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shoyoist · 2 years ago

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— 𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐙𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐔 !! : baji keisuke.

content: fem!reader. college au. strangers to friends to lovers trope. baji is a delinquent, still. reader is implied to be rich and rather innocent. ~ fingering. spit. manhandling, slight breeding kink, mating press, raw sex, rough sex, praise.

word count: 4.6k

⠀⠀⠀⠀— . ｡˚ ♡ what happens when the sweet lil honors student decides to be nice and help the failing college student/delinquent out?

when baji makes it into college, it's by the slimmest fucking chance. he barely makes it. but baji's always been one to follow through with what he's set his eyes on doing — so by no means is he going to flunk out of college once he's got in.

he's struggling, though, and it's no help that most of the other students are a little wary of him. there’s nobody around that’s willing to lend him a hand. but that’s warranted, you suppose.

he is after all, a delinquent with a ton of street cred on his back, and has made a name for having a complete lack of hesitation to use his fists to make his way out of any given situation.

he looks it, too — and rumors are always strengthened by appearances.

he's got those wild, sharp eyes and that whetted smile, and he's a big guy. muscles showing through the thin shirts he shows up to classes in, his toned thighs and calves on display at the behest of the tight leather pants he always wears.

the chains and rings he wears, and the booming motorcycle he rides just makes his deadly image more refined — not to mention the fact that he's already picked more than a couple of fights on campus his first semester.

but you see how he tries so hard in class.

you've never spoken to baji keisuke in your life before — but today is the start of the fourth week in a row that you've walked into the library after class, to see baji sitting at one of the tables by himself, surrounded by books as he stares at a printed question sheet with a scowl on his face.

as an honors student, a soft spoken girl that takes her father's car to school every day, and dresses in pastels and skirts, you're the opposite of baji keisuke in every way. you're nervous, and unsure if he'd even listen to you, or just laugh your words off and render you unable to ever meet his eyes again.

but you do it anyway. you walk up to him where he's sitting at his usual table, and clear your throat. "baji?"

and when he looks up, features so sharp and rugged, the pen he's twirling in his hands so tiny compared to his large palm and fingers, your breath catches in your throat — but you speak up anyway. "hi. i'm from your class?" you say, giving him a smile.

"whaddya want?" he asks, after almost a full minute of looking you up and down. you feel nearly insecure as you stand there and wait, wondering if he doesn't like the look of your plaid sweater, your cute boots or your skirt.

you open your mouth to answer him, but he cuts you off — "you wanna hop on my dick or somethin'? because if so, scram."

"no!" you blurt out, feeling your face heat up in an instant. he raises a thick, questioning eyebrow at you then, and you stutter, trying to form your sentences back on your tongue after his embarrassing accusation. "i— i just wanted to know if you'd like some help!"

"huh?" baji grunts, putting his pen down. "what's that mean?"

"with your work!" you say, gesturing to all the books laid out on the table. "you know? i've seen you here a lot recently, working on your homework and stuff. so i just wanted to ask if you wanted some help."

"with my studies?" he asks, like he's still unsure. and when you nod, you see his eyes slowly light up — because even baji knows you’re one of the smartest students. "really? ya wanna tutor me?"

"not for money or anything." you quickly affirm, in case he lands another quip about how he doesn't have money to give you. "just ... as a classmate. as a friend. we could be study partners, if you like."

"study partners, huh." he muses, resting his chin on his fist as he thinks about it. then, he gives you a grin (that automatically makes your heart flutter, because god, you can't deny it — he's hot). "sure."

he pats the chair next to his, offering you a seat, and you take it.

hence, you started on your semester long journey of being baji's study partner, making fast friends with him and finding out that he's a sweet, funny guy alongside the rough, loud personality he's got.

your curiosity on why a gangster like him would try so hard in college, or wish to attend school at all, is satiated when eventually, he tells you about his domestic dreams of building a cozy little life for himself, opening up a pet shop, perhaps expanding it into a vet clinic if he can pass his course and get licensed.

baji’s ambitions are only strange to you for the first half of your time with him. the more you get to know him, the more you realize that his rugged, untamed appearance and personality is all just who he is on the surface level.

apart from how surprisingly cute he is when he’s learning, he's so nice to you — walks with you to class, offers to drive you on his bike to this really good coffee place he knows during breaks, brings you a little gift on your birthday — and by the end of the semester, you're sure you've about fallen in love with him.

and thankfully, with your help, his grades do go up.

he scores well enough that he manages to pass and secure his spot in college for another year — and though his achievement was not much compared to your top results, he's so happy about it.

"princess," he says (because he calls you princess now) as he flops onto the couch in your bedroom (because somewhere in the midst of the semester, you've also moved your regular study spot from the library to your house). "have i thanked ya properly for all your help yet?"

"what do you mean?" you ask, perched on the edge of your bed, watching him manspread, feeling proud when he shoots a satisfied glance towards the marksheet laying on the couch beside him.

"i mean," he sighs. "i gotta thank you, right? you're savin' my life here."

"by studying with you?" you giggle, and he meets your eyes with a lazy tilt of his head, watching as you smooth your skirt out over your knees. the early winter sun that pools into the room through the window is watery — but the light catches in his bright gaze anyway, increasing the intensity of his stare. "it's okay. you've bought me enough coffee over the days to pay me back, i think."

there's a moment of tense silence, before he gets up from the couch, and walks over to you.

when he stops only a foot away from your seat on the bed, and asks, "is the door locked, princess?" you feel a shiver crawl up your spine — but you nod, assuring him that the door is locked.

and with that, he climbs onto the bed on top of you, pushing you down onto your bed.

your heart jumps, as your back hits the mattress, his hands coming down to dig into the sheets on either side of your head, as he grips them to hold his weight over you.

"can i thank you?" he rasps after a second, voice soft — hovering over you with his lips only inches away from your own. your heart picks up pace, and your pulse hammers in your ears as you fight to keep eye contact with him. as you try to think of an answer.

and well, fuck, you never thought something like this would happen, when you first took pity on the delinquent in your class, and offered to help him with his studies.

you were just being nice — but as you’d just been thinking of a moment ago, over the course of the time you've known baji, you've found out that he's got so much more to him than his delinquent’s face.

you know he’s gentle with animals, that he works so very hard to be the best he can be, and that he's a loyal friend. you know he likes peyoung yakisoba, and that he secretly reads shoujo manga. you know he prefers your red hair ties over your pink ones. you know the most important thing to him is that his mother is happy (and you know what they say. a man who's good to his mother, will be good to his wife).

you really do like him. so you nod once more, but he sees the hesitation in your eyes, so he asks again. "is this really okay?"

you blink up at him, once or twice, before gathering the courage to ask. "baj— keisuke. do you like me?"

"i do." he replies without a beat missed, gaze bright as he locks it with yours. and just those two words cause your heart to warm up so many degrees, an instant shot of delight — but you ask again. "really?"

he licks his lips, seeming a little nervous, now, as he hovers over you. "really." he says. his heat spills into you through the minute distance between your bodies, as he collects the words onto his tongue. "i fuckin' love you, princess. never thought i'd be such a sap for someone, but i am. i like you, a lot. i want you."

it's strange — because although you love him, you've never thought he'd return your feelings.

you've always thought and decided that things would end as quickly and smoothly as they'd started. that you'd help him, and he'd receive your help, and that would be that. but now, the situation's changed. in an instant.

a little voice at the back of your head wonders that hey, maybe this is just the delinquent taking his chance with the unassuming, innocent little girl in his class — but you brush the thought aside. you’re not stupid. you know baji’s a good guy.

you swallow, throat going dry as you realize what will happen once you answer. "i like you too, keisuke. in fact, i think i'm in love with you, too."

baji laughs at that, an affectionate little heh, leaving his lungs before he takes in another breath. "can i kiss you, then?"

"you can do whatever you want." you say.

and instantly, he's kissing you.

it’s almost too quick, his tongue pushing hungrily past your lips and coiling with your own, searing and needy as his hands clutch your waist, crawling under your top to feel up your skin, soft and supple under his calloused grip.

a mewl falls from your lips when his fingers brush against your tits, and he moves his hand back to that spot, giving the soft flesh a squeeze and laughing when you gasp, your body rocking under his.

your own hands lift up, somewhat unsure, to palm at his muscled chest, tugging experimentally at the hem of his shirt. "take it off," he grunts, into your mouth. "hah, never been touched like this before, have you?"

"haven't." you mumble shyly, and baji's eyes glow dully when he hears it. he yanks the top off of you, and you feel vulnerable as you squirm on your bed, wearing nothing but your skirt and panties as he ravishes you with his eyes. "yeah? gonna show ya how good lil' things like you should be treated, then." he says, placing a hand on your thigh and feeling how you shiver at the touch.

he doesn't move it before you pull his t-shirt off for him, coaxing you to go ahead and do it, and allowing you to run your eyes over his muscled torso for a bit. then, his hand inches up your thigh as he kisses you again, fingers so large and thick as he makes his way between your legs. "so pretty f'me."

"mm," your face burns again, the same way it had the first time you ever spoke to him, and he'd asked you that embarrassing fucking question — but it's funny, since what he said is now about to come true. in a way. "y—you, too."

"aww, princess thinks i'm pretty?" he coos, and laughs harder when you cover your face with your hands, unable to meet his eyes as he teases you. "fuck, you're so cute. lettin' the gangster boy fuck you after you help him pass in school, eh?"

"i— this wasn't my intention." you whine, but baji cuts you off by pressing a thumb against your clothed clit — and it's even more embarrassing when your body automatically jolts, thighs closing around his arm as you flinch in reaction to the sudden stimulation. "yeah, but ya like how it's goin', mhm?" he grins, showing off those canines again, and fuck.

"i do," you breathe, as he keeps his thumb over your clit, rubbing little circles into it and making it throb. it's hard to focus when he's doing it, but then he leans in for more kisses, and you've never felt such sweet, yet rough warmth before in your life.

"i know you do." he says it into your mouth, before sliding your panties aside and easing a finger into your cunt. it feels hot, delicious even with just one damn finger, and you moan, the sensation so unexpectedly good. "see? all fuckin' wet 'n i didn't even do much yet."

"please," you kiss him again, curling your hands around his face. "want it already."

"tch, patience, baby." he clicks his tongue, letting just the one finger slide in and out of your slick pussy, and you know he's going to put two in next, and then three, stretching you out just right before he gives you his cock.

and for something you've never thought about much before, you need it so damn bad. with baji towering over you, body so muscled and toned and hands so hot and good, mouth so skilled at showering you with both kisses and praise, you need him like never before.

the chain on his ripped jeans jingles as he pushes his knee between your legs, opening them wider, before he whispers, just like you’d guessed, that he’s going to give you another finger. his free hand grips your fluffy blanket harder, putting more of his weight onto the mattress and making it creak a little. “move up a little, princess. give me some more room.”

so you get further back onto the bed, and he climbs on after you, letting his pants join his t-shirt on the side of the bed, with your own top — the bold black and grey colours so starkly contrasting your bedsheets as he casts it all aside.

“ya hear this pussy singin’ for me?” he chuckles, and the way your cunt gushes harder when he slips a third finger in is so good to him, your face flushing with humiliation, he can’t bother prepping you any further before he gives you his cock.

“she’s beggin’ to have me.” he taunts, loving the way you’re getting so shy and embarrassed, no matter what he does or says. “you do some begging, too, won’t ya? let me hear you.”

and you steel yourself, feeling so full with just his fingers in you, forcing your moans and gasps to be quieter as he curls them in and finds your sweet spots so easily. “want your cock, keisuke. please. need to be filled all up.” he stares at you, doe eyes and swollen lips so pretty as you’re spread out under him, and with a whispered fuck, he pulls his drooling cock out from where it’s been straining under his boxers this whole time.

“see that, princess?” he sighs, relief washing over him as he grips the thick length, allowing himself a few pumps with his fist. “this cock? ‘s all yours.”

baji’s fucking huge — as he grabs your wrist and guides your hand to touch him, you feel the hot, stiff length of him up, and you really don’t know how you’re going to take it.

but you will — oh, god, you will, because you haven’t even felt him yet but you know he’s going to send you to heaven with just his cock.

“want it,” you plead. “I’ll take it for you. if it’s all mine, then give it to me. please.”

“shit,” he groans, when you run your fingers softly down his cock and back up, smearing the precum collecting at his tip onto your fingers as you go. “for someone that hasn’t done any of this, you’re fuckin’ good with your words.”

“‘m a smart girl,” you give him a smile, and his lips are tugged into yet another grin when he sees it. “smart girls know what to say.”

“yeah, yeah you fuckin’ do.” he assures you, before he tugs the panties off you and throws them onto the floor behind, grabbing you by the back of your thighs and pushing them up, your skirt splaying out on your stomach as he folds you in half and reveals your glistening pussy to him.

“let’s keep this skirt on, yeah?” he asks, eyes on your cunt, on your little hole that he’s about to fill right up. “y’look pretty with it on.”

“anything.” you beg, eyes fluttering shut before you open them again, watching as baji’s hair falls in curtains around his face, his brows scrunching together as he frowns in focus, lining his cock up with your cunt. “just want you to fuck me.”

“alright, alright, baby.” he grunts, voice going heavier, as he finally pushes his cock in. first, it’s just the head — and you think the stretch is manageable, that you can take him well enough.

but then he rolls his hips, forces your cunt open and makes you take all of him in, and fuck.

“keisuke! no— no, not so much at once!” you cry, and he’s barely able to answer, with the way your pussy sucks him in so well despite your protest, warm and wet and so god damn tight.

“you’re fine,” he stutters, nails digging harshly into the plush skin of your thighs as he pushes himself balls deep into you, bending you further so your knees are pressed against your chest. “you’re just fine, princess, fuck. look at ya. pussy so pretty all stuffed.”

he stays still for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size, razor eyes going soft and almost dreamy as he feels your walls cling to him, so deliciously hot. when he nudges his tip to your cervix, you flutter around him, and he hisses, precum drooling into you furiously.

you whimper as the pain dissipates and blooms into saccharine pleasure, the rough grip he’s got on you and the thickness of his cock in your little cunt, together with the praise he’s showering you with — it’s enough to make you cum in almost one go.

“you got this,” he pants, pulling out just a little before he pushes in again, the wavy tousles of his hair bouncing lightly with every move. “your pussy’s fine.”

you open your mouth to reply, but no sound comes out, the moan catching in your throat and your eyes rolling back into your head as he finally starts moving. the messy squelching of your cunt with his thrusts would embarrass you, if he weren’t throwing stars into your vision with each slap of his pelvis against your clit. “k—keisuke!”

“shhh,” he exhales, gritting his teeth as he steadily increases his pace, building his way up to his own high. you’ll cum hard enough, even if he doesn’t try too hard, he knows — his cock is big, he knows how to fuck good, and you’re an inexperienced little thing.

a sweet, beautiful, inexperienced little thing.

he watches keenly, biting his lip as he goes back and forth, watching your pretty face, eyes wild with pleasure as you watch how his length sinks into you, and then out, and then back in again.

“c-can i,” he groans, waiting for you to look up and meet his eyes before he continues. “go faster, princess?”

“mhm!” you cry without hesitation despite yourself, so eager to please — so needy to have more, more, more.

and god, he's going to cum, he can feel it as he takes his pace even further — your little pussy's just too tight, too hot 'n wet, it's enough to send a man straight to seventh fucking heaven.

he knows already that you'll be fine even if he gets a little rougher than intended — he sees how your eyes are rolling back, how your sweet lips are stretching into a dopey, open-mouthed smile with each hard hit of his cock at your cervix.

you want it, want it all — you're innocent and pure but god you're a devilish little thing at heart.

he'd treat you nicely, be gentle and take things slow like how he'd planned to do at the start, but you want it so bad, he wants it so bad, and there's just no stopping it.

“open that mouth wider for me baby,” he rasps, and you do it instantly, making him laugh as he gathers a ball of saliva on his tongue and spits it out, watching with a heavy throb of his cock as it lands right on your cute, pink lil tongue. “swallow f'me? hah, atta girl~”

and with that, he gives you the first mean thrust of his cock into your cunt — the squelch of your cunt is loud, only second to your moan and third to the grunt baji can't help but let out, when he feels just how tight your pussy is gripping him.

“relax, princess,” he huffs, the muscled panes of his chest pressing against your tits as he buries himself as far inside you as he can go, before pulling back out and going back in again — filling your lovely little room with the lewdest sounds—

the slap-slap-slap of skin against skin, your fucked out whines with each roll of his hips, and the messy sounds of your pussy along with the breathy groans he's spilling into your ear; it's so, so fucking good.

you're stuffed, and as baji whispers hoarsely with his lips against your cheek that he's gonna cum, you moan again, telling him you're gonna cum too, and you don't know what you're begging for anymore but you beg, “please, please, please, please— mmph!”

and he's kissing you again, muscled body trapping you in place as he pounds into you relentlessly, now in short quick thrusts that offer your sweet, gummy spots another kind of kiss after kiss with his fat tip.

“let me cum in you, princess? can't — can't fuckin' pull out, 's too good,” he groans into your mouth, and fuck, you've never felt this good and this loved and this full before in your entire damn life.

“inside, kei, inside.” you agree, voice all high and breathless, your words falling right onto his tongue as they tangle together when he deepens the kiss. “want your cum in me, kei, please.”

and it's not the hug of your velvet walls around his cock, or the plush, warm feel of your pretty body under his, or the claw of your fingers at his back and his arms that undo him—

but it's the way your voice calls out his name so cutely, saying kei, as you ask him to breed you full, that makes him cum.

the band in his lower stomach tightens and then snaps — and with a low, ravenous growl into your mouth, he cums. “f—fuck.”

his cum is hot, thick, filling your pussy with white and coating his cock in a milky film as he keeps thrusting in and out of you, refusing to slow down even as your own orgasm washes over you and your tiny little cunt clenches even tighter around him, making it almost impossible for him to move.

