#or with their fics when they have them kiss more than twice in the span of ten minutes and that upsets you.

[maddy-ferguson]

that moment when st5 comes out in 2035 and minor st twitter fans become adults and that they realize they will have to watch children characters on their screen

no but you don't understand they'll just be children who will have grown up and become adults against their will whereas people who are adults now were evidently born 20

[carochinha]

19 Questions for Fic Writers!

I got tagged by @storybookprincess, thank you so so so much!!!

1. How many fics do you have on AO3?

Roughly... 16. That's not bad. Quite a respectable number!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

328,674

Damn. That a lotta word. Wild to think a third of those words are from a single fic huh

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Bit of a lot of things. Hunter x Hunter and Daiya no Ace are my big ones, but I've also written for Kingdom Hearts, Haikyuu, Black Clover, Project Sekai and....... Homestuck.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

"A Very Hisoka Wedding" stands head and shoulders above anything else at 1,143 kudos, which is legit insane. This fic isn't close to being my best. It isn't close to being my most innovative. It isn't even the longest! And yet it has more Hits, Kudos and Bookmarks than anything else I've ever written. Wild. Following that, we have "(Country Roads, Take Me)Home for the Holidays" at 365, my actual magnum opus so far, "Kiss Me Once, Kiss Me Twice" at 321, a short Black Clover ficlet that somehow keeps getting love, "Weekend at Leorio's" at 295 and "Pink Love" at 256.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I used not to respond to comments, but in the past couple of years I've been trying to respond to every comment I get. I like getting responses to my comments when I post on other fics, so I also want people to get that happiness. Besides, it's only polite!

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

...what is angst, signed, a permanently happy ending girlie.

Anyway it's probably "Quadratum Has Pocky", a KH drabble I wrote for Pocky Day which did not leave me with a lot of space for happy endings.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Literally all of them LMAO

But I guess "Red Eyes, Take Warning", my HxHBB fic this year gets special mention by giving Kurapika, the fandom's tragic boy, a happily-ever-after.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Sometimes. Home for the Holidays got a couple of comments once we got to the spicy part about how I should have tagged which character topped. That was wild. I'm talking like, HUGE paragraphs.

But not usually, no.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I did once! It was the vanillaest M/M ever written, but I sure did write it!

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I do really like inter-sports-anime crossovers. I once wrote a Haikyuu x Daiya no Ace ficlet that was quite fun!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not since I was 15 doing it myself translating my terrible Digimon fics into English lmao.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Favourite is a complicated word. All-time, however, isn't.

I've been an Akuroku girlie since 2005 and by GOD I will persist.

(the ship I most wish would become canon, however, is also from KH, but it's Soriku, which I've never even written about.....yet)

14. What’s a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

My Hunter x Hunter Praxis AU.

Huge AU, spanning five years, each of which focusing on a different set of characters, with highly specific references to a highly specific university culture from my country that like two people reading would understand. It's also technically a Reincarnation AU.

Yeah I'm never getting that written.

15. What are your writing strengths?

Apparently, characterization and making my character actions and plots seem believable in the context of canon. Which is good, because I really do strive for character voice matching the original, so I'm happy with this assessment by my readers LMAO

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

DESCRIBING ACTION.

If I ever have to write an action scene, I just don't. There is no combat in my fics, not because I dislike it, but because I can't write it lol.

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Have done it. Will continue doing it when I find it appropriate. Helps when the POV character also isn't supposed to understand the language, because then you're just on the same page :D

18. First fandom you wrote for?

Digimon Adventure my beloved <3

(the fics themselves are also beloved, because although they're bad, I can see where I came from and how that shaped me into the writer I am today. My bad fics are a part of me and my journey just as much as my 100k word epics are.)

19. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Pausing + looking off into the distance.

You do realize this is an impossible question?

All the fics for me are... connections, within myself and with the people around me. Writing each one was a battle of finding the right words within me, the joy of sharing little snippets with friends, asking for help and bouncing off ideas. Listening to music and building the plot in my head as I walk, thinking about it as I fall asleep. Pouring my longing, my affection, my grief, and my hopes into these words, trying to connect with whoever will read them.

So I guess I'll say it's "All The Things He Said". It's the first fic I wrote for Daiya no Ace, a fandom I knew no one in. And I needed a beta. Trying to find that beta actually led me to finding one of my best friends, so I'm very thankful to this fic.

Anyway, tagging people! I'll tag @wingsonghalo because she had to read my bad Digimon fic and @tomioneer because of all I said in the last question!

[mlm-writer]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever (Shepard x Wrex)

Pairing: Urdnot Wrex x Gender Neutral Shepard Rating: General Audiences Words: 1187 POV: Third Summary: In the wake of Mordin’s death, Wrex is confronted with just how easily people can die. He makes sure to not make the same mistake twice.  Notes: Almost 3am, tomorrow exam, wrote this. Based on this song.  Tags: angst, fluff, love confessions, first kiss, song fic, finally a fic I don’t need to tag with anal sex or something, grief and spoilers for ME3. 

The dust clung to their armour like long hairs in the shower. Shepard could not tear their eyes away from what was left of the Shroud. It was more than what was left of their friend. It was more than what was left of their hope of love. From their peripheral vision, they could see Wrex celebrating the salvation of his species. Next to him, Eve. They were the future of the Krogan. They were going to lead the species back to greatness. Wrex was like any great human leader in history, a figure, a man who needed a Krogan to appear acceptable in the eyes of the general public. There was no room for a human lover. There was no room for Shepard in the life of the one they loved. 

Shepard tied up the loose ends and tried to get off this nuclear waste-world as fast as possible. There was a war to win, feelings to repress to ensure victory, to achieve survival. Eve, now Urdnot Bakara, vividly told them about the future plans. They were great. For them, but not for Shepard. The façade held up, until they reached the Normandy. Shepard nearly cursed out Joker for wanting to run repairs on Tuchanka before take-off. They nearly jumped out and attempted to lift the Normandy off the ground themself, just to get away from it all. Get away from where they lost another friend. Get away from where they had to bury their feelings, just to be what the entire galaxy needed them to be. 

Shepard was just out of the shower and still brooding in their towel when EDI’s voice echoed through their cabin. “Urdnot Wrex wishes to enter, commander.” Shepard nearly jumped out of their skin as they yelled to keep him outside, while they were fishing for clothes. With their cargo pants askew and hoodie still hanging half off their shoulder, they told EDI to let Wrex in, before the Krogan was going to break down the door himself. It was odd to see Wrex in their cabin. In all those years they knew one another, he had never been here. 

“Shepard.”

“Wrex.”

There was an awkward stretch of silence, before Shepard gestured to the couch and they sat down together, Shepard’s last bottle of strong alcohol opened. There was a little of silent drinking, until Wrex started talking. “Never thought I would ever like a Salarian, but Mordin was all right.” 

Their throat tightened, but Shepard raised their glass anyway and spoke solidly. “I’ll drink to that.” Wrex nodded and emptied his glass. 

More silence, until Wrex spoke again. “Thank you. My species has hope thanks to Mordin, but also thanks to you. You could have kept the sabotage a secret.” 

Shepard let out a bitter laugh as they thought of that haughty Dalatrass. “Are you kidding? I would have fought a Thresher Maw with my bare fists just to piss off that snobby Dalatrass. Saving your species is just a bonus.” Wrex let out a laugh and refilled both their glasses. 

“And there we have what I drink to.” After another gulp of liquor, Wrex stared down his half-full glass. “Krogan have long life spans, but even by that standard, I’m old, Shepard, never had children. With the genophage cured and my position, I could father an entire generation.” Shepard glanced at him, unsure of how to respond to that. Fortunately, Wrex was not done speaking yet. “I’ve known you for hardly a fraction of my life, but there is something I think I have waited too long to tell you.” 

Shepard sat up straighter, watching Wrex with concern as the Krogan sat there with his head hanging. It was odd to see Wrex like this. Alarm bells rung through Shepard’s head like 12pm in a religious Earth village. “It is hard to imagine you ever kicking the dust, but in case you do, I need you to know that everything I am today is because of you.” 

Shepard cracked a smile and suppressed the little voice in their head that told them that Wrex might feel the same way as they did. “I would have never seen the Krogan the way I do today without you. I think we’re even.” Wrex shook his head with an angry frown and grabbed Shepard by the arm. 

Wrex pulled at the limb, so their faces came closer to one another. “You’re not hearing me, Shepard,” he growled. With wide eyes, Shepard pulled at their arm and Wrex freed the human from his grip as if the soft skin burned him. “Killing a Krogan is tough, but if you do not listen to me, you might just pull it off today.” Wrex sounded distressed. He stood up and started pacing. “You… I mean… I… No, you…  urgh, words!” He kicked the bed, the frame denting a little from the force. 

Shepard stood up with arms crossed. “You’re not a talker, Wrex, just say what is eating you up or show me. Whatever it is, I’ll find time to deal with it.” They let their arms fall as Wrex stomped up to them. He looked angry, grief-stricken and purposeful. If it wasn’t Wrex, but any other Krogan, Shepard would have taken on a defensive pose. 

Wrex grabbed them by the shoulders and pulled them in, smashing their lips together in a bruising kiss that was all lips and teeth and mismatching anatomy. When they parted, Wrex nodded and took a step back. “Shepard.” 

Shepard blinked at him, not sure what was happening. “Wrex,” they replied as if it was an inquiry. There was no answer. “The uh… Normandy will depart soon. I have a galaxy to save and uh… I would invite you along, but uh… you have a species to guide back to glory.” 

Wrex agreed, but did not walk to the exit. He put a gentle hand on Shepard’s arm and bent his head down far enough for their foreheads to touch. “Yes, but just in case you… You don’t have a redundant nervous system, so… I love you… more than you could understand. 

Shepard raised their head to place a kiss on the frontal plate, before resting their forehead against it once more. “I love you too and… in case your stubborn old ass bites the dust, you should know that every piece of me, is a piece of you.” Joker broke off the moment with a poorly timed announcement that the Normandy was ready to depart from Tuchanka. 

After Shepard told Joker to wait five more minutes, they made eye-contact with Wrex. “Wrex.” Said Krogan smiled and stepped back. Their arms slid along one another as they separated, lingering on the touch. They both knew, now was not the time, but perhaps, there was a future. Wrex walked to the door of Shepard’s cabin, his steps lighter than they were when he entered. The doors opened before him and he turned his head, looking over his shoulder at the future saviour of the galaxy. A smile appeared on his face as he said one last thing before leaving. 

“Shepard.”

[ghostking1]

I don’t really know what you’re into but I asked some of my other percico shipper friends and we made a list of some of our favs :)

•|| Five Times Percy Broke His Phone and The One Time It Wasn't His Fault ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524128

• Percy/Nico

• Rated G

• one-shot

• Words: 5,726

Summary:

As punishment for blowing up the Legions armory Leo is sentenced to work in phone repair for the camps. Normally this wouldn't be too bad, phones these days are pretty bulletproof. Unfortunately, he hasn't thought of the extraordinary circumstances Poseidon’s favored son tends to regularly find himself in. This is one battle the Son of Hephaestus is determined to win. Olympus helped him.

•|| Breaking the Ice ||•

https://www.deviantart.com/leukanthes/art/Breaking-the-Ice-Slash-287857101

• Percy/Nico

• no rating, but I guess G bordering T (?)

• one-shot

• Words: 2,574

[No Summary]

•|| Could Never Imagine ||•

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/10703658/1/Could-Never-Imagine

• Nico/Percy

• Rating: T

• 46 chapters

• Words: 103k+

Summary: The war is over Annabeth chose to leave camp to allow her soul to heal, leaving a distraught Percy behind. Soon enough though the girls at camp are coming-on to the twice savior of Olympus. Percy however has no intention of finding a new girlfriend. So how will he get them to leave him be? It's a good thing Nico is around.

•|| Family Dinner ||•

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5439187/1/Family-Dinner

• Nico/Percy

• Rating: T

• one-shot/1 chapter

• Words: 6k+

Summary: The fancy invite card read: Welcome to our new home! Please join Percy Jackson and Nico di Angelo's housewarming dinner. Please do not feel the need to bring anything. Dinner begins at 6:00pm. The address is 38501 Sunshine Lane, Long Island.

•|| Can I Clear My Conscience? ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1250188

• Nico/Percy

• Rating: T

• one shot/1 chapter

• Words: 12,222

Summary:

Death Touch: Nico’s powers have gone out of control and he’s killing living beings with a single touch. The only one who can save him is Percy.

•|| Revival ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19287157/chapters/45872164

• Nico/Percy

• Rating: Explicit

• 4 chapters (complete)

• Words: 28,903

Summary:

After the events of The Titan's Curse Nico finds himself struggling to live on the streets. Exhausted, he recklessly uses his powers to take him somewhere safe. He ends up in an unfamiliar cabin and too weak to do anything else he decides to spend the night.

Percy still feels guilty about Bianca's death. He searched and searched for Nico but was unable to find him. Something is sending him visions of the boy though as if to tell him to go find him. At last Nico ends up in a familiar looking place and Percy seeks him out. What follows is something neither of them expected.

•|| on top of the world ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184790

• Nico/Percy

• Rating: T

• one-shot/1 chapter

• Words: 16,175

Summary:

In which Gaea wins and Percy breaks another promise to Nico, and surprisingly, Nico doesn't mind.

•|| The world will never take my heart ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712186/chapters/3646085#workskin

Summary:

where Percy and Annabeth break up, and Percy convinces Nico to move in with him and attend Goode

•|| Sensory Love ||•

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12454985/1/Hitome-Chan-s-Sensory-Love

•Rating: M

•words: 237+

Summary:

Mortal AU where Percy and Nico are best friends, but Nico’s feelings run deeper than that.

•|| Coding and Codeine ||•

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12457018/1/Hitome-Chan-s-Coding-And-Codeine

Summary:

post apocalypse mortal AU where Nico meets Percy in a near dead world, and the two travel the US and fall in love

•|| Seasons Change ||•

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/7838989/1/

Summary:

Mortal AU where in Nico and Percy were friends since they were little, but they had a falling out. Nico never recovered from Percy's rejection and neither did Percy. Through a twist of fate, they get a second chance

•|| The love we miss ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087406

Summary:

Canon divergent fic where Annabeth is killed during the days following the second war

•|| World Traverls ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649647

Summary:

a series of amazing fics by awanderingmuse which follow an older Percy and Nico

•|| Kiss a boy in Tokyo town ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/337259

Summary:

Japan becomes the new location for camp half blood after the fall of the United States.Nico comes to visit percy in Japan

while annabeth is still in the US and things transpire

•|| Tribulations ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061345

Summary:

Percy and Nico are caught in an argument between two goddesses and are put to the test. They must prove the strength of their bond to survive or lose their freedom forever.

•ll When the river meets the sea ll•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171134

Summary:

Nico di Angelo should be his best friend. He looks over, meeting Nico’s eyes; Nico, who looks patient and a little embarrassed for some reason, and he thinks, why isn’t he?

Or: Wherein Nico has an incurable case of being a martyr, Percy grows to hate The Muppets, and Poseidon surprises the both of them with a bouncing baby demigod.

•|| Fire escapes and friendships ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17810015/chapters/42019895

Summary:

“So it’s safe to assume you’re the reason she’s stalking around like she’s just sucked a bag of lemons.”

“She called me today.”

“And?”

“She just wanted to chew my ear off. You know, for ruining all her hard work and design for your cabin. And then for suggesting to Chiron that she shouldn’t be allowed to help with the refurbishment.”

Or where Percy and Nico burn the injustice that is the Hades cabin and Percy takes the blame.

