#after the creature after my own heart line she says shes hot so they should go cool off in the water im like why is snorkmaiden flirting

[skruttet]

whilst little my is with the babies, snorkmaiden is keeping mummy hedgehog company 🥹

#after the creature after my own heart line she says shes hot so they should go cool off in the water im like why is snorkmaiden flirting #with this hedgehog 😂 #snorkmaiden #moomin: puzzle & design

[batterygarden]

denji x fem!sex fiend!reader | 18+ MDNI

m.list

cw: explicit, cream pie, blood drinking, overstim for denji, i gave sex fiend reader a rlly long orgasm, 1.8k words

a/n: this goes out to my lovely ydt anon who inspired this also thank u @detritvss for remaining the number 1 beta to my alpha 🐺. Also if the headers blurry pretend it’s not I love the glitter!!!!!

3:00 AM

Through his peripheral, Denji watches the numbers on his alarm clock blur into new ones, refusing to focus his eyes and witness the passing of another minute spent awake. He doesn’t want to know what time it is, because the later it gets, the less he’ll be able to sleep, and the less sleep he can manage, the harder tomorrow’s work day will be.

Although he’s starting to give up on the prospect of sleeping at all. It’s too hot. Everything’s stuffy—Denji has no idea how you manage to stay so peacefully unconscious atop him. The heater is on high (as per your demand after walking home in the snow earlier), a heavy quilt is around you both (which, even asleep, you refuse to allow Denji to lower), and your warm body is clinging to him—cheek over his heart, skin stuck to skin and your arms latched around his torso with a strength that should be impossible for a sleeping person. 

Of course… technically you’re no more a person than Denji is. 

The Sex Fiend. 

People tend to imagine a creature scarier than you when they picture it. But you’re sweet for a devil—that’s what everyone who knows you says. You’ll cooperate—and you’re not especially malicious. All you need is a good fuck when you’re in the mood and you’ll do what you’re told with a smile on your face! It’s never been an issue with your near irresistible charms, and you’ve been lucky enough to be placed under the care of a really cool devil hunter. He always meets your needs—even going so far as to share his bed!

But tonight you won’t let him move even an inch to get comfier in said bed, and Denji is on the verge of becoming grumpy over it. He’s about to lose it when, at three in the morning, you introduce the cherry on top of your efforts to prevent Denji from achieving a rem cycle—you start grinding on him.

He’s not even certain that’s what’s really happening—the first time your hips dig into his side, he assumes you’re simply stretching. But then you dig into him again, more firmly  and accompanied by a soft pant—and Denji’s sure of it.

Ugh. He rolls his eyes in the darkness. He should have known this would happen—clearly he was doomed to a tired day tomorrow no matter what. He feels his cock start to harden when you buck again, his bitterness starting to wash away with lust—too easily, he thinks, all it took was a couple lazy thrusts of your hips. 

Of course, you’re sure to wake any moment now—you’re insatiable once you get horny, there’s no calming you till you reach your high, Denji would know. He’s reminded of the time you needed to be fucked mid-train ride to Kyoto—that time he actually had been sleeping. You’d simply shaken him awake to satiate your needs then; he figures that’s the silver lining of staying up tonight—at least you wouldn’t be waking him. He’ll take a win where he can get one with you.

‘That little sex fiend, have you met her?’

‘An odd case for a devil—she’s a great listener and cute as a button!’

‘Must be the easiest fiend to work with that the agency’s ever captured—she’s the only one that’s no trouble!’ 

Denji frowns at his own memories, at people’s false perceptions. Sure, Denji knows you’re cute—he’d be an idiot to miss it, but compliancy is not on your long list of virtues. You’re a pain in Denji’s neck on a good day—only asking to fuck at the worst, most inconvenient times, knowing Denji would never say no. You take full advantage of his generous nature (and easy horniness), and he’s aware of it but can’t even blame you. Your pussy always feels too good to decline.

It’s with that in mind that Denji shakes your shoulder aggressively—unsympathetic to your interrupted sleep when you wake with a gasp, eyes widening immediately. Your hand is quick to wrap around his wrist with bruising pressure as you whine, instantly pushed into sleepy, lust induced hysterics. 

“Denji! I just—” your breath catches in your throat while your hips resume motion on their own accord, “I just had such a good dream.”

You raise your head to look at him then, and when Denji meets your eyes in the dim light you look hungry. He swallows. 

“Oh yeah?”

You nod vigorously, eventually dropping your head back to his chest instead of holding eye  contact while you grind some more—slow and deep this time. Your fingers are pressing into his flesh wherever they can reach, like you’re trying to sink into his skin—suddenly you need to be closer.

“It was about you,” you don’t mince your words. “Fuck me, Denji.” 

He huffs before nodding, dropping an obedient kay, before rolling you onto your back to hover over you. He chuckles when you try and wrap your legs around him before he’s even all the way on top of you—he’d make fun of you for your desperation if it didn’t turn him on so much. 

A hand is quick to slide under your nightgown then, his fingers hot over your naked hip as they trail towards your center. Your breathing somehow turns even more erratic when he traces the seam of your cunt, then your arms are folding behind his head and yanking him lower to meet his lips. Denji hums against your mouth when he feels how utterly drenched you are. He has a passing thought about how you likely marked up his boxers with your slick before you distract him with a bite, sinking sharp teeth into his lip and savoring the taste of his blood pouring into your mouth.

He pulls away with a victimized expression but you follow him, not even allowing the chance to speak before you’re licking the last red drops from his healing lip and grinding against his fingers.

Denji’s quick to forgive your sharp teeth when you reach between you to palm his hard cock, feeling its thick shape through the fabric of his boxers. You can’t help but whine from the weight of him in your hand—he’s yours, you think, this belongs to me. 

And you tell him—whining, “Denji, I need your cock now, let me use it now please!”  Your eyes frenzied when you murmur “You know I love your cock, right, Denji? Need it inside now!” 

You’re unashamed—letting your desperation leak into your voice as you grip him firmly and use your other arm to try and push his back lower.

Denji knows how possessive you get over him—the way you feel about his body is something you’re not shy in confessing, but it still heats his face up every time you say it. He complies, partially because he knows you’ll get frustrated if he doesn’t and partially because his need is right there with you—he’s growing desperate, too.

So he slides his fingers from your clit that he’s been circling, instead using them to rip down his  boxers and line himself up with your entrance. You cry and buck towards him, anything to get closer and feel the friction that you crave—that you thrive off, but you’re really just making it harder for him to slide himself lower in the dark.

“Quit movin’,” 

He steadies your hip with his hand briefly before finally sinking down to your opening. Fingering you first crosses his mind but he quickly decides not to bother; he knows you won’t have the patience and he reasons you should be wet enough with how long you've apparently been aching for him. He starts to slide in slowly at first—it’s rare that he doesn’t prep you like this—but then you’re tightening your legs and arms around him, using all your strength to pull him in despite the initial stretch. 

Denji groans—the tight warm feeling of you around him is something he can never get used to no matter how often he gets to feel it. You suck him in deep till it’s hard to move—but you start moving for him, unable to take a moment of stillness, rocking up into him frantically and biting his shoulder. 

It feels insane. The pinch your teeth leave in his skin doesn’t even register next to the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around him, pulling him in again and again. Denji doesn’t even scold you for it like usual—he’s doing everything he can not to cum too early—saving himself from the overstimulation you would surely bring if you couldn't reach your high before him. He has to grit his teeth and focus on holding it back as he begins a steady pace drilling into you. 

This feels like relief. You were beginning to fear you’d go crazy if Denji didn’t do something quick—you could cry with how good it feels to finally be taken care of. You half-bounce yourself up to meet his thrusts, eyes rolling back with how deep you feel him, nail digging into the skin of his back enough to draw blood as he literally rearranges your guts—it’s just what you needed. It takes almost no time for your toes to start curling, for your pants and moans to grow more high pitched, for his cock to get overwhelming in the best way. 

“Denji, Denji, Denji…” you repeat, too lost in these sensations to monitor your voice or how loud it’s becoming—only focused on chasing your approaching high.

Denji shushes you half-heartedly—you feel too good for him to really care about your volume. The convenience of your neighbors is the last thing on Denji’s mind as you begin to clamp down on him, letting him feel the first waves of your orgasm. He can’t hold on any longer as you grip his arms and bite his neck, your pussy squeezing him in rapid waves that leave his brain staticky and blank. He can’t even find his voice to warn you that he’s cumming too, you only know when you feel him paint your insides. You aren’t even finished by the time he’s emptied, still grinding against him while you twitch on his cock, leaving him gasping and overstimulated. 

“H-hey,” he tries telling you, “S’too much baby–” Your ears might as well be full of cotton though, you simply wrap your legs tighter and bite a new spot on his neck, leaving him thoroughly marked and bruised. Denji throws his head back and whimpers till the last waves of orgasm finish washing over you and you finally stop milking his cock for all he has—leaving both of you drained and lifeless. Denji promptly collapses on top of you. You roll so you’re on his chest again, still connected.  

“Thank you, Denji” you whisper, planting a light kiss between his collar bones, your voice turned all sweet and reserved like it is around everyone else.

He huffs, wrapping his arms tight around your back and letting his eyelids droop.

Then you gasp, and Denji’s eyes shoot open again while he lifts his head, “What?!” 

“Did you see the time? It’ll be 4 soon—we should get some sleep!”

#denji x reader #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader #denji fics

[pollyna]

On this queer house (and I'm sorry for the running comments? annnd it got shippy lol):

Class '86:

Wolfman: gay but when the kids start using the moronsexual name he starts to identify with that because he married Hollywood, didn't he?

Hollywood: gay and he would like to say to his husband that he's the moron, not him, get it?

Sundown: bi

Chipper: bi

Slider: bi even if thought he was straight for the longest of times (did know u were that old, Ronnie)

Iceman: gay/homosexual/gay (the day he comes out to Ron he would liked to answer: and during summer the sand is hot. Something other earth breaking truth I should made aware of?)

Goose: queer (he serenades them and leaves them with a broken heart, and then Carole comes around and his brain fries once and for all)

Maverick: the bi king

Cougar: he's probably gay but he's repressed af so he says he's the most heterosexual person on this and other planets (I read too many past!cougar/iceman where he breaks iceman's heart to not be of part)

Merlin: not enough informations on him but after surviving being Mav's backset he will probably reconsider half of his life

Jester & Viper: they're tired dads™️ nothing else is required by them, that's says more than anything else.

People around the '86 class:

Carole: bi

Charlie: bi? (me🤝charlie: questioning her sexuality)

Class '22(?):

Rooster: bi (the tale wants that Bradley realised he was bi while putting milk in his cereal, at the tender age of 13, obtaining to spill milk everywhere and on his uncle Tom's uniform too)

Hangman: gay (the day he did coming out with Javy he presented himself drapped in rainbow flag because he had to make an entrance. He was fifteen and Javy was still asleep. The cuddle a lot after because Javy was still sleeping Seresin.)

Coyote: he's the tired bisexual of the group for the love of god someone should give this man a break

Phoenix: greyro bisexual (she is the dangerous thing Halo sleeps with. Who needs a knife or a gun when she is there)

Bob: aroace (his&Phe queerplatonic relationship is life. Apparently in this language is known as the ay-ay spectrum bc you can't pronounce the a someone should give bob the maracas to play as introduction when they ask him his sexuality)

Halo: aro lesbian (Phe says she kisses her in the softest and more determined way someone has ever kissed her)

Omaha: biromantic asexual (flying as backset with Halo give him time to talk about shit he isn't really comfortable talking with everybody around)

Payback: gay (when he was five he asked his mom if he could fall in love with a plane because they were absolutely the best thing ever. Now he thinks the same everytime he looks at Mickey)

Fanboy: pan (his granma ironed the the flag for his first pride because don't you dare going around with that thing all wrinkled)

Harvard: greysexual homoromantic (his bio on Instagram says, Harvard graduate, medical doctor, Naval aviator, my other half snors)

Yale: gay (he's a big fan of ds9 and most of his photos have a quote of the tvshow expect from when he postes about Harvard, than is poetry. It's nauseating, the entire squad hates and loves it.)

Fritz: raging bi with a little application for older people that everybody in the NAVY knows about (see his crush on Admiral Kazansky)

People around the '22 class:

Cyclone: he's bi but he won't let anyone knows because he's not weak

Hondo: pan (his wife made him a patch that he wears for all June and it has the dagger squad insigna in but it isn't in black and white but in blue, pink and yellow)

Warlock: queer (he says the term fits quiet well with him and honest to God Navy is already hard enough without him having to question his own label. His cat is the most affectionate creature this planet has ever saw and sometimes he takes her to work because it's a good antistress and leaves Cyclone and his problems out of his door)

Penny: bi™️ (she meets Charlie, at someone point along the line, and they have a sort of rebound night because of Maverick but it stops being about Maverick 0.01 second after they kiss.)

#everybody's queer in this house don't fight me #but we can talk about it and discuss them for sure #the 86' class #the 20(22?)' class #the people around them too #lgbtqia+ characters #hope i haven't forgot anyone 🌈 #i'm not going to tag everyone or the shippy part it would take me a lifetime #but i'm going to say this: warlock is the tuvok of tpg:mav #top gun(1986) #top gun: maverick

[givereadersahug]

Fic Rec 💚 How long we were fooled by Ark (Marvel)

How long we were fooled - Ark Rated E, Word Count 28k

Loki is not a good man, he knows; there is something rotten in the core of him; and even a much better man might let Thor kiss him, since Thor still tastes of sizzling lightning, like gathering rain, like a desire so fierce and so awful to him that when released it could bring Asgard to its knees.

---

Re-reading one of my fav Thorki fics to get out of my reading slump and I just keep pausing to write down a line or two or a whole paragraph cause AHHHH. The writing! The emotions! The structure! The characterizations!

Gosh, such a talent. Such a beautiful story.

Below the cut are just a (tiny) few of my favorite lines from the story.

*Spoilers

Satisfaction blooms in Loki’s breast, hot and sharp, to see Thor so wholly defeated. Thor is entirely at his mercy, he knows then in a heady rush. Thor would do anything that Loki asked of him, if Loki but gave the instruction, and the suggestion that it might turn them back into something Thor could live with. But even Loki is not a clever enough sorcerer to have that power, to know the words that could mend them where they are so irrevocably broken.

---

Even now, even faced with his own looming end if he does not act, Thor hesitates. Thor will always be an insolent, unbearable fool, but he is Loki’s fool; and his death belongs to Loki also. Loki will not let it arrive today.

---

“I think that he is here still,” says Frigga. “I think he never left. We change with time, all creatures do; but our truths are not easily undone, and love is the hardest knot of all to unwind.” When she looks up at him, Frigga is smiling like the sun on fallow ground. “I will always love you, Loki, as you love me. I would have you think on that, for I am nothing, a mite blowing past, compared to what your brother means to you, and you to him.”

---

And basically all the last scene of the fic, which is too long for me to copy and paste and it should be experienced after reading all the plot and feels and emotions before it.

Ahhh. Just cut my heart out and bleed me dry. This fic has my soul and this pairing will always have my heart.

#Fandom #Marvel #Thor #Loki #Thorki #thorki fanfic rec #thorki fanfic #fanfic recs #marvel fanfic rec

[dendrite-blues]

For a relatively short exchange, this scene is jam packed with characterization for Loki. 

It’s also our first reliable look into what Loki was like before Thor 1. Not as described by others, but first hand and from his own mouth. I think that deserves a closer look, to see what we can learn about Loki and how he thinks.

This scene is significant because it tells us what Loki’s personality is like when he’s not running for his life. It tells us who he was before his trauma and what his core beliefs are underneath those layers of humor and bravado.

Better yet, since he’s alone we can assume that every line in this scene is presumably true, or at least Loki believes it to be true since he has no audience but himself. 

The dialogue centers mostly around the statement “You deserve to be alone, and you always will be.” I’m not going to focus too much on the “alone” motif since I already dedicated an entire meta post to it.

What I think is more interesting about this scene is actually the looping, and the stages Loki goes through in trying to deal with it. There’s a lot of really interesting character traits on display in that progression.

Loop 1: A Warm Bath and Glass of Wine

The first loop entails Sif lecturing Loki about cutting her hair, kicking him in the balls, and storming away. Loki kneels on the floor and he gives us this great line:

“A bad memory prison? How quaint. Some punishment. I remember exactly what I did after that. I went and had a nice, hot bath and a glass of wine, and I never thought about it again. Because it was just a bit of fun.”

So we can take this to be Loki’s default reaction to pain and criticism. When put into an unexpected conflict without any forethought or outside influence, this is what he says/does.

1) Downplay the damage/threat. How quaint. 2) Dispel/soothe the emotion. Nice hot bath. 3) Minimize the impact. Never thought about it again. 4) Deflect responsibility. Just a bit of fun.

Keep those in mind as we move forward, since we’ll be using them to make sense of what else Loki says in this scene.

Loops 2 and 3: Okay, Sif, Hang On

This bit is about Loki realizing just how bad his predicament is.

L: Okay. Okay, Sif. Hang on. S: No, you hear this. You deserve to be alone... And I always will be. L: Alright, I get it. Listen. You are a reconstruction of a past event created by the organization that controls all of time. So you need to trust me and you need to help me escape. Yeah? S: Pathetic. (she kicks him again) L: (winces and groans)

As we all would expect from him, Loki’s first impulse is to try and talk his way out of it. What he says to achieve that goal is pretty revealing though. Because he doesn’t try to ease Sif’s upset by apologizing or explaining or offering to magic her hair back. 

Any of these would have been more likely to save his nads in the given circumstance, right? The present threat is Sif, and she’s mad about what Loki did to her hair. But Loki doesn’t really see that. Rather, he treats her as a means to an end.

“So you need to trust me and you need to help me escape. Yeah?”

To me, that choice reveals something of a blind spot Loki has to the feelings of others. Even if he doesn’t actively like hurting people, he does prioritize their problems below his, and quite shamelessly. And at least on his first impulse, he doesn’t seem to feel much remorse or empathy for them.

Usually in fanon we attribute this callousness to his trauma. He’s learned that no one can be trusted and no one cares, and so he doesn’t allow himself to care for others. 

But between his Loop 1 sentiment of “It was just a bit of fun” for an event which caused real hurt to Sif, and his Loop 2/3 behavior of “you, stop being mad and help ME” I think it’s reasonable to say that selfishness/low empathy are traits Loki possessed pre-trauma.

Loop 4-????: Happens Off Screen

It’s unclear how many times Loki loops while the camera is following Mobius, but the implication is clear that it was been many, many repetitions. Somewhere in this his denial and deflection must break, because we come back to a much humbler, more pleading Loki.

The Final Loop: I Crave Attention

S: You conniving, craven... L: Sif. Sif. S: ...pathetic worm. L: Please, please, no more. Please, I beg you. I'm a horrible person. I get it. I really am. I cut off your hair because I thought it'd be funny. And it's not. Uh... I crave attention... because I'm... a narcissist. And I suppose it's... It's because I'm scared of being alone.

HOOO BOY, so this is quite a tough bit to analyze. There’s a lot of interpretations you could make, and a lot of topics to delve into. For the sake of focus, I’m going to ignore the narcissism question. That one really needs an entire post, and I want to focus on something else here.

That being, Loki’s way of processing conflict/punishment.

I’ve always found it strange how Loki takes such pride in being called a liar and cheat when he simultaneously has this chip on his shoulder about how nobody likes him. 

Those two traits don’t seem to play well together, and I always scratched my head over how they coexist in his character. If he wants people to be nicer to him, maybe he should stop antagonizing them? Yeah?

Well, here we’re finally given a clear reason. Loki craves attention, he hates being alone. So how does he avoid it? Pranks and mischief. 

Fair enough.

But then, if all his pranks lead to this outcome--outrage, retaliation, insult--why doesn’t he ever learn? How is it that after 1000 years of this behavior, he hasn’t found a better way to get the attention he craves? 

Loop 1: Downplay, dispel, minimize, deflect. He accepts zero accountability for the impact of his actions, and doesn’t think at all about how they affect other people. Just a bit of fun. I had a hot bath and a glass of wine, and never thought about it again. 

The only reason he reaches the level of self awareness on display in the Final Loop is because the looping forces him to contemplate his actions and the impulses within him that lead to that behavior.

This is projection on my part, but to me he acts as though this kind of deep reflection is a new thing for him. He sounds like someone sharing a revelation that he’s just had about himself. We’re being shown that Loki is a man of action. He will always move forward if he can, possibly because looking back to so painful that he can’t bring himself to do it.

