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cheekygreenty · 3 years

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Hi, I just saw your prompt list for Shadow&Bone!! could you possibly do No. 2 from Angst, but like with a happy ending? Like reader n Kirigan are togeather but then Alina's comes along.. just, please let be happy at the end. I like angst, but my heart can't handle sad endings 😢😢 thank you!!! ❤❤

Future- The Darkling x Reader

(Very very angsty with a happy (?) ending. It made me cry a lil bit writing it ngl)

You trusted him, wholeheartedly. At least that's what you told yourself every day since she came to the Little Palace; the place you had always called home, where you felt safe from the prying eyes of the public.

Yet now, the place was fueled by harsh rumors of him and her. Everywhere you went you could hear a whisper, nobody tried to hide it anymore, the words were always entirely devoted to your crumbling union;

'I thought they were happy'

We were.

'How can he and Alina not be together, it's destiny.'

I'm starting to think so too.

You didn't acknowledge it. Just put on a sweet smile and a brave face. Don't let them see you're hurting. Even in your own home, you had to pretend and lie, which at the end of the day, when you laid in an empty bed, made you exhausted.

He told you she meant nothing more to him than a mere weapon. But that was when she first came and when he still managed to make it to your shared chambers and would whisper sweet nothings as you fell asleep.

It was different now, on more than one occasion you caught a glimpse of them together, him looking at her the way he always looked at you. However much he claimed to be a good actor and manipulator, there was something there and he couldn't deny it either.

You hadn't confronted him about it yet fearing that if you did, the truth would hurt and sting and make all those rumors true. In addition, you haven't seen him in days and the last time you did, he told you to stay away from the wonderful Sun-Summoner.

The truth was you knew deep down in your heart that she wasn't at fault. That she was not the root of the problem. You constantly fought with yourself to stop any hatred you felt towards her. She was lovely, kind compassionate, and innocent. She didn't deserve to feel your wrath.

But with that came the confusion of who to blame. You or Him. It made you tired and weak. The smallest of tasks made you drained and tears would well in your eyes at the thought of having to live another day like this, a day full of questioning yourself and the man you loved more than anything in the world.

No matter how much of a strong person you swore you were, this was taking a substantial toll on you. He had become your support network and he knew it, he loved it. He always said he finally felt appreciated when you came around, that he wasn't alone anymore. He had conditioned you to be this way. When times got tough, he was always your shoulder to cry on.

No doubt that shoulder was now next to Alina. Perhaps they went on a horse ride, visited the Black Heretic fountain, or were enjoying a rendezvous next to the lake.

You didn't want to know, all that mattered was that he wasn't there with you when you were falling apart. Maybe you relied on him too much.

You wondered if he noticed the whispers too, or the way you'd been missing crucial meetings, or even if he noticed you wearing your red kefta more often, ditching the black once you'd heard Genya speak of making a golden-black kefta for Alina, per the Darkling's request.

That was a punch in the gut. It hurt more than him avoiding conversation with you or even his deterrence of touching you. He had bestowed his colors to her when not even three months ago he didn't know she existed. It had taken you a long time to gain his trust and don his signature black yet all she had to do was waltz in and show up. And it hurt.

And now here you were, training the next generation of heartrenderers, as you did almost every day. You had given your life to the Little Palace and its Grisha and this is how you were being repaid. Not even Ivan, who you had shaped into an excellent soldier, had looked your way lately.

'Excuse me Ms. Y/L/N I have an urgent request from the General' You whipped your head around to the young Grisha boy with an obviously hurt look on your face which he couldn't understand.

'Of course' you choked out and took the piece of paper from his hands and watched him in sorrow as he left.

Ms.Y/L/N? what happened to moya sovereignny? You were never one to uphold the formality, but this was just another blow to your confidence. You were no longer referred to as his other half which only meant your position in the palace was quickly dwindling.

You opened the wax-sealed envelope and took out the thick sheet of paper. There was a time when he himself would deliver the news to you himself and use it as an excuse to spend extra time with you.

'I cannot make it to the meeting with the King this evening, attend and report back to me anything relevant, no horse business'

You scoffed loudly, drawing attention from the young Corporalki around you and leaned on the table in front of you. Not even a please or thank you. With the note clutched in your hand and tears of frustration in your eyes, you stormed out of the Corporalki room and towards his war room.

You peeked through the open door and seen him. He didn't look at all busy as he chatted with Zoya, Ivan, Fedyor, and some other Squaller you didn't recognize. Zoya threw her head back in laughter at something Fedyor said but Aleksander kept his stony expression. You threw the door open dramatically and everyone froze.

'Leave us' you cautioned as Aleksander's onyx eyes looked right into your own.

Nobody moved but Zoya was the first to speak ' Y/N, we're actually in a meeting if you couldn't tell' while everyone nodded along, except him.

You never had anything against anyone in that room, but in that moment you couldn't help yourself and used your small science to bring everyone to their knees in front of you, except him.

'Leave us' His voice rang out in the midst of their sharp breaths and chest-clutching. They scrambled to their feet and left one by one, Fedyor quietly muttering 'moya sovereignny' as he passed you which filled you with some courage. The door shut and the sound echoed over the walls.

You threw the note across the room and let it hit his arm. 'Did you forget your manners General? Or does it only apply to the people you claim to love?'

'Funny you should say that Y/N, you haven't attended any meetings in weeks without providing a reason. You're making me look like a fool'

'I'M MAKING YOU LOOK LIKE A FOOL?!' Your tears were now streaming down your face, falling quicker than you could wipe them away.

He stayed silent and that broke your heart even more, he could've said something, anything.

'Aleksander, I'm trying to keep myself together for everyone, I'm trying so very hard to appear normal and happy but I don't think I can do this any longer. The whispers and the rumors, watching you and her-' You slid down the door and sat on the floor, head resting on your knees. '-It's getting to me.... and it's killing me.'

You thanked the Saints you didn't see his face, for the silence spoke for itself. He didn't deny anything or reach out to comfort you. I've lost him.

'All I wanted was a happy ending.' You laughed a sad laugh that pulled at his heartstrings. With your eyes still facing away from him, you didn't see his hand go up to wipe the lone tear that fell down his face or the slight shake in his hands as he did so. He had no words that would comfort you. He knew what he'd done. He'd been avoiding you ever since he realized it. He didn't want to see you cry or see how his actions affected you.

Telling you that it means nothing to him was of no use. You had it in your mind now, forever engrained around his name, the rumors wouldn't stop and Alina was still around. He truly felt nothing of importance for her. All she meant for him was a key to a better future with you.

He approached you slowly, getting down on his knees next to you. He took your hand in his and held it up to his lips. He never prayed, but right now he silently muttered words to all the Saints. Don't let her leave.

'I'm so sorry Darling. Y/N I love you so much.'

'But you love her more' You yanked your hands away.

'NO. no. Y/N. I swear it. You are everything to me' He had grown serious now, he wanted you to look at him. He missed you.

'Then explain why you're parading her around like a Queen, letting her wear your colors, probably sleeping in her bed'

'I have never toucher her in that way. I'm yours Y/N.' Please look at me.

You lifted your head and looked at his beautiful face. He too looked tired, exhausted. His eyes were red and puffy. Saints, I've never seen him cry.

'You will have a happy ending. I promise Darling' He took your face into his hands and connected your foreheads together. 'I promise. I'm doing everything I can to make sure you will, and even if I can't, I swear you will you and our children-'

Children. Aleksander never spoke of them to the point where you had settled with the idea you'll never have them. Something about the desperation in his voice made you believe him, Aleksander was strong, he never gave up but he also never sacrificed himself for anybody. Up until now, you didn't think yourself worthy enough to be saved in exchange for him.

'-I would give up everything to see you and them safe, away from harm's way. Right now, the world doesn't deserve them, but once I do what I have to do, I'll give you children. However many you want, Just stay. Please'

You were borderline hysterical as you melted into his embrace. Weeks of frustration and hurt disappeared into thin air. Aleksander held you so tight you were having trouble breathing but you didn't care. He held you all day and all night. All meetings and tasks forgotten.

He explained everything in detail, from the stag and firebird to what happens if things don't go to plan. He kept nothing from you, not even the stress and pressure he felt. You comforted him as he always does to you. You fell asleep together and dreamed of a life with a happy ending, one where you never had to doubt his motives, you dreamed of your future.

Taglist (if you want to be added, plz tell me!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld

@0-artemis

#shadow and bone #grisha #imagine #the darkling #the darkling x reader #alexander #alexander morozova #alina starkov #fanfic #ben barnes #general kirigan x reader #black general

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sillyrabbit81 · 3 years

Text

The Instructor - Part 5

Summary: Augusts confronts your betrayal.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: approx 4k

Warnings: Dark, violence, abuse, choking, hitting, punching, orgasm denial, orgasm control, sex (p in v), mdom/fsub, switch, praise kink, degradation kink, name calling, dubious consent. I tried to mention everything if I missed something I sincerely apologise.

Authors Note: FINAL PART. There are probably going to be massive plot holes, sorry about that, this was never meant to be a series, so I didn’t do anywhere near the set up needed. However, I’m glad I did do a series because I enjoyed playing around with some of the darker aspects of the story. If it sucks, I'm sorry, I just went for it and this is what came out! It probably also isn't strictly cannon, but I made use of some aspects of the MI cannon.

Unbeta'd and unedited, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Part 4

The Instructor Part 5

You thought you had felt true fear before this moment, but you were wrong. Confronted with the unyielding stare of August, your stomach twists and your mouth goes dry. You’re completely and utterly fucked.

You try to answer August, make up a believable lie, beg forgiveness, say anything. But you can’t, it’s like he can see into your soul and you know that any lie you tell him will only make him angrier.

Quicker than lightning, August’s hands grip your throat. He pushes you to the wall, uncaring as your head hits it so hard your vision swims. Both his hands push into your neck, compressing your arteries and you feel the blood pooling, building pressure behind your eyes. This wasn’t the subtle choking he engaged in when you played. No, this was Special Agent August Walker trying to kill you.

You are stretched against the wall, your toes barely touch the ground. You are a trained soldier, but August is a trained assassin, you know you won’t last long in a situation like this, you will pass out in less than a minute. Then all August had to do was keep squeezing and you would be dust.

“Why, pet?” August asks through clenched teeth.

You can’t speak, you have no air. You plead to August with your eyes, silently begging him to stop. His hands press harder and you feel him crushing your trachea with his leathal hands. You scratch at his hands, his face, his eyes. You kick with your feet, frantic, feeling yourself get weaker by the second. You get one lucky shot in and for a moment August’s grip falters as he doubles over retching in pain.

You slam the palm of your hand into his forearms and he lets you go. You run for the door, your nudity the last of your concerns. Your throat hurts as you run, bruised and raw, you gulp breath in, coughing you try and fill your lungs again. You reach the door, pull the handle. It stops, not making a full rotation.

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration. You turn the lock and try to open in again. It does and for a brief moment you taste freedom.

A foot kicks the door closed and August is in front of you. You back away from him as he locks it again. In the unlikely event you live through this night, you will never forget the snarl on his face. You look into his eyes, expecting to see the eyes of a killer and August doesn’t disappoint. His azure eyes burn with such murderous intent, for a moment you think you are going to lose control of your bladder.

But there is something else there, something he tries to hide behind his fury. You search his face, trying to see past the mask and find what he is concealing. You wince when you see it. August was hurt. Your betrayal had hurt him.

“This is even more fun than the first time we fucked, Pet,” he says, mockingly. August advances on you with a bullish intent. He is magnificent as he stalks you, his loose pyjama pants hang low on his hips, his chest is taut and his thick ropey arms flex as he readies them for a fight.

You try and think clearly, maybe you should confess everything. He’s going to kill you if you don’t. If only you had long enough to check his records, but you couldn’t put your associates at risk if you weren’t sure.

Lifting your chin, you accept your fate. You ready a fighting stance, and August does too. You understand you can’t beat him, but you won’t die without a fight.

You dodge his first attack, and you’re not surprised that he led with his fists. He only needs one to land and he would break your bones. You retreat to the kitchen, praying its laid out the same as yours. Opening the draw with the knives, you pull one out. It’s not ideal, its weight wasn’t distributed well for fighting, but it was better than nothing. Your gun is in your room and you have no idea where August keeps his.

Turning the tables and going on the offensive, you make August back up and you move to the door. You hold the knife expertly, and as long as you keep August from getting his own weapon, the fight might be a fair one. You have so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you start to shake. The blade accentuates the tremors and August see’s, of course he would find your weakness.

“Put the knife down, Pet,” August orders, his voice was smooth, calm and commanding. You nearly stumble, his words sent shivers down your spine. How can he still have an effect on you? “You know I can’t let you out of here.”

You gage the distance to the door, it was still so far away. Your fear made you want to run to it again, but you knew it would be a mistake. Better to keep advancing slowly, forcing August back.

But August stops retreating and plants himself in front of the door. He stretches his neck, rolls his shoulders, his naked torso hides nothing and you see his muscles ripple under his skin. Your body and mind are in conflict, confused by the stimulus. You’re terrified of August, but fear of him and what he is capable of was part of his appeal, part of his savage, dominant sexuality. Your body can’t tell the difference and you feel it responding, your centre grows warm, throbbing and your arousal moistens the apex of your thighs.

“Please,” you murmur. Confronted with August’s obstruction and his dismissiveness of your threat, you lose hope. You feel weak and exhausted. Again, you contemplate confessing everything, but you aren’t a coward, you were realistic.

The cruel snarl on August’s face becomes a smirk as you plead. “I love hearing you beg, Pet,” he taunts.

He attacks again, this time grabbing a chair from the dining table. You try and duck but he is too fast for you and the solid wood chair cracks you over your head and shoulders. You stumble to the ground; your vision wavers and you nearly pass out. You try and get to your knees, but your arms won’t cooperate and you fall to the floor, no doubt you have a concussion. You look for the knife, see it about a metre away. With your head thumping and your heart racing, you scramble for it, but August reaches you first.

Gripping both your ankles, August uses your legs and body weight against you, flipping you onto your back. He pulls you to him, your skin rubs against the carpet and you howl with pain as you feel the fibres burn your ass and back. August climbs on top of you, his hands are at your throat again, squeezing the life from you.

“You’re killing me, August,” you try and say, but all you hear is your pathetic whimpers. You feebly punch and slap at August, but you are spent. You give up, you tried. You get angry at yourself for even thinking of giving up, but you didn’t know what else to do. You can’t win. Tears well in your eyes and start to roll down your cheeks. You squeeze them shut, ashamed that you cried in your last moments, that you gave up, that you didn’t fight.

The pressure on your throat relaxes, and you gulp in air, coughing and retching as your inflamed throat protests. You try to roll to your side to breath easier, but August doesn’t allow it, his body still traps yours and one hand still grips your throat. You feel his whiskered lips on your cheeks, kissing away your tears. You open your eyes and are consumed by his and the fire that burns within them. You wonder what your eyes are saying to his.

August shifts his hips and you feel him, hard under his thin pants. Your eyes widen, he really had been enjoying the fight. It scares you, feeling how hard and fully erect he his, aroused by trying to kill you. But you knew how hypocritical that was, because even now, terrified, a moment from death, you ache for him.

You roll your hips, sliding your bare, slick slit against August, the fabric of his pants harsh against your clit, but you feel him beneath it, and you can’t stop. You don’t want to but your craving for him was too strong.

If you didn’t know August as well as you did, you may have missed the surprise in his eyes. It came and went so quickly. His lip curled, triumphant, he had you where he wanted you, desperate, without fight left and completely his.

August’s arrogant look, his smug sneer, his complete domination of you made you lose the last shred of dignity you had and you beg for him.

“Please, please,” you whimper.

“You’re such a little whore,” August scolds you. “Do you think you can fuck your way out of this?”

You shake your head, “No.” You cry again, fat tears rolling down your cheeks in a constant stream, but you don’t stop your wanton grinding. You need to feel him inside you.

“Why are you so fucking wet, Pet?” August asks, his jeering tone warmed your face with shame.

“I don’t know!” you cry.

“Yes, you do, Pet.”

You try to turn away and hide from his knowing eyes. August won’t let you, griping your cheeks with his fingers, digging deep, the soft flesh pressing painfully against your teeth. Through your sobs you say, “Because I want you.”

“Beg me,” August’s voice changed, becoming low and hoarse. He starts to move with you, teasing you. “Beg for my cock.”

You don’t try to hold back, the words fall freely, “Please August, please.”

August tuts, “You can do better than that, Pet. Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me, August,” you sob. You’re ashamed of yourself, of how wet you are, how badly you want him, how easily you submit. But it feels too good, playing on the edge as you were, where fear and arousal become interchangeable, you had never felt such bliss.

Taking his pants off, August fists his cock as he takes you in, his gaze rakes over you, lingering on your desperate cunt. Lining himself up, he teases your entrance. When he slides himself over you, he groans as his eyes close and he throws his head back. You realise, you’re not as powerless as you thought, he wants you too and just as badly.

Bringing his head down next to yours, he growls in your ear, “Keep going, Pet. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck your hot little cunt.”

You start mumbling, “Please August, please. I need you.” You throw your arms around him, grip his ass and pull him closer. Your nails dig into his skin as you urge him into you.

With a violent thrust, August enters you. Both of you cry out, your twin shouts echo in each other’s ears. “You feel so good, pet. So wet and so fucking tight.” You mewl under him. He is stretching you, painfully. He offered your core no preparation and it protested his invasion, clamping down hard. August wasn’t fucking around, if he had taken any pity on you in the past, he wasn’t this time. He pumps into you, his pelvis making long driving strokes, your walls straining against the force of his cock, unready for his intrusion.

August hooks your knees over his arms and forcing your legs wider, he is finally sheathed. Increasing his pace, he uses you, furious, punishing and without pity. He offers you no pleasure, he takes what he wants. His face above you is twisted, angry, and hateful. This is payback, revenge, hurt me and I’ll destroy you. But despite that, or maybe because you feel you deserve it, a familiar pressure starts to build between your legs.

“August,” you beg. “I need to cum, please.”

Leaning down, pushing his weight onto your already strained legs, he brings his face to yours. His eyes are dark and sadistic as he says vindictively, “No.”