Christmas parties, confessions and cozy death traps

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27748753/chapters/67921453

Summary:

Ah, Christmas! That magical time of year where goodwill permeates the air, gifts are exchanged, and demigods question if they'll be smote down for singing the less secular Christmas carols! But as Nico will soon find out there are far more nefarious threats than carols this joyous time of year, a threat, in the form of an ugly Christmas sweater.

||• percico authors to support ||•

Likegallows

https://archiveofourown.org/users/likegallows/pseuds/likegallows

Bobinthecomments

https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobInTheComments/pseuds/BobInTheComments

Awanderingmuse

https://archiveofourown.org/users/awanderingmuse/pseuds/awanderingmuse

Midnightinjapan

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightinJapan

anitstar_e(Kailamahine)

https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaikamahine/pseuds/antistar_e

Let me know if you need more~ :)

First of all, thank you so much for these pics. All of these were disgustingly good, like extremely disgustingly good, and I enjoyed them all immensely. But, I figured you'd want to hear my thoughts on them, and because I wanted to share my thoughts on them, so here they are :D

•|| Five Times Percy Broke His Phone and The One Time It Wasn't His Fault ||• -Amazing, a 10/10, one of my favorites, short enough that my attention span never got me distracted, great writing

•|| Breaking the Ice ||• -Another great one, this one blew me away

•|| Could Never Imagine ||• -I loved this one because it showed all of Nico's insecurities

•|| Family Dinner ||• -sooooo cute

•|| Can I Clear My Conscience? ||• -this one was kind of sad but a great healing fic

•|| Revival ||• -showed the Nico living on the streets that we never saw, very well done

•|| on top of the world ||• -dangerous situation where all hope is lost and they can only lean on one another? sign me up

•|| The world will never take my heart ||• -this was a fun fic to read

•|| Sensory Love ||• -this was pretty good, but it had cheating themes which made it hard for me to absolutely adore

•|| Coding and Codeine ||• -loved this au

•|| Seasons Change ||• -this one was a little harder to swallow, it had mature themes in it and there was cheating involved, and I always have a harder time with that

•|| The love we miss ||• -*chef's kiss*

•|| World Traverls ||• -so cute, i love this au, it’s like that could actually happen in the canon book series

•|| Kiss a boy in Tokyo town ||• -percy jackson + japan? yes please

•|| Tribulations ||• -love, love, love, love, loved it

•ll When the river meets the sea ll• -a work of art

•|| Fire escapes and friendships ||• -I really like the change in pov, this fic was really well done

•|| Christmas parties, confessions and cozy death traps ||• -loved embarrassed Nico and the creepy ending

And all the authors you recommended are great! :D

Thank you so much for all your recommendations, they were really fun to read!

[jacqcrisis]

i just recently found out about the beach fic, absolutely loved it, read the whole thing twice in more or less one week and looked through your tag for more lore (your writing is glorious). Anything about Theseus has me cackling and god i'd love to know what went through his head the minute he found out the new mailman he ranted to about Charon was actually dating him or just how he found out in general

Thank you so much! And also I think I’ve talked about this before, but I can’t be fucked to find it, and imma do it again but this time I’m gunna summarize the short I had toyed with writing about this exact topic. I’m going to put it under a read more cause it’s a little spicy. If you don’t want to read it, tl;dr Theseus catches them banging in Charon’s car and gets extremely pissed about it.

a year or so after the events of beach fic, Charon and Hermes are invited to some formal charity thing in Elysium by Nyx and, as such, need to dress up. They're getting ready at Hermes' place and Hermes gets out of the shower just in time as Charon is finishing doing up his tie. He sneaks up on his 'professional associate', wraps his arms around him from behind, and suggests that they forgo the event so he can enjoy Charon in a suit in the privacy of his own home.

Charon finds this funny and lets him cop a feel for a bit, before pushing his off and telling him to finish getting ready unless he wants to be on Nyx's shit list for the next seven years or so. Hermes grumbles about it, but agrees and leaves to put on more than a towel. Charon figures that'll be the end of it until they get back home, but finds that his resolve might not be so ironclad when Hermes is all dressed up and he sees how very well-fitted his dress pants are. On top of this, Hermes notices his partner's appreciative eye and lingering touches as they get in the car, and cooks up a plan to get Charon to break before they get back home.

They get to the thing, it's boring, and Charon's having a rough time of it. Hermes is being flirty and touchy, and at dinner, he's playing footsie and constantly reminding Charon that they could be anywhere else, doing anything else right now. Charon sticks it out, even if he's being reciprocal until Nyx practically shoos them out of the event stating that she's taken enough of their time. It’s clear she’s annoyed and more or less suggests they aren’t as subtle or covert as they think and so they leave, a bit ashamed but not really deterred.

Back in the car as they drive home, Hermes has redoubled his efforts, kissing and touching whatever part of Charon he can, suggesting they pull over. Charon makes it all of five minutes before he does just that, parking them a little down a rarely used back road and hauling a victorious, amorous Hermes into the back seat. They get down to business, and, unfortunately, are little too preoccupied to notice the police car pulling up besides them a little bit later. 

Theseus, who was patrolling for the evening and genuinely stressed about Asterius’ (the guy Theseus may or may not have gotten sent to prison on faulty evidence as the start of his career) upcoming parole hearing, sees what seems to be an abandoned vehicle just off a side road that wasn’t there an hour before. He goes to investigate to take his mind off of things considering its a boring weekday night and there’s not much going on, but lo and behold, what does he see as he pulls up with his lights off? That’s right, it’s Styx Beach’s own mailman riding Theseus’ favorite bootlegger in the backseat of Charon’s car and the good sheriff goes through a range of emotions from confusion to betrayal to anger in the span of 7 seconds.

He gives them a lengthy earful once they’re decent, forgets he can technically arrest them for indecent exposure, gives them a ticket, and follows them until they hit Styx Beach, absolutely fuming the entire time. Hermes goes from being the ‘good Olympus boy’ to getting pulled over for every minor infraction if Theseus sees him and earns quite a few interesting nicknames from the sheriff regarding his supposed sexual proclivities. Surprisingly, Theseus still doesn’t make the connection that Hermes could be aiding the sale of alcohol, but he’s a little focused on the fact that he caught Hermes in the exact position he’s wanted to be in for like 6 years now. 

Hermes does quite a bit of apologizing since it was embarrassing, and it could’ve ended worse, and it jeopardized the deliveries he still does for Charon, and he did egg his partner on pretty harshly. Charon’s genuinely mad for maybe two days, if that, but they talk through it and it eventually becomes more funny than it was embarrassing. Plus, as part of his penance, Hermes keeps dropping off sweets from the cafe with little affectionate notes and Charon isn’t complaining about a week straight of getting surprise baked goods with his mail. 

For Theseus, he never gets over it, always thinks of Hermes as an interfering harlot and a Jezebel, even after Theseus gets together with Asterius, and always lets the mailman know his open and clear disdain every chance he gets.

[lacharcutiere]

x2 [suna rintarō]

1k words

✯haikyuu!! masterlist✯

alcohol consumption, soft angst

mara comin thru w a fic based on My Real Life Experiences™️ oops, s/o to bri for being my hype man and sam (not on here) for also being my hype man and telling me i should j write fics about my real life because Mara is Accidentally Y/N™️. technically this is unfinished but i’m posting it like this bc it’s basically what actually happened to me n i don’t wanna make shit up for stuff i don’t remember lol

☾𓆙𓂻

two sips of vodka, two times you catch him staring at you in the span of a few seconds, two vapes he’s hitting at the same time, two hugs because he says “y’re not coming back” no matter how many times you laugh and tell him you promise you’ll see him around. the two of you in your mom’s old car, and it’s only the first time you’ve hung out properly, so there’s not two of that.

you were in front of his house just five minutes later than you said, waiting with the engine still running, kanye blasting. to aran’s first to pick up a bottle of vodka (mostly empty, actually, rin complained when he gets back in the car; he got ripped off), then to his, where you passed his sister on the stairs and she gave you a smile and a laugh, real ones. he led you into his room, where you sat on his bed awhile, and you commented about how clean it was (definitely not what you expected, and cleaner than yours at the moment) and he laughed and told you he’d manically cleaned it hours before. that’s where the two sips of vodka came in; all you drank that night because you had to be home by one. shortly after was the first time you caught him staring at you twice within maybe thirty seconds. the only other time anyone had ever looked at you like that had been when they were about to kiss you. you wondered if you wanted him to kiss you, too. instead you asked what he wanted to do, and he said, dunno, up to you, and you suggested drive around because after this you didn’t know if you’d ever be back in this town.

��︎︎

through winding roads through the woods and past a country club, past the street you’ve lived on for the past ten years, and a quick circle through the parking lot of the middle school you went to.

“‘s where it all started,” you tell him, with a little sad laugh.

the alcohol’s beginning to hit him now, and he asks if you can stop at the gas station down the road so he can take a piss. he hits two vapes when he gets back in the car and laughs, ‘s how you know i’m drunk, he says.

☁︎︎

you drive all the way up to the town on the bay; there’s still snow and ice on the ground. it’s pretty, still with christmas lights strung on the trees lining the streets downtown. the two of you park near the boardwalk and get out; go down to the tiny little lighthouse to see if you can get inside, but there’s a padlock on the door and it’s fucking freezing and in the end you surrender and get back in the car.

☁︎︎

a while later he’s even more drunk, you’re not, obviously, because you’re driving down the interstate and also because you need to be home in a couple hours so you can finish packing because you’re going back to school tomorrow. and he’s going to stay here, or maybe not, because he’s got six days to decide if he wants to move away with his mom. if there’s nothing keeping you here, you tell him, do it.

“but, like,” he says, and it’s slurred a little and you’re behind the wheel, speeding down the highway, “i don’t wanna run away from everything, you know? wanna, like, resolve all my shit first.”

“but what shit do you have to resolve?”

he laughs. “dunno.”

“so do it, get outta this shitty town. i promise it’ll be good; ‘s what i did.”

he laughs again: “ha, you’re right, you’re right. maybe i will.”

☁︎︎

there are a couple moments where, as streetlights cast strange shadows on you as you drive past them and you listen to him speak, you wonder what the two of you could be.

☁︎︎

heading back to aran’s for a bit because… you don’t actually know, but why not, high school comes up in the conversation, and you say something about how you’re glad you’re no longer who you used to be and,

“what’re you talking about?”

“ha, what do you mean? you knew me in high school. sort of.”

“kidding, right? i know so many people who thought you were bad.”

you’re silent for a while, and he repeats it.

“…who?”

“like… samu! aran! lotsa guys!”

“i… what the fuck?”

“yeah, y’ kidding? everyone thought you were some, like, badass chick or whatever.”

you snort. “that’s news to me.”

“no ‘s not, you gotta know. ‘s why you got that thing ‘bout bein’ a catfish on your instagram isn’t it?”

“what? no, ha, that’s about, like, my personality—“

“but your personality’s what makes you not a catfish?”

“hah, oh my god, no, are you kidding, i’m nowhere near as cool as i seem, i’m a fucking nerd,” you laugh.

“nah exactly! y’d be a catfish if y’ didn’t have a personality but ya do. so you’re not a catfish, and you’re very pretty…”

he goes on and on talking. you smile at the road in front of you and just listen.

☁︎︎

the night ends where it began, too, with you sitting next to him on his bed—well, really he’s lying down now, but then he sits up again because oh yeah, rings! and you laugh and he fills your hands with rings and then you tell him, “alright, dude, i really have to go now,” and you stand.

what to say? “see you around?” you settle on, even though you're not sure you will.

it takes him a second to stand up, but he does. “hug?” his arms are open.

you walk into them.

“‘s gotta be a long hug, because you’re not comin’ back.”

you laugh a little. “yes, i am!”

“not comin’ back.”

“i am—”

“no. not comin’ back.”

he lets go after a while, and you’re heading to the door, the rings jingling in your pocket now, about to say, see ya, and he goes,

“two hugs, because you’re not coming back.”

you laugh and indulge him. this one’s longer than the first. he kisses your shoulder when you pull away. and then you're heading back downstair, you’re out the door, walking back to your car in the freezing fucking cold, wondering what just happened.

you think about what he said. you should just stay here, with me. we coulda been great friends. he’s right, you think. you wonder about wasted time, about how in high school you’d been so scared to leave what was comfortable, leave your shitty friends, so scared of what people like him thought of you, and all along the truth had been that they’d never seen you the way you saw yourself. it’s usually like that, isn’t it?

[wowsoboring]

Deconstructing baseless Harry Potter arguments #1: Harmony Edition

There’s a very helpful account on instagram (this instagram page merely gathers toxic harmony shippers, they don’t ship Harmione or hate all Harmione shippers, please don’t send them hate, show them love and support) where you can essentially find stupid fucking bashers who make baseless arguments. I’m all for Harmione shippers, as long as they don’t denounce Romione, bash Ron and just peacefully co-exist. To my pleasure, such people are out there: they just dont seem to be seen as often as the ones that are not nice. Maybe all I see is the mean people and the majority is nice, but in this post, I am attacking those who make baseless claims and bash Ron/Romione/Hinny/Ginny. I don’t myself hate all Harmione shippers. On top of that, as a Romione/Ron fan, i do acknowledge Ron’s character flaws along with Hermione’s and I hold them on the same pedestal.

This is copied directly from my own instagram page, granger.weasley_ on ig.

Anyways let's get deconstructing

1)

rebuttal:

Yeah okay mf; maybe don’t compare real-life relationships with fucking fictional ones. Your relationship going wrong has nothing to do with Ron/Hermione. It has everything to do with you and your ex: the *real life* people involved in it.

2)

rebuttal:

The weird subreddits and discord servers also seem to have a lot of die-hard Harmione “non-canon” shippers. They bash Ron and Romione (along with Ginny and Hinny) with a burning passion without any objective sense of remorse. They ignore all the merits of Ron’s character and bash him to push their agenda. They can’t even do so much as fucking acknowledge any of Hermione’s character flaws but still somehow manage to fixate on that one time when 11 year old Ron just shit-talked one line while Hermione had just publicly humiliated him in front of the Charms class and practically shouted at him for doing the spell wrong just before. I personally don’t because Hermione was 11 too and wasn’t that good at social cues that early on, which is more than okay. Neither am I.

Only a few people in the Romione fandom bash Hermione. And it’s not like Harmione shippers (most, not all!) don’t bash Ron and Ginny remorselessly, right? The fucking hypocrisy.

If someone considers Ron as the best member of the trio, it is their own opinion and not a fact. I do that. If you consider Harry and Hermione as the best member of the trio or in the whole wizarding world, most people don’t give a flying fuck and probably won’t argue with you because it is simply an opinion. That will only happen when you pass that off as a fact.

Statistically speaking, most (not FUCKING all) Harmione moments are in the movies. The weird dance scene especially. The passionate kiss that happens in Ron’s vision, shit like that. Ron is pushed to the sidelines in the last set of movies while Harry and Hermione show each other endless love and support. “I’ll go with you”. The books on the other hand, describe Harry and Hermione as siblings multiple times, with very little Harmione references.

3)

rebuttal:

So you don't want us to fixate on the large majority of Harmione shippers who do the exact same thing, just kissing Hermione's and Harry's ass and hating on Ron. However you will fixate on people who are most likely not EVEN bashing or hating but pointing out a few character flaws in Hermione in a fair and unbiased way. I would know, I'm a huge fan of Hermione as an individual character (in the books). The only criticism I've seen of Hermione to this day has not been bashing. In the comment section of my own fics (shameless plug) I've seen some Hermione bashing. On an ao3 comment section. And I've seen so damn fucking many people bashing Ron, Ginny, the Weasleys etc. and garner tens and thousands of upvotes on quora.

What does Ron even need excusing for? The running away incident and Krum. What does Hermione need excusing for? Canaries, contributing to Ron's insecurities by making him jealous through Cormac and Krum even though she didn't even like them (especially not Cormac, she fucking hated him). Ron wore a locket that literally highlighted his fatal flaw (insecurity) in an echo chamber. Harry kept getting annoyed when Ron wanted to check in on his family. Harry asked Ron to leave; Ron didn't say that shit in the books about Harry's parents being dead: that was plain shock value.

And sorry for repeating myself but I have seen quite a few Harmione shippers bash Ron and Ginny and excuse every single thing Harry and Hermione have done.

4)

37 upvotes on this weird comment that makes no sense? Echo chamber alert! You know what us Romione/Ron fans all have in common? We have never experienced such an echo chamber. I made a pro Ron/Romione post on reddit and got a considerable amount of people who bashed Ron and Romione in the comments.

The amount of Hermione haters is very few compared to Ron bashers. Nobody hates Hermione for being independent, determined, etc. We dislike perfect movie Hermione who’s an unrealistic image of females and seems like some sort of agenda than a real woman. Most Romione shippers/Ron fans and book fans in general (except for you apparently) dislike movie Hermione and still are fans of realistic book Hermione. Most, not all. In general, we do not claim anyone who does the exact same thing to Harry and Hermione that these sorts of Harmione shippers do to Ron, Romione, Hinny and Ginny. I say this on the behalf of all Romione shippers and Ron fans.