“mmm, kei! fuck, cumming, fuck, fuck, so good!” you babble, tongue lolling out from your mouth that's parted in your effort to catch your breath, and he'd laugh, chide your language, but you feel so good he's been rendered speechless.

his own mouth is open in silent curses, breath catching in his throat as he fucks his cum deep into you, feeling how your pussy flutters obediently, eating it all right up.

he listens to your cries of pleasure, head falling onto your chest, his cheek squished against your tits as he breathes you in, basking in the hot bliss you're giving him as he smacks his hips into yours sloppily, such a wet mess forming between your bodies — your skirt is soaked.

“fuck, princess, i love ya,” he hisses, as you milk him through. “this pussy's mine and only mine, alright?”

“mhm,” you nod, and he grins, vision cloudy as he looks down at your pretty face. “all yours, kei.”

“can't take that back after ya said it, alright?” he breathes out, hot over your chest. “tell me ya love me, baby.”

“i love you,” you gasp, as he slows down, bringing his hips to a stop against yours and letting go of your thighs so you can tangle them around his waist again. “i love you so, so much, kei, you don't know.”

“hey,” he chuckles, getting pulled into you as he tries to give you a peck on the cheek. “i love you so much, m'kay?”

“no, i love you more.” you pout, and he nips at your bottom lip, teasing the tender flesh with his sharp teeth. “this ain't a competition, princess. i love you the most.”

“mmm,” you huff, knowing that you both should really get up and clean things up, if you're done — but he feels so nice, so warm and heavy and comforting on top of you, and you want to stay like this forever. “sure. i'll let that go, for now.”

baji only cackles fondly at that, giving your swollen lips a kiss and then another on your teary cheek, before laying back with a satiated sigh. “so what are we now? still just friends? study partners, even though you've effectively hopped on my dick now?”

you feel your face get hot at his words, giving his shoulder a gentle slap as you pout again. “no, what you are now is mine. all mine.”

and there's a little pause, before he lets out another chuckle. “bloody hell, you really do fuckin' know what to say.”

“of course.” you smile. “anyway, study sesh at your place tomorrow? same time?”

“hah, what fucking study sesh when the semester just closed, hm?” he grins, and your eyes twinkle as you reply — “mmm, i don't know. a study sesh like the one we just had, maybe.”

and his grin widens, canines flashing as he laughs. “can't say no to that, princess — you're on fire. and by the way, you're mine, too.”

“mhm.” you reach up, tangle your fingers in the thick, dark locks of his hair and pull him in for yet another kiss, smiling at how he shuts his eyes so cutely just before your lips meet. “i know ♡♡ .”

#₊˚ପ⊹ REKHA™.#₊˚ପ⊹ NYCHTA.#baji smut #baji keisuke smut #baji x reader #baji keisuke x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tr smut #tr x reader #baji headcanons #baji drabbles #baji x you #baji x y/n #baji fluff #tokyo revengers drabbles #tokyo revengers headcanons

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dreamiesdotcom · 3 years ago

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[3:31] You weren't the most beautiful, that was something you knew. And you weren't the smartest, the kindest, the brightest. You had your lows more than you had those ups and had the tendency to drag people under with you, in situations no apologies could make up to.

It isn't as bad as you make it out to be, but in your self deprecating haze, you're the worst person to ever exist on this planet.

But you hoped, anyway, fool you were. You ignored what you knew and believed love. Love that gave you hope that he'd choose you, despite your flaws, because he adores you, because you're perfectly carrying the part of you that was imperfect and flawlessly dealing with your inevitable flaws. You had hope.

When he kisses his best friend instead of you when asked who he finds utterly breathtaking, all that hope shattered.

What was there left to do? You were humiliated and heartbroken. You left, hearing a commotion you might know who started exactly three seconds after having closed the door. You go to your car and break.

It would've been much easier and preferred if there were tears on your face. You couldn't dwell on it much, though, as your train of thought was interrupted by Chenle opening the door to the shotgun seat and groans as he sits.

"Whaddya did?" You lazily hum, head still leaned on the steering wheel of your car. From your peripheral vision, however, you could see the slightest glimpse of his cut lip.

He smiles smugly, "Punched him in his ugly face."

A satisfied smirk appears on your face — as satisfied as you could manage to be; in other words, barely showing any emotion.

"Best friend rights, huh."

There you go again, saying those things. Breaking his heart.

It was like the punch he threw came back to him, effectively rendering him speechless as he stares longingly at your fluttering eyelids. He smiles wistfully.

But friends don't feel fond like this, don't stare so softly like this. They don't spend sleepless nights looking at the ceiling thinking about the other's face and how much they miss it.

"Yo, you okay? You look like you were the one you punched, bro." You attempt to joke, oblivious. God, why did he love such dumbass. You grimace, "That was probably a good swing, don't start feeling guilty on me now."

But he understands you have a certain hope for a certain someone that makes you unable to hear his knocks on the door of your heart. That, that place.

"Hell no," he grimaces back. "I mean, I earned the right. Know the nights I spent listening to you describing in the cheesiest way possible how he's your soulmate? Disgusting. And he does this? Fuck him."

You laugh, still oblivious to the hesitance in his eyes. You giggled, "Fuck 'im."

It was a lie. Even just on his part, you were never just friends. He was never just your best friend.

Though, he thinks, for now or for as long as fate allows him to — this is enough. As long as I know my way there, I might be fine.

As long as I could freely love you; even in silence.

#nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream x reader #nct dream blurbs #nct dream drabbles #nct dream scenarios #nct dream timestamps #chenle #chenle x reader #chenle drabbles #chenle blurbs #chenle scenarios #chenle timestamps #chenle imagines #drabbles #he punches your shitty boyfriend thats it thats the fic

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tothemeadow · 4 years ago

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Can you make a nsfw scenario of bottom!Genya being praised and overstimulated until he cries bc its too much pls ? 💕 I love bottom Genya and have too many ideas of scenarios 😭

You know where the good stuff is at 👁👅👁

‘choke on your breath, pretty boy’ / Shinazugawa G. x Reader

warnings: NSFW, light bondage, rimming, Master kink, can be read as either dick/strap

words: 1,204

(a/n): Genya is 18+ in this!

“Pretty, pretty boy,” you coo, reaching forward and caressing Genya’s cheek. “You need to take a break every once in a while, yeah? Always putting on a strong front and taking your anger out on others… You can drop the façade, pretty boy. I’ve got you.”

“Master,” Genya murmurs. He leans into your touch, his cheek strikingly hot against your palm. His body trembles lightly, the hairs on his arms standing on end. He looks irresistible like this, bare bodied and wrists bound behind him. Long eyelashes flutter enticingly, curtaining blown pupils.

Normally, like you said, he puts on such a strong front, shielding himself from the pain and agony of the world. He’s misunderstood; a cracked, broken man, desperate for enough love and affection to make him burst. Behind closed doors, you shower him with such attention, make his heart swell and blood pulse quickly through his veins. With you, he can be safe, loved.

It doesn’t take much to guide him through the movements, to have him on his knees with his ass in the air. Although it isn’t the first time he’s been this exposed in front of you, his entire body is a flushed, tremoring mess. You’ve only touched him lightly, barely scratched the surface. He’s so beautiful like this, putting the entirety of his trust in you, laying himself bare.

“Master will take care of you, pretty boy,” you purr. Genya’s breath hitches in his throat, the sound delicate and beautiful. “Just relax… Let me do all the work…”

“M-Master,” Genya stutters, “your tongue- It… oh, fuck…”

Humming, you clutch at his bony hips, his muscular thighs. It’s almost funny how willing he is considering his massive size; either way, he’s rendered helpless by your merciless tongue, your sultry lips. Hands trailing over the swell of his ass, your blunt nails dig into the flesh, split him open as you lap at his twitching hole.

“Ah – ah – fuck – feels… good…”

“Such a good boy,” you say, drawing back and blowing cool air into him. Genya twitches, a startled noise spilling from his gaping lips. “Spread nice and open for me, looking all pretty and desperate. Cry out for your master.” Before he’s given a chance to respond, you dive right back in, kneading his asscheeks with your fingers as your tongue teases him.

Genya’s always been too eager to please. He knows better than to go against your wishes, to act out and behave like a brat. No, he’s too much of a good little boy to do such things. Maybe that’s what makes him easy, but god you wouldn’t want it any other way. He’s your precious little pet, the perfect little boy.

Within moments, a mantra of Master and sharp gasps resounds throughout the room, a forbidden song that’s only meant for your ears to hear. His usual deep voice has turned into one of soft moans and high-pitched whimpers. Even after you pull your mouth away from him, he continues to beg for more, craves after your touch in the worst way possible.

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby,” you husk. “Fill that pretty little hole of yours so good that you’ll feel it in your guts. That’s what you want, right? To be so full that you can’t think straight.” You relish in the way he shudders at your promise, at the way your lips skim over his shoulders. “We have all night, darling. I plan on making you see stars over and over.”

Pressing yourself against him, your cockhead pushes past his cheeks, stretching that tight little hole of his. Genya chokes on a gasp, his arms straining against his bindings. His fingers clench and unclench, clearly unpleased that they’re unable to properly grasp onto anything. Whispered words reach his ears, your gentle tone relaxing him. Finally, after a few breathtaking moments, you’re fully seated inside of him, his ridged walls hugging your cock.

Genya mutters something under his breath, but it’s too low for you to catch. No matter – he’ll be getting louder soon enough. Placing a hand on the small of his back and keeping the other on his hips, you grind into him slowly, your movements tight and precise. Again, Genya mutters something, but this time you do catch it. Move, please. Ah, such a sweet boy, knowing to still use his manners at a time like this.

“That’s it, sweets,” you purr, “be a good boy and suck in my cock like that.”

Again and again, you snap your hips into him, your cock snagging onto his walls and dragging the prettiest noises out of him. Genya has no other choice but to take it, to cry out for his master, beg for more. The noises filling the air are nothing short of sinful; they bring a smirk to your face, a light groan to slip from your own mouth as Genya cranes his neck to look back at you.

“M-M-Master…! Oh, fuck, it feels so good! Your cock… I don’t… I don’t think I can…”

“What, you gonna cum, baby? Go right ahead, pretty boy; squeeze around my cock while you make a mess of yourself.”

With a couple more powerful thrusts against his prostate, Genya cums, an animalistic sound ripping itself from his throat. He’s left as a panting, shivering mess, his lungs greedily sucking in air as his body tries to calm itself down. Both his stomach and the sheets below him are covered with his sticky mess; oh, but how much he doesn’t know. The night is still young, yes? Plus, you still haven’t gotten your fill.

“Wait, Master-“ Genya chokes once you start rutting into him again. “It’s… it’s too soon! I can’t – oh my god!”

Within moments, he’s keening, voice unbelievably raspy. His fingers clutch at the air, eager to have something to keep him anchored to the world as your cock ravages him over and over. One orgasm turns into two, two into four; you’re not stopping, no.

You refuse to give up.

By now, Genya’s a whimpering, sobbing mess, his skin flushed a deep red. His cock hangs heavily between his legs, the head nearing a shade of purple. The sheets below him are soaked with tears, sweat, drool, and cum. It’s all so ridiculously messy, just like your precious baby.

“Master, please,” Genya drawls, tone sluggish. You can’t help but smirk; you’ve completely fucked him dumb. “I can’t… My cock… No more…”

“Aw, but I’m only starting to have my own fun,” you coo, your hands rubbing soothing circles into his sides. Shifting away, you pull your cock from him; the tight ring of muscle clings onto you desperately, refusing to let you go. With an amused snicker, you tear yourself away, relishing in Genya’s frantic pants. Rolling him onto his back, you lean over him and caress his face. “Besides, sweets,” you start, words dripping honey, “it’s my turn.”

“Wha- whaddya- Ah! Hnnngh, oh, Master!” Genya hips buck beneath you, causing his cock to slip even further into you.

Perching your hands against his solid chest, you smile down at him. “What did I tell you earlier, sweets? We have all night. I’ve got you, baby. Hold onto your master.”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #genya shinazugawa x reader #shinazugawa genya x reader #genya shinazugawa #shinazugawa genya #kny genya #request

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gojoscloset · 4 years ago

Text

NSFW

Hello, if you are taking requests, would you be okay with writing a gojo satoru x ready scenario when they try out anal? Thank you

———

WARNINGS:

❌SECKS

❌Butt stuff

❌Reposted from other account

❌not proofread lmao

——

“Tada!~” You stood before Satoru with absolutely nothing on, your back turned to him and you glanced over your shoulder, seeing his expression was priceless.

Your ass spread for him, revealing a butt plug right in the center, bright light blue gem glistening in the light with every playful shake of your ass.

You smiled confidently, but inside you were nervous to see how he would take your request. Anal had been on the brain for a while now, and as nervous as you were, you wanted to surprise him and let him know that you thought you were ready to try out something new.

“Well whaddya think?” You broke the silence between you two, apparently you had rendered Satoru speechless. His gaze switched between you and the gem in between your cheeks.

“Y/n….” he muttered and bit his lip, the corners of his lips curled in a sheepish smile. “A-are you sure you wanna do this?” He motioned for you to come to him and you obediently obliged, swaying your hips confidently as you waltzed over to him.

“I do. I really really do. I’ve been stretching for weeks now! I think I’m good where I’m at, but that doesn’t answer my question.” You sat in his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“What do you think?” You repeated playfully, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I think it looks great. You always look great, no matter what you do babe.... But I just...Again. Are you sure?” He wasn’t opposed to the idea, however, he never asked. He always felt as if it was too much to ask his previous partners for that knowing he was well endowed.

He felt that his partners would be in pain,and to him it’s no fun if the other person isn’t into it. You nodded though, with excitement, practically clasping your hands together and with stars in your eyes.

“Pleeease?” You got up from his lap and scurried over to your drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube Satoru wasn’t familiar with. “I even went out and got this.” You shook it excitedly “water based and all.”

You flashed Satoru a smile he couldn’t help but reciprocate. “C'mon…” he motioned you over and he made quick work of his clothes.

—

Satoru didn’t just go at it, no no he’s cultured.

There were various amounts of foreplay, a couple orgasms here and there, yours of course. Teasing , lots and lots of teasing. But the best part about being here with him, and being able to share this experience with him is that even if this all went terribly wrong, you would still have a good time because you shared it with him.

“I’m ready.” You enthusiastically grab the bottle of lube and break the seal from the top. He lies down on his back and pats his thighs signaling you to straddle him.

“I want you to top, so you can set the pace.”

You nodded and made your way to him. The bed creaked some as you placed your knees on either side of him, his cock was rock hard from the earlier activities so not much more needed to be done.

You pop open the top and generously, generously pour a large amount on his throbbing cock. Generously.

Satoru beamed at you and watched as you happily poured away. His large hands rubbed at your thighs, he noticed the effort you put into this.

He took in the little things, how the skin on your legs wes extra smooth. How your smell was different, you smelled sweeter, fruity. The color of the gem you chose intentionally to match his eyes.

He snapped out of his thoughts when you finally touched him, the slick and dirty sounds your hands made when you squeezed and rubbed his shaft was delicious.

“Let me take this out” you relaxed your muscles and pulled the plug out. You positioned yourself after tossing the plug to the side and looked down at Satoru with a smile. You poured lube into your hand and prepared yourself for the big move. Emphasis on big.

“I’m going in” you say teasingly you ease your nerves.

“More like I’m going in” he gave you the finger guns and you slapped his hands away while bursting into laughter.

—

After finally regaining composure you grabbed his cock, you rubbed the tip at your entrance. He gave you bedroom eyes, watching as you carefully took the tip in.

“Take it nice and slow sweetheart…” his hands gripped your thighs, giving them a comforting squeeze. You simply nod and slowly push him in. You bit your lip, feeling yourself stretch tightly around him. Thankfully the lube was doing an amazing job.

It wasn’t until you got to the thickest part of his dick, thicker than the plug you had in earlier, by a lot.

Satoru noticed you were reaching your limit when you slowed down, the sudden face of excitement switched over to concentration, brows knit together, soft groans escaping your lips.

“That’s my girl, you’re doing such a good job.” He panted through clenched teeth. Instinctively he wanted to ram into you animalistically, the lust boiling through his veins, but he had to control himself, he didn’t want to split you in two. Well he did but didn’t.

His words were soft on the ears, his hands sneaked over to yours, locking your fingers with his.

“Take your time baby...take as much time as you need”

It felt like eternity for the both of you but you finally managed to sit down on it. You looked down at your boyfriend, face flushed and aight layer of sweat on your face. You exhaled deeply and lifted a finger, silently asking him to give you a moment before he started moving.

Satoru couldn’t help but smirk, he laid there completely still to avoid making any sudden movements and fucking your night up.

His hands never stopped rubbing your thighs, soothing the slight sting that came with this form of intimacy.

“Just so you know...if this were anyone else I’d be gone by now.” You said with a small laugh at the end of your words.

The little laugh was like sweet sweet honey to his worries. Satoru didn’t even know he had tension until you laughed, he could quite literally feel the weight lift off his shoulders knowing you were still having a good time.

“I’m honored….” his hands again rubbed at your thighs, moving them up to your core. ”more like blessed..”

One thumb parted your lips while the other rubbed circles on your clit, still wet from when he ate you out like a pudding cup earlier.

Your body jerked some and you grabbed his wrists to stop him. “Hold em up!” You squeaked and Satoru stopped all movement.

“One step at a time...I’m-I’m gonna start moving now..” he nodded and watched you, his hand grabbed yours and brought it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

The way he filled you up was a completely different experience. You knew his dick would reach areas that the plug could not, but goddamn. It was like you could feel every vein, every curve, every pulse of his cock inside of you. The pulse of his cock made you grow wetter and wetter the longer he was inside.

It wasn’t until you looked at him that you noticed the layer of sweat on his forehead. You let out a chuckle and reached over wiping the beads away.

