarettes, and just tell me, dinnae keep it do yourself.”

I groan and stop my movements of reaching for the cigarettes.

“Just what I thought when I brought you ta meet them, ya know? The date on the graves, the graves themselves, the absence of my father’s grave.”

“Oh Si.” He says as he reaches over and grabs my hand before placing a soft kiss on it, “If she asks, ye can answer or say yer not ready to, I’m sure she’d understand.”

She probably would. I think she would. I hope she does. Johnny’s made me at least somewhat calm.

~A bit later~

She’s still asleep… I should wake her up. I decide to wake her up by gently placing my hand on her shoulder and lightly shaking her awake.

“C’mon Luv, wake up, we’re here.”

My voice, a bit gruff, opposite of my touch, wakes her up.

“Hm?” She hums as she rubs her eyes.

She grabs the flowers she brought for them and we head to the ferry. The whole time I want to hold her hand, but we haven’t discussed boundaries yet, maybe just holding part of her hand will be okay. I link my pinkie in hers. I can feel her jolt in surprise, did I make a mistake? Then I feel her relax and curl her pinkie around mine… thank god. 

Once we get there she looks over the scenery… And the gravestones. After a minute or two, she turns around and faces me, there are… Tears in her eyes? What surprises me more than the tears is when she hugs me; it’s tight, and warm… And needed. So, so needed. I hug her back, just as tightly, but a bit gentler so as not to accidentally hurt her; one arm around her waist, and the other holding her head. I look at Johnny and he gives me a sweet smile and a thumbs up as he sets down the blanket, once the two of us are done hugging, we sit on the blanket and I explain a small bit to her, all the while she hasn’t let go of my hand.

Maybe everything will be alright.

Taglist:

@under-the-dirt @littlebluespoon @actuallyhiswife @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @cdej6 @whynotbad @kaoyamamegami @oooof-ifellforyou @aldis-nuts @fanngirl19 @zealouspursecowboydeputy @inarabee

[abitohoney]

Insatiable

CH2 - Once Bitten AO3 link

CH1 || CH2 || CH3 || CH4 || CH5 || CH6 || CH7

Vampire Sevika x female reader

Rating: Explicit, MDNI, NSFW

Story Tags: Vampire Sevika, Soft Sevika, liaison reader, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Grinding, Sexual Tension, Biting, Drinking, Smut, Clothed Sex, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Assault, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Minor Character Death, Vampire Silco, vampire Ran, definitely took some creative liberties on vampire lore here, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation Kink, Strap-Ons, Overstimulation

Word Count: 3.5k

Story Summary: As the new liaison between Piltover and the Undercity, you've been guided by the enigmatic escort Ran to meet with their boss- and fearsome criminal kingpin- Silco, as well as his alluring right-hand woman Sevika. You're well aware that plenty of shady things take place in the depths below, but there's something particularly mysterious about these three that you can't quite put your finger on.

AN: This is already in process over on AO3.

To your surprise, Silco had sent for you to come again the following week. You assumed that Sevika had lied to him about your last visit, covering up your sudden disappearance. But would she be there this time?

The lift ride and subsequent walk to the Last Drop was unnerving. You wanted desperately to ask Ran if Sevika would be there, but feared it would sound suspicious, especially when Ran knew you’d hightailed it out of there so quickly last time. So instead, you worried at the inside of your cheek, damn near chewing it raw.

When Ran swung the door open to Silco’s office you were greeted with an empty room. No Silco. No Sevika.

“Sit,” Ran instructed, nodding to the settee.

Flashbacks of the last time you’d been on that seat played behind your mind’s eyes. The way Sevika looked at you with such lust. The way her hand and mouth had moved across your skin in an almost possessive nature. The deep, hungry groans and growls that rumbled from her chest.

“Will Sevika be joining?” you asked without thinking as you took a seat. You realized your mistake too late, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I- I mean will Silco be here soon?” you quickly attempted to cover your slip.

Unfortunately for you, it didn’t go unnoticed. Ran lifted a brow, their black lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Both will be here tonight,” they replied before heading to a small bar cart on the opposite side of the room. “Drink?”

“Oh. Sure. Whatever you suggest.” You could certainly use a drink with how fried your nerves were.

Hands fidgeting where they rested in your lap, you tried to distract yourself, observing the room's contents. You’d been in there over half a dozen times at least, but never really had time to take in your surroundings. You were usually too caught up in the mysterious and powerful aura both Sevika and Silco seemed to exude. Or more recently, just simply enthralled by Sevika in all aspects, many of which were unprofessional in nature.

On a small table just to the left of the settee sat a lovely gramophone. It looked surprisingly clean, as if it had been recently used. The thought of Silco or Sevika enjoying music brought a smile to your face. You honestly couldn’t imagine what either of them would fancy.

Silco’s large wooden desk was surprisingly ornate given the conditions of the Undercity. His tall, leatherback chair was just as regal. On one corner of his desk sat a pile of books, which from your position you couldn’t quite make out the titles. The opposite corner housed a lovely antique lamp and an ashtray covered in child-like neon-colored drawings, which you assumed his adoptive daughter had drawn. You’d yet to meet the young girl, but Sevika had mentioned her several times. Clearly those two did not favor each other.

Your observations were cut short when Ran showed up before you, metal hand extended to hand you a drink.

You took it with a quiet, “Thank you.”

Ran simply grinned in return, then headed for the door.

Were they really going to leave you in Silco’s office alone?

As if hearing your question, Ran turned to you before stepping out. “Sevika will be here soon.” They shot you one more impish grin before disappearing behind the door.

Something about the way they spoke- the way they looked at you- made you think they knew more than they should.

With a long sigh, you turned your attention to your drink. It was a dark amber color. You brought the glass to your nose and inhaled. Whiskey of some sort. A sip confirmed it, and burned your throat. Several coughs broke free despite your effort to hold them back, and as luck would have it, Sevika chose that moment to step in.

A single dark brow arched at your sputtering and watering eyes.

“Sorry,” you managed to get out between coughs, “Just not used to anything this strong.”

Sevika strode over to the settee without a reply.

After wiping away a few errant tears from your eyes, you realized Sevika was carrying her own drink.

Maybe she's nervous too?

She took a seat in her usual spot on the center of the settee, thighs spread wide.

The seat cushions sank beneath her weight, causing you to nearly tip into her. Righting yourself, you peered up at her. Gray eyes were on you, but her expression was stoic, unreadable.

Say something.

You took another, more careful, sip of your drink to calm your nerves and distract yourself.

Sevika moved her human arm to rest along the back of the seat, her hand once again just behind your head.

It made the little hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Your skin felt electric, as if any touch from her would send sparks flying. You swallowed hard, eyes darting to her lips as she brought her drink to them. The liquid in her glass was red. Bright red. Almost like wine, but not quite. Unable to look away, you watched with blatant interest as she pressed the clear glass to those delightfully soft lips. Lips you could remember pressed to your own. Lips that had hungrily moved along your skin. Lips that you were dying to feel again.

She downed the remainder of her drink in one go. Something akin to a groan pulled from her throat as she set the glass on the coffee table in front of the settee.

You could have sworn for a moment her pupils had grown wider, but as soon as you blinked, they were normal again. With your attention fixated on her lips again, you watched a small trickle of red liquid slip from the corner of her mouth.

Without thinking, you reached out and swiped your thumb across the stray liquid, smearing it across her lips before it could slide down her chin. You licked your own lips, mimicking what you expected her to do.

Sevika froze, wide gray eyes meeting yours.

Oh no.

Your eyes went equally wide.

What did you just do?

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted, quickly pulling your hand away. “That was inappropriate.” And then the dam broke and everything came flooding out. “I’m sorry about our last meeting too. I- I should not have let anything like that happen. I shouldn’t have come onto you like that. I stepped out of line, acted unprofessionally, and-”

“Hey!”

The sudden, gruff interruption had you closing your mouth immediately. You met her eyes again, fearful you had further upset her. But you were surprised to see an expression you had never expected to see on Sevika. She was frowning, red-stained lips downturned and gray eyes glistening.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, much quieter now that she had your attention. She turned away, staring off to the other side of the room. “I can’t explain why I reacted the way I did, but it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Her eyes met yours again. “I wanted to keep going.”

“Really?” you asked breathlessly.

“Yes.”

She wanted to keep going?

Well, so did you.

"Silco's not going to be here for a while, is he?" You asked with a small playful smile. You knew damn well by that point these early arrivals were for her personal benefit.

"No."

You took one last gulp of your liquid courage before setting it on the coffee table. “Well, we can pick up where we left off,” You said softly and placed a hand on her thigh. “If you want to.”

Sevika’s throat bobbed, then her gaze dropped to where your fingers splayed along her leg.

You could practically see the gears turning in her head, and Janna you couldn’t take the silence. Couldn’t take not knowing if she would reject or accept your advances. Maybe whatever had bothered her last time still lingered. You didn’t want to push her.

Before you could withdraw your hand, she finally met your eyes and answered with a husky, “I want to.”

Your heart leapt to your throat. Without hesitation, as if pulled to her body by some invisible force, you moved to straddle one of her thighs. You wrapped your arms around her neck and brought your mouth to hers before she could react. You traced the length of her lips, expecting something sweet, something fruity, like wine. Instead you were met with something entirely different. Almost coppery in flavor.

But before you could dwell on that any longer, you felt her hands grasp your waist and drag you further up her thigh. The friction against your clothed heat left you moaning against her mouth.

She took the opportunity of your parted lips to dip her tongue inside, swiping over yours hungrily. She lifted you up off her thigh, just enough to scoot you further back before setting you down and dragging you towards her again.

You broke the kiss to gasp, pleasure radiating from between your legs. When you felt her lift to repeat the motion, you rocked against her, further increasing that delightful friction.

She let you take the lead and set the pace, her hands helping guide your grinding. Pupils wide, she watched with fascination as your face contorted in pleasure. Greedy eyes fell to your parted lips just before she leaned forward to capture your bottom lip between her teeth and pull.

Her bite was oddly sharp, drawing a startled yelp from you. Though it quickly dissolved into a soft moan as her teeth relinquished their hold so she could suck the stinging flesh into her mouth.

Your hips stuttered, breaking the rhythm as the tension inside you quickly built.

She finally released your lip, allowing you to roll your head back as another moan spilled out. She took the opportunity to kiss down the stretched length of your neck, nipping and licking along the way. With her nose buried in the crook of your neck, she inhaled deeply, groaning as your scent filled her head.

“You- You like- my perfume?” you managed to moan out between the rocking of your hips.

She took another deep breath. “Mhmm.”

“I- wore it- just for you.”

You could feel her lips curl against your neck. “Trying to court me?” she murmured.

A breathy laugh slipped past your parted lips. “I- think- we’re long past- that point.”

Running her nose up along the column of your throat, she groaned huskily, “You smell so fucking sweet.” Then her voice lowered, so deep and quiet you almost couldn’t hear over the blood buzzing in your ears, “Bet you taste even sweeter.”

“Sevika,” you moaned, hips stuttering again as a warm wave of pleasure coursed through your body.

Janna, her deep, sensual voice was heaven sent.

Next thing you knew, she had you flipped onto your back, head atop one of the pillows. You blinked up at her, startled by the sudden move, but the moment she worked her knee between your legs, you were right back where you’d left off.

You mewled as she started grinding against you in earnest, working herself against your thigh at the same time. Never had you thought fucking with your clothes on could feel so damn good. Your head rolled back against the pillow, leaving you exposed to her, inviting her back.

And she took the invitation.

Her mouth latched onto your neck again, chest rumbling against yours as she growled hungrily. Fingers gripped harshly at your waist, preventing you from meeting her thrusts.

You were getting to that blissful precipice much quicker than you were prepared for, that coil wound tight in your belly and ready to snap at any moment. Desperate to chase that release, you whined at your inability to rock with her.

“Sevika, please,” you whimpered.

Rather than release or loosen her grip, she increased it, nails biting at your skin through your clothing. In the back of your mind you prayed she wouldn’t stop like she had last time she got this worked up.

Then her pace quickened.

Her mouth on your neck was relentless. Sucking, licking, and dragging teeth. Her breath was wild, ragged, and desperate. Her groans rumbled deep from her chest with each thrust of her hips.

The air in the room suddenly became suffocatingly dry, hot and thick. Her scent- the smell of cigarillos, smoke, and the musk of her arousal- flooded your head.

You reached your hands out blindly to bury them in her hair as you helplessly attempted to meet her thrusts.

Your head began to spin. You felt dizzy- overwhelmed by her presence. Her hands on your hips. Her mouth on your neck. Her grunts and groans. Her intoxicating smell. Her power over you.

You wanted to give yourself to her.

You would give yourself to her.

“Please Sevika,” you mewled.

Sharp teeth dragged up the side of your neck.

The coil in your belly threatened to snap. “I’m so close!”

Her human hand shot up to cover your mouth, muffling your cries of ecstasy when you finally fell off that cliff.

Bright white light flashed behind your closed eyes as pleasure crashed over your body like waves. Every muscle in your body spasmed, her name a faint moan against her hand.

But just when you thought those waves were turning into the rippling aftershocks, an unexpected sharp pain radiated from two tiny points along the side of your neck.

A cry ripped from your throat, muted by the press of Sevika’s hand over your mouth. Your eyes flew open to stare wildly at the rafters above. Your body shook helplessly beneath the weight of her body. Bright red took over your vision, like blood slowly dripping down the scene before you.

Heat seared through your veins like fire, but pleasure continued to pulse from your core. Blood roared in your ears, drowning out the ravenous groans of Sevika as she remained latched onto your neck and grinding against your thigh.

Your vision grew darker and darker. The roaring in your ears louder and louder. The pain mixed pleasure stronger and stronger until–

Darkness.

Silence,

Numbness.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, consciousness creeping back. When your vision finally came into focus you didn’t find yourself staring up at your bedroom ceiling as you expected. Instead you were left with the familiar image of large rafters running along a tall ceiling. Bright neon doodles decorating the beams.

Silco’s office.

You jolted upright, head spinning at the sudden shift.

What the hell happened?

As you peered forward in a daze, you were met with mismatched eyes. Surprisingly bored mismatched eyes.

“I see you’ve finally decided to join the waking,” Silco drawled from his seat behind his desk.

Blinking several more times, you tried to recall what had happened. How you had ended up passed out on Silco’s settee. “I- I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I’m- not sure what happened.”

Silco set down the paperwork he’d been holding to fully regard you. “It would appear to me that you fell asleep on my settee.”

You were no stranger to Silco’s snark and wit, but that was not the time or place you wished to be on the receiving end of it.

Sevika.

You were with Sevika.

“Where’s Sev-” before you could finish your question, a jolt of pain sprang from a point in your neck as your head swiveled to search for her. You gasped, handing shooting up to touch the side of your neck. The moment your fingers made contact, you were rattled again, but this time by a wave of pleasurable heat. A short, blurred vision appeared behind your eyes.

A woman’s face. Sevika’s face. Pupils wide and hungry.

A quiet, unexpected moan pulled from your throat.

Whatever it was, quickly faded, replacing your pain and pleasure with the horrifying realization that you had just moaned in front of Silco. Your cheeks burned red hot.

Could this night… day?... get any worse?

“I’m so sorry!” you blurted out as you sprang to your feet.

You gave Silco no time to respond, immediately booking it for the door, by which Ran stood wearing that damned knowing smirk. They opened the door for you- bless them- allowing you to bolt out without any hesitation.

“Hold up speedy,” Ran called after you.

“I don’t need to be escorted. Thank you!” you called back without looking, running down the stairway as quickly as you could. You made it no further than the last step when you felt metal fingers wrap around your wrist. You spun around to face Ran, your eyes wide.

“Can’t do that. Boss’s orders,” Ran explained with a raise of their brow, challenging you to argue.

Heart hammering in your chest, your eyes flitted to the large group of Silco’s lackeys now watching your little scene from their seats around the bar. You swallowed, then turned back to Ran’s expectant face.

Janna, you wanted nothing more than to get away from Ran. They had to have heard your inappropriate little outburst as well. How would you even explain that?

‘Sorry, I was just remembering doing terribly unprofessional, dirty things with your co-worker when I was supposed to be helping your city.’

“O-okay,” you finally gave in. You couldn’t make even more of a scene by trying to refuse their service. Especially not with the hoard of Silco’s men and women watching. Any of which could very easily force you into submission.

“Good girl,” Ran purred with a playful grin.

What?

Before you could fully process that response, you found yourself being gently guided through the exit, Ran’s metal hand resting at the small of your back.

- - - - - - - - - -

The entire way back home, you wracked your brain for what had happened. Not much time had seemed to pass since your last recollection. It was still the dead of night, the moon in the Piltover sky above not that far from where it had been when you left earlier that night. You guessed not more than a few hours could have passed.

Yet, you couldn’t seem to recall what all had happened. When you had fallen asleep. Why you had fallen asleep.

You remembered sitting on the settee with Sevika. Just the two of you. Both drinking.

The drink.

Had that been why you’d passed out? It was a particularly strong drink compared to what you were accustomed to. But could that really have knocked you out that quick and that hard?

Bits and pieces of your time with Sevika started to emerge, but not enough to make sense of the events in whole. She had admitted she wanted to continue where you two had left off at the prior meeting, to which you made advances. There were moments of her mouth on yours. On your neck. Her hands gripping at your hips. Your bodies grinding together. Pleasure. So much pleasure.

But then it all blurred too much.

Mind back to the present, you made your way to your bathroom. Perhaps a nice, hot shower could do you some good. Calm your nerves and clear your mind.

After turning the water as hot as you could handle, you stripped down, tossing your clothes into a nearby hamper.

Steam quickly filled the small room as you closed your eyes and scrubbed your body. Your thoughts however, couldn’t seem to stray from earlier that night.

Did you end up meeting with Silco? Or did you pass out with Sevika and she just left you there, not wanting to disturb you?

Once you finished rinsing off, you grabbed a towel and worked it over your body as you made your way to your sink. With one hand, you swiped across the foggy mirror above, revealing your very tired looking face staring right back at you.

And that’s when you saw it.

Two small marks along the side of your neck. The same place you’d touched earlier in Silco’s office. You wiped the mirror again, then craned your neck to inspect it closer. They appeared to just be tiny, circular puncture wounds, but they were mostly healed. Didn’t appear fresh.

Odd.

Hesitantly, you brought your fingers to the marks, remembering what had happened when you touched them the first time. Just a brush against the marks and your legs nearly gave way. Pleasure hit you like a shockwave and another memory replayed in your head.

Red. Dark red. You were gazing up at the rafters in Silco’s office. But everything was in shades of red. And there was a deep, rumbling groan against your neck.

Sevika.

You shook your head, knocking yourself out of the stupor. Your gaze fell to where your hands gripped the sides of the sink so hard your knuckles threatened to turn white.

What did these memories mean? Why the red? Why did Sevika sound so… feral?

Realizing you weren’t going to find the answers on your own, you decided you would pay a visit to Sevika the following day. She’d certainly be able to clear everything up.

CH3>>

[kmomof4]

A Scoundrel... Or a Gentleman? Ch. 9

We made it, y'all!!!! These two idiots finally get their happy ending and I sooooo hope you enjoy and think the payoff is worth all the angst they've gone through to get here!! Thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me. There's really no words in the English language to express how much I appreciate it!!!