Ron's not a bitchy lay-about drama causing loser. That's Steve Kloves's movie Ron. In the books Ron is realistic and simplistic and apologizes whenever he causes problems. He acts up substantially twice in a span of 7 years where he is also a hormone-fuelled teenager.

This is so contradictory and juxtaposed to the point of near delusion. First you talk about how Romione shippers bash Hermione and then you bash Ron as a Harmione shipper. Mate, fighting fire with fire will get you called a hypocrite. Fix yourself.

5)

So the movies are fine when they work according to your agenda? And yes how dare he add such a (fake) chemistry fuelled moment between Harry and Hermione while defeating the entire purpose and groundwork for Romione, the sadness caused by Ron leaving and so many more things? Those Harmione moments you mention seem friendship -esque more than anything else.

Steve Kloves's moments ruined many things while just paying fan service to the Harmione fans he'd birthed through years in the course of 6 movies where he showed Ron as a, how you so eloquently describe it, lay - about drama causing bitchy loser, Harry as one dimensional and Hermione as a zero - dimensional Mary Sue who might as well be the main titular character. Obviously Harmione fans such as yourself don't see the problem with it as it fits your narrative

6)

We do care about Harry and Hermione at large. Most Romione shippers rightfully bash Draco, Pansy, etc. not particularly Harry and Hermione, that's quite rare. Harry and Hermione can get along without Ron as friends. Ron and Harry can also get along without. Hermione as friend. So can Hermione and Ron without Harry as friends or more. I don't understand your point and how what you said is any different than Romione or Ronarry’s friendship.

7)

Constant arguing is not what they do. They bicker, they apologize, and sometimes they just do it for the heck of it. They are argumentative teenager. Opposites attract doesn't work in the sense of fire and ice, it works in the case of Brownie and ice-cream. Ron is passionate, laid back and insecure. Hermione's passionate, a workaholic and not as insecure. Ron can help her get calm and composed and get her to give herself a break. Hermione can motivate Ron and re - enforce his confidence.

It wouldn't be step incest. Harry and Ginny do not regard each other as siblings. They do not look similar whatsoever. And a Harmione shipper also bashes Hinny and Ginny along with Ron and Romione? Checks out

" that fucked up Harmony" hahaha. What?

8)

Are you literally going to date someone on the basis of what Harry Potter ships they prefer? That is so shallow end depraved. Your Harry Potter ship preferences should not be the groundwork for your dating life. Please understand that. Harry Potter is a fictional world which is not real. Hogwarts doesn't exist. Magic doesn't exist. I sound like a Dursley but that's what it is: a fictional realm with fictional character. I would personally not give a fuck if my best friend or significant other was a Harmione shipper. In the case of them being a Ron basher, I would ignore it as if it was just a minor inconvenience and something we wouldn't be discussing and that's how it should be with you. Fuck BuzzFeed, your opinion on what Harry Potter ship / character is your favorite says squat about your personality and relationship with others in a romantic or platonic context. But who cares? Live your life however you want. I'll be stoic.

9)

It's not opposites attract rubbish or high school opposites attract. Ron and Hermione aren't polar opposites like I said, they are a bit different but similar too in many ways. They have a lot more in common than Harry and Hermione. Ron and Harry have the most in common. Both Ron and Hermione are passionate, loving, argumentative, caring, etc. Your argument lacks substance. It's biased trash. And what does “obhwf " mean?

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

at the end of the day, i’m just an annoyed teenager. I try my best to be open-minded to people but only as long as they are too. I tried to use my brain more than my feelings for this post. 

[gryffindors-weasley]

Wild Hearts

Ron Weasley x Reader

Summary: You and Ron go for a ride in his fathers car one summer night.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: none—fluff and kissing, light swearing

A/N: This is inspired by the song Stargazing by The Neighbourhood! It is also a continuation from a part of one of my fics here

It was the start of summer, your second summer spent at the Burrow since you and Ron had moved into a place of your own. To have not only one home but two was a dream in and of itself; twice the comfort and twice the opportunity to be homesick should you stray too far from either for too long. It was a delightfully bittersweet feeling, but you wouldn’t trade what you’ve got for the world. The Weasley family had always been welcoming, radiating the utmost of warmth and boisterous energy, but the same could not be said of that chaos when night rolled around. It was strikingly quiet.

You lay there in the small bed once belonging to Ron throughout his childhood, crammed for space as you lay pressed against his side like you had been for the better part of an hour. It felt as though just one wrong move from either of you and one of you would be sent toppling to the floor; it has happened before. The two of you stared restlessly at the slanted wooden ceiling, the moonlight shining in the window illuminating the little bits of dust being pushed around by the breeze coming in through the cracks in the walls. If you tried hard enough, you were so bored you just might have been able to count them.

It was impossibly quiet save for the chirping of the crickets outside and the occasional myriad of chimes when the clocks around the home struck a new hour. A new hour of doing anything but sleep. The different pitches of unsynchronized clocks signaling it was only one o’clock in the morning had been taunting you. Ron had made a few attempts to sleep, he even snored for a span of ten or so minutes, but ultimately he was left to lay awake just as you had been. Your minds were far too busy and had yet to slow down with the chaos of the family game night just hours earlier.

A huff puffed up your cheeks and left your lips while your fingers tapped absentmindedly, your hands clasped and rested in your stomach. His own sigh was soon to follow, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth in an attempt to fill the quiet of the room. As if on cue, you turn your head to the left as he turns his to the right, and you share a mirrored look as you bite the inside of your cheek. No words needed to be spoken, rarely did they ever at this point in your relationship. You knew each far too well by just a simple look.

“Wanna go for a drive?” He asks after a moment, the tip of his nose nearly bumping yours in the crowded and close proximity.

Your smile forms at the mere mention of the idea, widening more so when he matched your grin with one of his own. You laugh softly as you look up at the ceiling once more for a brief moment before returning your gaze to him, your giggling never ceasing. “You mean in the car you’ve been forbidden to use for the rest of life?”

His smile is lopsided as he tries to look at you in discontent at your question, moving to prop himself on his elbow. “That was twelve years ago,” he squints as he defends himself, “besides, I didn’t do half bad.”

“Half bad? I suppose I should ask the whomping willow. Or perhaps I could just use my memory,” you retort with a scoff and he throws his head back, heaps of ginger hair flopping out of his face momentarily. He groans, smiling nonetheless. He knows you’ll never stop teasing him about it for as long as he presents you with an opportunity.

“For old times sake?” He asks after a little while longer, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile once he brings himself to look at you. You laugh softly at him, his hair falling back around his face once more. You pretended to ponder the offer just to get on his nerves in playful mocking.

“As if I could say no to anything to rescue me from my boredom,” you beam as you kiss his nose, quick to get up from the squeaky mattress in search of your shoes.

He follows suit as he slips on his jeans, nearly tripping over his own feet as he snags his converse from under the bed. He grabs his tattered denim jacket from the back of the chair at his desk, knowing full well you’d need it.

The trip to the very first floor was not an easy feat. Not with the creaky old stairs working against you, not with the giggles you could barely seem to stifle, certainly not with the miscellaneous shoe on a step Ron hadn’t seen. It was sent tumbling down each and every step with a near painful sound that had you narrowing your eyes at him as he shrugged. Regardless of the utter clumsiness you managed to make it without waking the large family.

Ron stood in place for a moment as you looked at him quizzically and waited, watching as he shrugged on his jacket and wandered to the uneven countertop in the kitchen. He steps on the very end of a loose board and you start to smile as the other end pops up, a set of glimmering keys snatched from its spot. He turns to face you with a proud smile.

“Perhaps my mum should’ve picked a new spot,” he chuckles, spinning the keys around his finger.

You respond with an eye roll when you grab his hand, tugging him out of the door in hushed laughter. The fresh air and breeze was much better than the stuffy confines of his room at the highest point of the house, and you found yourself even more excited for the spontaneity of your plans. Even on your rush he still stopped to open your door, an action not having gone unnoticed by you as you smiled brightly at him.

“Are you sure you know how to fly this thing? You never quite seem to stick the landing,” you quip once he joins you, looking over at Ron with a half smirk, one that widened with the sheer look of offense crossing his face.

“Yes, I very well do, love,” he scoffs as if it’s the most obvious thing to know, not without grumbling under his breath either. “You try flying a car when you’re twelve.”

You laugh to yourself and shake your head, and when you turn to look at him once more, he’s already looking at you fondly despite his counter. It’s a fleeting moment of love not needing to be spoken, only heightening when he leans over the center console to kiss you once more. He nearly winces when he turns the key in the ignition, the headlights flickering on and the engine roaring to life with a certain rumble that had been telling of the car’s age. His father could no longer ground him for this, but his mother would not hesitate to scold him till the end of time if she knew just what he’d been doing.

Without much of a second thought he put the car in drive and set off down the path, tires spinning quickly down the old dirt driveway and leaving behind a cloud of dust in its wake. Surely they must have heard the tires squeal.

When you reach the end he lifts above ground in a not-smooth-takeoff, but you were far too caught up in the familiar rush, rolling the windows down. The summer air pulsed through the car in waves as he lifted above the treeline, seemingly one with the stars still far from you. You looked to each other briefly with the same beaming smiles, your laughter mingling in the space and filtering out into the night air. Everything felt weightless as you soared along, the wind blowing warmly through your hair as you stuck your arm out the window. There was no need to be hushed, no need to refrain from the giddy cheers and comical howls at the moon.

In that very moment, nothing else mattered. Not the imminent scolding of his mother, not the work you had to do when you returned to your own home, not the repercussions of a night having gone unslept. What mattered was the memory you were living, the way Ron let loose and felt free as he hollered at the moon, the way your heart raced with utter happiness. That’s what mattered.

He knows you’ll always have a hold on his heart, you have since the day he met you and he knows it’ll never change, not that he wants it to. You’re everything wonderful the world has to offer wrapped up in one person, and he doesn’t quite know how it’s possible. He’s enamored, that he did know. He’s enchanted and far beyond spellbound, feeling more than lucky that you chose to love him of all others in the universe. It was him you loved with the utmost of certainty, the sincerest of loves. It was him.

You passed over rolling hills and thriving trees, Ron’s hand in yours in wordless protection as you moved to look out the open window. That’s when he found himself staring when he knew he shouldn’t be. Staring at the way the moonlight danced across your skin and glimmered in your hair to the point that you looked ethereal. At the way you laughed joyously and freely, eyes closed as the ever-flowing breeze swirled through your hair. At the smile gracing your lips he so desperately wanted to kiss. It was his gawking that nearly made him swooped too low and scrape the front end on a hill, his heart thumping wildly as the two of you shared a fleeting look of surprise before laughing.

He knows that is but another thing you’d make sure to never let him forget, at least not for a long while. But how was he to help his distracted attention when you capture it so easily? When you steal it with no effort at all? The answer still remained to be seen.

—

The strikingly memorable clearing soon made its appearance, Ron releasing your hand to slow the car and dip to a landing. A very expectedly rocky landing he knew he’d be hearing about.

You parked in the grass, giddy and breathless as you pushed open the door and rushed out without care to close it. The night sky was vast and clear, not a cloud in sight as it sat littered with twinkling stars while you looked up at it with outstretched arms. Ron was quick to follow, not bothering to close the door either as he trails close behind. But rather than focusing his attention on the sky, he finds he’s much more content focusing on you. It was then that he enveloped you in his embrace and it was then that your gaze pulled from above you and moved to the beaming smile belonging to your blushing redhead. You grin brightly as he twirls you in his arms, hold never faltering as you rest your forehead on his, his nose brushing against yours.

“I love you,” he laughs, still jittery from the thrill of the ride. “Bloody hell I love you.”

Before you have a chance to respond, his lips are on yours, soft and tender as his hand settles on your cheek. Your quieted laughter seeps into his kiss, your fingers gripping the striped fabric of his t-shirt. He kissed you with every bit of love he had to give, cheeks flushing what was surely the same shade of his hair. You hadn’t wanted to part from him, didn’t ever want to but he’d gone and kissed you breathless, more than you already had been.

You cheeks burned a dull heat when you pulled away, lips still brushing against one another as you exhaled a breathy laugh, sharing an adoring smile. You couldn’t help but kiss him once more—twice more. It left his heart bounding within his chest, left him feeling as though this was the first time kissing you. But he was starting to think that every time felt like the first time.

The softness of his smile spoke volumes as he looked at you, leaning to rest his forehead on yours again.

“I love you,” you murmur, and his hands drop down to squeeze your own.

The moment lasted all too briefly as you pulled him with you, but he found he’d follow you just anywhere so the thought hadn’t bothered him too much. The two of you sat on the old blue hood, backs pressed to the windshield as a breathy laugh leaves your lips. Surely his muddy converse would leave his ever distinctive shoe prints that he’d forget to clean off, and surely Molly would scold him all the next morning for it. But that could wait for now. Everything else could wait.

“You’re a bad influence, you know,” he chuckles, his hand falling to his side to grab a hold of yours.

“And you’re a bad driver,” you counter, turning your head to the right to meet his already narrowed gaze.

It softened within seconds, however, a gentle smile on his lips as he allowed himself to stare. He didn’t care that his hair was poking in his eyes, or that laying on the hood of a car was ridiculously uncomfortable. He didn’t care that it was a tad too warm for a jean jacket or that his cheeks still burned from nearly wrecking his dad’s car again. When he looked at you it didn’t matter.

Without hesitation he rolled to his side, his grip on your hand never faltering as he leaned in and kissed you again. Soft and sweet, tender and loving. When you parted he stayed mere centimeters from your lips, nose bumping yours as his smile when unseen but his laughter obvious against your lips. With one more kiss he rolls back over, grinning like the lovestruck fool he knew himself to be. He was always your lovestruck fool.

In that moment everything settles around you. The laughter quieted, your pounding hearts calmed. It was serene in the way the breeze blew over you in such a way he rid himself of his jacket to give to you before finding your hand again. Peaceful in the way the crickets sang and the lightning bugs fluttered all around you. The sky seemed too breathtaking for its own good, vast and endless and full of sparkling beauty.

You hadn’t done this—you hadn’t been here since you were seventeen. Though being twenty-four hadn’t felt much different. You were still hopelessly in love just as much as you always had been.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He starts.

“The moon.”

You finish a sentence you knew all too well. The look he gives you is priceless and precious all the same and you can’t help but smile.

“What?”

“I’m beginning to think you’re just as sappy as that love potion made you be,” You jest, and he chuckles as he looks above him, quiet for a short while.

“I can’t believe Harry told you that bit,” he sighs, shaking his head.

“I’m glad he did,” you say softly, and he turns head and looks at you then.

Your eyelids had grown heavy as the late hour had started to catch up with you, your smile small yet loving as you blinked at him slowly. He released your hand in favor of pulling you close, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, then one to your nose.

“Me too,” he murmured.

He knew it was only a matter of time before the two of you fell asleep. He knew he’d come home to his parents waiting for him with crossed arms and worried expressions soon turned angry. He knew it all but couldn’t bring himself to care in that moment.

Your hearts were too wild and you were far too in love to let this pass you by.

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @theweasleysredhair @anchoeritic @harrysweasleys @hahee154hq @amourtentiaa @snitches-at-dawn @awritingtree @lupinsclassroom @dracosathenaeum @writeroutoftime

[tsumtsumland]

“i’ll be home for christmas”| m.atsumu x reader

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: mxf smut, fingering.

author’s note: figured the only way to start off my Christmas fics right was with my main man ❤️ enjoy! This is the last time I’m reuploading this, it refuses to show up in tags 😔

3 weeks, that’s how long Atsumu was supposed to be gone for. 5 weeks, that’s how long he’s actually been gone for. You sigh as you turn the faucet off now that the tub was full. You drop a bath bomb into the water and watch it fizzle out, turning the liquid pink. A glance at the clock tells you it was only a few hours until December 25th, guess you’ll be spending Christmas alone this year.

Another heavy sigh leaves your lips, as you light one of those Christmas scented candles you love on the tub’s ledge. You get ready to undo the tie on your robe when the doorbell rings. You have half a mind to just leave it, but you tighten the bow back and head to the door.

Without even looking through the peephole, you’re just absolutely annoyed with whoever was on the other side of the door, you yank it open, ready to give them a piece of your mind. You’re rendered dumbstruck when the MSBY setter stands in the threshold of your shared home, grinning mischievously with a mistletoe held above you both in his right hand.