“Poor baby~” he was holding himself back as best as he could.

“Take your time. Take your time. But I just want you to know, it’s a tight squeeze.” Both of you burst into laughter “okay okay, moving for reals this time”

You lifted your hips up, pulling him out slowly, but not all the way out, just enough to get something going.

“Satoru…” you whine, he groaned in response, wanting you to know he too could feel the pleasure.

The stinging wasn’t so bad after a few thrusts, you finally fully relaxed around him, making it a lot easier for you to get a rhythm going.

However, despite you getting the rhythm going, Satoru laid there stiff as a board. “Toru…..touch me” you groaned grabbing his hands and you placed them on your breasts

“You can move now…just go slow”

His face lit up almost instantly, and his mouth was now a grin. The once concentrated expression was now a goofy one.

“That’s all you had to say…” he didn’t even know where to begin. Your breasts? Your clit? He was going to have to spin the wheel of fortune for this one.

—

Satoru sat up now, mouth latched onto your nipple, tongue flicking the nub skillfully. You were covered in his markings, intentionally he left a trail from your neck down in between your breasts , claiming you as his, nothing new though.

His nails dug into your hips, leaving stinging crescents into your skin, but all good deeds don’t go unpunished.

You clawed at his back, leaving streaks and trails of fresh wounds down his back.

“Toru...go harder.” Again, that was all he needed to hear. “Here, let me give you what you want...let me give you what you need…” he growled.

His fingers ran across your slit, coating them with your juices before sticking them inside. Satoru swirled his fingers around in a circular motion creating friction and rubbing that delicious spot with both his cock and digits.

“AH!” Your back arched at the foreign sensation, but your body craved more of it. You bounced on him, juices leaking on his thighs and onto the sheets, but you didn’t care, you needed release.

“Don’t stop!” You cried out when his thumb pressed against your clit, pushing you over the edge. This was Satoru’s favorite part, seeing your face and body wrench in pleasure due to his touch. His fingers. His cock. It was all because of him and the very concept of that made his body feel like it was on fire.

He watched as your body tensed up, watched as you threw your head back, completely lost in the bliss that he provided specifically for you. His eyes were blown and he looked at you like you were the one who hung the stars, the one who made the flowers bloom in the spring, like if the world was specifically made just for you.

Your body shook and twitched around him, Pussy creaming down his fingers as they slowed their pace, thumb still circling your nub, he’d rather overstim you then to cut it short.

However it wasn’t long until your body Couldn’t take anymore, your thighs threatening to close but he held them open until he made sure you were good.

Circles still being traced carefully on your clit, more and more arousal leaking out of you as he did.

“Okay okay okay okay!” You squeaked and grabbed his wrists to stop him.

“You sure?” He let out a chuckle and pulled his fingers out of you, they were coated in your fluids up to the knuckles, strings of stickiness attached to his fingers when he spread them apart.

He didn’t hesitate to put them in his mouth, sucking and licking off your fluids hungrily like a man who hasn’t eaten in days.

“Always so tasty for me” he cooed and moved his body carefully so he was now hovering over you. His hands hooked behind your knees and pushed them as far up as he could while looking into your eyes.

“Give me more.” he whispered.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #satoru gojō x reader #Nasty Nept✨

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ginger-danica-snapps · 4 years ago

Text

The Wolf Queen and Her Crow Prince

By Ginger D. Snapped

Written for @jonsaseasonalbash day 3 - 24 April: crow and little bird/king and queen/stone and snow.

I was out of town unexpectedly for Day Three, but here is my completion for the Jonsa Seasonal Bash, using the prompt King and Queen. This is written as snapshots of the time when the freefolk began to gather and the end of the long night. This is not betaed, so please be gentle.

You can also read on my AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/30930386

Summary: Sansa knows she didn’t always live beyond the wall. Mance and his wife were not her parents, but she was freefolk to her bones and it didn’t matter who discovered her. She would save her people from the Night King and never kneel to a Southern King or Queen.

Sansa knew there was a time in her life that she didn’t live beyond the wall. She knew the same way that she knew what lemon tasted like and that somewhere there were people who were not always fighting the cold. Where people were fed when hungry and she was loved. The only thing she remembered from that life was her name being Sansa.

Not that she was not loved by her people. Mance and his wife had been good to her. They had even told her some of the truth of how she came to be with the Freefolk. It was not a pretty story and she knew she had basically been stolen long before she was ready to be taken as a wife. Mance had killed the man that brought her beyond the wall, but worried about what would happen if he took her back across.

So, she stayed with Mance and Dalla and learned the way of the freefolk. She became a sister to Val and while she did not have the fighting ability of many of the spearwives, she could hold her own well enough to dissuade any more men who came to steal her away.

Still, she found her way across the great white to peer upon the wall several times in her growing years. She would stare upon the great monstrosity and wonder who beyond it would remember her. Was she missed? Was she loved?

It made her melancholy in a way that was hard to explain, though Val tried to understand.

Something else began to settle into the freefolk’s general attitude towards her in the latter year. She’d been one of them for so long that when she was happened upon by a shadowcat and thought herself dead that she was grateful to have lived free. It was not her day to die, however, as a gigantic beast flew from the rocks above them.

She had scrambled backwards on her hands and bottom, boots scuffling against the ice and snow. Val, Mance, and Ygritte reaching her just as she stood and she leaned gratefully into Val’s own warmth. The cat was now had by the neck with what Sansa realized was a gigantic grey and white direwolf.

They had seen only trackings of the great beasts before and often avoided the area they were found.

When the cat was obviously dead, Sansa pushed Ygritte to the side when the girl went to draw back her bow string.

“NO!” she cried out before she had formed a thought for what she was going to do. Then she was pulling away from Val and rushing forward to the wolf.

She hit her knees as she reached forward, kneeling before the wolf, and realized for a moment she felt a savage joy at destroying the shadowcat and tasted blood in her own mouth, though there was none. The beast leant to her and rubbed it’s humongous face against hers. She let a giggle escape her before she was flinging her arms around the wolf.

“Nothing to be said for it now. The rumours about the Stark girl going missing were true,” Val murmured and Sansa looked up to Mance. He looked as if he had aged twenty years in the span of moments. As if he had already not been struggling over their people going missing by the tribes, clans, and societies.

Sansa was not stupid.

If a Stark child had gone missing some years before and now she had a direwolf in front of her who seemed to want to keep her, then by all rational thinking she was this Stark girl.

Amazingly, for the first time in many years, Sansa saw a flash of something in her memory. A grey and white flag with a direwolf upon it.

She wrinkled her nose as she realized what this meant.

She had always known she was born to someone below the wall, but she was not just the child of a kneeler. She was a child of someone that the people kneeled to.

“Child,” Mance’s voice reached her and she looked up with a tilted head. She huffed as she realized he was worried about her reaction.

That was stupid and she told him so. If he, a deserter of the crows, toted her back to the wall they would have thanked him, taken her, and then promptly hung him for desertion. Then it was likely they would have drummed up the support of these Lords and Ladies she was apparently blood kin too and brought an army into their home to kill indiscriminately.

“It is fine, stop being stupid. I understand that it was even more important to not return me if I was...am...this Stark girl,” she finally murmured.

They made their way back to the camp Sansa kept her hand on the nape of the direwolf.

“Whaddya gonna name her?” Ygritte asked eventually and Sansa looked over in surprise. She truly had not thought about it.

She looked at the wolf and then thought about how she hit her knees in front of her. She grinned savagely and laughed.

“Well, I kneeled before her, so I guess she must be a Lady,” Sansa answered and Mance barked out a laugh.

“Lady it is,” he chuckled and they made their way back to their tents, the freefolk around them all giving them wide eyes.

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

It was three moons later when the world went to shit.

Their people, those that called Mance King and those that did not, were being slaughtered by these dead creatures. Sansa had seen three of her milk siblings rise and attack the same as that which had killed them.

She’d cut the head off of one herself with Val thrusting a lit torch against the creature and setting it aflame. They’d barely managed to hold Dalla between them before Lady had returned from wherever she had been hunting. They all clamoured on top of the direwolf, gripping hands into the fur, and Sansa murmured an order for Lady to run.

They’d met with Vance and many of the others who had been hunting and Sansa had to shut her eyes at the cries of those who realized that they had lost all their elderly and the children too young to join the hunt.

“No one is left?” Mance asked quietly as Sansa helped Dalla down.

“No, it was slaughter. We need to be moving,” Sansa whispered back harshly, pushing aside all feelings for the time being.

Mance nodded, “Aye, we make for Frostfangs.”

“This will be happening everywhere, Mance,” Val added as they began to lead their people away.

Mance grunted, “Maybe now they will listen.”

Sansa was sitting before the fire, Lady beside her, working her needle through the last of the seal skin that had come at the same time as the whale blubber that Val was stirring to render over the low flame. There was not much brought by the last traveler and Sansa knew this would be the last they would receive here.

It would not be long until they’d made their bid to make it over the wall. There had been rumors of ill tidings in the kingdom of the kneelers. A king dead, rebellion, and only little Starks in Winterfell.

Over the last moon, Mance had taught her all he could of the world below the wall.

He said just in case, but Sansa could read his wishes between the words unspoken.

In case all else fails, use her name to the best of her ability, and take care of their people.

The tent flap few open and they all looked up, Sansa’s hand automatically reaching for the spear she kept beside her at all times now. Lady was up on her feet as well and lips already pulled back in a snarl.

“Ygritte!” she exclaimed as the girl came in and eyes settled on Mance. Sansa settled back down into her chair when she realized there was no immediate danger.

“What is it? Why are you back?” Mance gruffly asked.

Ygritte hesitated only momentarily before stating, “I brought a crow. Says he has forsworn his vows and wishes to join our people.”

Sansa watched as Mance’s eyebrows raised, “Well, bring him in.”

Ygritte hesitated again, “He has a wolf like our girl. Big old white thing with red eyes. Says it's the companion of members of his family.”

Sansa stood again, her spear dropping to a clatter this time as she grabbed at the fabric of her tunic.

“He’s a Stark?” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Ygritte grunted in agreement, “Said something about natural and true, but I couldn’t tell you what his lips were flappin’ about. Seemed to be important to him though.”

“He’s a natural born son of House Stark. The bastard brought back from the war against the Targaryen’s by the Warden of the North,” Mance mused before adding, “Your half brother. I don’t remember his name.”

“Jon,” Sansa murmured as Ygritte answered as well, “Snow, Jon Snow.”

Sansa looked up with wide-eyes. She remembered his name and suddenly a young boy was in front of her young self with dark curly hair and solemn eyes. The same spectral boy she dreamt of on a nightly basis. She had thought him nought but her imagination.

“You should not climb that, Lady Sansa. Your mother would be quite cross.”

Then before she could say another word, a man was coming through the tent flap. Sansa’s breath caught as she knew without a doubt that this was the man from her dreams. This was Jon Snow, her brother, and she realized without a doubt that he was her downfall.

She felt her heart beat faster, her palms growing sweaty, and when his eyes met hers Sansa was lost in the darkness.

“It...it can’t be,” her crow brother whispered as his eyes darted to Lady and back up, “Sansa?”

“Hello Jon,” she responded without thinking and then she could think no more as she was swept into strong arms and she was inhaling deep the scent of her kin.

-----------

Sansa stared at Mance with a gaping mouth.

“Absolutely not,” she bit out.

Mance did not look impressed, “Absolutely so. Every leader, chieftain, and speaker has decided. I have stepped back and you are the Queen-Beyond-The-Wall.”

Sansa shook her head fiercely.

She’d spent the last three days just getting to know her brother. She’d already decided to steal him for her own as soon as the chance arose. After all, he was only her half-brother, and it was not unheard of among the Freefolk.

Menfolk were sometimes in low commodity and surviving had been more important than the sharing of a parent.

Still, Jon was sweet, if a bit naive.

Ygritte had told her of her advances on Jon on the way to Frostfangs and she didn’t quite believe the man was truthful in his defection. This surprised Sansa not one bit. She had already come to that opinion in the three days she’d spent with him.

It was only the wildness in his eyes and the obvious wish for the freedom of her people that burned in him brightly that kept Sansa from truly speaking out about his duplicity. Brother or not, she had an entire people to protect from the crows and those below the wall.

“This is a mistake,” Sansa finally muttered.

Mance shook his head, “No. This is the only way to get most of us past the wall with little to no bloodshed.”

Sansa snorted in derision, “Whether the slaughter happens this side of the wall or once we’ve settled in some nice little field and are betrayed, the kneelers will betray us,” then she sat on a stool and lowered her face into her hands.

“Are we even positive that Jon can help? That he will be listened to?” she asked quietly, at almost a whisper.

Mance made an encouraging noise and sat down in front of her, “They say his brother became a king before dying and that the entirety of the kingdom is at war. We will take back proof of the dead and show the watch. I am hopeful your presence will encourage less hostility. If they decide to be fuckers all around, then I’ll take the people over the wall the way we planned and take the castle.”

Sansa sighed and stood again, “Then I suppose I should explain the truth of things to Jon. I get the feeling he expects to return me to the stone houses to wear pretty dresses and sew little pieces of cloth with no purpose all day.”

Mance chuckled and leaned in and kissed her forehead. She turned and went to join her brother in the tent they’d been keeping him in.

She could not help but laugh when she entered and found Tormund and Ygritte keeping guard. Jon had apparently said or done something they didn’ t appreciate, because he was trussed up like one of the wild boars they hadn’t seen in years.

She pulled her knife from her belt and slipped it through the ropes at his wrist. She gave him a leering smile and watched, pleased, as he turned the same color as her hair.

“Leave us,” she demanded and didn’t bother to look and see if they obeyed. The soft falls of feet and the fabric flapping closed gave her all the answer she needed.

“Will your crows listen?” she demanded and Jon looked at her confused.

She huffed in response, “Your crow people and the southerner’s, will they listen when we tell them of the dead and allow us to give proof. The wall holds for now, but that will not be forever. It will fall and when it does then this is all of our problems. If you leave my people to fall behind the wall then the force that rises will be unstoppable.”

“Sansa, you are a Stark. The last living Stark as far as I know and the Lady of Winterfell,” her crow kin told her and Sansa resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“I am the Queen-Beyond-the-Wall, chosen by my people here, and I will not forsake them for stone walls and kneeling sycophants,” she muttered.

“You're the Queen? I thought Mance…,” Jon began but Sansa held up a hand to stop him.

This time he glared at her and Sansa resisted the urge to snarl back at him.

“I am now the Queen. The people decided just this morning and I will be the one to deal with your people. Now, answer my question and none of this manure about you supporting the freefolk. We are not stupid and you might have the heart to be free, but your mind is terribly chained up,” Sansa demanded.

Then Jon motioned for her to sit. Sansa moved to sit and crossed her legs underneath her and they began to hammer out an accord.

--------

Four moons later, Sansa found herself sitting across from a man with a sterner face than any she’d ever seen.

“You are a Stark and I am your rightful King,” the man said gruffly.

Sansa sniffed, “I choose to be Freefolk and I am their chosen Queen. I cannot be this Stark you want to put in that stone cage and you cannot be my King. We are not married and your wife is unlikely to take kindly to the idea of you taking another one.”

The man called Stannis, who she had taken to just calling the Southern King in her head, was now resembling one of the fish with whiskers that she’d been served since coming through the wall.

“Put my brother in it. He seems to be fond of stone cages,” she added.

“He’s a bastard,” the wannabe king growled.

Sansa barked out a laugh, “You think these Northern people will accept a Stark raised as Freefolk over a bastard raised as a Stark? You must be stupider than you look. Make my brother this Lord Stark and offer my people the right to live below the wall if they fight for you and this chair you want so badly without kneeling. They’ll agree to follow the law of these lands while we are here and will allow Jon to be the direct voice to yourself. I speak for my people to Jon and he speaks for me to you. Problem solved.”

She stated her demands and leaned back in the chair, folding her hands in her lap, and just stared at the man.

“Your father…,” he began again, but she didn’t even let him make another excuse.

Sansa stood and turned to walk out. She looked back over her shoulder before she exited.

“I do not remember my father, nor my mother, nor most of my siblings. Apparently there were two I never even met. Appealing to my sense of familial ties will do nothing but frustrate me. Give me what my people need and we have a deal. Otherwise, there is no reason to send for me again.”

With that Sansa exited the room as calmly as she could. She stopped briefly on the outside and listed as the fire witch spoke to Stannis.

“I believe she is correct. We now know where the war truly is,” the woman said.

Stannis made a noise of derision, “Her brother already turned down my pardon of his vows, legitimisation, and being the Warden of the North. I need to place a Stark back in Winterfell or I will never draw enough support to take the throne. We need the kingdom to fight this damn war you are speaking of.”

“Then do as the fire commanded,” the woman responded.

“Now see here,” the man that Stannis called his Hand, though Sansa did not understand why he needed someone’s else’s when he had two himself that worked just fine, “You can’t just marry a man to his sister, half or prophesied, regardless.”

Sansa wanted to choke. What had her idiot kin done now?

Swallowing hard, she marched off to find Jon.

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

“I made a vow,” Jon was now glaring at her and Sansa was getting rather tired of people glaring at her and speaking to her of words that were someone more important than doing what was necessary to survive.

She gave him an unimpressed look, “So, did the majority of the men in this stone cage currently, but they sure seem to enjoy getting their cock wet with my spearwives.”

“Do you know the whole of what is being asked, Sansa? Or are you going to stand there and lecture me? Marriage, Sansa, he wants us to marry,” Jon growled out and Sansa stood to meet him when he began to move away.

She pressed her hands into his chest and pushed back with all his strength, “You will listen to me, Jon Snow. You made a vow to protect the realm of men. Staying on this stupid wall, freezing, with a bunch of other stupid men is not going to keep this realm safe. You all already apparently forgot who the actual enemy the wall was built to stop was, nevertheless leaving my people as fodder to build an army the likes of which you’ve never seen. Taking Winterfell and Stannis’s offer, regardless of what it is, will protect the realm of men.”