Circling back around to the pride Loki has for his knavery, let’s suppose that he’s been on this negative reinforcement cycle since childhood. He’s always acted out to get attention, then received retaliation and insults for it, and then pushed the bad feelings out of his mind with creature comforts and mental gymnastics.

What happens over time, when you’re being constantly told that you’re a pain in the ass and no one likes you? Most of us would take it to heart, but Loki doesn’t. He has a big ego, big enough to resist that constant barrage of hate coming at him.

So how does he marry these two conflicting realities? 

He turns it into an identity, the God of Mischief. 

In his head, Loki excuses himself of blame by shifting the culpability to his moniker. It’s not that he’s immature and petty, he’s just a “trickster.” It’s in his nature to cause trouble, so he can’t help it. You wouldn’t dangle a steak in front of a tiger and blame the tiger for striking, would you? And if other people can’t take a “joke” then that’s not his fault, that’s on them for not having a sense of humor. It was just a bit of fun.

Here we see the union of these two halves of Loki, the lonely ice runt and the mischievous scamp. (And a little bit of the original Loki who Thor accused of being incapable of growth!) 

By refusing to think about others, and excusing himself from responsibility, Loki successfully preserves his self worth and insulates himself to most of the negative emotions he experiences.

Pain, embarrassment, and grief aren’t pointless emotions though. They are vital feelings that serve to regulate our behavior, and that push us to conform to the ways of our social circles. Without them, we annoy and upset others. Be annoying for long enough and you will eventually find yourself, well, alone. As Loki is.

Thus “Mischief” is a self-defeating loop, and Loki is just as caught in it as the cell Mobius trapped him in.

In order to be free of both traps, Loki has to stop running. He has to take a deeper look at himself and realize how much he is getting in his own way. The entire scene is one big parallel between these two “loops.” Pretty neat, huh?

Sadly these kinds of thought loops are really difficult to break, they’re buried so deeply in our personalities and habits that we usually don’t notice them until life forces us to address them.

The cell is Loki’s wake up call, and thankfully he does seem to rise to the occasion. He tells Sif quite clearly what his problem is, and he does it with beautiful, painful honesty.

Which is why it’s so fucking awesome for Mobius to acknowledge that, and to finally give Loki a taste of positive attention. 

You don’t deserve to be alone. I believe you can be anything, even something good. Whatever you two did, it was powerful enough to bring this whole place down.

It’s a beautiful scene. Well written, meticulously acted. The clarity of vision in the pacing and shot selection, it’s really something special.

#loki spoilers #loki #mcu #mobius #meta #discussion #discourse #scene study #long post #sif #time loop #tva #character study

[muffindaddystyles]

Keep holding my hand.

Harry was in an emotionally abusive relationship before y/n, something happens that makes his insecurities float back.

Impetuous reel of dithery thoughts rapidly bustles on the wall, Harry stares at it blankly – he stares and stares and stares ..... yet it does nothing for what he wishes.

His stomach fills with acid and his mouth burns with foulness with each painful beat his heart gives realizing maybe this's the end ---- he doesn’t spare a glance to the dinner wafting off he cooked with much happiness looking forward to tonight.

Where did I went wrong?

Did I hurt her in any way? What if she didn’t like me popping up at her studio that day to remind her of tonight

Well Keat didn’t like it ..... She used to hate it Infact,

No! She’s not like keat —--

But, then why isn’t she picking your phone? She knew, promised and she still didn’t came tonight?

What if she’s sick? Fuck, then I should go to her.

He shuts his screaming conscience down, shoving the heels of his palm against his pop-sockets wearily to make him feel something --- to escape the hurt that’s looming around him, crushing and squeezing him to death.

He blows off the candles, melted to their base from being sorrowfully lit from three hours atleast --- mocking him and his sincerity.

You deserve this.

Why did y’think ye' deserved anybody’s love?

She doesn’t love you anymore --- just like keat....

The corners of his glossy eyes prickles with pearly tears and it drops down his clavicles, with blurry vision he dials her one last time and it goes straight to her voicemail alike past three hours.

Hiya, Y/N here! Leave a message ‘cos I mighty be busy or maybe lazyin' round the farthest corner of my home .......

He tosses and turns, does it manifold times --- his sleep betrays him too and he’s angry soaring with venom, if he could scream from a cliff and throw stones down the pound furiously he'd instead his eyes runs droopy.

His shuddering breath sulks to tranquillity, all he could hear’s a screech of wind that’s hitting the window and his guts.

His body jerks at the chirp of voice he’s oh so familiar with —- other days he'd be submerging in the honeyness of it but at the moment he bites down his wrist to keep him wrenching his empty stomach out.

“Happy anniversary, bub!” His brows clinches down into a grumblish frown and he presses his hand between his thighs turning his back upon hearing the careful steps treading in.

The creaking stalls and she stands at his doorway with heavy heart, her throat —-- uff her throat feels like as if someone punched it several times.

Not letting her tongue to utter any word —- anything that’d assure him and her, everything’s alright --- it’s not a big deal.

Ofcourse, it is!

Little things matters most to him – told you —- he .. — he told you himself and you hurt him, you hurt him just because you couldn’t stand to your boss.

She wanted it to be perfect for him, for them — winded up the work her boss hoarded on her mercilessly last minute demanding her to wrap it up in an hour --- felt giddy and motivated to do it speedily looking forward to their celebration. Bought his favourite chocolate moose cake standing in the line of his favourite bakery, since he doesn’t like any other flavour.

She stands at the side bed looking down at him, heartbreaking in million pieces seeing him torn, all teary cheeks and this stoic for the first time they’ve been dating.

“’M sorry -- I –- my boss trapped me and – ‘n I really wanted to call you —-- then it took me forever at your favourite bakery, I’m so sorry baby.” She rambles nebbish-ly and catches onto his shoulder when he tries to face away from her.

He mutters, “Forget bout it. Go back home ‘s getting late.” Though, his heart lurches forward to embrace her and shower her in kisses telling her “it’s totally fine.” And that “how bout we celebrate now,” but being an emotionally sensitive person has it's very cons and one of it is requiring space and time to recover for better thinking.

His eyes slips into abyss and he holds back a sniffle when he feels the mattress dip behind him, she sighs, coos in the softest voice she only keeps it for her lover, “Oh baby .... you’re my home.” She's well aware of the anxiety he goes through. He feels like everything crumbling but she's there to catch him and she rubs his back.

The many many reassurances he needs from his lovie to keep going for them, the praises for him for treating her like the most precious daffodil —- because he never got praised before; even though how much of the world’s luxuries he'd lay at his ex's feet was never assured that how much she loves him (because she never did).

Y/N would never want his insecurities to float back and sting his scars, she'd never want him to ever go through from what he did in past —-- to be used like a toy and manipulated, might sound weird and whumpy of her but she’d kill many dragons to keep him protected at any cost.

He sleeps with her body cocooning him from behind and his erratic breath syncs to her calm ones.

..

His dreams full of suffering, void and darkness violently clashing and swirling against eachother as the ugly creature takes Y/N away from him, leaving him in prison of his own pathetic head.

Fear of loss —- he fears loosing her and does it make him toxic? He was snubbed so many times – being told his behaviour was toxic that he’d hesitate before doing anything precisely very fondly caring —- but then Y/N came in his life and she'd tell him how much she appreciates him, how he’s like the best sundae in hot summer and he felt like she’s the sunshine he was waiting for in the never-ending rainy days.

Y/N stirs from her light sleep on hearing the broken whimpers, the valley of her chest moist as he cries into her and she cups his cheeks gazing down at him concerned, “What happened sunny .... baby talk to me ...” Her voice groggy and on verge of tearing.

She sits back a little with him still between her legs and wipes his tears away gently, “I’m so sorry ...” He mumbles –-- eyes bloodshot and she shakes her head pulling him closer, if she’d be able to cradle him in his lap she'd but apparently he’s too big.

Queasy hiccups, “f – fo'--... d —- dou...” sad sniffles and hiccups that tightens his chest.

She tenders his wobbly lip kissing his temple, “shhh. shhh, puppy I should be the one apologising yeah?”

“no .. I didn’t gave another thought before doubting --- that –-- that you’re about to leave, no person in right mind does this – I —-,” His body trembles with blue sobs.

“Harry ...” she tries to gain his attention and when he still doesn’t listen, “I know I don’t deserve y'n – ‘n maybe you don’t want me anymore —--” she raises it a bit, “Harry!” he falls quiet --- nibbling the corner of his cheek to hold back hiccups.

“Look at me puppy, yeah? Shh hold my hand and take a breather.” She smiles. Takes his sweaty hand and aligns his palm to her mouth for a deep kiss – then squeezes it.

“Keep holding it baby, keep holding my hand, you’re going to be fine --- we – see us here,” she points between them with gleamy eyes and he nods timidly wiping his nose with his sweater paw, “we are fine baby –- we are okay..”

How could someone be this dreamy? This gentle and sweet? What did I do to deserve my lovie?

“Better?” She inquires. Little worried that he'll fall back into rabbit hole and tucks his head under her chin, keeping him warm against her chest and he clutches the hem of her shirt nuzzling into her.

“Did you really think, I’d leave you and that on our first year anniversary? Sorry to tell you .... ‘m stitched to your hip for life time, there’s no exchange policy puppy how much you grump.”

She grins. Happy to earn a feeble chuckle from him and scratches his head, looping his curls around her fingers.

“I love you.” She startles when he speaks hoarsely after the longest time and it’s not like he's saying it for the first –-- but it still doesn’t fail to engulf her in warmth, so much of it.

“I love you too, you’re my only puppy and very loved one.” His eyes crinkles prettily at that and she kisses the tip of his nose.

“You want to rest? We could eat the dinner you dearly made for me and oh we got moose cake in fridge too, what a coincidence!” She giggles. The room fills with wet treacly noises of smoochy kisses she’s patching on his cheeks and his jaw.

Without a word he holds her finger and leads her to kitchen, she creates proud noises of “ooh!” and “ahh!” trying to sneak a glimpse from over his shoulder but he'd shoo her away as he heats the food; she gets out gorgeous smiles from him she cherishes so much.

“You did all of this for me?” She gasps sweetly, hand over heart to accentuate the love she's feeling and walks towards him when he nods timidly rubbing his socks feetsies one over the other.

His cheeks blazes peach and she giggles pinching them, “You’re so cute aren’t you?”

“Okay then. Let’s eat!” she claps her hands together and pecks his lips before pulling her chair beside him rather than opposite to him and his heart flutters at that --- each pore oozing with deep love for her and every insecurity and anxious ideas completely drains out of him when she pats his seat and wiggles in her own --- anticipated to taste what he made.

“Hmm. This tastes so good, H! Your hands are really magical, huh?” She passes him a smirk pecking each of his knuckle to make him feel better about himself and his lips quirks up softly, “Thank you – d’ya w'na umm eat the moose here o'in bed?” Her face beams at that, him speaking more than two words and looking forward to spend the night with her.

“On bed, please –-- would you like tea? Think ‘m running out of if ���- proper jello ....” She cleans the table and raises her brows when he gazes her adorningly as she’s the nymphs of stary oceans.

He shakes his head, nose twitchy as she nudges him teasingly and he takes her off-guard --- hugging her by waist and kisses her soft tummy.

“Nothing just love you bleedin’ much.”

..

#wohooo #okay this was very unexpected #i might and mightyy not got distracted from studying and wrote this angsty piece #if i suffered youve to too #harry angst #harry styles angsty imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles #cute harry #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles fanfiction #fluff #hsh #dom harry #naughty harry #harry styles one shots #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic rec #harry styles x reader au #harry styles x y/n imagines #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you

[comfortwriting]

I Hate You - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Requested/About: Enemies to lovers smut! Fred is constantly getting his classmate into trouble, and Y/N is finding herself spending more of her evenings in detention with him - her hate for him growing. One evening, something out of the ordinary happens between them. 

Warnings: 18+ swearing, mention of blood, smut, fingering, handjob, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex.

"Stop shaking the desk!" you hissed at your transfiguration partner.

Fred smirked and squinted at you "no" he replied, his ego popping out in his voice "if you've got a problem go and sit somewhere else"

You watched Fred waving his wand at the mouse that cowered in front of him, letting out little squeaks each time Fred failed to transform it into a large cotton bud.

How this feud started between the two of you - you couldn't remember - you were past caring. All you know is that Fred hates you, and you hate him, his face pisses you off and your face - your body frustrates him.

He thought about you constantly, almost as if you were invading his mind on purpose just to taunt him - you appeared in his dreams and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't figure out why this was happening - why he would dream of you feeling nothing but hatred, only to wake up with his ejaculate spilling on his bedsheets.

"Don't ask me for any help during potions class, then." You replied, taking out your wand, the mouse suddenly going stiff, then turning round fluffy, losing its legs, ears, facial features, and tail.

Fred scowled at you, poking the cotton bud with the tip of his wand "I wasn't going to" he slouched back in his chair, pulling apart what once was the mouse, grumbling under his breath. "This is kids stuff" he huffed "It's only why you're good at it."

You rolled your eyes and snatched the cotton bud out of his hands, 'Reparo!' putting it back together and transforming the bud back into the innocent, shy, creature that curled up into and started to tremble in your hands.

"Miss Y/L/N, I think your partner can do his own work" Miss McGonagall spoke out, staring down at you whilst walking past your desk "Sit up Mr Weasley!" she hissed at Fred, hurrying to the front of the classroom.  

Fred sighed and sat up grudgingly, "It's alright for you, being a good girl who never makes mistakes, who everyone loves so dearly."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes "you talk so much shit, Fred Weasley!" you huffed "I actually spend my time revising because I actually make mistakes, something I'm sure you've never given the time of day to work on!"

Fred huffed "You sound just like my brother Percy, it's as if he never bloody left!"

Whilst the back and forth continued to unfold between you and Fred, the class was dismissed, everyone leaving - you and Fred didn't notice, too wrapped up in arguing, his brother George and friend Lee stayed behind, watching and enjoying the entertainment.

"Well, you know what!" you raised your voice, picking up your bag and pushing your books inside "sod you! you're on your own next lesson, don't come begging when Snape rips you a new one!" you stood up from your chair and stormed off.

"Nice one Fred" George called out, walking out of the great hall and towards the dungeons "you're going to suffer in there, mate."

Fred pulled a sour face "she's the most obnoxious bitch I've ever met"

Unfortunately for Fred, you were in earshot of his insult "Obnoxious bitch?" you laughed out, catching up to him "lads like you are all the same, threatened by smarter women"

George laughed, bashing Fred in the ribs with his elbow, Fred felt mortified and could feel himself wanting to grab you and shove you against a wall, the thought of doing it however made him feel something he didn't want to admit...

he couldn't

no way

feelings for you? oh please...

Fred rattled his brain, trying hard to shake this intruding feeling out of him, he hates you, love is out of the question, anything intimate is a red flag.

"Well, with what you lack in looks and personality you make up for in IQ, I'm not threatened by you, you're just disgusting to look at and be around. My skiving Snack boxes wouldn't change your appearance you're that bloody ugly." he snapped.

Ugly.

Your heart pained at the word, why? you didn't know, whenever anyone attacked your looks and your body, you didn't care, it meant nothing to you - so why your heart is suddenly hurting did more than baffled you.

Why should you care?

It's not like you're in love with him or anything

You could feel your stomach doing flips, your blood boiling, how dare he!

"it's a shame because your dick will never match the size of your ego, regardless if it's flaccid or hard." You snapped back, pushing past him, bashing into him on purpose, storming towards the dark and dingy dungeons.

Fred went bright red, infuriated that you shamed him in front of his twin, especially for something that he believed determined his value as a man, his blood - like yours, now also boiling.

He wanted to storm after you, grab you by the wrist, pull you into him so you couldn't escape, he wanted to stare down at you whilst demanding an apology, hell, he wanted to show you - show you just how wrong you were.

"Come on now, Freddie" George spoke out, breaking him out of his thoughts "don't let her bother you, all the lasses say shit like that - if you let her get under your skin, she's winning."

she's winning

Fred couldn't and wouldn't allow that to happen, never in a million years - you wouldn't get away with embarrassing him like this, you were in for it, without a clue of what Fred is capable of.

Potions were nothing short of pure hell, you weren't able to switch seats, forced to endure two long hours with Fred who had never looked so angry before, he shot daggers at you, practically seething and speaking through gritted teeth when he needed to look over the ingredients and steps.

"I told you not to bother asking me for help" you snarled, stirring your cauldron, Snape watching the two of you argue in pleasure behind his test papers he should be marking instead.

Fred huffed "Well until you budge over, quit being greedy and let me pick what I need or I'll keep bloody asking!"

You bit your tongue, trying not to swear "Look, you forgot your book, either go and ask Snape if he has a spare or bugger off!"

Fred could feel himself losing his temper, his body temperature increasing, his heart thumping, his fists bunching.

"The two of you will have plenty of time to discuss during detention" Snape spoke, dragging out his words.

You shot Fred an angry look, your eyes widening and your nostrils flaring, Fred looked back at you, shaking his head whilst your Professor walked away, causing the two of you to argue even more.

"Look what you've done now! Thanks a lot!" you raised your voice, stirring your cauldron so angrily, specks of dark amber liquid splashed onto the desk and your skirt, hissing away.

Fred scoffed and stood up, snatching your book away from you, gripping it in his hand "What I've done?" he shook his head "You've caused this!"

"One more word and one detention will become a week's worth," Snape warned.

"Caused what?" You stood up, puffing out your chest "I haven't done anything! You're just an idiot, a dumb idiot who is jealous because I'm going somewhere in life and you aren't because you're fucking stupid!" You yelled, the whole room becoming silent.

Fred stared at you, his heart hurting, he wanted to cry.

idiot, dumb, fucking stupid, going nowhere in life.

"You're a fucking bitch, who everyone laughs at, who everyone thinks is a loser!" He yelled back.

These two weeks of detention would change everything and the two of you had no idea.

Arriving early in the Hospital Wing which surprisingly had empty beds that had been stripped from their bedding, Madame Pomfrey waved you over to her, a forced smile spreading across her face.

"You're rather early"

"I know" you sighed "It's to make up for Fred being late" you grumbled, the thought of hours with him this evening making your head pound.

"Well," Madam Pomfrey wandered around the hospital wings, laying out dirty bedsheets, pillowcases, pyjamas, empty dishes, and medicine bottles "the two of you - when he arrives - will be cleaning everything, without magic" she emphasised that last part, "I thought I'd be rather easy on you this time, you won't be scrubbing any bedpans this week."

You nodded, realising that she wouldn't be sticking around to watch you or Fred, you walked up to the long table and popped on the large purple rubber gloves, sitting down on the stool, waiting for your nightmare to turn up.

"You can only start when he arrives" Madame Pomfrey reminded you "Whatever you can't finish, you'll do tomorrow, and if there are any patients, you'll have extra work." She walked out of the hospital wing, leaving you behind, the waiting game beginning.

Two hours passed by, two long and dreadfully boring hours, you stared at Fred's matching purple gloves, itching to just get started and clean up; but you couldn't.

Instead, you filled the large bucket with laundry detergent, there was no point in adding any hot water, it would be left to cool anyway if Fred didn't show up soon.

Fred waltzed in, laughing and waving goodbye to his twin, shutting the door behind him. His face dropped when he met your eyes, he noticed your gloves and smirked, laughing lightly "you look ridiculous."

"I don't care what you think," you snapped "You're two hours late, everything just piles up you know, it doesn't just go away."

Fred pulled out the wand from his pocket "Oh come off it, love."

Love?!

Fred fell quiet, he felt embarrassed, mortified, and you stared at him confused, horrified even, your eyebrows knitted together. You brushed his mistake aside, knowing that pulling him up about it would just strengthen the argument.

"We can't use magic." You pointed to the line of buckets, sponges, scrubbers, mop, and broom "Everything has to be done by hand, the muggle way."

Fred's face fell, even more, something you thought wasn't possible, you picked up his matching purple rubber gloves and threw them at him "put them on."

Fred wanted to argue, but he couldn't, he didn't know what to say - the feelings inside of him confusing him, making him question everything, he felt sick, he could feel a strange fluttering inside of his stomach, something he only felt when he was in love.

Why was he feeling this now? How was he such a thing... love for you? He hates you.

Fred caught the rubber gloves and put them on, not saying a word. You filled up the empty buckets with warm water, the cleaning liquid making the water foam up with bubbles.

"You sweep" you passed him the boom "I'll mop after you've done, we'll take turns washing the bedding, pyjamas, dishes and bottles."

Fred's hate for you suddenly went through another wave, the fire igniting in his belly, he snatched the broom from you. "Just shut up and let's get on with it." He snapped, starting to sweep the dusty, grimey floor.