“Tsumu! What are you doing here?! You said you wouldn’t be till a few more days!” you gasped, excitement blatant on your face.

“I told you I’d be home for Christmas,” Atsumu replies, true to his cheesy self and winks at you.

You throw yourself at him, nearly taking you both to the floor but his reflexes worked faster, and he holds you against him tightly with one arm, lips meeting yours under the mistletoe. You can barely breathe and your ribs hurt a little but you didn’t want him to let go.

You’re breathless when you both pull away, and your cheeks are flushed. You usher him inside quickly to avoid the chill from getting into your apartment.

Atsumu gives you a once over, noting your clothing, or lack thereof. “Were you up to something naughty?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“No, I was about to take a sad, lonely, bath,” you dramatize and roll your eyes. “You can join me if you like…” you saunter away into the bathroom with him hot on your heels, shedding his clothes all the way there.

By the time you get to the bathroom, he’s only left in his boxers and Atsumu’s hands are at the closure of your robe as his lips ghost over your neck. “Can I take it off?” he whispers against your skin. You swallow at the sudden change of atmosphere, and nod, allowing him to remove your only layer of clothing, and then his.

Atsumu wraps his arms around you as you both sink into the bath. You lean back against his muscled chest and sigh in bliss, the warm water was heaven to your sore muscles, and his arms around you was heaven altogether. You turn your head a little and press a kiss to his jawline, marvelling for a few seconds at his perfectly sculpted face.

The conversation after came easily to the both of you, like it always did. He told you all about what was happened at the recent tournament in Seoul, and you told him all about the latest gossip and happenings in Japan. You were pretty sure you had told each other all of this before during your phone calls, but it didn’t even matter.

Being so close to him after so long made you aware of how much you missed him and craved his presence. You always made it a point to have some alone time when you got to be together, and baths with each other just felt so much more intimate. It almost scares you when you realize just how deeply you feel for him, after only 7 months of dating. In all fairness, the feeling had been there for a while, it was just more prominent now, and you weren’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks quietly, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I don’t know…it’s…different,” you’re not sure how to put it into words. “This feels different, in a good way, but it scares me,” you confess nervously.

He takes your hands in his, entwining your fingers. “That’s good, because I thought I was the only one feeling this way,” he kisses the spot on your shoulder that his chin was just on.

Relief floods your chest at his words and you relax a little easier now. You turn your entire body so that your lips could meet his properly, the kiss was slow and languid. He indulges you of course, because he can’t get enough of you either. You feel his hands caressing your sides, raising a wave of goose bumps over your skin, and you can’t help the mewl that escapes your mouth.

His hands come to a stop on your waist and he breaks the kiss to pull you up higher on top of him, his lips descend on your neck and continue their assault. You close your eyes, arching your neck so he had better access to it. He bites and sucks at the tender flesh, leaving a trail of marks down your neck and across your collarbones. The seductive aroma from the bath coupled with the dizzying effect of his hands and mouth on your skin was overkill for your senses, you couldn’t even think straight. All you know is that you need more.

“Tsumu…” you moan against his lips.

“Hmm?”

“More,” your fingers tangle in his faux blonde locks when he complies, one of his hands moving down between your legs and spreading your lips, pushing a finger into you, the water aiding his intrusion. You cry out in a mix of pleasure and slight pain at the burn.

He smirks against your collarbone, nipping at it, and adds another finger as you move your hips in time with his fingers. His free hand comes up and twists a nipple between his fingers.

“God! Faster!” you beg, tugging at his hair and grinding down on his fingers.

“Like this?” he teases, snapping his wrist at an even faster pace, his palm slapping against your clit as he finds that spongey spot inside of you and targets it with precision.

Your scream echoes off the tiles of the bathroom walls as you cum all over his fingers, your juices mixing with the water in the tub.

He takes you over the edge twice more in the span of less than five minutes with just his fingers, leaving you breathless and shaking on his chest, babbling nonsense.

Atsumu chuckles lowly at your incoherent pleas and whimpers. He’s feeling generous tonight, one of his hands travels down your back soothingly, while the other holds you firmly against him while you try to regain your composure. You can feel him pressing kisses into your hair as your body trembles from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

When you can speak again, you look up at him, “I want you.” You see the switch flip in his eyes, they go from soft to sharp in record time, darkening from that golden honey to almost black.

He stands up, bringing you with him, and pulls the plug letting the water in the tub go down the drain. He sets you atop the bathroom counter looking at you with something akin to danger glinting in his dark eyes. You smirk and pull him into the space between your legs, so you could wrap them around him.

It’s 12:01 when you look up at the clock.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” you whisper, looking up at him from under your lashes, knowing how that drives him crazy.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he grins, kissing you a few times playfully before his hands clamp down on your thighs and pull you hard against him, making you gasp at the contact.

“Now let me give you your present,” he murmurs lowly against your swollen lips.

[thebountyfucker]

The Royal Affair - Cad

Don't read this without reading the first part!!

Part 1

18+ ONLY - NSFW

Cad Bane x AFAB!Reader (gender-neutral, though reader does wear a skirt.) Tags/CW: power imbalance, claiming, dirty talk, sex as payment, collaring, everything is consensual but Cad is a bit forceful

Here's a link to my masterpost Want to be tagged in upcoming fics like this? Here's the link to my taglist application!

Your gaze followed Prince Cad for most of the rest of the night. He wandered around the venue, making small talk with Lady Sing or Lord Jango. He seemed less inclined to stay with his family unit than some, you noted, and appeared to be most comfortable when conversing with others. He nursed a few glasses of whiskey, but never pushed too far into drunkenness. Though you were sure he’d deny it, he was a royal, and as such, he had appearances to maintain.

Your gazes met many times during the night; at first, his gaze was strictly chaste, but as the night continued on, his gaze became more and more licentious, as if he couldn’t wait to get you alone. A chill ran down your spine, and you couldn’t quite tell if you were nervous or aroused by the prospect.

Toward the end of your shift, you made your way toward him; Cad was leaned against the wall, joking with Lord Jango about something. His gaze met yours and a wide, fanged grin spread across his face.

“Well, well, well… look who it is.” He pushed off the wall to stand straight. “Made up yer mind?”

“Yeah… I want to come with you.” You answered, and he hooked his thumbs into the pockets on his suit coat.

“Good choice. Ya would’ve regretted goin’ wit’ Em.” He replied, glancing up toward the departing Kyuzan clan. Prince Embo offered you a small nod, as if honoring the decision you made. You turned back toward Cad, who had fished around in his coat pocket for a cig. “Come wit’ me.”

There were no other pleasantries as he led you out of the meeting hall toward the adjacent Azvergin Hotel; the hotel, which catered exclusively to billionaires and royalty, was largely a mystery to you. You either had to be staff to said clientele, or a member of these groups in order to be let inside. Rumor had it that one could rent an entire floor, long term, for fifty million credits! You’d never see that kind of money in your life, but you supposed that it was like spare change to the Prince at your side.

He led you inside, through the rigorous security detail which awaited you. The guards hardly regarded you, and you figured that this may be a common occurrence with the Prince. They took your fingerprints and ran a background check - when it came up clean, they allowed you through. Then, Cad led you into the lift and up 15 floors to what you assumed was his family’s floor.

The entire ride was silent, but he kept looking at you, as if he couldn’t figure out what he was going to do with you. This made you a bit nervous, only because you weren’t entirely sure if he was to be trusted. Some girls from your work told you that the Prince would lay claim to his favorite servants and mark them with collars. You briefly wondered if this would be your future too.

Cad offered you a smirk as the doors parted and he led you out into the hallway. The walls were white, with intricate gold crown mouldings; doors lined the hallway, each with carved tags denoting who stayed where. Two guards stood at attention at each door, and servants - mostly women, of varying species - bustled about. Each and every person you passed bowed for their prince, and Cad ate it up. He gripped the chin of one of the servant girls, and leaned down to kiss her straight on the lips. She swooned.

Cad turned back toward you, and gestured toward a nearby door with his head. “Dis is my room. You can stay wit’ me. Dat is, unless you want to sleep in de servants’ quarters.”

“I suppose I can stay with you… if that’s alright.”

“Sure, sure.” He nodded, and the guards pushed open the door for you both; Cad stepped in first, and you followed closely behind.

The room was cavernous - larger than your entire apartment, you wagered - and designed with royalty in mind. The walls were pristine white with gold filigree, and spanned higher than you thought possible. He had chairs gathered in one corner, near a small bookcase. Not far from that was a fireplace, which had seemed to burn real wood, which was hard to find on Coruscant.

On the other side of the door was a wardrobe - it was a modest size for a prince, which was about twice as large as your own closet. And near that was his bed. It was massive, with bedposts at each corner and silver silk sheets. His comforter was pulled back, and you swore you could see restraints bolted to the frame.

Perhaps the rumors about him weren’t exaggerated…

“Should I… leave and get my stuff?” You inquired, standing in the middle of the room awkwardly. Cad glanced over at you as he pulled his suit coat off.

“Whaddya need?”

“Clothes, toiletries.. You know, the basics.” You watched as he tossed the coat on the floor haphazardly, before he went about unbuttoning his black shirt.

“I’ll call de servants fer ya. Dey’ll fetch your things.” He replied, nonchalant. He tossed his shirt atop his suit coat, and sat on the edge of his bed to pull off his shoes. He glanced over at you. “You got a starin’ problem?”

“N-no!” You replied, casting your glance to the floor. He chuckled and sauntered over to where you stood. He took a step toward you, pushing up against you; you took a step back, not sure if this was intentional. He took another step toward you, and then another, until you were trapped up against the wall. He reached out, cupping your chin and tilting it up so you could look him in the eyes.

“Dere ain’t no need to be shy, doll. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

“How can I be so sure?” You replied, your voice shaking. Heat pooled in your core, and his ravenous gaze only intensified the sensation.

“If I wanted t’ hurt ya… I would have done it already.” He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, and it trembled in response. His gaze trailed toward your tantalizing tits. “I think I found yer ‘price’.”

“Oh?” You squeaked, surprised by how easily he could sway you.

“Why don’ we getchu out of dese clothes, and you can show me why it was worth it t’ take ya in?”

“I-.” Your body screamed ‘yes’, but your sensibilities told you that this all seemed to be happening so quickly. But you weren’t sure he’d care if you told him this. He was a Prince, after all. You were sure he was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted. “S-something tells me you really weren’t trying to save me from the King.”

“Yer a smart one.” He drawled, a dark, hungry look in his eyes. You could smell the whiskey and tabac on his breath as he pressed closer to you. “How else would I get you to come with me?”

That tracked, you noted with a frown. Your life was ostensibly in danger, and this spoiled, entitled Prince used that to get you in his bed. You pushed him off and walked away, but he was not so easily deterred.

“Yer safe, ain’tcha?” He wasn’t wrong. Being with him meant you were safe from the King… but were you safe with Prince Cad? You crossed your arms over your chest and sat down in one of the chairs in the room. Cad followed you over to the chair, but he did not sit beside you. “Don’t be a brat.”

“I’ll be what I want.” You replied, your pussy pulsing to remind you that you were still aroused. You cursed under your breath, but figured that maybe you could make a game of this. You were scorned, sure, but you wouldn’t pass up a chance to sleep with the Prince.

“Is dat so? Do ya need to be tamed? Is dat it?” He crossed his arms over his chest and quirked a browridge. “I’ve dealth wit’ many brats. Ya ain’t special.”

“I don’t like being lied to.” You explained to him, and his expression soured. “If you just wanted to fuck me, you could have told me that.”

“Yeah. Like dat would’ve worked.” He rolled his eyes.

“It would have! I was having a shit day and I would have loved to let off some steam!” You told him, and Cad sat on the arm of the chair next to yours. A small smirk grew on your face as you held his gaze. “You want to fuck me? Hm? You can start by telling me you’re sorry.”

He pursed his lips and turned his head. “Ain’t happenin’.”

“That’s a shame. I guess this cunt of mine is off-limits.” You pointedly closed your legs, and anger flashed in his eyes. You could practically see him trying to work his way out of this and still get what he wanted. But you wouldn’t budge and you could tell that he knew this. It took him twenty minutes before he was able to form the words.

“I… I’m sorry.” He growled through gritted teeth.

“Good. You should be.”

There was silence for a moment, and you figured Cad was sulking because of the apology. Before you could react, he got up and thrust his knee between your legs. You gasped softly as he pressed his thigh to your aching cunt.

“Now listen here… I don’ like dat attitude of yers. Yer in my home - ya don’t get to order me around. Got it?” He leaned forward, boxing you in against the chair. You tried to fight it, but you found yourself grinding your cunt against his leg. He hissed in response. “No sass now? Nexxu got yer tongue?”

“I got… I got what I wanted already.” You told him.

“Words are cheap, doll. You know I didn’t mean it.” He grabbed your chin and tipped your head back, before leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. It was forceful and needy, and you had to fight against pushing him away and digging in deeper. Your cunt throbbed again, and wetness seeped into your panties. You whimpered, and Cad chuckled. “Yer a little whore, ain’t ya? Despite all yer whining, ya still want me.”

He eased away, moving to finish undressing. “Get up and get naked. I wanna see dis cunt of yers.”

“M-make me.” You replied, your voice wavering with lust. He cocked a browridge and pulled you up to stand; he ripped your shirt off, and rucked the skirt down over your ass. You were nearly bare in front of him, and his ravenous gaze on your body made warmth well in your belly. He pulled down your panties, watching with interest as webs of slick stretched between your cunt and the cloth.

“Yer droolin’ fer me, doll. Filthy whore. Do ya want my cock?” He inquired, and you slowly nodded at this. He dragged you to his bed and tossed you onto it. “Show me yer cunt, doll.”

He took a step back, watching as you casually spread your legs open and then parted your labia with your fingers; Cad watched, his hungry gaze scouring over your soaked cunt. He drew in close, his knobby finger slipping inside of you. “Yer wet fer me, ain’tcha? Mmm… so wet and tight.”

You moaned, your head lolling back onto his impossibly soft comforter; your legs spread wider of their own accord, as if anticipating that he would insert his body between them sooner rather than later. You rocked your hips, aiming to drive his finger deeper within. He chuckled.

“Yer just beggin’ fer my cock at dis point… all I need is t’ hear it. Beg fer me.” “Oh Prince…. Oh Prince!” You whined, gripping his sheets tightly. He retracted his finger and drew aimlessly on your stomach with your slick. “Please, I need your cock! Please!”

“I wanna hear my name on yer lips. You know it, don’tcha?”

“Cad… Please….” You begged, lifting your hips to present your cunt to him, trying to tell him that you so desperately needed him to fill the void. He smirked at this presentation, and drew two fingers between your folds.

“Yer cute… I’ll give ya dat.” His fingers danced up and down the slit of your cunt teasingly. You whimpered, wriggling your hips closer. First, he was bitching at you about not giving in, and now he was the one dragging his feet? Entitled prick! “Most of my lays would offer t’ sell me deir families at dis point… just to get my cock.”

“Stupid.” You muttered, and he pressed a thumb to your clit.

“My favorites get special treatment. T’ dem, it’s a good trade.” He smirked as he slowly rubbed circles on your clit. Your body tensed, and your vision went spotty. “Besides, what use is a family t’ dem if dey’re here with me?”

Your toes curled as he dipped his finger into your cunt, only going in to the first knuckle. He rubbed around the entrance as he played with your clit. Stupid, entitled Prince! Fuck, you wanted him so bad...

“Now… what would you offer t’ me t’ get my cock? Hm?” He inquired as he eased his finger in a little further. “Do ya even have anythin’ of worth? You peasants usually don’t.”

“Hey!” You squeaked as he shoved the rest of his finger into you. Another slipped in soon after, and your whole body began to shake.

“Tell me, doll… what would you give to have my cock?”

“Nothing.” You replied as he thrust his fingers in and out of you. You whimpered, grinding your hips against his hand. The heat in your belly threatened to spill over, and your cunt tightened around his fingers. He was quick to remove his fingers from you.

“Ya don’t get t’ cum until ya tell me what you’d give me.”

You panicked, trying to find something, anything, of worth to give him. He wasn’t wrong about you not having much of worth; you worked a mediocre job making decent pay. You didn’t have much in the way of family, and even if you did, you would never offer them to him. This was ridiculous but you were also desperate. In the moment, all you could say was:

“Me! You can have me!”