Jon gaped at her, speechless, and Sansa took it as a sign to do something. She stepped closer, not letting him escape her gaze, and pressed her lips against his. He made a sound that reminded her of a dying man’s last breath, before suddenly kissing her back with a fury. Sansa gasped as he lifted her and sat her upon the table.

She had just managed to get her fingers under his leathers and was about to yank at laces when he stepped back with a panicked look on his face. Sansa wanted to scream at his ridiculous morals.

He turned to run from the room, but she stood swiftly and passed him, sweeping her leg under his to send him sprawling down. She slammed the door closed and bolted it. Looking around, Sansa made herself not grumble at the lack of furs or a bed.

Beds were the thing she could grow used to the most. Although Jon had said the beds here were nothing like in this Winterfell. Sansa could not imagine anything softer.

She looked down at Jon and reached behind her to undo her laces.

“Sansa…” he said hoarsely, staring up at her. Sansa ignored the plea in his eyes and let her dress fall from her shoulders.

The dress had been a juxtaposition of painful and enjoyable of being below the wall instead of behind it. She’d run her fingers over the soft material when it had been gifted to her to wear instead of her leather breeches and fur jerkins. She thought Val would have liked it, for all the girl would have argued.

She’d have liked the monstrosity they called a bathtub too.

It all made Sansa incredibly uncomfortable at the reminders of what she had been born into and sometimes, in the darkest part of night, she could see the sweet, innocent, stupid thing she would have been. She both was grateful to not be her and mournful of what could have been.

“Now, if you can truly say you do not want me, then I will redress and walk out of this room. If you cannot honestly admit that, though, then I’m taking you for my husband, you’re taking the offer of this Stannis, and we’re going to let my people behind the wall,” She murmured as she knelt in front of him, her braid falling over her shoulder and brushing against the top of her breast.

She watched his eyes track the movement and grinned at the heat in his eyes. She knew without a doubt that Ygritte had been correct. Jon was definitely a pure man and Sansa ignored the heat that flooded her core, causing her to grow quickly wet, at the thought that he was going to be her man to have.

No one else would have him again, unless she was dead and buried. She’d had lovers before, occasionally a spearwife and at times a man from another clan, but never one she wanted to keep.

Jon was staring at her still, this time with some sort of worshipful awe, when her fingers reached to his breaches and unlaced him.

“Sansa,” he whispered, this time more like whispered words of love.

She pulled him free and pulled herself over him to straddle. Lowering herself slowly, Sansa sat on his cock and groaned at the stretch of his girth. She wondered if these Southern boys compared cocks the way the youth of the freefolk did and if Jon realized how blessed the gods had been to him.

She comforted herself with the knowledge that she was helping him break his vows as it would be a travesty to waste such a cock. She began to move her hips in a languid, smooth motion, rocking against him hard on the downfall to press her button into his groin. She added a longer roll as she grew hotter and hotter.

Then without warning, Jon decided to be an active participant. He surged up, hand cupping the back of her head, as he moved them over. Sansa was pleased to find he had unclipped his cloak and she was now laid out against it. She moaned in pleasure as he immediately set to fucking into her.

Then his mouth was against hers and she was shoving her own hips up to meet his furious pace. Sansa chased the feeling that was building inside of her and she refused to allow his control to stop her pleasure. She grabbed one of his hands and pulled it down to her button and pressed against his palm as she felt his cock inside of her as she ground upwards.

“Sansa,” Jon groaned as she felt herself begin falling.

“Jon!” she screamed as pleasure ripped through her body and she felt him respond to her own cry with wetness flooding inside of her.

She prepared for him to collapse on top of her as most men she’d taken her pleasure from were apt to do. She found herself moved and cradled against him as he laid back on the floor.

“I don’t know if Ygritte explained how this works, but I took you for my husband,” she said succinctly and dared him to argue with her stare.

He sighed and looked over at her, “Our father and your mother will probably crawl out of their graves to kill me, but aye, I accept you as my wife. The North will not love this, but they will accept it to get a Stark back in Winterfell. Now, I can take my wife’s name instead of legitimation from Stannis. That will make them even more accepting. We have to take Winterfell first, though. Without Winterfell we will not be seen as legitimate. They might balk a southern king releasing me from my vows.”

Sansa sighed against him. The man knew nothing of bed talk. Sitting up she pulled him after her. If he wanted to talk business then they should get to it.

Cutting her eyes back over to view his backside before she slid her dress over her head, Sansa also thought that the sooner they finished the business then they could get back to the fucking.

A voice inside her head added, and baby making.

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

They meet with Stannis...it’s about as enjoyable as Sansa had imagined. They reach an accord.

They go beyond the wall and speak to her people about the agreement to help take back the Northern key that was supposed to be her birthright and then the truly southern city where Stannis has his stupid chair. Then Stannis will bring the full force of the kingdom North to handle the enemy beyond the wall. That discussion is even less enjoyable with much yelling and even one clan defecting completely and leaving.

Sansa says a prayer to the old gods that they find their way to somehow burn in one of the red witch’s fires before they join the army of the dead. Stupid fools.

Stannis and Jon both choke when she tells them that there are at least 85,000 fighting men and women. The rest are too old to be an asset or too young to understand how to tell the difference between two living enemies.

They both insist the women don’t fight and Sansa plans to ignore them. If the enemy doesn’t care about killing women, why should they care about fighting them?

Finally, they send ravens. So many ravens and Sansa is astounded how the birds manage to find the people and return with a warg to guide and control them. Jon is astounded to learn that wargs exist and that he has the ability. He does it regularly with Ghost but had thought it was a dream. Sansa and he both begin to learn together with a freefolk skinchanger.

Jon and her marry before the red witch in part of their agreement with Stannis and Jon is released from his vows to the watch and officially becomes Jon Stark. Then they wed again before the heart tree beyond the wall and Sansa imagines for a moment that her forgotten parents are watching.

Mance, Dalla, Val, and Ygritte are there in the flesh though and Mance tells her later, when they are all huddled around a fire, that he is proud of the free woman she is. Dalla and he both ask if something happens to them that she takes care of Val and the baby Dalla has yet to birth.

She drags him back to the heart tree alone and vows before it that she will save as many as she can, but she will watch for Val and the unborn babe with every breath she has.

He is the only father she can remember.

Her people agree, as long as they are allowed to have the truth north back as soon as the final war is over and it not be a part of the southern kingdom. They will not kneel.

Sansa will not give her crown until the war is over and her people are safe.

By then it would not be necessary as her people would have no need for one when they are free in their home and not in danger of the dead.

Jon and she share a bed every night and Sansa is pleased to learn that her husband is a quick study. She also thinks her men are sharing ways to please a woman, because he attacks her center with fingers, lips, tongue, and teeth that is clumsy, but not knowledgeable in the fundamentals.

If she was the type of woman she was born to be, she’d demure her eyes and shyly thank the wives of the men. She’s not that woman though and she makes sure her own clan of people receive three casts of the shit ale the night watch’s call a drink and leads the toast herself. Ygritte claims the majority of the thanks.

She will never tire of Jon’s blush.

Two men and a boy try to kill her husband by tricking him into an ambush, claiming his uncle has survived.

She calls bullshit and when the idiot tries to go rushing down, she draws her blade and motions for the ten men and women she’d chosen to guard her and her husband follow. She’d thought it ridiculous when Stannis told her that she should have an honor guard of some sort since he was recognizing her as a queen and it was only proper.

Her own clan had sent ten forward without hesitancy. Ygritte and Tormund among them.

Ygritte is the one who shoots the boy, her husband’s steward, when Jon cannot do it. He cries into her breast that night and Sansa runs her fingers through his hair and comforts him the best she can.

Tormund somehow decides that her husband should be brought closer to her people after this and begins to heckle him at every opportunity. Sansa finds them fighting in the yard most mornings now.

Jon fits her people more than he wishes to admit. Sansa tries not to think of the day they will send them back beyond the wall.

They begin the march to Winterfell. A winter storm takes them by surprise, but the Freefolk laugh at the southern men in Stannis’s army. Very few Northmen answered their call, but Sansa is not particularly surprised. Jon is only half Stark and she was raised among the Freefolk. Even together they won’t draw the North to them until they sit in Winterfell and the dead is more known.

The freefolk begin to teach the southerners how to best pad their armor and they stop before dusk every night and her people train them how to move on snow and ice. Stannis, his hand, and witch take dinner every night with Jon, Sansa, and Mance.

It’s an odd group, but they make it work.

Melisandre is oddly good at helping keep everyone focused on the real war. She watches Jon in a way that Sansa is not happy about, however. It was on one of the later nights that Melisandre finally addressed whatever it was she had been pondering. Stannis and the others were already abed in their tents and it was only her guard, Jon, and Melisandre left around the fire.

“Your mother, do you know who your mother was?” the witch asked and Sansa resisted the urge to scratch her eyes out when her husband almost immediately became sullen. It was a particular talent of his.

“No, My Lady, Lord Stark never deemed it the time. He promised he would the next I saw him, but you know what happened with that,” Jon said quietly.

Sansa’s eyes narrowed as Melisandre stood and asked for his hand. Jon, the stupid fool, didn’t hesitate and then yelped when Melisandre obviously pierced him in the palm. She was sopping the blood up with a scrap of fabric before he could move back and Sansa stood angrily.

The witch just held up her hand and walked to the fire with the fabric before anyone could say anything.

“For the night is dark and full of terrors,” the witch murmured and tossed the cloth in.

Sansa could not help but find herself intrigued as the fire almost doubled in size and suddenly there were images. Jon and a short, blond woman standing before huge beast’s that could only be dragons. Jon wearing black and red and flying on the dragon. Then nothing.

She looked to Melisandre, who looked back at both of them before sighing.

“I fear that I might have misinterpreted the flames in regards to Stannis,” the woman said as if announcing what she wanted for breakfast, “It’s you who is our prince or the girl.”

“Who was that woman?” Sansa asked.

Melisandre sat and began to draw in the sand a rudimentary symbol of three creatures wrapped around one another.

Jon whispered, “House Targaryen. That is their sigil.”

“Yes, Jon, and the only interpretation left to us is that you are a member of said house, or atleast of their blood. That woman was Daenerys Targaryen, the lost Targaryen Princess, who swears to return to Westeros with fire and blood to reclaim what she says is hers.” Melisandre finished.

Sansa raised an eyebrow, “Well, don’t be telling Stannis that. You’ve told him that he was the promised one or some other rot. Best to let him keep thinking that.”

“Lyanna Stark is my mother,” Jon whispered and Sansa looked at him in confusion.

Jon swallowed hard, “Lyanna was your father’s sister. They say Rhaegar Targaryen took her away and our Uncle Brandon and Grandfather went to King’s Landing to demand her back. Aerys...oh gods, he was my grandfather...burned them alive before demanding that Jon Arryn bring him the heads of your father and Robert Baratheon. It’s why they went to war and deposed him...deposed House Targaryen.”

“Deposed or not, you are Targaryen and Stark, the culmination of the song of ice and fire,” Melisandre said, “Your blood is the blood of kings, the blood of the dragon.”

“I am not a dragon,” Jon snarled and stood with such a quickness and fury that Sansa found herself preparing for battle, “I am the bastard of a deposed house that holds no right to anything in Westeros unless this Daenerys Targaryen returns to conquer it again. It will not be me.”

Melisandre hummed under her breath and Sansa watched the witch consider his words with a sense of trepidation. Sansa reached into her skirts to put her fingers on her knife. If the witch made to do something that would expose her husband, then Sansa would slit her throat before she could speak it.

“Yes, My Lord Stark. You have married into the house of wolves and therefore, I suppose, you are not a dragon any longer. There would be no reason to discourage King Stannis from battle and if Daenerys Targaryen returns, R’hllor will bless the one who is supposed to sit the Iron Throne,” Melisandre finally said and with a quick dip of her own skirts, she moved to head back to her tent.

Sansa let her fingers fall from the hilt and went to stand before her husband and cousin. This made her think of something and so she reached up to cup his head.

“Now you don’t have to worry the Gods will strike you down for fucking your sister, cousin. Do these southerner’s marry cousins?” she said with a smile and grinned when he choked in surprise and met her eyes.

“You do realize your still in the north beneath the wall?” he asked incredulously.

Sansa snorted, “The North is not a place, it’s a people, and those people are the Freefolk. There might be some among the kneeler’s whose heart is Northern and for that they are more my people, than Stannis’s or this Dragon Aunt Lady.”

Sansa tartly turned and made way back to their tents.

-----------

They were crossing beside a large lake when Sansa thought to ask.

“How did this Theon Greyjoy take Winterfell if it is as large a fortress as you say it is?”

She was sandwiched in between Stannis and Jon, riding a grey garron that was older, but sturdy. Melisandre, Mance, and Davos behind them.

“Trickery,” Jon muttered, “He had a force attack a nearby vassal and when Winterfell sent the majority of their fighting men to stop it, Theon led a small group over the wall and took the keep.”

Sansa hummed, “And this Dreadfort, the Bolton’s own keep is not but a bit over 100 leagues from here?”

“Yes…” Jon said cautiously and Sansa could see that he recognized something in her face, “What are you thinking?”

Sansa thought of her men and the number they said were at Winterfell. There could not be many left at the Bolton’s keep, but these southerner’s seemed very attached to their stone houses.

“Could we not do something similar? Surely this Roose and Ramsey have heard of our army marching, but they might not know it is made up mainly of my people. They probably assume it to be your own army and one not used to fighting battle in this terrain. Send a group of my own to take this Dreadfort and draw these pretenders from Winterfell. They would easily be taken care of by ambush on the journey between Winterfell and their own ancestral stones. Then we take a smaller contingent and take back Winterfell,” she said aloud and tried to ignore the way Jon was staring at her.

“You would have us be as dishonorable as a filthy ironborn?” Stannis said incredulously.

Sansa could not help but roll her eyes, ”I’d see as few of our combined men and women die as possible so that we may better survive the long night, but call it what you will. I care not for your southern ideals of morals beyond a night’s enjoyment of listening to pretty songs and fables.”

“Lord Stark was honorable, Robb was honorable and it got their heads cut from their body and practically destroyed the North. I say we go with Sansa. Roose Bolton broke guestright and his own oath to his King, he has no honor to be dishonored,” Jon quietly said.

Stannis was quiet for a bit and Sansa wondered what demons of his own he was fighting in his head. Then he turned and looked at Jon, before sighing.

“Select your men that will go to the Dreadfort, Queen Sansa. I will do the same among mine. You know Winterfell best, Lord Stark, so you select the contingency that will take the keep once the men are gone,” Stannis gritted out as if being forced to say the words. Then he turned and galloped back.

----------

It was nearly a moon more when a large number of the Bolton forces left Winterfell and marched towards the Dreadfort. There were forty of her people with her and several men Jon had chosen hiding among the thickness of the recent snow. They made way carefully at the hour of the wolf.

It took no time at all to catch the walls with their hooks and scale the wall.

Sansa took great amusement in the idea that they were taking back her ancestral home the same way they had originally planned to scale the wall itself. She watched amused as Jon kept her behind him and they made their way further in.

Her people made quick work of all watchmen that came near before they began to move into the keep that Jon pointed out. It was when they were in what appeared to be the living quarters of the family that Sansa had her first moment of recognition. A woman with hair a similar shade as her own was standing in front of Sansa and curly haired boy and waving her finger. Sansa knew it was her mother and she could almost hear a soft, singing voice in the back of her head.

Shaking herself out of her memory, Sansa stopped at the end of a hall and motioned for two of her people to go forward and kill the men standing guard in front of a specific set of chambers. They made quick work and the men did not even have a chance to raise an alarm of any type of sound.

She stood by Jon, who had drawn his sword, as their people busted through the double doors.

A rather pretty, but thick woman jumped from the bed as an older man did the same. His hand went immediately to a crossbow, but Tormund threw a blade to pierce at the palm of the man.

“Who the…” the man began but was pressed into the floor onto his knees.

“Take the woman and find a place to secure her until this is over,” Jon ordered as he stepped forward with Longclaw. He looked at the man on his knees and then around the room. His hand reaching out to caress the wooden bed frame. Sansa realized it was a carved wolf and she wondered if this had been her parent’s chambers.

“Do you know who I am?” her husband asked as he stepped forward into the light of the moon shining through a window. The man glared and took him in from head to toe.

“You must be the bastard. You're too old to be any of the others if they had been still alive. Did you break your vows to the wall to be here?” he said in a low voice.

Sansa finally just laughed, the dramatics of everything was too much.

“He is Lord Stark, but you should be more worried about me,” she said with a light voice as she stepped forward.

“Stannis named you Lord and legitimized you. The north will never follow a bastard,” the man ignored her and continued to stare at Jon. Sansa narrowed her own eyes as responded again, not giving Jon a chance to speak.

“My name is Sansa Stark, Lord Bolton, I presume?” she icily demanded and when the man’s eyes widened.

“Good,” she answered at his obvious identity when the man refused to speak, “I was planning to let Jon just cut off your head since he thinks that's the way to do this, but I think we might see how you’ve been treating the people here that served the Starks. Let’s see if your House has lived up to its words. You see, even my people, go around your lands when escaping the land of always winter. I think after we discover the worst of what you have done here, then we will do the same.”

With that Sansa stepped forward one more time and brought her foot down hard against his face. Roose Bolton fell to the ground in a heap.

“Secure him until we finish sweeping the keep and clearing it out of Bolton men,” Jon ordered, “And open the gates to the rest of our people.”

Hours later, Sansa and Jon stood facing one another in the rooms that had been her parents. Staring into her eyes, Jon pulled her tight against him and pressed his lips to hers in a fevered kiss.

“Winterfell is yours, Lord Stark,” Sansa whispered against them.

Jon made a noise of discouragement, “No, My Queen, Winterfell is yours as is my heart, now and always.”