You groan. You were so close, you don’t know if you can stop it. “Please!” you howl. Fresh tears fill your eyes and you implore him.

“No.” August says, his voice cruel and merciless. “You cum and I’ll fuck your ass raw.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You try and think of all the parts of your body that hurt. Your head, shoulders, legs, the skin on your back rubbing against the carpet. But it doesn’t work. Your body is so warm, tingling, your skin feels alive and the pain is dull compared to the rapture you feel.

Your body is suddenly wrest from the floor. August withdraws from you and flips you onto your knees and violates you again. You feel August’s hand in your hair and he forces your face into the floor. You heard a thud next to your head, his foot is there, and he continues his assault, kneeling on one leg anchoring himself with the other.

You bite your hand to muffle your shouts, you don’t want to give August the satisfaction of hearing your pain or pleasure. You thought he was deep before, but now you feel every impact in your gut, your core uncomfortably full from his brutal jabs. You can’t stay on your knees, your legs too weak to withstand his punitive thrusts. August doesn’t care. He digs his fingers into your hips, holding you in place as he continues his ruthless assault.

Unable to stop it, you feel your release approach again. You try to deny it, but the savagery of August is too much. The feel of your bodies slaming together, the slapping of his balls against your clit, the sound of his grunts of exertion overwhelm you and you can’t stop yourself from whining, “Please, August. Please. I’m fucking begging you.”

You hear August’s malicious chuckle. “No, Pet.”

August seizes you by the nape, pulling you up to your knees and your back presses against his chest. Wrapping his hand around your neck, he holds you against his shoulder. His other hand moves over your breasts, kneading into them, squeezing them. His face is close to yours, you feel his ragged breath tickle your cheeks.

He starts whispering in your ear and he presses his rough hairy lip into you. “You fucking little bitch,” his voice was low, harsh and dripping with venom, but August can’t stop his desire from seeping through. “Who sent you to me? Who told you to whore yourself for me?” He pinches at your nipples, and you shudder against him writhing. His insults pushing you towards your climax as much as his touch.

“Was it the CIA?” he asks, sliding his hand down your belly to between your legs. Fear makes your heart skip, if he touched you there you would not be able to stop your orgasm. You try and pull away, but he is too strong.

“Did those useless government hacks, turn you into a fucking whore, or did you volunteer, Pet?” He slid his fingers over your slit, and one grazed your clit sending your core pulsing around his cock. You want to tell him he has it all wrong, backwards. He thinks he’s been caught, he doesn’t know he’s being recruited.

He slaps your clit with his palm, a quick flick of his wrists that shocks you and if August wasn’t holding you up, you would have doubled over in pain and ecstasy.

“Don’t fucking cum.” August orders, rubbing a calloused finger over your oversensitive clit. Then, he says, sadly and with regret, “You could have come to me, Pet. Told me. I would have protected you. I could have gotten you out.” His voice almost cracks as he adds, “We could have gotten out together. BE together.”

You want to tell him, you want that too. You didn’t mean to fall for him either, none of this was planned. His fingers dance over your hard nub, coaxing from you the orgasm he forbids. Frustration suddenly pours out of you. You fight him again, punching the arm he had wrapped around your waist, and between your legs.

“Why do you fight so hard, Pet?” he asks. Those simple words he said to you all those months ago rock you. It was his invitation to submit willingly rather than be pulled under by the force of his will. But it was different this time, it wasn’t just you at stake.

You beg again, “August…” It’s all you can say through your short gasping cries. You break out in sweat, the need in you was so strong it took everything you had to fight it.

“Answer my question and you can cum,” He says. You nod, vigorously, you don’t even feel shame at giving in so easily, you’re too far gone. He brings his face in front of yours. Your whole body is shaking under his touch as he draws your orgasm and confession out of you.

“Were you sent by the CIA?”

You shake your head, and whimper, “No.”

August looks into your eyes for a hint of a lie. When he can’t find one, he coos, “Good girl,” and you wriggle at his praise. He kisses you roughly, lips hard against yours. “You can cum now, Pet.”

With unrestrained cries, you finally allow the pressure in your core to grow. You feel your release roll over your contorting body. Your guttural shout signals you’re the arrival of your long denied ecstasy and tears streamed from your eyes as you succumb with immense relief.

August watched every second of your orgasm, his face studying yours as if to memorise every expression, until you were done and can’t hold yourself up anymore. He removes himself with a gentleness that was unexpected and he tenderly carries you to his room. Cradling your head against his chest, he kisses your forehead, muttering something you can’t catch and were too far gone to ask.

He lays you on your side, and you are so malleable and weak, you let him curl you into a ball before he leans over you. He lifts your chin and turns your head so you are looking at him. You give him a half smile, which he returns with a soft hum. His eyes go to your collar and a look of sadness crosses his face, a grief so intense you feel it too.

You don’t know what to say and neither does August. He does the only thing he knows how to do when he feels what some people call love. He fucks.

When August enters you this time it’s different. Although his thrusts are brutal and powerful, it’s not punishment. He is trying to make a connection, to see if there is something salvageable between you. He needs to know if he means anything to you. He drops his forehead onto yours, resting there while his eyes met yours. He holds your throat and his thumb plays with your thin golden collar.

“You’re still mine, Pet,” August says, firmly.

“Always yours,” you reply with certainty. And you were. But by the end of this night he would know he was yours too.

As if to seal the promise you made, August kisses you. His lips pry yours open and his gentle explorative tongue massages yours. When you kiss him back, you are surprised by the growl he makes in his throat. Feeling bold, you place a hand on his cheek as you kiss. He doesn’t pull away so you slide your other hand into his hair and you expect him to shake you off, like he did before. He allows it, and he slides his free arm around you, pulling your bodies together. The rhythm you find together is nothing like the primal fucking you two are used to. It seemed as though he was making love to you, as much as someone like August could.

You feel the warmth grow again and radiate from your core. August instinctively knows your close again and stops your kisses watch you again. “Come for me, my sweet girl,” he utters.

You fall apart. Your fist tightens in his hair, you tremble beneath him, while you call his name.

“Fuck,” he grunts while you fall over the edges, and he forces himself deep within you, splitting you, owning you as you feel him thicken and pulse, releasing his seed into your milking core. Then he breaks you by growling your name as he makes his final throes.

You’re both slick with sweat, but August doesn’t care and he brushes your face with kisses. He looks like he wants to say something, opening his mouth and closing it again without saying a word. He helps you get up and he walks you to his bathroom.

August runs you a bath, and he sits on the edge for a while, watches you while you bathe. He showers quickly before returning to his spot.

Finally, he speaks, but he looks away as he says it, and for the first time you see August doubt himself, “If not the Agency, then who?” He asks.

“We have no government affiliation,” you say.

He nods, “Why did they send you, was the plan always to use sex?”

“No, August,” you say honestly. “This was not part of the plan. I was only supposed to be assigned to you while I did my training. This assignment was last minute, I don’t even know how it happened.”

He turns his attention back to you and looks for the lie he believes he will find. When he doesn’t find it he asks, “Your aunt, was that a lie?”

“She’s officially missing,” you say. “Unofficially, she brought me into group.”

“Something doesn’t add up, Pet,” August says. “I’m don’t know anything that a hundred other agents don’t also know. What did they send you to find out?”

“You don’t get it. We don’t want to bring you down, we want to recruit you. I had to make sure you are who we think you are.”

You see a glimpse of understanding in August’s eyes. “Go on,” he prompts.

You watch him carefully as you explain, “My assignment was to find out if you were the one who wrote a certain manifesto making the rounds in certain circles.” He doesn’t blink. You smirk, realising he’s trying too hard to keep his face smooth. He is the one.

“And, am I?” he asks.

“You are,” you say moving down the bath. Unbelievably, knowing he wrote that poetic and chaotic brilliance made you hot again. “This operation is all wrong, too big for simple arms traders. You’re using the CIA to get the connections and resources you need.” You run your finger down August’s bare arm, tracing the ridges of his muscles and the slight protruding veins on his forearms. August watches you intently, trying to appear cold, but you see his breaths grow shallow and his jaw clench. “We have the resources to help a man like you,” You reach his hand, turn it palm up, and lay a kiss into it before holding it to your cheek. “’A man with vision’ Lane calls you.”

“Lane?” August says, he seems confused, and he should be.

“Yes, meet with Solomon Lane and you will get your new world August.” You take his hand off your cheek and fold down his fingers except for the middle one. You take him in your mouth curling your tongue around him, and sucking.

August can’t look away. Already thrown by being discovered, he is completely transfixed by your sudden seduction.

“How?” he breathes.

You open your mouth and show August his finger sliding down your tongue. You get out of the bath and stand in front of August. You move his finger down your body, between your breasts, over your belly and between your thighs. You slide his finger between your warm folds and you hear August groan as you rest him against your entrance.

You ask him, “Have you, ever heard of the Syndicate, Pet?”

End

Tag List

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira @blakerogue @shadesofarrogance @mansaaay @stxlemate @wheretheriversrunintothesea @amberangel112 @madbaddic7ed @eldarwen333 @wolvesandhoundshowltogether

I have a feeling I missed someone, if I did, let me know!

#august walker #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #august walker x you #august walker x reader #august walker smut

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angryschnauzer · 3 years

Text

Moonlight On The Sand

Summary: Stationed to the desert for a short mission, you are on terrain inspection when the full moon emerges from behind the clouds. However little do you know there’s something about the Captain accompanying you that may change things forever. Based on this ask from @fairndsquare

Pairing; Captain Syverson x Female Reader (no race or size mentioned) Fandom: Henry Cavill, Sand Castle (Movie) Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Werewolves, Werewolf!Sy, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Unprotected Sex, Ovulation, Breeding, Outdoor Sex/Car Sex. This is NOT an ABO story.

I do not run a tag list, but please go follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications. You’ll then get an alert every time i post a new story. Masterlist got too big for Tumblr, so past works can be found at @angryschnauzerwrites or on my AO3

Only the finest, free range, organic typos for me, allowed to run wild and free.

Sy fumed silently as he drove the truck through the abandoned desert. He was furious that he had been overruled, but the general had finally done a site visit and his word was final; Sy had to show the new logistics planner the area, and there was no avoiding it.

What the General didn’t know was what Sy had been through during his posting in the dry and barren landscape. That mythical creatures didn’t always originate from leafy green valleys, or snow capped mountains, sometimes they dwelled in dry arid plains and rocky outcrops.

The truck hit a particularly proud rock on the dirt track and leapt into the air, your hands flying as you grasped for something to steady yourself on, one on the dash and one on the particularly meaty thigh of your commanding officer.

“Sorry” the gruff man uttered through gritted teeth.

“S’okay… the moon’ll be up soon and we’ll be able to see better as its full tonight” you casually replied, looking out over the desert surrounding you, surprised as the truck slowed down a little.

“The moon?”

“Yes, you know the big round rock orbiting the earth?”

“I know what the moon is darlin’, been cloudy the last ten days so hadn’t been keeping track…” he muttered to himself.

You used the small penstick flashlight to glance over the map;

“I need to see this valley, and get an idea of what it’ll be like to bring the trailers in with water tanks on”

The Captain glanced where you were pointing and nodded once, letting the truck veer to the right to follow the camel route up through the hills.

As the truck gained elevation Sy could feel his mouth watering. He could not only smell you, he could sense how you had grown wet in his presence. It was like a sickly sweet coating of pollen at the back of his throat on a spring day back home. Halfway through the day he’d been in a conference call as you stood in the corner of the room, observing as he updated his superiors back in Washington, when he’d picked up another sense, the only way to describe it was as if something had suddenly ripened in the room. It’d taken him until the end of the call to realise it was you and your body had just reached its most fertile point in the month. You were ripe and ready, you just didn’t know it.

That single thought had plagued Sy for the rest of the day, something in the pit of his belly was just telling him to flee, to get as far away from you as possible… for your safety. But then his military training had kicked in and he’d followed orders, and that’s how he found himself pulling the truck onto a rocky pullout on the curved track as it skirted around the hill, the view over the valley spectacular as the moon finally emerged from behind the clouds and illuminated the earth below.

Stepping out of the truck you used your night vision goggles to scan over the plateau in front of you, looking out over the wide vista. You felt the heat of his body first, standing behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling up. You knew what he was wanting.

24 hours earlier.

Scrolling your phone you checked the calendar, relieved that the mission to the desert would be there and back in the space of two weeks, back in time before your monthly bleed would start again. If there’s one thing you didn’t want to have to deal with, it would be tampons and sand. It would mean you’d be ovulating whilst there, but you had enough sugary snacks packed to keep the hormones subdued, and this wasn’t your first time being overseas, although normally you were confined to a small base north of Washington DC.

The flight had been long and bumpy, little more than a glorified cargo hold, so by the time you arrived at the compound and finally got to meet the infamous Captain Syverson, you were tingling with anticipation for what the next two weeks would involve.

When he finally spoke, it was low and deep, resonating through your spine;

“You need to get in that truck, and drive it far from here…”

You went to turn but his hand caught your arm, keeping you looking out over the valley;

“Captain?”

“Private, do as i tell you… there are things in these hills, that you don’t know of and don’t need to know of…”

It was then that you sensed it: the connection. It was like a spark shot up your spine, and in a moment of foolhardy courage you turned, the air being sucked from your lungs when you saw him. The Captain stood before you, his eyes burning into your soul, the ring of fire in his irises and his canine teeth just a little more prominent. Your chest heaved with a shaky breath, and his nostrils flared;

“Private…” he warned one last time.

But rather than running in the opposite direction, you slowly took a step forward, holding your hand to his cheek and for a moment your touch soothed him. You took in how his hair had grown longer, his shoulders even broader, he was virile and potent. That’s when he felt it, his senses clouded as the moon took hold, but finally he realised; you weren’t afraid.

His body slammed yours against the side of the truck, his lips on yours as his tongue pushed into your mouth; tasting you, devouring you. Your hands clung to the sides of his weather beaten uniform, pulling him ever closer so you could feel every inch of his body pressing against yours until suddenly his hands were on your hips and he was lifting you onto the still warm hood of the truck. With expert skill he had quickly shed you of your cargo pants and sensible undergarments, his face between your thighs and you watched with fascination as he inhaled deeply, humming as your scent hit his brain before he dived in.

His tongue was everywhere; licking and tasting you, running firm circles over your clit before descending and pushing the thick muscle into your velvet channel, his sharp teeth pressed against your soaked folds as he tasted you from within. When you came you screamed into the night sky, your legs shaking as the feral beast between your thighs growled in satisfaction, his eyes glowing.

He pulled you from the hood and carried you to the rear of the vehicle, opening the tailgate before sitting you on the edge as he made quick work of his cargo pants, his thigh holster holding them up as his thick cock unfurled from the worn in cotton. You swallowed nervously; you were far from a virgin but the thought of the thick gnarled girth splitting your insides apart had you pulling away for a moment. That was until he gently cupped the back of your neck, pulling your face to his as he rested his forehead on yours and you instantly felt calmer and relaxed. The first touch of his hot flesh against your soaked core had you trembling with anticipation, before he paused, one massive hand resting over your stomach, and he growled as the warmth of your womb almost burnt into his palm;

“Mine...” he muttered, before those feral eyes met yours; “...ours”

“Captain… now, please…” you whined, knowing that what he knew about you, and you were ready.

With a roar he surged forward, your ripened walls parting for him as if welcoming him home. With his palm still pressed to your stomach he could feel himself inside you, the thickness pushing out your belly as he moved slowly and carefully, working to get just the right angle until he paused and you saw that ring of fire in his irises again burn bright.

It was then that he moved faster, the pull and push hitting every spot inside you, feral and wanting, an urgent need to to fill you with his seed, to breed you took over. Faster and faster he pounded into your soft body, drawing orgasms out of you quicker than you could process them, before he slowed and pulled you up so you were sitting, your bodies still connected. In that moment it was when the connection, the bond was finally fully formed, and as he pressed his forehead to your and started to fuck you again, you felt your spirit joining with his. His thrusts got faster, harder, his breath hot on your skin. The angle of his pelvis meant it took just a couple more thrusts and you were coming again, this time he threw his head back and let out a cry-come-howl as he released into your womb, his seed flooding into you as your body eagerly milked him of it.

You stayed joined in the most intimate of ways until the cool night air made a shiver run down your back, the movement of your body making you realise the Captain was still hard and nestled deep within you;

“So… are we stuck?”

“No… but this is the first time i’ve done… this… whilst i’ve been like… this…” he let out a huff of air; “I’m not exactly sure how long i’m gonna stay hard Darlin’... we could be here a while…”

“All night?” you said, a hint of hope in your voice

“I’m yours until the moon goes down Darlin’”

“And after the moon goes down?”

He Captain paused;

“What would a girl like you want with a beast like me come daybreak?”

Running your hand over his beard your thumb caressed the skin of his cheek;

“Everything Captain… i want all of you...” It was only in that moment that Sy saw it, the ring of fire in your own eyes. He had found his mate and you had found yours; “Breed me Captain…”

#captain syverson #captain syverson smut #captain sy x reader #captain syverson x reader #henry cavill

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lepusrufus · 3 years

Text

Wrong victim

Pure comedic self indulgence because we all need a funny break before shit starts to really go down in To bargain for immortality. Set quite a few years after the game events, around 2025, and is pure ridiculousness so enjoy.

////

Her response to being unceremoniously shoved in the back seat of a car that looked like it's seen far better days was merely an annoyed grunt. It turned into an eye roll when the man that climbed in after her pulled everything out of her pockets.

"Wouldn't want you calling anyone," he said with a toothy grin while waving her phone in front of her.

"Trust me, that won't be necessary," she replied in a deadpan voice. It's not like she would call the police, she wanted them involved even less than her kidnappers probably did. As for other people she could reach out to, a phone call would be redundant really. "Do be careful with it, I'd hate to lose the photos of Daniela sleeping upside down."

After maybe ten minutes of driving down the barely illuminated outskirts of the city, and having her pockets emptied, dagger included, the burly man driving pulled up inside a parking lot. It was large and overgrown with weeds and vines reclaiming spaces that had been left without human activity for who knows how long. The lamp posts were nothing more than useless concrete pillars as they provided no illumination, resulting in her pitiful captors having to use flashlights as they made their way into the dilapidated factory.