Cad paused, quirking a browridge at this; a slow, devious smirk spread across his face and he leaned down.

“Is dat so?” He was mere inches away as his slick-covered hand slid down your stomach. “You want to be mine?”

“If - if that means you’ll fuck me… yes!” You cried out, aching and yearning. Satisfied with your answer, he angled his hips and pressed his cock into your cunt. His cock was searingly hot inside you, and filled you up sufficiently; every inch he plunged into you drove you closer and closer to an orgasm. The moment he bottomed out, you came, your body shaking as sparks of electric pleasure shot through you. Your back arched toward him, and Cad wrapped an arm around you, holding you to his chest.

He slowly rocked into your spasming pussy, moaning at the way you desperately milked him for his cum. He would not give so easily, however. He picked up his pace, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips; the ridges of his cock massaged all the sensitive parts of your cunt, and you had to stop yourself from begging for more.

“Ya feel good, doll.” Cad grunted as he thrusted harder into you. You could only whimper in response, your hands gripping your breasts tightly. “My cock feels good, don’t it?”

“Yessss.” You cried out, your toes curling as your orgasm loomed once more. You laid your head back on his bed, closing your eyes to bask in the sensations. He raked his fingers up and down your thighs, which quivered at the touch. There was only so much more you could take before the building tension snapped and you came again.

“Say my name.”

“Cad!”

“Say it louder! Let de whole place know who ya belong t’!” He roared, digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs to the point where you were certain they would bruise. A wail rose from deep in your chest.

“CAD!” You yelled out, arching your back and thrashing about as the sensations became unbearable. You were so close! So close! Your cunt tightened around Cad’s cock and he let out a groan at the sensation.

“Ya gonna cum fer me again? Ya gonna cum, lil’ slut?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” You cried, bucking your hips up against his, grasping at any additional pleasure you could get. Cad’s pace was growing erratic, and you knew that he wouldn’t be too far behind you.

“Cum fer me! Cum!” Cad commanded, pressing his thumb to your clit. Your vision went dark as your body when stiff; fluids shot out of you, soaking Cad, as waves of euphoria washed over your body. Through the haze of pleasure, you could feel Cad biting down on your shoulder, puncturing your skin, as he shot his cum deep inside you. Your cunt milked him for all he was worth.

When you came back to your head, Cad was lapping at the blood which leaked from your wound. He pulled out when he realized that you had come to, and went to find a rag so you could clean up. He returned with a towel, and gestured to your throbbing cunt.

“Go on.”

You cleaned up, as you were directed, while Cad strutted around his room. He returned to you with a collar in hand, and you quirked a brow. “For me?”

“Yeah. Ya did give yerself t’ me.” He reminded you.

“I did, didn’t I?” You managed a smile and leaned forward, presenting your neck to him. He clasped the collar around it, and stroked your cheek.

“Dere you are. All pretty.”

[thepencilnerd]

Pasta and Dinner Parties

"Edamame," Theo says.

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

Another eye roll. “The pasta, it’s made from edamame.” Theo pronounces it with a certain twinge of pomposity that would have Percy Weasley reeling. Too many syllables. Vowels too lengthy. “Type of soybean, I reckon.” 

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer.

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.”

Draco and Hermione have reached a domestic milestone. They've finally decided to move in together. Draco invites her over for dinner, but what would a little Slytherin hospitality be without some sugar and spice?

Rated M for language and discussions of heavy topics in future chapters

Full fic + updates on AO3

"Luna sent a box of these over, wonderful isn't she?" If lovesick eyes had a picture to accompany the definition, Theodore Nott’s face would be front and center. In his left hand, he held an empty cardboard carton with a sticky note adhered to the front flap. 

Simmer for 10 minutes with a sprig of rosemary and a teaspoon of salt. Keeps away the balfspracks. 

Blaise rubs his eyes. It’s half-past five and he’s already had it with Theo. Had it. Patience wore down to the bone. Basta. Finite incantatem. In all honesty, he’d gladly throw himself in front of a flying—

A shorter figure crept up from behind. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she gives her boyfriend a peck on the cheek, which seems to loosen the wrinkles settling over his forehead. 

"Ladies," Pansy jests, mediating the arguments between the two as always. "I'm sure there's more than enough pasta to go around." 

"Not pasta," Blaise muttered. He tried to concentrate on the lingering warmth Pansy’s lips left on his face. The poor bloke sounded like he was about to hurl.  

At this, Theo rolled his eyes and waved dismissively. “Yes, yes, yes, you can flaunt your Italian heritage some other time, now let me work my culinary magic!” 

Blaise takes a deep breath. High blood pressure, he remembered Pansy saying. Need to stay calm. "Mate, I love you, I really do, but if you don't tell me what those green things swimming about in my favorite crockpot are, you have another thing coming."

"You used a crockpot to boil pasta?" Pansy’s head popped up from behind Blaise’s shoulder. Her nose wrinkled like she’d caught a whiff of something foul. 

“Not pasta.” Blaise was a broken record.

Draco groaned from the living room. The headache from earlier evolved into a full-blown migraine by the time lunch was over. His eyeballs were absolutely throbbing. He jammed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets as if it would relieve any of the aching. To no avail. 

"Granger's coming over in half an hour and we’ve yet to transfigure a dining table." He verbalized his misery in as simple terms as he could. Sitting on the living room couch, he calculated the farthest distance from the kitchen and found himself just a few feet away. Problem with having a small flat. He couldn't find it in himself to raise his voice. Not with the demon baby currently going stir-crazy with a gavel in his skull. 

He questioned his level of sobriety when he agreed to this.

Meeting Hermione Granger’s parents had been less stressful than this. 

Introducing her to his mother was a Christmas tree full of Christmas presents compared to this. 

Sitting in a train compartment with 2nd-year Hufflepuffs sounded more bearable than this. 

Why, oh why, did he have to open his big mouth that night? 

“Seems proper that I’d at least get to share dinner with them before we move in together,” Hermione shrugged. Her hair was still damp from her—their—shower. Stray curls escaped, framing the curves of her face. Draco loved how her sheets always smelled like her soap. The scent of her shampoo was reserved for the pillowcases. 

“Come over for dinner,” he suggested. Quite impulsively, really. “Allow me to treat you to an evening of... Slytherin hospitality.” Draco’s trademark grin served him well. Resting on his side, Draco was propped up on one elbow with no shirt and sheet draped over his bottom half. She wanted to believe he was wearing briefs underneath. He looked absolutely wicked. 

Hermione scowled tentatively but surrendered with a smile. Her chest rose before she let out a sigh. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I’d experienced an inkling of that before.” Mirth graced her tone. 

The embers from the fireplace bounced off of her bare skin like rays of summer sun; warm and welcoming. Draco’s fingers fondled the strap of her bra, the only thing she was wearing, and earned a breathy giggle from her. Tugging the lace down, he sat up and started pressing a trail of kisses along her skin. Goosebumps erupted where his lips traced her flesh. The bath had stained her skin; she tasted of rosewater and honey. 

Hermione let out a hmph and tried to focus on the book she was holding. She developed a knack for knowing when he craved attention. Whenever Draco came over, he turned into a literal child. Always nagging and begging for her every time he got the chance. If she wasn’t superglued to his side, Hermione would bet a million galleons he’d throw a fit. 

“Turn around and face me instead. I don’t fancy being smothered by your hair while we sleep.” 

“How do you turn on the stove?”

“Granger, help me fix the antenna!” 

“Could you take a look at this spot on the back of my head? I might be balding.” 

“Granger, I think I nicked myself on the aluminium.” 

“If you weren’t wearing so many clothes, we’d probably warm up faster. Becoming a pair of popsicles isn’t exactly on my bucket list.” 

This time around, his demands were very clear. 

“Pay attention to me.” 

Hermione’s eyes shot up from her book. Shock painted her features like a splash of cold water. 

She blinks once. Twice. Three times for good measure. And then, her lips break into a blinding smile, pearly whites and all. The corners of her eyes curl into half-moons and her whole body shakes with glee. 

Sweet Merlin, he was fucked. 

Setting her book down on the nightstand, Hermione sits up straight and looks at Draco expectantly. He sits unmoved beside her. Staring. Admiring. Waiting. The cheeky grin that etches into her face is one Draco would give the world to see every day. 

Draco leans back against the headboard and stretches his legs out towards the foot of the bed. Scooting closer to her, she flips her leg over his awaiting lap. She’s straddling him in the span of two seconds. The feel of her bare flesh against his is utter bliss. 

Her arms wrap around his neck like a koala bear and her head nestles into the crook of his neck. Despite lathering him in her soap, he still smelled like Draco. All these years of dating and she still couldn’t put her finger on the bevy of aromas. 

Draco mirrors her actions like a reflection, one and the same. His arms make her feel so incredibly small when encased in them. Like a bear cub. Or a kangaroo in a pouch. Maybe mammals would be an appropriate term to generalize how warm and safe she felt in his embrace, but it wasn’t the most attractive or poetic—

“I thought we finished showering earlier,” he sighs into her hair. “Why is there steam coming off your head?”

She blows a puff of air into his neck and he jolts at the sensation. Ticklish. Draco knew that secret would die with Hermione and she was honored to keep it. Unless it served her in times of duress. 

“I was just thinking about how safe I am when I’m with you.” The tip of her nose brushes against the junction above his throat and feels his heartbeat, delicate but strong. 

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

Pulling back, he slides his left hand along her cheek and she leans into it like second nature. Hermione raises her right hand and cradles it over his. The way it pales in proportion almost makes him break into laughter. When she presses open-mouthed kisses down his bare wrist, Draco resists the urge to take her right then and there. It’s too perfect of a moment to ruin. Not tonight. 

She’s even more tender when her lips reach his scar. The marred flesh that takes him back to his inescapable past. A reminder of everything wrong he’s been taught since childhood; everything bad in this world; everything wrong he’s done throughout his entire life. 

But more importantly, it’s a symbol of how much good was left in this dismal world. 

It’s a battle scar that reminds him that he lived.

Something that motivates him to keep trying. 

A reminder of how despite being swallowed by the darkness that plagued the world, he chose to hold onto light. 

A reminder of how above everything, he chose Hermione and Hermione chose him. 

He takes a moment to look at her, really look at her, and melts. 

Hermione is a vision actualized. He sees the dreams and aspirations swirl about her irises in flickers. Roaming freely and always there when you needed them. He wants to bask in them. Relish in them. In her. For as long as she’ll keep him, no matter how infinitely small or finitely large. He’d burn through galaxies if it meant seeing her happy and safe. Anything and everything he could provide for her was his to offer. She need only ask. 

Draco Malfoy was wholly and irrevocably head over heels for Hermione Granger.

Magic and might, save him. 

No really, save him.

What the bloody hell was that infernal yapping? 

"I, for one, thought it would be better to go to an Italian restaurant, but Blaise here," Theo quipped. “—wanted to dish out his non-existent cooking skills,” He paused to stir the pot. “At least Luna was kind enough to—”

Blaise stomped his foot on the kitchen tiles. Miracle they hadn’t cracked yet. There was no point in trying to hide his tantrum. “Just because my ancestors were Italian doesn’t mean I’m a master chef!” He narrows his eyes. “Honestly Theo—” The words die in his throat when Theo fishes out a noodle from the pot. Maybe it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him but he swears it flipping wiggles. “What in Merlin’s great magical kingdom is that abomination and why the ever-loving fuck is it green?” 

Pansy gave his cheek a pat. “Colorful, Blaise. Truly” 

"Edamame," Theo says. 

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

Another eye roll. “The pasta, it’s made from edamame.” Theo pronounces it with a certain twinge of pomposity that would have Percy Weasley reeling. Too many syllables. Vowels too lengthy. “Type of soybean, I reckon.” 

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer. 

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.” 

A crash echoes from the kitchen and Theo lets out a screech that rivals grindylows. 

Pansy takes a long, calm sip. Likely pumpkin juice. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if it were laced with some pre-appetizer spirits. How she managed to deal with Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum was beyond him. Hell, he needed some right about now. At least to dial down the nerves. Not to mention the spike in blood pressure provoked by his flatmates. 

The remaining minutes pass like clockwork and before he knows it, the front door dings. Never has a bell sounded more menacing than now. Why is he so nervous? She’s met them a few times before and they’ve definitely shared rounds of drinks. No doubt, gone to Diagon Alley with Parkinson, Lovegood, and Weasley. The tolerable one. 

Did he clean his room? 

Theo promised to dust right after tea but the bloke was delusional about everything except Lovegood. A bit poetic, not that Draco ever cared to admit it. 

Pansy and Blaise stopped by the market yesterday and restocked the pantries and fridge. 

And then Luna dropped off her bag of goodies this morning. 

“She’s early.” Theo stuck his head out from the kitchen. Why was he covered in flour? 

So many questions. Draco didn’t even care to know the answers to half of them. 

“She’s always early when she’s excited.” 

The three stooges stand shell shocked and stare at Pansy. They just stare. 

She blinks like an owl and shakes her head. “Honestly, are you three just going to stand there or is someone’s boyfriend going to get the door?” 

Draco’s brain registers the words too late for his liking. He’s dead sober but his brain is all fuzzy. Just as she’s about to knock for a second round, Draco’s feet propel him to the door so fast a whip of apparition cracks. 

The door clicks open to reveal a dazzling frame. Hermione Granger is, to say the least, an unreal figment of everything good in the world. War heroine, member of the Order of the Phoenix, magical, academic, and practical genius, pure in mind and soul, and his girlfriend. His girlfriend. His. Donning a pair of black leggings and a flowing cream blouse, she’s bundled in a beige trench coat and blush pink scarf. Dark mahogany brown ankle boots boost her height by a few centimeters. Draco still overshadows her by a good head or two. Nevertheless, it’s a thoughtful effort. She’s holding a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. 

“Hello—woah!’ 

Draco’s arms are around her instantly and she’s brought into the house. His broad shoulders envelop her into a cloaked embrace that lets his scent wash over her. He never wants to let go. 

Initially surprised at the abrupt shift in balance, Hermione relaxes into his hold within seconds. He still smells like her soap and Draco and… smoking?

“Blaise!” a female voice shrieks. “Don’t just stand there Theo, do something!” 

A cloud of smoke—contained by a bubble charm, thanks to Pansy—swirls above the stovetop, large and foreboding. The source? A deep green crockpot placed on one of the burners.

Wait. Why is a crockpot on the burner? Hermione wonders.

“I told you we needed to salt the water and add the rosemary! Now you’ve got balfspracks all over the bloody place!” Theo’s voice changed from panic to mockery. He turned his nose upright and growled in a nasal tone. “‘Oh, salt is acceptable, but rosemary? Unacceptable. A disgrace to all cuisine Italian. May as well—’”

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. By the end of the day, he’d probably have to ask Hermione to heal his bruises. “Bloody hell…” 

“Oh, it’s my fault now, is it?” Hermione realizes Blaise’s name suits him very well. Almost too well. In any other life, he might have been sorted into Gryffindor with that fiery temperament. “Next time we have a guest over, we’re ordering take-out. From Hogsmeade!” 

“Someone help me get rid of this burnt pot of—whatever the hell pasta Theo was making,” Pansy gags while trying to contain the swelling bubble. The scent is overwhelming. Something between seaweed and polyjuice. Perhaps a vile mixture of the two. 

“EDAMAME!” 

“NOT PASTA!” 

Draco can’t tell whether he wants to burst into laughter or cry. Maybe he’ll do both. Hermione was there to wipe away the snot or tears, regardless of whichever it would end up being. 

Giving him a chase kiss, Hermione placed the gifts in his hands and made her way to the lounge. Draco was going to kill them. He was going to kill them dead.

She pulled out her want and raised it towards the giant orb of smoke, confidence igniting her eyes. Her wand moved as if it were on its own, guided purely by magic and intent with an undeniable essence of Granger. She draws a broad circle that covers the entire room and summons the wisps of smoke like a magnet. The ashy tendrils of burnt food claw their way out of the floorboards and ceiling cracks, latching on for as long as they can before they’re drawn out Aiming towards the ajar door, the coils of smoke and singe are thrown out the entrance with a deafening gust. 

A single strand of hair falls out of her ponytail. 

She blows it out of her eyes with a single, deliberate puff. 