-----------

It was almost three years later when Sansa stood before her father's statue in the Stark Crypts. It would not be long now till her husband and herself would return to their people beyond the wall. They still called her queen and Sansa would honor their choice everyday of her life. Jon's responsibility to the North would soon be over and they could be free. Between bringing the North the heel in time to prepare for the dead, Jon and her people attempting to help Stannis take the throne only for him and many of his people to be blown up on ships, and reminding a dragon queen that it really did not matter if the North knelt or not since the dead were coming for them all. Sansa grinned as she remembered Jon standing before the black glass throne and telling it to the woman's face that she was welcome to take her people back across the sea if she wanted to wait to die where it was warmer.

Then the green dragon slamming in front of Jon and putting his wing down and the secret being blown. Thankfully the dragon queen had played nice till after the long night and when Sansa refused to kneel to her, Jon took to the skies with Rhaegal. By the time the fight was over, both Drogon and the dragon queen were dead and Jon encouraged Daenerys's people to leave with Rhaegal. They were not happy, but they did as they were bid, except for the Dothraki left. They seemed to think that Jon's battle meant that he was their new Khal. Jon and Sansa just combined them with their own people and sent them beyond the wall.

Then the great rebuilding began and continued until the day a raven came that announced that Cersei Lannister was dead, along with the remaining Kingsguard, Jaime Lannister, and several other members of the small council.

A crunching noise drew her attention back to the present.

“When the snows fall and white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

The girl that spoke to Sansa was a brunette with short cropped hair and she held a small sword and wore breeches. There was a familiar look in her grey eyes and Sansa tilted her head as she considered the strange girl who had come upon her in the crypts of her bloodkin.

Ygritte stood back in the shadows and Sansa knew she had her bow out with an arrow knocked, but Sansa held her hand out to stay any sudden shots.

The girl laughed.

“I will not hurt your freefolk guard, although this place is for Starks and Stark blood alone. You are the lost Stark daughter, arrived home as the Queen-Beyond-The-Wall. Do you know who I am?”

Sansa felt herself smile, probably showing a little too much teeth, “Grey eyes as serious as a widow made five-times-over having her sixth husband die mysteriously, what appears to be more brashness than commonsense, and a wild look about you that reminds me of my husband’s fury when his aunt tried to kill us after the long night?”

She paused and stepped closer, “That would make you my supposedly dead sister, Arya.”

The girl tilted her head and considered Sansa, “You are not what I expected. The septa always said I was never enough of a lady and it was a shame that you had disappeared as you were nothing but a lady.”

Sansa barked out a laugh, “There’s not room for ladies beyond the wall. Welcome home, Arya. My husband, your cousin, will be glad of your survival. Bran came home before the long night and Rickon was brought home by a fat lord from the sea.”

“Lord Manderly, I heard. I’m sorry I didn’t make it home before the battle that happened. I did not hear of it until it was over and I was in King’s Landing,” Arya murmured as they turned and made way from the crypts.

Sansa’s eyebrow raised, “What were you doing in King’s Landing?”

“Killing a queen. That last name on my final list before coming home,” Arya said as they climbed out and into the coolness of the spring night, “Is it true that Jon and you are going back beyond the wall once Rickon is settled in as King in the North with Bran as his regent?”

Sansa startled at her sister’s knowledge, “Aye, Jon and I will be returning North to settle our people now that the threat is gone. It seems that enough of the old guard died that we will perhaps be able to establish some sort of relations beyond the wall and North Westeros.”

“Can I come with you?” Arya said as they entered the keep.

Sansa smiled as a shout came from the head table and her husband began rushing forward.

“I think I would like that. Who better to help the bond between the Queen-Beyond-The-Wall and the King in the North than a sister of them both,” Sansa managed to answer as Arya was immediately swept away from her side and into her husband's arms.

#jonsaspringautumn #jonsa fic #jonsa centric #stark strong #freefolk #jon x sansa #sansa stark #jon snow #not daenerys friendly #anti daenerys #jonsa

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random-mha-thoughts · 5 years ago

Text

Small Things (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Anon requested: “I have a request! BakugoxFemale Reader. Fluff please! Ok bit o context first, the reader has like a size manipulation quirk but cant really control it. Alrighty here’s the basic idea: so Baku picks a fight with her, The reader is very self conscious and stuff and tries to stop this because she knows its not a good idea. She ends up shrinking herself to 2 inches tall for a few days and has to stay with Baku. He ends up finding out that she likes him, and hijinks ensue, cuz he also likes her uwu.”

Genre: Fluff, slight angst

Word count: 1,959

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog @bunnythepipsqueak

a/n: I’m really sorry this came out this late anon 😭 Please forgive me! Passover started this week and I was helping my parents clean house between my online classes, and I had no energy or time to be doing anything, so I’m sorry. I hope you still like this and you’ve been waiting patiently for it! I ended up changing the last part so Bakugou confesses first because that’s the logic that felt right with the characters, and I kept it a little shorter than I intended since I wanted to get this out asap, so I hope that’s okay.

Participate in my 1K followers event!

I want to die of embarrassment, I feel so small. No, seriously, I'm like two inches tall, I'd rather die.

As the rest of the class watches in horror, Denki had to be the idiot who breaks the silence into a fit of laughter. "(Y/n)'s a real midget now!" He's having himself a good time, doubled over like it's the first joke he's heard in his entire life, Sero and Mineta chuckling right next to him. If I hadn't messed up, I would've stormed over and punched them all out.

Unfortunately, mistakes have been made, mistakes I have no control over.

Bakugou had walked into the class in the morning while I was talking with the girls and challenged me to a fight in his cocky, brash manner. I, of course, refused because there's no way I'm facing someone like Bakugou and winning in a fight. My size manipulation quirk could be pretty useful and effective, but I don't have the best control over it. When it comes to shrinking and expanding other objects, I've already mastered it, and I'm great at manipulating my size to be bigger, but I've always refused to practice shrinking myself.

As I stepped backwards, shaking my head violently against his request, he gained each step back on me. "Whaddya mean 'no'?! You're telling me you're afraid?!" Bakugou bellowed.

I finally bumped into the back wall and screwed my eyes shut. "No, I don't want to, just leave me alone," I pleaded feebly.

Bakugou towered over me like a thug, his signature scowl morphed into his face. "Look at you. When you train and you're big, you're such a big baddie! Only when you're in your tiny, normal size, you act like a coward! You're nothing unless you're bigger, is that what you're telling me?! That you're useless and unconfident when you're this height, tiny?!"

I was so embarrassed by his insults. I was hearing exactly everything my thoughts say in silence, but said out loud so I had to face them, and everyone in the room heard them. They all probably think the same thing he does. I felt like crying as I curled into myself against the wall.

When I blinked my eyes open to wipe my tears, the first thing I saw was Bakugou's shoes. That's when I knew I'd messed up.

This is so much worse than being just shy of five feet.

After Kaminari's little chide, my face heats up in shame and a new set of tears starts to form.

"(Y/n)-chan!" Uraraka bends down, shock and sympathy mixed into her eyes. "Are you okay? I can't believe you finally shrank like this!"

I try using my quirk to grow back to normal size, but I can't. "I-I'm stuck," my voice shakes out, more high pitch than before.

She holds out her hand to the ground. I get on and curl up. "Just get me out of here, I've embarrassed myself enough."

"What's going on now?" Aizawa stands at the front of the classroom, arms crossed and aloof as ever. He's one hundred percent done with us at this point.

"(Y/n)-chan shrunk and she can't grow back to normal size, ribbit," Tsuyu explains.

Aizawa locks eyes with the fuming Bakugou in the back. "And I'm guessing you had something to do with that?"

The boy snorts. "How was I supposed to know she would freak out like that?!"

"Well, she's your responsibility now," our teacher orders. "You're gonna have to help her grow back to normal since you made her shrink. In the meantime, you'll have to take care of her needs."

Both of us are less than thrilled about that. Balugou shoots a death glare at me in Uraraka's hand. "Teme..."

Aizawa bristles, his scarf starting to levitate around his shoulders. He doesn't even have to do anything but stare down the boy so he snorts and sits at his desk, grumbling about his fate.

"It's okay, (Y/n)-chan, you can sit at my desk for now," Uraraka beams at me, setting me down on her desk for me to sit.

I bury my face in my hands. How did I get so misfortunate?

Aizawa wasn't kidding when he said Bakugou would take responsibility for me. The boy was forced to copy notes into my notebook after class, study with me, carry my bag, get my lunch, and other things I take for granted being normal size. However, even through all that, I still stayed two inches tall. As such Aizawa used his silent glare to pressure the unruly kid into keeping me in his room for the night just so we can hopefully talk over our differences.

"You better not pull anything weird, you hear me?" Bakugou warns me with a growl.

I'm perched on his shoulder as he walks us to his dorm room. I can't say I'm not nervous being alone with the boy for the first time, I'm not sure if he'll squish me like a bug or throw me out the window first chance he gets. As soon as we enter his room, he puts me down on his bed.

"Don't touch anything until I come back, stay right there," he points an accusing finger at me before grabbing some lounge clothes and heading into his bathroom to change.

I nod my head quickly, scared out of my mind and already on edge. I swing my legs off the end of the bed as I wait, my heart hammering in my small chest. I'm afraid that he'll start throwing more insults at me once we get to talking again, and then I'll end up disappearing into the size of an eyelash. Burying my head in my hands, I quietly groan to myself. I'll never be good at my quirk, will I?

"Why are you crying again?"

I jerk my head up and compose myself, avoiding his eyes. "No reason."

Bakugou rolls his eyes and sighs exasperatedly, kneeling down in front of me to stay level. "If we're gonna talk, you have to look at me at least."

Clasping my hands together on top of my lap, I tap my thumbs together nervously. "I can listen to you fine even if I'm not looking at you," I retort, too soft and unsure for me to sound convincing. If anything, it gives away how nervous I am.

Another annoyed sigh leaves his lips and he aggressively scratch his head. "Fine, I'll just talk then," he grumbles before taking a breath.

I steel myself for his potential yelling, squeezing my eyes closed again like the coward I am.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, dumbass. I'm sorry I even asked you to fight me in the first place if it made you that nervous."

I relax all my face muscles and ease open my eyes. Bakugou's not looking at me, but I can tell that he means it, even if he still sound aggressive about it.

"I don't know why you'd feel nervous about fighting me when you'd probably kick my ass no question, all you'd really have to do is make yourself bigger and crush me or make an object twice my size and knock me over the head with it, but whatever. I didn't ask you to fight me just to pick on you. I don't pick fights with people I know aren't worth my time.

My stomach stirs. He believes in me? He thinks I can stand against him?

"You're always so confident in your quirk during practice that I didn't think it would be a big deal, so when you were backing down like you were scared, it wasn't right. I thought you were just holding back from me. Until I realized you're actually scared. And then I tried taunting you because I know you're capable of doing better, I thought I could somehow get you to open up and get you fired up to show me otherwise, but I guess it had the opposite effect." He finally looks me hard in the eyes, making me gulp at the intensity they burn with. "I know you need to hear someone say this. You're not weak, you're strong and you can kick anyone ass if you wanted to, whether you're small or big, and I admire that about you."

My breath catches in my throat.

"Yeah, it's better to look all scary when you're bigger, but being smaller has advantages in a fight. You can maneuver better, you have the element of surprise, you can reach places no one else can. You're not nothing without being big, you still have a lot going for you. You don't need to cower in fear just because you're smaller than most people. I know you're self-conscious about your height the way you are, and that's what makes you lean into expanding yourself, but..." His face turns slightly pink and he struggles to get his next words out, finally saying them quickly like he's ripping off a bandage, "I like your height just the way you are."

My heart skips a beat at that. I'm already touched and rendered sheepish by the amount of praise he's showering me with, but the last one is a nail in the coffin. He likes my height.

Before I know it, I'm no longer looking up at him, instead looking down. Holding my hands out in front of me to confirm it's not an illusion, I dart back and forth between them and Bakugou's blank face. It took that kind of sentence from him to put me back to normal, how embarrassing!

"Huh, so that's all it took." I'm more frightened of the smirk growing on his face as he stands and leans over me sitting down on his bed.

I clench my fists and prepare for a world of teasing only for him to place his hand on my head. Instinctively, I look up only for him to lean down and place his lips on my forehead. If my cheeks were pink before, they're certainly rose red now. "It's very hard to kiss your forehead when you're only two inches tall," is the smooth line that rolls off his tongue. "That's another thing I like about your height, it's perfect for me to plant surprise kisses on your head whenever I want."

"B-Bakugou?" I finally summon words, only for them to be this dumb.

His hand slides down from the top of my head to my cheek. "I like you, stupid."

Another throb in my chest.

"I was gonna confess to you somehow at the end of our fight, but you freaked out and ended up the size of Tinker Bell, which was actually cute the way you sat on my shoulder around school for the past few days." His smirk briefly softens into a genuine smile, one that takes me a moment to process in case I was hallucinating it. "Well, I'd rather you give me an answer quickly before you end up shrinking yourself for another week. What's it gonna be?"

My mind still reels over everything he's just admitted to me, overwhelming myself to the point where tears well up in my eyes again. "I don't think you'll like how emotional I am," I rub my face and try to play it off. "It might annoy you after a while."

Bakugou sits down next to me and wipes my eyes with his thumbs gently. "Did I also mention you're the perfect height for to also wipe your tears away like this? I don't believe in that destiny crap, but I think it means something."

With that, I collapse my small body into his chest, my embrace around him providing my answer to his proposal.

#Bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugou imagine #bakugou scenario #female reader #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #request #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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livesincerely · 4 years ago

Text

you render me in a thousand details

Also on Ao3

00000

“Hey, Davey, can you grab me another can of paint outta the closet?”

Davey looks up at the sound of Jack’s voice. The man in question is perched precariously on top of a ladder, the latest backdrop for Ms. Medda’s new show set up in front of him

He places the book he’d been reading while Jack worked to the side. “What is it I’m looking for?” Davey asks, clambering to his feet.

Jack’s head turns in his direction but he doesn’t take his eyes off his painting, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully adds a series of fluffy white clouds to a cheerful skyline. “The extras should be just inside the closet on the right⁠—I need the dented can with the red stripe on the lid.”

Davey makes his way over to the tiny supply cupboard that Jack has claimed as his art closet. It’s a floor-to-ceiling collection of paint cans, canvases, brushes, and other supplies, and it never fails to amuse Davey how Jack can take one look at the mess and immediately unearth whatever item he needs for a particular project. Most of it belongs to the theater⁠—requested by Jack but paid for by Ms. Medda⁠—but Davey knows that Jack sometimes stores his personal pieces and supplies in there as well, if only to keep them safe from the daily mayhem of the Lodging House.

He reaches for the pull chain and a lone light bulb flickers to life. Davey takes a couple of tentative steps, squinting his eyes against the dust in the air as he scans the shelves for the can Jack had asked for, then lets out a squawk as he immediately trips over an unopened box of paint thinner.

His elbow knocks against something as he fumbles for balance and there’s a loud thunk and the flutter of paper as he sends a sketchbook full of drawings careening to the floor. Davey lets out a quiet curse, crouching down to pick up the scattered pages and tuck them back into place.

His movements slow as he suddenly understands what he’s looking at⁠—what he’s discovered. Because this is one of Jack’s sketchbooks, but it’s not one that Davey’s ever seen before. And the drawings inside...

Dazed, Davey wanders back into the larger room.

Jack glances back at him, one eyebrow raised. “What, did ya get lost in there? What took so long?”

Davey swallows. When he finds his voice, it comes out tremulous. “Jack, what is this?”

“What is what?” Jack wipes his hands on a spare rag, then comes over for a closer look. He gets within a couple feet of Davey, then staggers to a stop, his face going alarmingly pale. “Where did you get that?”

“I, uh, I knocked it off the shelf by accident,” Davey says. “Why do you have⁠⁠— What is this?”

Jack lurches forward as if to snatch the sketchbook away from him, but stops himself mid reach—like he can’t bring himself to actually tear the pages out of Davey’s hands. He paces in place for a moment, then takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What, that?” Jack says, and it’d be a passable attempt at nonchalance if not for the nervous waiver in his voice. “That’s nothing, really. Just practice sketches, and, uh, doodles and stuff.”

Davey looks at him. Then he carefully opens the sketchbook to the first page. There’s an inhaled breath, the tiniest twitch of the hand, but Jack makes no move to stop him and Davey takes that as permission.

He’s quiet as he flips through the assortment of pages. Or maybe it’s that he’s stunned into silence.

There are all types of drawings. Some are only outlines, vague sketches with just enough detail to be identifiable. Others are fully-worked—entire pages of careful shading and texture and blending. He’d caught a few glimpses in the dim light of the closet, and this closer look only confirms his suspicion: these are all drawings of Davey.

There’s one of him from the other day, where he’d gotten caught in a storm and came back to the Lodging House sopping wet, his clothes dripping and his hair curling up at the ends from the rain. There’s another of him on his building’s fire escape, hands curled around the railing and head tilted towards the stars. There’s a series of drawings that are just of his eyes, all done in various shades of blue and in a couple of different mediums, which are the only bursts of color in any of the drawings so far. Davey asleep at the table in the mess hall with his head pillowed in his arms, a pencil starting to slip from his fingers. Davey sitting on the corner of Jack’s desk at Pulitzer’s, studying his latest political cartoon. Davey with the other Newsies, their bodies drawn in hazy silhouette, Davey standing at various street corners, hawking newspapers to faceless passersby.

A few of the scenes depicted are things Davey recognizes, distinct instances that he can place in his memory. Others are more nebulous, ordinary moments in an ordinary life. He turns to a new page, this time finding a sketch of him reading an unlabeled novel, curled up in the corner of one of the dorm beds. Davey frowns, a little perplexed. Although it’s beautiful, as all of Jack’s artwork is, he can’t begin to imagine what inspired Jack to draw this particular scene. He’s not even really doing anything in it⁠—it’s just Davey being Davey.