Thank you again to @jrob64 not only for her beta services, love, and encouragement, but also for talking me into writing the very last little bit of this fic and getting back on the doc this evening to look over some pretty extensive edits I decided to do at the 11th hour and 59th min!! Thank you so much again, babe!!! Also thank you to @snowbellewells and @motherkatereloyshipper for the artwork they both made to accompany the fic! I love the pieces and Y'ALL SOOOO MUCH!!!

There is one more full smut scene in this chapter. If you wish to avoid it, stop reading at the double scene change line and resume at the next double scene change line.

~*~*~

~*~*~

Words: 7500 of almost 60k

Rating: M (Smut)

Tags: Regency Romance, Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton's Story, Smut

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615 @donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings @booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @pirateprincessofpizza @djlbg @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite @jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90 @suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Six years. 

Six years!

Six years he’d kept his feelings hidden from her. For six years his overarching purpose, coloring everything he did, was to keep her from finding out. To keep her ignorant of the depth of feeling inside him - the love, the total and complete devotion, the guilty turmoil, the utter despairing agony of knowing she’d never be his.

All gone in a matter of moments. He’d always prided himself on his iron control - keeping his passion for her deeply buried, never to see the light of day. But in a moment of weakness, he’d pulled his own heart out of his body and presented it to her on a silver platter. 

Hers to make bleed. 

Hers to shatter. 

Hers to destroy. 

And she had done it.

~*~*~

He had no knowledge of how much time passed. It might have been minutes, it might have been hours. He sat in the chair across from her bed, staring out into the night, his fingernails carving half moons in his palms.

He was suddenly aware of her standing shivering in the doorway. She was mostly dry now, but it was obvious she’d been caught in a storm. He wasn’t even aware it had rained. Her hair was still plastered to her face and hung disheveled down her back, splatters of mud on her dress. He lifted a single eyebrow in silent enquiry.

“I’ll marry you, Killian,” she said, her voice so soft he wasn’t sure he heard her correctly. 

“What?” he asked.

She took a deep, trembling breath. “I’ll marry you, Killian,” she said, stronger that time. “If you’ll have me.”

He was frozen in his chair. He couldn’t move if he wanted to, his heart too weary - and wary - to do anything.

“Why?”

She looked shocked for a moment. Perhaps she imagined that he’d come to her, full of joy and purpose, take her in his arms, and accept her agreement in the most ancient and primitive way possible. But he couldn’t. Not yet. She had to be sure. He had to be sure she was sure.

“I don’t know.”

“Really,” he sighed, running his hand through his hair.

A small gasp escaped her lips. “I don’t know,” she said, a bit more urgently. “Please don’t make me figure it out.” He could see her swallow from where he sat. “Not yet,” she whispered.

He rose and took one step toward her. “You can’t take it back.”

She shook her head.

“There will be no backing out. No cold feet. No changed mind,” he continued. 

“No,” she agreed. “I promise.”

Only then did he believe her. Emma never went against her given word. He was across the room in a moment, cupping her face tenderly in his hands, raining kisses across her brow, her cheeks, down her jaw, her neck. 

She raised her chin, granting him more access, her arms winding around him, pulling him forward..

“This is it. Do you understand?” he murmured into the skin of her neck before his lips latched onto her pulse point and he sucked heat to the surface. She nodded jerkily, her moan of pleasure going straight to his rapidly hardening cock.

“Yes,” she gasped, gripping his arms tightly. “Oh, yes, Killian.”

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her to him tightly, so she could feel how ready he was for her. He pulled the neck of her dress until her breasts were exposed to his sight, and then let the dress fall to the floor.

“I’m going to take you to bed and keep you there for however long it takes for you to conceive,” he rasped. 

She was beyond speech, only nodding as he continued his litany.

“Give you everything you desire.”

She nodded again.

“And you’ll enjoy it,” he growled.

“Yes. Oh, yes,” she moaned, as he laved his tongue over her breasts, then down her torso, until he was kneeling at her feet.

“You are mine,” he said, looking up at her, “As I am yours.” Her gaze on him was hazy with passion, but clear in their intent.

“Yes, Killian,” she breathed. “I am yours. And you are mine.”

~*~*~

The most difficult thing about marrying Killian was telling everyone she was marrying Killian. 

Emma sat at the desk in her study staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of her trying to think of the words to put to paper. She couldn’t think of a blasted thing. 

It was too sudden. Too unexpected. If she didn’t fully understand why she was doing it, how was she supposed to explain it to anyone else?

Somehow - amid all the turmoil, avoidance, and actual, physical running from Killian - Emma knew this was right. Declarations of love aside, she wanted to be his wife. She found the acknowledgement settled her nerves and swirling thoughts, and she put pen to paper, the words to her mother finally flowing freely.

She’d just finished the letter when Killian came in, carrying the post.

“From your mother,” he said, handing her a small cream colored envelope.

It was thick. Emma opened it and began to read, her jaw dropping when she got past Ruth’s rather loquacious opening.

“What is it?” Killian asked.

“Oh, my goodness,” Emma breathed, one hand covering her mouth, her eyes round in surprise.

“Is anything amiss?” he asked again. “Emma?”

“Ruby’s gotten married.”

“What?” he asked incredulously. “Your sister?”

Emma nodded, still reading the missive in front of her.

“I wasn’t aware she was being courted.”

“She wasn’t.” She couldn’t disguise the shock she felt as her eyes continued to scan her mother’s words telling the whole story of a year long secret correspondence between her sister and a Lord Humbert of Gloucestershire. And now her sister was married and no one had seen fit to share that information with her until after the fact. “I can’t believe no one told me!”

“Well, Emma,” Killian began, “you have been in Scotland.”

Emma pressed her lips into a thin line and speared Killian with a look. He shrugged.

“It’s like I don’t even exist,” she bemoaned. Killian chuckled, truly amused now. She sent him her most ferocious glare. “Oh, yes!” she said, with great dramatic flair. “Emma! Has anyone told Emma about the happenings here in London? No? Well, perhaps we should!”

“Emma,” he cajoled, “don’t be daft.”

“I’m not being daft. I’m being ignored.”

“I thought you rather liked being so far removed from the rest of your relations.”

“Well, yes,” she said grumpily, “but that’s beside the point.”

“Of course,” he murmured. She glared at him, fully aware he was being sarcastic. “I have to admire any man who gets the deed done with such swiftness.”

“Killian!”

“I did.” The smug grin he sent her was positively lecherous.

She cut her eyes at him, suppressing the twitch at the corner of her lips. “I haven’t married you yet.”

“The deed I was referring to wasn’t marriage.” His fingers found the top of her hand where it rested on the desk and he began to lightly stroke back and forth across the skin.

Emma blushed. “Stop it,” she said, jerking her hand away. “This isn’t the time.”

Killian sighed. “And so it begins.”

“What begins?” she asked, looking at him fully as he moved to the chair across the room.

“We’re not even wed yet, and already we’re an old married couple.”

Emma rolled her eyes and turned back to the letter still in her hand. They did sound like an old married couple, not that she wanted to give him the satisfaction of hearing her agreement from her own lips. It must be because of their long standing relationship. He wasn’t just her fiancé, he was her best friend. And had been for years. 

Who would have thought that she’d marry her best friend?

Surely that was a good omen. She looked back at Killian to see him studying her intently.

“What?” she asked.

“Let’s get married.”

“Aren’t we?” she asked, drawing it out as if he’d taken leave of his senses.

“No,” he said, then shaking his head. “I mean, yes. But no, let’s do it today!” 

“Are you mad?” she asked, incredulously.

“Of course not,” he assured her, excitedly. “Let's do it. Today. We’re in Scotland. We don’t need banns.” He knelt before her, his blue eyes pleading with her to agree. “Let’s do it, Emma. Let’s be mad. Brash. Daring.”

“No one will believe it!”

“No one will believe it anyway.” He had a point there. He rose to his feet and took her by the hand. “Come marry me, Emma.”

“Killian…” She didn’t know why she was dragging her feet, other than for appearances sake. Such haste was rather unseemly after all.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Do you want a big lavish ceremony?”

“No,” she answered, quickly and completely honestly. She’d done that already. It didn’t seem appropriate to do it again for her second wedding.

He leaned in, his warm breath tickling the shell of her ear, making her shiver. “Are you willing to risk an eight month baby?”

“Killian…”

“Come, let’s give our child a respectable nine month gestation,” he cajoled, running his nose up and down the line of her neck.

She could hardly think straight when he did that. “Killian,” she said, pushing him back just enough so she could look in his eyes. “You must be aware that I may not - I probably won’t - conceive. It took two years with Liam.”

“I don’t care.”

“Are you sure?” The look she sent him was extremely dubious. “I think you do. You’ve mentioned it several times.” She was afraid of his response. But she couldn’t proceed, not without a clear conscience in this matter.

“Emma,” he began, looking straight into her eyes. The suave seducer was gone, replaced with a sincerity she’d rarely seen in him. “You want a baby. I love you and want you to marry me. So I want to give you the child you desire,” he assured her. He pressed himself against her, his warmth and strength enveloping her and Emma felt her knees give out. “It doesn’t matter to me if you’re barren. Which I certainly hope is not the case. I would…” He paused, looking down at their clasped hands for a moment, his other hand moving to the flatness of her stomach. “I would love to see you grow round with my child.” He looked into her eyes again and she felt her own eyes fill with tears. “But if fate deals us another hand, all I want, all I need, is you.” He pulled her close against himself again. “Come, Emma. Marry me.”

Emma’s heart melted at his words. She couldn’t refuse him. “Yes, Killlian,” she said, nodding. “Yes, I’ll marry you today.”

The joy that filled his eyes at her words quickly turned to mischief. His hand left her torso and crept under her dress, moving steadily higher, drawing circles on the inside of her thigh.

His fingers found her moist heat and her knees buckled a second time. “Yes, oh, yesssss! Killian!” she exclaimed.

After only a few strokes, he suddenly withdrew his hand from under her skirt - a thoroughly indecent moan escaping her lips - but still held her close. It was a good thing. She’d likely collapse at his feet if he moved away from her. His eyes blazed blue fire, and she held onto him with all the strength she possessed.

He looked down at her, looking every inch the suave, debonair earl - a sly, mischievous, seductive smile on his lips. Meanwhile, she likely resembled a banshee.

“If you’re going to finish, you’ll do it as Countess Kilmartin,” he informed her.

“I am Countess Kilmartin!” she cried, indignant.

“You’ll do it as my Countess Kilmartin,” he corrected himself. He smirked at her, waiting for her response. When she didn’t, he continued. “Shall I get your coat?”

She nodded.

“Will you stay here, or accompany me to the hall?”

“I’ll come with you to the hall,” she ground out. His smirk grew wider.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?” he said as he took her hand and looped it around his arm.

“Just get my coat, damn you,” she murmured under her breath, but he heard her clearly and chuckled, making her irritation with him melt away. He was a rogue and a scoundrel, but he was her rogue and scoundrel and she knew he possessed a heart as true and as honorable as any man she’d ever met. 

She couldn’t wait to be his wife.

~*~*~

Several hours later, Killian stood in front of the door connecting his and Emma’s bedchambers, clad in nothing but a burgundy robe. He couldn’t help but be pleased by the day’s turn of events. Even if he couldn’t quite believe he was here. 

Married to Emma.

She was his wife.

Thank you, Lord Humbert, he thought, for marrying Ruby.

He doubted Emma would have agreed to marry him today if Ruby hadn’t already gotten married off without her knowledge. 

It might have been his goal for weeks, but it wasn’t until he slipped the ancient gold band on Emma’s finger that he had really believed it.

She was his. 

Until death did they part.

“Thank you, Liam,” he murmured. Not for dying. Never for that. But for releasing him of the guilt. He still wasn’t sure what brought it about, but the night after they’d made love in the gardener’s cottage, Killian knew, in his heart of hearts, that Liam would have approved. Liam would have given his blessing and in his more hopeful moods, he rather thought that if Liam had been the one to choose a new husband for Emma, his brother would have chosen him.

Now he was here, facing the door between the earl’s and countess’ bedchambers. And he had every right to be here. 

It was strange. In London, they hadn’t bothered with appearances. They’d both slept in their respective rooms, making sure the door between them stayed firmly locked. But here at Kilmartin, he’d only moved into the earl’s bedchambers today. When Emma had rebuffed his first proposal, he’d made a show of occupying the room furthest from her, no matter that one or the other of them had been sneaking back and forth the entire time. At least they had the appearance of respectability.

But now, that could all be put aside. He reached for the knob but didn’t grasp it just yet. There was something about this moment - on the threshold of his marriage - that demanded reverence. Savoring.

The only thing that might have made it better was if she’d told him she loved him. It was but a small shadow over the joy in his heart. He would never have her say words that weren’t true because she might feel that she somehow owed him. Even if she never loved him the way he loved her, he knew she cared for him far more than most women of the ton did for their husbands. She loved him dearly as a friend, and if something were to happen to him, he knew she would mourn him with her whole heart.

He really couldn’t ask for more.

He might want more, but he already had so much more than he’d ever believed he would have.

Would it feel different now? Would she feel different in his arms as his wife rather than his lover? When he looked upon her face in the morning, would he think she was more breathtakingly beautiful than he had yesterday? When he saw her across a crowded room…

He shook his head. His love for her was making him a sentimental fool. His heart had always skipped a beat when he saw her across a crowded room. Any more than that and the poor organ probably would have crumbled to ash.

He grasped the knob and pushed open the door.

“Emma?”

She stood by the window in a nightgown of forest green silk. The cut was modest, but the material clung to her curves and for a moment, Killian couldn’t breathe.

She turned to him, a soft but somewhat hesitant smile on her face. Not nervous, exactly, but it was clear to him that she was also aware of the difference they now faced.

“We did it,” he said softly, unable to keep the joyful smile off his face.

“I still can’t believe it.”

“Nor can I,” he agreed, reaching her and stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. “But it’s true.”

She grasped his wrist, her eyes fluttering shut. “I…” She shook her head.

“What is it, Emma?”

“It’s… nothing,” she assured him. “Forget it.”

He lifted her chin with his fingers as her eyes opened again until their gazes met. “It’s not nothing, Emma. When it’s you, and when it’s me, it’s never nothing.”

She still grasped his wrist and took a deep breath before speaking. “I… just wanted to say…”

Was it possible? Killian held his breath and waited.

“I’m very glad I married you,” she said, her eyes meeting his again. “It was the right thing to do.”

He exhaled roughly, trying to tamp down his disappointment, hoping she didn’t see it in his eyes. It was more than he ever thought he’d hear from her, but so much less than what he hoped for.

But even still, she was here. In his arms. And that had to count for something.

“I’m glad too,” he whispered before capturing her lips with his own.

It was different. She was his and he was hers. And it was a feeling that spread from his rapidly beating heart to the top of his head and the ends of his fingers and toes. His love for her was all encompassing, consuming him from the inside out. 

“I love you,” he whispered into her throat as he left the sweetness of her lips behind to taste the saltiness of her skin. There was no reason to keep the words to himself now, he realized. She’d already heard them from his lips, and even if she wasn’t inclined to say the same, he couldn’t keep the words inside him any longer.

His hands pushed the gown she wore over her shoulders, until it cascaded in a silken heap to the floor. He followed it until he was on his knees before her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his face buried in the flatness of her belly.

Her hands stroked his shoulders through his dressing gown then wove into the strands of his hair. He pulled back slightly and looked up, meeting her blown pupils, with only a thin ring of green surrounding them, just barely discernible in the low light of the lamps.

“Emma,” he breathed. He had no idea why he had to say her name right now, at this moment. But he did. She was everything. Her name. Her body. Her soul. Nothing was more important. He could stay right here, on his knees before her, until his dying day. And he somehow had to show her that. 

“Emma.”

“Killian,” she said softly. “Make love to me.” 

He rose to his feet, peppering soft and gentle kisses along the way. He lifted her in his arms, a delighted giggle bursting from her, and carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently, the mattress embracing them as they embraced each other.

Emma reached for the sash that held his dressing gown closed, her fingers trembling with need. When the knot wouldn’t cooperate, Killian chuckled and stopped his ministrations to assist her.

She pushed the robe from his body and buried her fingers in the hair of his chest. This wasn’t the first time she’d touched him this way, but it felt different now as his wife. It was no longer forbidden pleasure - stolen moments like a child sneaking a treat - but her right and privilege to physically enjoy her husband.

She sighed in satisfaction, his name a whisper on her breath.

“Killian.”

“Hmmm?” he murmured into her skin, never halting the sweet and tender kisses he was pressing to every inch of skin he could reach. She sank into the mattress. She sank into the pleasure of the delectable things he was doing to her. Whatever it was she wanted to say, floated away as if it had never been there, and she could only moan as Killian found a particularly sensitive spot on the inside of her elbow. 

He continued down her arm, his tongue tracing the veins under her skin, his teeth nipping at her wrist before kissing the center of her palm and sucking each finger into the warm cavern of his mouth, his tongue swirling around each tip before releasing it.

She was on fire, and yet it didn’t blaze out of control. It was a glowing pile of well-banked coals, radiating heat throughout her body. 

She felt cherished. Worshiped. Completely loved. 

And she melted for him.

“Killian, please,” she whispered, writhing beneath him.

“As you wish, my love.” 

~*~*~

~*~*~

She opened her eyes to see him hovering above her, his eyes fixed on hers. The blue almost completely swallowed by his black pupils. She wrapped her legs around him and urged him closer to where she desperately needed him, gasping when he finally entered her.

He moved slowly, needing to savor making love to Emma for the first time as his wife. He never thought he’d have this and the sacred moment of making them one demanded a slow, reverent acknowledgement of the gift that she was. The gift he had never believed would be his.

“Emma… Emma…” he moaned. “I have… I have to…”

“Yes, Killian, please,” she said, her words unsteady, lifting her hips, drawing him in deeper until she didn’t know where he ended and she began.

He withdrew slowly and plunged back into her, making her gasp. Again and again he withdrew, pushing her higher and higher until a cascade of pleasure overcame her, rainbow prisms of light exploding behind her closed eyelids, leaving her shaking in his arms, unable to contain the long, low moan of ecstasy pouring from her lips.

His movements became more frenzied and he cried out her name as he climaxed, a prayer and benediction all in one. He collapsed on top of her and it took a few moments for him to move, but when he tried to roll off of her - afraid of crushing her with his weight - she held him tightly to her.

“No,” she whispered. “Not yet.” It wouldn’t be long before he would have to move in order for her to breathe, but just now, she needed his solidness on top of her to keep her from drifting away. This was a sacred moment between them. This joining together as husband and wife, and she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to that just yet.

He acquiesced to her request for a few moments before he softened and slipped out of her. He settled himself on his side behind her and drew her into his arms until she was lined up to him like a nested spoon. His warmth cocooned her and she drifted off, feeling safe, content, and loved. So loved.

~*~*~

~*~*~

“You look terrible,” she commented two weeks later, as she sat down to breakfast with her husband.

“And good morning to you, too,” Killian returned drily, before turning his attention back to his food.

“I’m not joking,” she said, her brow furrowing in concern. “You look pasty, and you’re not sitting up straight. You need to go back to bed.”