The corner of her lip quirks upwards the slightest. 

It’s so fast you’d miss it if you blinked. 

If Draco wasn’t so overcome with the urge to skin his friends, he’d dive in there right now and kiss her numb. 

The flat has returned to an atmosphere of calm. 

“Fucking finally,” Draco mutters out loud. Not intentionally but he doesn’t regret it one bit. 

Pansy, Theo, and Blaise resemble owls; wide eyes, unmoving bodies, twitching necks that swivel side to side. 

Theo breaks the silence with something along the lines of a chortle. “Welcome to our humble abode, Granger.” 

“Pleasure to have you here,” Blaise adds. His hands are still clenched around Theo’s shirt collar. 

Pansy is still trying to catch her breath having inhaled a hefty amount of the fumes. Blaise and Theo had probably tumbled around the living room enough to avoid the thick of it. Still, she refuses to let it impede on her hostess abilities. 

“Hermione!” Pansy coughs. “Why don’t you and Draco check out upstairs while—” she pauses to glare daggers at the two boys covered in God knows what, “—we deal with the mess down here.” 

Hermione draws out the excess smoke from Pansy’s clothes and hair with a swish of her wand. The next thing she does makes the three boys’ jaws unhinge. They bring each other into a warm hug and laughter rings in the air.

“It’s good to see you too, Pans,” Hermione breathes. Draco was definitely going to have a fit over this later.

Hermione gives Theo and Blaise a shy wave. Hopefully, they’d understand. In any other instance, she’d be more than happy to rid their clothes of the stench. They wouldn’t even have to ask. But this was Pansy Parkinson and if Hermione knew Pansy Parkinson, she knew that the Slytherin would want to drag on punishment as long as possible before even thinking of succumbing to forgiveness. 

Hermione Granger’s stubbornness coupled with her Gryffindor loyalty? 

She’ll be damned if she lets either waver when surrounded by friends. 

Draco clears his throat forcefully and offers his arm. “Upstairs then, shall we?” 

Hermione loops her arm through his and grins. It’s contagious and Draco already feels his anger ebb into affection. 

She speaks almost as lightheartedly as the wand movement for a levitation charm. "We shall." 

[eponymiad]

Day 10 — Favorite Platonic Ship: Helen & Gen (I love this fic, but it IS bittersweet) 

Rated G 

Word Count: 800 

Summary: Late one night after the war, Helen and Gen think about Sten.

* 

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Gen’s voice came from behind her.

Helen turned. She hadn’t heard him approach. He had left his attendants behind. And then she saw who hadn’t been left behind. “Who else is awake?” she asked, peering at the wiggling baby in his arm.

“Eugenia,” he said, settling down on the bench beside her. He rocked his daughter gently. “She doesn’t enjoy sleeping at night any more than I do.”

“Her poor nurses. Just wait till she starts climbing.” She smiled. Gen leaned against her as he shifted Eugenia to bounce her lightly in an attempt to soothe her back to sleep. The moon was high in the sky, and it was quiet but for the crickets in the bushes and the baby’s soft gurgling.  

A soft puff of air made Gen turn to face her. He saw the corners of her mouth upturned. “What are you smiling at?”

“Thinking about Sten,” she said, glancing up at him briefly before staring back into the middle distance. It was always the fondest memories that surfaced unprompted after a loved one passed. “Do you know I was with him the first time he saw one of those flat-backed watches?”

“What?”

Helen nodded. “It was just a few months after your mother passed. I’d barely been queen for a full season and we were all just...so miserable.” Gen remembered how awful that year had been for him. Helen’s brothers and father had died in the span of a few months, and instead of having time to grieve, she had become queen. Gen had been young and wracked with grief that he hadn’t realized at the time how miserable his older siblings and cousins must have been too. “We had an emissary from Ferria—I can’t even remember why—who pulled out a pocket watch to show it off. I think he got off on aggrandizing himself and hinting at what barbarians we were. It was after dinner one night, and Sten was enthralled. I think the Ferrian regretted it, after Sten—who was twice his size even then—pestered the man with nonstop questions for an hour.” Happiness had been hard to come by that year, and Helen had clung to the memory.

Gen remembered that watch too. He smiled at the memory. “I stole that watch for him.”

“You what?” She laughed in surprise.

“Well, borrowed it," he said innocently. "The gold and red one, right? The clock face was painted with some kind of flowers?” Helen nodded and Gen grinned. “Sten told me about it that night in the boys’ house, and he was so excited that I snuck into the ambassador’s room the next night and took it. I thought Sten was going to beat me when I showed it to him, he was so mad.” Gen remembered his older brother’s excitement, and his own desperation to help. He smiled again, more softly this time. “Instead he told me to grab a lamp, and we snuck down to the armory so he could take his time looking over it where no one would look for us. It was almost sunup by the time he gave it to me to put back.”  

Helen laughed outright. “The two of you really did get your father’s persistence.”

Gen raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly. “Imagine if he’d heard you liken him to a pair of child thieves.”

“And yet, there was no one more determined than your father,” she said fondly.

The silence between them was filled once again with the chirps and rustles of the late evening, as animals readied themselves for sleep and others woke for a new day. Eugenia began to fuss again, and Helen took the baby in her arms but she did not quiet down. Helen stood to better rock her. The crying stopped only when her niece lifted up one tiny fist, closing a hand around Helen’s earring. Helen gasped and cooed, “No, no, no,” as she gently pried her jewelry back from Eugenia’s gasp. “How is it possible I have to worry about this already? You weren’t snatching at jewelry until you were at least a year old!” Gen’s laugh carried out over the garden.

Helen walked a lap around the hedged-in outdoor room, feet crunching on the white shells that made up the path. Eugenia nodded off, and Helen carefully made her way back to her cousin. Gen surreptitiously wiped his face on his sleeve as she approached, but not fast enough that she did not see. Still standing, she shifted the sleeping baby in her arms and laid a land on his shoulder. “I miss them,” he said, voice ragged. Helen kissed the top of his head and sat down next to him, pulling him close with her free arm.

“Me too.”  

*

Crossposted to AO3 here! 

[cellsshapedlikestars]

prompt fic

Prompt from @hilarychuff - pick one of your fave movies or tv shows and shamelessly force jonsa into the plot

I have *technically* done this twice already - once with my Supernatural AU we’ve got crosses on our eyes and once with my Secret Garden AU signs but really, can one ever get enough of shamelessly forcing jonsa into other media? No.

And since I’m not actually a big movie person (almost all my fave movies are from my childhood, like the Secret Garden or Howl’s Moving Castle or Labyrinth), I went with TV show for this drabble/ficlet. It was super fun to write, so thank you for the prompt!

.....

“He's staring at you.”

Sansa tries not to react, keeping her fingers on the fountain soda press, watching the cup fill up with Coke.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you,” she sighs and finally looks at Jeyne, who's draped over the counter to whisper to her. “When did he get here?”

“He's been here for an hour,” Jeyne says, which startles her.

“Dickon's been here for an hour?” She absolutely had not seen Dickon today. The Crashdown isn't really that busy, a few tourists, a few locals, she thinks she would have seen him.

“Not Dickon,” Jeyne huffs. “Jon Snow.”

With that, she almost does drop the cup she's holding, but she manages to place it on Jeyne's tray instead. “One Cosmic Cola and an Abtuc-tea, table 2,” she gestures at the tray, which already had the tea ready.

“You're not even a little curious?” Jeyne doesn't take the tray and leave like she's supposed to. She's still bent half over the counter, sly smile on her face. “He's been like, staring at you. He's always staring at you.”

“Jon Snow is not staring at me,” she hisses, though she can't help when her eyes flick up to the table where Jon Snow has been sitting for the past hour with his friends (and sure enough, he's looking at her, though his eyes dart away the minute she looks up). “I barely even know him. I don't think I've ever talked to him.”

“Well,” Jeyne slides back and down onto her feet, straightening her apron, hands smoothing over the silver alien face, “that doesn't mean he's not staring at you. And I doubt he wants to talk.” She giggles and takes the tray over to table two – two men who must be tourists because Sansa has never seen them before. She's glad Jeyne has that table because the men had been fine when they came in, but over the past half hour, they've gotten progressively louder, like they're arguing about something.

When she hears Theon call out order up from the back, she sighs and takes her own tray and loads it with the Comet Chili and a Sigourney Weaver and she tries not to think about Jon Snow as she takes it over to another table of tourists, a man and a woman who she knows she can wrangle a great tip out of.

(She doesn't need to think about boys, she's had just about enough of them, thank you very much. Last year she'd briefly dated Joffrey and over the summer she'd gone on a few dates with Dickon Tarley that weren't terrible, but just so boring. Even his kisses were boring.)

“Have you ever seen an alien?” the male tourist asks, looking over her uniform (she wants to think he's eyeing the alien apron, but most men seem to use it as an excuse to stare at her legs under the short skirt. Why her parents picked this uniform, she'll never know).

She slips into her believer persona and bites her lip and looks around suspiciously before giving a shaky “no”.

“You have!” the woman falls for it immediately and Sansa makes a show of shifting from foot to foot. “You have to tell us!”

“I don't know anything,” Sansa hedges, drawing it out because playing with tourists always makes boring days at the diner more fun. She knows Jeyne is likely watching, too.

“We aren't government,” the guy reassures and she wants to laugh. No shit, she thinks. If they were undercover CIA or FBI or MIB like in those Will Smith movies, they'd be the best undercover agents ever. No respectable human would ever wear what this guy is wearing.

“Alright, but you can't tell anyone,” she breathes, eyes going wide like she's sharing her deepest, darkest secret. Then she slips her hand into her apron and pulls out a photo and hands it to the tourists. “My grandmother took this photo of the crash site before the government cleaned it up.” She lets them stare at it in awe and they don't notice as Jeyne passes by with an exaggerated eye roll. “Don't tell anyone,” she whispers and takes the photo back and leaves the table, suppressing a smile when she can hear them furiously discussing the photo behind her.

When she's near the back at the refill station, she begins to shove more straws into her apron so she always has one handy when someone inevitably asks for another because they have magically lost theirs. Jeyne comes by to grab a pot of coffee and lowly sing-songs “he's staring at you again!” before heading back out. Sure enough, when Sansa looks up, Jon is just looking away from her and she feels something twist low in her belly that she tries to ignore.

She's technically still dating Dickon and sure, he's boring, but he's nice enough and has done nothing to offend her and-

Shouting snaps her out of her thoughts and she looks up just in time to see the two men who had been arguing stand up from their table. Their shouts are louder now, a full fight, and she watches in what seems like slow motion as one of them pulls a gun out of his jacket. She distantly hears screams and all she can think is good, Jeyne has ducked down, that's safe before there's a sharp crack and it feels like someone has punched her in the stomach.

“Sansa!” she thinks it's Jeyne calling her name and she should respond, but she can't seem to.

“Call an ambulance,” a voice she doesn't recognize is saying and then suddenly there's a dark figure over her and she realizes she's laying on the floor. How did she get there? “Sansa,” the voice says and she can't quite focus on the person kneeling over her, but she thinks it's a him. He does something, his hands moving near her stomach, something jostles her body, but she feels sort of numb and so she can't tell what's happening. She turns her head a bit and Jeyne is on the phone, looking paler than Sansa has ever seen.

“Look at me,” the voice says and then a hand is on her face, turning her head away from Jeyne. She blinks to try and clear her vision and the blurry shape turns into Jon Snow. A very worried looking Jon Snow. “Sansa, you have to look at me, ok?”

She does, she keeps her eyes on his because she can't seem to not and then his hand moves down and she feels a vague pressure on her stomach and then the diner is suddenly gone and she's in the desert and she's walking and she's so tired and she's scared and hungry and naked and alone. Then she's in a trailer with a large man who smells like alcohol and cigarettes and he's yelling and throwing things and she's still scared and alone. Then she's at school, but not the high school, the elementary school and she's watching herself play tag with Jeyne and Beth on the playground in that horrible dress Aunt Lysa had bought her and mom had made her wear because it was polite. She hated that dress, but watching herself now, she doesn't hate it. She thinks it's cute.

Suddenly she's back in the diner and Jon Snow is leaning over her and he sits back and she doesn't feel numb anymore. She props herself up on her elbows and notices two things at once – one, Jon's hands are shaking and covered in what appears to be blood, and two, her uniform is unbuttoned and open down to her apron.

She watches Jon look around and grab a ketchup bottle that he smashes against the floor and then he dumps the rest of the bottle onto her. “You broke the bottle,” he says like he's trying to keep his voice steady. “When the gun when off, you tripped and fell and broke the bottle and spilled it on yourself.”

She nods dumbly, and he gets up and when she looks past him, she can see his friend Aegon standing by the door gesturing wildly for Jon and they both head out of the diner and get into a Jeep that she can see Rhaenys is driving and it speeds away the minute they're all in.

“God, Sansa, are you ok?” Jeyne sobs as Sansa stands. “I thought you got shot!”

Sansa holds her uniform together with shaking hands and tries as best she can to button it up.

There's chaos in the diner until Sheriff Tarly arrives and she answers his questions as best she can. The men were arguing, no she doesn't know who they were, they must have been tourists. They were fighting and one pulled a gun and it accidentally went off. She got scared and she tripped and she broke the ketchup bottle she'd been holding. Yes, she's ok. No, she doesn't need medical attention. (The whole time Jeyne stares at her, but she doesn't say anything with the Sheriff around.)

Her parents arrive and send her home to get cleaned up as they handle everything and when she's in the bathroom, she pulls off her uniform and holds it up and finds the small bullet hole in the fabric and she manages not to cry until she's in the shower under the hot water. She calms down by the time she's done and she steps out and puts her hair up in a towel and instead of grabbing a second, she goes to the mirror and wipes the condensation off because she needs to make sure there's no bullet hole in her stomach like there should be. And there's not.

Instead of a bullet hole, there's a large silver handprint spanning her stomach, right where Jon Snow had touched her.

[hockeyboysiguess]

i think he knows | n. mackinnon

a/n: in honor of mine and @nolypats‘s campaign for nate mack for july 2020 hockey boy of the month, i had to provide with you some content. here’s my pitch. 

warnings: language, smut, smut, smut. this really doesn’t have a plot and none of you are here for one anyway. also, wrap it before you tap it, kids!

wine pairing recommendation: a nice dark red bordeaux, classy and sexy, like nate mack, even though i would not call this fic particularly classy in any way whatsoever.

word count: 4.6K

You took a deep breath before taking a second sip of your drink. The bartender has turned your larger than normal tip into a much larger than normal pour of vodka and you weren’t sure his response was entirely proportional, meaning the drink had burned the entire length of your throat. Your momma didn’t raise a quitter though, so you drank on anyway. 

“Baby, come meet Landy.” 

Nate’s hand was pressed against the small of your back as he caught your attention. He had a hand hovering over you, on the small of your back, your hip, an arm across your shoulder, the entire night. He was showing you off all night, letting you take center stage at the kick off to the season party, also your first party as his girlfriend. You were smart, funny and your favorite little black dress was doing wonders for your confidence tonight. You were charming every coach, teammate, and Avalanche executive in your path. Nate wasn’t the least bit surprised. He knew everyone would love you and told you in the car on the way over, in the kitchen before you left, the second after he’d invited you to come.

“Oh, he’s finally unattached?” you asked with a raise of your eyebrows. 

His captain had been occupied all night, but Nate was desperate for you to meet him. You knew Gabe was important to him, so you took another sip of your too strong drink, wincing a little at the taste.

“Bad drink?” he asked you, catching your micro-expression out of the corner of his eye.

“Too strong,” you admitted with a sigh, “but momma didn’t raise no quitter.” 

Nate laughed, letting his large hand slide from the small of your back to your side which allowed him to pull you against him for a quick squeeze. He pressed a lazy kiss to the side of your head as he laughed. 

“But my momma raised me,” he reached over and plucked the glass from your hand with his free one, “to be a gentleman. A gentleman doesn’t let a lady drink a bad drink.”

He took a sip of it, lips pulling back in disgust at the taste. You watched as he made his peace with the drink, shrugging before going back for another sip. 

“It’s bad,” he nodded softly in agreement with what you’d informed him earlier. “But doable. Let’s get you a different one before we bug Landy, okay?” 