He turns to another page and his breath catches in his throat.

It’s a drawing of him⁠ caught mid-laugh with his head thrown back⁠, the morning sun shining brightly behind him and a slew of crisscrossing lines in the background⁠. Davey recognizes it as a moment from a couple weeks ago, when he and Jack had made the trek across the Brooklyn Bridge for a meeting with Spot.

Davey traces a finger gently along the broad strokes of charcoal. Jack had remembered this moment, had kept the image in his mind until he’d had a chance to commit it to paper, then rendered it in astounding detail. And Davey’s no artist, but even he can tell that this drawing must have taken Jack hours. Days even.

“This is what you think of me?” The question falls out of his mouth, so unexpected that not even Davey had realized he was about to ask it. “This is how you see me?”

“Whaddya mean?” Jack responds, shifting uneasily, his voice a little gruff in his discomfort. “‘S how you look.”

“Jack…” Davey trails off helplessly, unable to elaborate, unable to explain the fragile hope that’s blooming in his chest. He starts flipping through the pages again.

It’s a wash of ink and charcoal and lead, the occasional flash of blue, but all of him. Davey pauses on one particular page, which features a drawing of him from the shoulders up with his eyes rendered in vivid color.

Colored pencils are expensive. Paint even more so. Davey imagines Jack in an art shop, imagines him hunting through the rows of supplies for just the right shade of blue with the same determination that made him start up a strike, deciding that this color is worth handing over some precious amount of his hard-earned paycheck… Davey’s heart starts beating frantically in his ears.

“These are beautiful,” Davey whispers hoarsely. “The way you’ve drawn me… you’ve made me look beautiful.”

Jack’s eyes dart here and there. Davey gets the sense that he’s looking for the ‘right’ way to respond to this statement.

“...I don’t hafta make you look beautiful, Davey,” Jack eventually says, scrubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “You already are⁠—I just draw what I see.”

Davey calmly sets the sketchbook down on the nearest bit of clean, flat surface. Then he steps forward, grabs Jack by the straps of his paint smock, and kisses him.

There’s a split-second where Jack freezes, startled. Then he groans somewhere deep in his chest, wrapping his arms around Davey’s waist to draw him even closer, and the press of his lips against Davey’s is deep and soft and wonderful.

It’s Jack who pulls away first, moving back all of a hair’s breadth, his eyes flitting across Davey’s face like he’s savoring every detail of his expression⁠⁠—like he’s perfectly content to just look at him.

It’s only now that Davey realizes the significance of that gaze: Jack looks at him like he can’t believe his eyes, like he’s something out of his wildest dreams, and he cups Davey’s face between his hands with aching tenderness, like he’s something to be cherished. Davey can only press up into that embrace, can only hold Jack close and hope that he understands, that Jack sees the emotion in his eyes the way he sees so much of Davey’s everything.

But there’s one question he needs answered. “Why?”

Jack leans in and presses a kiss to Davey’s temple. “It’s just… you have so much to you, Davey. No drawin’ could ever be all of you. But that didn’t stop me from tryin’.”

A kiss on the high point of his cheek. “And once I got started, I couldn’t stop. I would see you sittin’ somewhere, anywhere, laughing or sleeping or shouting and⁠— and you just buzz behind my eyes and I can’t get it to stop unless I grab a pen and some paper and sketch out whatever picture of you I got in my head.”

A kiss right at the corner of Davey’s mouth. “And I couldn’t never show ‘em to nobody, couldn’t risk anyone seeing ‘cause there’s too much of my heart in ‘em and I couldn’t⁠—”

Davey lifts up and kisses him again: slowly, reverently. He whispers into the seam of Jack’s lips, “I love you too.”

#newsies #javid #Jack Kelly #davey jacobs #*the writing desk #*editor's note #*final cut #this is so soft y’all #self-indulgent fluff for the win #(and now back to the smut...)#;)

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xserpx · 4 years ago

Note

So...The Wisdom of Crowds? Whose character arcs by the end do you think will hit hardest? Do you see think Joe is going for a straight up *bitter* sweet ending the way he did with The Last Argument of Kings? I love the first trilogy but wow did the ending turn me off of re reading it again (he said having read it 6 times). Vic is the dark horse of the Age of Madness so I want to see how her tale ends and I am so, so scared for Orso.

Oh, I would bank on TWOC being hella bittersweet. Probably moreso than LAOK, if anything, and he might cut back on the sugar a little bit.

I keep thinking about how we felt about the characters in BTAH compared to with how we felt about them at the end of LAOK. It gives me vertigo, honestly. And having just finished the Shattered Sea, it's clear that Joe loves stuffing the last volume of his trilogies full of mind-bending revelations that alter the reader's perspective on everything that came before.

I am also more emotionally invested in AoM's characters than I was in most of the characters in TFL. Orso and Rikke are genuinely likeable people, so I think their arcs will be the hardest hitting. They both started out as soft, warm cinnamon rolls, but I don't see either of them ending that way.

Where Leo's story is going is still a mystery to me, but his arc has already hit me harder than anyone else's save for Jezal, so Lord Grimdark only knows what awaits him (and me) in TWOC.

And Savine is such an awful person that it will hit me hard if she squirms her way to the top. Savine's success is everyone else's failure.

Clover is fairly neutral, he thrives amongst change. I am making no bets with him. Will he be the backstabber or the backstabee? I have no clue.

And likewise, Vick is adaptable. She seems to have allies on most sides, has the broadest insight into the truth of what's going on, doesn't have too much beef with Bayaz, and also seems to have sympathy for the Breakers' cause. So despite her having to make some tough choices and possibly suffer through some shit where Tallow is concerned, I predict that she will last as the most 'morally good' of all the AOM POVs.

Broad is the dark horse, I think. He really hasn't done much thus far, but he can't keep a lid on himself forever, and I get the sense Joe's been holding him back for a reason.

Then there's the old guard, who are all likely to die. Shivers, Glokta, Calder, Finree, and Gorst are all faves, and they could all have some major tearjerk moments in TWOC.

And then you have to factor in Bayaz and the Magi. As exciting as the revolution is, the presence of magic renders comparison to real-life revolutions moot, IMO. Eaters are lurking around, and there's the House of the Maker stuff, presumably Rikke's prophecy will be subverted somehow... Whaddya know? Turns out there could be fantasy in my fantasy.

The possibilities are endless, it's kind of daunting to think about.

#the first law #the age of madness #the wisdom of crowds #joe abercrombie #y'know for all i stan leo and think he's capable of genuine change... he could SO easily pull a logen and just continue to be the Worst #or rikke could go off the deep end!#or she could succumb to the long eye and lose herself entirely #it says a lot for poor orso that beheading/hanging isn't the worst foreseeable outcome :(#but no i'm sure the revolution will result in a smooth transition of power from bayaz to the people 😌#what could possibly go wrong? 😌

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he-flies-me-to-the-moon-and-back · 4 years ago

Text

I love you, Dean

“D’ya LIKE Cas, Dean?”

Dean’s face changes rapidly. He scrunches up his whole face at this sudden accusation. “What? Whaddya mean by that? Of course I like him. He’s ma buddy.”

“I mean do you like like Cas? More than just yer buddy?”

𝙷𝚎 𝙵𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙼𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙱𝚊𝚌𝚔 - 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟺

Dean couldn’t keep his promise with Leona, and Leona is far from happy with that turnout. Despite his promise, Dean still always checks the time on his watch and his phone while they are spending time together at her place. To make things worse, Dean doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to Leona after he spent an hour with her. He always appears to be all fidgety and nervous most of the time he is with her. Leona senses something fishy going on with her man.

“DEAN! Are ya even listenin’ to me right now?” says Leona loudly, causing a few heads in the restaurant to turn and gawk at them both.

Dean blurrily looks up from his phone to meet eyes with Leona - and that’s the last straw. Leona had it this time.

“If you’re too BUSY with your BUDDY -” she air-quotes the word “buddy” with an overflowing attitude, “- to pay attention to me, then I just wanna go home now.” She throws the napkin into her plate of untouched food and quickly walks off from their table, leaving Dean confused momentarily before he slowly begins to understand the whole situation.

He smiles sheepishly at the guests at the neighboring tables as he gets up from his seat. “Enjoy ya dinner, folks,” says Dean embarrassingly. He hurries to the cashier to pay up for their meals and walks out of the restaurant, trying to look for Leona. His eyes immediately spot Leona walking aggressively not too far from where he stands now.

“Dammit. Leona! Babe! Hold on!” he cries after her. Dean starts running towards her until he finally catches up with her. He grabs her by her arm and turns her around to face him. “Babe. Hold on a sec here. What’s the rush?”

Leona refuses to be obedient to Dean’s words this time around - she tries to get away from Dean as much as possible, yet his grip on her arm is secured enough to make her immobile right in front of him. Leona can’t find another way out of this but to face Dean properly.

“Let me go, Dean!”

She glares sharply at Dean, and Dean understands the hostility that is coming from her. He holds both her arms in his hands gently yet securely before he sighs deeply. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m really sorry for ma behavior tonight. I shouldn’t be playin’ with ma phone while we’re havin’ dinner together. Ma bad, and I admit it,” Dean apologizes earnestly to her.

Leona doesn’t buy that whole-heartedly. She starts to fish the answer she wants to hear out of Dean’s mouth. “Do ya LIKE Cas, Dean?”

Dean’s face changes rapidly. He scrunches up his whole face at this sudden accusation. “What? Whaddya mean by that? Of course I like him. He’s ma buddy.”

“I mean do you like like Cas? More than just yer buddy?”

Dean remains silent while his face continues to frown deeply as he stares at Leona straight in the eye. He feels attacked.

“Dean …” Her voice becomes gentler as she holds Dean’s hands firmly in hers. Her gaze has also become tamer than previously. “I’ve seen you, babe. I’ve seen ya ‘round him, and trust me when I say this… You glow whenever he’s ‘round.”

Dean’s lips quiver as he’s trying to say something, yet somehow it becomes inaudible due to his anxiety.

“You smile a lot. You laugh a lot. You seem very much happier with him than when you’re with me - and I don’t hate you for that. I only need to know now if you love him more than you love me. ‘Cause I don’t wanna be stuck in the middle of your confused feelings for him.”

Dean is rendered speechless as he tries to wrap his head around this new found discovery made by the woman he loves, and he doesn’t believe that Leona would lie to him when it comes to serious stuff like this.

Dean is puzzled. He feels a light dizziness in his head while his heart is pumping fast like a bullet train. Leona notices his body language. She kindly rubs Dean’s arm up and down to calm him down.

“Babe? Baby? I think you’re in love with Castiel. I know it can be confusing since ya ain’t gay, but… we can’t control our feelings when it comes to love,” she says.

She flashes a warm smile at him. “And love knows no boundaries, and it certainly doesn’t know gender, religion, et cetera.”

She squeezes Dean’s hands in hers tightly. “I think you need to acknowledge these feelings ya have for him before it’s too late.” She leans forward and tips her feet to allow her to plant a soft kiss on Dean’s cheek. Then, she smiles warmly.

“I love you, Dean Winchester. Goodbye,” Leona bids him one last time before she turns around and walks away.

________

Dean walks across the corridor towards his apartment with heavy foot. His brain is still wrecking over those words Leona has said to him about him and Castiel. He doesn’t know how to react to this. This is too much for him to handle in a night. This is too much for him to handle, period.

Dean slowly tries to unlock the door lock. His hand keeps on slipping from getting the key into the keyhole properly, causing a scratching noise to resonate throughout the empty corridor. Dean doesn’t realize that. He is completely blank in his head.

Then, the door makes a noise from the other side, and there he stands once the door is opened. “Dean?” he asks Dean worryingly. “You okay?”

Dean couldn’t respond anything but to keep on staring at Castiel. He scrutinizingly watches every feature on Castiel’s face to see if he can find the answer he’s been looking for for the past hour. He tries to put the puzzle pieces together while looking at Castiel, in hope that he can actually find closure to his heartache and headache right now.

“Dean …?” Dean snaps back to reality instantly, and finds himself and Castiel still standing at the door. He then slowly begins walking into the apartment and leaves Castiel to close the door behind them instead. Castiel slowly follows him from behind.

“You okay, Dean? You don’t look okay right now,” he comments.

Dean flops his whole body onto the leather couch. He sighs loudly with his eyes closed after he rested his head on the backrest. He’s feeling sluggish tonight for unknown reason.

Castiel worriedly sits next to Dean. He’s speechless on what to say to Dean that would be appropriate to Dean’s current condition. He can only silently gazes at Dean while his heart is troubled greatly.

Dean’s eyes flutter open and he blankly looks at the white ceiling of their apartment. He stays quiet for quite some time.

“Did ya ever loved a man, Cas?”

Castiel’s eyes shoot wide open. “Love a man? What do you mean?”

“I mean actually lovin’ a man - romantically.”

Castiel ponders for a second. “I don’t think I ever have. Why?”

Dean quiets down. His eyes are still locked onto the ceiling. “D’ya think ya can ever love a man, Cas?”

Castiel stares at Dean confusedly. “Do… I have to love a man right now?”

Dean glances over at Castiel. He quietly gazes at his angel buddy. “D’ya think ya can?”

Castiel’s head tilts slightly after hearing Dean’s sincere question. Naturally he puts his hand over Dean’s shoulders, scooting himself closer to Dean while their eyes are still locked in a soft gaze. Castiel smiles.

“I am still in love with one right now, if you ask me,” Castiel confesses.

Dean’s eyebrows furrow at Castiel’s words. “Ya what now?”

“I’ve always loved you, Dean. I’ve told you, right? Before The Empty sucked me in?”

Dean is silent. Only his eyes are asking a million questions at Castiel at the same time.

Castiel proceeds to explain, “My love for you is not like those humanly love and affection, Dean - you must’ve known that by now. I’ve saved you from Perdition, and we have been thru a lot together, and I do care for you tremendously. My love for you is the only reason why I still thrive to win in this lifetime of mine. I love you, and so I need to win for you.”

Dean listens carefully while his mind tries to learn every word that is spoken by Castiel. The room goes quiet again.

Castiel continues, “It is as simple and complicated as that. There’s no other way I can explain why I love you. I guess that’s why we share a more profound bond together.”

Dean slowly pulls himself forward in his seat, with his back hunched slightly next to Castiel. He brings his hand to Castiel’s back and pats that large back lightly. “Thanks, Cas. I appreciate that.”

Castiel nods and smiles warmly.

#he flies me to the moon and back #spn fic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester #castiel #destiel au #spn fanfic #spn au finale fic #fly me to the moon #domestic!destiel #destiel fic #fanfiction.net #spn fanfiction #ao3 #shoutout to #usernguyenxtrang #you're officially tagged!

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tearsofsyrup · 4 years ago

Text

affairs of the heart. jeonghan. magical realism au. 822 words.

“Are you sure?” Jeonghan questions, watching you from under heavy lids, leaning back into his chair comfortably.

Meanwhile you sit on the edge of yours, knowing that the desk separating you from him renders you no safer. Despite the stern expression you force, your breaths shudder with unease, the deep black within Jeonghan’s pupils piercing you still and heightening the pounding in your ears.

The corner of his lip quirks.

You swallow the thick saliva gathering behind your teeth. “Will you honor the exchange?”

His head tilts, seemingly scrutinizing you.

“Of course. I am nothing if not a man of my word, sweetheart.”

Your eyebrows twitch, a bitter taste coating your tongue when Jeonghan grins.

“More or less,” he adds, shifting which leg crosses the other.

You huff, averting your gaze, eyes fixed on the overflow of books filling his shelves and the sleek fireplace blaring with purple flames. Jittery fingers ball around the fabric of your skirt. “That is not reassuring.”

“What choice do you have?”

He effectively draws your wide-eyed stare back to him with how his tone drops, eyes a shade blacker than you recall, smile stiff. Your body feels like ice, taut and rigid, frozen shivers climbing up your back.

None, you refrain from saying, as it would be fruitless to offer information he already possesses. Because the other option you refuse to so much as entertain.

Jeonghan leans forward, elbows on his desk and chin on his entwined fists while he observes you. Your breaths are slow, deep and hesitant. His eyes squint while a crooked smirk grows subtly.

“I need to know you are truthful with this,” you insist.

A gravelly sigh falls from the man before you, amusement erased from his face and eyelids sinking with apparent annoyance. He leans back again, “You are such a killjoy, my love.”

Your windpipe tightens. “I am not your love.”

Glee blooms across his face again. “You should make sure to enjoy the last few moments of when that statement still renders true, sweetheart.”

That shuts you up and you become acutely aware of the warm heartbeat in your ears.

Jeonghan’s head tilts again, eyebrows rising to mimic empathy. “So, whaddya say? Deal, or no deal?”

Your eyes drop to the contract before you, veins pulsing noticeably. As your eyelids fall shut, you inhale a deep breath. “Please, promise me you will make sure he is safe.”

Quiet moments pass, nothing but crackling fire and a booming heartbeat registering in your ears.

“I promise, sweetheart,” finally comes Jeonghan’s reply and you release your breath. “I will free him of his faults and keep him out of danger, honor my part of this deal if you do yours.”

Bo-boom, bo-boom, bo-boom, you hear and feel from within your chest, the sound of your life and your freedom - both of which will no longer belong to you in a moment. Reveling in the heavy beat is useless, you find, and sigh mournfully.

Jeonghan’s eyes are waiting when you open yours, a numbness tingling in your fingertips.

You nod. “Deal.”

He smiles wide and slides the contract toward you. You sign it quickly with crooked lines, before regret can catch up to you.

“Excellent,” Jeonghan states, taking the piece of paper and waving it in the air until it disappears. His gaze falls to you once more, hand outstretched and fingers wiggling. “Now, give it here.”