He coughed. And coughed again, the second one wracking his body. “I’m fine.” But his words came out on a wheeze.

“You’re not fine.”

He rolled his eyes. “Married a fortnight and already…”

“If you didn’t want a nagging wife, then you shouldn’t have married me,” Emma interrupted him.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, picking up the Times and proceeding to ignore her.

Very well, she thought. Two can play at that game. She picked up a muffin and tucked into her morning meal.

Until he coughed again.

She cut her eyes to him, but didn’t say anything.

The next time a spasm overtook him, he turned away from her and bent over the arm of his chair just a bit.

“Kil…”

He shot her a ferocious glare of such intensity, she immediately closed her mouth.

She narrowed her eyes at him and he cocked his head in a condescending manner, only for the effect to be ruined with another wracking cough.

“That’s it,” she said, throwing her napkin down on the table. “You are sick, Killian. And you are going back to bed. Now.”

She rose to her feet and grabbed his arm where it rested on the table. He was too weak to resist her and her concern instantly turned to alarm. She called for Smee, who hurried in and, taking immediate stock of the situation, positioned himself on the other side of Killian to help him to his feet.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he gasped, as they led him from the room. “And you’re wrong.”

“Mmhmmm,” she humored him. “And how do you know what I’m thinking?” she asked.

“Open book, darling,” he replied, leaning more on her and sending her heart into overdrive. “It’s not malaria.” His voice was low, almost too low to make out, but somehow she knew exactly what he said.

“And you know this how?” she asked again.

“I just do.”

“Mmhmmm.”

They got him into his chamber, undressed, and into the bed. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Emma sat in the plush chair at his bedside, never taking her eyes off of him. It had only been two months since his last attack. And since the previous had been six months before that, did that mean the disease was winning? Emma felt tears fill her eyes. She couldn’t lose him the way she lost Liam. She couldn’t.

~*~*~

Ten hours later, Emma was terrified. Killian’s fever raged, and while he wasn’t flailing, delirious, or incoherent, it was clear that he was very, very ill. During his moments of consciousness, he kept insisting it wasn’t malaria. It didn’t feel like malaria. It was probably just a cold. A very bad cold, he’d finally allowed.

He slept now, snoring lightly, which he insisted he did whenever he was congested, but which she hadn’t been married to him long enough to experience first hand.

She reached out and touched his forehead, and while it was hot, it wasn’t the burning she remembered from his last attack. His lips looked dry, so she spooned some tepid tea into his mouth, hoping the reflex would kick in for him to swallow it while still asleep.

Instead, he choked, spitting it all out. At least there wasn’t enough to drench the bedclothes, she thought.

“What the devil are you trying to do?” he sputtered.

“I was trying to give you something to drink!” she replied, indignant. “You looked thirsty.”

“If I’m thirsty, I will tell you,” he grumbled.

She sat down, staring at him petulantly as he squirmed around, punching his pillows, trying to get comfortable. 

“It’s not like I have much experience nursing,” she said, once he was settled. He grunted in reply. She raised her eyebrows at him, never looking away, even as he studiously kept his eyes away from her. “You wouldn’t be thirsty now, would you?” she asked, mildly.

“Perhaps just a bit,” he ground out.

She handed him the cup of tea and he downed it in a single swallow.

“Would you like another cup?”

He shook his head. “If I do, I shall have to p…” he cut himself off and cleared his throat, impatiently. “Sorry,” he apologized.

She waved his words away. “I have three brothers,” she reminded him. “Would you like me to fetch you the chamber pot?”

“I can do it myself,” he grumbled.

She shut her mouth. There was no use arguing with him when he was like this. He’d figure it out soon enough when he stood from the bed and collapsed right back into it.

“You’re quite feverish,” she said softly.

“It’s not malaria,” he said.

“I didn’t say it was.”

“You were thinking it.”

She sighed and took a deep breath. “What happens if it is malaria?”

“It isn’t,” he insisted.

“But what if it is?” She wouldn’t be deterred on this. She had to have an answer.

He turned toward her and looked her straight in the eye. “It. Isn’t,” he growled, through clenched teeth. He held her gaze for several seconds and then laid down and turned away from her.

She had her answer.

She rose to her feet so quickly, all the blood rushed from her head, making her sway for a moment.

“I’m going for a walk,” she informed him when she was more steady. “Just until the sun sets. I’ll be back soon.” 

He didn’t speak, but shrugged his shoulders under the covers.

She ran.

~*~*~

The air was misty, the clouds threatening rain, so she headed toward the gazebo. It was open to the elements, but the roof would keep her at least somewhat dry if the sky did decide to open up.

By the time she got there, she could hardly breathe. Not from the exertion, but from struggling to keep her tears at bay. Once she was safely contained inside, she stopped trying.

Each sob was huge. Gasping. Coming from the depths of her lungs. From her very being.

Killian might be dying. 

For all she knew, he was dying. And she’d be a widow twice over.

It’d nearly killed her before. She didn’t think she could survive it a second time.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair! She couldn’t lose her second husband when so many women of the ton got to hold onto the same one for a lifetime. And they didn’t even love their husbands the way she did.

Emma’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. 

She loved him. 

Killian? 

She loved Killian?

She closed her eyes - picturing his eyes, his face, his smile. Remembering his kiss, the way he touched her.

And she suddenly realized why everything felt so different between them. It wasn’t the fact that they were married, as she’d originally thought. It wasn’t because he was her husband, that she wore his ring on her finger.

It was because she loved him.

This thing between them wasn’t just passion. And it wasn’t wicked or forbidden. 

It was love. 

And it was glorious.

She loved Killian, not as a friend, but as her husband and her lover. She loved him with the same strength and intensity that she’d loved Liam. It was different, of course. They were different men. But the love she had for him was the love of a woman for a man and by God, she did not want him to die.

She rose to her feet and walked to the edge of the gazebo, looking up at the sky.

“You can’t do this to me!” she yelled. A fat drop of rain fell and landed on the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, no, You don’t!” she cried. Three more drops in quick succession. “Damn,” she whispered, wiping away the moisture on her face. “Sorry,” she mumbled at the sky again. She sat back down as the rain poured. Perhaps she’d let the rain disguise her own tears as well.

~*~*~

Killian opened his eyes, surprised to see that it was morning. His drapes were still firmly shut against the light, but there was a definite brightness on the rug below the window that could only be the sun. He must have been really tired.

He tried to sit up, but flopped back immediately, absolutely no strength in him to do so. Damn, he felt like death. Not the greatest comparison under the circumstances. But he could think of nothing else that really captured the ache through his entire body. The thought of sitting up was enough to make him groan in misery.

He touched his forehead, but couldn’t tell if he was still feverish. He just knew that he was covered in sweat and desperately needed a bath.

A soft sound at the door drew his attention. Emma came through carrying a tray with a small bowl and cup of tea. She wore no shoes on her feet, obviously trying to not disturb him, but when she came to the bed, she finally looked up to see him staring at her.

“Killian! You’re awake.”

He nodded. “What time is it?”

“Half eight. Not terribly late, really, except that you’ve been asleep since before the supper hour last night. How are you feeling? Are you hungry?”

“Like hell, and no. Thank you.” He didn’t mean to be short with her, but he really didn’t have the energy to engage in any meaningful conversation at the moment.

She smiled gently at him. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Please.”

She picked up the bowl from the tray and brought it to his lips. He sipped slowly, the lukewarm broth sliding down his throat. He nodded after a few swallows and lay back on the pillows.

“Do you have a fever?” she asked, her eyes filled with trepidation, as if she wanted his answer, but was afraid to hear it.

He tried to summon his devil-may-care smile, but failed miserably. “I’ve no clue.”

She reached out and touched the skin of his forehead. She jerked away quickly and leaned forward to press her lips to the skin she’d just touched.

“Emma?” he asked.

“You’re hot,” she breathed, her eyes wide in wonder. “You’re hot, Killian! You still have a fever!”

He could do nothing but blink at her.

“Don’t you see?” she asked, excitedly, “If you still have a fever, then it can’t be malaria!”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. And when they did, he almost didn’t believe it. But she was right! The malarial fevers always disappeared by morning. He may have insisted to her yesterday that it wasn’t malaria, but in truth, he hadn’t been so sure.

“It’s not malaria,” he breathed.

“You’re not going to die,” she whispered.

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Did you really think I would? If there’s one thing I’m good at, Emma, it’s surviving.”

Her face fell in exasperation as she grabbed a napkin off the tray, dabbing at her eyes with it.

“Oh, you are such a man,” she said with a scowl.

He could do nothing but raise his eyebrows at that.

“You should know…” She broke herself off, shaking her head. “No. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.” She moved quickly toward the door. “I have to do something. I’ll be back soon. Don’t go anywhere.”

And she was gone, shutting the door behind her.

~*~*~

A quarter of an hour later, Killian was feeling remarkably better. Not well by any stretch of the imagination, but strong enough to get out of bed and call for Smee to have someone change the sheets of the bed. 

He sat in the leather chair near his bed and looked out the window as he waited. Across the lawn, he could see Emma, bundled up in her coat and carrying something in her hand, but she was too far away for him to see exactly what it was.

When Smee arrived and he asked if he knew where Lady Kilmartin was going, he blessed the efficiency of the servants' gossip chain.

“She did not share with me where she was going, Sir, but she did ask the gardener for a clutch of peonies.”

Peonies. Liam’s favorite flower. They’d been the centerpiece of her wedding bouquet. It was almost appalling that he still remembered that all these years later, but though he’d gotten completely and blindingly drunk after Liam and Emma had left the party, he remembered the ceremony itself in excruciating detail.

He knew where Emma was going.

He’d been there only once since returning to Kilmartin. He’d gone alone, after that stunning revelation in his bedchamber when he suddenly realized Liam would have wanted him to marry Emma. He could almost imagine his brother sitting up there getting a good laugh out of the whole kerfuffle.

Did Emma realize…? Or was she still riddled with guilt?

He rose from his chair. He knew guilt. How it ate at your heart, tore at your soul. He knew the pain. How it sat like stones in one's belly. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But especially not on Emma.

She might not love him, she might not ever love him. But she was happier now than she was before they married, he’d bet his life on it. 

Liam would have wanted her to be happy, to love again and to be loved, and Killian would be damned if she felt any shame or guilt over that happiness. He pulled clothes out of his dresser. He had to go to her. It might half kill him to get to the churchyard, but he had to make sure she knew she was free to be happy.

He could live without her love, but he couldn’t live without her happiness.

~*~*~

Emma sat down on the small blanket she’d brought, the green and gold of the Jones plaid making her smile wistfully.

“Hello, Liam,” she said, carefully arranging the peonies at the bottom of Liam’s headstone. She took a deep breath and looked over the fence surrounding the small graveyard. Liam’s grave was a simple affair, but that was what he would have wanted. Here in the corner of the churchyard, closest to his beloved Kilmartin, his favorite place in the world. So that’s what she’d given him.

“It’s been raining for weeks,” she said softly. “I’m glad to finally see the sun. I know you wouldn’t have minded, but I’ve missed it.” She paused for a few moments, gathering her thoughts. “I… I had a reason for coming here today, Liam. And now it comes to it, I’m having difficulty getting the words out. Something’s happened… I’m not quite sure how it happened…” She looked up to the sky, looking for some divine sign, but there was nothing. Nothing but the gentle breeze. “Maybe I shouldn’t have felt it at all. I don’t know. Or maybe I should have and I just thought I shouldn’t. But either way, it happened…” She chuckled lightly. “I suppose you might have guessed what happened. And who it happened with… Can you imagine?”

And then something truly extraordinary happened. It might have been accompanied by an earthquake of epic proportions, but instead, it felt like something settled inside her. Like the puzzle piece that would complete her, slipping into place for the first time.

She knew, she truly knew, that Liam wouldn’t have only imagined it, he would have wanted it. 

He would have wanted her to marry Killian. 

He would have wanted her to marry anyone she fell in love with, but she thought he’d be rather pleased that it was with Killian.

They were his two favorite people in the world, herself and his brother, and Liam would know they would love and cherish each other. They’d make each other happy.

“I love him, Liam,” she breathed, realizing it was the first time she’d said it out loud. “I love him so much.” Tears filled her eyes and she reached out, running her fingers along the headstone. “I never thought… I truly didn’t think I’d ever fall in love again. How could I? I loved you! I still love you! And finding a love like that again… it was impossible to imagine!” A soft smile touched her lips. “But it did happen. And it happened with Killian. I love him so much, Liam. And I can’t live without him. Thinking that he might be dying… I couldn’t bear it and I knew it was because I love him and I needed you to know. I needed to tell you…” 

A sound from behind her made her turn, but before her eyes landed on him, she knew who was there. She could feel him.

“Killian,” she breathed. He was pale, and weak, and leaning against a tree for support, but to her, he looked perfect.

“Emma.”

She rose to her feet, her eyes never leaving his. “Did you hear me?”

“I love you,” he said hoarsely, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

“But did you hear me?” she asked again.

He nodded.

The distance between them disappeared. His arms wrapped around her and she buried her face in his chest, her tears soaking his shirt, but she couldn’t care less. She only needed his warmth enveloping her.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she repeated through her tears. She looked up at him to see the tears swimming in his cerulean gaze, a single one tracking down his cheek.

“I have no idea what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, stroking her cheek.

She laughed, just a short giggle, but full of joy nonetheless. “You didn’t have to do anything. You simply had to be.”

He took her hands in his and kissed the center of each palm. He’d tried so hard to convince himself that he didn’t need her love, that having her as his wife was enough, but now that she’d said it, now that she felt it, he knew better.

He couldn’t live without her. 

This was bliss.

This was heaven.

This was love. True Love.

“For the rest of my life,” he vowed. “I will love you. I will fight for you. I will cherish you. To the end of the world, or time.”

She nodded. “Let’s go home.”

And as he looked back at Liam’s grave, he imagined he could see his brother, a smile on his face, his hand raised in blessing.

Killian nodded and allowed his wife to lead him home.

~*~*~

One Year Later

Ruth Nolan sat in her drawing room, working on a piece of embroidery, her face lifting every few minutes to look out the front windows of Number 5. It seemed like forever before she could see the Kilmartin carriage turning onto Bruton St.

She laid her project aside and rose quickly, calling for the butler. Opening the front door, she hurried down the steps to greet her… She came to a halt halfway down, fully realizing that this was the first time since Emma and Killian had returned to Scotland a year ago after Will and Belle were married that she’d seen them, and that Killian was no longer Emma’s brother-in-law, but her husband. And that made Killian her son. 

In-law. 

He stood on the curb outside the carriage, holding his hand toward the door. Ruth continued down the steps and he turned his handsome face toward her, mischief in his eyes and a smirk on his lips.

“Killian,” she beamed proudly, so happy to see him. He took her outstretched hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. She clucked her tongue at him in annoyance and embraced him instead. 

“Ruth,” he said, a note of chastisement in his voice.

“Ah, ah, ah. You are my son now,” she interrupted smoothly, “whom I haven’t seen in a year, and I will greet you as I would any of my other sons.”

His smile widened and became genuine as she released him. “Very well,” he agreed before turning to the door of the carriage again.

From within, Ruth could hear a familiar sound, though it had been quite some time since she’d heard it in person. Soft cooing followed by a gurgle. 

Ruth’s jaw dropped open as she turned stunned and disbelieving eyes on Killian.

“Ruth, may I present, Lady Kilmartin and our son, William Killian Martin Robert Jones.” Emma appeared in the door of the carriage and took Killian’s hand, her opposite arm filled with a precious bundle that Ruth didn’t hesitate to take into her own arms.

Too overcome with joy to feel even the slightest aggravation over being kept in the dark about Emma’s pregnancy, Ruth looked down into the beautiful sky blue eyes of her newest grandchild. 

“Oh, my sweet William,” she began in a lilting sing-song voice.

“Liam,” Emma interrupted gently.

“Liam,” Ruth agreed, her gaze never wavering as she turned and began climbing the steps back into the house. “I am your grandmama,” she continued. “The first thing we must do is introduce you to your family, don’t you think?”

Behind her, she could hear Killian chuckle. “Do you think we will see him again this entire visit?” he asked.

“Not likely,” Emma replied.

“Of course not,” Ruth called back. “Nolan, Locksley, and now Jones babies all love their grandmamas. Besides, it will give you more time to yourselves to work on giving this precious lad a baby sister.”

Which is exactly what they did. 

And when the family arrived in London the following spring, it was to introduce and christen Hope Ruth Alice Jones.

The End

~*~*~

Thank you all again for reading. This was a hard one to write and post and so I truly cannot tell y'all how much it means to me that you joined me for this journey! Thank you all from the bottom of my heart!!

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Some replies!

Also, a reminder: since we haven’t watched ch7 yet, I can’t comment on the events or characters related to it in any way deeper than “I love this character’s design”.  Sorry! I’ll keep your asks until we actually watch it.

I’ll also try to write some longer replies tomorrow, so please bear with me.

Anonymous asked:

https://www.tumblr.com/wafflesex/753256745890103296/jade-leech-let-me-rest-i-beg-of-you

Sinful. Sinful. Sinful. Sinful. Sinful. Shame. Shame. Shame. Shame.

We are so excited about his club card, let’s fucking go.

Anonymous asked:

Small question... Did a lot of your older art get deleted from Twitter...? I was scrolling down looking for some of your old Azul/Idia works, and it stops at an illustration of Azul and Jamil?

I don’t think it did (from Katsu’s account everything is still in place on the desktop version), but twitter has been very weird with scrolling in general; sometimes the older posts just don’t load as if you’ve reached the first posts. Sometimes doing an advanced search helps (i.e. searching the posts from this specific account during this specific time period).

Unfortunately, other than that I can only suggest looking through my pixiv, it should be easier to find our older stuff there…

Anonymous asked:

your new twitter header!! i actually gasped when i saw it, absolutely gorgeous and of course, the only fitting true love's kiss for our sleeping beauty <3

You noticed! Thank you, Anon <3 I’m glad you like it.

Unfortunately, we had to let go of our previous header (the last kiss one) because of all the blood (someone finally reported it), but no one is going to stop us from having a Lilisil header hehehe

You’ll see the full image soon! I’m going to post it today. You've guessed the caption as well...

Anonymous asked:

I just saw your female Silver art and it got me curious; would a male Lilia still sleep with a female Silver if there was a chance of pregnancy? Likewise, would he still let a male Sebek sleep with her?

You know, Anon, it’s hard to say. I think I can picture Lilia managing to somehow sit his tiny butt on two chairs at the same time: he would have sex with her, he would train her body well in that regard and teach her all kinds of endurances, but the possibility of her getting pregnant would sound horrible because this is his little girl, that’s just wrong. As if doing all this other stuff isn’t… and you’re still risking it, Lilia…

(But honestly who knows, maybe Lilia is the daughter-breeder)

When it comes to Sebek, I think Lilia would be stricter than usual and mostly because he would really enjoy acting like a tough father of a beautiful young lady with a lot of suitors. This is such a ridiculous spectacle, and such a fun way to tease Sebek who is already super overwhelmed and confused about how he should treat Silver, who would still be his brother in arms even if it is fem!Silver…

In general though, I don’t think Lilia would mind these two having sex and unfortunately would probably tease them endlessly for that. And instead of saying anything about protection, he would sigh and complain about how he isn’t ready to become a grandpa, which would work even better: now they don’t want to have sex at all.