You let him guide him over to the bar, large hand spanning across your back as he did. The heat from the palm of his hand felt like it was burning through your dress and into your skin below, lighting a fire within you. Passion had never been something you and Nate had lacked together. He ordered you a drink, something you would’ve verbally undressed your last boyfriend for angrily, but the way Nate did it made you want to undress him after this event was over.

You couldn’t stop yourself from letting your eyes rake over your boyfriend as you waited for your new drink, taking him in. Nate was leaned against the bar, an elbow resting on the dark wood as he waited. He was wearing an absolutely impeccable blue gray suit, with a black button up underneath. He’d chosen to forgo a tie, a decision you were slightly bitter about since you loved pulling him in by his tie, but you had to admit, he was always dressed perfectly for events like this. Your eyes trailed down, seeing how the fabric fit his strong arms, pulling and tensing when he shifted to grab his glass again. Your breath hitched in your throat as you watched his hand wrap around the cold glass as he brought it up to his lips. Nate’s large hand enveloped the glass, dwarfing it as his fingers wrapped around the condensation covered glass. It made you swallow hard as your mind wandered to other times those hand were wrapped around you, long fingers in you, making you scream his name. If you played your cards right, he’d probably make it happen again tonight. Seeing you fall apart for him and then carefully putting you back together again after with soft kisses and touches was one of his absolute favorite things to do. He’d do it every day if he could.

“See something you like?” 

Nate cocked an eyebrow at you as he asked his question, but made no effort to hide how his eyes travelled up and down the length of your body, hovering at his favorite parts, the curve of your chest, the way your hips filled out in that dress. That dress was going to kill him, but damn was it going to be a nice way to go. 

“I hope you do,” he cut in before you could respond, “because I see something I’m dying to get my hands on as soon as possible.”

You swallowed hard, trying to pull your thoughts out of path they’d begun to speed down as your legs unconsciously crossed, desperate for friction. At least you knew Nate was feeling the same way you were. That knowledge carried you through the rest of the evening. You were sure Nate’s captain and everyone else you met were wonderful, but you couldn’t remember a single thing about any of them. Your mind was focused on one thing and one thing only, getting Nate back home with his hands all over you.

When you walked out into the cool September air, you breathed in deeply, feeling relief that Nate had finally found an opening to escape the party that wouldn’t be seen as rude. Nate had an arm around you, large hand spanning across your hip as he guided you to the car. You were usually grateful Nate hired a car for events like this, but tonight you wished one of you had driven because then you could speak your mind as loudly as you wanted. You had to settle for whispering into his ear after climbing into the backseat. 

“You look so good tonight,” you whispered in his ear, letting your lips graze his skin as you spoke as your fingers ran through the hair at the back of his neck. 

Nate sucked in a breath through his teeth. He’d never made any effort to hide how he felt about you, how easily you turned him on, and he wasn’t about to start tonight. One of his hands slid under the hem of your dress and gently started to rub up and down your thigh, staying away from where you wanted him and where he wanted to touch. You were his and he wasn’t about to give the driver a show Nate paid him to attend. His hand covered your inner thigh easily, fingertips dragging across the soft sensitive skin there in a way that made you desperate for him and his touch. 

Nate tilted his head softly, encouraging you to turn your head so he could whisper in your ear this time. You knew whatever he was about to say was going to make this twenty minute drive seem like hours. 

“I cannot wait to watch you cum for me tonight,” he said softly, his tone a mix of love and lust for you. “Hope you know I’m in charge tonight.” 

He gave your inner thigh a squeeze as he spoke. You opened your mouth to try and debate him, thinking you’d love to see him under you, begging for you tonight, but Nate suddenly changed the status quo. His hand on your thigh shifted and his long fingers reached up, brushing over your lace-covered slit. When he ghosted over your covered clit, you almost screamed in the car, having to bite your lip hard enough you had teetered dangerously on the edge of drawing blood to stop yourself. You were aching for him and he knew exactly what he was doing to you. In all fairness to Nate, you were his weakness and you had worn that little black dress he loved so much. 

Nate teased you the entire ride home, spilling filthy words into your ear and letting his fingers make you soak through your panties with the lightest of touches. You were practically in pieces by the time the car rolled up in front of his building. You were sure he was going to have to pick you up out of the backseat to get you inside because you thought your legs would crumple as soon as you tried to stand. Nate had an arm out, waiting for you, so you leaned heavily on him instead of really finding out. 

The second the elevator closed, you let out a small chuckle. 

“You know how hard that was, right?” you asked him.

Nate smirked as he looked down at you. Nothing Nate did was an accident and you knew that before you’d even asked. He also never made the same mistake twice, which is why his fingertips were drumming on your hip and why he didn’t have you pressed against the wall of the elevator as his mouth worked to pull moans that you didn’t even know you could make from you. Coming seconds from getting caught with his mouth on your throat and hand up your skirt once had been one too many times for Nate. The elevator was strictly off limits, but you’d never wished more that the rule was flexible. It wasn’t and you knew better to push. 

The second the elevator doors open, Nate pulled you toward his front door in a rush. He tried to keep it together in public, but this was inches from his apartment. He wanted his girlfriend and fifty feet of carpet and a door he had the key to were the only things stopping him. Damn if he didn’t cross that fifty feet faster than he normally did. Damn if his hands weren’t shaking that it took six tries to get the key into the lock to actually get the damn door open. 

He managed to get the door open on that sixth attempt, finally, and pulled you into his apartment, kicking the door closed and locking it again with one smooth motion. You paused, waiting to see what he had planned. 

“Clothes off, bed, now,” was all he said as he kicked off his dress shoes. 

You turned on your heels and headed for his room without any debate. Sometimes you liked to give Nate a hard time, but the wetness pooling between your thighs was demanding your silence since you knew if you listened to him, you’d get what you needed faster. You kicked off your heels and unzipped your dress, letting the soft material pool at your ankles before stepping out of it, hands working to unclasp your bra before you heard a whistle behind you. 

“Hold on, hold on,” Nate said from the doorway. “Turn to face me.” 

You spun on your heels, hands fidgeting anxiously as Nate extended the time before you could really feel some relief. He was leaded against the doorframe, still fully dressed in that incredible suit. His arms were crossed over his chest as he let his indigo eyes drink you in, relishing at the site of you in front of him 

“That’s a new set, isn’t it?” he asked you.

“Saw it and thought you might like it.” 

You let an easy confidence come through your words. Nate always made sure he told you when you thought you looked particularly good, which was multiple times every single day. He considered making sure you knew he found you “absolutely mind-blowing kinds of sexy” one of his most important jobs as your boyfriend. He loved when you were confident in yourself. It made him feel like he was treating you right and also just thought you looked your best when you thought you looked your best. 

“You’re wrong,” Nate shook his head before letting out a long breath. “I fucking love it.” 

You giggled and Nate was pretty sure if he died right then, that would be okay with him. Sure, he���d really like to touch you and taste you one more time, but if that laugh was the last thing he ever heard and if you in a black lacy lingerie set you bought with him in mind standing in his bedroom was the last thing he saw, that would be alright with him. 

Nate shook his head softly before pushing off from the doorframe with his shoulder to meet you in the middle of the room. He reached for you and you leaned toward him, biting back a moan as his hands touched your skin instead of your dress. The things this man did to you were either angelic or downright criminal, depending on how you looked at it. He let his hands coast up and down your sides, feeling the transition between the lace and your skin, feeling the goosebumps rise as a result of his touch. He loved how your body unconsciously reacted to him. Sometimes he felt like you were made for him.

Neither one of you could take it any longer and his mouth found yours. Both of you moaned at the contact as Nate wrapped you up in him, his large hands sliding around you to find purchase on the small of your back. His mouth worked vigorously against yours, tongue working across yours, his teeth nipping at your lips, as he guiding you backward to the bed. Nate’s hands slid up, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as he reached up to unclasp your bra. You worked with him to toss it to the floor. It had a good two minute run, longer than you’d thought it would last. 

Nate’s hands trailed down your body, two long fingers on each side sliding under and curling around the edge of the waistband of your thong before he yanked it down, letting it join the rest of your clothes on the floor. You thought it was unfair he was still fully clothed and you were fully naked, that is until he pushed you back onto the mattress and sank to his knees in front of you. The sight of him between your thighs in the suit made you moan. Nate’s eyes snapped from your pussy he’d been admiring to your face. He gave you a knowing soft smile as he placed his hands on your calfs, slowly and steadily making his way up your legs, fingertips dancing over your knees and thighs as he made his way to exactly where you wanted him. 

“Like what you see?” he asked you, knowing full well he never intended to hear you answer before two of his long fingers found your slit. 

Your head dropped back onto the mattress as you let out a moan that was far too loud considering this was the first time Nate had actually touched you all evening. His fingertips found your clit and starting working in smooth, slow circles. You could feel his eyes on you, studying your body for your reactions. You would tell him if you wanted him to go faster or slower, but he was trying to figure it out for himself so he wouldn’t even need you to tell him. It was his latest challenge to himself and he was getting pretty fucking good at it. 

His fingers shifted forward, applying more pressure and pulling another moan from you. You were so wet for him, so needy for him, you were closer to your orgasm than you usually were. You thought about letting Nate know, but suddenly he brought his other hand up and slide two long fingers into you without warning.

“Oh, fuck, Nate,” you whined at the sensation.

His fingers were so long inside of you and he knew exactly what he was doing. He curled them ever so slightly up as he pulled out, pulling the moan he wanted from deep in your chest. His fingers on your clit starting moving a little faster, pushing a little harder down, as his fingers inside you slid in an out at a steady pace. Nate knew better than to think he should change what he was doing when something was clearly working for you, just doing slight adjustments that make you want to scream. 

“Nate,” you whined again as your hands grabbed onto his bed sheets, pulling them tight in your hands. 

“That’s it,” Nate said softly before placing a kiss on your inner thigh. “Just focus on me.” 

The idea that you could possibly be thinking of anything else right now was beyond you. You did your best to listen to him, prying your eyes open to look at him. You bit your lip at the sight. Nate was focused on you, his eyes jumping all over you. He was noticing how your breathing changed when he changed an angle slightly or added more pressure. He was noticing what made your legs start to shake. He was taking in every single detail, committing it to memory so he could do even better the next time, and so he could make through the long road trips to come. How he was supposed to go up to two weeks at a time without your pussy was beyond him. 

“Nate,” you breathed out. “I’m so close.” 

Nate shifted on his knees, bringing his face closer to your core. Without warning, he replaced his fingers on your clit with his mouth and sucked on the bundle of nerves softly and slid a third finger inside you at the same time. You couldn’t stop yourself from screaming this time as your hands flew to tangle in his blond hair as your orgasm hit you. Nate pulled you through it, milking you for every shake and moan he could. He slowed his movements as he felt you come down, coming to a stop when you fully did. He pulled back slowly, placing a soft kiss on your clit, before sliding his fingers out of you. You winced at the loss of contact, making Nate smirk a little. 

You felt the bed shift to your right as Nate climbed up next to you and you turned your head to look at him. His lips were slightly swollen and wet with you. His eyes were dark and hungry and he was still wearing his fucking suit. You wanted to rip it off him more than anything, but Nate was in charge tonight so instead, he offered you his fingers.

“You want to taste?” Nate asked. “You taste so fucking good, baby.” 

You nodded softly and sat up next to him, making Nate smile. He offered you his fingers and you obliged, parting your lips so he could slide them in between. He was slow and steady as he slid his fingers deeper, letting you take over and see how deep you could take them. When his fingers hit the back of your throat, Nate groaned and cursed softly. 

“Jesus, fuck, baby,” he breathed out as you sucked hard on his fingers and began sliding back, letting his fingers fall out of your mouth after a few moments.

“You’re still dressed,” you mumbled, wiping the corners of your mouth off. 

Nate smiled at you, the facade of the moment falling as he leaned forward to press a searing, sweet kiss to your lips. By the time he pulled back, he was already back in the moment. He stood up, taking his suit jacket off as he went. You watched with eager eyes as his fingers fumbled with the small buttons on his dress shirt because he was just as eager to be inside you as you were. He sighed as he managed to get the last button open, letting the shirt fall to the ground. His dress pants and boxers joined almost immediately and you subconsciously licked your lower lip at the sight of him. 

Nate groaned in relief as he wrapped one of his large hands around himself and stroked up and down a few times, his eyes trained on your body as he did. He bit his lower lip when you spread your legs for him, giving him a full view of how wet you still were for him. He shook his head softly and smiled in a way that told you he was thinking that he couldn’t believe you were really his. 

He dropped onto the bed next to you again, sliding his back against the headboard and stretching his legs out in front of him. You hadn’t expected that, so you gave him a curious look. He just pat his thighs and waved a hand at you, encouraging you to come over. You didn’t fight and swung one of your legs over his large thighs to straddle his lap. One of his hands grabbed your hip keeping you suspended above him. He grabbed his hard cock in the other hand, lining it up with your entrance, before pulling down on your hip to pull you down onto him. You both groaned at the feeling of him finally being inside of you tonight. 

“You always feel so fucking good,” Nate mumbled out between deep breaths as he adjusted to the feeling of you around him. 

Both of his hands slid under the curve of your ass, one of them tapping the flesh there softly in a way that made you yelp and Nate laugh on his way to his destination. His fingertips dug into the soft skin there and his arms tensed as he pulled you up, almost sliding out of you, before guiding you back down. You hissed out as he filled you completely. 

“Too much?” Nate asked you, pausing his movements to check in with you. 

“So good,” was all you could say in reply. 

Nate’s hands pressed harder into the skin of your ass as he pulled you back up, letting gravity drop you back down again. Nate’s arms tensed each time he lifted you up, but he was far from complaining about the amount of work he was putting in right now. He was in control of everything and loving every second of it as he tucked his face into your neck, mouth moving across the skin there to heighten the sensations for you and just enjoying the feeling of you around him as he slid in and out of you. Your nails were digging into his broad shoulders to find stability, but he certainly wasn’t complaining

Nate paused for a moment with you lifted. He shifted beneath you, sliding down the mattress a little to get better leverage, before he bucked his hips up to meet yours. You gasped at how deep he was able to get from that angle, your head rolling back. Nate took it, as he should, as encouragement and repeating the motion, fucking you from below as he held you up. 

“Jesus, Nate,” you moaned as he hit a particularly good angle and bit down on a sensitive spot on your neck at the same time. 

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed out in response. 

He paused again, his hands sliding up to your waist this time as he guided you onto your back, shifting so he was hovering over you instead. Nate grabbed one of your legs and placed it up on his shoulder, checking in with you to make sure the position was good. He settled himself between your thighs and guided himself back into you after he got your enthusiastic approval. You both were grateful and groaned to show it. 

From this angle, Nate could pick up the pace more. One of his hands was on your leg, fingerprints digging into your skin, and the other was splayed out on the mattress by your head to keep his balance as he fucked you. You looked up at him, face twisted in concentration and pleasure, and you bit your lower lip. You hesitantly slid one of your hands down your body towards your slit. 

“Oh, fuck yes,” Nate groaned appreciatively.

Nate absolutely loved watching you touch yourself while he fucked you and you were more than happy to do it. You placed two fingers on your clit and started rubbing in smooth circles. You immediately tightened around Nate, making him curse between his teeth and making you feel proud. You loved that you could pull that reaction from him and he loved giving it to you. 

“Oh, Nate!” you shouted as he hit just the right spot inside you, making your toes curls. 

Nate shifted his hips to allow him to hit that same spot again and again, watching you fall apart as he did it. You chased your second orgasm of the night and Nate brought you over the edge, screaming his name again. He almost lost it at the feeling of you orgasming around him, but he had other plans and losing it then wasn’t in the cards. 

“God, that’s,” Nate leaned down, planting a wet kiss on your mouth, “so fucking hot to watch.” 

You giggled, but it turned into a moan as Nate thrust into you again. He picked up the pace, meaning he was close to the edge. You were surprised he’d lasted past your orgasm since usually that pulled him over the edge with you. 

“I want to cum on you,” he got out between thrusts.

You nodded in approval and Nate moaned when he saw your reaction. He really hadn’t expected you to say yes, so his mind was  fighting to try to keep himself together long enough to pull out so he didn’t finish inside of you. He pulled out quickly, one of his large hands wrapping around himself and stroking one, two, three times before hot ribbons of cum began to fall onto your chest. Nate groaned as finished on you, his eyes taking in the site of you covered in his cum. His. 