Nicole sneered at the sight of collapsed walls and rusty metal walkways, reminding her of the one particular Lord she couldn't stand the sight of. She decided a distraction was needed from unpleasant memories.

"Abandoned factory?" She whistled. "How many cliche movies have you guys watched?"

She let out a chuckle when the man that had previously taken her phone shoved her ahead. Hopefully they wouldn't tape her mouth shut, there was so much fun to be had by mockery alone.

It didn't take long before all three of them entered a dimly lit room, numerous candles placed all around, either on desks or candle supports nailed to the walls. The three more people inside were wearing long black robes and white masks covering their faces. Nicole had to laugh.

"Oh so you're that kinda crazy."

"Shut the fuck up and stay put," the man holding her hands behind her back said while pushing her into a chair.

He then moved to a table and Nicole couldn't help but scowl at how unceremoniously her beloved dagger had been thrown on the wooden surface. Afterwards, he put on a mask not unlike the others, except with red streaks going down from the eye holes, and started to prepare something in the middle of the room. The others joined in on the task, all but the one man that had been put in charge of making sure Nicole stayed put. Because of course she could easily escape five people much bigger than her at any given moment.

She decided to take a look around, at the various dusty books opened on pages she couldn't quite make out from where she was sitting. A few pages were laying around, either with diagrams or with scribbled notes. Had she really stumbled upon a cult? She couldn't wait to have a laugh about it with her family.

"So," she started, craning her neck a little so she could see her captor's face. "Who you gonna sacrifice me to huh? I wanna know before you slice up my throat or whatever you're planning on."

A confused and suspicious look was thrown her way, surely due to the complete nonchalance she spoke with about what would surely be her untimely death. "The… the devil," was his unsure reply.

Nicole let out a small laugh. "Oh trust me, you do not want to meet her. Though devil is not quite the word," she continued despite a few other pairs of eyes landing on her. "Maybe a pissy fungal overlord with an unhealthy obsession for crows. Yes that's more like it," she finished with another chuckle.

The man with a slightly different mask, who seemed to be their self appointed leader, got up from where he was nailing something to the floor and walked up to her in a few long strides. His eyes were barely visible, but anger was clearly distinguishable.

He pulled out a knife, old, rusty and with a black worn out handle so typical of a kitchen utensil, and so incredibly ugly compared to the beautifully ornate daggers that decorated her home. She had to laugh when the dull blade got pressed to her throat.

"Will you shut up for one minute?!" He raised his voice slightly, as much as someone who was doing something they didn't wish to be caught doing would dare to. It didn't deter her though.

"Oh sweetie this is just what foreplay looks to me," she started with a grin that made her wish she had fangs like the better part of her relatives. "But please do me a favor and stay quiet, there's no fun in hunting if my darling finds you within five seconds due to you screeching like a broken squeaky toy."

The man blinked for a few seconds, taken aback both by the words and by the apparent passivity towards having a knife at her throat. He stayed like that until one person that was working with some ropes behind interjected.

"Of all the people you could've taken, how did you find this unhinged bitch?!"

"I'll take that as a compliment," Nicole said, bending slightly to the side so the person that had spoken up would have a clear view of her sickly sweet smile.

After that exchange, her captors seemed happy to move things along quicker, working in silence and begrudgingly ignoring any remarks she would throw their way, including an observation on the downright dreadful quality of the rope they had. Quality that she regrettably got to experience when her wrist and ankles got tied to the nails in the floor, having her lay down in a starfish position. It kind of reminded her of sprawling on the bed she shared with Cassandra simply to annoy the brunette.

After loudly reciting something in latin, the leader bent down, same rusty knife in hand, and tipped her chin upwards to expose the neck. She did let out a wince when the blade sunk deep in her flesh and got dragged downward, towards her chest, leaving behind a choking sensation and the taste of copper in her mouth. The knife however only made it to the base of her neck, before the sound of metal crashing caught everyone's attention.

"What the fuck," the man whispered, thankfully pulling the blade out so her skin had the time to begin stitching itself back together. She still had to turn her head around and spit some blood that made its way into her mouth.

Before anyone else had a chance to speak up, the door was kicked open, one of the rusty hinges breaking completely, to reveal a rather angry Cassandra with her sickle in hand, ready for bloodshed.

There were a few seconds of stunned silence before the blade was unceremoniously thrown into the first person's skull, spinning through the air for only a few meters before getting embedded into the bone with a sloshing sound. Anyone else trying to escape through the one door was met with a similar fate. One person had their knees kicked inwards before a knife held at the same belt as the sickle came down to slash their throat. Another had their head smashed to bits against the nearest wall in the blink of an eye. And last, the burly man that had driven and kept an eye on Nicole, had his heart ripped through the bottom of his ribcage when Cassandra shoved him against one of the tables, scattering the books and papers that were by then stained crimson.

The remaining man, the leader, got grabbed by the shoulders and forcefully shoved into the same chair she had been sitting in not too long ago.

"Stay put and I'll let you live," Cassandra spoke, all the cruelty polished over decades upon decades of sporting the title of the family's most sadistic coming through those few words.

He gulped and nodded, eyes glossed over by the pure human terror now so unfamiliar to both of them.

She then turned around, expression softening like a switch had been turned behind golden eyes. "Nicole," she started, barely an edge of concern and irritation at the sight of her wife's bloody skin.

"Hi babe." The self satisfied grin almost had the brunette chuckling while she retrieved her sickle and Nicole's things.

The weapon was used to cut her free, a grimace pulling the corners of her black lips downward at the same quality observation her wife had priorly made, no doubt. A hand was offered to Nicole to pull herself up, while the other presented the familiar dagger that was gifted to her so many years ago.

"Will you do the honors love," Cassandra asked, with that beautifully sadistic smile.

"Of course," came Nicole's reply as her hand wrapped around the leather covered handle.

With some of the wretched ropes gathered from the ground, Cassandra made quick work of the man's hands and legs, securely tied to the chair and voice frantic.

"You said you would let me live!"

Cassandra laughed, a low ominous sound, while grabbing the mask and throwing it on the floor. She did love to see the terror in her victims' faces after all.

"Unfortunately my wife made no such promises," she finished with a forceful pull of hair that kept his head in one place as she moved to the back of the chair.

Nicole approached with the dagger already out of its holster and tapped the blade's point against her lips in thought for a few moments. She could simply slice his throat and be done with it, or stab him and leave him to bleed out, choking on his own blood. A hum made its way past her lips. No, no that would not do.

She grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt, pulling it up almost to the neck. After a few mental measurements and approximations were made, the tip of the blade finally found its way into muscle, drawing thin trails of blood and pained screams. It took a good five minutes to carve all the intricate details she wanted to, the swirling patterns cutting cleanly through skin, courtesy of her wife keeping the blade sharp and in top condition.

After she was content with the level of detail, and screams subsided to pathetic sobs, she took a step back and, with a hum, looked at Cassandra for a reaction.

"Oh dearest," the brunette said, looking over the man's shoulder and down at the bloody cuts on his abdomen and chest, forming a crude yet not unfitting replica of the Dimitrescu crest.

At the adoration that made its way past the cruelty in her wife's eyes, Nicole smiled and gingerly took a hold of her unoccupied hand, bringing it close to her lips and leaving a small kiss and a barely visible blood imprint on each knuckle.

"I take it that you approve of my… design choice," she asked with another glance down at the jagged lines that formed their family's symbol.

"It's wonderful," Cassandra replied, fangs shimmering slightly in the low light, exposed from the proud smile that tugged at her lips.

A gorgeous smile, really, that made something swell inside Nicole's chest no matter how many times she saw it. Truth be told, her rendition of the crest was quite lacking, never having had the artistic skills to quite capture the intricate details that formed it. Nevertheless, if it brought a smile to her wife's lips, she was more than content with it. How unfortunate that it had to be ruined.

She let out a sigh, still holding Cassandra's hand. "Too bad those pigs at the BSAA would quite disapprove of us leaving such things behind. Oh well," she shrugged, bringing the hand she was holding over to the man's abdomen. "Better it be ruined at your hands."

The next second, claws dug deep into flesh, slicing the muscle and everything underneath all the way up to the throat. It left five deep gashes over the fine cuts of her dagger, but the satisfaction did not dwindle. On the contrary, when the gurgling sounds finally stopped and the body went limp, her smile was still there, turning into light laughter when Cassandra licked her fingers only to visibly cringe.

"Say what you will about the dungeons, but at least we feed our livestock well," she spat, taking out a napkin from a pocket and wiping her fingers clean. "But with that disgusting thing out of the way, let me help you with that," she continued, grimace morphing into a sly smile when her eyes landed on Nicole's still bloody neck.

She gave her no time to disagree, not that she would, before she pushed her backwards slightly into the edge of a table. Nicole wasted no time in lifting herself up on the wooden surface, bringing their faces just a tad closer to being on the same level.

Cassandra dipped her head down, lips leaving teasing feather-like kisses on her jaw before lowering even further so she could drag her tongue up the length of her neck. It made a shiver run down Nicole's spine, that turned into an impatient tug of her wife's hair when the motion was repeated again and again, until no traces of blood could be seen on her neck, save for the crimson stains that made their way to the hem of her shirt.

Their lips met in a hungry kiss, full of fangs and smeared lipstick and the taste of copper so familiar to the both of them, albeit for different reasons. When Nicole's hands went to the first buttons of Cassandra's blouse, their kiss was broken with a sly smirk.

"This is such a dreadful place for such things, don't you think," the brunette said, all too amused by her wife's exasperated sigh.

"You started it," Nicole complained, but before the words were fully out of her mouth, she was tugged off the table and on the way out, ready to get back home and have a laugh about the irony of her capture. They would have to pick up where they left off at a later time.

#cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #unhinged maiden™ my beloved #tw: gore #cassandra being cassantra and comin to save her wifey #don't take this as a clue to how the mutation sequel may turn out #fanfic

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goblinshork · 3 years

Note

Ok so what abaut Bodyguard and Agony whith a a naga prince that just hates the royal life and dreams of just having a simple life living in a cottage and selling homemade jewelry, so Reader his childhood best friend, personal bodyguard and person who he feel in love whith decides to make his dream come true (bonus if the prince has a sister so the kingdown whont stay whiout a ruler and she helps Reader whith the plan, bonus+ if the prince is kinda huge and scary to other people but he is just a chill dude that likes to make rings and necklaces)

Short scenario please! (Also sorry if its too long, feel free to just ignore this if you whant)

Not too long at all and I think it's an extremely charming idea! Thank you for sharing; big gruff, undercover sweeties are one of the most Choice(tm) archetypes.

This also got super long, but the vibes were singing to me.

Features: Slight angst, happy ending, kissing

Bodyguard + Agony (Monster Ask Meme)

Hands, Touching Hands (m!Naga x gn!Reader) [3.7k]

“Don’t lie, how many names do you remember?”

Alok yawned, curved fangs peaking out from almost-lips.

“None, thankfully,” he said, scratching at his curls, cut short enough that they barely formed.

“Impressive.”

“Oh—no, you won’t distract me. You agree with me don’t you?”

The book Alok had toyed the entire briefing slammed shut, the many bracelets at his wrist clinking for emphasis when you did not answer.

Watching him unfurl his tense length of tail, broad shoulders rising far above you as he 'stood', there was little to say but, "It’s not my place."

"Then it’s not mine, either."

He slunk toward the door and you picked up the book--the monstrous thing--with your arms rather than your hands before following him.

"Just give it time," you said in a reassurance that was too shallow to drown his mood.

Every move forward looked painful as he slithered forward like a child first learning to move against stone rather than soft grass. Unlike when he was a child, he was stilted by frustration rather than inexperience.

The conversation was left dropped, burning like the weight of the tome in your arms. If you were alone, you'd tell him to carry it. But servants, nobles, and royals passed frequently, all low bows and murmurs, moving on a touch quicker than polite.

When you first arrived to the kingdom, a slave dressed sweetly and presented as a gift, you'd marveled at how anyone could find the royal family intimidating when removed from their wealth and status.

Baby yellow skin and soft pink dapples painted everyone of them. Alok, himself, was more pink than yellow, and it reminded you of those delicate, painted dolls you'd press your face against glass to get a closer look at before being shooed away by the shop-keep.

You supposed little had changed since then, except now you were simply stared at, expected to keep your fingers off the pretty pink glass always, always in front of you.

The hallway Alok stopped moving forward in was empty, private; his. Without a word, you tossed the horrible book toward his crossed arms and swept the windows, floors, and ceiling for anything strange. His fumbling for the book, fingers audibly skimming against pages, made you smile.

"It's clear," you nodded. "Workshop, right?"

Alok deflated a bit, too caught between the mention of his workshop and pretending to have perfectly caught the book to keep his anger stoked.

"You're asking now," he said flat, looking from the book to you.

Putting up your hands in mock defeat, you turned, alert enough.

"I'm not angry at you.” The slits that served for his pupils, deep red and small in their focus on the gem he was cutting, turned to you when you said nothing in response.

“Sorry, I--” was dazzled by your eyes? Was enamored by how passionate you are for perfecting that sparkling little gem? “I know.”

“I just wanted to say it.”

You stretched from your place beside the door, perched on one of the few chairs at your disposal in the entire castle, “Thank you.”

“Don’t be patronizing,” Alok grumbled, pausing in his work. “I know...I know very well you must be tired of this, even if you won’t say it.”

The window was suddenly so interesting, your throat burning as you swallowed down the feeling kindling there.

“This is my home,” you said after hearing the scales of his tail shift closer. “There’s nothing to be tired of.”

Slowly, his hand rose to hover over yours, where it lay on your lap, “But you should be. I’d give you anything you needed. They couldn’t stop me.”

Everything you wanted to say was tucked in the patch of air that separated his touch from yours.

Any person, bought and raised to be singularly loyal would hesitate at the offer of freedom, wouldn’t they?

They’d want to grab his hand, wouldn’t they?

You could only guess as a love for a prince was not something to be said aloud unless you were allowed.

And you, a slave turned body guard, were not.

Standing, you scattered the almost-moment with a shake of your head, “I don’t care about freedom half as much as you think I do.”

His hand fell limp to his side, the slits that served as his nose flaring wide, as you continued.

“I’m your bodyguard and I’ll be your children’s bodyguard and I’ll be the same to whoever you choose from that book,” you finished, thoroughly shooing yourself away, wanting so much to run out the door.

Alok said your name quietly, but you remained silent.

And everything was still until it wasn’t.

In one smooth motion propelled by his sheer size, Alok stretched to the book and hurled it out the open window.

“No, you won’t. I’ll be their prince,” he said low, body suddenly too large for the room. “But I won’t be their king.”

You did run, then.

Perhaps the only place off-limits for a would-be king allergic to potential suitors was his sister’s drawing room.

Adur payed you no attention as she demanded entertainment from the brightly colored darlings and dark patterned beauties of the upper echelon.

“Did you know, I simply adore the pattern of your bangles lately,” she cooed, pointing to a decorated tail. “So perfectly in style.”

She continued on, picking this and that to sigh over, as you stood against the corner that provided the best view of the room, next to the door.

You recognized each piece she fawned over as being similar to something Alok had on display or nearly-done in his workshop. Ah, to know a magician’s tricks.

Melting into a squat, you let their voices wash over you. No heart could hurt for long listening to women enjoy court gossip as much as this bunch did...from a distance.

When you, Alok, and Adur were younger, the rules seemed less stone and more like blades of grass, flexible and beneath you. Adur set you in front of her always revolving group of friends and tried to fit tail bangles around your thighs and waist. Alok insisted you sit side-by-side while studying geography, arithmetic, and etiquette. You lay between them on sunny afternoons, napping, legs touching tails.

But everything golden goes grey eventually.

“Well, do tell me. Did he throw it in the fire?”

You turned from the window, swapping red, setting sun for sharp, red eyes, “Out of the window.”

The room was empty but for you and her now. Adur pacing around, tail making quick work of circling the room as she read from her collection of letters.

“Still the amount of melodrama I expected so,” she shrugged, raising shoulders toward her pleased mouth as a silent finish to her sentence. “I, on the other hand, did pick.”

You rose, legs tingling from the sudden change. “Who?”

“Prince Talsa,” she said after cutting open a letter with her claw, “I’ve already decided on a short engagement and a respectable wedding down south. Perhaps closer to his kingdom than ours.”

“Talsa? Not rare one who everyone’s after?”

Adur looked at you as though you should know better before deigning to explain, “Prince Talsa is rather plain looking for a naga, yes, but that’s just the point.”

“Go on,” you said, wanting so much to be distracted.

“Think about it,” Adur scoffed. “Rare, beautiful babies create wonder amongst people, but children who look as though they could be born anywhere....don’t you see the appeal?”

She leaned against the window, long black hair obscuring her pink and yellow face, “They would be royalty that even the most common of folk could feel familiar to--feel endeared to. Even someone as devoid of charm or pretense as Alok could gain some favor. From their birth, I’ll have them attend every little festival and celebration. Their bond with the people will be unshakable.”

“You’ll make the best queen,” you said, unthinking to the implication.

“Has something happened to Alok?”

“No, you ju--”

Adur turned to you, delicate face empty, “It doesn’t matter what we know. He’s the eldest and alive and destroying a book won’t change that.”

Your hands shook as you laced them together, risking at least your life, by asking:

“What if we could change it?”

Everything in the little room lacked splendor, save the jewelry that her brother displayed to no one but himself, built only to separate Alok from his mentor. A failed attempt to elevate a man too gargantuan to grow further.

Even the flooring was rough on the tail, not smooth stone but brick for retaining heat. Only care for function within these four walls.

Adur noted her brother’s tail was bare as she swept over the lacking room, only his leather work belt draped over the apex where tail met torso. Every bit of jewelry he wore crowded his wrists and fingers, noisy as he worked on some large bangle unfamiliar to her.

He looked haggard, frown too ugly and deep to be a mere product of concentration. Grey tickled the roots of his bangs, pronounced enough to shine in the lamplight. Alok was getting too old to be a prince with only time for his hobby.