Anonymous asked:

I love Kokichi Ouma too, he and Nagito Komaeda are my favorite DR characters, I even have their figurines. But now Im imagining both working for Azul and driving him insane with Jade and Floyd enjoying/encouraging them.

Oh no, Kokichi and Komaeda working for Azul is an absolute nightmare, please, we don’t want Azul to overblot again..!

Komaeda is going to start ruining every dish because then the customers would be filled with hope that the dish they got isn’t as shitty as the other ones… isn’t hope beautiful?

Anonymous asked:

Okay so, in Vil's Playful Land vignette, i find it so funny how Jade kept making excuses not to ride the rollercoaster and then when they did he was just 🧍 frozen. Given how Jade is, it's interesting how it's implied that he's uncomfortable with heights- in flight lessons, Azul and him are kinda bad at it + Jade in shaking voice says: At least i'm better then Azul, right? HDNSGENS Does Jade Leech have a weakness-??

ANOOOON THIS VIGNETTE! It should be studied under the microscope, this is such a good example of Jade being Jade in such an unusual situation for him…

Jade being invincible is a great concept, but this teeny tiny little sprinkle of fear or uncomfortableness makes him so much better. He really is a fish out of water when it comes to heights…

What I also loved is that one of his voice lines when he basically does the “at least I’m better than Azul, right?” thing AGAIN. I guess this is his reaction to discomfort: to throw Azul under the bus ASAP…

I am so happy Vil got to experience this side of Jade. He deserved it…

blackbutlerfandomnerddomain asked:

Since now you've seen Playful Land, I can share some opinions/headcanons:

Fellow Honest for certain did some sexy stuff to get by for him and Gidel. Prostitution, stripping, adult videos, whatever he did it and we don't judge him for it.

In the live action Pinocchio it's implied in a carving on Giddy's mallet he and John are lovers so that's something!

I know you're set on tops and bottoms but I personally see Gidel and Fellow Honest are switches who do some fun play

I am 85% sure none of those rides were safe from sexy times even if you want to excuse any of them as sexy video calls on the farries wheel or Fellow and Gidel having fun before hand.

The first one is pretty much a fact, yes, absolutely agree.

Oh god you are right about Giddy’s malled, I had no idea… they really Richie+Eddie’d him, huh.

Can’t comment much on the third one, but when it comes to fun play, they have a lot of fun…

And the last one is also 100% true. They rode every ride in more ways than one. Even the crazier ones that Fellow wasn’t very sure about, but Gidel was so stubborn that he just couldn’t say no; he spoils him rotten after all…

[training4theapocalypse]

A Nest of Vipers Ch7. (Cormac McLaggen x Original Female Character - Slytherin)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.6K

Warnings / Tags: Canon atypical descriptions of violence, parental abuse, pure-blood supremacy, tragic romance

Summary: Una and Cormac's activities at Slughorn's party last night have caused a stir. A scandal from Una's childhood comes back to haunt her.

A/N: Please take heed of the warnings because, damn, Una is actually pretty normal all things considered.

Masterlist

Chapter 7: Scandal

The usually frantic corridor of the Hogwarts Express felt less chaotic to Una as she walked down holding Cormac’s hand. Perhaps she was achieving a thus far unprecedented sense of inner peace. Or maybe it was just because the crowd was parting and hushing each other as they passed. 

Last night’s events at Slughorn’s Party had spread like fiendfyre - Una Montague and Cormac McLaggen were caught cheating with each other and thrown out. Then to top it all off, Una had been attacked by Ginny Weasley for stealing Hermione Granger’s date. 

It was the scandal that everyone was talking about on the train ride home but Una was on top of the world. Ginny might have been popular amongst her Gryffindor classmates but she was notorious for her fired temper throughout the rest of the school. Una had even received sympathy for her twisted ankle from the Hufflepuff prefect, Zacharias Smith, who had been on the receiving end of the Weasley girl’s hexes more than once. 

Una stopped outside a compartment when she saw Sabine and Meredith sitting inside and Cormac almost walked right into her.

“Woah,” he said, realising that she was intending on sitting with them. “I’m not going in there.”

Una laughed. “Oh, come on. I need to patch things up.” But Cormac stood resolutely still. “You’re not scared, are you? They don’t bite.”

“Sure about that?” asked Cormac and they both glanced through the compartment window to Sabine and Meredith, who looked as if they might as well have been sharpening their fangs. 

“Alright - I’ll find you again before we get to London,” she said. “I need to smooth things over first.”

“You’re welcome to come and sit with us, y’know, if the ‘patching up’ doesn’t go to plan.” 

“And Eddie Carmichael would be happy about that?” asked Una, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, he definitely doesn’t bite if you change your mind.”

Una smiled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. Cormac pulled her close by her waist and kissed her back, his tongue slipping into her mouth unashamedly. They broke apart and Cormac squeezed her hand as he made to walk away but Una pulled him back for one more. 

“You’re making it very difficult to leave,” murmured Cormac, his lips smiling against hers.

“I can’t help it. It’s so unfair I won’t see you for two weeks after this.”

“Think of all the time we’ll have in detention next term,” he said, grinning.

“As if Snape will let us be in detention together,” groaned Una. “Detention. I can’t believe I need to tell people I’m doing remedial Defence Against the Dark Arts. As if everyone wont guess that I’ve got detention anyway after Snape paraded us in front of everyone.”

“It was worth it,” said Cormac as if that settled it. “Come and find me when we get to King’s Cross, yeah?” He pressed a kiss on her forehead and this time turned and walked down the corridor to find his friends Eddie, Leanne and Katie.

Una let out a happy sigh as she watched him walk away. Things were finally going her way. But the sigh dissolved in her throat when she saw Sabine and Meredith glaring at her from behind the compartment window. Sabine mimed shoving a finger down her throat as if she was being sick.

She slid the compartment door open and sat down. 

“PDA much?” shot Sabine.

“Thanks for ditching me at breakfast,” said Una sarcastically, ignoring her comment. The pair had left the dormitory before she was even dressed this morning.

“You seemed pretty cosy at the end of the Gryffindor table with Cormac McLaggen and Katie Bell,” Sabine sneered. “And that seat is taken.”

“By who?” asked Meredith obtusely.

“Anyone except her,” snapped Sabine while Meredith recoiled in fear.

“Well, I don’t see anyone else clamouring to share your compartment,” said Una. “Come on, Sab. It doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t see Blaise and Draco telling Graham to piss off.”

“That’s because Blaise and Draco are idiots. I told you what would happen if you went with Cormac so why don’t you go and find his friends and sit with them?” Sabine grabbed her magazine from the empty seat between her and Una and snapped it open, holding it in front of her face.

“I suppose I could…” said Una. “You know, it would be a pretty unstoppable group if I did.”

Sabine just tutted and turned a page of her magazine.

“I mean Carmichael is in Ravenclaw, Cormac and Katie are both in Gryffindor and their friend Leanne is in Hufflepuff. Who knows what kind of information would just slip out before it gets to us on the usual grapevine? I mean, think about it - if it wasn’t for Cormac, I never would have found out about what the Weasleys did to Graham.”

Sabine lowered her magazine slowly. “And what kind of information would you give them?” she asked, raising a perfectly threaded eyebrow.

“Only the type of information we choose to divulge. Information that would directly benefit us... Or me, I suppose if we’re not friends anymore,” Una pouted playfully.

Meredith looked between Sabine and Una as they stared each other down. “Sab, please, I hate that we’re all fighting -”

“Shut up for two seconds, Meredith,” groaned Sabine. She pursed her lips, surveying Una for a moment. “You know what, Una? You really are a conniving bitch.” 

“Maybe… but you know, there’s no one else I’d rather connive with,” sang Una, scooting closer into the empty seat as Sabine’s lips curled into a small smile. Could she actually be pulling this off? Just the right amount of flattery with a subtle threat seemed to be working. And she should probably get in Meredith’s good books too, for good measure. 

“You too, Meredith,” she added and Meredith’s face cracked into a smile.

“If you backstab us, I’ll tell your parents about Cormac,” said Sabine casually, leaning her head on Una’s shoulder so they could both read her magazine.

Her parents. They’d never approve - would they? Cormac had all the appearance of being well-off but he had mentioned that his dad and his uncle both worked at the Ministry. Surely, if his family worked, they couldn’t be from old money like the Montagues. 

And the name ‘McLaggen’ wasn’t on the old tapestry in her father’s study detailing the lines of the sacred twenty-eight pure-blood families. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t though - he could be from a pure-blood family that was extinct in the male line. But she didn’t want to ask Cormac this - she didn’t care if he was a pure-blood at all but her parents on the other hand absolutely would. And Sabine knew it.

But Una pushed that thought to the back of her mind. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, Una had it all. Her best friends were speaking to her, she no longer hate to date Cormac secretly and her plans for revenge against the Weasleys were primed and ready to go after the holidays - everything was coming together nicely.

“Fair enough,” agreed Una, looking at the magazine. “Please just be cool when you see them at the Minister for Magic’s Christmas lunch,” she said. 

“Ugh, I’m not going,” Sabine huffed. “My mother is engaged again - we’re spending Christmas with her husband-to-be.” She lifted her head and looked at Una. “You can tell your new friends that - if you need a piece of gossip to get them on-side.”

Una nodded.

Meredith, feeling left out, got up from her seat and plopped down on Una’s other side. “I won’t say anything about Cormac. I promise,” she added unnecessarily, overestimating her own self-importance in Una’s plans.

“Thanks, Meredith,” said Una, taking pity on her and deciding to throw her a bone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cormac McLaggen continued down the train looking for Katie, Eddie and Leanne. To his horror, Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger emerged from the compartment next to theirs just as he was about to slide the door open.

“Oi, McLaggen,” said Ginny, and Cormac’s hopes of slipping in quietly evaporated as her sharp voice cut through the air.

He turned slowly, forcing a neutral expression. “Alright?” he asked. 

“Alright?” repeated Ginny angrily, while Hermione’s jaw tightened. “Your little girlfriend should have been expelled.”

Cormac laughed derisively. “Una? You’re the one who should be expelled. You attacked her.”

The compartment door opened, revealing Eddie, Leanne, and Katie, with Graham Montague looming behind them. He hadn’t seen Graham since last night and was now wondering if he should have asked Una if her hulking brother was the overprotective type.

“What’s going on?” asked Katie.

“Look,” Cormac began. “Hermione, I’m sorry for ditching you last night. That was poor form. But there’s no excuse for the pair of you attacking Una -”

“Oh, really?” asked Ginny, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t think you were the type to excuse that sort of behaviour… unless she didn’t tell you what she said to Hermione?”

Una hadn’t mentioned anything about provoking them.

“She -” Hermione swallowed. “She called me a Mudblood.”

There was an immediate uproar of dissent in the corridor as everyone started arguing and clamouring over each other. Eddie, who was muggleborn and never liked Una anyway, was immediately outraged. Katie and Leanne were shocked. And Cormac felt slightly dazed, stunned silent by the accusation.

“Woah, woah, wait a second,” said Graham. “Una would never say that.”

More than anything right now, Cormac wanted to believe him. But Graham, after all, was -

“Well, obviously you’d defend her. She’s your sister,” Ginny retorted.

Graham’s defensiveness grew. “I swear, she isn’t like that. She hates that word.”

“I know what I heard,” Hermione insisted. 

“So you can stop covering up for her -” said Ginny.

“He isn’t covering for her,” said a quiet voice behind Ginny and Hermione. Blaise Zabini had arrived in the corridor and was looking intently at Ginny. “Una tells people off for saying that sort of thing in the common room.” 

Ginny glared at him. “Stay out of this, Zabini.”

“I’m serious,” he said, addressing Cormac directly. Ginny and Hermione also looked at Cormac expectantly.

“I think,” said Cormac carefully. “You were looking for an excuse to pick a fight and misheard her.”

Ginny groaned in fury, and Blaise touched her arm. “Weasley, listen to me -” he started, but she shrugged him off indignantly.

“Why am I not surprised you’re covering for her?” she shot. “You lot are all the same.”

Linking arms with Hermione, the two of them pushed past Blaise and marched away down the corridor, in the direction of the trolley witch.

Blaise closed his eyes and sighed before turning his attention to Graham. “Montague, Draco is looking for you. We’ve saved you a seat in our carriage. Are you coming?” 

“Get in here, everyone’s staring,” Eddie urged as more curious faces peered around the surrounding compartment doors.

“And you’ve got some explaining to do, Cormac,” said Katie.

“Ugh. Yeah, I’m coming, Blaise,” said Graham, squeezing Katie’s hand in farewell. “I really don’t want to hear McLaggen explaining anything about my sister.”

Comac drew his shoulders back, standing aside to let Graham pass. Should he say something? Apologise for snogging his sister? But Graham just gave him a curt nod as he exited.

“Montague, I -”

“Look, McLaggen, I’m not exactly thrilled you’re dating my sister but if you’re waiting for me to say something like ‘If you hurt her, I’ll jinx you,’ don’t hold your breath. It’s not gonna happen. She can handle herself - I mean - not  -” He sighed before adding in a low, solemn voice, “I grew up with Una and I know her. Really know her. She’s not what people like Granger or Weasley think. She wouldn’t say that word.”

Cormac felt the deep worry sinking like a stone in the pit of his stomach lighten considerably. Graham Montague had a point. Eddie might argue that Graham was biased, but somehow Cormac didn’t think so. As he watched Graham walk away with Blaise, Cormac’s mind raced. Could Una really have said something so horrible?

There was an irritating niggling feeling in the back of his mind as he remembered how Una had taunted Myrtle in the bathroom. The vicious things she had said to get a rise out of her. He himself had called Una a bully that night. He’d even once jokingly told her he thought she might be evil. 

But being mean to Myrtle was nowhere near as bad as calling someone ‘mudblood’. And she had been sorry about what she’d said to Myrtle, hadn’t she? And after that Una had been so vulnerable with him - opened up to him. He couldn’t reconcile that image with someone who would use such a hateful word.

He glanced at Eddie, who was still fuming, and at Katie and Leanne, who looked concerned and confused. This was a mess, but the sincerity in Graham’s eyes and Blaise’s calm assertion gave him hope. They knew Una better than anyone, and they were adamant she wouldn’t do something like this.

Taking a deep breath, Cormac made his decision. He believed the people who knew her best. He had to trust them. 

“Look,” he said to his friends, “Let’s get inside. I don’t believe Granger and Weasley.”

Eddie opened his mouth to protest, but Cormac held up a hand. “Graham and Blaise know her better than you lot.”

“Graham wouldn’t lie,” said Katie slowly. “But I know Hermione and Ginny. And I can’t see them attacking her for no reason.”

Leanne pursed her lips. “Ginny smashed into the commentator’s box just because Zacharias Smith’s commentary about Gryffindor was less than complimentary. And I heard Hermione sent a swarm of birds after Ron Weasley just for snogging Lavender Brown.”

“Sounds like I got off lightly, then,” said Cormac, trying to deflect the subject to something less serious.

But as they all filed back into the compartment, Cormac couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling gripping him. He hoped he was right to trust his instincts. For now, though, he had made his choice. He would find out the truth from Una when he saw her again after the holidays.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On Christmas morning, Una stood in front of her ornate bedroom mirror smoothing down the front of her dress - a short, black velvet number adorned with pearls along its sweetheart neckline. 

“You can’t wear that to St Mungo’s,” said Una’s mother, startling her. Una hadn’t even heard her stealthy footsteps enter the room which was no small feat in her high heels.

“You - you bought me it,” Una stammered as she watched her mother’s reflection approach. Morgana Montague, with her features drawn tight in perpetual scrutiny, examined Una’s choice with evident disapproval. 

“To wear to an event where you might find a husband - not to visit a hospital,” she said, rolling her eyes, lined with dark eyeliner. Morgana Montague was a beautiful woman when she smiled, not that ever Una saw it, for when she spoke to Una, her face was always twisted with disdain. 

“I thought it might be nice to wear to the Minister’s Christmas party… It’s just that I won’t have time to get dressed into something else if we’re going straight from St Mungo’s,” said Una in what she thought was a reasoned argument. 

Her mother disagreed.

“Well, whose fault is that?” her mother sniped, priming herself to dredge up the event that hung over their family like a dark shadow. “Whose fault is it that our entire family needs to spend every Christmas morning visiting the Marchbanks boy in the hospital?”

“Mine,” she said resignedly. “I’ll change.”

“We won’t have time for that - you’ll make us all late. Just put on some tights and a jacket to cover yourself up. We don’t want the healers to think we’ve brought him a prostitute as a Christmas gift.”

That stung unexpectedly. She hadn’t spoken to her mother since summer - she’d almost forgotten how her cruel comments could come from nowhere like a slap in the face. Una felt tears welling up in her eyes. Stupid, she thought. Don’t ruin your makeup.

“Oh, don’t pout, Una,” said her mother, putting her hands on her shoulders as she stood behind her and watched her face fall in the mirror. “It’ll all be over within an hour or two.” Of course, her mother thought her tears were from guilt about what happened to Everett Marchbanks all those years ago, rather than her own cutting words. “His family are still content to believe it was an accident,” she added, seeing only what she chose to in Una’s reflection.

Una bit her bottom lip.

Una’s mother’s eyes met her own. “Your father tells me you’re doing very well at school now. And I suppose that means you’re much more in control of your magic these days.”

“Y-yes. I told you I was made Head Girl. I wrote to both of you -”

“Well, someone who was made Head Girl shouldn’t accidentally blow someone up if she were to be betrothed again.” Her mother smiled. A different smile than the sort she reserved for Una’s brother. “The consequences would be much more severe now that you’re of age.”

“Mother, you promised after what happened last time that you wouldn’t.”

“Una, you’re eighteen years old and you still haven’t met a boy from a decent family. Tiberius Ogden is bringing his nephew to Rufus Scrimgeour’s party this afternoon and -”

“Tiberius Ogden?” asked Una in disgust. “From the Wizengamot? Isn’t he about a hundred? How old is his nephew?”

“Do not interrupt me,” her mother hissed in her ear, her grip tightening on her shoulders. “Tiberius is a friend of your father’s and he’s very sympathetic about what happened. No other families have dared offer their sons as a suitable match after they heard about what you did to Everett Marchbanks.”

What kind of horror must Tiberius Ogden’s nephew be if he was unmarried and willing to be matched with her? Una shuddered to think.

“Mother, please, I’m begging you. I don’t want to be bartered like livestock -”

“You should be grateful.” Her mother cut across her, her tone sharp as steel. “Meredith’s mother was just telling me that Meredith was desperate to secure a betrothal. You know, there aren’t many pure-blood families left.”

“I don’t care about that,” said Una, picking up her lipgloss from the dresser. The little talisman that made her feel in control. Made her feel powerful. How would she break it to Cormac if she came back from the Christmas holidays betrothed? “Tell Meredith’s mother she can have Tiberius Ogden’s ugly, old nephew - ow!”

Una’s mother grabbed a fistful of her hair from behind and pulled her head back, forcing her to look her in the eyes. She wrenched the lipgloss from Una’s hand and threw it with such ferocity against the mirror that it cracked.