As Nate came down from his high, he rocked back onto his knees and let your leg fall from his shoulder onto the bed. His indigo eyes danced over you, taking in the sight beneath him. You looked absolutely incredible spent and covered in his cum, all because of him. Nate reached out, his hands hovering slightly over your chest for a moment, before he placed his hands onto your covered skin. He slowly and steadily, large hands taking their time, spread his cum across your chest, thoroughly covering you in him. You hummed in pleasure at the feeling, loving the feeling of his hands sliding over your skin. The sound made Nate choke a little as he had been expecting you to push him away before he’d even gotten this far. 

“God, you look so good like this,” he mumbled. “Covered in my cum.” 

“Mm, all for you,” you answered softly, a hand going up to stroke his jaw.

Nate breathed in deeply before pulling his hands back. You could see his mind working for a second before he offered you his fingers for a second time that night, pressing the tips of two to your lips. You let your lips part, allowing his long fingers into your mouth. You could taste him and yourself from earlier on his fingers, making you moan around him. Nate cursed at the sound and again when you sucked on his fingers, letting your tongue roll around them in your mouth to clean them off. You released them with a pop and Nate let out a long breath. 

“How about,” you cleared your throat before continuing, “you go start a shower for us and we do round two in the shower?” 

You didn’t have to tell Nate twice. He was already off the bed and heading to the bathroom as soon as the words “round two” left your lips. 

[master-sass-blast]

Baby, It’s Cold Outside.

Welcome to Spoopy Season, have some smut-adjacent winter fic.

Summary: A winter squall sweeps across New York and knocks out the power at yours and Piotr's home. The two of you make camp next to the fireplace to stay warm until the power comes back on --and find other ways to stay warm, too.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin/Reader.

Rating: T for Making Out, Partial Nudity, and Implied Sex.

Word Count: 1.1k.

Set after “The Christmas Decorating Fic.”

This is part of a weekly October series that will ramp up in smutiness as each week passes. This one's more smut adjacent than outright filth, hence the 'T' rating.

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @leo-writer, @dandyqueen

The lights flicker once, then twice.

You look up from your laptop. You stare at the nearest lamp, then over at your husband. “I’d say ghosts, but it’s the wrong season for them.”

Piotr chuckles, holding a pastel between his index finger and thumb as he works on a picture of a waterfall. “Probably just storm.”

To punctuate his point, the wind howls outside. The house and nearby trees creak under the force of the wind and snow.

The lights flicker again. The furnace bounces with them, shutting off before the quiet hum kicks back in.

Piotr frowns. “I am going to call mansion, see if they are having problems as well—”

The lights flicker again –then go out, plunging your home into darkness.

“Well,” you say after a moment of sitting in the darkness. “That’s a problem.”

 ***

 It’s not just your home –or the school, for that matter. The squall has knocked out a good section of New York City by hitting several transformers. The electrical crews are doing what they can, but given the conditions, it’s going to be a while before the power comes back on.

You, for one, are not bothered. You’re wrapped in a blanket, curled up in a chair while you stare outside at the pristine blankets of snow. “It’s so crazy how much light the snow reflects, huh?”

“Da,” Piotr agrees as he hauls in a gargantuan armload of firewood. He closes the door behind him, stomps off his boots, then places the firewood in a neat pile on the mat by the door. “It is very beautiful.”

“Yeah,” you agree, voice almost wistful as you gaze out at the snow. “It really is.”

Piotr smiles fondly as he watches you. He shucks out of his winter gear, hangs them up on the coat rack mounted next to the door, then crosses the distance between the two of you and kisses your cheek. “It is not only beautiful thing.”

You shriek and try to squirm away. “Your nose is so cold!”

Piotr laughs and presses his ice-cold nose into the crook of your neck. “You are very warm, myshka.”

“No! You sadist!”

He laughs again, then relents in his torture of you. “Temperatures will be under freezing tonight. Should we set up ‘camp’ down here, next to fireplace, so we stay warm?”

“Hey, I’ve got the world’s biggest Russian heater at a bedmate,” you tease, nestling up against his brawny chest to reinforce your point. “I’m gonna be just fine.”

Piotr chuckles and draws his arm around you. He kisses the top of your head. “Would you grab camping stove and lamps from basement? I can bring down bed and blankets.”

“Ooh, are we going to have a sleepover? Can we tell ghost stories?” you joke.

“If you like,” Piotr says, voice fond beyond measure. “If you like.”

 ***

 The two of you set up shop in the family room, next to the fireplace. Piotr sets the bed down between the fireplace and the couch –though not too close, so as not to risk an incident—then sets about building a fire while you get the lamps and camp stove set up.

“I brought up some extra quilts and stuff, too,” you say as Piotr blows on the lit kindling to help the logs catch. “I thought we could hang them up to help block the heat in here?”

“Good thinking, myshka,” Piotr says as he stuffs some extra dryer lint between the logs.

***

 Once the fire’s going, the two of you set about hanging blankets across the doorways and the stairwell to help trap the warm air (with the help of a few picture hanging nails). After that’s done, Piotr makes the bed while you light a few candles for ambience.

“Is this a ‘buttercream frosting’ kind of night or a ‘frosted holly’ kind of night?” you ask as you peer at the labels printed on the jars.

“Do we not have more ‘Gingerbread Dreams’” Piotr asks as he smooths out the flannel blanket the two of you keep under the comforter during the colder months.

“I burned through the last of that on Friday.”

He ‘tsks’ and places the pillows at the head of the bed. “Holly, then. Buttercream is too sweet.”

“Suit yourself.” You light the maroon colored candle, then set on a shelf where it’ll be clear of the bed. “How’re we looking?”

“Very cozy.” Piotr sits on the bed, then holds a hand out to you. He draws you in against his chest, encircling his burly arms around you. “Privet.”

“Hey, yourself.” You smile up at him as you settle in his lap. “Come here often?”

He runs the pad of his thumb along your jaw. “Not nearly often enough.”

A shiver runs down your spine when his lips meet yours. You wind your arms around his neck, eyelids sliding shut as Piotr holds you closer still. You hum, contentment and pleasure singing through your veins.

Piotr moans softly as his lips move against yours. His hands rub up and down your back, caressing you through your sweater –and then he slowly, gently lays you down against the bed.

Your legs part on instinct, making room for his hips to settle between your thighs. You clutch at his broad, powerful shoulders, breath catching in your throat when he nips at your lower lip. A whine tugs at the back of your throat when his lips lower to your neck; you tip your head back to give him better access.

He tugs down your collar for better access. He slides his tongue along the column of your neck. His hips shift against yours when you moan, moving in soft, steady rocking motions.

You whimper when he rolls his tongue at the spot on the side of your neck, just under your jaw. “Piotr…”

The fire crackles a few feet away, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow.

He slides his hands under your sweater and shirt; they skim up your sides, easily spanning your ribcage before coming to a stop just below the band of your bra. He brushes his thumbs against the bottom of the cups, kissing you passionately as he does.

Fuck it. You quickly shuck out of your sweater and shirt, then divest Piotr of his Henley.

He sits back on his haunches, pulling you to his chest. His tongue licks into your mouth, swirling against your tongue briefly before he pulls back to kiss your neck again.

Your fingers slide into his hair. You clutch at his thick, dark tresses, dragging a low groan out of him. “This might be easier,” you manage, already breathless, “if we weren’t wearing pants.”

He chuckles against your throat. “You make excellent point, myshka.”

The pants come off. As does everything else. The room falls silent, save for the hissing and popping of the fire, the distant howl of the winter winds, and the sounds of your two’s bliss.

The world could end, and you wouldn’t need anything other than him.

[goddamnitkastle]

The Ring

Happy Valentine’s Day!

So I finished my binge watch of the CW’s Nikita and well, I think we all know by now that I just love ripping off scenarios from other media and making Kastle fics. It’s my schtick and I’m gonna run it into the ground.

So here is an unconventional marriage proposal Kastle fic. Honestly this is probably how it would go anyway so it’s not like it’s beyond the realm of reality.

But first I want to give a huge thank you to my beta reader and editor, the amazing @joanofarkansass. This fic was initially, um, rough to put it nicely. But like a fairy godmother, she made it happen with incredible insight and gentle critique. I am literally indebted to you and I cannot thank you enough.

I also want to thank @evilbunnyking for reading the final draft, their awesome support, and catching every misplaced period and comma. Thank you!

And just a heads up, the canon in this is really screwy. Foggy and Karen know that Matt is Daredevil and Daredevil Season 2 is canon but basically just ignore the rest of the Daredevil/The Punisher Netflix/MCU timeline lol. Frank is a free man and clear of all charges here (yes that is unbelievable but just go along with it please and thank you). This is canon divergence borderlining on AU and slightly self indulgent and well, I don’t care ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Enjoy!

Karen pulls up right behind the police cruiser, about a block away from the 15th Precinct. She gets out and knocks on the windshield window, making Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney jerk his head up at her in fear for a fraction of a second.

But once he sees her he lets out an annoyed sigh and gets out. Karen crosses the front of the cruiser to get out of the street and onto the sidewalk, trying to hide her laughter from scaring Brett.

“What’s got you nervous, Mahoney?” Karen asks as he joins her and pockets his keys.

“What’s got me... oh, you know, about to watch Frank Castle walk out and be a free man. Again.”

“Nelson and Murdock won the case. Unfortunately this was not the sequel to The People vs. Frank Castle that New York City was hoping for.”

“That you were hoping for?” Mahoney cracks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“No. Well, maybe Ellison was hoping for it, but… look I’m just glad he was acquitted and that justice prevailed. It’ll be a more positive ending to write up.”

Mahoney shakes his head and starts walking toward the precinct. Karen follows and falls into his stride.

“Look, I know he didn’t kill that mobster,” Brett starts. “As crazy as that sounds, given his track record. But he gave us a hell of a time when we arrested him…”

“Do you blame him? In the span of two years, he has been charged and put on trial for murder twice,” Karen says pointedly.

“Well, you didn’t hear me say this but… the guys did a great job convincing everyone that Frank Castle was a changed man.”

“He is a changed man, Brett.”

“Believe me Karen, I know. I thought Frank Castle was scary as a man who had nothing to lose. I was wrong. Apparently I needed to deal with Frank Castle when he’s got someone he cares about…”

Now it’s Karen’s turn to jerk her head up at him.

“What did he say?” she asks.

“Nothing incriminating, your reputation is safe... I guess. But it’s all over the man’s face Karen. He really…”

“I know.”

It’s a tense silence but the look Mahoney gives Karen is more perplexed than judgmental.

“Do Nelson and Murdock know?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Jesus…”

“We kept it quiet for a while but when he was arrested we had to tell them. They’re… slowly coming around to it. Should only take another couple years for them to be sort of okay with us.”

“Yeah I doubt that,” Brett replies sarcastically.

Karen chuckles half heartedly in response.

He quickly sobers up again though. “Well if you’re both happy then… I am glad. You both deserve some happiness after this shit show.”

“Thank you, Brett. That’s really sweet of you.” Karen says, just barely able to hide the emotion in her voice.

“Like I said, you didn’t hear any of this from me. Alright, let’s go get him.”

Just then, the front doors of the precinct building burst open with Matt and Foggy dragging Frank away from a horde of pissed off cops.

“Shit,” Mahoney mutters. He jogs ahead toward the mob with his hands up to stop their hot pursuit.

Karen takes her .380 out of her purse and speed walks toward the commotion. She honestly hopes she’s not gonna have to use it but she’s glad to have the comforting weight of it in her hand. She catches up to Matt and Foggy as they let go of Frank. Matt tilts his head toward her, then lets out a deep sigh.

“Come on Karen, that’s not…” he says as he gestures towards her hand that’s holding her gun.

“It’s just Mahoney, Matt. They’re gonna kill him. We have to help,” Karen insists ardently.

“No, we have to get out of here,” Matt dismisses with a wave of his free hand.

“I’m with Matt on this one, Karen,” Foggy agrees. “You have no idea how lucky we got with this case. And that none of those cops tried to kill him just now.”

“Exactly, because of Brett.” She turns her attention back to Matt, who has his walking stick in a vice grip. “We can’t leave him behind.”

“The cops are just upset. They’d be stupid to try anything. He is their boss, and at the end of the day they have to follow his orders.”

“How can you be sure of that?” Karen argues.

The frustration is palpable between the three of them. Karen just then notices Frank’s silence. She turns to him and takes in his clenched jaw and that trigger finger of his tapping away against his thigh.

“Frank? Are you…”

Just then several loud shouts catch everyone’s attention. Mahoney is on the ground now and a cop has his gun drawn.

“Oh, that’s not…” Foggy gasps.

“Come on Foggy.” Matt grabs Foggy’s arm, leaving Frank and Karen alone.

“Let’s get to the car, Frank. Before this gets a lot worse…”

Frank’s expression had barely changed so when he whips his head toward her she can’t help but take a step back.

“Give me the gun,” Frank commands quickly.

“What? Why?”

“Give me the damn gun, Karen!”

He snatches it from her hands and runs back toward Mahoney and the cops.

“Where are you going?!” Karen shouts incredulously.

“To get your engagement ring!” Frank shouts back.

Karen is stunned and suddenly, the last month comes into focus for her. The jumpiness of his movements whenever she entered a room before he was arrested. His trigger finger tapping away more than usual during the trial. How his bottom lip began to tremble out of nowhere each time she kissed him.

Karen smiles as Frank bolts past Matt and Foggy. He takes on several cops at once, knocking them down like bowling pins. Karen makes her way to the boys as Foggy raises his arms in disbelief while Matt tries to pull him away.

“Unbelievable! Are you kidding me, Castle?!” Foggy yells. “Matt, can’t you do something?”

“I’m in the wrong suit, Foggy.”

“Damn it.”

“Matt is also technically blind Foggy. Do we really want to open that Pandora’s box tonight?” Karen reminds him.

“Come on, let’s get to the car. Looks like we’re gonna have to make an escape. And figure out how we can keep this quiet...” Matt muses.

“We almost got through this damn trial without issue, I swear on the Nelson name…” Foggy groans as he runs his hand over his face.

“Karen, come on,” Matt says as he passes her.

Brett is the last man standing and both men have their guns pointed at each other. Karen is about to join the standoff when Brett holds his hand out and reaches into his back pants pocket. He reveals a ring box. Frank takes it and starts running toward her.

“Go! Go! Go!” Frank hollers at her.

Karen bolts to the car, makes a beeline for the driver’s seat and slams the door shut. Frank joins her a moment later in the passenger seat, flushed pink and his hand wrapped around the ring box.

...

“I’m surprised you didn’t take me to Metro General. Or get us back in that service elevator at the hotel…”

Frank laughs and Karen is relieved that the last 24 hours haven’t deterred Frank.

“Seriously, what was your proposal plan?” She teases as she pokes him in the arm.

“Just... trust me Karen. Okay?”

The Williamsburg Bridge is shadowed by a deep orange sunset as they walk hand in hand. Frank suddenly stops and Karen’s stomach drops. He turns to her, tears in his eyes as he exhales a shaky breath.

Suddenly Karen can’t catch her breath, everything is about to change and she isn’t sure she is ready for it. “Frank, you don’t have to do this…”

“Yes I do. It’s tradition and I’m a traditional man. And the hell I went through to get this ring to you... I want to do this right.”

He gets down on one knee and Karen covers her mouth with her hand. Frank produces the ring box in his hand and opens it. It’s simple; a small, oval diamond on a silver band. It’s perfect.

“Karen. A long time ago now, in some diner, I told you that you had everything with a man that I thought you deserved to be with. I told you to hold onto it, use two hands, and never let go. But the truth was he didn’t deserve you. And I honestly don’t either. But I will spend whatever remaining days I have to be worthy of someone like you. I love you. Karen Page, will you marry me?”

Karen hoists Frank off the ground, holding his face in between her hands. Any doubt she was holding onto is gone now.

“You had me at ‘Give me the damn gun, Karen.’”

They both laugh as Karen holds out her left hand. Frank takes the ring out of the box, caresses her hand before sliding the ring into place. They crash into each other, their hands wrapped around each other’s necks.

“I love you too, Frank Castle,” she says when they finally break apart. She takes his hand as the darkness settles in around them. But the ring doesn’t feel like the weight of her .380. Rather it feels like it has always been there. Like home. And she’ll fight like hell to keep it that way and so will Frank. They’re in this together now.