You walked away from him and sat down, huffing so the hair in your face moved away over your head, you placed the bucket on your lap, grabbed the pyjama shirt and laundry stain remover soap and started to scrub, focusing hard on the fresh spots of blood.

"I wasn't the one who turned up two hours late," you muttered under your breath, scrubbing the shirt harder, the red liquid slowly getting lighter.

Fred had swept the majority of the floor, he looked over at you, stopped sweeping and glared.

"Shut up," he grumbled

You grinned, the sight of him in purple gloves making you burst out into laughter.

"You look ridiculous" you laughed, dunking the pyjama shirt into the warm water, the stain finally lifting and ready to dry.

Fred dropped the broom, its long wooden handle clanked against the floor, you looked up at him as he stormed over to you, pulling off his gloves and throwing them across the room.

The way he walked with the expression on his face made you flutter, your crotch heating up and getting excited as he inched closer and closer to you, his hands now gripping on the table. You sighed and placed the bucket on the table, squeezing the water out of the pyjama top and handing it up to dry, Fred still staring at you.

You turned around, looking into his gorgeous brown eyes, sighing and pulling off your rubber gloves, setting them down on the table.

"What?"

"Don't what me."

"Well stop staring!"

Fred pushed the buckets of water off the table angrily, the water splashing as the buckets collided with the swept floor, the foamy and suddy water spilling everywhere.

"What was that for!" you yelled.

Fred reached out for you over the table and pulled you into him, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't ignore these feelings, his feelings, his wants, his needs, he couldn't deny himself of you anymore. When his lips crashed against yours, something that you couldn't describe clicked, like the missing piece to a puzzle, and you kissed back.

The kiss was hungry, passionate, lustful, and the two of you just wanted to fuck.

Your hands got lost in his hair, pulling at it as Fred gripped onto your waist, both of you now mounting the table, the dishes, bottles, bedding, and pyjamas fell on the floor, absorbing the water.

Moaning against his lips, Fred's hands pulled at your top, you moved your hands away from his hair and lifted your arms up, your top being pulled up before falling to the floor, being soaked by the water. The sight of you in your bra made Fred's face heat up and go red, he quickly unfastened your bra, unable to control himself.

He took your breast into his mouth, sucking your nipple, you lolled your head back and moaned, one of your hands held his gentle face as he sucked, the other fell down to his trousers, slowly undoing the buttons and pulling down his zipper. Your hand sneaked underneath the waistband of his boxers and you took hold of his erect length - you were wrong - his cock was as big as his ego, and you knew when you were able to look at it, it would be even bigger.

Fred's free hand dived under your skirt and went into your underwear, whilst wanking him off his index circled around your entrance hole - you were so wet, the thought of being this close to him usually repulsed you - but right now, you wanted nothing more than him inside of you, fucking you as much as he hated you.

His index finger slowly pushed inside of you, you moaned out and tugged on his cock harder, he started to finger you faster, knowing part of him was inside you made you so wet, and got you so excited. Fred added his middle finger, now pumping them faster as your walls tightened around his fingers, he pulled off your red and saliva coated nipple and attacked your neck with kisses, then sucking, leaving his marks all over you.

Fred pushed you down on your back so your body was now pressed against the cool table, he continued to finger fuck you, you pulled down his trousers and boxers with both hands, already missing the feeling of his throbbing cock filling one of them. You glanced down - you were definitely wrong - his length was large, definitely outshining his ego.

"You wanted me to shut up, didn't you?" you asked Fred, he pulled away from sucking on your neck, a confused expression formed on his face.

"Is that what you want?" he smirked, catching on "you want me to shut you up with my cock?" he withdrew his fingers, now coated with your juices, sucking them clean.

Fred leaned back, taking his cock in his hand "go on then" he encouraged you "suck my cock."

"Make me."

Fred grabbed you by the hair - but not roughly or too hard - you were actually quite surprised by his gentleness. You were on your knees now, sucking Fred's large length, choking on it as you went down deeper and deeper, taking more of him in your mouth.

Fred loved the sight of you sucking him off, the sight of your mouth being so full you couldn't say something stupid, the sound of you choking made him happy, he was finally shutting you up - but part of him didn't want to shut you up, he wanted to listen to you speaking about your interests, your hobbies, what you thought of Hogsmeade and Zonko's Joke Shop.

This part of him pulled you off him, you caught your breath and wiped away the laces of saliva that were hanging from your mouth, swinging as you moved back with the back of your hand. Fred pulled you into a kiss, this time it wasn't lustful, it was gentle, caring, soft - it made your heart skip a beat and it made you weak at the knees.

Once more, your back was against the table, Fred pulled down your skirt and knickers whilst still kissing you, your hands back in his hair, massaging his scalp, Fred propped your legs around his hips, you pulled him closer to you.

Fred grabbed out a condom, but you stopped him.

"Don't bother with that crap" you sighed, wanting him inside you already "I'm on the pill."

Fred nodded, confident that this would be enough, and he applied lube onto his length.

You wondered why he had brought condoms and a sache of lube, Fred didn't know why - he never usually carried these items, but after weeks of the same dreams that he couldn't explain - that small part of him kept telling him, over and over to bring it.

Fred looked into your eyes, searching for your permission, you nodded your head.

"I'm ready, Freddie." you breathed.

Freddie.

He had never expected you - of all people - to call him that, but he liked it, and he hoped that he could hear it again.

Fred rubbed his erect length against your folds teasingly, and then slowly pushed himself inside of you, the two of you moaned and exhaled - he felt amazing - stretching you out, and your walls felt amazing - tightening around him. He started to fuck you faster, his large length plunging deeper inside of you as he bucked his hips, your legs tightened around him, as did your walls, your hands now resting on his back, your fingernails digging into him leaving marks of your own.

His moans were beautiful - perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. How could you hate him? How could you be so mean to him, insult him, mock him and shame him, he was perfect, everything about him - your heart now reaching out to his - how could you be so wrong?

You didn't hate him, you were madly in love with him.

Fred couldn't take his eyes off you and your body - the perfect shape and size of your breasts, your tummy, the feeling of your insides engulfing him in warmth, your gorgeous eyes staring into his, the feeling of your fingers tips gliding over his back, then your fingernails scratching him.

Fred felt stupid, he felt awful for what he said to you - the way he treated you - calling you ugly - you were far from such a thing. This moment felt better and meant more than any dream he ever had - this was real, this was the moment he had been waiting for - his heart finally finding yours.

"Fuck!" you moaned out, reaching the edge "Please don't stop, fuck me, I want to cum!" you wailed.

Fred couldn't stop, he didn't want to, even if he was getting tired and over working himself.

He continued to fuck you, feeling himself getting close, you lolled your head back, your eyes rolling in the back of your head and released - your cum spilling onto his length, your moans filling the hospital wing. Your orgasm face pushed Fred over the edge, he spilt himself inside you and collapsed, holding you in his arms.

The two of you said nothing, you were trying to make sense of this all, and you were in trouble - after tonight, you would have a lot of explaining to do - not just to one another, but to Madame Pomfrey who would be back in half an hour.

After coming to, Fred pulled out his wand and dried your clothes, so toastie to put back on. You started to mop the floor as Fred speedily washed the pillow cases and bed sheets, hanging them up to dry, then starting on the dishes. With the floor sparkling clean, you joined him, cleaning and rinsing the bottles.

"You're not an idiot" You spoke out, breaking the awkward silence "You're not dumb either, and I don't doubt that you're going to go far in life."

This meant a lot to Fred, it made him feel secure.

"You're not ugly" Fred replied, scrubbing another bowl "You're not an obnoxious bitch."

Looking up at Fred, into his deep brown eyes, your pursed your lips for a moment.

"I don't hate you."

"I don't either."

"I don't want to hate you, I-"

"I feel things for you too, Y/N."

Madame Pomfrey burst through the door, staring at the rows of dirty bowls and bottles that needed cleaning.

"Looks like you two will be back here tomorrow!"

You and Fred shared a glance, smiling, with a flush of pink across your cheeks.

These two weeks were the start of something special.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @horrorxweasley @sebby-staan @onlyfreds @lucymfer @escapingrealitybyreading @freddiemylovelg @pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley fanfiction #George Weasley one shot #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #imagines #oneshots #fluff #harry potter fluff #harry potter angst

[feralandmoonstruck]

@pheita I had to force myself to stop writing so I could go to bed xD gotta get up early for work tomorrow.

I wrote 2,105 words today which puts me at 2,352 words total. Here's the rest of what I have so far

The creature recoiled with a hiss. "I will not sink so low as to try your vile mortal food."

Slowly, the panic eased away to draw her back into her body bit by bit. Her heart was still beating like a rabbit, stomach turning at the horror standing in her living room. The chocolatey scent of the brownies enveloped her. She shrugged, "They're good, especially fresh out of the oven."

Caldizaar loomed closer towering over her, its heat making her sweat and stealing her breath. "Mortal,"it growled, "you will come with me or I will kill you here and now."

She pulled off one mit and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. Caldizaar watched her, his eyes blazing. She took a deep drink before speaking.

"Can I at least take a brownie with me? I would hate to just waste them."

"You'll not have a body once I take your soul."

"Then can I have one before we do the soul ripping?"

Caldizaar blinked, "Why do you not cower in fear, human?"

"I mean, getting threatened to have my soul ripped out isn't really the scariest thing. You would not believe the shit I've gone through in retail." She shrugged and carried on, "And not being able to go back to work or anything sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me. So, like, what's your plan after you steal my soul or whatever?"

The fire in Caldizaar's eyes dimmed. "You will die. I will carry your soul off to eternity."

"Sooo… like hell? Are you taking me to hell? Wait," she waved her hands, "do I get to be a ghost? Can I, like, haunt people and shit?"

"You will not be able to enter the mortal plane after the taking."

She shrugged, "Well that sucks, but whatever. Can I ask a favor?"

"Yes, yes, I will permit you to indulge in your mortal, 'brownies' since you're so persistent about it."

"Awesome," she flashed a smile, "but that wasn't the favor."

"You are the most stubborn mortal I've ever met. What do you want?"

"You think I'm stubborn? You should meet some of the bitchy ass ladies that come through checkout lines. But, for real, after you tear my soul out could you take my body and just throw it as high into the air as you can? Like, if I'm gonna die I would like my dying wish to be getting yeeted off this mortal coil. It would be fucking hilarious."

"You are the strangest mortal I've ever had to deal with."

"So will you do it?"

Caldizaar sighed, "Fine. I will grant you your dying wish. But you must tell me what 'yeeted' is."

She laughed, long and loud, "It basically means something is thrown as hard as you can."

"What a bizarre word. Why would you not just say that?"

"Yeeted is funnier. Okay, but for real, I'm gonna need you to chill out for me. And I mean that literally. It's hot as fuck in here and it's making me sweat. And I'm gonna be pissed if you burn my brownies. They're my last meal, apparently."

"Eat your food." The fiery aura around Caldizaar faded away until all that remained was a body like coal, embers still flickering within.

“Good, thank you.” She pulled a knife out of the drawer and carefully cut the brownies into squares. She tossed the knife into the sink and took a rubber spatula out of a small pot sitting next to the stove. She scooped out one of the edge pieces and bit into it. “Mmm that’s the good shit right there. You sure you don’t want one?”

Caldizaar narrowed his eyes at her.

“Oh c’mon, just one bite! I promise it’s good.” She held out her own brownie. “We’re not faeries. Eating our food doesn’t mean that you’ll be stuck here forever.”

“Will you submit to your death after this instead of continuing to bother me?”

She tilted her head back, rolling her eyes at the ceiling, “Ffiiiine if you insist. You try a brownie, I’ll eat another piece, and then you can tear out my soul or whatever.”

Caldizaar took the treat from her hand, sniffed it once before taking the smallest of bites. She watched him, the way his face moved from annoyance to skepticism and then to surprise. He took another tentative bite.

“See?” she burst into a grin, “It’s good, right?”

“It is…not bad. But what is the point of it? Does it provide something you mortals need?”

“Yep! It provides joy and it tastes damn good. You want another?”

He raised a brow, “I have one now.”

“If you finish that one you can have another,” she said in a sing-song voice.

“I do not appreciate your witchery, mortal. You cannot escape your fate with mere useless snacks.”

“What witchery? It’s just a brownie. It tastes good, no magic needed. Not that we have magic. Would be cool if we did though.” She turned back to the pan and scooped out another square.

When she turned back to Caldizaar she caught him licking crumbs from his fingers. She smirked and shimmied her shoulders. “You can have more,” she held out the piece in her hand.

Caldizaar reached out, “I’m not impressed by you or your mortal food,” he said as he took the second brownie.

She laughed. “Well it’s just us and there’s a whole pan. Even if you’re not impressed, one of us needs to eat them.”

“Our agreement was one.”

“And here you are on your second one. I haven’t even had more than a bite. I’m getting a whole square before we go.”

“Then do so quickly.”

“You know,” she said, “there don’t seem to be any brownies in hell. Nowhere to get more except for here.”

“I’m getting tired of your games, mortal.”

“Well fine. Here, have a third one and I will have my one, then we’ll be done with it.”

“Do not think that you can trick your way out of this.”

“Oh my goooodddd. How many times do I have to say it? I have my brownie, you tear my soul out, you yeet my body, and then we’re in hell. I’m not trying to trick you. What did you say your name was? I kind of missed it, what with the breaking of my front door and all.”

“It is Caldizaar.”

“Okay, Cal. Just chill with me for a second.”

He looked down at himself, “I’ve done that already.”

She burst out laughing. “No, no, I mean to wait. Here, I’m taking a bite, see?” She took a large bite from her brownie.

“Why do you mortals not simply say what you mean? What is the purpose of these word games?”

“There are no ‘games.’ This is just how we talk. There’s slang and implied meanings and whatever.”

“I do not like this ‘whatever.’”

“See,” she took another bite, “you keep putting air quotes around your words.”

Caldizaar tipped his head to one side, “I’m sure I’m not putting anything in your air.”

She chuckled around the rich gooeyness of the brownie. “It’s just the inflections you make when you say stuff. We all do it from time to time.”

“You’re nearly out of time, mortal.”

“Fine, fine. I’ve made you wait long enough.” She shoved the rest of the brownie into her mouth and licked the crumbs off her fingers. “So how does this whole soul-ripping thing work anyway? Do I lay down, do I stand? What’s the process here?”

Caldizaar opened his mouth to speak but paused and closed it again. “I’ve never had a mortal ask me that before. I typically take them in whatever position I find them in. It’s usually on the floor.”

“So, does that mean I need to lay down? Dying on my kitchen floor next to a pan of half-eaten brownies. Not the way I thought I’d go, but here we are.”

“I suppose you could go out in whatever way you wish. It does not matter to me.”

“You said it hurts, right?”

“I’ve never died, but the amount of screaming that happens makes me assume it hurts. I’ve never considered it to be anything else.”

She took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, uh, I really hadn’t ever thought about this before. Like, everyone’s dying, but I don’t think it’s like this. I mean, I assumed that it would be another fifty or so years before I died. Okay, okay, this sounds really dumb and childish, and I can’t believe I’m even asking this, but could I like, hug you? When you do it, I mean. So that I’m not just dropping dead in the middle of the floor. It sucks bad enough that I have to die in this damned apartment at all. Better than having to pay for repairs though.” She gave a weak chuckle, “And then, like, I’m already in your arms so you could just carry me outside and whoop, yeet me like a pop can.”

“You are rambling, mortal, but if that is the way you choose to go, then so be it.”

“I can’t believe I’m shaking so bad. I’m going to hug a fucking demon and just let him kill me. What in the hell?” She shook out her hands and arms, trying to get rid of the jitters. She closed the space between her and Caldizaar. She squeezed her eyes shut. Nevertheless, tears escaped one by one. “Okay, here goes.” She threw her arms around him.

“What are you doing?”

She opened her eyes one at a time and looked up at him. “I’m hugging you. You said this was okay?”

“I assumed it was something else. I’ve never experienced a ‘hug’ before.”

She stepped back, laughing a bit through the tears. “There’s those air quotes again. What do you mean you’ve never had a hug?”

“That is not something demons do. We’ve never had a use for it. Is this one of those mortal things similar to brownies?”

Her laugh was louder, if only for a moment. “I guess you could say that, in that they bring joy and they feel good.”

“I see. Would you like to do it again?”

“Ooh did you like it?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t like brownies before either, but you’ve already had three!”

Caldizaar sighed, “If that is the way you wish to go, then do it.”

She nodded and wrapped her arms around him again. “You know, Cal, hugs are so much more than brownies. They can be a greeting or a good-bye, they show affection and love, I heard they can even heal you a little. I’m sorry you’ve never had a hug before.”

“Why do you apologize?”

“I can’t imagine a life without hugs. I guess your first one is my last one.”

Caldizaar lapsed into silence. After a moment, he gingerly put his arms around her. “I suppose it is,” he said quietly.

She squeezed him tighter, “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

Caldizaar didn’t respond. She could feel the way the tension left his body as he drew his arms closer around her as well.

“Cal?”

“Your last is my first,” he repeated softly.

“You alright up there?”

“I can’t explain it, but I do not want this to be my first and only. I,” he paused again, “This feeling has infected me and I don’t think it will be easy to get rid of.”

“Listen, I’m ready for you to take my soul or whatever, but if you let me stick around for a little longer, I could give you another hug in a bit.”

He looked down at her, “I will grant you one more day, mortal.”

She grinned and stepped back. “Hugs and brownies,” she whooped, “that’s not a terrible way to spend my last day al-” her celebration stopped mid-sentence, “Wait. I’m really going to have to go to bed knowing that I’m gonna die when I wake up. I don’t think I can sleep with that knowledge.”

“We do not sleep, so if you would like I could keep you company.”

“As long as I keep the hugs coming?”

Caldizaar shrugged. “I will not force the hugging. I would like them in exchange for your final day, but you may choose the amount.”

“Cal, this is turning out to be one seriously fucked up day.” She ran her hands over her face. “You want another brownie? Because if not I’m going to eat this whole fucking pan myself.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

#my writing

[demonsandmischief]

You Saved My Life

Marvel - Captain America Imagine

Steve Rogers x Female Reader, 1.7k Words

-You Saved My Life-

Imagine you save Captain America's life while he is trying to save yours.

A/N: I dunno when this would take place in the Marvel world. I guess you could say it's my own AU. It's a long one but I like it. I hope you do too.

----

There are a lot of things life prepares you for, but the end of the world is not one of them.

You were covering your best friend's shift at a cafe that she owned. You had a full time job as a teacher, but the school was on a holiday, and you were always willing to help your friend. Normally, she'd have managers do the day to day runnings, but there was a scheduling conflict that lined up perfectly with your free day.

You did love the little place. It was small and home-y, nestled between some larger buildings of the city.

It was after the lunch rush when it happened. You were wiping down menus when a large blast that felt like an earthquake rattled the whole shop. The glass door shattered with the impact.

That's when the screaming started. It was loud and chaotic, as throngs of people ran away from whatever had just exploded.

The customers that were in the cafe rushed out in a panic. They could see something out of the large windows that you couldn't from behind the counter.

You moved closer, hesitantly, not sure what to expect, and you were definitely not prepared.

There were large, robotic creatures wreaking havoc in every direction. You could hear their banshee like screeches that echoed in your ears, but it couldn't be louder than the intense blood rushing as your adrenaline began to flow.

Your protective, teacher instincts kicked in when you saw the young group of kids huddled in the alleyway. They were almost out of view, but you noticed. You always noticed the children. They attracted your energy naturally.

You took notice of the daycare bus still running. It looked like the driver had just abandoned them. Intense anger only fueled the instincts.

You saw the way one of the creatures eyed the group and you scrambled to grab something to defend them.

You didn't have much. You decided on a chair, thankful for your nimble frame that was able to get outside unnoticed.

The kids caught sight of you immediately, but you held a shaky finger to your lips, telling them to be quiet.

You swung the chair with all your might, hitting the thing with a sickening crunch. It faltered for a moment, stumbling forward. You were left with pieces of broken wood, the splintered edges digging into your skin.

"Get inside," you yelled to the group, watching them scramble. At least the robot thing was focused on you, and you prayed that each little boy and each little girl made it home tonight.

You knew you were the only person standing between the cafe and the monster, and you wouldn't go with them to safety for risk of this thing following you into the shop.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as your eyes searched for any kind of defense. Instead, you found more creatures and no help.

This thing was ugly up close. It was metallic like a robot, but had blood red eyes, eyes that were staring right at you.

It opened it's mouth to screech into the sky, a snake like tongue curling out. It was cut off by a flash of color in the haze of dirt and debris, but you recognized it immediately. Captain America's shield.