“Listen carefully,” said Una’s mother venemously. “If you don’t have a suitable match by the time you graduate you have two choices. Either you’re no longer a member of this family - and that means no inheritance and no trust fund. Or -” She let go of Una’s hair roughly and walked towards the door. “- I will inform Mr and Mrs Marchbanks that you’re willing to fulfil your obligation to Everett”

“You expect me to marry someone who’s a permanent resident in St Mungo’s?” asked Una, horrified. “He’s lost his mind - he’s -”

“And I ask you again: whose fault is that?” repeated her mother, turning around to look at her. 

Una said nothing. Instead, she sniffed and opened her chest of drawers to find a pair of tights. 

“Una?” called her mother in a voice so gentle that Una’s shoulders relaxed, hoping beyond hope that maybe she’d changed her mind. She looked up into the mirror to where her mother stood by the door. She held her breath, waiting for her mother to take back her harsh words. 

“Forget the tights. You’ll want Tiberius’s nephew to get a good look at you.”

And with that, she shut the door, leaving Una to stare at her distorted reflection in the fragmented mirror.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is it too early for Firewhisky?” grumbled Cormac, eyeing up the drinks cabinet as they walked into the reception room of the Minister for Magic’s official residence.

“Oh, come on, m’boy. It won’t be too terrible,” said his Uncle Tiberius, slapping him on the back.

“It’s already terrible. I’m wearing a shirt for Merlin’s sake. I’d much rather be spending Christmas in my pyjamas.” Cormac looked around the room, observing all the Ministry types and wondering if they too would rather be spending Christmas at home than mingling with their higher-ups. “I don’t get why you brought me instead of Dad.”

“Well, er…” Uncle Tiberius looked around shiftily. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. You’re here to help me get Ministry approval for our next hunting trip.”

“Oh no. No way. What, do you want me to ask for sponsors or something? On Christmas Day?! I’d rather empty my own vault at Gringotts if money is the issue -”

“Keep your voice down,” hushed Uncle Tiberius, putting his arm around Cormac’s shoulder and taking him aside. “Gold isn’t the problem. But a culling licence for Nogtails is - and I need you to get old Ulysses on side. He’s a Ministry benefactor and, more importantly, friendly with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“Well, these sorts of things can’t be bought with money. They’re bought with favours and I said I’d do him one…”

Cormac had a feeling where this was going and he didn’t like it one bit. “Get to the point, old man.”

“He’s trying to marry off his daughter into a pure-blood family and -”

“Oh, right. No big deal. Just get married to some pure-blood supremacist hag. Cheers, thanks, Uncle Tiberius.”

“You don’t have to marry her. But I did promise you’d at least have a conversation with her. Apparently, she’s very beautiful.”

“Sure, that’s why her parents are desperate to find her a blind match,” Cormac heaved a sigh. “And I have a girlfriend, by the way.” He added, and thinking of Una sent a pang of longing through him.

“Well, your girlfriend might be old news when you see Ulysses’s daughter.”

Cormac dragged his hand down his face. This was unbelievable. “You feel good about whoring me out for a hunting licence?” Uncle Tiberius just grinned. “Fine - I’ll endure one conversation. That’s it. But I am actually going to need a Firewhisky then.”

“That’s the spirit, Cormac.”

“Spirit is right,” said Cormac, pouring two large Firewhiskys from Rufus Scrimgeor’s drinks cabinet. “You know the whole concept of arranged marriages is messed up, right? I can’t wait until these old traditions die out.”

“Well, they worked out for your great-aunt and me,” said Uncle Tiberius, looking delighted despite the joke at his expense and raising his glass slightly in a toast. “And don’t hold your breath waiting for old traditions to die out. I’ve got plenty of years left in me.”

Cormac drained his Firewhisky in one and winced. “I wouldn’t be so sure, Uncle. Try and set me up again and you may just have a suspicious hunting accident.” His eyes searched the room as he swirled the ice around the bottom of his empty glass, not entirely sure what he was looking for. “What’s the spinster’s name anyway?”

“Quiet - there’s Ulysses there,” hushed his Uncle nodding and Cormac froze. Uncle Tiberius laughed at his stunned expression and waved to the family of four who had just entered from the other side of the room. “See? I told you she was a looker,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

Across the room, Cormac watched Graham Montague elbow Una in the ribs and point to where he and his Uncle were standing. Una’s eyes widened as she and Graham followed two people, who Cormac assumed to be their mother and father, in their direction. 

“Tiberius!’ said Ulysses Montague, a short, amicable sort of man who let go of his regal-looking wife to shake Uncle Tiberius’s hand. “Good to see you. You know my wife, Moragana, of course. This is my son, Graham - he’s the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. And this is my daughter, Una.”

Cormacs brows knitted together slightly. He didn’t fail to notice the lack of plaudits before Una’s name.

“Well, this is my nephew, Cormac,” said Uncle Tiberius and Cormac extended his hand to Graham. 

“We meet again,” said Graham, shaking his hand. 

“Of course! Cormac plays Quidditch too. You must have crossed paths on the field,” said Uncle Tiberius but Graham just grinned.

“McLaggen hasn’t had the pleasure yet. How many games have you had this year?”

“The same as the amount of goals you scored in your last game, Montague.”

Cormac turned his attention to Una. “You know they’re trying to marry us off to each other, right?” He asked.

“Cormac,” groaned Uncle Tiberius behind him.

“So I’ve heard,” said Una quietly. He thought that his question would amuse her but on the contrary - she looked anxious.

“Do you two know each other too?” asked Una’s father and Cormac didn’t miss the way Una’s mother observed them shrewdly. But there was something else there when she looked at Una. Something worse. Something like disgust. 

Una’s eyes widened in what Cormac understood to be alarm.

“Hardly,” said Cormac, quickly correcting his misstep. “We have a few classes together.”

Graham Montague raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Cormac, why don’t you show Miss Montague the library while I catch up with my dear friend, Ulysses?” asked Uncle Tiberius jovially. “I hear the Minister has a fine collection of books on hunting Nogtails.”

Una looked at her mother, waiting for permission and Mrs Montague’s jaw tightened for a moment. “Graham - go with them please,” said Una’s mother sharply. “It’s not proper to have them meandering off on their own.”

And so, Una, Cormac and Graham left the reception room and entered the polished marble foyer. The double doors shut behind them, muffling the hum of distant conversation.

“Honestly,” said Una scathingly. “A chaperone. What does she think will happen?”

“The same thing that happened at Slughorn’s party?” suggested Graham.

“She doesn’t know about that. And besides that was different -“

“Gross - don’t tell me any more. Just - come and find me before lunch is served. I’ll get it in the neck from Mum if she thinks I’ve left you alone.”

“You can come with us if you want?” offered Cormac but secretly hoping he’d say no. 

“Not a chance. I’d rather jump off the Astronomy tower than watch you two snogging.”

“Graham, we’re not -“

“I’m going to see if Albie Selwyn is here yet. He might have cigarettes,” said Graham cutting across and waving his hand dismissively behind him as he left.

Una and Cormac began walking to the library, the footsteps creaking on the antique hardwood floorboards of the Minister’s residence. “So… you never told me you’d be coming back from the Christmas holidays betrothed,” he said, with a sideways glance.

“You’re one to talk,” said Una. “I only found out this morning.”

“So did I,” admitted Cormac. “I didn’t even know arranged marriages were still a thing.”

“Lucky you,” grumbled Una. “My mother -” She stopped abruptly, already feeling that she’d said too much. 

“What about her? You can tell me.”

“Not here,” she said, looking around edgily. “I don’t want to be overheard.”

They continued walking and, when they found the library, Cormac shut the door behind them. The stately room was walled with towering bookcases and had a grand piano in front of the large bay window. It was snowing outside and cold winter sunlight danced on the lid of the piano. Una’s shoulders immediately relaxed when Cormac pulled her into an embrace. She slumped her forehead against his chest and Cormac felt tears against his shirt as she let out a shuddering sob.

He made a soothing noise and held her tight. He had known something was wrong the second she and her family had been introduced to him.

“I’m - I’m so relieved it was you,” she choked in a muffled voice. “Cormac - you - you have no idea what it’s like.”

“It’s okay. I’m here,” he said quietly, now feeling guilty about joking about their situation in the foyer.

She took deep breaths before pulling back. Cormac studied her mascara-streaked face. The dark trails cut through her skin like spilled ink on paper.

“Your shirt,” she said, her voice strangled with hopelessness. “I’m sorry. Here - ” she fumbled, looking for her wand in her handbag. “Scourgify,” she added, pointing her wand at his white shirt and the black makeup stains vanished. Una wiped under her eyes and sniffed. “I didn’t mean to go to pieces like that. I’m fine. It’s just been a rough day.”

“Unes, what’s going on?” asked Cormac, his concern deepening. He’d never seen her cry before. Una was formidable. If something had brought her to tears, it had to have been serious.

“It’s a long story,” she said. “And you’d think the worst of me if you heard it. Everyone does. Well… except Graham. But he’s the only one who doesn’t think I’m a fucking terrible person.”

Cormac said nothing for a moment. He thought hard about what happened on the train and was certain at this moment that Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley, like Eddie Carmichael, like everyone else, were blinded by their preconceptions of Una.

“I don’t think you’re a terrible person,” he said simply.

Una sniffed and sat down on the piano bench. “Maybe we should keep it that way. Let’s talk about something else.” 

She stared at the floor but Cormac crouched down in front of her and held her hand, putting himself in her line of sight. “Try me,” he said gently. She bit her bottom lip worriedly, just like she had done when her mother glared at her earlier. “Is it your parents? Una, we can just tell them where to stick their betrothal.”

Una snorted a dismal laugh. “Yeah, right. You might be able to say stuff like that to your uncle but my mother would… My mother is a difficult woman.”

“Graham told me at Slughorn’s party that they tried to set you up with someone before and it didn’t work out,” Cormac said slowly, recalling the confusion he had felt during that particular conversation.

Una paused. “Cormac, I almost killed him.”

Cormac’s words of reassurance were momentarily erased from his mind in shock. 

“See?” said Una with a pained smile. “I told you it was bad.”

He needed to understand. His heart pounded in his chest. “Una… how? What happened?”

She sighed heavily. “It happened when I was eight -”

“Then it wasn’t your fault,” said Cormac immediately. “Kids don’t have control of their magic.”

“Oh, I had control alright. But I’d never shown any signs of magic until that point. My mother and father thought I was a squib. Graham had been showing signs of magic since he was a toddler So they called out experts from St Mungos, my dad even used his connections to have the Head of the Department of Mysteries come and take a look at me. They said I was a late bloomer. But my parents didn’t listen. They were so worried about their reputation. Having a squib in the family would taint their bloodline,” she added bitterly.

“But you do have magic,” said Cormac, his voice filled with conviction. “Loads.”

“But they weren’t to know that. So, to secure my future, they betrothed me to a boy a year older than me, Everett Marchbanks..”

Cormac frowned. He had heard of the Marchbanks family but never an Everett. “Was he in the year above us?”

Una shook her head. “He never got to go to Hogwarts. You see, my parents kept my lack of magical abilities hidden. But Graham knew. And he was only seven so he wasn’t great at keeping his mouth shut. And Everett found out.”

“And he told his parents?” asked Cormac.

She shook her head again. “Nope. One day, we were over at the Marchbanks house. Graham and I were playing in the garden and Everett came out and told him our parents were looking for him. Everett and I were alone outside and he -”

Una took a deep breath and Cormac squeezed her hand reassuringly. 

“I didn’t really understand what being betrothed meant. But he did. He said he didn’t want a squib for a wife and would make me his house elf instead. He told me to eat dirt. I refused, of course. That made him angry. He called me names, and I called him plenty back.”

“I bet you did,” offered Cormac with a small smile but Una didn’t return it. She continued.

“But then… Then he pinned me down, grabbed a handful of dirt and tried to shove it in my face. I opened my mouth to scream for my brother and he shoved it in my mouth. He pinched my nose and covered my mouth, forcing me to swallow it.” 

Cormac felt his pulse quickening, his stomach turning at the awful image Una was painting. His heart ached for her, a mixture of horror and pity washing over him. 

Una squeezed her eyes shut. “And I did. It was - it was disgusting. I vomited immediately, thinking it was over. But then he shoved another fistful into my mouth. I started choking. I couldn’t see anything through the tears and the dirt falling into my eyes.”

A mixture of horror and pity washed over Cormac, he had to make a conscious effort to breathe. “Una - that’s awful. I’m so sorry that happened to you. You need to remember, though, that kids have magical accidents all the time. Especially if they go through something traumatic. If you did something uncontrollable when he was choking you, nobody could blame you.”

“It wasn’t uncontrollable. I didn’t even hear Graham shout Everett’s name until he was pulling him off me. I was sick again. On my hands and knees - retching until there was nothing left. And when I looked up, my parents and Everett’s parents had come out to see what the commotion was. And then I saw her face. My mother. She was furious. But not at Everett. She was looking at me - disgusted by the mess all down the front of my dress.”

Cormac was horrified. He felt a surge of anger towards Una’s parents. How could they have been so blind?

“And so I stood up. And I felt it. Magic. For the first time. I really felt it. Rising up inside me like it was boiling. And I saw Everett. He took one look at my mother then back at me and smirked like he knew I was in trouble. And then…” Una looked up from the floor. “I remember all I wanted was to hurt him. I'd never wanted to hurt anyone or anything before. And I just exploded. I don’t remember how - I can only remember a bright, searing light and the next thing I remember was Everett’s mother sobbing over his body. He was unrecognisable.” 

She sat up slightly, her voice trembling. “But I do remember one thing. It felt good. Really good. I meant to hurt him. Badly. And I did. I didn't feel any guilt... I felt powerful. Powerful because I fought back.”

Cormac’s heart was pounding, his mind reeling from the weight of Una’s confession. He felt a wave of horror at what she had done, mingled with an overwhelming pity for the child who had been so brutally mistreated and pushed to the brink.

“He deserved it,” said Cormac.

“No, he didn’t. It was stupid kid stuff -”

Una, it wasn’t just kid stuff. It was fucking sick,” Cormac insisted, his voice low with intensity.

“My mother knew I meant it. My father blamed her for a while - it was her idea to betroth me so young. They haven’t mentioned marriage for years, until this morning.”

“Why do they care about you getting married now? I mean, you’re only eighteen.”

“The same reason your family cares.”

“Well,” said Cormac, realising that his problems from this morning paled in comparison to Una’s. “My uncle only set this up because he wants your dad’s help getting a hunting license.”

Una laughed unexpectedly. “Wow,” she said. “Well, my parents want me to marry into a traditional family.”

“A pure-blood family,” confirmed Cormac with a tight-lipped smile.

“Yep. And the whole awful ordeal with Everett spread pretty quickly amongst the sacred twenty-eight. And none of them wanted to put their sons at risk with someone like me. So that only leaves minor houses - the ones whose names became extinct in the male line.”

“Like mine,” finished Cormac.

“Yep,” said Una bitterly. “And my mother told me this morning that unless I find a marriage match before I leave school, she’ll force me to honour my obligations to Everett.”

“Where is he now?” asked Cormac.

“In St Mungos. Permanently.”

“Una, they can’t just force you to marry him.”

“They’ll disinherit me otherwise.”

“Fuck their inheritance. You’ll make your own way.”

“It’s not the money I care about. It’s Graham.”

“Look, I don’t know Graham but from what you’ve told me, he’s a decent guy. He’d understand.”

“They’d disinherit him too. And he missed so much of last year when he was in the hospital wing that he’ll be lucky if he leaves Hogwarts with a handful of O.W.Ls. - who’s going to give him a job? And besides, I don’t want to force him to choose between them and me.”

“Fine. Let’s tell them we're getting married then,” Cormac said fiercely. Instinctively. He couldn't not.

Una blinked at him. “Cormac, that’s very gallant of you but we hardly know each other. I mean, what are we? Are we even boyfriend and girlfriend? I can’t let you do that.”

“You can,” Cormac insisted. “And maybe we don’t know each other well.” He pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “But I know how I feel about you. You're my girlfriend and I care about you enough that I don’t want you forced into a marriage with Everett Marchbanks.”

A bell rang some distance away and the door to the library opened.

“Oi, you two. You were supposed to come and meet me - woah, Una, are you alright?” asked Graham as he stumbled into the scene before him. Una’s face, streaked with tears and Cormac kneeling in front of her.

“I’m fine. I just - I was telling him about Everett Marchbanks.”

Graham’s face darkened. “It’s been ten years and I still want to punch his stupid face. Even if he’s only got half of it left.”

“Well, we’ve worked out a solution,” said Cormac.

“A solution to what?” asked Graham but Una stood up abruptly.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said and shot Cormac a warning look as he got to his feet too. “Thank you for the offer, Cormac, but I can sort this out myself.”

“Sort what out?” asked Graham, increasingly perplexed.

“None of your business,” said Una, pulling a compact mirror from her bag and touching up her appearance with a tissue. She snapped the mirror shut and swiftly moved past him, bumping his almighty frame with her small shoulder as she exited the room.

Graham stared after her incredulously. “She’s always like this. Never walks anywhere - just stomps ominously.”

“I heard that!” called Una from the corridor.

“I hope you know what you’ve let yourself in for, mate,” said Graham, clapping Cormac on the shoulder in condolence. 

Cormac straightened himself up and followed Graham from the room. He wasn’t sure what he was letting himself in for. Not really.

But he had a feeling he was about to find out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 8: Who You Have Become

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, angry Astarion, threats

WC: 2.8k words, 8/?? chapters

Summary: You try to learn more of who Astarion's become, while also trying to convince him of who you were.

A/N: Tav is trying their best in an unprecedented situation, but I’m afraid there’s no manual for “convincing your past-live’s lover that you’re who you say you are and also that you maybe possibly love him?”

Ao3 | [Ch7][Ch9] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

That night in Astarion’s mansion, in your former room, your reverie comes and goes more than usual. You dream of a life in which you were a blacksmith– this life always feels like one you received in moments requiring patience, when your mind needs a reset and a chance to temper itself. The majority of these memories were at the forge, your entire body hot, your emotions placid as you continued the repetitive motions. It’s meant to soothe you, but your night is tumultuous regardless.

You keep being jostled out of the memory, clutching at the blankets next to you, reaching out to nothing. You suspect your memories of the Hero's Life and this room are as deeply intertwined as that journal entry you read last night suggested. After more than four hours of horrendous rest, you wonder if staying in this room was perhaps meant to be a punishment.

When you finally give up on your reverie, you find that you have some of the calm required to think. You come to two conclusions. One, despite not recognizing the majority of it, you clearly lived in this house in your previous life. Two, this room’s decor, unlike the rest of the house, seems entirely untouched in the 150 years since your last life ended.

The room has some distinct features you recognize. You inspect the marred headboard, scratches from moments of passion etched into its surface. Then you note the wide window sill, big enough to sit both your past self and Astarion on its ledge– an ample reading nook. Recalling another, softer memory, you move toward the worn patch in the rug, where you and Astarion would sit in front of the fire and discuss the day’s events. 

It’s a veritable treasure trove of your past together. And one that Astarion likely doesn’t use anymore. That thought leaves an ache in your chest, one that is quickly replaced by anxiety once you realize that he let you, someone whom he considers a complete stranger, into the room. It either means he’s verifying your claim or the room means so little to him that you’re just one of many, many guests here.