Sucking in the insides of your cheeks, you chew on the flesh, reluctance pooling in your gut. The deed is already done, you remind yourself and place a palm over your chest. You meet Jeonghan’s glare with little fear, trying to memorize how it feels to hate him with all your heart while you still can.

With some force and coaxing, the hand sinks into your chest, surprisingly painless as your feel for the beating muscle hiding there. A dull sting strikes your chest when your fingers grip the organ and as you pull, hurried heartbeats fade in your ears. It loosens with a snap and suddenly you are staring at its pink, pulsing glow in your hand, a deep silence thick within your skull and a hollow pit weighty in your chest.

Jeonghan hums and when you look to him, his round eyes are all but glittering. “It’s beautiful.”

You hand it over to his eager hand with less resistance than you expected, movements slow and stiff.

A grin blossoms from his one cheek to the other, cupping the pumping muscle in his hands with calculated delicacy, gaze intent as if enchanted.

You feel nothing.

“Funny,” he speaks while a thumb strokes your heart, “how mere love can convince one to give oneself away to someone one doesn’t like nor trust. Unfathomable and so, so fascinating.”

Jeonghan leans down to kiss the organ with careful tenderness.

Still, you feel nothing.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” he whispers and he is no longer talking to you.

#caratwritersclub #seventeen imagines #jeonghan imagines #seventeen x reader #jeonghan x reader #seventeen drabbles #jeonghan drabbles #seventeen scenarios #jeonghan scenarios #seventeen fanfics #jeonghan fanfics #seventeen au #jeonghan au #magical realism au

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ashdoesfandomarchieved · 4 years ago

Note

Valentines Day shenanigans with the ship of your choice? Or maybe board game/poker night with the main four?

(Direct sequel of midnight revelations)

It starts like this:

Mariner is teaching Tendi poker. Or well, Mariner is teaching Tendi her version of poker which involves no pants—for some reason—, various pointy objects that Sam is keeping his distance from and an abundance of multi-language profanity that is rather impressive for two women outside of the linguistics department.

Really though, Sam is impressed

Tendi, who has absolutely no poker face, is somehow winning and Mariner is somewhere between proud mom friend™ and shoving her throwing stars at the first person who pokes fun at her losing streak. Somewhere in all of this, Mariner runs out of credits and contraband, so with a sigh and a characteristic half-smirk, she tosses her last chip on the table.

“I’m going all in.”

“Your all in would be scarier if it literally wasn’t your last credit,” Sam remarks sarcastically from where he’s nursing a beer.

Mariner flips him the bird. “Whaddya you got for me, D’Vana?”

Tendi, trying to hold back her shit-eating grin and failing—again no poker face—shoves her huge pile of chips into the center of the table.

“Oh, I’m all in, baby.”

“Good,” Mariner grins back.

“Good,” Tendi replies, crossing her arms.

“Fine.”

“I’m glad you went all in.”

“So am I.”

“Please stop flirting and finish the game,” Sam mutters, rolling his eyes.

Mariner doesn’t flip him the bird this time but gives him a side-eye that would have been its usual level of pee-your-pants-terrifying if not for the light blush that dusts her cheeks.

Tendi giggles. “Wanna raise the stakes?”

“Have you met me?”

“That’s fair,” both Tendi and Sam say in the same voice. Mariner rolls her eyes but can’t suppress her smug grin.

“Loser has to ask out the next person who enters the room,” Tendi says, dramatically steepling her hands in front of her face.

Mariner snorts. Loudly. “What are we, fucking twelve?”

“You got a better idea?” Tendi taunts.

“Actually,” Mariner lets a smirk crawl across her face. “As long as we’re going with sleepover levels of dares…loser has to get the next person who walks through that door to date them for three weeks without cracking.”

Tendi cackles, throwing down her cards.

“Full house,” Sam absentmindedly notes. “Not bad, Tendi.”

“Yeah, not bad,” Mariner says, revealing her hand to be royal fucking flush. “Enjoy that date, D’Vana.”

Sam chokes on his drink, while Tendi groans. Mariner laughs psychotically. “Work on that poker face, baby girl. You’ll get it eventually.”

“Ugh, you were just letting me win.”

“Maybe,” Mariner grins innocently. Tendi scowls at her. “Oh, come on,” she laughs. “Whoever comes through that door next can’t be that bad.”

This was the exact moment that Sam realizes that the universe has a sense of humor, because Brad fucking Boimler walks through the door.

Tendi turns a little blue around the cheeks—the Orion equivalent to blushing, Sam guesses—and smiles at him, waving.

“Fuck,” Mariner hisses. “Abort mission!”

Sam and Tendi frown at her. “What?”

“D’Vana, you cannot date Boimler,” Mariner whispers furiously.

“That was the deal!” Tendi hisses back, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Babe I love you, but you can’t fuck with him like that.”

“And it’s okay to fuck with other people?”

“Yes!”

Sam slaps a hand to his face. “You fuck with Boimler every day of the week, Mariner.”

“That’s different!”

“How?” Tendi demands.

Mariner—the woman who had been promoted and demoted so many times that her file was longer than a goddamn Britannica, jumped head first into anything that remotely whispered of danger, fought with the Captain daily, snarked at superior officers, gave zero fucks about Starfleet protocol, and had probably, at some point, flipped off the devil—is rendered completely speechless.

Sam begins to rapidly connect some dots.

“It’s only for three weeks,” Tendi continues. “And Brad’s kinda cute, in like, an intense I have crippling anxiety way.”

“Brad?” Mariner repeats, looking horrified. “You call him Brad?”

“Yes?” Boimler says, coming up behind her. Mariner lets out an uncharacteristic shriek and jumps about a foot in the air.

“Dude what the fuck.”

Boimler looks very very confused. “What?”

“What?” Mariner repeats loudly, eyes widening.

“Brad, wanna go out?” Tendi chirps, smiling innocently at him.

Aw, and now Sam has two adorable friends who are blushing, well, adorably at each other and one friend who is having a complete mental breakdown in the background.

“What, really? I would love to—why aren’t you guys wearing any pants?” Boimler asks, exasperated.

Tendi lets out a snicker. “Mariner.”

Boimler gives Mariner an unimpressed look. Mariner tries to glare back, but it’s weak for her standards.

“I actually just finished my shift,” he says, turning back to Tendi. “Do you want to hang out?”

While Tendi cheers enthusiastically, Sam discreetly eyes his other friend. Mariner is kind of hyperventilating in the background, hands twitching toward the half-filled bottle of vodka she and Tendi had been chugging earlier. Sam carefully inches it away, unsure if she’s going to chug the rest of it or attack someone with it.

She makes a wounded noise at Tendi, who grabs Boimler by the arm and drags him out of the room, unreservedly talking a mile a minute about something that Sam’s already lost track of.

“What the fuck just happened.”

“I think Tendi asked Boimler on a date,” Sam replies, calmly. Mariner whips her head around and stares at him. The look behind her eyes is deranged.

“We have to break them up.”

Sun, moon and stars, the next three weeks were going to be a Mariner sized nightmare.

“I don’t get it, she’s completely out of his league—”

“Not true.”

“—they have nothing in common—”

“Sometimes opposites attract.”

“—and she’s just stringing him along! She’s going to dump him in two weeks!”

Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. They were about a week into Mariner’s dare and he already was ready to throw Mariner, Tendi and Boimler—poor, clueless Boimler—out of an airlock. Mariner had already tried to break the two up somewhere around two dozen times and had only succeeded in bringing them closer together.

This of course made Mariner even more determined to sabotage her friends.

“It’s not the end of the world, Mariner.”

“Of course, it is!” she hisses at him. “They break up and then I have to deal with Boimler being sad forever while also not shit-talking my best friend and not letting him know that I was the person who set them up!”

“Or they have an amicable break up and go back to being friends. Dude, they haven’t even progressed past basic hand holding. I don’t think it’s going to be a huge heart wrenching dumping.”

Boimler and Tendi enter the room, holding hands. “I feel like you’re the only one who understands me, sometimes,” Boimler says.

Mariner’s eye twitches.

“What should I get Brad for Valentines Day?” Tendi asks five days later, apropos to nothing. Mariner sits up so fast that she hits her head on the top of her bunk.

“WHAT.”

Tendi frowns over at her, looking up from her data padd. “Valentines Day? It’s a Terra Prime holiday that humans generally celebrate yearly around the Terra season of—”

“I KNOW WHAT VALENTINES DAY IS.”

Sam winces, along with the few unfortunate ensigns who happen to be in the cabin, at the volume. “You and Boimler are celebrating Valentines Day?” he weakly asks.

Tendi grins, her tongue sticking out between her teeth adorably. “He told me about it last night and asked if we could exchange gifts!”

There’s a dull thunk as Mariner repeatedly hits her head against the wall.

“Do we need to talk about this?” Sam asks, watching Mariner chug half her weight in alcohol at the bar.

“My liver, my rules.”

“Not your alcoholic diet,” Sam sighs, taking a seat and signaling to the barman. “Although I would lay off the tequila if you want to be functional tomorrow morning.”

Mariner scowls and raises the bottle to her lips again.

“I’m talking about your feelings for Boimler.”

Mariner chokes. “My fucking what.”

Sam rolls his eyes. He had hoped—for about a millisecond—that when Tendi had joined their group that someone else would finally, perhaps, have some braincells to go around, but no, it seems that Sam Rutherford is the only rational fucking person in their dysfunctional foursome.

“Don’t be the idiot you pretend to be,” he replies, calmly taking a sip of his own drink.

Mariner narrows her eyes at him. “I don’t have feelings for—”

“I’m not an idiot either, Mariner.”

“Look,” she snaps, “I’m vaguely attracted to almost everyone, it’s just who I am. I do not have feelings for Boimler, I’m just aware that he’s. Aesthetically pleasing and nice to be around.”

“Then stop acting like a crazy person whenever he tries to date anyone,” Sam snaps back. “If you’re not interested, then you need to back off.”

Mariner is quiet for a long moment. “Do you think he and D’Vana—”

“I think they enjoy each other’s company and that they’re both kind of lonely,” Sam replies, before she can finish. “If you want to know more, talk to Tendi.”

His friend nods, soberly. Sam feels kind of bad for snapping at her, but also knows that she appreciates his honesty.

“There’s worse things then falling for Boimler,” he says, nudging her encouragingly. “Even if he is a complete spaz.”

This coaxes a weak grin out of her. “He is so fucking awkward.”

“You should tell him.”

“That he’s awkward? I have, he got all fussed up and started—”

“That you like him,” Sam specifies, grinning.

Mariner, seemingly forgetting that she had just been denying her crush on their friend, protests, “He’s dating Tendi, dumbass, I’m not going to—”

“Hey, trust me on this one,” Sam says. “Just follow your instincts.”

“My instincts are telling me to desert him on an alien planet before I become too attached.”

“Follow my instincts.”

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Mariner does not, in fact, follow Sam’s instincts.

He isn’t there for what happens next, but hears about it from an amused Tendi who swings up into his bunk that evening to give him the lowdown.

“So, Beckett has a crush on Brad,” she says, hugging his pillow to her midsection.

Sam puts down his data padd and watches Tendi very carefully. “Oh?”

“Yep. She cornered him in the cafeteria, told him his eyes were pretty and that she liked him and then left, screeching something about sitcom-b plots and Starfleet alumni. I think she has inside jokes with herself? I’m not sure what that was about.”

Sam can’t suppress the laugh that bubbles out of him. “God, she’s crazy. Are you okay?”

Tendi frowns, confused, at him. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Your best friend has a crush on your boyfriend?”

“My—my what? Wait, oh nine hells YOU GUYS THINK BRAD AND I ARE DATING?”

Sam has a sudden moment of clarity where he realizes that he does not, in fact, have all the braincells in their group.

“You aren’t?” he dumbly asks.

Tendi starts laughing. She laughs so hard she almost falls out of his bunk—he thankfully catches her in time, but it’s a close one. “Rutherford. Sam,” she wipes a tear away from her eyes. “I’m aromatic, you absolute complete dumbass.”

“You are?” Probably not the best reaction to his friend coming out, but Sam hardly has time to apologize, before Tendi is laughing at him again.

“Brad—well, I probably shouldn’t tell you, it’s his thing—but he kind of understands where I’m coming from. We were having friend dates.”

“But…Valentines Day,” he stresses.

Tendi rolls her eyes. “I asked Brad about Terra traditions and holidays and he gave me a fucking history lecture it was so boring. I did like the idea of Valentines Day and asked if I could partake in it with him. He suggested gift giving.”

Sam stares at her. “I am a dumbass.”

“You are,” she agrees. “But I need your dumbass brain to help me get Brad and Beckett together.”

“Oh, so you do have all the braincells,” he says, grinning.

Tendi’s smile is sharp. “I have no idea what you’re on about, but yes. Yes I do.”

Getting Mariner and Boimler together is way easier said than done. Mariner is avoiding everyone like a goddamn plague and Boimler is fluctuating between literally vibrating with anxiety and being depressed as shit.

“Well they definitely don’t have the braincells,” Sam says, after another failed attempt to trap the two of them in a room together.

“You need to stop talking about braincells,” Tendi sighs. “Why don’t we just tell them that they like each other?”

“We can’t do that!”

“Why?”

“It’s too easy that way!”

Tendi stares at him.

Sam stares back.

“I’m telling Brad that Beckett has squishy feelings for him,” she deadpans. “And you’re going to try to catch Beckett and tell him that I don’t have squishy feelings for him. And then we’re going to lock them in a goddamn turbolift until they get their freak on.”

Tendi either has all of the braincells or none of them.

Their plan surprisingly takes a whole lot less subterfuge than Sam was expecting and a lot more—well—emotions. He did manage to find Mariner and after guiltily admitting that he may have been a bit wrong about the nature of Boimler and Tendi’s relationship, she was off in a shot, shrieking some nonsense about “third-act bullshit” and how she didn’t sign up to be the “pawn in a romantic subplot.”

Mariner might, actually, be certifiably crazy.

Brad hears about one of the turbolifts breaking from another ensign in his department. He and Tendi subtly high-five.

Six hours later—“if there was ever a time for buffer time, that time is now, Tendi”—a grinning Mariner and a mildly disheveled, exit the turbolift.

It ends like this:

Tendi is attempting to teach Sam poker. Well. It’s not actual poker, more like a hybrid of Mariner’s version of poker and a card game from Tendi’s home world, but it’s close enough and they’re having fun, so it really doesn’t matter.

Mariner is drunk as fuck, alternating between casually hitting on a flustered Boimler and insulting the shit out of anyone who even looks in their direction.

Tendi lays down her cards. Straight flush. Sam moans in despair. Boimler lets out a shriek of stop doing that we’re in public you moron and Mariner cackles in that unhinged way of hers.

None of them have the braincells.

#star trek lower decks #sam rutherford #d'vana tendi #beckett mariner #brad boimler #star trek fanfiction #prompts #prompt response

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steveusesfaberge · 6 years ago

Text

Better Parent (pt. ii)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Summary: The kids have their loving mother and...uhh...other mother...take them to the Wheelers’ house; an advice filled car ride later - and some quality time with his favorite girl.... and it ends with a shifty scheme crafted by only the best intentions, and two teens not doing the babysitting they were assigned to do...wonderful. Sounds just like another day for Harrington!

Type/Style: Imagine, female pronouns

Warning(s): Fluff~, momma Steve, heed all warnings… Oh, and a bit of cursing! >.<

Word Count: +4,100

a/n: The is part two to Better Parent and with that being said, I hope you all enjoy!

Part 1 - Part 2 (you are here) - Part 3

Please send requests! I’m excited to write for you all! <3

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

“Hey--”

“Move over, your ass is in my lap!”

“Hello?”

“What?! You're practically in my seat!”

“Is anyone even listening to--”

“Stop it guys - don’t push!”

“Hey! Dickheads! Would you all quit it? Goddamn, why didn’t one of you go with Y/N like she suggested?” Steve growled while trying not to crash the car. The boys had all decided they’d tumble into his car...leaving a party of three merrily skipping to the other teenager’s car...it wasn’t like there was anything wrong with it! - Y/N’s car was actually quite nice; she took care of it and even had a better radio than Steve...

“Because then we’d be alone with all that estrogen...not happening, Harrington,” Lucas spoke up while giving Mike a hard shove to his side. Will was groaning in annoyance as his friends jostled him to be pressed harshly to the car door. While Dustin happily was messing with the stereo (when he’d called shotgun - and Steve allowed it, Y/N had claimed it was ‘favoritism amongst their six babies who she, as the better parent, loved equally. Thus, no one would be sitting passenger in her car. Steve figured that’s why none of the boys wanted to go, being squeezed between El and Max might not be ideal...though Harrington knew better. Y/N liked playing her own music, and with a grubby hand like Dustin’s all over the radio - her rule had been set long before she became a mom).

“Mhm, sure,” Steve grumbled while rubbing his temple, already regretting agreeing to this. It wasn’t like it was a long ride back to Mike’s house - but goddamn did these knuckleheads make it feel like it... “Tell me that again when you’re not off sucking faces with Max,” the older boy was praised with ohs and ahs as he snapped the remark at Sinclair.

“At least I have a girlfriend,” Lucas defended, earning his own audience of noise.

“A-hahhhh, and what the hell is that supposed to mean, asshole?” Steve jabbed while resting his elbow on the rim of his window, it had been rolled down because all the movement in the car had it feel like a damn sauna. Dustin was still messing with his radio, flipping channels and making the music louder when Steve had specifically told him to turn it down. He slapped the said boy’s hand away and scolded him briefly,” Hands off, Henderson - how many times do I have to say it? It’s distracting me - do you want to die?” He exhaled slowly, trying not to pull the car over and kick each out to the side of the road. Either having to walk the rest of the way or ask Y/N.

“I mean - I have the balls to even kiss a girl - or are you and girly Henderson dating without us knowing?” Lucas drilled, earning a head nod from Mike, and an eye-roll from Will who just wanted to get to the house (he was more interested in DnD than how poorly Steve’s love life was going).