The man himself appeared, standing tall and proud, but you could tell he was winded. You had never been so relieved, as you relaxed a bit, just wanting to melt into the ground with exhaustion.

Steve yanked out his shield, giving it an expert throw, destroying the other visible creatures.

His blue eyes stood out beneath his cowl.

"Ma'am," he nodded. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No," you whispered with a shake of your head, wiping your sweaty, bloody hands on your jeans. "But there's kids in there "

He nodded, repeating the information into his com device.

"We'll get them to safety, and you, too. This is no place you want to be. Every civilian has taken shelter in the metro underground. Do you know how to get there from here?"

"Yes, but it's like two blocks," you said. There was no way you could get the kids there without being noticed.

"I'll go with you then, but we need to move quickly. Let's go." He left no room for argument, so you entered the cafe to gather the huddled group.

Their fear struck you, wide eyes and silent sobs. There were probably twenty of them, all different ages. The youngest was probably about six.

"Captain America is going to get you guys somewhere safe," you told them, as reassuring as possible, even though you didn't feel that way.

You led the group as the captain guarded the back. The pace was quick, and eerily quiet. You imagined the tall man had warned the other Avengers to keep the area as clear as possible. You had caught a brief glimmer of Iron Man's metallic suit in the sky.

You had just ushered the kids down the stalled escalator and into safety when you heard a grunt of pain.

You turned to find six more of the robotic creatures surrounding Cap. You could tell he was wearing down as one of them pulled his arms back, rendering him powerless and unable to grab his shield. He kicked the things with all his might, but there were too many of them.

You didn't know what to do. You were exhausted and there was no way you could help. You couldn't even take out one by yourself with a chair.

It wasn't until one of the creatures pulled out a long dagger looking thing, already dripping with someone else's blood that you moved.

Your instincts didn't let you hesitate as you ran to tackle the thing, the knife in turn digging painfully in your upper shoulder, dangerously close to your neck.

You felt the cry leave your dry, cracked lips as you crumbled to the ground, squeezing your eyes shut.

You heard the creature snarl at you before you felt a jolt of hot pain in your ribs. It felt like a boot, but who knows.

Your vision doubled as you saw the metallic shield take out the group once more. You sagged in the rubble as the adrenaline left your body. It felt like buckets of blood were running from your shoulder down the curve of your breast, mixing with the pain in your ribs. You were certain death couldn't be much worse then this.

Steve couldn't believe you saved his life. He was foolish to let his guard down, but you were a distraction. You protected those kids with a fearlessness that reminded him of himself.

He heard over coms that Tony had found the source for these creatures and the fight was coming to a close. He wished he could have been there for his team, but the people came first, especially those kids.

He pressed a hand to your shoulder, cursing when he saw how much blood you were losing. He searched aimlessly for something to stop the blood.

"Your six, Captain," you manage to mutter throught the pain, not failing to notice the final of the robotic things sneaking up on the distracted man.

He kicked a stray car door effortlessly, squashing the creature against the brick building.

"We're going to get you help. You're going to be okay."

That was the last thing you heard before you passed out.

----

There was a pesky beeping that was disturbing your rest. You assumed it was your alarm, until the pain hit you full force, and you remembered the events that took place. Were you dead?

Your eyes opened, and you groaned at the harsh light, blinking rapidly to adjust. Your mouth felt like it was full of sand.

The sterile smell and blinding white walls immediately told you it was a hospital, but what stood out was the dozing man still dirty from battle. His blue suit stood out against the white.

His eyes opened when you stirred, and you noticed the blue eyes that you were beginning to like. His blonde hair was matted from the cowl, and he looked terribly uncomfortable in the small chair.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently, his deep voice much softer than the commanding tone he used as captain.

You struggled to sit up. The pain in your shoulder not allowed you to use your hand as leverage, and your ribs didn't like the jostle.

"Don't do that," he said, lightly using his hand to keep you from moving. He pushed the button on the side that allowed the bed to lift without you having to change position.

He helped you drink some water before you were finally able to respond.

"How long have I been out?" you ask.

"Just a few hours," Steve responded. "You saved my life, and those kids, too." He shook his head in disbelief.

You felt your face grow hot at his words, not knowing how to respond. "I'm sure you are exhausted. You didn't have to stay."

"I had to make sure you were okay," he admitted. "I'm Steve."

"Y/N." You tried to smile at his cute pleasantries, but winced at the persistent throbbing in your shoulder. "Is it bad?"

"I'm sure a tough girl like you can handle it. The doctor should be in here in a minute to tell you details," he answered.

The doctor told you that your ribs were broken and your stab wound was deep but no longer life threatening after they stopped the blood. It was going to take a while to recover.

You dozed off, and it must have been a long time because when you awoke the second time, the room was covered in flowers. A stack of cards sat on your table, and you rose the bed again to reach for them.

A swell of happy emotions built up inside of you as you read the sweet words of the kids you saved. It was so relieving to know they were okay.

"You're a hero," Steve said from the door, this time in jeans and a blue jacket. He was handsome.

You wiped the fallen tears off of your cheek. "I'm nothing but a teacher."

"You're a hero to me," he smiled slightly, and a warm feeling bloomed in your chest.

----

Here's Pt. 2

#captain america imagine #captain america #steve rogers fluff #captain america x reader #captain America x you #iron man #avengers imagine #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #chris evans #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #marvel

[watchmegetobsessed]

REMINDER

a/n: i’ve had this idea on my mind all weekend and finally got around to write it! just a short little oneshot of Bucky finally realizing he should make his move 😌

pairing: Bucky X Reader

warnings: blood, gunshot

word count: 3.7k

masterlist

(gif is not mine)

Bucky hated Tony’s luxurious parties, but as part of the team, he could just never avoid them, someone always came into his room and forced him to join the others, telling him it would be so much fun. It was never. He doesn’t even know what he would find fun anymore, having his life back after all these torturous years, it’s hard to find what brings him happiness, but schmoozing with Tony’s friends and the team and all the agents is just not his cup of tea. He would rather hide in his room, read a book or catch up with whatever show he has been watching lately.

The night he met you was a similar one. Steve was the first one to drop by his room, trying to convince him to get dressed and join the rest of the team for a drink, but Bucky resisted until his friend gave up and left, but then came Natasha. She just always knew how to play the strings to make him do what she wanted. After a bit of persuasion he finally agreed to make an appearance, though he made it clear he wouldn’t be there too long.

After changing into a pair of dark jeans and a black long sleeved shirt that hid his metal arm quite well, he made his way to the party, already feeling grumpy that he had to socialize. It was just like the last time. He got himself a drink, talked a little to Steve, then Banner and Nat and then hid in the corner of the room, avoiding any new faces, not in the mood to introduce himself. He was about to sneak out and go back to his room finally when he first saw you.

You were a relatively new agent in the tower. Having only been there for a few weeks, you didn’t have the chance to meet Bucky since he was on a mission up until a few days ago. You were a bit of a social butterfly, it didn’t take you too long to make friends in the Tower and you found yourself getting the closest to Wanda for some reason.

When Bucky saw you that evening you were talking to her near a high table, nursing a drink in your hands. You wore a white, tight dress that made it no secret how much all the training had helped to form your body through the years. He couldn’t hear your voice, but when he saw your smile, he swore his heart skipped a beat.

Your eyes caught his gaze lingering on you and he quickly turned away, feeling his cheeks growing hot, as if he was a kid caught red-handed of something troublesome. Bucky hoped you didn’t notice it or that he didn’t cross any lines, asking for another drink for himself he was planning to chug the whole thing down and then leave before he could embarrass himself any more. What he was not expecting was you making your way towards him to introduce yourself to the man you’d only heard about, but hadn’t met. He was so busy with making up his plan about how to escape and then thanking his drink to the bartender, that he didn’t even notice you approaching him. So when he turned to the left and was about to walk away he bumped right into you, some of his vodka soda spilling to your dress, making it stick to your skin on your thigh.

“Oh shit, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t—I wasn’t looking, I’m so so—“

“It’s alright,” you chuckled, shrugging your shoulders as you grabbed a few napkins from the bar to soak up some of the wetness.

“I totally ruined it, right? I’ll buy you another dress or pay for this one, I’m so sorry,” he kept rambling, feeling like a total idiot.

“It’s just a dress,” you smiled at him warmly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, it’s… it’s a pretty dress,” Bucky found himself saying and when he saw your eyebrows raising, he almost wanted to take it back.

“I’m afraid we haven’t met before. I’m Agent Y/L/N and you must be Sergeant Barnes,” you smiled at him, holding out a hand for him that he took and delicately shook.

“Just… call me Bucky,” he nodded with a shy smile and that was the start of something new in his life.

He found himself bumping into you all the time, in the controlling room, the gym, the kitchen, you were everywhere. Though it might not had been that coincidental, Bucky found himself learning your routine pretty fast and made his own schedule according to that. He couldn’t help it, you were the sweetest and most beautiful creature he had ever seen and he found himself being drawn to you. And you didn’t mint it, not even a bit. A special bond started to form between the two of you, movie nights, shared missions, runs around the city, you always had something to do together and Bucky was falling for you more and more with every passing day.

Nat and Steve liked to tease him about his growing feelings, but utterly with the intention of forcing him to make a move finally.

“What are you waiting for, Barnes?” Nat questioned him one afternoon when she caught him eyeing you in the controlling room.

“What are you talking about?” he cleared his throat, pretending like he had no idea, but he wasn’t a good actor.

“Just ask her out.”

“No,” he shook his head, folding his arms on his chest.

“Why not? She has the same heart eyes for you that you have for her,” she rolled her eyes nodding in your way. You were sitting behind a desk, oblivious to the conversation that was happening across the room.

“She is just friendly. That’s all we are. Friends.”

“We are friends, Barnes. You and her? That’s more than that,” Nat pointed it out and he looked in your way, chewing on his bottom lip as he watched you type something out on the computer. As if you could feel his gaze on you, you looked up, eyes meeting his and a warm smile tugging on your lips. Bucky could feel his heart fluttering in his chest, just like every time you looked at him with those bright eyes of yours.

He couldn’t bring himself to make an actual move. He was always so afraid you’d reject him and the friendship you shared was one of the most important things in his life. He didn’t want to risk losing it. Besides, he always thought he would have time to figure out what to do. Even if he decided to confess to you, he couldn’t just do it out of the blue, he needed time which he thought he had. It was up until the two of you went on a mission together and it didn’t go according to plan.

You were supposed to stay together during the raid, but you convinced him to split up when you started chasing some bad guys and they parted ways.

“It’s going to be fine, Bucky. You go that way and I’ll meet you by the jet, alright?” you told him before running off the other direction. He wanted to go after you, not let you go alone, but he didn’t listen to his instinct.

Now he is running through the maze of hallways after you asked for help through the com. Natasha is on her way too, but she is way farther from your location than he is.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” he calls out, trying to find the right way. Gunshots are heard outside and Tony makes some stupid joke about Steve, but Bucky ignores it, he just wants to hear your voice.

“Yeah, but I’m out of bullets, hurry—“

A series of gunshots rips through the com and he hears your painful grunt, the sound of your whimper turning his blood cold right away.

“Y/N! Y/N what happened?!” he shouts, speeding down the hallways leading to the place where you’re supposed to be according to your tracker.

“I got—Shit I got shot,” you groan, the end fading out as your voice breaks.

He bursts through the double door and immediately sees the man that most likely shot you, holding up his gun Bucky shoots him in the chest so fast the guy didn’t even have time to aim at him.

“Y/N!” he calls out, frantically looking for you.

“Bucky!” he hears your faint voice coming from behind a desk. He sprints to you, kneeling down next to you and horror shakes through his whole body when he sees the relatively big pool of blood around you as you try to push your hands to the wound on your thigh. “I think… I think it grazed an artery,” you faintly tell him, a few tears rolling down your cheek.

“Fuck, no, no, stay with me, okay? You’re gonna be fine!” he tells you, ripping off the sleeve of his shirt, wrapping it around your leg as tight as possible to try to stop the bleeding. “Y/N was shot, she is losing blood rapidly. We need to get her out now!” he demands through the com while you are slowly losing your consciousness. “Don’t fall asleep, alright? Stay with me! Talk to me!” he begs you as he cradles you into his arms and heads out to the jet.

“I can’t…” you breathe out, your head falling to his shoulder as he carries you in bridal style.

“Of course you can. And you will. You are not dying on me, understood?”

“It’s not like… I have a choice,” you tell him with a faint smile, your eyes slowly closing.

“Y/N, don’t fall asleep! Just hang in there a little longer!”

He makes it out of the building, Natasha and Steve joining him on the way, the jet already waiting for them. You try to keep your eyes open, Bucky keeps asking you questions and doesn’t leaves you until he hears an answer.

“This was not how I imagined my death,” you mumble, lying on the floor of the jet as it takes off, heading back to the Tower where Dr. Cho is already waiting for you.

“It’s not that, Y/N, that’s not happening now. Just stay with me okay?” Bucky begs you, holding your hand in his while Natasha works on your leg, trying her best to keep you from losing any more blood.

“So eager to keep me alive, hmm?” you smile, eyes dropping closed, but Bucky squeezes your hand, making you to look at him.

“Of course. I still owe you a new dress, don’t I?” he tries to joke, but you don’t answer. You lost your fight and let yourself lose consciousness as Bucky keeps calling your name over and over again, but you never answer him.

The next twenty-four hours is a blur to both you and him as well. For him because he refuses to leave your side once you are out of Dr. Cho’s hands, he stays sitting on the uncomfortable chair by your bed no matter what as members of the team drop by every once in a while. And for you because you keep drifting in and out of consciousness, but you’re never strong enough to actually open your eyes, you only hear voices. Mostly Bucky’s.

One time you hear him talking to Steve, their voices sound distant, but you can understand the words clearly.

“I shouldn’t have let her go alone,” Bucky mumbles under his breath.

“It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known this would happen,” Steve tries to convince her, but it sounds like Bucky is too stubborn to listen to his friend.

“We were supposed to stay together. It was my fault.”

You want to protest. You want to tell him it was none of his fault, but you can’t bring yourself to speak and the darkness pulls you in again, cutting you off of the world. Next time your mind wakes up, you hear Natasha’s soothing voice.

“Why don’t you go and sleep a little? I’ll stay with her,” she offers and that’s when you feel a warm hold on your left hand.

“No,” Bucky answers from beside you. “I’m staying, but thanks.”

“Alright, are you hungry then? I can bring you something.”

“I’m fine,” he answers shortly and you can tell just from his voice that he is so broken, beating himself over what happened. But once again, you are not strong enough to speak and you fall back asleep again.

But the third time you wake up you can actually bring yourself to open your eyes. The bright neon lights are a little blinding, so you need to blink a few times before you get used to them. It takes a couple of seconds to take in your surroundings and then your eyes fall on the sitting form next to your bed.

Bucky is reading a book you gave him a few weeks ago, it’s the first Hunger Games, you thought he would like the story a lot and judging from how far he is in it, he really does. He is so lost between the lines that he doesn’t realize that your eyes opened.

“Bucky?” you call out, your throat feels as dry as a desert and his blue eyes immediately snap at you, putting the book aside as he leans forward to grab your hand gently in his again.

“Hey! You’re awake! How are you feeling?” he asks you, brushing a strand of hair out of your forehead.

“Like shit,” you chuckle, making him smile as well, but his eyes still hold a lot of pain from seeing you like this. “I’m thirsty.”

“Here.” He grabs a bottled water from the bedside table and pours some into a paper cup, helping you drink it and you feel like you were reborn.

“Thanks. What… How long have I been out?” you ask, pushing yourself up a bit so you’re leaning against the headboard.

“A little over a day. Dr. Cho said it could take you a few days to wake up after all the blood you lost.”

Now that he has brought it up, you realize that your thigh is wrapped up, a constant, blunt pain gripping your nerves. You push the white covers off of yourself so you can take a look at the slightly bloody bandages hugging your leg. You already know it will leave a nasty scar on you.

“I should have been there,” Bucky speaks up seeing you eyeing your leg. You look at him shaking your head.

“No. You couldn’t have known and I was the one who told you to go the other way. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I could have just told you no. I should have.”

“Bucky, stop,” you breathe out, gripping his hand tight in your hold. “You brought me out of there, practically saved my life. If anything I should be thanking you.”

“But I shouldn’t have let it happen in the first pla—“

“Shut up, Sergeant,” you chuckle softly. “I’m still here, aren’t I? Isn’t that all that matters?”

Bucky’s face softens as he stares back at you nodding shortly. He can’t even describe how thankful he is to hear your voice again, the silence in the room was like torture for him, watching you lie on the bed completely still and there was nothing he could do to help you. But now he has you back and this whole fiasco made him realize that he doesn’t have all the time in the world with you.

Your recovery is faster than expected thanks to Helen’s amazing work. Two days after you woke up you are dismissed and you are back in your own room. Bucky has been by your side all along and you had to send him back to his room during the night because he wanted to sleep in that uncomfortable chair again. Eventually you convinced him to get some sleep but he was already in the room when you woke up in the morning. Now that you are out of medical care he is still following you like a little puppy, ready to do anything you need help with.

“You know, I just have to use my clutch for a few more days, but I’m totally fine,” you chuckle when he helps you put your stuff away arriving back to your room while you lie down.

“I know, but I want to help,” he smiles, nodding shortly. “And… I have something for you,” he then adds with a boyish smile.

“A surprise?”

“An ‘I’m glad you didn’t die during mission’ surprise,” he smirks, making you chuckle. He shuffles out of the room and then returns with a baby blue paper bag in his hands. Walking over to the bed he sits to the edge handing the gift to you.

“When did you have time to buy it? You never even left my side,” you ask with a suspicious look.

“Nat helped me a little,” he admits with a nervous chuckle. You dig into the bag and your fingers find a soft material, making you gasp before you could even see the item. You just already know what it is. Pulling out you’re staring at a white dress, similar to the one you wore at the party the two of you met officially. The one he spilled his drink on and promised to buy a new one.

“Bucky, you shouldn’t have,” you breathe out, eyes softening at the man who is now eyeing you with a gentle look, clearly feeling shy and nervous about the gift.

“I don’t know if you remember it but when we were in the jet I told you I still owe you one,” he explains as you lay the fabric across your legs, smoothing your hand over the silky fabric as you smile to yourself.

“I do remember that. Actually, that’s the last thing I remember.”

“I wanted to keep my word,” he mumbles under his breath.

Pushing yourself up from the bed you are about to head into the bathroom when he stops you in panic.

“Where are you going?” he asks, clearly wanting you to return to bed.

“I’m gonna try it on, don’t you want to see me in it?” you ask coyly and you see his cheeks blushing at your question before he just nods shortly.

It’s a little challenging to put it on, but you manage to succeed, walking out with your clutches, bare feet and your hair in a messy ponytail, but still, Bucky’s breath gets caught in his chest when he sees you. Suddenly, you feel self-conscious about the way you look, especially with the ugly bandages on your thigh that peek out from under the dress. Stepping to the mirror next to your dresser you take a look at yourself, expression hardening when you see that the scar will probably be seen from under most of your dresses once it’s healed. You try to tug the dress down a little to hide the bandage, but there’s no use, it’s showing no matter what.

Bucky realizes what you’re doing and stepping closer to you he takes your hand that’s fumbling with the fabric and keeps it between his palms.

“All my previous battle wounds are hidden somewhere, but this one will be on full display,” you whisper sadly, eyes dropping to the floor. Bucky cups your cheek in his hand and makes you look up into his eyes with a soft smile on his lips.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know, I just…” you sigh, not even sure what you wanted to say.

“You know, in a way this…” He starts, brushing his fingers through the bandage gently. “This is going to be a reminder for me.”

“A reminder?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Because I always thought I have all the time in the world with you, but I almost lost you. And I don’t want to waste any more time.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you into his embrace as your palms slide up his arms to the base of his neck. You are both so nervous to be this close without sparring, your heart is beating so fast, he can probably hear it, but he feels the same way.

“If you think of me as just a friend, now might be the best time to tell me,” he whispers with a soft chuckle that makes you smile too. You lean closer, your nose touching his, lips almost brushing against each other.

“You are so much more than that,” you breathe out before he closes the gap between the two of you, kissing you the way he wanted to so many times before.

It’s like the rest of the world stops existing, there’s only you and him, his lips on yours, fingers digging into your waist, flesh and metal ones as well, bunching your dress under his touch as you press up against him, your kisses growing hungrier with each passing moment.

When it’s just about to get a little more heated, someone clears their throat and you are forced to snap back to reality, seeing Steve and Nat standing at the door, watching the two of you grinning widely.