“Sometimes I think it would be kinder to simply put you out of your misery,” Adur said, closing the door behind her.

Alok’s back tensed, but he did not pause his work, “I’m surprised you said it out loud, but don’t say it like a joke.”

“Don’t be so serious,” Adur sighed, “of course it was a joke.”

“Where is--”

“Your human delight? Running errands for me.”

Alok did turn then, face flickering through emotions too fast to name, “They’re just as much your dear friend as mine, you little viper.”

“Forgive my callousness, but I find you respond to little else,” Adur said, picking at the sheer fabric of her top so it draped correctly against her arm again. “And perhaps they are my friend. But they are not just yours.”

“I won’t be king...even if they weren’t here.”

Adur laughed in a sizzling tone, forked tongue dancing with humor, “Oh? And I suppose your little fantasies of running away involve you doing so alone?”

Only the flames licking back and forth in the small forge answered her.

“You’re too old to be deluding yourself like this,” she went on, dropping a bottle and a sheer robe on Alok’s work desk. “It’s time to make choices once and for all, brother.”

“I’m not--”

“I’m not asking you to rule. You’d be pathetic at it, yes, I know. If not for our dear human friend, you’d have flunked every tutor save for your precious jewelry maker.”

Alok curled back over his tail, fingers picking at the fabric of the robe his sister had dropped. “Then what are you asking?”

Hand on the doorknob, Adur smiled, “if you had your way and left to live like a common man with your human, would you really never come back?”

“Never.”

Adur opened the door. “Good.”

The drider--Woodnet? Woodne? Wodner?--stayed near the the door as you did, but unlike you his sleek, black legs rested on a few thin lines of webbing where wall met ceiling.

Slowly, Alok raised his face to address the bodyguard, entirely unused to being the short one. Worse still was the struggle to match sights with the correct pair of the drider’s many blinking eyes. If you were here, you’d have nudged him to follow your lead already.

If you were here...this wouldn’t be happening in the first place. Just another wishful thought to swallow down as Alok struggled to stay polite in the face of his father’s prime bodyguard.

“Outside the room is fine,” Alok said in a clipped tone, turning as he did to avoid dealing with anymore niceties.

“Forgive me for questioning, Prince Alok,” the drider said, voice drifting down like floating silk. “But bathing is when you are most vulnerable. I can not help but object to the risk.”

The drider polished each word, in no hurry to finish his sentence and Alok’s eyes rolled once--twice--thrice by the time there was silence. If only this were any guard other than his father’s favorite.

“I understand,” Alok said. “But, the windows are trapped and you will be guarding the only entrance.”

The sound of burdened legs skittering down stone, followed by the opening and closing of the lone, stone door was his answer.

Driders were generally no longer friends of Alok’s kingdom. Wodnel....no, Wodni perhaps, was a relic of a time long gone, when his father was just proving himself a leader of a nation. That Wodnir--that was it, Wodnir--was so protective of Alok, having sparsely been involved with him and having been enslaved through ruthless, warmongering means made Alok’s shoulders bunch, the muscles between protruding over scales.

Is that how it was between you and he? Did you feign fondness and care or was it true? Was it true but maligned of him to hope for it due to how you came to be near him? Because of he was?

Alok disrobed and slunk into the hot water, hoping to drown his pithy doubts that crowded so large in his mind.

Flakes of shed rose to the top the longer he soaked, proof of a difficult shed. There was sure to be more bits to come as he scrubbed himself with the, apparently, ‘to die for’ body scrub his sister had left last week.

You were usually the one to soothe his bubbling stress in a life of constant politics and decorum, but the bits of dead skin were proof enough that Alok truly was getting too old for delusions. You’d only been away for a week and a spare number of days and here he was, so tense that not even a hot bath could unfurl him.

Ugh.

Politics and decorum. How would he survive tonight without you? Adur was announcing her engagement tonight, in tandem with the nobles emerging from their collective sheds at the tail end of the Harvest Festival.

Alok scrubbed himself raw, hoping to emerge a new man who could weather life half as well as everyone around him. But the harder he lathed himself in soap, the clearer the truth rang.

If only he could have you.

You had relieved Wodnier of his duties, thanking him with a bow, and standing stiff beside the door for precious minutes, waiting for his delicate range of hearing to wane.

As an apprentice, you had met Wodnier often enough to know he wished you well as much as any spider did a fly.

Hammering against your chest, you feared the vibration of your heart was loud enough for him to hear. And there was always a chance the door shutting at the end of the curved hallway was a trap; that Wodnier still stood in Alok’s quarters and was not making his way back to the King.

But you didn’t have time to be safe, only quick.

Jittered by adrenaline, you sprinted to Alok’s room---toe first, heel last--and back, holding your breath once you made it back to the door of the bath.

Sweat pooled against your forehead, but nothing sprang toward you sans the faint sounds of Alok bathing.

You slipped past the door, the pack in your hands bulky enough that the door opened wider than you’d wanted, the hinge creaking.

“Alok?”

The figure behind the curtain froze before calling back your name.

“We don’t have much time, Alok,” you pressed in a sure voice, but your legs wobbled as you neared the curtain. “I’m....I’m running away and I’m taking you with me.”

“What?”

Coming past the curtain, your chest could barely contain your quick breathing. His hair was devoid of any gray, blacker than pitch as it fell just above his ear holes and forehead. Muddy brown and maroon scales were sleek and wet, droplets rolling down his body, even near his---

You looked back up quickly, away from where his belt always covered. “I mean, I want us to run away and we need to go now.”

Having followed your wandering gaze toward the apex of his stomach and tail, Alok frantically looked toward his arms, the muddy water, “What in the fuck is this?”

“Adur is helping us,” is all you said and it was all Alok seemed to need as he picked up the bottle the dye had been in, nodding. “She said it’ll only last until your next shed but, by then, hopefully....”

“She wants to be queen very much,” he murmured.

You tore open the pack, reminding yourself that time was short, and held them out. “Yes. So, we need to go.”

“You have no idea--,” Alok started, before interrupting himself. “I need something from the workshop.”

“We don’t have time.”

He shook his head as he took what you offered, dressing himself in plain leather and thick, scratchy wool. “It will be quick.”

You opened your mouth--- “Please.” --but couldn’t keep firm in the face of his pleading.

“Okay.”

Alok threw a few rings, bangles, and tools into the bag.

“Only enough to sell and get started again,” he assured.

But as you turned to leave the room, his hand was on your arm, pulling you back.

“We--”

“I love you,” he breathed, holding two thick, ornate bangles in his free hand. Both were decorated, from the side you could see, with marigolds, jewels gleaming in the center of their petals. You recognized each one.

One was the size to fit a large tail while the other...

“Alok.”

“I want us to leave belonging to one another.”

Your shaking hands dropped the large bag and his slid to hold both yours in his large one. “If we leave together, we’ll live together too won’t we?”

Even your head shook now, from side to side, hoping to discern the moment as waking or dreaming. “Alok. Of course, because...Of course we will.”

“Oh, please say it,” he said, tugging you nearer still.

He repeated your name and like a spell, you found your words, “We’ll live together because I love you, too.”

His thin mouth, soft and bloodless, fell to yours from his full height, his body curling over you as he pressed against your lips again.

“Let me put it on you,” he whispered, mouth moving against yours as you clung to him.

“Hurry and then we can....Just the bangles and then we must go before it’s too late.”

Careful of his claws, he lifted you to sit on his work table before slipping his own bangle over the small tip of his tail and up further, until it stuck in place under his belt.

There was no time to remove your pants, to mold the bangle against your bare thigh as was intended, but Alok’s thick hands skimming around the metal the entire way up burned as though he were doing just that.

You slid off the table, when the bangle was snug, to melt against him for one brief moment of loving calm, your face rubbing against his neck.

You didn’t have time for more.

After disentangling from his tight hold, you threw the bag at him, near tears as he scrambled to catch it. “I know it’s selfish, but I’m so glad you’re going to be mine instead of a king.”

And then you ran, hand in hand.

“Hey! Heeeeey,” one of the children yelled as the whole group of five ran toward you, kicking up dust on the dirt-packed road. “My momma said that snake man eats kids who don’t do chores!”

“My papa said he can’t help with the festival because he’s growing more arms!”

“That’s dumb, Brittany. My papa is smarter and he said the same thing as Corey’s momma. He’s a kid eater!”

The group shrieked in delighted horror as they squabbled on the specifics of what was really, truly going on in their village.

You hiked the basket in your arms higher after several attempts to respond, loudly telling them to pay attention or you’d leave.

As though pulled forward by strings, they straightened as still as a child could, a few even holding their hands over their mouths to keep silent.

“All of your parents are right,” you nodded, “Every two months he must curb his huge appetite and force back his new, child-grabbing arms so he doesn’t hurt the very naughty children of this village.”

They all clamored to stress their innocence in a cacophony of babbling that soon grew into questions.

“Is that why you live with him? ‘Cause you protect the village?”

“And him,” you said.

“At the same time?!”

“Of course, it’s my job. Now go back toward the smithy before you find out just how many arms he has.”

Lunging forward in jest was enough to urge the children away, all of them teasing the other that they would be last to get there and a snake man’s lunch.

“You’re horrible,” Alok groaned, scales pale pink and yellow from a successful shed. “Soon, they’ll be grown-ups, running us off.”

Hefting the basket onto the dining table, you laughed, “they adore you in secret.”

The cottages here were baked of mud, hay, and a few supportive beams of wood and yours was no different. There was no splendor in the room-less house, but it was truly yours and his. And that was luxury enough.

“They had enough this time?”

You shook the canteen of dye, moving to stand next to him on the low hammock that served as bed, “And the next shipment of birch will contain enough to last us three months or more.”

Alok smoothed his claw down your face, his own expression wistful, “I feel too content to explain.”

You pressed your nose against the pink of his jaw, letting him raise you to straddle him.

“Then show me.”

#monster x reader #monster x human #monster fucking #monster romance #exophillia #terato #monster boyfriend #naga x reader #naga boyfriend #naga x human #fluffy.foam #new.shork #goblin.writes #conch.answered #alienfromagalaxy #I love adur and it is a shame how much of her had to be cut to make this not a mess #exophilia

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dancingamongstdust · 3 years

Note

Can you write a tsukishima kei X reader where they both tease eachother but don't realise that they have feelings for eachother. Then tsukishima says something really offensive to reader and she gets really upsets and ignores him, he then realizes his feelings for her?

I struggled writing this but it was actually quite fun! Thank you for the request.

Teasing was something fun. The tumbling words were light and playful, hinting at something more but never letting their secrets free.

You lived for the flash of annoyance in Tsukishima’s hazel eyes; a small smirk always betraying that he enjoyed the banter. Whether you were speaking to him or commenting loud enough to draw his attention, he would turn to you fully and respond in kind. Though his words dripped in sarcasm, you never took them personally.

Perhaps you should have. Your comments never held any malice and you always strayed away from actual insults.

Tsukishima didn’t quite understand that part of your game.

Some of the things that he said stung. In those times, you’d just flip him off and pretend to go about your day without a second thought. But they did bother you.

Enough to find you standing in front of your mirror and glaring at your reflection as though it could give you the answers. Everything about your relationship with Tsukishima was frivolous. You had never held a real conversation. He was just a stupidly confident man with a sharp tongue and honeyed hair. His glasses were ridiculous, his taste in music was poor, and his eyes were the type of golden brown that snatched your breath from your lungs.

You groaned and turned away from your reflection.

Why did you have to fall for him?

Was it because of his voice and the soft edge that lay beneath its harsh words? Perhaps the gentleness of his movements had drawn your attention. He never looked out of place and you envied him that.

You contemplated telling him initially but decided against it. Getting a better feel of his attitude towards you would help before any misguided confessions slipped out.

That lasted until the next day.

“I know I shouldn’t be expecting anything intelligent to come from you but think things through a little more before you speak.”

Tsukishima glanced down at you as he passed, the hint of a smile on his lips. The insult wasn’t meant. He had often mocked your intelligence before to little response – after all, he knew that you didn’t get easily offended.

This time though, you didn’t immediately respond and when you did, it was just a slight jab about something trivial.

He turned around to look back at you but you had hurried off somewhere.

Shrugging that off, he continued on his day until the next time he saw you. When he did, he waited for the retaliation.

And waited.

He was so focused on listening out for your snide comment that he didn’t even pay attention to his other conversation. Yamaguchi, thankfully, didn’t need an active participant in his discussion. He only seemed minorly confused by Tsukishima’s confusion before continuing.

Once you’d left, he sighed and said, “Maybe it’s been a bad day.”

Tsukishima glanced over his shoulder to confirm you hadn’t walked back in. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You didn’t, like, call her a bitch, right?”

“What? Obviously not.”

Yamaguchi shrugged. “Then don’t worry so much about it. She’ll be back to normal soon.”

Tsukishima scoffed, electing to pretend the conversation was unimportant. He changed the topic onto something that was more in his area of expertise but his thoughts kept hanging on you. It irritated him to no end and he spent the rest of the day snapping a little too harshly at everybody.

The next day went no better.

He waited to hear your voice, having never realised before how well he knew it. It was something missing from his day and he didn’t even know why.

“It’s not my fault if she’s going to be sensitive about stupid stuff,” he stated when Yamaguchi next commented about your unusual silent treatment.

“Nope. Some people are just soft.”

“You’re one of those people,” Tsukishima had retorted. He meant it mockingly though any kind of rudeness had little effect on his best friend. It was part of who he was… he had really believed you understood that.

Yamaguchi tried to move on but Tsukishima continued with his complaints.

“Why would she just suddenly start taking offense to things?”

“Maybe you hit a nerve.”

“How was I meant to know she was touchy about her intelligence? Anyway, it was days ago. She should be over it by now.”

“If it’s bothering you that much, just say sorry.”

“It’s not bothering me.”

He wasn’t stupid – of course, it was – but he was hardly about to tell somebody that. You were nobody to him and your lack of comments was an absolute relief. In fact, he was rather happy that you had decided to finally take the hint.

A whole month passed and he stopped waiting to hear your voice. His stubbornness kept any apology away from you, even though one accidental meetup in the hall had nearly drawn one out. It was honestly ridiculous, he had nothing to apologise about.

He could apologise just to have you speak to him again… Tsukishima quickly chased away that traitorous thought. It was rare for him to apologise for things that actually required it, let alone for nonsense like this. A simple fact that everybody he complained to seemed to directly refute.

Just apologise. Just apologise. Like he cared enough to do so.

It took him another two months to realise why he minded so much. Why he was still hung up on you despite your supposed non-importance.

He had been walking with Yamaguchi when they passed a flower store, the place having a special on roses for your loved ones. Yamaguchi had decided to get some and for a split second, Tsukishima had touched the petals and considered buying some for you.

He pulled his hand away as though it had been burned.

“Normally you get fifteen for a situation like this.”

He scoffed at Yamaguchi. “You really need to deal with your obsession about this woman.”

Tsukishima didn’t buy fifteen roses but he realised then what it was about you that bothered him so. And he absolutely hated the conclusion that he came to.

He stepped in front of you the next day, drawing your attention to him (though he didn’t know that it rarely left). “Why are you ignoring me?” he asked.

“I’m not?” It sounded like a question, even to you.

Tsukishima wasn’t going to argue with you about it. He just raised an eyebrow and waited for you to sigh and continue.

“I’m just… I…”

“Wow that explains it very well.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Would it kill you to say something nice?”

“Since when have we ever been nice to each other?” he asked.

Of course you didn’t have an answer for that. You had never been ‘nice’ to each other – at least not in the way most people would consider nice. But the thing was, those moments still came to your memory fondly.

“You know, I always made sure never to actually insult you,” you said.

“I never actually insulted you.”

“Yes, you did,” you pointed out. “You’re constantly pointing out how stupid I am or how uncoordinated I am or whatever!”

“It’s not like I meant them.”

That tripped you up a little. Tsukishima’s height had you looking up at him, his expression entirely unchanged. Why would he have said things that weren’t true? It wasn’t like you had even initiated this entire taunt exchange way back when you had first met. Sure, you had responded but it was his comment on your hair that had gotten to you.

“You didn’t… what?”

Tsukishima stared at you like you were stupid. “It’s not my fault if you choose to take things personally but get over it a bit quicker, would you?”

It wasn’t an apology, not by a long shot, but it was enough to explain something that you couldn’t quite pinpoint yourself. Tsukishima wanted to talk to you. Even if he thought you were being childish, his main problem lay in your sudden silent treatment.

“We’re not friends,” you said.

“No.”

“So why do you care if we’re talking or not?”

He shrugged. “I don’t.”

He did. Of course he did. Part of him wanted to say that but his pride just wouldn’t allow it. Thankfully, the message seemed to get through to you regardless.

“Do you want to go out for lunch?” you offered.

“Why would I ever want to do that?”

You smiled, noticing the small smirk’s appearance on his face. “Tomorrow. At 12.”

“Fine.”

Tsukishima left you standing there, refusing to glance back even if he wanted to. He told himself it was because he didn’t care and it had nothing to do with the uncharacteristic smile on his face.

#haikyuu!!#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei

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slytherbun · 3 years

Text

jeep

pairing: adam ruzek x reader

summary: in which an innocent day becomes dirty when your boyfriend adam makes a move on you in the car.

word count: 1.4k

warning adam being...well, adam with sexual content.

requested by inactive that used wheel game. (car sex)

note: i don't know what to say about this. let me describe it with though this emoji...🥵

edited note: wheel game is inactive now. <3

you and adam have been dating for a month and were still apart of that beginning obsessive phase where you couldn't keep your hands off of each other.

you were partners for two years before that and currently the case had closed and the two of you were in the grey jeep that he just pulled into the back of the precinct parking lot.

when adam pulled into a spot towards the back corner, you unbuckled your seatbelt and turned so you were on your knees in the seat.

you leaned forward to grab your coat in the backseat since it was chilly this evening and the famous chicago winter was approaching.

adam watched your every move and licked his lips at the sight. you had on your favorite pair of jeans that fit you like a glove and the curves from your hips were in plain view of his eyesight.

he quietly unbuckled his seatbelt so he didn't alarm you and leaned over closer to the middle console that separated your two seats.

as quickly as adam could, he spanked the palm of his hand right over your whole butt. you bit your bottom lip to hold in a moan.