The idea that someone else has shared this bed with him makes you shudder a bit, but you shove the thought down. It’s been almost a century and a half since you died. Of course, he’d had to have other lovers, even if it meant using the most normal looking room in this ridiculous mansion, the only one with mortal comforts.

Considering that fact, it strikes you that you haven’t seen a single servant or any other soul in the house. You leave the room, only vaguely considering Astarion’s warning about trying anything, and begin searching. 

You find an empty kitchen. An empty lavatory. An empty servant’s quarters. Finally, you find a distinctly not-empty library– Astarion, looking as immaculate as the night before, is reclining in an elegant chaise lounge, a large book in his hands.

He takes a moment to peer at you from above the book before turning back to it, as if deciding you’re not worth the effort of putting it down. You want to bristle at that, but, then again, to him you’re probably not. It’s odd, that thought. That you don’t matter to him any more than any other stranger who may have appeared on his doorstep over the past dozen or so decades. You’re just another in the possible parade of lovers and fanatics.

At least currently, he seems to be alone in this massive house. You wonder if you should ask about this when Astarion speaks, not looking up from his book. “I don’t have staff if that’s what you’re wondering. No need for cooking and the occasional help comes by to clean. If you’re in need of… a living person’s necessities before you leave, I'm afraid you’ll have to fend for yourself.” 

You’re surprised to hear his voice has returned to its original, unamused annoyance from when you first showed up on his doorstep. Surprised, but not displeased. So you decide to ask him a question, “Why don’t you have housekeepers?”

His answer is short and simple, “I used to. It wasn’t worth it.”

Even though his tone is more civil, his words are still guarded and distant. You know you'll need to dig deeper to make any progress, so you prod a little bit more. “Were they too expensive for even a man of your means? You seem to be quite wealthy.”

“Oh I am,” he says with a bark of a laugh that holds no humor. Then he finally places the book closed on his lap and looks at you, eyes burning with that anger you saw the day prior, one you thought was rare on him. “I just don’t see the purpose in entrusting any part of myself to someone else.”

You’re not sure if the words are meant for you or your soul, but you sense that it’s a warning to you: Even if you are who you say you are, I’m not interested. As if he’s been burned too many times to try playing with fire again.

Unfortunately for him, your new self loves playing with fire. “I see. Well, since I entrusted my well-being to you, I’d like to thank you for the excellent lodging. I recognize that room, from my reveries,” you say, calmly. “It was our– your room together.”

Astarion nods with a small, wicked smile. “Right you are. What gave it away? The silly little mortal bits around the place?”

You’d prepared for this, whatever this was. “No, the fact that I recognized the marks on the headboard. The night you two created those together, well, let’s just say it was quite an exhilarating dream.”

Nothing of his facade cracks. He only tilts his head and continues to smile at you as he says, “Fascinating. I do wonder how you’re doing that.”

“Is it really that much easier to continue to ignore me than simply believe I am who I say I am?” You ask, unsure how much clearer you can be. How is it that offering him more specific memories only seems to make him more suspicious of you?

“Easier?” He scoffs. “Darling, this is anything but easy. At this point there’s not a chance in the nine hells that someone didn’t put you up to this. My question is: what is their purpose? And why send… you of all people?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at yet another jab. “I don’t know what kind of people have shown up here after my previous life’s death, but I can let you know that they sound like a miserable sort.”

“I’m afraid you’re not looking any less miserable, my dear,” he says, tilting his nose up in an unsubtle dig at your current state. You do have a bit of yesterday’s travel wearing down on you, especially next to his flawless appearance.

So you just smile at him, with what you hope is a winning smile. “Duly noted. In that case, do you mind if I take a bath before I go?”

He stares at you with apprehension, as if not expecting you to actually leave once you’re done. “Very well, but don’t dally too long. Down the hall to the left.”

You nod, already aware of where the room is from your snooping. “Thank you.”

__

You bathe in peace, regrouping and contemplating your next course of action now that your memories of the room have proven fruitless. He said no magic, you think, a bit annoyed. You’d pulled out a few dream journals last night, but you have the sneaking suspicion that he may just light them on fire before so much as glancing their way. It’s almost like he’s afraid of me.

Why should he be afraid of me? A more rational part of you asks. He could kill me a dozen different ways before I even think of hurting him.

The emotional side of you understands what your rational side doesn’t. He’s not afraid of you killing him. He’s afraid of you hurting him. He may be afraid of even acknowledging who you are for fear of being hurt again.

You nod to yourself as you scrub. Yes, that makes sense. So how can I assuage his fears?

Every thought goes silent at that question, a true conundrum.

Sinking past the surface of the water, you hold your breath, fully submerge yourself and think.

__

When you next encounter him, it’s in what appears to be a study– a neat row of papers are stacked on a desk, quill and ink placed neatly above a writing area. You wonder if he’s corresponded a lot with any of your surviving companions or whether he has an entirely new life to worry about. You wonder who may even be alive to correspond with, other than Halsin.

Astarion seems deep in thought, sitting at the desk and reading a piece of parchment before he looks up at you, the intruder in his space. 

“And?” he begins. “Are you here to bid me farewell? You really didn’t have to.”

“No,” you say. “You were right, I’m not very well behaved.”

He gives a genuine laugh, and you’re surprised to find your heart begin pounding in your chest. Oh his laugh is dangerous, you think. “I expected as much, whoever the hells you are. Well, it has been an interesting time having you. I can’t say that anyone has gone quite so far as you have. But the welcome? I’m afraid it’s been worn.”

You are enjoying this lighthearted humor much more than his anger or his apathy. However you’re not here to enjoy this, you’re set on figuring him out. “So have you had a lot of people show up at your doorstep, looking for something?”

His red eyes regard you for a moment, verifying the integrity of your question. Perhaps he’s already gotten used to you, because he answers you only a moment later. “Oh yes, at least once a week. The myth of the sad, reformed vampire with a horde of gold is too tantalizing to resist.” Astarion adopts a mocking tone as he continues, “All he needs is a loving hand, and he shall be all better– As if I wasn’t doing just fine on my own.”

“Are you on your own often?” you ask, a small bite of jealousy gnawing at you, urging you to ask the question.

“Certainly not as often as the rumors would lead you to believe,” he answers with a fanged grin, watching your face carefully. “Though I’m afraid I remain uninterested in anything you have to offer, even after your bath.”

You try not to let that sting. “I see,” you say, feeling your own forced smile wavering. “I suppose it works out for you then? Never in need of companionship or blood at that rate.”

“Quite right. I benefit, they benefit, and we all walk away happy.” The grin never leaves his face.

“How are you not more well known?” you ask, recalling your journey to get here.

His smile shifts a bit, as his brows furrow and finally his lips shut. “I suppose it’s because they think they still have a chance to be the one. The one who finally breaks through to the solitary vampire, and they would rather have less competition.” He laughs now, much more hollow than his laugh earlier. “And I suppose you believe that too, don’t you? Or at least whoever supplied you with information believes that. What do you think now that you’ve stayed the night?”

“I think Halsin was being a bit too kind when he called you eccentric,” you say, honestly. You’d seen memories with Astarion, felt the love he’d shared. Your heart breaks to think that that may not have mattered to him in the end.

Astarion seems to get annoyed at this though. “Halsin said I was eccentric? Tch. That’s rich coming from him. He’s just saying that because I refuse to go live with him in some rundown settlement. He can’t imagine someone would rather live alone in a life of luxury than surrounded by bodies in a hovel.”

Having seen the difference between both places, you feel the need to defend the settlement, “It was actually a really lovely place, certainly more welcoming than an empty manor.”

His red eyes narrow at you and you can all but see his hackles raise. He stands from his chair angrily. “In that case,” he says, words clipped. “Why don’t you leave already?”

“Maybe because I do think I’m the one,” you say, looking away from his burning gaze. The jealousy that’s been eating at you takes hold as you grumble the next part, “I certainly don’t plan on being another one of your revolving guests.”

Slowly, like a predator, he walks around the desk, and you look back to see him standing before you. “You act as if you know anything about me or my business,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Even if you are who you claim to be, you know nothing about who I am now.”

He stalks out of the room, leaving you hurt and alone.

__

Once you’ve pulled yourself back together, you decide that your next attempt will be stronger. Less questions and more action. You can do this if you just stand your ground. So you wait a few hours for him to calm down, take notes on what you’ve learned so far, and muster all of your remaining courage for when you run into him again.

In order to facilitate that, you decide to just stand in his main hallway, like a spider waiting for its prey. It doesn’t take long to hear his soft, padded footsteps.

“You’re still here?” he asks, rolling his eyes as he strides down the hallway toward you.

“I am,” you say, walking right up to him, stopping him in his tracks. “I have to try again, so I apologize for my insistence. But I was your lover. I care.”

Astarion openly scoffs at this and the sneer that he gives you makes your muscles clench as if bracing yourself. “As if you could be my lover. They were a survivor, what are you? A pampered scholar, deigning to leave your little tower for a night of entertainment?”

That’s when you realize it, really and truly. No amount of convincing will make him see that you are the same person. Because you’re not. You’ve experienced countless memories, but you are an entirely different elf entirely now. You’re surprised by how little that bothers you– because despite it all, you still care, regardless of who you are. How then, can you make him see that a large part of you, perhaps all of you, cares for him beyond all reason?

“I’m not the same person,” you acknowledge, perhaps for the very first time in your life. “But I can’t help that they’ve shaped me into who I am today. And that they left me with this… impulse to come to you.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about impulses, darling,” he says, walking into your personal space with a cold confidence. You find yourself taking a step back instinctively, against the wall of the hallway. “You can ignore them.”

“What if I’m tired of ignoring them?” you say, chin tilted up defiantly. You won’t let him frighten you, no matter how badly he wants to instill that fear. “What if I have spent the last century dreaming of you, and all I want,” you lift a hand up, approaching his face slowly but never quite touching. “Is to see if what links us is nothing more than a dream or if it’s something set in reality?”

In the blink of an eye, he grabs your wrist, pulling your arm above your head and pinning you to the wall. “ENOUGH,” he growls, fangs just inches away from your face. Your heart is pounding in your chest and the proximity of the man sends your brain incredibly confusing signals. Astarion must see the emotions flit through your face, because he bites out one last demand as his nostrils flare, “I’ve entertained your presence long enough. Leave.”

You’re surprised that despite the anger in his face, the underlying sadness is all that you can see.

“No.” You respond, resolute. You may not be able to convince him of who you are, but you know hope isn’t lost. You’ve seen them, the cracks in his facade. He’s not the big, bad vampire man he’s trying to make himself out to be, and you refuse to let him push you away. 

Unfortunately, you don’t account for the fact that he doesn’t need to push you away. Astarion chooses to simply walk away himself. “Fine then. I will leave.” He releases his vice grip on your wrist and turns heel, stalking down the hall and out of your sight.

[imagineitdearies]

god I'm still reeling after the 22 chapter. what a mindfuck. also since you said you can talk about Astarion for hours let me take advantage of that.

so we know what Tyrus thought about this whole situation with forced bj but what about Astarion. i need his pov. was he dissociating by default, or enjoying himself despite the circumstances because it was Tyrus and feeling hella guilty afterwards?

and with the second part of the chapter what prompted his breakdown? pls ramble away ;)

Hi anon 🥰

Haha oh no, I've revealed my (very obvious) achilles heel!!

Yes yes, let's talk about Astarion in this scene 👀

As Astarion mentioned, he'd been studying up on Polymorph, hoping to prove he could be useful and an equal partner in their relationship, when Tyrus walks in.

Then Tyrus is acting off (the poor boy is not subtle about it) and 9/10 times it's thanks to Cazador, so Astarion assumes at the beginning that Tyrus has been assaulted again. And after hearing what Cazador has manipulated Tyrus into agreeing to instead, Astarion is both relieved and terrified. Their last time was absolutely awful for both of them, and at first that's all he associates this with--it's why he's so tense even whilst agreeing that he'd rather Tyrus do this with him than Cazador. Ch7 flashbacks 💀

And then he gets pulled out of it when Tyrus starts getting on his knees, reminding himself this time can be different to some extent, thanks to their bond and the lack of conditions Cazador set. At first, he's of the mindset "do the least harm," much like he was in ch4 first "teaching" Tyrus during initiation. Except this time he's sooooo much more attached to Tyrus and worried about his discomfort--not to mention feeling an unpleasant, niggling feeling of guilt about how much Tyrus has done for him of late only to now be giving him a blowjob as well. And Astarion has to shut his mouth and not offer one back even though he desperately wants to even things out because, well, he knows Tyrus too well 😂

We also have to remember that receiving a blowjob/oral sex isn't all that common in the prostitution business. Sure, it happens if the customer wants it, but very very rarely, and even then the point is always to make sure they're enjoying themselves, not Astarion, and it's usually just foreplay for the main event.

But with Tyrus in this scene, it ends up being very strange for Astarion . . . because he knows that Tyrus is not going to get his rocks off doing it. The point (besides Cazador's gross enjoyment) is Astarion's release, Astarion's pleasure. Which Tyrus does seem to care about, despite the circumstances. It's quite the novel experience.

So, while he's at first very focused and checking in on Tyrus's comfort throughout the scene, once Tyrus gets into a groove so to speak (😂) Astarion finds himself caught up in enjoying it, almost able to forget everything else, and just focus on the good parts: the physical pleasure, feeling close to Tyrus, and the pretty sight of watching him.

He's a bit confused when Tyrus ignores his warning, but his brain really isn't working enough to think hard about it before he reaches his peak and has to come down from that. Aaaaand that's when it all goes to hell in a handbasket, of course. For a split instant he doesn't understand why Tyrus would say such a thing--and then he does understand, his faculties returning to him enough that he knows who sent him this message. And all he can feel is disgust and anger, both at Cazador and at himself for enjoying it, because that means he accepted the gift.

Afterwards, his main concern is Tyrus, and then the discontent of feeling so helpless, so useless. Cue him bringing up Polymorph, and everything that follows!!

....I may have to make this a two-parter, because my ramblings are already huge now without getting more into what prompted Astarion's breakdown 😂😂

Part 2 of this Ask

[raayllum]

too many bangers to just do one little blurb, so here's a few of my favorite excerpts from the chapter that absolutely destroyed me

"...the dam bursting of every time she’d been frightened or hungry by herself, every time she’d wondered if she’d ever make it back to Katolis or see anyone she loved again, and the persistent pulsing push in her mind, constantly telling her that she didn’t deserve to." 

"'You are not a burden,” he continued. 'And even if you are, I want to carry you. You don’t have to be good enough, Rayla. There is no invisible standard you have to meet. You don’t have to be perfect to be perfect. You are not responsible for other people’s choices, and you don’t have to pay the prices for their mistakes. You don’t have to pay the price for your choices and mistakes.'"

"'You are a person and you deserve to be here without having to constantly be hurting yourself to earn it. You don't have to justify your existence by punishing yourself for it. You deserve to just be. To live and exist and be loved. Unconditionally.'"

chapter 7 man.... lives were changed. as someone who has the absolutely hardest time describing feelings--especially something as complex and messy as depression and suicidal thoughts feel--you just absolutely blew me away. and THEN to just put therapists across the globe to shame with the literal most perfect affirmations of all time? when i said this chapter destroyed me i forgot to mention that it also healed me. this is classic literature. this fic should be required reading in schools. shakespeare and my therapist are rolling in their respective graves

I have a lot of Rayla feelings in Ch7: at the end of the tunnel in particular tbh so I'll break them down here in regards to what went into the passages above.

To begin with, I'm so glad this part of the fic resonated with you. This isn't the last time we'll be addressing Rayla's mental health but it is one of the more prominent, as idk how anyone can watch s1-s4 + TTM and not take away that... she's not Doing Well, to say the least. I was definitely thinking about quotes from the show's writers with "Rayla can sometimes default to 'hurting myself is clearly a good, because I'm taking it away from someone else'" to heart.

I've written this discussion and affirmation scene in other fics, and explored Rayla's mental health before (probably most notably "say the winds won't change on us," "i care if i am guilty," and "i hope you die (i hope we both die)") but given that fanon s6 is such a big ambitious project I wanted to make sure I was getting it right in particular, here. While I've never experienced Rayla's forms of self loathing myself / to the same severity, I have quite a few people in my life that I deeply cherish who have, or in ongoing struggles with it, and I've been Callum here more than a few times.

I think a lot about how Rayla rarely allows to let two things matter if one of those things is herself ("Don't worry about my hand now; the egg is all that matters") when the boys are perfectly capable at holding space for multiple concerns, including themselves, in most instances. Rayla leaving in TTM is just the most extreme version of that, and I think the way Rayla will exceptionalize herself in a negative way—everyone else deserves good nice things / second chances / happiness except her, for Some Reason ("Your plan was fine! [...] You should cut yourself a break. Everyone messes up sometimes, or in my case, all the times [...] That shouldn't have mattered; I had a job to do")—is like... relatable for a Lot of people even when they don't also have symptoms of PTSD/depression/passive suicidal ideation.

Like Rayla was not safe or happy when she was away, and it would not surprise me at all if, while I don't think canon will necessarily touch on any of this as intensely as I have, I do think we'll get something of her having a hard time of her talking about how she suffered in favour of wanting to talk about how she made Callum suffer, for obvious reasons. Which is exactly why she left in the first place (s4 my beloved)

With all that out of the way I wanted to set up her breakdown accordingly:

You have the chapter title which is a reference to the literal tunnel they exit, and an Orpheus and Eurydice reference, while also very much being about Rayla finding the light at the end of her tunnel regarding her mental health

"I was a coward. I was weak." ("My parents aren't really dead, but I wish they were! They're cowards" / "It was the same problem every time. Hesitation, sympathy, distraction… all just weakness in a different mask.")

And then we see Callum shift to the heart of it, which is that her letter and mission was basically suicide and she knew it, and still won't really acknowledge it out loud or why it was Okay for her to do that but not for Callum to come with her, because she feels Inherently Unworthy and that there's something fundamentally broken with her, which has been pretty clear in canon for a while tbh.

With that in mind, I wanted to take Callum's viewpoint and affirmation a step further. I always say that the first step in therapy is learning to assume that no one is mad or annoyed with you at all times. The second step is learning that it's Okay even if someone is mad or upset with you. I think Rayla fears being a burden or more trouble than she's worth so much, and I think Callum at this point (in fic / canon, 5x01 you beautiful episode) has progressed to the point of like...

Rayla's not going to believe that she's not a burden, and sometimes people are burdens, shit happens, life is hard. What's most affirming for her to hear is that he wants her and loves her even if/when she IS a burden. It cuts right through all the bullshit and fear to the "you think you're terrible and awful and unworthy" and go "so what if you are? I still want you" and there's just not a lot of places for self loathing to go after that point. Like it's still there, but it can't grow to be as intensive, I find.

It's also written in mind from Callum's perspective because I've said this before, but Rayla is not an Easy person to love. Like feeling love for her is easy — she's warm and funny and kind — but she's not easy to love in terms of getting her to accept and rely on love. She's incredibly secretive and has a lot of hyper-independence as a result of her trauma and survivor's guilt, and Callum — especially post-s4 / 4x09 — has fully accepted all of this. Even if Rayla doesn't change, he's there. He knows this is not going to be an easy climb for either of them, but it's worth it to him, because it's her.