“Just wanted to check on you Y/N to see if you need help with anything, but you clearly have everything you need,” Natasha teases you, making your cheeks heating up as you rest your forehead against Bucky’s shoulder, his arms circling around you tight, hands running up and down your back soothingly.

“Glad to see you finally made your move, Bucky,” Steve nods smirking.

“Alright, alright. The show is over, guys,” Bucky waves them off. Natasha winks at you before leaving the two of you alone.

“We will never hear the end of this,” you growl, your head dropping back, but Bucky just smiles and kisses your forehead sweetly.

“If they keep teasing us we’ll just kick their ass,” he grins making you laugh before you press your lips against his again in a short, chaste kiss.

“Deal.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one shot #bucky oneshot #bucky one shot #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fanfic

[gohyuck]

pairing: head knight!jeno x monarch!reader (reader has genitals attributed to those considered biologically female but no pronouns are actually used)

genre: fluff, mild angst (they discuss an oncoming battle they must prepare for), smut (it’s mostly smut)

word count: 6.5k

warnings & notes (nonsexual): mentions of war/battle, mentions of injuries retained from past skirmishes, jeno is as tall as you need him to be in order to rest your head against his chest without leaning down, it’s kind of cheesy tbh they are disgustingly head-over-heels in love with each other, also a peryton is a fantasy creature that’s essentially a stag + a bird, also i know y’all must be tired of royalty aus but i swear this is almost pwp (except there’s context so there’s plot) so give it a chance (if you’re legal) i guess

warnings & notes (sexual): oral (giving and receiving for both parties), fingering (reader receives), spit kink (lmao sorry), general messiness honestly, mild knife kink (no blood drawn, he just uses a dagger to tear apart clothing), gratuitous usage of the name ‘lionheart’, jeno has a big dick because i cannot stop myself from doing that to y’all for some reason, some choking

special thanks to @moonlit-jeno​ @domjaehyun​ @waithyuck​ for reading parts of it/all of it beforehand!

the soft hours of twilight have their holds on you, chilling you to your bones even as you pull the heavy fur cape tighter around your body. you should’ve pulled something over your thin nightgown, you suppose, something to act as a middle layer between silk and skin and peryton fur, but it’s too late for that. you’re already out on your private balcony, overlooking a kingdom you’d do anything to see the sun rise on day after day. 

far, far past the outskirts of your humble realm, barely visible to your own eye, an unsettlingly large camp of soldiers is finishing setting up camp for the night. you watch as tiny, tiny orange pinpricks - no doubt the fires they’d set to make food, to alert you of their presence - begin to get snuffed out. finally, they sleep.

if you were any worse of a person, of a ruler, you would send your army after them now, hours before the battle is set. perhaps, if you were any less selfish, you would do so regardless of keeping your status as a good and just monarch. if you were any less selfish, you would shake awake the love of your life and hand him his cape after shedding it from your shoulders. you would tell him to rouse his men and women, to arm them to their teeth, and to fight for what is right using means that are entirely wrong. 

as if privy to your thoughts, your head knight stirs in the too-large bed behind you. you turn just in time to see him sit up and twist his body left, right, left as he stretches to rid himself of sleep. it’s too late - or maybe too early - for either of you to be awake. maybe you should have stayed within his warm embrace rather than gotten out of bed to size up the army of the kingdom of crithage. 

even now, you can’t help but strategize, at least on a basic level. crithagians are unused to the cold of your beautiful - but often frigid - ekoria. they won’t expect your people to fall upon them from the icy cliffs that surround their camp, nor will they be able to see over the oncoming blizzard your royal sky-reader has predicted. she has not been incorrect in many, many years. ekorians have, over the years, grown accustomed to heavy snows, among other weather phenomenon, so your army’s visual acuity is not to be questioned. 

that, and your troops are in the hands of the best warrior ekoria has ever had.

jeno. your jeno. your lionheart. you rein your thoughts in just as he pulls open the balcony door, closing it behind him with a soft click as he steps over the threshold separating in from out and warm from cold. goosebumps rise across his bare flesh the moment his skin meets air, and you don’t hesitate to slide his cape off and thrust it towards him, knowing full well that his arms will provide more than enough heat for you. he fastens it with ease, seeming slightly amused at how you’d been using it as a blanket, and gently grabs ahold of your wrist before pulling you into his chest and wrapping an arm around your waist. with his other hand, he takes a corner of his cape and wraps it around you, leaving you enveloped in both his hot-to-touch skin and the comforting fur. 

“they’re out in the valley, aren’t they?” he finally murmurs, leaning to place his mouth against your ear. jeno’s voice is thick and sleep-ridden, still raspy in a way that settles around you, inside you, within you. you lean back slightly, raising a cold hand to rest against the tattoo of a lion that adorns his left pectoral, mane stretching up to his collarbone and encroaching on his bicep. the lion has a scar on its right cheek. you pull away more, eyes landing on the thin discolored line underneath your lover’s same eye. 

it had been a longsword, meant to slash across your throat. jeno, with the speed of a star falling from grace and enough adrenaline to fuel a hundred men, had leapt across you in order to take it across the face. for crown and for country, bard’s songs later regaled of him. for you, he’d whispered to you that same night as you’d stitched him up, using the threading tactics you’d learned from the castle medic as a child. for you. always for you.

“my love?” jeno prods, and you realize you haven’t given his rhetorical question any acknowledgement. you hum, meeting his eyes with your own, and watch as he allows one corner of his mouth to turn up. 

“they only just put out their fires.” you finally respond, moving to be against his chest again. you rest your head against the intricate ink against jeno’s skin, finally letting out a breath of what one might consider worry. the air that leaves your lungs manifests into wisps out in the cold world that surrounds you. your lionheart pulls you ever closer. 

“you need not stress.” he says simply, and an outsider to your relationship would see no cohesion between your statement and his. still, you know precisely what jeno means, why he’s said what he’s said. you turn, pressing your lips against the lion’s forehead. above you, your own lion brushes his lips against your temple. 

“i have an army, a kingdom, even, to worry about, and yet i only fear tomorrow for whatever outcome befalls one man.” you whisper, and even you are surprised to find tears catching in your throat. you do not cry easily, not when you know firsthand how cruel the world can be. 

you only reign because your parents no longer breathe. 

tomorrow’s battle could easily bleed into next year’s war, and while your kingdom is prepared for such a thing, your heart may not be. your people are not belligerent, and neither are you. crithage had been the one to throw the first stone, had sent word that if you refused to relinquish your throne and bow your head, they would aim the first arrow, draw the first blood. no tears had been shed then, not even when you’d paced around your bedchambers, reading and rereading the note signed with blood red ink until jeno had physically pulled it out of your tight grasp. you hadn’t cried, not even when he’d said that he was willing to die if it meant keeping crithage out of ekoria, out of the kingdom you’d both built from ground up after the war that had taken your parents, out of the home you’d created together. 

“wherever you take us, i will follow. wherever you need me, i will lead.” he’d murmured the words against the lobe of your ear, standing beside and slightly behind your throne as you’d written out your reply to crithage in a room full of your advisors. nobody else had moved a muscle then, not even as you closed the envelope with hot wax and the royal seal. 

you’d sent back a much, much shorter letter than their own in response. 

a time and date for battle. nothing more and nothing less.

that had been so many months ago, so far away that the concept of time dissipates when you attempt to organize it in your harried mind. with a hostile army on your doorstep, everything suddenly feels far more real than it has before. your people have been evacuated, your troops have been trained. your lionheart is unafraid to the world, standing tall and proud at your side as he always has.

a sigh that starts from deep in jeno’s chest brings you back to the present. tomorrow is it, you’re reminded. crithage has seiged almost every other state between themselves and your beloved ekoria. if they get to you, they’ll have your head, raised high on a stake they’ll erect outside of the gates they’ll install to the place you call home. if they get to you, it means they’ll have gotten through jeno.

you can’t live in a world without him. it’s a dangerous attachment for a ruler to have, you’re well aware. if other kingdoms find out that your weakness is a person, one that lives and breathes, you’re not likely to ever see your love again.

it’s little comfort that jeno can’t live in a world without you, either. 

“i worry about not being here, at the castle, to protect you,” he mumbles into your hair. “i know that you are perfectly capable, and that you’ll have your own faction of our knights with you, but i- it feels as if i’m about to open my chest and leave my naked heart unguarded, right there for any arrows to pierce.”

jeno’s confession is simple, beautiful in the way the most ornate of daggers are: that is, you feel as if he’s just dragged a sharp edge down the length of your sternum, taking you apart piece by piece. his words cage you in, force you deeper into your own head in a way you can’t afford, not right now. 

“eloquent,” you hum, unable to resist teasing him even as the moment does not call for it. it’s to save yourself from your heavily beating heart. “it isn’t too late to make you my poet laureate, you know. no need to wield a sword tomorrow then.”

“and who would be your head knight then, hm? the current laureate? you want renjun to lead the charge against the crithagians? to be your lionheart?” your lover draws back to ensure that you can see his eyes, glimmering with mirth. renjun is an able man, and one of your best friends, but he is not the warrior jeno is. 

nobody is the warrior that jeno is. 

“such a foolish thing to say,” you smile up at him, lips folding from joking to earnest within moments. the merriment fades a little from jeno’s eyes at recognizing the change in your expressions. “you’re my only lionheart. always have been and always will be, even when you’re too old and gray and slow to be my head knight.” 

“someone seems confident of that happening.” he says quietly, raising the hand at your waist to come up and rest over your own hand that lies against his chest. you swallow, your own spit feeling too heavy for you to stomach, your throat dry and scratchy. 

“who else can have confidence of a victory rather than a monarch?” you ask, a smile that isn’t quite sad - but isn’t quite self-assured either - resting on your lips. jeno raises your hand to his lips, pressing one, two, three chaste kisses to the back and then repeating the pattern against your palm. he does not let go.

the two of you stand there for a stolen moment. you lay your head back against his chest, listening to the thundering of his heartbeat below the ink and skin and muscle and bone. he is real, and he is here. 

he is real. he is here. 

“the monarch’s lionheart, of course,” he murmurs, finally dropping your hand to reach back and push open the balcony door. “we only have four more strokes of time until i must go, my love. is this truly how you want to spend it?”

it’s evident that jeno no longer wants to mull over the what-ifs, not when he prefers living in the present more than anyone you’ve ever known. unsurprising, you suppose, for someone whose livelihood involves strategizing away his own mortality. you allow him to pull you back into your bedroom, immediately more comfortable when the door closes behind you, keeping you in with the body heat of your lover and the warmth of the crackling fire on the hearth in the corner of your room. jeno sheds the cape, draping it over the nearest chair, before bringing you back to his chest by placing his large hands against your waist.

it takes feeling his fingers against your skin through the thin silk of your slip to remember that jeno has nothing on. he’s always preferred to sleep naked, unlike you. though you hardly have any undergarments on, you at least wear a sheer gown most nights. 

you’d ridden him passionately before bed, tiring both of you out in order to get any semblance of sleep. as your lionheart pulls you flush against him, though, it’s difficult to avoid the way his cock hardens against your hip once more. you want to quip about how jeno’s insatiable, but he trails a hand up, up over your body to swipe a thumb over one of your hardened nipples, and you can’t help the sigh that escapes through your prettily parted lips. 

“will you get on the bed for me, love?” jeno’s voice is smoother now that he’s more awake, though you can’t help but miss the low growl that had come with the earlier rasp. he may be asking you a question, but you know that it’s an order in disguise. wordlessly, you step back, back, back until the wood of your bedframe presses against the soft plushness of the back of your thighs. jeno has not moved, choosing to stay put and appraise you instead. his eyes are hooded now, and as his gaze trails from your neck - he’d marked it up earlier, the kiss-bitten bruises not yet having faded from your skin - down to the curve of your chest, over the expanse of your thighs, he can’t help but reach one hand down to his dick, swiping two fingers over its head to collect his precum on his skin. 

jeno says nothing else, makes no other move. it’s to give you an illusion of control, you suppose. not that you need one. 

“should i rid myself of this, lionheart?” you ask, the words coming out breathier than intended. the nightgown leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and you’re sure he can even see the slick wetness that’s pooling against your inner thighs. jeno adores seeing your body more than anything, but the gown does not inhibit that. 

it’s no surprise, then, when he shakes his head no, instead finally moving to stand at the edge of the bed, slotting himself between your thighs as they naturally move apart to fit him in. his clean hand slides up under your gown, resting just above your cunt, as he raises his other hand to your face. 

“lie back, and open.” jeno states, no air of leniency about him anymore. you oblige, and your love leans over you, his dark gaze centered on your parted lips. 

he lays his two precum-coated fingertips against your tongue, pressing in and then down and revelling when you don’t gag but instead run your tongue over his fingers, cleaning them off for him. you haven’t gagged in a long time, your reflexes getting used to him in the way the rest of you is. when he withdraws his hand, your mouth stays open, and jeno can’t help himself as he leans over you and, after gathering it in his own mouth for a moment, allows his own spit to fall from his own tongue and onto yours. 

your eyes go wide at the action, and you know that he notices it even as he does not acknowledge it. even so, you don’t miss the smirk that crosses his face upon hearing your breath hitch. jeno has you in his palm.

satisfied, he stands, and you close your mouth and swallow a part of him with a part of you. jeno’s no longer looking at your face, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he’s ruching up your nightgown with growing hunger, not when he’s kneeling on the stone ground just to make himself eye-level with your pretty, pretty pussy. 

“i took you hardly any time ago,” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin as his mouth nears where you so desperately need him. “and yet here you are, laid open once more, all for me. only for me.”

“always you, jeno, please - ” you can’t get any more words out, the air being pulled out of you as he dives in and circles your clit with his tongue, bringing his two spit-soaked fingers up to press into you with almost no resistance. your reaction is instantaneous, walls clenching like a vice around his fingers as he lays a filthy kiss against your bundle of nerves, hips jumping up only to be kept down by jeno’s other hand, pressing down against the bottom of your stomach. 

“patience.” he pulls off of your clit just to growl the word out against the skin of your inner thigh, and the wet heat of his mouth directly against your flesh has you practically gasping out. when jeno sinks his teeth into your thigh as he’s often wont to do, you let out a full-bodied whine, the kind that starts in the back of your throat and rises up through the inner column of your neck, meant only for your lover’s ears. jeno laves his tongue over the marks he’s just created, as if to wash the pleasurable pain from your body. 

he does not reattach his mouth to your core, choosing instead to fall back and watch, eyes trained, as he scissors you open. with hardly any warning rather than his gaze jumping up to meet your own momentarily, jeno presses his thumb into your clit, using your slick wetness to eliminate any raw friction as he rubs slow circles against your nerve endings. he’s never failed to bring you to the edge with ease, and now is no different. you’d be embarrassed at how easily you fall apart just from his simple simultaneous motions, in and on you, but it’s jeno, and he knows your body maybe even better than he knows his own. 

keening, a loud, gasping wail, falls from your lips only for jeno to rise from his place in between your thighs and swallow your sounds with his open mouth, his clean hand coming up to cage you in against your sheets. the way you raise your arms to loop them around his neck is akin to the way a drowning man would grab on to a lifeline, and once he rises you pull him back into a longer, filthier kiss, where your teeth click against his and his tongue opens up your mouth the same way it feels like his touch opens up your body. 

you feel as if you’re being flayed, as if hellfire is the only thing comparable to the heat against your skin. jeno steps closer, just by the tiniest bit, and you feel his hand - the one shining with your arousal - brush past your hip before he uses it to wet his cock with one, two, three firm strokes. copious amounts of precum arise from the tip before being pulled down against his flesh with expert downstrokes. your mouth waters as you watch.

“my mouth, lionheart, please?” you finally gain the courage to ask what is on your mind, sitting up on your elbows as you begin to slowly find your strength. your love raises an eyebrow, and not without reason: jeno is a big man, making even you - a literal monarch - feel small at times, and this does not end with his personality or his person: you have never been able to take all of him into your mouth. the ache borders on painful, frankly, and jeno himself refuses to harm you in that way. 

“this, now, is about you.” he responds, and your heart cracks as you register that as a ‘no’. still, you speak again. you need him in your mouth, suddenly. it isn’t just a want. something has to anchor you to the here and now, it may as well be the head of his cock, heavy against your tongue.

“what is about me is about you as well,” you respond, and before he can lay his refusal down out flat, you slide onto the floor - warmer than expected - and tuck your heels behind your bare ass. “i need this. please.”

you’re directly in front of him now, face parallel to his strong thighs. jeno strokes up, squeezes tighter just below his frenulum, and you watch, struck, as precum beads at the tip and then splits into two streams, half sliding down his hard dick and the other slowly-but-surely falling to the ground, hardly a quarter of a step from one of your knees.

“give me your hand, then,” your knight murmurs from above you, drawing your gaze from his leaking cock up past the dainty curve of his lip to his hard eyes. “now.”

when you raise your hand up, you only put it up limply, unsure of what he means to do with the limb he’s asked for. your eyes must be swimming with questions, because jeno gives you a hint of a sweet, reassuring smile before allowing his expression to become stoic again… right before he grasps your given hand and straightens it out, gentler than expected from such a great warrior but harsher than he truly ever treats you. 

he’s passionate. this demonstrates it. 

before you can react, your body following your hand up off of your heels, though only slightly, as he yanks up your hand, jeno leans down and licks up your hand, from the bottom of your palm to the top, all while maintaining eye contact with you. he lets go, though you keep your hand raised, your gaze obviously dumbfounded. 

“a dry hand would rub me raw,” he explains, though the smirk that’s tugging at one corner of his mouth shows that he finds your wide-eyed expression at least mildly amusing. “we do not want that, do we?”

it’s amazing how easily he can get you under his thumb when you give out orders that hold his life in the balance on a day-to-day basis. maybe that’s why he finds taking charge in private so easy. maybe it’s his way of evening your dynamic out. even now, as he asks you an innocent question with no hidden meaning or reaction, you find yourself shaking your head along enthusiastically. no, of course you don’t want to rub him raw. of course you and him don’t want that. 

you raise the hand now deemed ‘not dry’ up as jeno watches, finally, finally wrapping your hand around it. your thumb and middle finger do not meet, no matter how tight you squeeze. your lover lets out a fulfilled groan at finally feeling a touch other than his own on his hard cock, and it’s a beautiful sound. you want more of it. you want more of him. 

as if mesmerized, you lean closer, darting out your tongue to lick experimentally at his slit. he holds his breath, a large hand coming to rest lightly against the back of your head and base of your skull, waiting. you take this as a sign to stretch your lips wider, engulfing the entire tip of his cock in your hot mouth. his grip tightens in your hair, and, in return, you clench around nothing. 

as you struggle to take more of jeno in your mouth, you do your best to stroke the rest of his cock with a tight enough grip to make him feel everything, but not tight to the point where you’re hurting him. regardless of how little you can take on your tongue - not your fault, by any means - jeno seems happy, barely able to stop himself from bucking up into the back of your throat. at this point, you’re essentially just warming his cock, so you pull off with a slick pop to look at him with slightly watery eyes. a string of precum and saliva connects your bottom lip and his tip, and when it breaks, you’re acutely aware of the mixture dripping down your chin and onto your nightgown. it’s no matter.

jeno’s thumb runs over your scalp, just above the bottom of your skull. you close your eyes momentarily to take in a deep breath. 

“you can force yourself down my throat, you know,” your voice is raspy when you speak, eyes fluttering open almost drearily. “i’m not too delicate for it.”

there’s something simultaneously raw and pure about the way you speak, and jeno recognizes that your headspace has changed, just a little. your need truly is all-encompassing now. he must tread more delicately than usual.

there’s so much love, so much adoration in your wide-eyed gaze. he only wishes to return it with the same intensity and double the care. 

“i know, love,” jeno responds, finally moving his hand in order to place two fingers under your chin. he tilts your face up, taking note of the way your eyes run over his tattoo before looking at his chin, then his jaw, then his nose, then his forehead, until, finally, you land on his eyes. you’re a tad bit unfocused, full of need, but that’s okay. you’ll always come back to him. he continues speaking. “you’re so strong. always so strong for me. that’s why you deserve to be rewarded, yes?”

“rewarded?” you’re confused, to say the least, though you do not dislike the direction jeno is suddenly moving towards. he only smiles, gentle and kind and good and yours. all yours. 

“on the bed, (name).” he tilts his own head, jutting his chin towards the bed you’d slid off of earlier. you don’t hesitate to follow, pushing yourself up onto your feet and all but scrambling backwards to be seated against the soft mattress. the blankets are all haphazard and the pillows aren’t straight, but that’s the least of your worries right now. jeno gives no other orders, only stepping closer and, without warning, winding his arms underneath your thighs and propelling you backwards, causing you to land, back flat, in the center of your bed. 

it had always felt inescapably large when you’d slept in it alone. now, it feels welcoming. safe. 