"adam!" you squealed and turned around. in the process your hair whipped across his face.

you noticed what happened and sucked your lips in, trying not to laugh. when you sat back down in the seat, you put your fingers through your hair. desperately trying to fix the mess that was made so you didn't have too many knots later.

adam saw your obvious struggle at the unfortunate hair incident and couldn't help but chuckle. "guess i deserved that." he teased.

"guess so." you grinned and he rolled his eyes playfully. "you weren't supposed to agree."

"but adam," you drawed out his name. "hmm?" he questioned and leaned forward to place his hand on your thigh, already knowing where this was going.

"you know exactly what you're doing even when you try to act all innocent." he stayed silent at your confession to see if you'd challenge him. instead, he hummed as if he was confused about the current exchange.

you sighed and rubbed your thighs together to relieve some tension. he watched your every move and muttered "fuck it," before he leaned over and moved your thighs open.

"what did i tell you?" adam asked almost in a growl. "i don't know what you're talking about." you smirked, using his words against him. adam made a 'hmm' sound at your response and leaned back into his seat.

you raised an eyebrow in his direction and he put his hands out, gesturing a 'have at it' wave and your eyes immediately widened with the fact that he tapped out.

he smirked at your baffled expression and shrugged and put his hand through his hair. his fingertips brushed the hair to the side, to fix the part with the longer strands.

"how about this. if you play with your pussy and come, you can ride me."

you couldn't decline his offer. after all, this was payback from the other day when you didn't let him finish during a blowjob. he'd been teasing you all day today and you had enough of it.

"okay." you said simply and pulled your dress up to flash him with the lacy panties that you were glad you picked out today.

adam cursed under his breath and slightly adjusted the tight pants that he liked to wear. you noticed his subtle fix and smirked while pulling aside the lace.

the cold air blowing from the vent reached your pussy and you shivered from the feeling below. splaying your fingers on your clit, you moaned softly at the feeling and started to rub.

after you found a pace to work with, you used your other hand to reach up and cup your tit.

adam loved them so of course you had to use his weakness against him. "fuck." you whispered when your abdomen started to tingle and tighten.

"do you like playing with yourself or do you like it better when my fingers touch you?" he asked and you broke out of the trance of pleasure to glance over and see his cock out.

adam glanced over your body. your hair was a mess and frizzy against the seat of the car. he could see little drops of sweat across the middle of where your scrunched brows met. your nipples were out, budded and hard.

he could see the wetness from your fingertips and his mouth watered, wishing he was between your thighs instead of your hand.

he must of unzippered himself while your eyes were closed and focused on passing a current forming orgasm.

the sight of his glistening precum sent you over the edge. "you." was all you could say before you finished all over your fingers.

adam groaned, a little jealous you finished without needing him but he still didn't regret the choice made. "put your fingers in my mouth."

you leaned, closing in on his space and the two fingers that were used disappeared in his mouth. you watched him suck them, his tongue taking in every drop and your eyes dilated.

he finally released them what seemed a slow eternity later with a pop and you smirked at the noise. "that's the noise that sounds like when i just finished sucking your dick."

adam narrowed his eyes at you for the teasing comment and patted his lap. "come here and take your reward, sweet girl." you nodded, pleased at the nearing end of the proposition.

somehow, you fumbled around and over the console in the car before you were comfortably hovered over his erection.

your clit throbbed needing to take some tension off and knew you were close to his long, thick member.

"come on baby. sit down on me." adam encouraged, knowing you needed to be sweetened up to fall over the edge of bliss.

without warning, you hooked your panties aside again and sank down on him slowly. his velvet head disappeared inside your pussy.

his teeth clenched at the overwhelming feeling. he almost wanted to push your hips down all the way on him but he held out.

inch by inch disappeared while your hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in his back. the intense euphoria was all too much but a moment later you bottomed out on top of him and moaned.

"shit y/n please hurry up and move." he groaned with his hands wrapped around your ass, fingers pressed into the skin and probably making marks.

you pulled your body up, releasing his cock but not so he fell out before you went back down again so his pelvis met yours.

he pulled you up again by his grip then pushed you back down quickly in an almost aggressive manner. "adam more," you begged, leaning down to rest your head against his.

he took your plea and used that motivation to grip your hips more steadily before moving you up and down at a quicker pace.

your hips met his thighs every other second. his cock pounded into you rough and harshly and you gasped in pleasure.

"fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck." you practically chanted. you were so close to finishing, he threw you like a doll up and down on his length, working your hole for his own agenda of an ultimate orgasm.

you blew out a breath to try and get strands of hair away that stuck to your face but they just stayed while he continued to hit every vulnerable spot inside of you.

he started to rub your clit and you almost jolted out of place from the sensitivity. he wanted to feel you tighten around him and mix your come with his.

adam got his wish and finally, he spilled inside your pussy while you milked his every drop.

he fixed your panties, looping them back around you comfortably again before placing you down softly.

he rested you against his chest and laced his arms around your waist. you caught your breath, while adam was still practically heaving against you and you giggled.

"what?" he asked you after feeling your back moving from the laughing fit. "i'm sorry it's not funny but the saying about leaving someone breathless." you trailed off and he got the gist of your joke and he slapped your ass again.

"oh!" you moaned, cheeks flushing at the fact you were turned on again even though his cum was still making its way out of you.

he smirked. "that's what i thought."

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cursestothemoon · 3 years

Note

I don’t know I’d this is enough for a headcanon or blurb or anything but I’ve been trying to think of more NSFW stuff and my mind went back to the American!reader things you’ve done with Fred so far and I can totally see Fred getting his American girlfriend a cowboy hat to wear while riding him because “cowgirls are an important part of your culture” and he just wants to “show his support for your roots”

Save a Horse, Ride a Ginger

F.W. X FEM!AMERICAN!READER

17+ IF YOU ARE TAGGED AND DON’T WANT TO BE TAGGED IN SMUT PLEASE LET ME KNOW

Warnings: NSFW, vaginal sex, praise, teasing, language, slapping/spanking, finger sucking, unedited because its just on brand at this point

“Love, could you come here for a second?”

The sound of your boyfriend calling you stole your attention away from Molly and the scarf you were trying to knit. You stood up, apologizing to Molly for the interruption- though she didn't seem to mind much- and made your way to the living room.

The Weasley siblings, along with Harry and Hermione, were sitting around the tv (a muggle television set Hermione had gifted them two Christmases ago) with random DVD’s strewn across the floor. Picking one up, you turned it over as you moved to sit next to Fred on the floor.

“What’s with all the movies?” You asked, reading a few of the titles.

Fred turned to you holding up one of the plastic dvd cases, “We wanted to learn about your roots, your history, so we asked Charlie send over some stuff from where he is in America.”

You glanced back at the movie in hand, “Fred you’re holding up A Fistful of Dollars.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Fistful of doll-what? No, I’m holding a movie disc, love.”

“Freddie, that’s the name of the movie and besides, even if this was a accurate historical movie, which it’s not, it’s not even about my history...I’m from Seattle.”

He landed a flick to your forehead before pulling you into his lap, “Just be quiet while I learn about the Americans.”

The movie, one you’ve seen a few times already, came to end as the credits rolled and the Man With No Name rode off on his horse into the sunset.

“Amazing...” Ron breathed out making you laugh.

You were still in Fred’s lap, his hands holding your hips as you shifted to get comfortable. The action made Fred’s breath hitch, he was already turned on as it was and you just happened to notice.

“Really? Clint Eastwood did it for you?”

Your teasing tone made Fred pinch your butt in warning.

“No, but the idea of you riding me with a cute little cowboy hat on definitely did it for me.” He whispered huskily into your ear, his warm breath hitting the shell of your ear making goosebumps erupt down your neck.

You turned to into his eyes, the lust swimming in his honey brown irises sent jolts of need to your core.

“Too bad we don’t have one.”

Fred nodded, a glint of mischief burning bright in his eyes, “Yeah, too bad.”

In hindsight, you should’ve seen it coming. Whenever Fred wanted something he got, through whatever means necessary- this time it was a brother in America with a sense of humor just like his younger brother’s.

Now here you were, straddling Fred’s bare hips as he placed a cow print cowgirl hat with a bedazzled brim on your head, the drawstring left to hang in the valley of your breasts.

“Is this really necessary?” You smirked, starting to slowly grind your wet cunt over his hard cock making him close his eyes and take in a breath.

“Is it necessary, she asks. It is absolutely necessary, this is an important part of your culture.”

You continued to drag your hips over his creating a delicious friction that had your head lolling back and lips parting to let a breathy moan slip by. His hands helped guid your hips, pushing and pulling you against himself. A response was lost on your tongue as you whined at the feeling of Fred lifting your hips off of him and ceasing the friction. He used one hand to position himself at your entrance, pulling you to sit down fully on his cock.

Fred moved his hands from your hips to your tits, massaging the flesh and rolling your nipples between his fingers before landing a slap on your right breast making you gasp.

“Go on then, want my little cowgirl to ride me.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, rolling your hips against his a few times before lifting up and then dropping back down, coating his prick in your arousal.

Fred wrapped his right hand around your throat with little pressure while the other one trailed down to your clit, his thumb circling the aching nub roughly. You couldn’t help but cry out as you picked up your pace, your hips moving in half circles and figure eights to rub you just right.

Needing to ground yourself you placed one hand on Fred’s chest and held onto his forearm with the other, making him apply more pressure around your throat. The drawstring of the cowgirl hat was hitting your skin with each lift and drop of your hips.

You were losing your power fast, becoming putty in Fred’s hands, and he could tell. As you let out another loud moan, he sat up making himself shift inside of you and hitting places that had you doubling of in pleasure and vision going fuzzy. His arm wrapped around your waist to hold you up and help you move on his cock.

“That’s it, love, keep go- fuck- just like that.” He grunted, using his hold on your body to speed up your movements.

Your head dropped into the crook of his neck, the skin warm and balmy and inviting. Your lips danced across the expanse of his neck and travelled up under his ear kissing and sucking with a fervent passion. Fred was doing the same to the top of your breasts, your tits littered with red and purple bites and bruises.

An orgasm was fast approaching both you and Fred, his higher pitched whines and whimpers a clear sign to you and your clenching pussy a sign to him. He bit down on your earlobe as he moved you quicker, each time having the head of his swollen cock prodding at your g-spot relentlessly.

“Wanna suck on your fingers when I cum.” You muttered into his neck before lifting your head up and opening your mouth for his fingers.

Fred placed his index and middle finger on your tongue and you were quick to wrap your lips around them suck. You held his wrist with one hand, the other going on his shoulder to brace yourself as you bounced on his dick faster and getting him deeper inside you.

Soon enough Fred could feel the unmistakable feeling of his balls drawing up, tensing as he neared spilling over the edge of his orgasm. He looked up to drink you in, your flushed face, eyes rolling back in pleasure, lips parted to let the sweetest sounds come from them, and lastly the cowgirl hat atop your head that pulled it all in together. The sight was positively pornographic, his American cowgirl riding him with a heaving chest and aching cunt.

“I’m- I wanna cum.” Your voice brought Fred back to reality.

His free hand went to grab a handful of your ass, groping the flesh roughly and using the leverage to pull you down onto himself harder.

“Cum.”

It was all you needed to hear to let out a choked sob as your walls tightened around Fred, cumming on his cock. He wasn’t far behind, pressing your hips down onto his roughly, bottoming out, and stilled as he came inside of you, your walls milking him completely. His hot seed coating your walls, filling you up. The feeling so good, making you thank your lucky stars that you were on birth control and din’t have to worry about the consequences.

Fred held you close as you came down from your highs, pressing loving kisses on your shoulder blade.

“You look so sexy in that bloody hat.” Fred sighed with a chuckle.

The statement made you giggle into his neck, suddenly feeling bashful in your post orgasm bliss. At your response, Fred turned his head to place a kiss on your jaw then on your cheek before you made a move to pull yourself off of him.

Fred whined, “No, stay...just a bit longer.”

You placed a kiss onto his forehead, lips smearing against his warm skin before moving to place a kiss on his nose, resting your forehead against his. Fred shifted so he was laying down on his side, as are you, with your leg hiked over his hip and face nuzzled into his bare chest while his cock- now flaccid- was still in you keeping you pleasantly stretched around him. The cowgirl hat had been removed and placed carefully on your nightstand, for later use. Fred bent awkwardly to grab the blanket and pull it over the two of you as he felt your breathing start to even. He tucked the edge of the blanket under your chin and watched as you drifted off into a peaceful slumber, face still in his chest and soft breaths hitting his skin.

Fred fell asleep moments later, cock still warm and tucked inside your cunt, and holding you to his chest.

His American cowgirl

tags:

@siriusement

@amourtentiaa

@vsawyer1989

@lifeofkaze

@theorangedrummer

@erinblack003

@famdomhideout

@an2402lths

@escapingrealitybyreading

@readyg0erge

@maybesandohnos

@therealhouseelvesofhogwarts

#Fred Weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x reader

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Text

Hiiii! Here’s part two of my Katniss and Peeta Taking Of Each Other bookcomb! It’s pretty long so … sorry 😬. There was a lot I didn’t include and a lot I wasn’t sure about including, because so much of Catching Fire and Mockingjay is about them wanting to protect the other but I tried to narrow it down to actual acts that were caring, or times they at least tried to care for the other.

Then, as if I can’t stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips — he still isn’t entirely in command of his artificial leg — and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that’s where we have our first kiss in months. It’s full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I’m not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won’t expose me in front of the cameras. Won’t condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He’s still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry. Instead I pull him to his feet, tuck my glove through the crook of his arm, and merrily pull him on our way.

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building. The Peacekeepers follow a pace or two behind us.

Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment.

“He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man.

“He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.”

When my mother has locked the door behind them, I slump against the table.

“What is it?” says Peeta, holding me steadily.

“Oh, I banged up my left foot. The heel. And my tailbone’s had a bad day, too.” He helps me over to one of the rockers and I lower myself onto the padded cushion.

My mother eases off my boots. “What happened?”

“I slipped and fell,” I say. Four pairs of eyes look at me with disbelief. “On some ice.” But we all know the house must be bugged and it’s not safe to talk openly. Not here, not now.

My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I’m so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there.

Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. “Almost thought you’d changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner.”

I’m foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I’d made a run for it, maybe with Gale.

“No, I’d have told you,” I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today.

Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everyone by turning on the television.

Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls’ reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch’s name. He barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta has volunteered to take his place.

“Why would he paint a picture of me, Effie?” I ask, somehow annoyed.

“To show he’s going to do everything he can to defend you. That’s what everyone in the Capitol’s expecting, anyway. Didn’t he volunteer to go in with you?” Effie says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

I lock my fingers tightly into his and say, “Watch my feet. Just try to step where I step.” It helps. We seem to move a little faster, but never enough to afford a rest, and the mist continues to lap at our heels.

Peeta and Finnick and I position ourselves in a triangle, a few yards apart, our backs to one another. My heart sinks as my fingers draw back my last arrow. Then I remember Peeta has a sheath, too. And he’s not shooting, he’s hacking away with that knife. My own knife is out now, but the monkeys are quicker, can spring in and out so fast you can barely react.

“Peeta!” I shout. “Your arrows!”

Peeta turns to see my predicament and is sliding off his sheath when it happens. A monkey lunges out of a tree for his chest. I have no arrow, no way to shoot. I can hear the thud of Finnick’s trident finding another mark and know his weapon is occupied. Peeta’s knife arm is disabled as he tries to remove the sheath. I throw my knife at the oncoming mutt but the creature somersaults, evading the blade, and stays on its trajectory.

Weaponless, defenseless, I do the only thing I can think of. I run for Peeta, to knock him to the ground, to protect his body with mine, even though I know I won’t make it in time.

While I help Peeta coat his skin with the ointment, Finnick deftly cleans the meat from the shellfish.

I stretch out, pressing my hot cheek on the grass mat, staring at the thing in aggravation. Peeta rubs a tense spot between my shoulders and I let myself relax a little.

I know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins.

“It’s all right, Katniss,” he whispers.

“Katniss!” I hear his voice though he’s a far distance away. But what is he doing? Peeta must have figured out that everyone is hunting us by now. “Katniss!”

I can’t protect him. I can’t move fast or far and my shooting abilities are questionable at best. I do the one thing I can to draw the attackers away from him and over to me. “Peeta!” I scream out. “Peeta! I’m here! Peeta!” Yes, I will draw them in, any in my vicinity, away from Peeta and over to me and the lightning tree that will soon be a weapon in and of itself. “I’m here! I’m here!” He won’t make it. Not with that leg in the night. He will never make it in time. “Peeta!”

I’m rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I’m in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I’m devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. “When the war is over, if we’ve won, Peeta will be pardoned.”

At the mention of my name, Peeta’s face contorts in effort. “Katniss . . . how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you . . . in Thirteen . . .” He inhales sharply, as if fighting for air; his eyes look insane. “Dead by morning!”

Off camera, Snow orders, “End it!” Beetee throws the whole thing into chaos by flashing a still shot of me standing in front of the hospital at three-second intervals. But between the images, we are privy to the real-life action being played out on the set. Peeta’s attempt to continue speaking. The camera knocked down to record the white tiled floor. The scuffle of boots. The impact of the blow that’s inseparable from Peeta’s cry of pain.

And his blood as it splatters the tiles.

I poke around in the pile, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Peeta holds out a can to me. “Here.” I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads LAMB STEW.

I press my lips together at the memories of rain dripping through stones, my inept attempts at flirting, and the aroma of my favorite Capitol dish in the chilly air. So some part of it must still be in his head, too. How happy, how hungry, how close we were when that picnic basket arrived outside our cave.

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. “There’s still time. You should sleep.” Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn’t recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It’s the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena.

“You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers.

“Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.” After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

“Katniss!” He whips his head toward me but doesn’t seem to notice my bow, the waiting arrow. “Katniss! Get out of here!”

I hesitate. His voice is alarmed, but not insane. “Why? What’s making that sound?”