At the same time, Callum in canon has always been good at not making Rayla dependent on him ("You're too good to feel this bad about yourself. I know that, and you should know that" / "But it's your choice. No one else's" / "No, I meant what I said. You don't have to justify or explain anything to me") and emphasizing that she can and should want to get better and treat herself better for herself. So I really wanted to capture that vibe here. Rayla feels unworthy of his love, to an extent, yes, but it's also far more about her life and how routinely she puts what she wants on the back-burner... like, Rayla is a character who's always gone looking for redemption, and often times rightfully so! But I am very excited for her to realize there's nothing she has to Redeem herself for, there's nothing she has to earn or pay a price or suffer for in order to get to be Happy on the other end or put herself first for once. She deserves to just get to exist and live and be happy about that, y'know?

And I think Rayla also fundamentally wants those things, as she states at the beginning of the chapter, “I want to see the sun again first" before she'll let Callum heal her. Because you can only save someone who wants to be saved, and you can only save them so far if they want to save themselves, too, and that starts with you, that you have to want it. You have to want to live and love yourself.

Cause everyone deserves to. They really, really do.

And I just have a lot of feelings about fics / things / anything where Rayla goes "I don't want to be broken. Maybe I never was. And I want to live" because like. Yeah

[hazbinextgeneration]

(John) Doe Eyed Ch7 The Conflict And The Resolution

(Hey everyone. I just wanted to thank everyone who read this far and liked my story enough to read it to it's end. I had a lot of fun writing it and it makes me happy knowing some people loved it enough to read it fully. If you liked this consider checking out my other works. Thanks to everyone for reading this, faving it, or leaving a nice comment. And thank you to Mortisfox for creating such wonderful characters and giving me the opportunity to make this wonderful story.)

"Fae!! Fae, wake up!! You've been out for long enough."

"Is she dead?"

"Don't worry. She only fainted. I think the situation was a lot for her to take in at once."

"Oh...Is that my fault?"

"Of course not. This happens a lot more often than you think."

It was dark when Fae came to. What were those voices? Who was that? What happened? What was going on? Pink eyes slowly blinked open again and blinked again at the introduction of bright light. Slowly the eyes adjusted to the brightness and her vision cleared up. She could make out two figures looking down at her. One was the concerned face of her cousin and the other was a wide smile of John.

"You're awake! I'm so happy! ," he gushed as Fae blinked.

"Fae, are you alright?," Rose asked pressing a hand to her forehead. "You fainted after you saw him. Does your head hurt?"

Fae slowly blinked again as the realization of what happened with the memories of it. The Fuzzball monster, what Rose told her, John suddenly showing up- Both jumped as Fae shot up sitting up wide eyed and shaking her head before reaching a hand up to just grab her head.

"What happened...That really wasn't a dream was it?"

"Afraid not."

"Then that means you were telling the truth." Fae pointed at Rose. "And then that means that he's-" She slowly pointed at John whom gulped and smiled wider as she frowned deeply. "You're that little furball. Aren't you?"

John visibly gulped wringing his hands nervously and smiling widely. "Um..Y-Yes?"

There was then silence for a long LONG moment as the three just stood there before Fae inhaled deeply and slowly sighed.

"Rose. Can you give us a moment? I need to talk with Doe alone."

Rose and Doe exchanged a look before she looked back to Fae and nodded. "Um. Sure. I'll just go and get started on cleaning the bathroom then. If you need me I'll just be upstairs. Ok?"

Fae nodded. Rose gave one last look at the both of them before turning and leaving. It wasn't until Rose was fully upstairs and out of sight that Fae moved, reaching up both hands to rub her face tiredly as Doe just shyly stood there in the awkward silence. Eventually she broke the silence and spoke.

"Doe." He jumped looking at her. "Be honest with me. Was everything Rose said true or are you both pulling a bad prank on me?"

"I-.." He winced. "It's all truth."

"So that hairball really was you?!"

"Yes."

She finally looked up from her hands and gave him a frown. "So you're not even human?! And you didn't think to tell me such an important detail while we were dating?!"

He shrank a bit in on himself with a kicked puppy. "You were happy without knowing. I never lied about anything."

"Keeping the truth from someone is just as bad as lying, Doe! What was your end game here?! You couldn't just hide this from me forever!," Fae looked at him with a hurt frown. "What else did you keep from me? Do you even work as a collector?"

"I am a collector. I just ...collect things I like that people throw away."

"So you don't do that professionally?" He shook his head no. "This is too much." Her hands grabbed her head again. "I-I need some time alone."

He jumped looking horrified. "Y-Youre breaking up with me?!''

"I don't know, Doe! But I know I can't do anything without thinking about it first! And to do that I just need some time to think about things away from you! When Rose leaves go with her... I need some time to myself."

That was the last time she saw him for the past week. She made sure he left when Rose did even if he did look really hurt at her but she needed time alone to think and clear her head and just...process what happened. It was hard for a while and just left her not knowing what to think about this situation. Which lead to today when she was at her job lazily leaning against the counter top behind the register, when the bell over the door rang out and she immediately looked up.

"Hey. How can I-" She paused. Blinking widely and staring as a man with long black hair and wearing all black. "...DOE?!"

The man whom stood there looked EXACTLY LIKE DOE!! Only...he looked a lot less scraggly and more .. straightened out. His hair was still curly but a lot less messy, his clothes were straightened out especially his jacket, and his face was more... human. His eyes didn't look yellowed anymore and his features looked more... regular looking. He smiled a normal amount as he approached and waved.

"Hello my darling!," he said sounding as normal as the next person. "I've been thinking hard about what you said and I fully realized I was in the wrong, so I've come to apologize for everything."

Fae only gaped in shock still before shaking her head. "Doe? What happened to you?! You look so..."

"Normal?"

"Different! What happened?!," he seemed to pause at the concern in her voice and face. 

"Nothing happened. Don't worry." He held up a hand. "I figured it all out. You didn't like it when I wasn't human, so while I can't change what I am I can be as human as you possibly want!" He smiled a bit wider but nothing that could be considered unnormal. "Don't like this? That's ok. I can be anything you want! Just say the word and I'll be whatever you want."

"What?! NO!!" Fae yelled out making him blink. "Don't do that! Doe, I just said I needed time to think about everything. I never wanted you to just literally change yourself to try and impress me!"

He suddenly looked so lost. "But...I-I CAN MAKE YOU HAPPY!!" Fae blinked as he suddenly grabbed her hands on the counter leaning closer a weary smile on his face. "just tell me what I did wrong and I'll fix it! I...I just don't understand. I did everything right didn't I?" He became more distraught the longer she didn't respond. "Don't you love me?"

"I-..." Fae sighed looking down. "I think I do love you, Doe."

"YOU DO?!" He looked up hopeful.

"But not when you're pretending to be something you're not." Her hands tightened a bit on his. "I liked how you were before. I like how you treat me and listen and how cute you look when you get confused about something..But It hurts knowing you're keeping so much from me when I told you so much about my life. So if we're going to be together then you gotta promise me you won't keep anymore secrets. Promise?"

"YES!!" He broke whatever disguise was in take by grinning a LOT more widely than normal again happily. "I PROMISE YOU SO MUCH!!"

"Then I think we've got a lot of talking to do."

[raindrop-21]

Scarred Love: Chapter Four: Apologies And Understanding

A/n: I was a bit self-indulgent with a small part about the scars

Word count: 1,396

Cw: Ghoap x f!reader, soulmates, talk about scars, talk about past surguries

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7~ Masterlist

Johnny’s hold on you never lessens in grip. You’re not sure what to do until you feel two small drops of water hit your shoulder. By instinct, you wrap your arms around Johnny, slowly rubbing your hand up and down his back. Simon grabs your other hand, as if he’s seeking comfort from you as well. You wished you could read their minds, if you could, you would know what’s upsetting them. 

“Johnny, Simon, what's wrong? Why are you guys crying?” You ask with the confusion painfully present in your voice.

Johnny hiccups, “I’m sorry, Lass.” He heaves out in a sob.

“Me too, I’m sorry as well.” Simon mumbles, his voice barely higher than whisper.

You still can’t help but wonder what is making them so upset. As you continue to comfort them, Simon by slowly rubbing his knuckles with your thumb, and Johnny by rubbing his back in circles, you start thinking about what could have upset them. They looked at your scars, that’s what caused this, but what about your scars? What’s upsetting them so much about them? You rack your brain for any answers you could possibly come up with.

There are a few you come up with that don’t make much sense, but you finally come up with one that makes sense: they’re upset with the pain that the scars caused you. You can’t help but think it’s sweet how upset they are with what happened. They’ve barely known you, and they’re crying for you.

“Oh, boys…” You coo at them sweetly, you want to kiss Johnny’s forehead, but you don’t, you don’t know if he’d allow you.

You let them cry it out. Johnny’s hold on you never falters, and Simon’s grip on your hand just seems to get tighter and tighter, but not to the point of pain. You wait for them to calm down, Johnny’s sobs turn into slow, deep breaths. Simon just wipes his eyes and cheeks after letting a few stray tears fall. You continue silently comforting the two of them. Johnny lifts his head from the crook of your neck, his eyes are red, and his cheeks are slightly stained with tears.

“Lass, how’d you do it? How’d you tolerate the pain we gave you? Don’t you hate us?” As he speaks, his voice breaks, as if he’s about to start crying again.

You make a little shushing noise before speaking; “I don’t hate you guys, don’t think that even for a second. I had a good network of people around me and plenty of pain meds.” You say the last part with a slight chuckle, hoping your joke might bring a smile to Johnny's face, maybe even Simon’s.

Your joke somewhat worked, the corners of Johnny’s mouth lifted for a second before falling back into a pout. Johnny points to a bullet-shaped scar on your shoulder.

“This, this, had to hurt. It hurt like hell for us...” He places his thumb on the scar and gently rubs over it.

You grab his face with both of your hands and look him in the eyes, “Johnny, it did hurt, but that’s part of the whole ‘soulmate’ thing; you get hurt, I get hurt too.”

He hugs you again, this time burying his hand in the hair on the back of your head. Simon scoots closer to the two of you, wraps an arm around Johnny, and an arm around you, pulling the two of you into a hug. The two of them pull away from the hug simultaneously, and Simon looks straight at you.

“Are there any scars you got yourself?” He asks, his voice laced with curiosity.

“Yes actually.” 

You wiggle around in Johnny’s lap so that you’re facing Simon and both of your legs are on the couch. You point to your knees, where on the inner sides of both are two vertical scars from surgeries in your teen years.

“What’re those from?” Simon asks curiously with a raised eyebrow.

“I had to get surgeries to keep my knees from dislocating in middle and high school.” You explain with a shrug.

“Ah, so that’s where those came from.” Johnny says, as he adjusts you in his lap so he can roll up his pant legs, and you can see scars that match your own.

You look over to Simon and since he’s wearing cargo shorts you can already see the matching scars. Your heart beats faster as it becomes clearer and clearer that you’re all three of each other’s soulmates. You yourself start to cry at the overwhelming amount of emotions; happiness, excitement, nervousness, any other emotion you can’t put a name on. You never wanted a soulmate, you cursed the world for predetermining who you would be with for the rest of your life. But now, you’re thanking the world for giving you not one, but two soulmates.

Johnny and Simon look concerned as you start to cry, but they soon realize that you’re crying tears of happiness. They hug you and let you cry it out. It doesn’t take long for you to stop crying due to the questions racing through your mind. You wipe your tears and decide to ask the one that’s most predominant in your mind.

“What are we now? Are we dating or…?”  The shy, nervousness you harbor creeps into your voice as you speak.

Johnny and Simon share a glance and then look back at you.

“Bonnie girl, we .... We want to court you properly.” Johnny replies with a sweet smile.

Simon nods in response, “Like take ya on dates and stuff like that.” 

You nod in response, you want that, but there’s one tiny problem, you’re only in England because of a girls’ trip on a visa.

“I would love that, but there is one problem; I live in America. I’m here in England on a traveling visa.” You explain softly with a sigh.

“Shite…” Johnny murmurs as he rubs the stubble on his jaw.

“Darlin’, y’know there’s a soulmate visa, right?” Simon asks as he places a hand on your knee.

“There is? I had no clue, how does it work?” You’ve never heard of a soulmate visa, probably because you’ve never looked into it.

“If you can prove that you’ve met your soulmate, or in our case, soulmates, you can get a visa that lets you stay in the same country with your soulmate, as long as it’s your birth country.” He explains matter-of-factly.

“Oh, well, that’s quite convenient.” You say with a smile and a giggle. “So how do we do it?” You ask eagerly.

“I believe that we just have to go to the courthouse. I think it’s about the same as a marriage certificate, but you have to do a physical exam to prove that you’re really soulmates.” Simon clarified.

“Well, why don’t we go and do that tomorrow, what do you say, Lass?” Johnny asked with a smirk.

“I think we should.” You reply with a smile.

Simon looks at the clock and notices how late it is, it’s nearly two in the morning.

“Well, why don’t we head to bed now, it’s getting late.” Simon offered kindly with a hand gesture towards the bed.

“Yeah, sure, why don’t we do that.” You say with a smile.

Johnny smiles as well, but his smile falters for a moment, “What are our sleeping arrangements going to be?”

Simon thinks for a moment before looking back at you and Johnny, “Luv, if you want we can all share the bed, or if it makes you more comfortable, Johnny and I can sleep on the pullout couch, and you can have the bed. It’s up to you.”

Johnny looks at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen, practically begging you to say you want to share the bed.

You think for a moment, you decide you don’t want to deny Johnny.

“Let’s share the bed.” You say sweetly before you get off of Johnny’s lap.

After you get off of Johnny’s lap, you pick up your shirt, and put it back on. You walk over to the generously sized bed, and sit on the corner of it. You look over at Johnny and Simon.

“C’mon, you guys gonna get in?” You say with a smile as you lift the corner of the blanket, asking them to join you quickly.

Taglist:

@under-the-dirt @littlebluespoon @actuallyhiswife @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @cdej6 @whynotbad

[abitohoney]

Insatiable

CH5 - Craving You AO3 link

CH1 || CH2 || CH3 || CH4 || CH5 || CH6 || CH7

Vampire Sevika x female reader

Rating: Explicit, MDNI, NSFW

Story Tags: Vampire Sevika, Soft Sevika, liaison reader, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Grinding, Sexual Tension, Biting, Drinking, Smut, Clothed Sex, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Assault, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Minor Character Death, Vampire Silco, vampire Ran, definitely took some creative liberties on vampire lore here, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation Kink, Strap-Ons, Overstimulation

Word Count: 3.8k

Story Summary: As the new liaison between Piltover and the Undercity, you've been guided by the enigmatic escort Ran to meet with their boss- and fearsome criminal kingpin- Silco, as well as his alluring right-hand woman Sevika. You're well aware that plenty of shady things take place in the depths below, but there's something particularly mysterious about these three that you can't quite put your finger on.

AN: This is already in process over on AO3.

When you awoke the following day, not only did you realize you hadn’t asked the questions you’d intended to- not to mention missed holding the actual meeting- you had gained more questions. Yet another night with only tiny, incomplete memories. Memories that blurred with dreams that blurred with visions.

You still had no clue as to why you had now passed out twice on Silco’s settee, but you were starting to suspect Ran and/or Silco were playing a part. Both times you had accepted a drink from Ran. A drink that came from Silco’s bar cart. And Silco’s disinterest in trying to hold the meetings was equally as suspicious. He seemed far too at ease with just pushing them off for another week. Odd especially considering he was paying for half your wages in this deal with the Piltover Council.

Speaking of the Council, they were becoming rather perturbed, understandably so, at the lack of progress. You’d managed to placate them. Explained you’d been experiencing medical problems. They thankfully believed you. Your weakened state, which had worsened even more since your last visit to Silco’s office, was evident in your appearance. You looked as if you’d been bled nearly dry. Skin sunken in and several shades lighter. Eyes dry and bloodshot. Not only your appearance had been so poorly affected though. You spent even more hours in your bed. Too tired and weak to do much of anything else.

Then there was the matter of the marks. First on your neck. Now on your shoulder. Two, perfectly spaced, puncture wounds. As if something- or someone- had bitten you or used some sort of tool. You were aware of Silco’s involvement with Shimmer. His use of the drug in ways that were not most ethical. It had you wondering if he was extracting your blood for some strange experiment. It could also explain your weakened state.

But would Sevika really allow that?

She seemed entirely too concerned with your safety to play a part in that. Maybe she didn’t know.

Whatever it was, you were determined to get answers at the next meeting.

By your next ‘meeting’ you had only managed to gain a fraction of your energy back. Your determination and will were the only things moving your feet across the Piltover bridge to the lift and the subsequent walk to the Last Drop. Determination and maybe just a hint of desire to see Sevika again.

Following Ran up the stairs leading to Silco’s office, you caught sight of the man himself descending the stairs. His attention was on one of his henchmen beside him, but the moment he stepped in front to allow room for you and Ran to pass, you reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Silco! Sir,” you exclaimed, “If I could have just a moment of your time please.”

His cool gaze dropped to where your fingers wrapped around his wrist, then rose back up to your face.

You quickly removed your hand and uttered an apology.

Ran and the other henchman stopped beside each other several steps above, both turned to watch the display with obvious interest.

“It’s been several weeks since we’ve been able to speak,” you started to explain.

“And whose fault is that?” Silco drawled, that teal eye of his regarding you, calculating.

“I’m not looking to point fingers,” you replied. You swallowed, nervousness quickly building under his scrutinizing gaze. “The Council is growing impatient. There’s quite a few negotiations we haven’t made progress on-”

“You can speak with Sevika,” he interrupted, “I have other more pressing matters to attend to.” He attempted to walk past you, but in a moment of bravery- or perhaps stupidity- you stepped in front of him. His undamaged brow raised at your audacity.

“Sir, please. I- I don’t believe Sevika and I are going to be able to solve this.”

“Are you implying my second in command is not competent enough to handle these talks?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. “Janna, no!” you exclaimed. “She’s very intelligent. It’s just-”

“Then I see no problem here. Now if you would step aside before I have you removed myself.”

Realizing you’d pushed your luck far enough, you relented and stepped aside. Before you could resume your climb, Silco paused at your side, bringing his mouth uncomfortably close to your ear. Your breath caught in your throat, heart skipping a beat before starting to race.

“You’re quite a brave little mouse,” he drawled, “I can see why Sevika has taken such a liking to you.”

You slowly turned your head to the side, face coming so damn close to his you could feel his calm breath. You were met with the unnerving orange of his damaged eye. But more terrifying than that was the flash of red in the other eye as it rose from your neck to your wide eyes.

And then he was gone. Descended the stairs without so much as a goodbye. You stood frozen in shock, unable to comprehend what you’d just witnessed. His words nor the way he’d looked at you.

Janna, you had to be losing your mind.

The sudden touch of Ran’s cool metal hand on your shoulder broke you from your daze. You peered up at them, clearly still shaken, relaxed only slightly by the small crooked smile they offered you.

You released a shaky breath and followed Ran the rest of the way to Silco’s office.

“Drink?” Ran offered.