“you’re ready for me, yes?” the tone of voice jeno uses is soft, even as his rough palms push apart your thighs. you nod, murmuring a small ‘yes’ once you realize he’s waiting for you to verbalize your thoughts. this is all jeno needs to climb onto the bed and move in between your spread legs, settling back on his calves as his hands smooth over your hip bones and waist. it’s evident that he’s bent on taking his time with you tonight, likely under the illusion that that is what you want. 

it is not what you want. it is most definitely not what you need. 

“i need you within me, lionheart,” one of your hands clutches at the sheets beneath you while you stretch the other towards your lover, imploring. “soon. now. please.”  

“absolutely impatient,” jeno only chuckles in return, drawing an indignant whine forth from the base of your throat. he looks over your barely covered body once more before finally - almost in slowed motions as if to tease you further - rising up onto his knees. his hands stop moving against your skin, finally circling around the soft meat of your upper thighs. swiftly and fluidly, jeno pulls your body towards his, wrapping your legs around his own waist. his wet cock lies heavy against your pelvis, leaving slick precum against the apex of your thighs and the bottom of your stomach. he smirks. “is this what you wanted?” 

the motion of being pulled into your knight had forced the air from your lungs in a surprised yelp, and the feeling of his warm skin - he’s always supplied so much heat, it baffles you to no end - against your own momentarily blanks your mind. jeno repeats his question twice, cocky grin growing with each utterance, before you nod vigorously and sputter out something vaguely affirmative. yes. yes, this is exactly what you wanted, exactly what you want. 

you’ve been growing steadily wetter the longer your foreplay had drawn out, but jeno, ever-caring, still pulls back - his cock sliding against your thigh has you moaning - to slip two thick fingers into you, adding a third when he’s absolutely sure that you can take it. in no time at all, you’re grinding your clit against his rough palm, the friction absolutely heavenly. jeno makes no move to stop you, only gently forcing his fingers in deeper. 

a fourth finger is added just as your abused clit can’t take anymore, and you spasm on his hand as you fall past the point of no return. your second orgasm of the night washes over you, and you can’t help the muted but harried gasps you let out as your hips buck up, driving your head back into the mattress. jeno draws his fingers out slowly, licking your essence off of them with practiced ease. once your body has calmed down, you can only let out a small whimper, still basking in the intensity you’ve just experienced. 

jeno knows your limit, and knows damn well that you haven’t reached it yet. it’s because of this that, even as your walls are still clenching around nothing due to aftershocks that wrack your body, he places the fat head of his cock against your hole and slowly but surely slides in. the hands on your thighs move up to wrap around the sides of your waist, and his grip is bruising as he pushes deeper and deeper. even as he goes at a snail’s pace, you feel as if you’re being pulled apart only to be pieced back together again. you hold your breath.

jeno is halfway in when he realizes you still aren’t quite wet enough. he shifts slightly, carefully moving one of your legs up just a little bit higher, before swiping over your raw clit with a thumb he’s wetted with his own tongue. a moan flies forth from your mouth immediately, and a gush of wetness coats jeno’s cock anew as he circles over your bud with abandon. he’s finally free to surge forward and bury himself within your warm walls without fear of repercussions on your own body… so he does. the breath you’d been holding in is punched out of you, replaced with an honest-to-god wail. tears bud at the corners of your eyes at the stretch, falling as he pulls out almost entirely and slams into you again. 

jeno does everything in his life in order to live up to the name you’ve given him: lionheart. he is just and loyal and thoughtful as an advisor, and analytical and fearsome and ruthless as a warrior. sex is where both sides of him meet. it is where he is not just the kingdom’s bravest knight, or the crown’s right-hand man. it is where he is your lionheart, and yours alone, where your souls intertwine at the place your bodies meet. 

he notices how your hands come up to reach for him, leaning down so you can place one hand against his heart - against his tattoo - and throw the other one over his other shoulder. jeno’s nose is almost touching yours, though your bodies shift continuously as he keeps drawing back and driving his hips into yours with force.

he never ceases to make you feel full. 

your walls grip his cock tightly, amplifying every movement jeno indulges you in. the slide is slick and wet and perfect, but it is not easy. the head of his dick catches on your clenched walls every time he pulls out just to slam back in, forcing you to feel him with everything you have. it’s exactly what you want. 

he slows down his thrusting for a moment as he moves forward slightly, leaning closer still as he places one forearm against your head and raises his other hand to fondle your chest over your sheer clothing. somehow, this is no longer enough for you. jeno’s cock is fully sheathed within you as he swipes a thumb over one of your nipples, and the feeling of his skin pushing the cloth against one of your most sensitive areas has you shuddering in a way that causes you to squeeze even tighter around him. his hips stutter slightly, driving him impossibly deeper into you.

“jeno,” you rasp out, tongue heavy and dry. “my pillow. beneath my pillow.”

his eyes go wide as he processes what you’ve just said, his shallow thrusts slowing down. jeno gulps audibly. 

“your- love, your dagger?”

“need you to touch me.” you respond, holding his gaze and watching it clear up from confused to comprehending you entirely. he pushes himself up from his forearm to his hand, sliding out of you in the same movement. you whine sadly at the loss of contact, but jeno mutters a good-natured ‘be quiet’ almost immediately. 

“you know,” he starts, voice teasing, even as he pulls your dagger - black steel, quillions and hilt encrusted with blue jewels, black tempered glass at the pommel - out from beneath your pillow using the hand that had been fondling you earlier. he moves back down to his prior position, and your breath hitches as he presses the apex of the knife against the collar of your nightgown. “i’m already touching you.”

“more,” you moan out, the end of your word coming out almost breathlessly. one of your hands slides against his tattoo once more, as if feeling the lion will make it roar to life. “touch me more.” 

jeno chuckles, albeit darker than he had been earlier, and digs the dagger into the cloth in front of it without any further ado. you hold your breath willfully this time, not wanting to actually nick yourself on the blade, as he moves down your body, cutting the sheer gown open down its direct center. your lionheart dots his lips against your flesh in a trail in his wake, scraping his teeth against your skin as he sees fit. 

he leaves a quick, but filthy, kiss against your clit for good measure, eyes lighting up as you attempt to close your legs around his head on impulse, only to have them pushed apart even farther than before by his strong hands. once he gets to the hem of the slip, he throws your dagger somewhere on the stone floor - neither of you pay any heed to where it clatters - and rips it apart with his bare hands, hardly able to bear not feeling you around him for much longer. 

before you can do anything or say anything or even think anything at all, your lover surges forward and presses himself back into you with a grunt that sounds almost like a growl. his hands knead at your thighs as he finds his rhythm with ease, pounding into you with practice as if you’re an art medium and he’s a skilled master. he’s everywhere, all around you and inside of you and in the air and in your skin, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“touching - ha - touching you enough now?” he asks, resolve crumbling bit by bit as he fights to keep himself from tumbling over the cliff’s edge before you do. you can’t dignify him with a response, unable to do anything but claw at his back and pin yourself further against his chest as if it’ll make even more room for you in his heart than there already is. he doesn’t need a response, anyways. jeno already knows. 

he knows just how close you are, too. just as close as he is. it’s because of this that jeno moves a hand up to curl around your throat just as he circles your clit with two fingers of the other hand, continuing to fuck into you at the same rate as best he can. with a sharp cry and the arching of your back off the bed, you clench around him for one final time before he comes to a halt, barely holding himself up over you as he releases within you with a shuddering, gasping groan. 

moments pass, stretching into longer than they typically are. jeno takes care as he slides out of you, climbing onto the bed and flopping down next to you right after. the feeling of his release, sticky and wet against your inner thighs, is unpleasant at best, but you can’t bring yourself to clean up just yet. instead, you turn your head to your side, your nose immediately brushing against jeno’s sternum as you realize that he’s turned his entire body towards your own. he lets out an airy laugh at the sensation, pushing half of the sliced cloth off of your body in order to run a wide open palm down your naked side. 

“good?” he speaks first, asking an arbitrary question. ‘good enough to make you forget?’ is what he means, knowing full well that you could never lose thought of what awaits the two of you. the sentiment is what’s important, though, and you let out an agreeable hum as a reply. the sex itself was great, of course. he’s well aware. 

“sleep, lionheart,” you say just as silence attempts to cloak the two of you. “we must be ready soon, as it is.”

jeno gives you no response, and you do not require one from him. instead, he pulls you even closer into his chest as if doing so will protect you from the crithagians across your kingdom. his entire world rests between his arms. you are both tired enough that sleep forces your eyelids closed swifter than expected, and as you fall asleep to your lover’s slowed breathing and muted heartbeat, you can’t help but, just this once, allow your worries to slip off your body as your torn nightgown does. 

just before the rise of the sun, jeno will have to get out of bed and clean you up as best he can before donning his clothing, his armor, and his cape. you’ll put his helmet upon his head, pull his visor down over his face after sharing a kiss that could be your last. it is always like this. jeno will rouse the army, you will dress and arm yourself, and meet with your own private troops. 

as the sun begins to take its place in the morning sky, luckily opposite your gaze, jeno will lead his people into battle, riding his steed far, far from you. you will watch him go, but he will not look back. doing so is unfortunate luck at best. you’ve ingrained this into his mind. 

you do not know whether he will be back or not.

you desperately need him to come back.

all of that will happen in due time, but now, you drift to dreamland, safe in the arms of the man you’ve sworn to be with until the end. he tightens his hold around you, and that is how you spend the night before battle, in total comfort and full of love. no matter what tomorrow brings, at least you have this now. at least you will always have this moment. 

the lionheart and his liege. your lionheart and his love. 

for now, you are at peace in the calm before the storm.

#first #five #tags #dont #work #jeno #jeno smut #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno x reader #nct jeno #nct smut #nct fluff #nct angst #nct dream smut #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream

[neesieiumz]

Towel {Natsu Dragneel x Reader}

Summary: You had just got back from your mission, when you stumble upon the Fire Dragon Slayer using your bathtub. As you kick him out the the bath, yu remember a “conversation” you two had before you eleft? Will he bring it up or will your feelings for the pink haired dragon go unnoticed?

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS!! This is part one of the gifts I am giving you! I am also giving something to MHA fandom as well! I don’t know why this took me over a month to write, I literally just finished watching Fairy Tail like a month ago and I was writing this right after. This probably won’t get as much notice as my other posts but I still really want to write and share it with everyone on Tumblr... have fun and enjoy!!

Word count: 2.3k

Y/n walked throughout your home, tired after the job you had taken on by herself once again. The client was a big one, specifically asking for your skills in weather magic. An entire small country needed climate change after going through a long period of drought for over two years. You dropped your bag by your front door and dragged herself to your room, ready to take a long shower. You stretched your neck and opened your door. 

“Hey, Y/n!” 

“How was your mission!”

Sitting in your tub/shower was the fire dragon slayer of the guild you were currently affiliated with, Natsu Dragneel, and his flying blue cat-like creature. Looking at the two of them, you took a deep breath and cracked your neck once again.

“GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SHOWER!!!” You Screamed at both of them, making them scream and jump out of the tub. 

You Grabbed the two towels on the rack beside you and threw them on the two of them, “dry yourselves off, I can’t come back from one mission without the two of you bothering me!” 

You turned around and headed back to your room and removed your stained clothes and threw them in the basket near your bed. Standing in your bra and panties, you grabbed your robe hanging on your desk chair and wrapped it around your body. You turned around to find Natsu standing there with the towel wrapped around his waist. You blushed as you noticed his abs on full display.

“How long have you been standing there, you idiot,” you mumbled, pushing past him and going into the steamy bathroom. 

You could feel that Natsu wanted to say something but you closed the door behind you before he could get a word in. You then turned on the water and clogged the drain, opting for a bath ratyourthan a shower to avoid having the conversation Natsu had so desperately wanted. You mixed yourbath salts and soaps and mixed them. Once they were well integrated with the water, youstripped herself of yourrobe and took off yourbra and panties, and slowly stepped into the slightly hot water. You grabbed your body wash and washcloth and began scrubbing your body, washing away all the stress of the S rank mission you were just on. It was right before you were about to get on the train to the small country. 

“Y/n!!! Y/n wait up!!” You heard a familiar voice call out to her, making your turn around to see the pink-haired dragon waving at you and calling your name. 

Y/n stopped in your tracks and waited for Natsu to catch up to her, to see what he wanted with her. He caught up to yourand before you knew it, he grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you close. Y/n’s eyes widened at his sudden action and your face burned as he pulled your face closer to his own. 

Y/n blinked, “Can I help you, Natsu?” 

He didn’t say anything, just continued to stare you down in your eyes. Y/n shifted uncomfortably, trying to take a couple of steps back but his grip on you tightened and he just continued to stare down at her. 

Y/n blinked, “is there something wrong? Did I do something?” 

He didn’t say anything and just continued to look at you for a while. That’s when he just smiled and patted your head a couple of times. 

“See you when you come back, Y/n. I have something I want to tell you…”

Tell me…? You thought to yourself. You were about to respond but then you heard the last call for your train. You had to go before you missed it and missed your opportunity for money to pay bills. You sighed before removing his arms and taking a couple of steps back. 

“I’ll see you when you get back, Natsu,” you whispered before turning around and heading to your train. 

As you walked away, back turned toward him. You couldn’t see his smile and his red cheeks before grabbing Happy and walking away. You also couldn’t hear the short conversation between the two of them as they were walking away. 

“YOU LOOOOOOVE HER!!!”

“SHUT UP HAPPY!!”

You opened your eyes, the hot water now lukewarm. You reached under you to unclog the drain, reached over to grab your towel before standing up, and stepping out of the bath. Drying yourself, you walked over to your mirror and grabbed your lotion off the shelf. As you lotioned down your body, you heard a knock at the door. 

“Y/n, you in there? You haven’t said anything in a while? Did you drown?” Natsu knocked on the door multiple times. 

You sighed, not wanting to leave this bathroom, having no idea what Natsu wanted to talk about. The thought of it made your stomach squeeze. 

Could he have?... found out about? No, he couldn’t have… you only told Levy about your feelings… considering she let you in about what she felt over the Iron dragon slayer. 

You shook your head, slapping your face with lotion, to both moisturize your face and to stop falling into the depths of your mind. There was no possible way he could have known how you felt…. Unless…

“AAAAHHHH SHUT UP!”

You didn’t realize you yelled that out loud until your bathroom door was broken down and Natsu, in all his glory, was standing there wearing only the towel you had given him. You had squealed and quickly wrapped the towel around you before Natsu could take a peek at your goodies. 

“Natsu!! What the hell?!?!” You yelled out, taking a couple of steps back. 

He ignored everything you said and speed walk to you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you close. He looked around your face, using one hand to hold the side of your face when you tried to move. Your heart once again started beating erratically as he got so close enough, that one wrong move and his lips were on yours. You both looked at each other before he saw there was nothing physically wrong with you, he slowly let you go and backed up away from you. 

“You shouted really loudly, I thought something had happened to you. Jesus…” Natsu looked away as he said, cheeks pink in embarrassment. 

“BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU HAVE TO BREAK DOWN MY FUCKING DOOR!?!?” You yelled at him, pushing him away towards your door. 

You could feel your towel slipping, so you used one hand to grab at the knot and anotyourto push him out the door. 

“Okay, okay, I’m going, no need to be do fucking pushy!” Natsu had argued, trying to catch himself as you pushed him out. 

You said nothing and continued to push him out until you both reached your bed and you had pushed him on it. Over in the corner, Happy was curled up in the desk chair in the corner of your room, asleep. You were about to turn around to go put on some night clothes but you lost your footing. 

It was honestly straight of a K-drama, you had fallen right on top of him. You were straddling him, your arms on eityourside of him to prevent you from falling straight on top of him. Both of your faces were inches away from each other, both of your cheeks red. You mumbled a sorry before trying to push yourself off of him before you felt a weight on your waist. It pulled you down to his body, chest touching chest. You looked down to find his hands holding your waist, holding you down. 

“Um, Natsu what are… what are you doing?” You whispered to him, glancing down at your waist once more. 

Natsu took a deep breath, possibly preparing himself to do something. You blinked at him, seeing him look away from you but when you made a move to get off of him, he tightened his grip on your waist. You moved around a bit and his grip never loosened. 

“Y/n… I have something I want to tell you… It’s been on my mind for a while…”

You could feel your beating heart pace faster as he said this. Is this… is this for real…? Could he possibly have…. 

“Can you cook that pasta you made that one day for me again! It was delicious that one time you made it and I couldn’t stop thinking about it for weeks!” He smiled as if both of you weren't almost naked, arms-length from each on top of your bed. 

You blinked. And blinked again. And blinked again. 

“MOTHERFUCKER!!!” You screamed, forcefully pushing his arms off of you, shooting off your bed and him. 

“I can’t believe it!!! AAAAAAHHHHHH!!” You screamed again, walking to a random corner kicking it as hard as you could. 

“I should have known! You absolute dense idiot! Oh who am I kidding, I should have known! I should have known…” You sobbed the last line, falling to your knees and covering your face with an arm. 

Should have known, should have known he doesn’t like me that way… should have known that… it’s probably Lucy he likes anyway…

You took a couple of deep breaths before rewrapping yourself in your towel before walking over to your drawer and pulling out a loose cami and shorts to wear to bed. You could feel Natsu’s eyes on you but he didn't say anything. Why? You had no idea and you pretended like you didn’t care. You are about to walk back to your bathroom to change when you heard the bed shift and quick footsteps behind you. Before you could quicken your footsteps, you could feel his hands at your waist. He pulled you close to him, showing no signs of letting go. 

You struggled in his hold, “fucking let me go! Let me go Natsu!! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He ignored what you said and stomped back to your bed and threw you on it. Before you could sit up and kick him, he grabbed your arms and pinned you to the bed, his tan body towering over you. Before you could stop yourself, you glanced down at his abs… his...very-defined abs… 

Fuck, stop fucking looking at him! That’s how you get caught in his trap!

He stared down at you once again, his grip on your wrists not letting up. 

Not again…. Not this again… Lord help me, I don’t think I can survive toying with me like this again-

You were broken out of your thoughts by a sudden force on your lips. You blinked...then blinked again, before looking down to find Natsu’s lips on yours. 

Fuck… he’s kissing me… he’s actually kissing me.. Y/n do something! Move, fucking kiss him back!

But for some reason, probably shock, you couldn’t move. Natsu continued to kiss you for a couple more seconds before slowly letting up and looking at you with narrowed eyes. You looked at each of you for a little bit before he broke the stare first. He let go of your wrists and looked away, and when you looked at his eyes a little bit, you could see a tear threatening to come out. 

He’s gonna cry…

Natsu wasn’t one for crying, that was what broke you out of your shock and before you could think clearly about yourself, you grabbed the side of his head and pulled him down before replanting his lips onto yours. His eyes widen at this before relaxing into the kiss, using his left hand to caress the side of your face. Both of you stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, both of you moving around to find a position comfortable for both of you. While his hand was on your head, he used his free, to grab at you by the waist and pulled the bottom half of your body towards him. Using his left knee, he slightly spread your legs apart before moving his body in between your legs. Once he was comfortable, both of you grabbed at each other, your tongues intertwining and fighting with each other. You caressed his back before moving up to his hair, gripping at the strands. 

His lips tasted like fire, not like they were burning you, no. They tasted like the essence of fire, smoky cinnamon, and honey, which was the last thing you expected from him. From Natsu. You couldn’t get enough of him… it was everything you dreamed about and more… You wanted more, you wanted to continue, you never wanted his lips off of you again.

Then you could feel your lungs burn, screaming for air. You wanted to continue but oxygen was calling your name. Taking a deep breath through your nose, you slowly let go of his lips. The both of you heaving, gasping for breaths. You moved your hands slowly to his face and gave him a soft smile. 

“You wanna talk about what just happened?” You asked him. 

He tilted his head and gave you a big smile, “After you make some of your freaking delicious pasta!”

You chuckled and hit him in the shoulder, “you’re such a fatass. Get off me, let me go make it.” 

He laughed out loud and rolled off you, allowing you to sit up and tightening your towel around you. Before you could fully get off your bed to change and head to your kitchen. Both you and Natsu heard something from the corner of the room. You both turned to find an awake Happy using his paw to hold back his snickers. 

“YOU LOOOOVE EACH OTHER!”

“SHUT UP HAPPY!!” Both of you yelled at the blue exceed.