“I don’t know. Only that it has to kill you,” says Peeta. “Run! Get out! Go!”

It’s a long shot, it’s suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don’t let him take you from me.”

Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I don’t want to . . .”

I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.”

His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs.

I help Peeta up and address Pollux.

While Cressida and Pollux make fur nests for each of us, I attend to Peeta’s wrists. Gently rinsing away the blood, putting on an antiseptic, and bandaging them beneath the cuffs.

By the time I make it back to the fence, I’m so sick and dizzy, Thom has to give me a ride home in the dead people’s cart. Help me to the sofa in the living room, where I watch the dust motes spin in the thin shafts of afternoon light.

My head snaps around at the hiss, but it takes awhile to believe he’s real. How could he have gotten here? I take in the claw marks from some wild animal, the back paw he holds slightly above the ground, the prominent bones in his face. He’s come on foot, then, all the way from 13. Maybe they kicked him out or maybe he just couldn’t stand it there without her, so he came looking.

[…]

Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. “She’s dead.” I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down on my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. “She’s dead, you stupid cat. She’s dead.” A new sound, part crying, part singing, comes out of my body, giving voice to my despair. Buttercup begins to wail as well. No matter what I do, he won’t go. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body, until eventually I fall unconscious. But he must understand. He must know that the unthinkable has happened and to survive will require previously unthinkable acts. Because hours later, when I come to in my bed, he’s there in the moonlight. Crouched beside me, yellow eyes alert, guarding me from the night.

Peeta, bearing a warm loaf of bread, shows up with Greasy Sae. She makes us breakfast and I feed all my bacon to Buttercup.

I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway.

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver.

#everlark #thg #thgagain #bookcomb ♥️🔎#hunger games #katniss everdeen #Peeta mellark #catching fire #mockingjay #long post

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plant-flwrs · 4 years

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house unity // fred weasley

masterlist!

a/n: this story has taken me so long and i feel like i’ve poured my blood, sweat, and tears into it. i love it a lot and you can really tell what i was watching/ doing in each sections lol. for example, the dramatic ending is courtesy of the heart wrenching sylvia plath poems i was reading earlier today lol :’) also i made the reader a ravenclaw because im a ravenclaw and i felt like it hehe. n e way! hope you all like it and pls leave feedback if you have any! like, rb, follow <3

summary: Fred Weasley and you have a bit of a love hate relationship, however, on Fred’s behalf its more love than hate. Dating a Ravenclaw would be a great stride in house unity, wouldn’t it?

(disclaimer: when i describe the differences in the twins i mean the actors! especially since she who shall not be named did not give us much about their physical differences >:/ i found the info from fandom.com so it may be wrong, but i went with it. also, i made up a few things for this story, like the annual Christmas ball)

(8.7k)

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You wished you could enjoy some things as easily as your peers could.

You didn’t like most sweets from Honeydukes, you didn’t care for Quidditch, but you especially hated the Weasley twin’s pranks.

In your first year, just weeks after arriving at Hogwarts, you had met Fred and George. You had been unable to answer the riddle to enter the Ravenclaw common room, so you decided to take a walk around the grounds.

You just turned the corner to the courtyard, when a hard snowball hit you square in the face. The sheer force of it made you stumble backyards, and you barely had time to wipe the snow off your face before another one hit you hard in the back. You were unable to keep your balance and tumbled forwards. Your hands braced your fall and scraped against the rough stone harshly. Your palms stained the snow red as they began to bleed. You barely had time to nurse them before another snowball, this time the size of a Quaffle, plummeted onto your head. It pushed you face-first into the snow, and you recovered quicker, not wanting to stay there for any longer. You whirled around, looking for anyone who could have seen who did that. You saw two boys with flaming red hair running away, and you followed them.

You caught them just before they entered the castle, all three of you winded. They were twins.

“Did you see who did that? Was it you?” you had pried, and both of them looked giddy.

“What’d you mean?” the shorter of the two answered immaturely.

The other looked down at your hands and robes, seeing blood still flowing from your palms, and your stained tights. He glanced at his brother, who was still laughing about it all and shoved his shoulder.

“You git,” he mumbled to his brother, “she’s bleeding,” he took your hands in his and tried to wipe some of the blood off, only for it to stain the sleeves of his sweater.

“Oh, gross!” the shorter one exclaimed, backing away from the two of you.

“How did you two do that?” you asked, pulling your hands away from the kinder one.

“Bewitched ‘em,” the short one said arrogantly before his brother could stop him.

“You bewitched them to attack me?” you felt tears stinging your eyes and hoped the taller one wouldn’t notice that too.

“Well, we didn’t mean ‘em to go after you,” the kind one said quickly, trying to rub the blood out of his shirt.

“Yeah, but it was still a laugh,” the shorter one said, nudging his brother’s shoulder good spiritedly.

“Shut up, Fred,” he mumbled, obviously annoyed, “we’re sorry about your hands, we didn’t mean for it to happen, honest.”

Fred watched you silently as you swallowed hard, only able to nod at them, accepting the boys’ apology. You turned on your heal and went to the infirmary, hoping Madam Pomfrey could mend your cuts. You had wiped your tears all the way there.

In your third year, you had been told there would be a Christmas ball. You had been stuffed in a large room with the Gryffindors, and you bumped shoulder to shoulder with a boy who had long dreadlocks.

Professor McGonagall and Flitwick stood in the center of the room, a large record player was next to them.

“As some of you may know, there is an annual Christmas Ball here at Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall explained, looking sharply at the Gryffindors.

“Professor McGonagall and I have a tradition,” Flitwick said, casting a glance at the Ravenclaws, “of holding a class on how to dance properly at these events.”

“Think of it as charity,” McGonagall said devilishly, “we wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourselves.”

Flitwick stifled a laugh and moved his wand to turn on the music. Loud, old-sounding music blared from the ancient device and you looked confused at your teachers.

“Everyone, pair up!”

An awkward haze fell over the room of third years. None of you knew how to talk to the opposite sex, let alone dance with them. You turned to look around you, accidentally making eye contact with the Gryffindor boy with dreads. His eyes widened when they saw yours, and his friends behind you noticed. You looked at his friends, only to see Fred and George Weasley. You rolled your eyes at the two, but their friend was jolted forwards.

He bumped into you, Fred having pushed him lightly on the back.

“Go on Lee!” Fred shouted, laughing loudly.

People were moving to the center of the room in pairs, and Lee looked at you nervously. He held his hand out to you.

“Want to dance?” He asked you shyly.

You took his hand with worry, nervous about the wicked grin the twins had. That grin always worried you.

You let Lee lead you out to the floor, falling in line with everyone else. You both watched McGonagall looking around for a partner for her to demonstrate with.

Fred’s obnoxious laugh cut through the room, and her eyes landed on him.

“Perfect! Mr. Weasley, come be my partner.”

He groaned and moved forwards, his brother laughing loudly. Beside you, Lee had a wide smile.

“Place your hand on my waist,” she said flatly.

“Your what?” he repeated, his eyes going wide.

“My waist, don’t be daft,” she replied, moving his hand to the right place.

It seemed everyone’s cheeks had gone red due to stifled laughter. Lee bumped into you as he doubled over, not trying to contain himself.

In your fifth year, you were made a prefect.

You were hesitant to accept the position, feeling a bit tied down by the prat status that came with the responsibility.

Wearing your slightly dusted badge, you had never polished it like you saw Percy doing every second of his life, you led a group of Ravenclaw first years up the stairs.

“Right this way,” you shouted over their heads, making sure no one got lost.

“Who had the sense to make you a prefect?” Fred taunted, coming up from behind you and flicking your ear.

You moved to swat his hand away, but he had already jumped back.

“Shove off, Fred,” you shot him a glare and turned back to the children, “the stairs can get a bit confusing, so watch your step!”

Fred watched you admirably, noticing the way your voice changed to a sweet sound when you spoke to anyone but him.

“Yeah, watch the stairs!” Fred shouted, pulling you by your elbow onto a new staircase.

The steps moved away from the first years, taking you and Fred to the opposite corridor you wanted to go down. You looked down and realized how close you were to the edge. Without thinking, you grabbed onto Fred’s robes, pulling him closer to you. He tilted forward and nearly lost his balance, which would have sent you both down. He flung his hand out and firmly held onto the railing, suspending the both of you over the edge for a moment before he pulled you back up. You were close to his chest, still holding onto him until the stairs stopped moving. You hadn’t meant to close your eyes, but when you finally opened them you saw your group of first-years looking at you from the other staircase, seeming absolutely terrified.

You leaped from Fred’s embrace, sending him stumbling back a bit. You marched up the stairs to loop back to the first years and heard Fred calling after you.

“Going so soon?” you heard his laugh echoing off the walls of the room.

For most of your life, your interactions with Fred Weasley were that simple. Maybe once a year you two would spit some insults at the other, and be on your way, not to speak to each other until next year.

However, when you walked into your Transfiguration class, late by a few minutes due to your prefect duties, you felt a punch in the gut when you saw flaming red hair.

The punch in the gut was increased tenfold when you saw that the only empty seat was next to the flaming red hair.

Breathing deeply and sending a fake smile his way, you sat uncomfortably next to Fred.

It would have been difficult to tell them apart, but your observant eye had always been able to. Besides a few odd growth spurts they were prone to, George usually came out the taller of the two. Fred also had a small scar on his left eyebrow.

“Oh hello, prefect,” Fred said lazily, drawing back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head.

The bottom of his shirt rose a little and you willed your eyes to not look at the toned bit of stomach that peeked through.

“Weasley,” you said, pulling your textbook out of your bag.

“Looking forward to your new prat duties?”

“More than I’m looking forward to sitting with you,” you pushed your hair behind your ear and out of your eyes, Fred stared at the side of your face.

“Always so charming,” he finally drawled, leaning forwards and tugging his sweater down.

Something about Fred always made you want the last word, the last laugh.

“Only for you, Fred.”

In professor McGonagall’s opinion, Fred Weasley had the littlest appreciation for time of all the students she had taught.

He wasted his time in the common room, in the Great Hall, and in the hallways.

Even during her Transfiguration class.

He was happy to spend his time with what he thought was shamelessly flirting with you, and McGonagall was happy to embarrass him while he did it.

“Mister Weasley?”

Fred turned to look at McGonagall’s severe face. Before he could say any excuse, insisting that you were talking too, she waved her wand at his desk. His book flew open to the right page, and a force that was not his own was pushing his head into the book. His hair fell in front of his face, and you could tell he was fighting against the spell McGonagall was using.

Fred seemed to be tamed by McGonagall after that and didn’t bother you for the rest of the class. On the way out, he held the door open for you. He called out to you in the hallway.

“Good luck with that weird rash, Y/n!” you felt your cheeks burn furiously as laughs sounded off in the hallway. You turned to see Fred watching you walk away, and lifted both of your middle fingers in the air to him.

“So classy!” he called back.

“Shove! OFF!” you yelled, shouting over the now deafening laughter in the hallway.

You were already dreading the upcoming months.

You were right to, for class with Fred did not get any easier.

You traded your thin tights for thicker ones and your light dress shirt for a heavy sweater. Your blue scarf was wrapped tightly around your neck, and you didn’t bother to pin your prefect badge on it these days.

“Miss, y/l/n, you must remember your badge,” McGonagall said as you came into class.

You looked down at your scarf, patting your robes until you felt the metal. Lifting up your scarf and showing the professor the badge underneath it, you gave her a reassuring smile.

She nodded approvingly and waved her hand, you moved to your seat.

Before you could put your things down, Fred was looking at you. You could hear the gears turning in his head, thinking of something presumably rude to say to you.

“Weasley,” you said first, hoping this would inspire him to stop looking at you.

He blinked at you, before smiling and turning back to his textbook.

“Today, we’re going to be learning a vanishing spell,” McGonagall started.

You had already turned to the page before she told it to you, you had read through the entire textbook over the summer.

You heard Fred scoff next to you, but ignored him.

Looking down at the directions in the book, you had remembered your successful attempt at making one of your father’s shoes disappear. He had been so proud of you, he didn’t care that he only had one brown Oxford instead of two.

“How did you do that?” Fred asked, watching as you easily made the rat in front of you vanish.

“Practice,” you said absently, turning your head to look back into the textbook.

Fred began to try the spell himself, his focus on the goblet he had taken from the great hall. He did the right wand movements, but his pronunciation was all wrong. You watched as the spell rebounded off the goblet and hit his tie, making the bottom half of it vanish. His hand flew to his chest, his mouth curved in a disbelieving grin when he didn’t feel the point of his tie.

“Well, bloody hell, that could have been much worse,” he gasped out, pushing his hair off his face and leaning back in his chair.

You couldn’t help the small nervous laugh that escaped your lips, but you were able to stifle it quickly. Fred had noticed your smile and glanced at you, happy to amuse you.

The two of you sat in silence for a bit, Fred regaining his composure after nearly vanishing himself. You pretended to read your book, but you had already read the page dozens of times. You wanted an excuse to not talk to Fred.

“Ever going to turn the page?” Fred asked from beside you, and you became very aware of his eyes on the side of your face.

“I’m absorbing the information,” you replied flatly, keeping your head in the book to hide your blush.

He laughed, sitting straight in his seat. He seemed to be attempting the spell again. You bit your lip as you watched him practice, wondering if you should correct him so he doesn’t hurt himself.

He had just begun to say the spell when you placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait!” he glanced at you and your hand on his shoulder, smirking at you.

“Yes, darling?”

You rolled your eyes and felt the urge to gag. Your face crinkled in disgust and Fred smiled.

“Your pronunciation is wrong.”

“Well go on then,” he said, urging you to continue.

“Evanesco,” you said simply, but Fred’s eyes wrinkled in confusion.

“That’s what I’m saying,” he said, turning back to the goblet but lowering his wand, “Evenesco.”

He had replaced the ‘a’ with an ‘e’ sound, but he hadn’t heard it, you supposed.

“It’s ev-an-es-co,” you said slowly, placing your pronunciation on the ‘an’, “you’re saying ev-en-es-co.”

His eyebrows raised, finally understanding. He repeated it to you slowly, and you nodded your head when he said it right.

He smiled confidently, casting the spell on his goblet. The goblet turned foggy, and Fred could wave his hand through it like it was a ghost.

He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“This is miserable,” he groaned.

You waved your wand and said the verbal part of the spell, finishing off the goblet. It completely disappeared and Fred let out another groan, rolling his head back in annoyance.

“You’re miserable,” he said to you teasingly.

You looked at him through your lashes, your brows furrowed, “Whatever, Fred,” your face grimaced in annoyance, “I’m just trying to help, your welcome, by the way.”

You pulled your bag onto your lap and began to pack up your books.

Fred let out a sigh like he was going to say something. You turned to him, but he merely shook his head.

“Forget it,” he said, seeming to be at a loss of words.

You stood from your seat the second McGonagall dismissed class, leaving Fred at your shared desk.

“She’s totally into me!”

“She hates your guts, mate,” George said, pulling his lips into a thin-lined sympathy smile.

Fred scoffed and shook his head, his long hair falling over his forehead.

“You don’t get it,” he pressed, determined to make George see.

“She looks like she wants to throw herself into the Forbidden Forest every time she sees you,” George replied, determined to stop his brother from future heartbreak.

“Whatever, just you watch,” Fred said, tossing his Quidditch broom from hand to hand and looking at the massive stands above them, empty for the practice, “in a few weeks she’ll be in one of those seats, cheering me on.”

“He’s lost it,” Harry mumbled to George as he walked past, baffled by Fred’s dazed look.

George nodded hastily, following Harry away from his lovesick brother.

Fred was not often detoured by anyone’s cautionary guidance, so the endless warnings from George slid off his ego like melted butter.

Fred had spent so much time in the last Quidditch match with his eyes glued to the Ravenclaw student section, looking for you, that he had barely hit any bludgers the entire game. Oliver had some tasteful words for him in the changing rooms, but it was no worse than his mother’s screaming.

You were not at the Quidditch match, you never were. You had always used the advantage of the empty castle to go to the kitchens. The elves were the only ones left there, and you liked talking with them. Some times Luna would join you.

It seemed you and Fred were going opposite directions while searching for each other at the same time.

No matter how many cookies Dobby shoved towards you and Luna, you could not get Fred out of your head.

You thought about his arms wrapped around you on the stairs, you thought about the way he could always make your cheeks burn, and you thought of the way his eyes poured into your face like it was the only thing he’d ever seen. You hated him. He was rude, arrogant, and annoying. He ran around your head constantly.

McGonagall had some choice words for Fred that night after the match. The sulking from the loss had been toned down, but the hushed sounds of Oliver’s feet pounding against the floor in his bedroom could be heard all the way from the common room.

“Where is Wood?” she burst through the portrait hole, still in her robes she wore to the match.

“He’s upstairs, why?” Harry replied, looking nervous.

“I need to have a word with him,” she cast a glance at Fred, “and his methods of training his beaters.”

Fred and George both shot from where they sat on the couch.

“What?” George yelled.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Mister Weasley,” she squinted at them, “whichever one of you was looking around at the Rave-” she stopped before she could finish her sentence as if she had an epiphany.

Her pursed lips twisted into an evil looking smile.

“You know, Mister Weasley,” she took a step towards the boys and spoke to them only, “dating a Ravenclaw would show great strides in house unity,” Fred’s eyes bulged out of his head and George was already turning pink with laughter, “perhaps then you could focus on Quidditch again.”

George was nearly purple due to lack of air, and Harry’s mouth was agape in shock as McGonagall whisked her robes and swiftly climbed back out of the portrait hole.

“What is she on about?” Harry asked George.

Fred flopped onto the couch and covered his face with his hands. His life was over. If McGonagall could catch onto something like that, couldn’t you? You hadn’t started to flirt back, and Fred was beginning to wonder if George was right about your feelings towards him.

Soon enough, George was spouting everything McGonagall had said before he could catch his breath. He told anyone in the common room how much you hated Fred, and how much he desperately fancied you. Fred figured there was no use to stop him, because once again, if McGonagall could catch on, couldn’t everyone else?