As much as you needed one, you decided to test your suspicion that Ran or Silco may have been drugging you. “No thank you.”

Ran regarded you for a moment, but eventually nodded and headed for the door.

That odd little pause only worsened your suspicion, but at least they didn’t push the matter.

“Sevika will be here shortly,” they said before leaving and shutting the door.

The predictability of these ‘meetings’ was becoming unnerving. It seemed too obvious. Like this was all planned. It was as if you were never really meant to speak with Silco. You were brought here for another purpose. Problem was, you had no idea what that purpose was.

Your thoughts immediately went back to what Silco had said to you on the stairs.

“You’re quite a brave little mouse. I can see why Sevika has taken such a liking to you.”

That memory immediately triggered another. The blue-haired girl. Jinx. She had said something seemingly similar.

“Should I go tell Sevika her pet is awake?”

It had to mean something. But what?

Looking for something to preoccupy yourself with, you headed straight for the gramophone beside the settee. Several records sat in a crate just behind it. You crouched down, thumbing through the records. Silco seemed to have quite the collection. Much of it you didn’t quite recognize, likely before your time. However, one managed to catch your eye.

After pulling the record from its sleeve, you slipped it onto the gramophone. You turned the volume down, not wanting anyone outside to catch you playing with Silco’s items. The last thing you needed was to perturb him any more than you seemingly already had.

With the needle in the track, you stepped back and listened as a smooth, slow song started to play. It was surprisingly nice. Catchy and sweet. Not something you would have imagined Silco listening to. Then again, you had a difficult time imagining such an intense and bored looking man listening to anything really. Probably had more than his share of music from the club below.

You started to sway in place to the music, letting your thoughts melt away for a moment.

Soon enough you found yourself lost in the music, dancing and slowly turning as you let the tune carry you.

Apparently a little too lost.

You failed to notice Sevika’s entrance until you had made a full circle to find her leaning back against the door, a crooked smile pulling at those delightful lips.

You froze immediately, heat rising into your cheeks. “Sorry,” you said with an awkward laugh. “Got bored and a little carried away.”

“Leave it,” Sevika gruffed before you could make it to the gramophone. “I like watching.”

That warmth grew hotter, but you turned to her with a playful smile. “Only if you dance with me.”

She chuckled– deep, warm, and sultry. “I don’t dance, sweetheart.”

“Oh come on. We both know Silco won’t be here anytime soon,” you prodded, striding towards her with a sway of your hips. “Won’t be anyone here to see.”

Sevika remained unmoved, her eyes tracking your hips until you stood before her. She met your eyes. “Not gonna happen.”

“Please?” you asked sweetly, running your fingertips from her bicep down to her hand. “Just for this song. Then you can have whatever you want.”

Her gaze flitted between your pleading eyes and seductive smile. She said nothing, but allowed you to gently pull her hand and bring her to the center of the room.

Eyes locked on hers, you placed her flesh hand on your waist, then gently took her metal hand and did the same with it. With your arms wrapped around her neck, you began to slowly sway with the music, your smile growing when she reluctantly joined in.

You could feel the tension in her shoulders and neck where your arms rested against them. It was honestly so terribly cute to see such a strong, confident woman so nervous. “Relax. You’re doing just fine,” you assured her.

“I am relaxed.”

You had to bite your lip to stop the laughter that threatened to bubble to the surface. She was most certainly not relaxed. Taking a step closer, you pressed your body into hers, hips swaying just a bit more sensually than the music called for. Sevika seemed to take notice though, the tips of her fingers digging into your waist and her pupils widening. With just a little more distraction, you were certain she’d ease into the dancing.

“Sevika,” you asked softly as you peered up into her intense gaze. “I’ve been wanting to ask you. The past two meetings- or rather what was supposed to be meetings- I can’t fully recall what happened. Just bits and pieces. I’m pretty sure you and I-” you paused, heat returning to your cheeks. “-did things, but I honestly can’t recall exactly what. Or how I ended up on Silco’s settee. What happened?”

Sevika said nothing. Merely stared down at you with an ominous look you couldn’t quite identify while you both continued to sway.

“Sevika?” you asked, brows knitted in worry. It was as if she had spaced out.

Her eyes dropped to your neck, flashing that startling red-purple before darting back up to your face.

You watched in awe as her tongue slipped out to wet her lips. She looked…

Hungry.

The song ended and it was as if a switch had been flipped. Sevika immediately ceased her swaying, her grip on your waist digging in deeper.

“Sevika?” you tried again, this time with a hint of worry in your tone.

The next thing you knew, she was pushing you backward. Your eyes went wide, fear and excitement overtaking you.

Your back bumped into Silco's desk, knocking a startled gasp from you and several items on the desk to rattle. Sevika's lips crashed into yours and your hands slipped down her front, grasping the collar of her top to keep yourself upright.

Without breaking the kiss, her hands slid down to grip the back of your thighs, just below your ass, before hoisting you up onto the edge of the desk. She stepped between your legs, forcing them to spread so she could press against the apex of your thighs. She slipped her hands beneath your top, cool metal and warm flesh gliding up your stomach to grasp at your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra. She took the opportunity of your parted lips to delve her tongue inside, hungrily swirling around yours.

You tried to match her fervor, but she pulled away to suck your bottom lip into her mouth. Teeth- two of which felt oddly more pronounced and sharper than the others- clamped down on the plush of your lip, pulling yet another gasp from your throat. When she finally released your lip, she ran her tongue along the length of it.

“Sevika,” you said breathlessly. “Wait! I- I want you to answer my questions.”

Her mouth had already found the side of your neck, sucking deep bruises into the skin and sending your mind reeling. You tilted your head back, giving her more access, silently begging her to take her fill despite your protests.

“You said I could have whatever I want,” she growled before scraping her teeth down and across your throat. Metal and flesh fingers pulled and twisted your hardening nipples.

You whimpered and squirmed, inadvertently grinding against her waist. The ache in your core spread clear down your legs. A wanton moan fell from your mouth. But you refused to give up. Not yet. “I- I know but-”

“I want you ,” she grunted, rocking her hips against you. She licked a stripe from the center of your collarbone clear up your neck, pulling away just before reaching the underside of your chin. She straightened up, her glowing and pupil-blown eyes locking on yours. “I’ve been craving the taste of you every fucking night. Nothing else will satiate me.”

That’s when you lost it. To hell with whatever questions you’d been so desperately wanting answers to. There was no denying her. And you had no desire to.

Her lips met yours again, tongue immediately slipping between your lips. Her hands slid beneath the backs of your thighs again, lifting you up off the desk and pulling your body against hers.

You wrapped your legs around her waist and your arms around her neck as she carried you to the opposite side of the desk. Her mouth remained on yours until she set you back down on the desk in front of Silco’s chair.

You struggled to catch your breath when she pulled away, but she left you little time to recover as she slipped her fingers beneath the waist of your pants and began tugging them down. With your palms pressed against the desk, you did your best to lift yourself up and aid her before she could tear your pants to shreds in her impatient attempt to remove them.

While she pulled them down the rest of the way, chucking your shoes aside, you sat in shock. There was no doubt in your mind that her eyes had that frightful glow to them. It was no trick of your mind. And as she rose back up to grasp your soaked panties, that’s when you saw something new. Something far more peculiar and unexpected.

Her lips were pulled back in a ravenous snarl, revealing two obviously pronounced and sharp teeth.

Oh dear Janna.

She didn’t bother giving you the time to help her remove your last barrier. She slid a single sharp, metal talon beneath the gusset of your panties and tore them to useless shreds in one fell swoop.

The startled yelp that pulled from you was met with a threatening glare. One that should have had you second guessing your choice to be there with Sevika. Instead it made the knot low in your belly pull tighter. You could feel the warm, wetness of your arousal already seeping down the inside of your thighs.

“What did I tell you last time?” she growled, forcing your legs to spread wide as she stepped between them.

Breath caught in your throat, you peered helplessly into her glowing eyes. Your heart hammered in your chest, so hard you swore she’d be able to hear it. “I- I-” you stammered, unable to recall what she could be referring to. Even if you’d actually had all those memories, there was no way in hell you were capable of processing anything in that moment. You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to those two, sharp teeth again.

Had they grown even longer?

“I- I don’t remember,” you managed to squeak out.

Cold, sharp metal fingers wrapped around your neck, another move that should have sent you running. And yet, all you did was moan softly and allow her to pull your head closer to hers. She leaned in, her wet lips pressing against your ear as she whispered, “I need you to keep that pretty mouth of yours nice and quiet.”

Your hands gripped the front edge of the desk, nails biting into the unforgiving wood.

She stood back up, but only enough to meet your frightened gaze. She teased her parted lips across yours, intently watching your expression as you nearly fell apart right then and there. “Can you be quiet for me?” she asked, lips brushing over yours as she spoke.

Not trusting your ability to speak, you gave her a very small nod.

“That’s a good girl,” she husked, “Now lie back for me.”

You hesitated, hoping to get another kiss from those soft lips before following her orders. They were only a hair's breadth away. You could just lean forward. Take what you want.

You watched her arch a single dark brow. The metal fingers around your neck held tighter. Not enough to harm you, but enough to send your eyes fluttering shut and a breathy moan spilling past your lips.

“Needy girl,” she chuckled darkly, her breath mixing with yours. “You’ll get my mouth. Just not here.”

You whimpered in protest, but allowed her to gently push you back until you were leaning on your forearms. Your eyes slowly opened, glazed over with lust as you watched her take a seat in Silco’s chair and settle between your thighs.

She locked eyes with you, then lifted each of your thighs onto her shoulders.

For as damn impatient as she seemed that night, she took her sweet time sucking marks up along the inside of each thigh. Her eyes only left yours for a moment to admire her handiwork. That, and your resulting arousal. She didn’t even need to say anything. The sinful curl of those lips spoke enough.

Your cheeks burned, but the heat quickly flooded your lower half the moment she ran the flat of her tongue over your weeping cunt. Your head fell back, a soft moan falling past parted lips.

Sevika’s appreciative hum sent vibrations through your throbbing clit. You instinctively bucked towards her face, but the hands she’d been sliding down the tops of your thighs held you tight in place.

Her tongue made another pass, slipping between your wet folds before teasing over your clit.

You gasped, body making another attempt to grind against her face. Sharp nails sunk into the flesh of your thighs, a silent warning to lie still. “I- I’m sorry,” you whined, but Janna, it was damn near impossible to sit still while she used her tongue to tease and taunt you. She merely lapped at your wet hole, kissing and sucking on the soft folds. Just the faintest of touches over the aching bundle of nerves above, but never quite enough.

“Sevika, please,” you begged. You lifted your head, your pleading eyes meeting hers. Her pupils were almost entirely blown out, leaving just a small ring of glowing iris.

She said nothing, simply delved her tongue deep inside you until that wonderful nose of hers pressed against your clit.

“Shit,” you breathed out and your head fell back once again.

She worked that wet appendage in and out, nose bumping against you each and every time.

Your breathing quickly became ragged. The tension drew tighter in your core with every passing second, every drag of her tongue, every brush of her nose. With the muscles in your arms no longer able to keep you up, you let your back collapse against the desk. Your head hung off the edge, leaving you with nothing but a blurry vision of the door from beneath your hooded eyes.

Sevika ran her hands up under your thighs, then pushed them up to the sides of your chest, leaving you completely exposed and open to her. She wrapped her lips around your swollen clit, sucking and licking hungrily.

The closer she brought you to the precipice of bliss, the more your vision started to blur. Drowning in pleasure, all you could manage to vocalize were breathy whines and desperate mewls. She must have sensed your impending orgasm, her fingers sinking further into your thighs as she held them in place and her mouth worked more aggressively.

A familiar, yet indescribable feeling started to wash over you. It was as if something had entered your mind. The room began shifting, rocking like the waves of an ocean. You closed your eyes just as the waves of pleasure crashed over you.

You fought to close your thighs around Sevika’s head as pleasure wracked your body, but she was simply too strong. You helplessly dug your nails into the wood of the desk beneath you, trying to stave off the pathetic cries ripping from your throat.

She relentlessly continued to suck and lap at your weeping cunt while you rode your high, dragging it on longer than you thought possible.

Just when you thought it was finally coming to an end, your body falling limp against the desk, that’s when you felt something pierce the inside of your thigh.

Your eyes flew wide open as pain scorched through your veins, emanating from the points where Sevika had latched onto your flesh. Tears streamed down the side of your face, blurring your vision of the door. You tried to cry out, but with your head tilted so far back, all that escaped was a sharp release of your breath.

Your hands flailed helplessly, trying to grasp at anything you could to stop the pain, but with your legs pinned down and your strength rapidly depleting, you couldn’t manage to sit up to reach Sevika.

Choked sobs echoed in your head as you lay there helpless. Thick, dark red started to take over your vision, slowly painting the door in the color of blood. Before you knew it, the pain was replaced with a warm ache. Pleasure washed over your body just as the red washed over your vision.

You’d been here before. You’d had these sensations before. The visions. The pain. The pleasure.

Your eyelids grew heavier. You tried to fight it. Tried to force them open, but Sevika was sucking you dry.

Sevika.

“Sevika,” you breathed just before giving into the darkness.

CH6>>

[httpwintersoldier]

『 death of peace of mind | ch7 』

masterlist | previous ↢ seven ↣ next

𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊'𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖔𝖋 𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖈𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉 - a slow burn between a hate-filled person and a sorrow-filled soldier

“Yeah, I can. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

But that apparently didn’t include the following morning, as you woke up to an empty bed.

“Bucky?” You called out, hoping he’d be somewhere in your small apartment, but to no avail.

What you did find, however, was a bag with a sandwich inside and a cup of coffee beside it, still warm.

Bucky had gotten used to taking care of people from afar, watching them and noticing what they needed and helping them in small ways. He had been deprived of love, attention and affection for so long that now it was all a very strange feeling to him, and he didn’t know what to do when faced with it, he didn’t know how to react.

Comforting you was easy, Bucky was used to having to calm himself down, but he had no idea what your expectations were the next day: would you be freaked out? Would you feel embarrassed and want him to leave? Would you think him staying would be overstepping?

For someone that was seemingly calm and collected on the outside, someone so serious and that seemed to always know what he was doing, the soldier had a habit of overthinking and problematizing everything.

You were a little sad to find your house empty. You had always found your house to be a home: it brought you comfort and warmth, but for some reason ever since Bucky had left you felt a certain coldness, like something important was just taken from it.

Nevertheless, the small gesture of taking care of you by making sure you had breakfast made your heart beat faster, and you wondered if your view of Bucky was finally shifting.

“I’ll see him later today anyways…” You thought.

However, what you didn’t imagine was how… weird Bucky would act.

When the soldier entered, he greeted you with nothing but a nod, despite getting a wide smile and an excited hello from your part. That instantly clouded the sunshine and clear skies that seemingly had been hovering above you all day, but you pretended it didn’t affect you, God forbid you show that a man had some sort of effect on your mood.

You wondered if Bucky thought you had stepped over the line, taken advantage of his kindness and misinterpreted the amount of help he was willing to give you when he gave you his number.

But truth was that Bucky’s several decades of torture and the lack of socialization that followed consequently had completely changed the way he saw simple interactions, especially with people he cared for. The man was afraid of being too clingy, of being too cold. He was afraid of being too suffocating, of not caring enough. Bucky didn’t have a reference as to what a normal friendship was supposed to be like, the years with Steve seemingly being so far in the distance, nevermind what a relationship was supposed to be like, what it was supposed to feel like.

The soldier didn’t realize the feeling of his heart being gripped from the inside and the odd feeling spreading in his chest and stomach wasn’t panic and anxiety, but love and adoration. How could he? It had been about 70 years since he last felt those.

It didn’t help that he was very awkward in communication and understanding very obvious signals. The idea of telling you what he was feeling, how confused he was, how he didn’t know what it was… it was terrifying. He could deal with his own self-hate, but he couldn’t deal with your hate. The way you greeted the man should’ve been an obvious hint, but he missed that too.

It resulted in the most awkward day you had had in a while. It was even more awkward than the time he refused to talk to you from anger, because at least then you hadn’t slept in his arms the previous night.

The exchanges between you two that day were seldom, and the ones that did happen were short and dry, as you both fought to understand what the fuck was going on.

You had come to terms with the fact that you wanted him, that maybe perhaps you even liked him. And you thought he did too, Bucky didn’t seem like the type of guy to go around making our with women, so his behaviour was confusing.

Bucky, on the other hand, was just trying to understand what it all meant. The kiss, the trust you put in him, the comfort you seeked with him, the way he felt around you. To a normal person the answer was obvious – he was in love. But Bucky was not a normal person, and the way he had been treated, as well as his trust issues, stopped him from being able to put the pieces together.

By the end of the night you were holding back tears. Was he just using you? Did he just want to get in your pants and the kiss was so bad that he decided to back off then and there? Was the comfort and security you felt with him just a lie?

You were so entangled in your own thoughts that you didn’t even hear Bucky bid goodbye and leave the bar.

He wasn’t even taking you home that night…

You couldn’t stay there one more second, so you closed the bar earlier and practically ran home, full of tears and sniffles, not caring about the odd looks you got from everyone that passed you.

Bucky watched from afar (obviously), as he vouched to himself he’d never let you walk home alone again, and he furrowed his eyebrows. You had seemed fine at the bar, had something happened in the short period of time between him leaving and you leaving?...

The soldier checked the time and tilted his head, you had closed a lot earlier than usual.

He didn’t want you to think he was stalking you and the man wanted to give you space, but his gut feeling didn’t let him, and before he could stop himself, he was across the street grabbing your arm.

Out of habit, you spun around and slapped the unknown person across the face.

Bucky’s jaw tensed, and only after your eyes adjusted did you recognize the man’s face lit by the moonlight.

“What are you doing? I don’t want to see you.” You said with a monotone voice, before turning back around and resuming your walk home in a faster pace.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” Bucky asked, catching up to your pace, his face painted with worry that made you wonder if it was even genuine.

His question was meant with cold silence from you.

“Y/N, please, did anything-“

SMACK

Before he could finish the question, you delivered another slap to his face, this time on purpose.

“What the fuck was that for!?” Bucky asked, irritated since your slaps were quite aggressive.

“You give me your fucking number, you walk me home every night, you stay in my bar from open to close, you comfort me, make out with me, spend the night, leave me breakfast and then the next day you pretend like I’m just a barmaid!? Like you don’t even know me!?”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak but he didn’t get to say much before you continued your speech, your index finger pushing back against his chest and tears welling up in your eyes.

“Don’t. Come. Near. Me. Again! I fucking hate you! You fucking asshole! Was this the plan? To make me like you so you could what? Break my heart? Toy around with me!?”

The question was rhetorical, as when Bucky tried to answer, he was simply met with a loud “Leave!” from you, and he obeyed your wishes. He wanted to stay, the soldier wanted to hug you, hold you close and tell you that he liked you, no, he loved you. But he couldn’t. He physically couldn’t, no matter how much his heart and brain both yelled “Do it you fucking idiot!”, he was afraid.

So he just left, watching as you entered your building, his heart aching just as much as yours, as he tried to figure out how to fix himself for you.

[TAGS]

@kandis-mom ; @ashovertheriver ; @browneyedgirl22 ; @verygraphicink