#fairy tail x reader #fairy tail masterlist #fairy tail #fairy tail smut #natsu x reader #natsu dragon slayer #natsu dragneel #natsu fairy tail #ft erza #natsu dragneel x reader #happy the exceed #happy the cat #lucy heartfilia #gray fairy tail #gray fullbuster

[butterflies-dragons]

I don't think antis know about meaning of 'willowy'. When Jon said that Val is a warrior princess not a willowy creature brushing her hair, willowy is not an insult. It means tall, slender and graceful. And Sansa qualifies as willowy brushing her and like knights. It seems like Jon throwing shade on Sansa, but why? Considering he liked her brushing Lady hair and he himself wanted to be knight. Why he subtly remember Sansa while differentiating her with Val?

This is what I wrote about Val and the willowy creature line a while ago:

Val

Repeat after me: Val is not a warrior woman. Again: Val is not a warrior woman.  One more time: Val is not a warrior woman. If you don’t believe me, then read this:

However, in my own defense, I should note that Dalla was not a “warrior woman” per se. She was from a warrior culture, yes; one that gave women the right, but not the obligation, to be fighters. Ygritte was a warrior woman, as was (most conspicuously) the fearsome Harma Dogshead. Dalla and Val were not.

[Source]

But you may say, ¿What about the “the warrior princess and the willowy creature that only brushes her hair” quote?

Well, as GRRM has stated many times, all his POVS are “Unreliable Narrators”.  Being from a “warrior culture” doesn’t make you automatically a “warrior woman”.  But here is Jon Snow “deciding” that Val was a “warrior princess”. Once again, the contrast, the dichotomy in one single person: ¿A warrior like Arya, a princess like Sansa?  Not that Arya has ever fought in a war, but you get my point.  And Sansa was created following the princess archetype.

I will show you one of my favorite Jon’s passages that will serve us to read “the warrior princess and the willowy creature that only brushes her hair” line with a better and more revealing light:

I call this passage the “Jon -It’s nothing special- Snow”.  Or as we say in Spanish when we can’t get what we really want: “Al cabo que ni quería”, that can be translated as “I didn’t even want it anyway”.  Let’s see:

"Oh, I learn things everywhere I go.” The little man gestured up at the Wall with a gnarled black walking stick. “As I was saying … why is it that when one man builds a wall, the next man immediately needs to know what’s on the other side?” He cocked his head and looked at Jon with his curious mismatched eyes. “You do want to know what’s on the other side, don’t you?”

“It’s nothing special,” Jon said. He wanted to ride with Benjen Stark on his rangings, deep into the mysteries of the haunted forest, wanted to fight Mance Rayder’s wildlings and ward the realm against the Others, but it was better not to speak of the things you wanted. “The rangers say it’s just woods and mountains and frozen lakes, with lots of snow and ice.”

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

I mean… COME ON!  This is one of the most telling passages to know, to really know Jon’s true nature, and it’s very, very similar to the quote about “the warrior princess and the willowy creature that only brushes her hair”:

They are all convinced she is a princess. Val looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

“Some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.”  Nah, it’s nothing special, I didn’t even want it anyway, not for me, no.

“It’s nothing special,” Jon said. He wanted to ride with Benjen Stark on his rangings, deep into the mysteries of the haunted forest, wanted to fight Mance Rayder’s wildlings and ward the realm against the Others, but it was better not to speak of the things you wanted. “The rangers say it’s just woods and mountains and frozen lakes, with lots of snow and ice.”

Do I have to say more???

Actually, yes, I have.

Jon Snow does really want a lady.  Jon Snow does really want to be a knight and rescue a maiden.  Jon Snow does really want a lady to love and be loved back by her.  Here some evidence:

Jon Snow wished that his mother were a highborn lady: “Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.”

Jon Snow wanted to be a hero like the Prince Aemon Dragonknight.  The same Prince Aemon that jousted in a tourney, won it, and crowned his sister and lady love “Queen of Love and Beauty”, something that is straight out from the courtly love book: “The Dragonknight once won a tourney as the Knight of Tears, so he could name his sister the queen of love and beauty in place of the king’s mistress”.

Jon Snow tried to comfort Gilly with courtesy: “Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower.”  “That’s pretty.” He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her”.

Jon Snow put Ghost between Ygritte and him and remembers that knights put their swords between their ladies and themselves, something that is straight out from the courtly love book: “After that he had taken to using Ghost to keep her away. Old Nan used to tell stories about knights and their ladies who would sleep in a single bed with a blade between them for honor’s sake, but he thought this must be the first time where a direwolf took the place of the sword”.

Jon Snow imagined romancing Ygritte as if she were a lady: “If I could show her Winterfell … give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us”.

Jon Snow wished for a domestic life in Winterfell, with his wife and children: I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. […] I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. […] Mance’s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb. He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily”.

Jon is a romantic that called his mare “sweet lady”.

Jon Snow closer friends in the Night’s Watch are Samwell Tarly and satin, they are literally male!Sansas.

Jon remembers fondly Sansa’s more feminine and ladylike traits: her romantic nature, her courtesies, her singing.

It’s also worth to mention that, despite Val’s beauty and physical attractiveness, Jon Snow, once again, appreciates her being maternal and singing to Gilly’s son, but was turned off by Val saying she would kill Princess Shireen:

“I have heard you singing to him.”

“I was singing to myself. Am I to blame if he listens?” A faint smile brushed her lips. “It makes him laugh. Oh, very well. He is a sweet little monster.”

“Monster?”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VIII

Once outside and well away from the queen’s men, Val gave vent to her wroth. “You lied about her beard. That one has more hair on her chin than I have between my legs. And the daughter … her face …”

“Greyscale.”

“The grey death is what we call it.”

“It is not always mortal in children.”

“North of the Wall it is. Hemlock is a sure cure, but a pillow or a blade will work as well. If I had given birth to that poor child, I would have given her the gift of mercy long ago.”

This was a Val that Jon had never seen before. “Princess Shireen is the queen’s only child.”

“I pity both of them. The child is not clean.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

Wait a minute! Val was “singing to herself” like Jon’s memory of Sansa “singing to herself” while brushing out Lady’s coat???

Where did Jon get this idea of “some willowy creature that only brushes her hair” from???  It could be from his half sister Sansa, a literal princess, now trapped in a tower, that always brushed her hair and even brushed out her direwolf’s fur???

“She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone” —Sansa

“Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until it shone.” —Eddard

I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. —Catelyn

He thought […] Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. —Jon

And I also suspect that when Jon said this about Val:

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him.

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

He was remembering another pretty girl, princess like, next to a direwolf, looking as though they belong together.

A young beautiful girl, that everyone considers a princess, next to a direwolf???

Val is a beautiful young woman, Sansa is a beautiful young maiden.

Val has long blonde hair the color of dark honey which she wears in a braid. Val actually take care of her hair, enough to braid it, like Sansa that always brushes it. And if you google “dark honey” hair color you will find a variety of reddish brown (auburn) and reddish blonde hair colors.

Val has high sharp cheekbones, like Sansa.

Val’s eyes are pale grey or blue.  Again the grey/blue eyes pattern…

Val is slender with a full bosom, like Sansa.

So?

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him. […] It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself.

Think about it!

* * *

For anyone interested, this is an excerpt from this post.

#anon asks #jonsa

[spxllcxstxr]

Cupid • J.P

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hii can you make a fluff James Potter blurb like talking about their future together (she/her reader) thank you sm<3 — anon

Summary: A sickly sweet Valentine’s Day at Madam Puddifoot’s with James.

Warnings: Mentions of food (though no eating), mentions of getting married and having kids, kinda just ignoring Voldy for a hot sec

Word Count: 993

A.N: Happy Valentine’s Day! I am so proud of this one, to be honest. I hope you all like it. I need me a James Potter like right this instant.

****

Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop was utterly insufferable on a normal day.

Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop on Valentine’s Day, however, was an entirely new creature.

The only reason you know that is because James had dragged you into the disgustingly pink and sickly sweet smelling shop to “get the full Valentine’s Day experience just once before we graduate.” Sometimes you despise your boyfriend.

So here you are, sitting across from James, two elegant porcelain tea cups and a plate of pink and red dainty heart shaped biscuits between the two of you.

His hand rests atop yours over the table, a calloused thumb dragging comfortably across your knuckles, and underneath your the table, your feet are playfully tapping his own.

“You see dear, this isn’t so bad—“

Your boyfriend promptly gets interrupted by a miniature cupid swooping just above his head, dumping his small burlap sack of hot pink glitter into his dark curls.

“Oi!”

The glitter that doesn’t rest lightly on his mop of hair rains down onto the table and into his tea.

You snicker as James rakes his hands through his hair trying to rid himself of the glitter. The cupid snarls something unintelligible before flying off to some other unlucky couple.

“‘This isn’t so bad’.” You mock, deepening your voice to sound like his own.

“Oh, ha ha.” He rolls his hazel eyes which shine in the candle light. “Did you slip the little bugger a few extra Sickles just prove your point?”

“No.” You scoff. “But I should give him a little tip, shouldn’t I?” You innocently tease, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

Your eyes catch on the shimmering pink dusting that still clings onto the top of his head, enamored by how well it compliments him in the light. Tilting your head down slightly, you rub the back of your neck.

Suddenly, a finger reaches across the table and rests underneath your chin, inclining your head back to its original position.

“What’s on your mind, beautiful?” James asks, just above a whisper, a dazzling and infectious smile painted across his face.

A smile grows across your own face, mirroring his, like it frequently does.

“Just how fit you look with that sprinkle of pink you’ve got in your hair.” You respond, index finger motioning to his shiny hair.

James gasps dramatically, pulling away to clutch his heart in insult. “Are you implying that you only love me for my dashing good looks? How dare!” He pouts. “And here I was with our whole future planned out.”

You cock your head to the side, resting it on an open palm. “Our whole future? Do tell.”

“No.” He huffs. “You’ve ruined it. You’ve broken my poor heart.” He pretends to wail.

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed. “Wail any louder and you might find Cupid’s arrow stuck in your arse.”

James stops whimpering sadly, finally noticing how the numerous love themed decorations had started to encroach on your table.

“Fine.” James starts. “I guess you should know about my plans considering you’re gonna be a part of ‘em.”

You take a sip of your tea, the warm vanilla taste light on your tongue. James goes to do the same, but one look at the floating pink specks of glitter has him wrinkling his nose and placing the cup down. Instead, he goes to fix his glasses, which were lopsided up until this point.

“Well, we’ve been dating for years now—“

“Three years in May.” You interject proudly.

“Right.” He smiles again, a blush painting his cheeks a light pink. “So obviously I’ll propose, we’ll get married—“

“Who says I’m gonna say yes?” You tease, biting your bottom lip.

His eyes narrow.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll say yes.” You hold your hands up in mock surrender. “Keep going.”

“You’ll look absolutely gorgeous in your white gown, no matter which dress you pick. And I’ll cry at the alter, watching you stroll down the aisle. You’ll laugh at me, of course.” James muses, his eyes hazy in thought. “Pads’ll be my best man, and he’ll end up interrupting the ceremony to make some stupid joke that we’ll all end up laughing at.”

You purse your lips, imagining your future with him, the way he’s described.

“Our honeymoon should be some beautiful far away place.” You add. “Maybe see some dragons.”

“Romania?” He asks.

“Perhaps.”

“And after that,” James continues, gazing into your eyes. The flickering fire of the candle reflects in the whites of them. “We can settle down in a little cottage in the country.”

“We should be near Remus and Sirius. To keep them in line, y’know.” You skim the lip of your cup with your finger in thought.

“To keep us in line, I think you mean.” James chuckles fondly.

“That too.” The glow of his hair distracts you once again.

“We’ll have a large yard for a dog, a coupla kids...” He trails off.

“How many’s a couple, Potter?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“As many as your heart desires, dear.” James winks.

Another cupid makes a dive towards his hair, causing James to yelp, duck, and cover his head with his hands in fright.

Again you laugh, watching the harmless little thing dart off.

“Then what, James?” You press on curiously, as he slowly lifts his head up.

“Well our kids are going to be the most spoiled little things ever. With amazing uncles and fabulous aunts.” James excitedly explains. “And one incredible mother.” His eyes slide over to you.

“Well they’ll have one amazing father, too.” You remark. “Under the influence of you and their uncles, they’re going to be a handful.”

“Nothing we can’t handle.” James boasts.

“This sounds perfect, James.” You sigh peacefully.

“A perfect life for a perfect wife.” He smiles again.

“I’m not your wife, Potter.” You chuckle.

“Yet.” He points out.

“You’re right. I think you’ve managed to convince me.”

Maybe Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop isn’t as bad as you thought.

#James Potter #james potter x reader #james potter blurb #james potter fluff #the marauders x reader #james potter imagine

[henqtic]

𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲? || 𝐃.𝐌 

summary: You and your childhood friend Draco make the rash decision to runaway after the war and it changes your relationship and lives for the better.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: war, mentions of death, kissing, mentions of birth, pregnancy, parenthood, a five year old falling off of a broom (is that a warning?) Please contact me if there's more!

request: @fa-me- can you do a fix based on the song “The Story” by Conan Gray with draco? pretty fluffy if possible, i would like to not be in tears by the end of it🖐😃 

a/n- I had so much fun writing this and I did leave out some lyrics because this was supposed to be happy and not sad. Also in the song I’m pretty sure Conan and the girl were just friends but here they’re not going to be :) [lyrics are in bold]

+ Masterlist | Draco Malfoy Masterlist

gif creds

Now it's on to the sequel

About me and my friend

It was inevitable; the second wizarding war. The world was in the most literal way crumbling down and burning in fire, and all he was worried about was her- nothing else, just her.

Throughout their years at Hogwarts Draco and y/n had an odd relationship- if you would even call it that. They weren’t romantically involved in any way, shape or form, they were just childhood best friends that got a little too close at moments.

Whenever the question did come up of when they would put everyone out of their misery and just get together, it was answered with awkward laughter from both parties.

Both our parents were evil

Now here they were, panicking because they couldn’t find one another, because they were sixteen fighting in a war that was never meant for them, a war set up by their parents' elitist views.

No sane mother or father would've wanted this life for their child. Constantly looking over their shoulders, hoping that one of deadly curses that were flying around wouldn’t make contact with them like it had with their peers.

That young love that had been a safety net for the two teenagers through those dark times was slipping away and they desperately needed to find each other. Just to say it one time, before it was too late.

A flash of platinum blonde hair was all she needed to push through the crowd and sling herself into his arms.

“Draco I was so scared that I lost you and-” Your words were cut off by a soft pair of lips finding their way onto yours. The kiss was warm, the shared feeling of desperation pouring into it. Your hands ran through his hair trying to savor the moment before he abruptly pulled away. 

“I love you. I need you to know that before something may happen to us.” The confession came out rushed, almost un-comprehendible but then it clicked in your head, he finally said it.

His hands laid on your cheeks, eyes glued to your plump lips as you repeated the same three words back to him.

The black suit that he thought was appropriate to wear to war was still intact as he haphazardly led you both away from all the chaos into a secluded area.

If we worked and we saved

We could both run away

And we'd have a better life

“We fight on the right side and we run away.” The words of plea came as a surprise to both Draco and the disheveled girl in front of him. “We can’t just run-”

“Yes we can,” he said, cutting you off. “Aren’t you tired of living like this? We’re great students, we can find our own jobs and run away somewhere- away from this.” 

It started to make a lot more sense than it did ten seconds ago but you were still unsure about it. It was a radical idea and it probably wouldn’t work out, Merlin, he didn’t even think it would work out.

But it was worth a try right?

The wild that both families held on you was heavy and wasn’t easy to just pull away from.

“Yeah alright, we’ll run away, make a better life,” you repeated still in disbelief that you were going to go against your parents.

That’s just what you did, switch sides in the middle of the war. And fought alongside the people and magical creatures that were against Voldemort. And when it was time for you both to be called out to the other side by your parents...

y/n, Draco, come.

You didn’t. A shaky hand found its way to yours, lacing your fingers together tightly. It kept you both grounded, kept to the right side. 

And I was right

I wonder if she's alright

You ended up living in a small house in a muggle neighborhood for a while, it gave you time to breathe from the harsh stares of the wizarding world.

The judging eyes and remarks still followed when you would go to your job at the ministry, pursuing your dream in the study of magical creatures while Draco stayed home, finding a passion in Arithmancy.

The time you two had spent together as an actual couple and not as two teenagers scared of crossing an invisible line opened both of your eyes to what you were missing out on.

And even though it was pretty early, two years later Draco took the next step and got on one knee. The ceremony was inherently small, upon the agreement that only a few close friends should be of attendance. After that, you decided that it was best to try and reconnect with your families face to face and end the stalling monthly letters.

Both were glad to see you happy and healthy- for the most part- but were still upset as to why you would leave ‘without a single reason as to why.’

The birth of Scorpius Malfoy three years later had turned that house that you lived in, into a home filled with an untouchable joy.

And now you sat on a bench in the backyard, letting the June sun hit your skin, watching as your husband tried teaching a hyper five year old how to fly on his first training broom.

It was something you two argued on at first, scared that he would hurt himself- something that he was very prone to doing. But now that you saw how joyful it made them both, you hadn’t regretted the decision. The sight of wide grins glued onto their faces warmed your heart.

You realized that the experience of being away from the constant pressure of your parents had made you the absolute happiest. 

Especially witnessing Draco’s cheers of joy when Scorpious finally flew a half a mile on his own. Even if he wasn’t too far from the ground, it was still a great accomplishment.

Your hand instinctively went down to rub your enlarged stomach, another life growing and soon to be delivered in three months time. Through your eyes, your life was perfect as is. The family and the friendships that you had rekindled filled it so much.

Memories of Blaise and Daphne at your wedding reception sparked in your head. They had made a toast centered around the recalling of how you and Draco's actual first kiss was after the Yule ball when a mistletoe ‘mysteriously’ showed up. Turns out it was the antics of two fourteen year olds trying to get their friends together.

“Alright Scorp how about we take a break and you get some water? I need to talk to your mum,” Draco called out, interrupting your thoughts. The boy hurried back into the house not wanting to waste any time before they could go back and practice.

He rushed to sit next to you on the bench, a look of concern already creeping onto his face.

“Are you comfortable? Is it too hot out for you love? Or is it not hot enough?” The questions would have gone on if you hadn’t pressed your lips to his. The effect that you had over him seemingly never faded, the blush evident on his face when you pulled away.

“I’m fine darling stop worrying. I’m just really happy with the way our lives turned out,” you assured, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Even if you couldn’t see, you knew there was a clear smile on his face as he leaned down to press a kiss into your hair. “I love you and the family that we made- and are making.” His hand went over yours, the feeling of pride coursing through his veins.

You hadn’t had a chance to reciprocate the affectionate words before a loud crash sounded making you turn to the blonde in a grimace, sharing a knowing look.

ouch!

You craned your neck in an attempt to see him before Draco just shook his head and got up on his own.

“Stay there Scorp I’m coming!”

꒰to be added to by taglist click here꒱

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#draco malfoy #draco x yn #draco fluff #draco #malfoy #draco imagine #draco fic #draco x pureblood reader #friends to lovers #draco x you #draco x slytherin!reader #draco x ravenclaw!reader #draco x hufflepuff!reader #draco x gryffindor!reader

[allisondraste]

Death and Other Things That Should Have Been Fatal

Fandom: Mass Effect

Pairing: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian

Word Count: 4715

Summary: A follow up to Cockroaches and Other Things That Just Keep Living, Shepard wakes up after destroying the Reapers and copes with the fallout. Thankfully, she doesn't have to do so alone.

[Click Here for AO3]

“Shepard?”

The voice was little more than static in her ear, jarring her back into excruciating consciousness, head throbbing, extremities numb.  Spears of pain coursed through her chest with each and every breath, and she didn’t know whether it was the several broken ribs or the sight of Anderson's lifeless body slouched next to her.  She tore her gaze away from the closest thing she’d ever had to a good father figure, eyes fluttering closed as she attempted to focus only on the person speaking to her.

“Garrus?”  His was the first name that rolled off her tongue, the only person in the galaxy she wanted that disembodied voice to be.

“No.” Came the stern reply.  There was a long pause as any hope for comfort in her final moments came crashing down around her.  Then the voice spoke again. “It’s Hackett.”

A jolt of resentment toward the Admiral coursed through her at his introduction.  What more could he possibly want from her?  Had she not already done enough, sacrificed enough for just a ghost of a chance to stop the reapers.  Surely someone else could take it from there.  Why did everything fall on her?

Because someone else would have gotten it wrong.

She shook herself out of her head and back to the present. She would have been mortified under normal circumstances, but she couldn’t bring herself to give a damn now. “I apologize sir, I’m— What do you need me to do?”

“The Crucible is docked, but is not activated,” he explained, “We think there’s something that needs to be done on your end.  Is there a trigger? Some sort of terminal?”