Sunday morning was always rough for you. You pulled your heavy quilt closer to your cold cheeks, hoping for the sun to go back down and the weekend to restart. It never did.

You slipped on a pair of jeans and a tight turtle neck. Still feeling the cold air of the castle seeping through, you pulled on a sweater over the turtle neck. You tugged on some wool socks and pulled the fabric of the shirt as high up your neck as it would go.

You and Luna had plans to go to Hagrid’s hut today, he had promised her some magical flower seeds he had found in his garden. You liked to spend time with Luna, she was an easing presence and you always knew how to talk to her, even if most people didn’t.

You clutched an old muggle novel to your chest, hoping to trap some of your body heat. The hallways were surprisingly crowded for a Sunday morning, and you glanced at your watch, seeing breakfast had just ended.

You noticed that a lot of students with red ties were looking at you oddly. They would see you and smile widely, as if you were a new friend to them. You kept your head down until you met Luna in front of the great hall.

“Did you hear the news?” she asked before she even greeted you.

“What?”

“I just saw Harry, he said McGonagall told Fred to ask you out.”

You laughed, expecting her to do so as well. She didn’t and her face stayed stoic. She began to walk outside.

You were locked into place for a second before you jumped into line with her.

“What?” you repeated.

“Harry told me-” she began, but you waved your hands, cutting her off.

“No, I heard you, but what do you mean? What did McGonagall say?”

Luna had to have finally gone loony.

“He told me that after they lost Quidditch yesterday, she came in looking for Fred, she said he was quite distracted during the match,” she said, looking dreamily at you, “and she said something about how dating a Ravenclaw would be great for house unity,” Luna finished, toying with the tote bag at her side.

“Why did Harry think the Ravenclaw had to be me?” you asked, thinking there was a huge misunderstanding.

“Oh, well,” she said like she had forgotten a large part of the story, “after George heard what McGonagall said, he lost it. Harry said he laughed so hard he cried,” Luna giggled to herself while imagining the sight, “and he told everyone in the common room that Fred fancied you.”

Your face turned bright red with anger and embarrassment. The entire Gryffindor house had been laughing all night because George said Fred fancied you.

You were about to burst into protests, insist that it’s not true, but a gaggle of second years wearing red ties all pointed at you, talking among themselves.

You stepped towards them, making sure your prefect badge was visible. You watched their eyes flash down to the blue pin, and back up at your face, eyes wide. They scurried off and you fell back into place with Luna.

“That was rude of them,” Luna said, looping her arm with yours.

“Yeah,” you said quietly under your breath, your mind cloudy with thoughts.

You and Luna walked quietly out to Hagrid’s. You glanced up and saw the last person you had wanted to see.

Fred and George stood at the point where the path diverged to the Quidditch pitch and Hagrid’s hut, throwing a little flame-like ball to each other, bouncing it off their arms, feet, and chests. A small group of some younger kids had huddled around them, ‘ooing’ and ‘awing’ at each pass.

Fred had a large smile on his face, and the sight of it made your stomach churn with nerves.

You ducked your head down, hoping you and Luna would pass without a problem. You would not.

“Hi Fred,” Luna lifted a hand to wave at him, and the small light fell onto the ground as Fred saw you, “hi George.”

George smiled evilly at the sight of his brother nervously looking anywhere but you.

“Fun looking game your playing,” Luna said, trying to stop to talk, but you dragged her along.

“See you later Luna, Y/n!” George called out to the two of you, the laughter obvious in his voice.

“Why didn’t you want to talk to them? You could have asked Fred about what Harry said,” Luna asked you soothingly, looking at you curiously.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, feeling very overwhelmed, “it’s weird. I don’t even know what happened but the thought of it is so weird,” you paused, trying to grasp the words, “I mean, Fred can’t like me. We detest each other, its fun.”

“Well, do you like him?” she had asked the one question you were avoiding.

Fred had always been a thorn in your side. Ever since you met him he was rude. He never apologized for anything, he laughed, poked, and prodded at you for his own amusement. Yet, whenever you saw his soft-looking hair, you swallowed hard. When he inched closer to you, even just to whisper something rude, you felt your chest tighten. He looked at you, and you could swear he actually cared about what you were saying. Maybe detest was a little strong, perhaps just annoyed.

Granted, he was a teenage boy, and you are a teenage girl, mixed messages are bound to be sent. You thought you had been clear with your messages to Fred, though. “Leave me alone,” nothing bitter, nothing kind, just the wish to be left alone. Of course, Fred did not read your message that way. The enticing message he got was more along the lines of: “I’m going to pretend I want you to leave me alone, but please, don’t. Chase me through the hallways, confess undying love for me, kiss me passionately”. Now, it is entirely possible that Fred’s interpretation was a little clouded by his own wants and wishes, but this did not stop him.

The talk of the castle, for at least the following school week, was you and Fred.

You had never been whispered about, pointed at, or thought of like this. Fred seemed to be enjoying it.

In class Monday, Fred pretended nothing had happened. He swung his arm over the back of your chair and waited for the look of disgust to flash across your face, which it did, and he chuckled to himself.

Soon enough, the whispers and pointing had subsided, and they were replaced by odd looks as if they were disbelieving of something.

Luna found you in the courtyard sitting under a tree and skipped over to you.

“You hadn’t told me Fred asked you out,” she wiggled her eyebrows, “officially.”

Once again, you laughed, but she did not. She sat in front of you, crossing her legs.

“Oh my-” you trailed off, lifting your head to look at Luna, “what’s happened now?”

“Hermione told me that Fred has been raving to everyone about how you’re dating.”

Your eyes were wild with disbelief. You couldn’t have even comprehended what was going on at this school these days.

“Well, no one’s told me that we’re dating,” you said, your voice riddled with annoyance.

In perfect timing, Fred, George, and Lee bounded from the school and out to the courtyard. They were laughing and shoving each other, looking to be having a great time.

You stood from the ground, dusting off your pants and walking over to the three with fury.

“Fred!” you called out to him, and he stopped and turned to you.

A look of fear flashed on his face, but he covered it with something else, was it admiration? Love?

You clenched your jaw and narrowed your eyes, stepping close to him. He tilted his head down to look at you, a small smile on his lips.

Around you, George, Lee, and Luna stood with their arms crossed, watching intently.

Your bodies were almost touching, and your finger stabbed into his chest.

“Who do you think you are?” you said in a hushed tone through gritted teeth.

Once again, Fred’s face fell for a moment, before he wrapped his arms around your waist in some sort of embrace. You squirmed from his touch and backed away from him.

“Who do you think you are?” you repeated, this time louder. George and Lee flinched from behind you.

“What do you mean, sweetheart?” he asked sweetly.

Your face twisted with confusion, what is he on about?

“What?”

He continued, stepping closer to you.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked earnestly, moving to rub his hand on your arm.

He was trying to flip the script, make you feel crazy.

“Fred, you’ve lost it, really,” you replied, walking back to the tree to gather your books.

“Maybe when you’ve regained consciousness,” you walked back up to him, keeping your distance, “or the effects of whatever potion you took start to wear off, please try to explain what is going on.”

You walked away from them, leaving Fred with a wicked smile.

“Alright, see you later!” he called out to you.

You turned your head to look at him, your hair blew in front of your face but Fred could see your puzzled expression. His smirk grew wider and he turned to George, Lee, and Luna. They looked awfully concerned.

“Oh,” he placed his hands on his hips, “isn’t she great?”

You had gotten to Transfiguration early, your prefect duties switched for the week. You crossed your legs and placed a book on them, reading discretely while McGonagall was still in her office.

Just as she began to address the class, Fred strolled in, hands in his pockets. He slipped into the seat next to you and you bookmarked your page. You scooted your chair in and slipped the worn book into your bag, listening to McGonagall begin her lecture. Monday’s were often boring lecture days in Transfiguration.

You heard the screech of Fred’s chair on the floor, and in the corner of your eye saw him moving closer to you. He rested his elbow on the desk and placed his chin in his palm. He leaned close to you.

“Hello,” he whispered, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You ignored him, dipping your quill into your ink in case McGonagall said something note-worthy.

“What’s ‘a matter,” he paused as if he was thinking of the most annoying thing to say to you, “darling?”

You audibly gagged, and his smile widened.

“What do you want?” you caved, asking him.

“Oh nothing,” he leaned back in his chair, still whispering to you, “just for you to be my girlfriend.”

You went rigid. Your face suddenly got very warm. You lost grip of your quill and it toppled over your ink, sending dark liquid across the desk and onto your white sleeve. You cursed loudly out of reflex and it caught McGonagall’s attention.

“Excuse me, Miss Y/l/n?”

Everyone turned to look at you and Fred in the back of the room, some people smirking. Fred stayed leaned back in his chair, watching you.

“I’m sorry Professor,” you stumbled out, wiping both the ink and your sleeve at the same time, making both things worse, “I just-”

Fred pulled his wand out from beside you and did a simple cleaning spell, you supposed. The ink receded back into its bottle and the stain on your sleeve disappeared. McGonagall watched him intently.

“Very resourceful Weasley, Miss Y/l/n, please don’t disrupt my class again,” she said curtly, returning to the lesson.

You heard a few snickers from your classmates, your face still a deep shade of red. You swallowed hard as you felt your heart beating in your ears.

Fred leaned forward again so his mouth was aligned with your ear.

“What do you say?” he whispered.

“What are you talking about Fred? Why are you doing all this?” you asked, straining to keep your desperate voice in a whisper.

“I’m only having some fun,” he replied as if he hadn’t been making your life a living hell for the past weeks.

You shot him a pleading look, and when he saw your flushed cheeks and watery eyes, his face softened.

“Hey,” he placed a hand on your knee, a knot formed in your throat and shivers went down your arms, “I didn’t mean to-” he trailed off and your jaw clenched. You returned your gaze to the front of the class.

“Listen, I’ve just been,” he paused, searching for the words, “I’ve been playing a sort of prank. On everyone but us.”

His tone was soft and playful as if he were letting you in on a secret. You supposed he was.

You raised your eyebrows, pressing him to continue.

“Well, George basically told everyone in our house that I fancy you, so I wanted to have some fun with it, switch it on them.”

You pressed your eyebrows together, still looking to the front of the room while Fred was inches away from your ear.

“I’ve told everyone we’re dating,” he said plainly, “house unity and all, as McGonagall said.”

“So that was true? What Harry told Luna?” you said before you could stop yourself, happy to finally get answers.

“Well, I don’t know exactly what Harry said, but I’m sure he didn’t leave anything out.”

“Why did George tell everyone that? That you,” you trailed off, feeling the words choking in your mouth, “that you fancy me?”

“Because I do,” he said quickly, and just as quickly moved on, “so what do you say? Want to be my girlfriend-” he paused, realizing what he had just said, “well, my girlfriend of sorts, not like my real girlfriend, because I’m sure you wouldn’t want to, and-” he stopped himself.

This time it was his turn for his cheeks to burn and his eyes to awkwardly avoid yours.

“Why do all this? Seems a lot for a joke that no one but us will laugh at,” you said, trying to ignore his confession.

“I’m willing to go to the ends of the Earth for a joke, my dear.”

Fred was dreadfully serious when saying that, and this became clear within hours.

Walking past the Dungeons and up the many stairs to your common room, you heard Fred call out to you.

“Wait up!” he was breaking away from a large group of Gryffindors, and all of them watched him with a keen eye,

“What, Fred?”

“Hey, that's not a very girlfriend-y tone,” he wrapped his arm easily around you.

You were sure it was meant to be sweet, but it felt a bit imprisoning.

“I never agreed to this,” you didn’t shake off his arm, but you felt inclined to. You were aware of the many eyes pouring into your back.

“I thought we had? Oh,” his arm left your shoulder, and you felt a little colder, “well then I suppose I could leave it all be, go back on my word, humiliate myself.”

His tone was a playful one, and you couldn’t help the bashful smile that reached your cheeks. You knew you had no obligation to Fred, but the whispers and gossip had seemed to subside during this new joke of his. You stopped at the landing, and the group of Gryffindors walked past you, staring at you both. Fred waved them off and nodded his head towards you, smiling.

“Why should I?” you clutched some textbooks to your chest, feeling grateful for the wall it put between you and Fred. He looked down at you, his hair falling into his forehead.

“Well,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets, inching closer to you, “as I said, I just think it could be a bit of fun.”

“Fun for you. What’s in it for me?”

“What? Besides utter fame and popularity from being associated with me?”

“Oh shove off, Fred,” you rolled your eyes at him, but once again could not help the smile that spread across your face.

“See? I’m growing on you already.”

“I’m still seeing no benefit for me.”

“Well, I do see where your coming from, but I’d like to raise another point,” he slipped a hand from his pants and waved it casually while talking, “I will indeed pretend like we are dating even if you don’t.”

“So essentially, you would just be flirting with me while I hurl insults at you?”

He nodded enthusiastically.

“Is that the image you want, Fred?” you teased.

You moved to lean against the wall behind you, and Fred trailed after you.

“Any image is a good one,” he winked dramatically at you.

You shrunk away from him and gagged, sending him into a fit of laughter.

“I hate it already.”

“So you’ll do it?” he asked.

You breathed in, looking at him seriously. His hazel eyes were dark in this light, his hair had gone a deeper red in the lack of warm weather and sunshine. He towered over you slightly, and you looked at him through your lashes.

Shrugging your shoulders, you agreed weakly.

Fred saw the error of his thinking almost immediately. Walking through the hallways with you, he felt his heart soar higher and higher each time you laughed. When you would loosen up, or walk a little closer to him. He was being awfully unfair to himself, making himself think that you had something, some sort of relationship. It was like dangling a treat in front of a dog and wanking it away right when the dog drooled.

He saw the flaming house, and still walked in, looking for a place to sleep.

“Why, hello,” Fred drawled, coming up from behind you in the hall.

You felt his hand snake around your waist, and he pulled you. Your feet twisted from under you and you twirled, turning to face him. Your hair had skewed into your face, and he watched your delicate hand reach up to brush it away.

You looked dazed as if you had a lot on your mind. He smiled down at you and you did your best to reciprocate it.

“Are you alright?” he asked, dropping his hand from your hip.

“Yeah, just-” you took a deep breath in, “just got a lot of homework, been a bit busy with my prefect stuff.”

This was not what was bothering you. You felt a lot of inner conflicts these days, an endless moody and angsty monologue sounding off in your head day and night. You felt odd. You felt odd for agreeing to Fred’s stupid plan. You felt odd for toying with him and yourself. You had disliked him just last month, and now you let him wrap his arm around your shoulder, let him hold your waist. You felt like a traitor to yourself, letting him win you over with a few charming looks. You felt even worse when you thought of Fred’s confession. He had said he fancied you, and the idea of pretending to date him didn’t alarm you for some reason. You hated the feeling of toying with his emotions or allowing him to live out some sort of fantasy. Everything about it made you feel awful.

You didn’t feel as awful, though, when Fred would call out a comment from across the dining hall that would make your cheeks burn and all the other girls swoon. You didn’t feel as awful when he would sit in silence with you by the black lake, keeping you company among the chilling wind. You didn’t feel as awful when he slipped little notes into your bag when you left Transfiguration.

You had enough, one too many genuine looks of admiration. You needed to tell Fred how you felt.

You caught him on his way back from Quidditch practice. He was trailing near the end of the group, huddled with George and Harry. He had some dirt on his forehead, and his cheeks were tinted pink. He smelled of grass and sweat.

You pulled your cardigan tighter around you, wishing you had brought your scarf. Your hair whipped in the wind around you, and you rocked on your feet.

You began walking to him, and when he saw you he smiled widely.

“Hey!” he called out, walking faster to meet you.

“Hi,” you said nervously.

“I’ll meet you guys back in the common room,” he told George and Harry, who glanced over their shoulders at the two of you.

It was dusk and he looked strikingly handsome. You felt like you were seeing him as a different person. He wasn’t the boy who bewitched snowballs to attack you, he wasn’t the boy who laughed at your scraped hands. He wasn’t the boy who shoved Lee at you, and he wasn’t the boy who awkwardly danced with McGonagall. He was the boy who held you in his arms, stopping you from falling over the stairs. He was the boy who looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, he was the boy who held you above anything else.

Your mouth was agape as you looked at him, he stood awkwardly waiting for you to say something. You looked at the ground, licking your lips and feeling them dry as soon as the cold air grazed them again.

“I wanted to talk to you,” you said quietly, hoping your voice would fade into the wind and carry you away.

“What’s up?” he looked down at you nervously.

“Fred, I-” he cut you off, placing a hand on your arm.

“You can’t do this anymore?” he looked deeply at you but you couldn’t meet his eyes.

You didn’t want to have this talk anymore, you felt content, suddenly, in pretending. You could both pretend to love each other until it wasn’t pretending. The lines would blur and soon, his kisses would come easily and his hands would have their place on you. You would touch his soft hair and know his eyes only looked at you. But you had already said the words, or rather, he did.

“I just,” you kicked the dirt beneath you, hoping he would finish your sentence again, he didn’t.

“I don’t think its fair,” you looked up at him finally and felt surprised to feel tears in your eyes, you blinked, forcing them to subside, “to either of us.”

You heard him gulp, and his eyes moved to look at the castle behind you. The candles had been lit and the stone glowed from the inside.

“I get it,” he said, removing his hand from your arm.

You looked down at where his hand had been and felt a tear drip down your cheek.

“Fred-”

He shook his head, pulling his mouth into a line. You stopped talking, feeling the words stuck in your heart.

You really wished you hadn’t said anything. You wished you could pretend again.

He walked past you, leaving you in the dusk. You hadn’t meant to, but a sob escaped your mouth. You heard his feet shuffle for a moment, and stop. He walked back to you.

He had finally been able to fall asleep among the fire, and it seemed you had come to join him at some point. He didn’t know when, but looking at you now, it seemed you had been burning for a while.

“What’s got you so torn up about this?” he said gently, stopping a few paces away from you, “Didn’t fall in love with me, did ya?”

A laugh fell from your lips at the same time another sob did. Your shoulders hunched over more, and Fred’s heart hurt him. He walked to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turned to face him, and you both moved at the same time. He pulled you close into his chest and your cheek pressed against him. He smelled, he was dirty, and he was tired, but he still held you tighter than you had ever been held before.

