#faewolfxvi

Help me

What time is it?

Four year anniversary with my woman.

Fleur squeaked in shock as she felt Hermione's lips meld so perfectly with her own. Her cerulean eyes wide while the brunette's were closed in a mix of anger and ecstasy. The Veela within was flaring at the contact, overjoyed to have her mate so close, but Fleur's more rational side was conflicted. She wanted this, by the gods did she want it, but not like this. Not here. Not out of pity and remorse or guilt because Hermione knew she was causing the French woman to suffer. She wanted it because Hermione wanted it, needed it. She needed it to be because Hermione couldn't stand to be away from her, couldn't bear to not have her hands on her body or have emptiness between their lips. No, Fleur didn't want her charity of this fleeting affection. The Veela, the human, wanted more, but one can't argue when the woman you love is kissing you so fervently. Regardless, Fleur let her eyes flutter shut as her lips began to slip and move with Hermione's and she practically growled when a breathy moan escaped the brunette's throat. Her hands rested on the shorter woman's shoulders and pulled her closer. She needed her closer, needed to make sure this was real, that this was truly Hermione. It was searing, having Hermione's lips on hers with such force, but at the same time, feeling her fighting against her want. It was bittersweet in a sense that Fleur knew the younger witch couldn't stay away from her, but wanted nothing more than to keep her distance, if only to prove that she could do it. All in all, the kiss was agonizingly perfect. Hermione's lips froze and scorched in unison, making the blonde flinch and whimper at the pain, the need for her touch. Hands tangled in silvery blonde locks as the Veela gasped for the oxygen that Hermione had so swiftly stolen from her lungs before their lips were forced together again. It was Heaven and Hell in one moment. Love and suffering in one kiss. To her Veela it was enough, almost perfect, but Fleur knew it was ephemeral. There could be no pain without pleasure, no restriction without defiance, and Hermione was her own contradiction. She wanted to prove to Fleur she could control her own fate, her own love, but wanted nothing more than to defy her own will and submit to the bond that compelled her to love unconditionally. Hermione was the Harbinger of Fleur's agony and unyielding, unwavering, irrevocable love. In her gold tinged eyes, her mate was perfect. Because agony can be beautiful.