His words clung to the air around her, and her eyes locked onto the terminal the Illusive Man had used earlier.  It was just a few feet in front of her and still so far away. She tried and failed to bring herself to her feet, legs buckling beneath her and sending her plummeting to the floor.  Hot tears burned in her eyes as a new array of pain shot through her body, and she groaned in agony.

“Shepard?”

“I’m here, sir,” she growled, forcing herself up onto an elbow and dragging her body to the terminal, vision beginning to blur at the corners.. Not yet , she pleaded with her consciousness as she reached up toward the terminal, hand sweeping clumsily across the haptic display. Not. Yet.   “I’m at the terminal but I… I don’t— I can’t find—”

Her vision went dark, supporting arm trembling and giving out as her consciousness faded.  Hackett’s voice called out to her repeatedly, further and further away until it was gone entirely.

She awoke to bright, burning light, buzzing in her ears, sensations anyone else would have associated with death.  But Shepard had been dead before, and this was nothing like the last time.  She’d never forget that dark, quiet empty.

“Shepard,” shouted a voice, both familiar and foreign, “Wake up.”

“What?” Blood dripped into her eyes from a wound she couldn’t feel. “Where am I?”

She scrubbed her face with the back of her hand, blinking until her vision cleared.  Her body screamed in protest as she rose to her knees, louder still as she brought herself to her feet and searched for who—or what— had spoken to her.

“The Citadel,” came the reply, “It is my home.”

She snapped her head in the direction of the voice, it’s owner a glowing, translucent entity in the shape of a ghost.  Her heart slammed against her aching ribs, and a name rushed to her mouth before she could stop it. “Kaidan?”

The entity examined her for a moment that felt more like an eternity, long enough for her initial relief to fade, consumed by dread as she awaited its answer.

“No,” it stated in a cold, matter-of-fact way Kaidan could never have managed, “I am the Catalyst.”

Rage ignited in her stomach and chest at the sound of him twisted and distorted by a chorus of synthetic echoes, and she growled. “I thought the Citadel was the Catalyst.”

“The Citadel is part of me,” it explained, then paused, tilting its head in examination of her again, “My appearance disturbs you.”

Shepard let out a derisive snort. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“I apologize,” it said, “I chose a form that I believed would help us communicate. You had fond memories of this one.”

“Too fond.”  She looked down, unable to meet its vacant eyes. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Is this one more suitable?”  It’s voice shifted registers and when she glanced up Thane stood before her.

Hot tears burned in her eyes but she held them back and shook her head. “No.”

“Perhaps you would prefer this?” This time it’s tone was higher pitched, clipped.  Mordin.

“No,” she spat through clenched teeth, “I’d prefer if you’d just pick a nightmare and tell me whether you can help me or not. ”

“Very well,” it said, Kaidan once again as it motioned for her to follow after it toward the beam of light before them. “Perhaps we can help each other.”

She limped after it, listening as it spoke, as it explained its creation, it’s function, the purpose for its very existence.  It was nothing the Leviathan had not already revealed to her, but spun in a way that painted the Reapers as innocent pawns simply fulfilling their duty, wiping out entire civilizations to ensure galactic balance, to protect organic life from its own chaos.

Bullshit , she thought as flashes of destruction played behind her eyelids with each laborious blink.  She remembered the sinking void in her gut as she fled Earth, watching it burn beneath Reaper hands.  She thought of Palaven, the harrowed Turian faces as their military and government collapsed, the anger and disbelief that vibrated in Garrus’ voice and beneath his skin. She recalled Thessia, the most advanced civilization in the galaxy reduced to rubble before her eyes and she, helpless to even salvage one artifact, Liara’s anguished sobs as she trembled in her arms.

The Catalyst and its Reapers were responsible for every lost colony in Batarian space that Shepard had shouldered instead.  Every single face on the memorial wall at the Citadel, every orphaned child and refugee, every life touched by this goddamn war, and the lives of those in every cycle that came before— it was all their fault.  They had corrupted and indoctrinated some of the greatest minds of her time, broken some of the strongest wills.  She wondered what had been said to convince Saren and Benezia. What had the Catalyst become to take hold of The Illusive Man?

The echoes of Sovereign’s boasts of supremacy and Harbinger’s threats of annihilation rang out in her ears as clear as the days they’d been spoken. And this entity, this artificial intelligence with the power and capability to stop it all, expected her to believe they were simply creatures bound to a purpose. The Catalyst truly believed she would help it achieve its pinnacle of evolution.

No, just because it was in a shark’s nature to eat her, did not mean she would allow it to do so. Despite the original intent behind their creations, the Reapers were monsters, and they had to be stopped. The galaxy deserved justice. She took one lumbering step toward the trigger on the right, one step closer to settling things once and for all.

“It will happen again,” the Catalyst called after her, “Machines will be rebuilt, and chaos will continue. Organics and synthetics cannot coexist separately.

“That’s…not true,” she grunted, and took another step, “The geth and the quarians have brokered peace.”

“It will not last.”

“You don’t know that,” she shouted, fists clenched at her sides, “The beauty of chaos is that you can’t know that.”

The entity fell silent, briefly considering what she said, then continued. “Perhaps not; however if you choose to destroy the Reapers, the geth will be destroyed as well. The two will not have the opportunity to disprove your hypothesis.”

A pang of guilt pierced her and she halted in her tracks.“All of them?”

“Yes.  The Crucible’s beam is powerful but unfocused.  It will be unable to distinguish between Reaper technology and other forms of synthetic life.”

Another pang of guilt as realization dawned on her. That meant EDI would die, too. Someone who was every bit a friend and member of her crew as anyone else, someone who had put herself on the line multiple times to protect Shepard, to make certain she could get the job done.  EDI, who confessed just before the battle that she finally felt alive. Now, Shepard was forced to weigh her newfound life and the newfound intelligence of the geth race, against the destruction of the Reapers.

What was it Garrus had called it? Ruthless calculus, that brutal math that awaited anyone who spent enough time at war.  Shepard had done plenty of those calculations, had made more than her fair share of difficult decisions, and she’d dealt with the consequences, good and bad.

This time, it was different, more final.  And she was entirely alone.  The future of the galaxy lay upon her weary back, and she was far past the point of compromise.

Shepard wanted the Reapers to pay for what they had done for millennia, wanted to watch them disintegrate in space as the cheers of her fleet rang out over the comms.  She wanted to know with certainty that the war was over.

More than anything, however, and most heavy on her mind,  she wanted to survive. It was a potent wave of selfishness that overwhelmed her as she thought of her friends back on the Normandy, of the relationships she’d forged and that had forged her.  Her heart ached at the thought of never seeing them again, never hearing their voices. She was sick at the possibility that her last moments with those who had carried her through every storm were hurried and spent in a war torn camp on Earth.

Knowing that they were worried and waiting for her to return, remembering Garrus’ desperate plea that she come back alive, it was more than she needed to motivate her to do so.  For the first time in her three decades of life, she had something to go home to. She had given so much of herself to save the galaxy, and she had more than earned the right to live in it.

There was no certainty that destroying the Reapers would ensure her survival, but it was the only choice without the certainty that she would die.  She was willing to take her chances. She had to. With a trembling arm she raised her pistol, aimed at the glass case guarding the trigger mechanism, and fired.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as the glass shattered and her vision faded to white. “I’m so sorry.”

Shepard had been dead enough times to know that sound always came first, the discomforting beeping of medical equipment and garbled chatter ringing out in the darkness as her nervous system attempted to orient itself. Smell and taste came next, a package deal.  This time the antiseptic and the metallic tang of blood barely masked the rank of burnt flesh.

Then the pain set in, dull but constant and everywhere, numbed only slightly by neural blockers and local anesthetic.  She did not need to see her injuries to know how serious they were, how fatal they should have been.  Yet there she lay, once again waking up from something that would have killed anyone else.

And she was alone.  Again.

She began to panic as her eyes opened to the empty, sterile room, setting off the many monitors she was hooked up to.  Her heart pounded violently, each breath she took sharp and shallow as she yanked herself free from the dozens of tubes and IVs constraining her. How long had she been out this time? What covert operation for which secret, extremist organization had found and resurrected her for their benefit? How much more could one galaxy ask of her?

There was a hiss of opening doors and an unfamiliar asari entered the room urgently, arms extended out in front of her.  In one breath she reassured Shepard that everything was going to be all right  and in the next called for a medical restraint, a sedative.  She stepped slowly toward Shepard as one would approach a frightened, feral animal, and two more uniformed aliens entered the room.  Shepard stood tall, despite the ache in her bones and glared at the three of them.

“Ma’am, I know you must be very disoriented right now, and I am happy to answer any and all of your questions,” the asari said, holding her hands up, “But you are in no shape to be out of bed.  I need you to calm down before you hurt yourself further.”

Shepard glanced from the asari to the two salarians on either side of her.  They all wore generic attire that was standard for medical professionals across the galaxy, but their uniforms had no indication of their names or who they worked for.  She crossed her arms and winced through the pain as she argued. “How about you start by telling me where I am, then I’ll decide if I want to calm down or not.”

Just as she finished speaking the doors opened again, this time to faces she knew, and the subsequent wave of relief that washed over her nearly knocked her back into the bed on it’s own.  On the right stood Dr. Michel, who she remembered helping out on several occasions during the Reaper War.  A bit sweet on Garrus, if she remembered correctly. On the left, wearing a smirk and a raised eyebrow, was none other than Miranda Lawson.

“Sit down, Shepard,” Miranda asserted in her trademark tone.  She flashed the hint of a smile and continued, “The residents aren’t being paid enough for you to harass them.”

Shepard’s eyes flicked over to the three aliens who’d been tending to her just moments before.  They were now speaking nervously with the doctor, who muttered something about tests they needed to run followed by some other medical jargon that Shepard couldn’t decipher.  She did as her friend directed and eased herself back down onto her bed, offering a sheepish grin as she did so. “I feel like such an ass.”

“Don’t,” Dr. Michel chimed in as she approached the bed, and began to scan Shepard with her omni-tool, “You have been in a coma for almost a month.  It was expected that you would be agitated when you awoke, especially considering everything you’ve been through.”

Shepard’s chest swelled with something like gratitude.  A month .  She’d only been out for a month, and she had woken up in what she could now tell was Huerta Memorial under the care of a physician she trusted and one of her closest friends.  This was nothing like the last time she died. She looked up at Miranda and asked,“Had to put me back together again, I see?”

“I only helped this time,” Miranda explained as she worked to reconnect some of the IVs Shepard had ripped out, “Dr. Michel contacted me a few weeks ago for a consultation about your cybernetic augmentation.  I was already on the Citadel, so I came in person to oversee the repairs.”

“Is everything working?”

“Mostly,” Miranda shrugged, “Not quite up to specifications, but your injuries are still healing. With time, you should be fine.”

“And hopefully far away from any more life-threatening battles, yes,” remarked Michel, moving to a terminal near the wall and transferring data collected from her omni-tool scans.

Shepard let out a huff, and let herself recline onto the bed, walls crumbling away at the comforting conversation.  She took a breath and let her eyes flutter closed for just a minute, and said, “If I can. If the galaxy will let me.”

“The galaxy’s going to have to,” announced an unmistakable voice from the door, and Shepard bolted upright to face it.  To face him .

She hadn’t even heard the door open, and yet there stood her turian, with all that easy confidence he’d always carried himself with and a bouquet of indistinguishable gift shop flowers in each hand.  Her pulse jumped, a fact the vitals monitor in the corner was quick to inform her and everyone in the room about. She would never live that one down.

“Garrus!”

“Is that cardiac arrest—“ he motioned toward the screen with one of the bouquets— “Or, uh… are you just happy to see me?”

Shepard just rolled her eyes, unable to stop the grin that twitched at the corners of her mouth as he sauntered up to the bedside.

“I wasn’t sure which you’d like better,” Garrus explained, glancing with uncertainty between the flowers in each hand, “So I got both.  There’s also some chocolate and a few books of hanar poetry back at the gift shop if you just absolutely hate the flowers. I can run back down and—“

She laughed and shook her head at him. “They’re perfect.”

“Are you sure?” He examined each bouquet again.  “You might need the poetry to bore you back into a coma.”

“I thought that anthology was quite beautiful and romantic, myself,” Michel remarked, amused.  She approached Shepard again and administered something that relieved the throbbing pain in her head she’d barely noticed in all the commotion. “There, that should keep you comfortable for a time. I will come and check on you in a  few hours ”

“I’ll be going as well,” Miranda said, eyeing Shepard and Garrus knowingly. “Call me if you need anything.”

She turned to follow the doctor out of the room but stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, and Shepard?  I’m glad we got to see each other again “

Shepard nodded. “So am I.”

With that Miranda left the room, the door sliding shut behind her.  Shepard turned her gaze up to Garrus who was already looking at her, pale eyes scanning every inch of her face intently.  His mandibles twitched and flared in the very specific way they always did when he was agitated or worried.  He shook his head, discarded both bundles of flowers onto the nearby bedside table, and sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, staring off at the wall in silence.

“Shepard I— I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up,” he said finally, turning to look at her and placing a hand on her leg, “I’d just gone to get some air…I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, reaching for his hand and wondering just how many sleepless hours he’d sat by her bed waiting for her to come to. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, lingering there for several long moments.  She brought a hand up to trace the rough ridges of scarring along the right side of his face.  His eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and he let out a heavy sigh, as if she’d lifted some invisible weight off of him with just the tips of her fingers.

“You know,” she spoke up, breaking the powerful silence between them, “I think I finally have some scars that’ll give you a run for your credits.”

Garrus laughed, but it was quiet—almost sad— and he pulled back to examine her.

“How bad is it,” she asked, “There aren’t any mirrors in here.”

He laughed again, this time with more enthusiasm. “Hell, Shepard, I don’t know. You always were ugly, so it’s hard for me to say.”

“Okay,” she admitted with a smirk, “I had that one coming.”

The room went quiet again, with the exception of the buzzing and whirring of the equipment around them.  It wasn’t uncomfortable, though— nothing had ever been uncomfortable with Garrus— but it was heavy with unspoken pain and unasked questions for which Shepard wasn’t sure she wanted answers.

“How’s everyone else,” she ventured.

“Recovering,” he answered with a sigh, “Joker tried to outrun the blast, but even the Normandy wasn’t quick enough.  Crash landed on some human colony world. Everyone made it except—“

“EDI,” she said, name bitter on her tongue. She’d hoped the catalyst had been lying about the Crucible’s effect on synthetic life.

“Yes… how did you—“

This time, she was not able to dam up the wave of emotions that crashed into her.  Tears rushed to her eyes, shame and remorse tightening her chest like a vice. She was a soldier, and she knew that sacrifices won wars, but that did not make it any easier.

“It’s a long story,” she said with a sniff, looking away from him and attempting to wipe away the tears before he could see them, as if he hadn’t already.

“Well—” Garrus reached out and grabbed her chin, gently, giving it a tug until she brought her gaze back to him. “It’s a good thing I cleared my afternoon schedule, then. Tell me everything.”

And so she did. With a shaky voice, she recounted everything that happened from the time she called the evac for Garrus and Liara to the moment she was struck by the Crucible’s blast.  She told him about The Illusive Man, Anderson, the Catalyst who wore Kaidan’s face, and the impossible choice she was given.  He listened to every word, offered her his hand, and didn’t complain as her grip grew tighter and tighter with each devastating revelation.

When she was finished, eyes swollen and head throbbing, she looked at him and said, “I fucked up, Garrus. I had a chance to save EDI and the geth, but I just… couldn’t do it.  I was so angry and… scared , and—“

“Shepard,” Garrus interrupted her, laughing and shaking his head.

“What?”

“You’re about the only person I know who could save the whole damn galaxy and feel guilty because you didn’t save it better.”

“My life isn’t worth more than EDI’s was, and it definitely isn’t more important than the entire geth race,” Shepard argued.

Garrus blinked back at her a few times, then responded.  “It is to me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come, so she clamped it shut and frowned.  Her entire argument fell apart in the wake of his blunt confession. How the hell was she supposed to respond to something like that?

“It was selfish,” she finally managed past the lump in her throat, “It was genocide.”

“Maybe,” he answered, firmly, “Maybe not. We have no way of knowing that anything the Catalyst told you was true.”

“Why would it lie?”

“I don’t know, maybe to save it’s own ass?”  His words were pointed but not directed to her.  “It was clearly trying to get in your head, Shepard, using Alenko like that.”

“But—”

“No,” he snapped, “You made the right call, and no one is going to fault you for it except you.”

“ Garrus …” she began, but trailed off when she noticed him looking down at their intertwined fingers, shaking his head and seeming to struggle with his emotions.

When he spoke up, his voice was hoarse.  “You’ll forgive me if I say I don’t think you owe anyone—not EDI, not the geth, not the Alliance, not the rest of the galaxy— any more than you’ve already given.”

He paused for a beat, then added in a lighter tone, “Except me. You owe me a long retirement on your fancy Alliance pension.”

Shepard snorted out a laugh, despite everything, and reached up to take his face in her hands.  She pulled him closer to her, just so that she could press a kiss against the side of his mouth.

“I’ll think about it,” she whispered.

Just as they pulled apart, the door opened and they both turned to see who had entered. Dr. Michel stood at the threshold smiling at them apologetically.  “I am sorry for the interruption, but—”

“Someone tell Garrus to quit hogging the Commander,” complained an all too familiar voice as he pushed past the doctor and into the room. “The rest of us have been waiting just as long as he has.”

“Joker,” Shepard exclaimed, nearly jumping up out of the bed to greet him.

“The one and only,” he said proudly then held up a small plastic crate to show her, “And I brought you something.  Basically had to wrestle the Alliance brass for it when they declared you dead.”

“What—,” she asked as she squinted at the box, noticing movement in the corner, “Is that my hamster?”

He sat the container down carefully on the table next to the flowers Garrus had tossed aside,  “It’s not two bouquets of useless flowers or anything, but, well…you know.”

“We can’t all be as romantic as you,” Garrus said sarcastically as he stood up and stepped away from the bed, allowing the other man space to approach Shepard.

“Thank you, Joker,” Shepard said with a nod as she sat up in the bed, “And about EDI, I—“

He cut her off with the shake of his head, clearly not ready to discuss it. “Not your fault, Commander.”

Shepard just nodded, sorry, but not wanting to force the issue.  Joker puffed his chest out and saluted her, just as more commotion rang out from the door.  She darted her eyes across the room again to see the flood of other people pouring in from the hallway.

Ash was the first to rush to the bedside, throwing appropriate Alliance protocol out the window as she threw her arms unceremoniously around Shepard.  The embrace was firm, but not so forceful that it caused her aching body any extra pain, and when Ash pulled away, Shepard could see the tears glistening in her eyes. She stiffened up and saluted just as Joker had done, and said “Ma’am.”

Much to Shepard’s surprise, Ash then approached Garrus and embraced him briefly as well, pulling away and then giving him a pat on the arm.

The others followed suit after that, offering words of gratitude that she had saved the galaxy, and relief that she’d managed to pull through.  Tali and Liara had followed Ash’s example and hugged her.  The others didn’t but greeted her with enthusiasm all the same.  Vega mentioned how “epic” it was when the fleet realized she’d made it to the Citadel and got the arms opened while Traynor and Cortez nodded along.  Javik, in his typical fashion stood quietly in the corner but nodded at her with a look of admiration she had yet to see from the Prothean.  Dr. Chakwas and the crew from engineering squeezed themselves in the now cramped space as well. Chakwas approached the bed and gave Shepard’s hand a firm squeeze.

Humbling was not a strong enough word to describe the experience of seeing everyone who’d been on the Normandy with her in that final journey to Earth gathered around celebrating her survival.  They had all meant so much to her, and only now did she realize that she’d meant the same to them.

She’d grown accustomed to being a sole survivor, watching her own back and carrying on alone with each of her mistakes strapped to her shoulders.  She was used to blaming herself with the voices of those she lost, of nightmares and flashbacks and consoling herself back to sleep in the middle of the night.  She had trained herself to be numb because she could not bear feeling guilty.

Now, she didn’t have to.  For the first time in as long as she could remember, she had people who cared about her, people who she trusted, and they had survived. For the first time, she wasn’t alone with her grief and she didn’t have to be numb.  She had friends who would hold her together while she sorted herself out, just as she had done for each and every one of them.

“You okay,” Garrus asked as he approached the bedside again, letting a hand tousle her hair gently before falling to her shoulder.

“Yeah.” She nodded and glanced around the room slowly, taking it all in. “I really actually am.”

#mass effect #mass effect legendary edition #garrus vakarian #femshep #shakarian #angst #hurt/comfort #fanfic #my writing