You pulled away from him after a while, coming to terms with yourself in the moment of affection. You wiped your tears from your face with your sleeve, taking a few deep breaths.

“I think,” you hiccuped, feeling it hard to speak, “I think that the pretending was too hard.”

Fred felt guilt wash over him. He felt guilty for himself, because you had said exactly what he was feeling. He couldn’t stand to pretend, to keep himself from gripping your hand, or from kissing you any chance he got. He wanted it all to be real, he wanted this wall between you to crumble into a genuine relationship. He felt guilty for making you feel this way. He felt guilty for pressuring you into this allusion of intimacy. He hadn’t stopped to consider if this would be negative for you, only insisting it would all work out for the best.

As he watched your uneven breathing and swollen nose and eyes, he knew this was not the best.

He breathed hard, forcing himself not to cry as he looked at you. George was supposed to be the sensitive one, but Fred had always been a sympathetic crier.

“Me too,” he replied, his voice sounding far, far away.

You looked at him, feeling terrified. The cold air was moving through you liked you were transparent. Tears kept flowing down your face, and no matter how fast you dried them, you only cried more. Your head felt miles away from your body, so you stepped closer to him, hoping to step closer to yourself too.

“I don’t think I want to pretend,” you croaked out.

He blinked at you, and you saw a single tear fall down his cheek. He didn’t move to brush it away, and it moved slowly. It left a clean mark on his dirt-stained face.

You took a step towards him, covering your hand with your sleeve. You cupped the back of his neck with one hand and brought your sleeved hand to his cheek. You wiped the tear and the dirt away, but your hand didn’t move. You peaked your fingers from your sleeve and they grazed his face. His eyes fluttered closed and your throat tightened as more tears poured from your eyes. Your vision was blurry as you traced his face, moving over his nose, eyebrows, and lips. You stopped to cup his cheek, and he leaned into your palm. You felt the wetness of more tears fall onto your hand, and you bit your lips, holding in a wretched noise.

“Fred?”

His eyes fluttered open, and you realized his hands had found their way onto your waist, he held you tightly.

“Do you want to pretend?” you asked him.

He moved his head from your cheek and kept his wet eyes locked with yours.

“I want you,” his voice was hoarse and sad, but that was all you needed to hear.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck and he wrapped his arms around you tightly.

The dusk had turned into the night, and you pulled away from Fred. You looked up at him and swallowed away the tears that remained. You began to walk past him and up to the castle. He followed you quickly.

You were scared. You had safety in pretending, knowing this was all something for fun. But as you looked at Fred now, you saw something deeper. You saw the threat of genuine love and connection, the threat of heartbreak.

Neither of you wanted to go without the other tonight, you had decided. You wordlessly followed him to his common room, and he slipped his hand into yours. You had both ducked into a prefect bathroom on the way there, looking at yourselves and covering your swollen eyes.

He said the password to a portrait of a large lady, and she looked suspiciously at you both.

“Are you two alright? You’ve just about missed curfew,” she said, her voice booming through the staircase.

“Yeah, we’re alright, just tired from practice, is all,” Fred reassured her, and the door swung open. He walked in first, and you followed.

You relished in the warmth of the spacious room, feeling drawn to the fireplace. You walked over to it and sat on a large couch. The room was relatively empty, a few kids hunched over books.

Fred sat next to you, still in his Quidditch robes. He grabbed your legs with his hand and guided them to rest on one of his legs, hanging over it. This angled your body to him, and he moved his arm to wrap around you.

“When did you realize?” he asked, his face lit by the fire.

“Just then, when you walked up to me after your practice.”

His chest moved with a chuckle and you moved your head to looked up at him.

“Well that's a little embarrassing for me,” he said, pushing a piece of your hair out of your face while you gazed up at him, “I've known since I met you.”

“Shut up, no you didn’t,” you said lightly, assuming he was trying to be some sort of romantic and inflating the truth.

“I did,” he said seriously, “I teased you for so long for a reason.”

“Because you’re an idiot?”

“Yes.”

You both laughed, pulling each other closer.

“And because I liked you.”

You rolled your eyes, sinking deeper into him. You felt yourself getting tired and you peered up at him. His eyes were half-closed and his face was drooping.

“Fred, you’re tired, why don’t you go to bed,” you began to move off of him, but he pulled you back.

“Only if you make me a deal,” he said mischievously.

“What?”

“I’ll go upstairs and take a quick shower, but only if you come with me,” he replied.

“I am not showering with you, pervert,” you smacked his arm and stood from the couch, blushing furiously.

He smiled and grabbed your hand, turning it to kiss your palm. You shivered at his touch.

“No, just come lay with me,” he looked up at you, suddenly serious, “I want to be with you tonight.”

Your heart sank to your stomach and you bit your lip. You couldn’t speak, so you nodded your head slowly.

Fred fished his wand from his robes and waved it towards the stairs, performing the counterspell for the stairs. You followed him up to his room, where he put his finger to his lips, signaling for you to be quiet. When he cracked open the door, it was dark and the curtains for the beds had been drawn. He crept over to a chest at the foot of his bed and looked at you before turning to its contents. He pulled out two large pajama pants, both plaid, and two heavy sweaters. He tossed one of each on his bed and took the others with him.

“Here, you can sleep in these,” he whispered to you, and it felt like you would blush forever.

He smiled softly at you before closing the curtains for you, leaving you to change.

“Oi, mate,” you heard someone’s annoyed and hoarse voice, “what took you so long? Practice ended an hour ago.”

“I was talking with Y/n,” you heard the bathroom door open, “I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow, I’m gonna shower. And don’t wake me up for breakfast tomorrow, I want to sleep in.”

You smiled to yourself, holding the soft sweater in your hands. It had a large ‘F’ on it, and you traced your fingers over it. You slid out of your jeans and folded them, placing them on the floor by the trunk. You slid on the pants he gave you and silently laughed as they easily ran past your feet and dragged on the floor. You folded them at the waist, and they were still too long. You had just slipped on the sweater when Fred slid open the curtain. He watched you fold your shirt and place it with your jeans. His eyes trailed from his sweater to the way his pants covered your feet. He smiled widely and drew you closer to him by grabbing your hips.

You looked up at him, your chests pressed together. He brought one hand up to your jaw, tilting it up to align with his face. His lips parted and so did yours, the air between you becoming a mixture of your breaths. His was minty, he must have just brushed his teeth.

His thumb grazed your bottom lip, and he finally closed the space between you. His neck craned down to you, but when you stood on your toes he was able to stand straight. You pressed as close to him as you could, and so did he. His lips were warm against your cold ones. He felt the many places that had been chapped and bitten, running his tongue over them slowly. You sighed and ran your chilled hands up his sweater, feeling him shiver beneath you. Your fingertips grazed the muscles on his back, tracing every line you could feel.

You pulled away first, sinking down to stand flat on your feet and rest your forehead on his chest.

“I’m so glad we didn’t pretend to do that,” Fred laughed out, pulling you close to him.

You smiled and hugged him, before moving to the other side of the small bed. You both slid under the covers silently, thinking that if either of you said something, things would suddenly be awkward.

The lack of bed only made him hold you tighter, and the two of you fell asleep relatively soon.

You were awoken by the sounds of laughter. The curtains were still drawn, and Fred’s arm was still wrapped around you. Your leg was resting on him as he laid on his back, hugging you close to him. Your head lifted from his chest as you squinted your eyes.

“No, he said he wanted to sleep in, mate,” you heard George say. The door opened and you heard footsteps walking towards it.

“You think they finally told each other?” Lee asked George, pulling on a wool hat.

“I hope so, bloody awful letting Fred think he tricked us,” George said before closing the door behind them.

You smiled and let your head sink back onto Fred. He stirred and pulled you closer to him. Through the fabric of his sweater, you swore you could hear the steady rhythm of his heart.

#fred weasley #fred #weasley #weasely family #fred weasley fanfiction #weasley twins #fred weasely fic #weasley fic #fred fic #fred weasley imagine #fred imagine #fred x y/n #fred x ravenclaw #harry potter #hogwarts #ravenclaw #fred weasley x reader

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procrastinatorimagines · 3 years

Text

I Would Never Hurt You

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warning/s: injury, violence, blood

Word Count: 2,169

Request: Can I just send this as a fic request....? Perhaps with a request for a little angst...? 🥺

You were surprised to see Dean when you poked your head into the weapons room, the loud noises waking you much earlier than you would have liked, but still, you weren’t complaining that he was back early.

He didn’t notice you at first as you stood leaning against the door frame. “Knock knock,” you said, rapping your knuckles on the door a couple of times to get his attention, smiling as he paused and turned to face you, a gun in either hand from the box he had been rifling through.

“Hey,” he blinked, clearly not expecting you to be there, “I didn’t think you’d be up.”

“I wasn’t,” you laughed softly as he looked around at the mess he’d made, realising that he’d woken you up with all his moving around.

“Sorry,” he shrugged, putting the guns in his hands down. He looked awkward, like he was unsure what to do with himself as he stood in the room, looking almost out of place.

“What are you doing?” You asked curiously, glancing around at the sheer amount of opened box and weapons strewn about in the room. “What do you need all those for? And at this hour? Why didn’t you come to bed?”

Annoyance seemed to flash across his face, “you’re asking a lot of questions,” he commented, not answering any of them.

“I’m just curious,” you replied, feeling the need to get a little defensive at his unnecessarily snappy attitude, “weren’t you on a hunt with Sam? What happened with the shifted?”

“Oh, yeah, killed it,” he answered, clearing his throat as his eyes darted away from you slightly. Okay, what was going on? You were the one who’d been woken up early, and you hadn’t had any coffee yet, so why was he the one in a mood?

“Yeah?” You tried, hoping he’d elaborate a bit. He still hadn’t told you why he needed more weapons if they’d killed the shifter, and where was Sam? There was something he wasn’t telling you.

“Yeah, that’s what I just said,” he snapped, practically growling at you as you straightened up, shocked at the tone he was taking with you. He didn’t seem to notice, or care, turning back to the box he’d been going through.

“Are you sure everything’s alright?” You asked again after a moment, DDean slamming the box lid down as soon as you’d asked it, looking back at you in frustration.

“I-” he began, the force of the slam not only making you jump, but making what looked like a knuckle duster fall down from the shelf nearby as it rattled.

Instinctively, Dean caught it, realising his mistake a second later as he gasped in pain, letting it go as it clattered to the ground.

“Dean-” You went to check if he was okay, taking one step forward and then freezing in your tracks. That’s when you saw it, the burn marks on his hand where the knuckle duster had just been. The silver knuckle duster.

“You’re not Dean,” you realised with a gasp.

Your instincts kicked in quickly as Dean, or rather, the shifter, grabbed the nearest weapon to him, any pretence of pretending to be the man you loved gone as he snarled at you.

You were already turning on your heels as he lunged for you, pulling the door shut behind you with a slam and running as quickly as you could, very much defenseless right now.

You needed a weapon, and you’d just locked him in there with an arsenal.

Turning sharply into the nearest corridor you collided with the wall, kicking off your slippers so you could move quicker just as you heard a door behind you slam open and fast footsteps begin to approach.

Where could you go? You could try to get to the kitchen, but you had no idea what weapons the shifter had taken with him when he started chasing after you, you’d probably be bringing a knife to a gun fight.

Dean’s room was the closest now, you barefeet slapping against the cold floor as you kept your pace, the sound of the shifters echoing footsteps sounding through the empty bunker.

“Y/N!” He yelled in Dean’s voice, so very much not Dean as you stumbled slightly. You knew the bunker like the back of your hand, but so did Dean, which meant so did the shifter.

This fact became all too apparent as the sound of his footsteps began to recede, lulling you into a bit of a false sense of security as you slowed your own pace, still moving but a little breathless as you turned another corner, only to find yourself face to face with the monster.

He grinned when you stumbled to a hault, realisation dawning on you that he’d gone another way around, kicking yourself for not considering the possibility. He did have Dean’s mind afterall.

You were so close to Dean’s room, if you could just make it... He’d have taken his gun, obviously, but you knew where he kept his backup knife, his silver knife.

There was a moment where you both stood still, neither of you moving before a spell seemed to break and he charged at you, barely managing to turn on your heels and make it a few steps away before you felt a hand unceremoniously grab the back of your night gown, tugging you back harshly and sending you crashing to the floor.

He all but pounced on you as you kicked up, winding him slightly as you rolled over and tried to stand. He was only slightly inconvenienced though, a rough hand grabbing you leg and pulling you back to the ground towards him as you tried and failed to claw at the ground for something to hold on to.

A predator and its prey.

He flipped you back over and pulled a knife out from his belt, the look in his eyes and his weapon of choice telling you that he had every intention to take his time killing you.

You barely had time to react as he began to bring the knife down, the look of enjoyment on his face made a million times more haunting by the fact that it was painted onto your boyfriend’s face.

A knee to the groin was always the best bet, whatever the species, followed by a well aimed strike to the face and knife missed it’s mark, barely. The pain as it sliced through your side was excruciating, and deep, but it wasn’t life-threatening, yet.

Another shove and he stumbled back, clearly not expecting you to put up this much of a fight, a fact which you probably blamed on the fluffy bunny slippers he’d seen you sporting earlier.

Step one was to get up.

You shuffled back on your butt and hands a little before turning and pushing yourself to you feet, meeting the hand that grabbed your wrist with a quick punch to the face, feeling bone crunch beneath your fist.

Step two was run.

You certainly didn’t need any incentive, using whatever strength you had left to propel yourself forward, somehow surprising steady given the gash in your side. It was going to be hell once the adreneline wore off.

Step three was hide.

Dean’s door was just there, you could make it... And you did, pushing the door shut with a slam and locking it with slippy, blood covered fingers. It wouldn’t hold on its own though, so you shoved a unit in front of it with all your might.

“Bitch!” You heard the shifter snarl as it tried the handle, shoving the door with all its might as the unit shook. Mercifully, it held. This was the Men of Letters’ bunker afterall.

Step four was call Dean and Sam.

You made your way to the other side of Dean’s bed, shaky fingers tearing open his draw and pulling out one of his many phones, dialing the number you knew by heart and sending up a silent prayer that someone picked up.

They didn’t.

It went straight to voice mail. “Dean- Dean, it’s me, you need to get back, the shifter-” you looked down at the blood soaking your night gown and dripping down your leg, “-please hurry.”

Step five, most importantly, was survive.

You put the phone back and went to his bed, pulling the silver knife out from under his mattress along with one of his shirts, getting as comfortable as you could on the floor against the unit and applying as much pressure you could to your wound, other hand wrapped tightly around the knife as the banging continued.

Right now, there was nothing else you could do. You just hoped Sam and Dean got back before the shifter found a way in, or you bled out.

You didn’t know exactly how much time had passed since the banging had subsided, but now you could hear yelling, faint at first but getting louder as more footsteps sounded in the hall outside the door, tensing in anticipation and wincing at the pain that flared again in your side.

It was Sam and Dean, you realised, or at least, their voices, was it actually them? Or just more shifters?

If it was them, they must have just gotten back, they’d probably seen the blood on the floor...

“Y/N?!” Dean’s voice boomed, angry and concerned as he banged on the door, “Y/N, oh god baby are you in there?!”

“Dean-” You heard Sam try to console his brother, “maybe we have the wrong room, maybe-”

“Y/N!” Dean yelled again with strained despiration, ignoring Sam as he pounded harder.

You gripped the knife in your hand tighter, pulling yourself shakily to your feet. The shifter hadn’t sounded like this, he’d been cold, cruel, there was emotion in Dean’s voice you didn’t think even it could mimick. Maybe it was a trap, you doubted it, but even if it was, you wouldn’t last forever in that room.

So slowly but surely, you shoved the unit to one side, hearing Dean pause on the other side as the boys waited to see who emerged from behind the door. It opened slowly, and nervously, taking a big step back and raising your knife when you felt hands push it from the other side.

“Y/N,” Dean sighed with relief. He tried to rush to you but you leveled your knife, not wanting him to take another step closer. Not until you were sure.

His face when from one of joy and relief, to one of confusion, to finally one of concern as he caught sight of the blood, and the way you were clutching your side, fire flashing in his eyes.

“Are you, you?” You asked him, wanting desperately to fall into his arms but still being too scared of what would happen if you were wrong, if this wasn’t Dean.

“What?” He replied, not really listening as he took in your wound and pale complexion.

“Are, you, you?” You repeated, slower this time as he took in the silver blade you were wielding with an iron grip. It all clicked then.

“I- yes, Y/N it’s me, it’s me and Sam,” his eyes were soft, raising his hands to show you he didn’t mean any harm as he glanced back at his brother, who kept his distance to give you some space but put his gun away to show you the same. “The shifter, he was here?”

You swallowed tightly and nodded. “He looked like you- he-” you looked down at your injury subconsciously.

Dean clenched his jaw, “he hurt you, that son of a bitch-” he practically growled, “when I get my hands on him-”

“Dean,” Sam warned, noticing how you flinched at the way his voice rose.

He focused his attention back on you immediately. “Y/N, look at me Y/N” he said softly, his voice catching a little as he made you meet his eyes, “I would never hurt you, you have to know that.”

It was all too much for you now, the knife feel like a tonne weight in your hand as you arm began to shake, letting it go as it clattered to the ground and collapsing with a sob.

Dean caught you instantly, you arms instinctively wrapping around him as he held you, one hand gripping you tightly as the other stroked your hair. “It’s okay, shh, it’s okay, I got you, I got you...”

Dean looked to his younger brother, “I’ll go get the med kit,” Sam said knowingly, turning on his heals and hurrying.

“Come on,” Dean muttered gently, moving one hand under your legs and picking you up with ease, “let’s go make sure you’re alright.”

“The shifter-” you began but he shook his head.

“-can wait, you’re more important right now,” he told you lovingly.

“But we’ll get him?” You double-checked, feeling Dean’s muscles tense at the question.

“We’ll get him,” he promised, and a little part of you almost felt sorry for him.

#dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #supernatural imagine #dean winchester imagines #supernatural imagines #dean winchester one shot #supernatural one shot #one shot

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