Steve abruptly stopped the car. He heard Y/N slamming on the breaks, a honk of her horn and the muffled sound of her cursing him off for such a dangerous stunt. He ignored it though, deciding to deal with the consequences later. Luckily, there wasn’t anyone behind Y/N to backend her (he wasn’t dumb enough to do such a thing with precious cargo...).

“What? You know how many girls I’ve kissed? How many I’ve made out with? Huh? Do you forget who I am?” He wiped his chin and shook his head with a defensive blush finding his face. He took a breath in and exhaled with a more composed manner. He tried to ignore the way the boys in the back held their laughter in, and definitely, decided to ignore the way Dustin watched them all in confusion (dumbass didn’t even see the way Steve looked at his sister).

“Me and Y/N...are not a thing. We’re not together, we’re not a couple, we’re not an item,” he drawled while shaking his head. After a few moments of silence, the boys clearly conflicted on to continue laughing or feel bad for the way Steve’s tone dropped off at the end of his sentence.

He started down the road again, both hands gripping the wheel tightly; his eyes never leaving the windshield. His ears painted pink.

“You...you guys know this,” he mumbled while shaking his head once more, flipping Y/N off in his rearview mirror.

“I know but--,” Mike was cut off with a soft sigh from Harrington.

“I-I can’t. Okay? Is that what you wanna hear from me? That...that I know I’m not good enough for her? That...I’m scared if I told her, she’d swallow me whole and I’d never be able to look her in the eyes?” The desperate drag of his tone was obvious (maybe Y/N was right; he’d stooped to King Steve level of desperation...not for other girls...but...to just get a chance with her...anything...anything...he’d do anything).

The rest of the ride was filled with the boys in the back, coming up with love advice for Steve. Ask her out, just do it - be confident! Write her a letter. Tell her she looks nice. Ask her if she wants a boyfriend. Tell her she’s hot. Oh, what about showing her-- they’d reached the Wheeler estate and as they began unbuckling and getting ready to leave the car (thank the Lord, he wasn’t sure how much more he could take), and Dustin - who had been silent the majority of the ride finally spoke.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck.” He sputtered while his eyebrows furrowed in utter shock and confusion.

Steve rolled his eyes, and pushed his door open, calling over his shoulder,” I like your sister, dude. We’ve established this like....thirty-six times. Catch up, dipshit.” All embarrassment he had earlier had washed away, being replaced with a bubbling feeling of nerves and doubt. The boys were trying to be nice, do their best...but...they were all awkward preteens...their advice was as good as Steve consulting a Magic 8-Ball.

Inside the house, before trucking to Mike’s basement - Dustin dragged Steve to the kitchen, his mind still trying to figure out what had been revealed (or more so, finally brought up as Steve’s feelings for Y/N had always been the weird, pink-polka-dotted elephant in the room).

“What’re you doing? - They’ll start without you--,” Steve was hushed as Dustin slapped his hand to his mouth.

“My sister?” Dustin whisper-shouted. Steve rolled his eyes for the nth time and tugged Henderson’s grip from his face.

“Yeah, dingus - we’ve been over this--,”

“But my sister...Steve...why?” Dustin wasn’t sure how he felt about it clearly, and it only made Steve more nervous. That feeling that sunk into his bones, not a good one. Of course, if he were going to date Y/N...he’d need his best friend’s (and favorite child’s) permission.

“Whaddya want me to say! She’s like...the only girl I hang out with that’s my age, besides Robin, that I don’t mind,” Steve paused,” Might I remind you - Robin’s not into dudes.” It was almost sad how his social life had crumbled along with his desire to capture anyone else’s attention but Y/N’s (and of course, he’d tried to push those feelings aside for the sake of your friendship...but...it never worked).

Dustin was quiet; longer than Steve would’ve liked, as sitting in the soft silence was nervewracking. The curly-haired sibling stood, arms crossed, eyes clouded with thought as he rubbed his chin. Steve tapped his foot, leaning on the kitchen countertop as he waited, pinching the bridge of his nose. God, this kid’s such a headache...

“Dusty - Will told me, to tell you, that if you don’t go down now, you’ll be left out,” Y/N was just turning the corner when she spotted the pair in the kitchen, seeming as if they were in quite the predicament.

“Is this a private moment...or?” she spoke slowly, a tease to her words.

“N-No! I was...just...telling Steve that...um...,” his attention now on the older boy who had a hand ruffling through his hair for any imperfections (though who was he kidding? Harrington had the best head of hair in Hawkins).

“I was telling him if he doesn’t do it...I’ll...be disappointed...guy stuff,” Dustin gave Harrington a sincere half-grin and there was obviously a conversation to be held later (but Y/N’s appearance lead Dustin to keep his mouth shut for now).

“Really?” Steve asked, his brows raised as he took the boy’s words in.

“Yeah...yeah...just...don’t do something weird in front of me,” Dustin lowered his voice as he spoke the last bit.

“Alright, enough bro-talk, Dusty - get going and leave the adults to talk.” Y/N rolled her eyes; ruffling his hair as he passed by.

It was just the two of them, and Steve was trying not to do something stupid. Walking forward, he felt his body involuntarily tense up as she moved to stand a few feet from him - though a few feet was more than enough to render his mind as blank as all hell. His body completely useless now...

Don’t do something stupid. Don’t do something stupid. Don’t do something stupid. Don’t do something stupid. Don’t do something stupid....

“Did you want to do something while they messed around? Like catch a movie or--,” Y/N was interrupted by the blubbering fool before her.

“Your letter - uh, looks nice -- I mean, it looks hot! No - wait...that...that didn’t come out right.” Steve’s outburst granted an unsure look from her. Please just kill me now...did...did I say that? Well...all logic had found its way out the nearest fucking window...

“What?” Was all Y/N said while waiting for Steve with furrowed brows.

He covered his eyes, his free hand waving around for a dazed second as he tried to get the proper words out. Breathe...be natural...be confident....don’t fuck it up like that again, Harrington.

“I meant to say - you look nice,” he paused,” And to answer your question, why don’t we just go down and um...finally settle the score?” That...was...better.

Y/N shrugged, nodding as she reached for his hand. At that moment, Steve’s heart flatlined and he was sure he was now staring at an angel as she dragged him across the house, to the basement. “Sounds good - be prepared because momma ain’t leavin’ without her babies’ approval,” Steve could only nod to the back of her head as she spoke such fighting words.

If you asked Steve Harrington at the beginning of high school - what he thought about spending his free-time with six underaged dweebs who all were too smart-assy for their own good, and got themselves in trouble with hell (literally)...he’d have laughed and told you, you were as delusional as Byers.

If you asked the Steve Harrington the same question now - he’d look around at the six underaged dweebs shouting and arguing around a table laid out with character sheets, figurines, and dice... He’d laugh at their quick remarks and their tendency to use foul language, and he’d smile. Steve would’ve congratulated Byers’ brother for being the best Dungeon Master, the world had to offer.

If you told him, roughly five years after high school - he’d be seated on a busted sofa, in his ex’s basement, coke loosely held in one hand, the other pushing a pretty girl’s head away from him in a teasing manner...he’d...well..he’d not believe you. Because you’d describe the girl as someone so...amazing, so incomparable, that he’d think you’d made her up. You’d say that she was so breathtaking, that if you were in the same space as her for too long - you’d die from a lack of oxygen. That she had the most stunning y/c/e eyes he’d ever have the perquisite of seeing, and they’d have him chasing her for ages...having him choke on his own spit when she looked at him. Not to mention, the heartstopping laugh she’d have...the kind of laugh that had any guy (not just dorky Harrington) fall harder than he thought possible. Finding himself in an endless fall that put even Alice’s rabbit hole tumble to shame. She’d have a melody that had him trip over his words and stumble to find his footing. Yeah...Steve would not have believed you.

And yet, here he was...watching six dweebs play Dungeons and Dragons; with a girl he was madly in love with - more perfect than words could offer, sitting on a busted sofa, in his ex’s basement, no more than a foot between them...

“I’m tellin’ you, Steves - I’m the better parent, because the girls love me, and the boys worship me,” Y/N explained while pulling an L up to her forehead. Steve scoffed and waved her off.

“Actually - I don’t worship you, I worship Steve for giving me his hair secre--,”

Steve began snapping with his left hand, shaking his head and glaring. “Hey, hey, hey! Shithead - you swore on your life, you’d never say jackshit about that!” Dustin threw his hands out in silent defense.

“Sorry, I was just standing up for y--,” Steve shook his head once more, blowing him off with a puff of his cheeks. “Remember what I said? One peep - and your ass, yeah the one you’re sitting on now, is grass, Henderson. Grass.”

The gang began laughing at Steve’s overprotective outburst of his “best feature”. The brunette only tsked, mumbling obscenities.

“That wasn’t very better parent material, Steve,” Max snickered while El whispered something in her ear.

“Aye! No whispering under my watch - if you have a secret, you can say it aloud in front of the family,” he stressed with fake authority.

“But you just told Dustin--,” “Eleven - I don’t need a smartass.” Steve pursed his lips.

The kids eventually settled back down, getting sucked into their fantasy world once more without a second glance to the pair on the sofa. Y/N was clamping a hand to her mouth, trying not to let the amusement slip from her lips. She loved seeing Steve with the kids - he was so....dorky and sweet in his own way...saying so, she could almost admit she loved h--

“What’re you laughing at, Ms. Not-the-best-parent-because-you-suck-and-don’t-have-great-ass-hair?” Steve hissed in a low tone. His eyes watching the way Y/N’s flickered with happiness and one emotion he couldn’t quite place.

“You’re wrong for two reasons, Harrington,” she mused.

“Enlighten me,” he replied, leaning to have only a few inches between the two of you. It had been on a fleeting moment of confidence, leaving Y/N with a bright red glow - and Steve with a dumb grin. He wasn’t sure if he was proud of it, or extremely embarrassed...he settled to let her finish instead.

“Well, one: you’re not the better parent. I am,” Y/N pinched his cheek, to which he tried to back out of, but she only squeezed harder, leaving Steve to let out a grievance of annoyance as she tugged him back to listen.

“And two: your hair isn’t that great. I mean--” Steve gasped in a dramatic hurt. Falling from her grip and bending over her lap like a speared body. “Stop! Right there, don’t finish that sentence...you’ll ruin everything I’ve worked for.” he pleaded. His tongue sticking out his mouth as if he’d ‘died’.

Y/N giggled watching his childish act and rolling her eyes, a good-natured smile on her lips. She brushed a hand through his hair and spoke in an exaggerated tone,” I’m so sorry, Steves, please forgive--,” in the time of her talking, Steve had lifted a hand and silenced her with the odd hand-motion that looked like a duck, then grabbed her wrist and removed her hand from his scalp.

“You don’t get the privilege to touch my great ass hair, even if I’m dead.” He mumbled, stifled by her lap. Even though in actuality, he loved the feeling and knew if she didn’t stop he’d fall asleep.

“Oh, get over yourself,” Y/N proclaimed while attempting to shove the limp body of Steve Harrington from her own. “Nuhu,” he murmured.

Watching the two teenagers fall all over one another, the six children held back their gags.

“It’s so sad,” Max mumbled.

“Yeah, so sad I can’t focus on this raid,” Lucas agreed while knocking his head against the table.

“It’s like watching two blind...like very blind bats try, and make love.” Mike spewed.

“Thanks for the visual,” Will snorted.

“I think it’s sweet.” Everyone looked to El as she shrugged with a sheepish look.

“What? Steve...he likes her. Why is that bad?” She grabbed Mike’s hand. “I like Mike. Mike likes me - why is Steve and Y/N any different?”

The idea hit them like a ton of bricks...or, maybe it was the obnoxious laughter of their favorite Henderson (to Dustin’s protest) being tickled by Harrington, that snapped them into realization.

Steve was basically, on top of her. His hands running down her sides as she squirmed, refusing to apologize for saying she was better than him, and that his hair wasn’t anything special... While it was cringe-worthy on every level (according to a sulking brother), it was...sweet.

Y/N had a smile on her lips that they’d never really seen before - save for when Harrington entered the room. It was like he said the funniest thing without really having to say anything at all...like Steve brought out the best in her without having to lift a finger. Stomach in knots when he called her name...it was that kind of smile that Steve was able to bring out.

As for Harrington himself? His smile remained even after she left. Having spent a whole day with her - the party would catch him grinning to himself like a madman while helping them put away their game set-up. They’d catch him repeating things he’d said that happened to make Y/N smile the way he loved... It was the kind of look that you couldn’t replicate, even if you tried...only if you knew the feeling - could you do so.

Realizing this, Dustin yelled and groaned silently in his head (half disgust and half reluctant understanding). Steve, you owe me big time for this...

“Fine,” he whispered, catching everyone’s gaze but the two still messing bout on the sofa. “What’s the plan?”

“You’re s-such a l-loserrrr!” Y/N slurred while trying to struggle free of the handsome boy before her. Steve knew she had a soft spot for being so sensitive - he’d figured it out one time when she almost knocked him out on accident...(it ended with a lot of apologizing on your part, while also laughing as he held a bag of frozen peas to his face to avoid any swelling...)

“Admit it, and I’ll stop,” Steve tried to sound as serious as possible, failing utterly as Y/N’s y/c/h was splayed out like a crooked halo. Truly an angel...if anything, he wasn’t sure what he’d done in his (not so great) lifetime to earn the graces of such a human as you...good God...

Catching his gaze, Y/N shook her head (her halo only following her as any good angels’ would). “I-I...haha...will...n-never...a-admit...a-a lie!”

Steve only clicked his tongue. Sighing with a shake of his head. “I guess you’ll suffer until the end of time then, huh?”

After a few more minutes of torture (which Steve called, making sure Y/N had gotten her daily dose of laughter - as it was the best medicine and he didn’t need her falling ill any time soon, because...well...he didn’t have any apples on deck), he stopped, finally allowing her a breath of stability. He scooted down so he could cross his arms over her stomach, half his face buried there as he watched her collect herself.

It was moments like these that Steve truly cherished the most...he wondered if Y/N had the same mindset.

Because he’d honestly, never felt so good with anyone - not even with Nancy, who admittedly, was someone he’d actually held some feelings for (of course, the emotions Y/N threw at him had always overshadowed them, but Wheeler breaking his heart didn’t hurt any less). Steve had never wanted to give someone the world - mainly because it was impossible - but he knew that if Y/N simply suggested that such an action would, make her even smile for a few seconds...he’d figure out a way to do it within the next twenty-four hours.

You know, you’re like really pretty. Do you know what you do to me, Y/N? Is what Steve so hopelessly wanted to say, but he didn’t, instead, settling for a much simpler version.

“You wouldn’t be able to pull off this hair like I do...which is why...if you really wanted me to, I’d teach you my ways,” it came out as a harsh whisper of sorts - his jaw not having much movement as it was pressed to the crook of his elbow, both arms still rested on Y/N’s abdomen.

She laughed, and it sent a vibration through his body as he was rested atop her - only resulting in a chuckle of his own. The same wave taking ahold of Y/N, as Harrington’s chest rose and fell with each quick, shortened breath.

It was like they were in their own little world...too bad Dustin throwing a pillow at Steve’s head had to ruin it.

“So, we’ve come to a conclusion...,” Dustin explained, watching Harrington awkwardly try and sit up off his sister - Steve’s face burning up. Though, Y/N was in no better condition...her hands found her neck and her cheeks were a lovely shade of sunset.

“Oh, yeah?” Steve hummed while glancing at a nearby digital clock. “It better not be something crazy - ‘cause it’s almost ten o’clock and I think some of you need to get home.” Y/N nodded in agreement, leaning over and using her hand as a terrible shield,” Nice one...trying to act all momma bear like...I think they’ll definitely say you’re the better parent now.” “Har, har. Your sarcasm wasn’t necessary, Henderson,” Steve noted while flicking her forehead.

“We all need to go upstairs,” El suddenly directed. A hand raising to point, as if proving her sentence true.

Steve froze, unsure of where this was exactly going...but seeing as El usually had only good things to say...and a good intention...he nodded, words slow as he spoke,” Okay...okay...we’ll go upstairs then.”

They all marched up, like eight odd ants in a line - and when Mike suggested they watch a movie before Steve and Y/N drove them all home; it was quickly unanimous (which was a hard deal, as both teenagers knew getting six hardheaded children to agree on something was worse than trying to get Billy Hargrove to turn down a pretty face and a tight dress).

“Uh, ‘kay then...I guess we’re watching...a movie now,” Steve mumbled, trying to figure out the sudden change in pace. He was sure they hadn’t even finished their round, or match...or whatever they called it (he had only tried to play DnD once and...well...that’s a story for another time).

“I’ll see if there are any blankets, Mike, would you mind seeing if there’s any popcor--,” “Oh....you’re not watching the movie...did you think you’d be watching it with us?” Was Wheeler’s response.

Six shit-eating grins and twelve hands shoving a Scoops Ahoy employee and a caring older sister out the front door later...and Steve found himself standing on the porch of Mike Wheeler’s house - the kids he and Y/N were supposed to be watching having locked them out, without their wallets or keys...or even a hint at what they were doing outside in the, now cool summer night...

“Great going Steve,” was all she said while staring at the closed door.

He whipped around on her and glared while crossing his arms.

“Wha-- me?! I don’t remember you helping with, I dunno...six dipshits shoving us out the damn house!”

“I didn’t think I needed to...Mr. Better Than Me...I was clearly wrong.” Y/N smirked.

Steve couldn’t even be fake mad for long. It ended with the pair laughing and shaking their heads, clutching their stomachs and asking for the kids to let them back in. Without an answer...Steve questioned what this was all about; remembering the boys giving him (crappy) advice on how to ask Y/N out. I mean...this is one way to force a guy between a rock and a hard place...

“Screw it, screw them, screw babysitting - screw this,” Harrington lamented. “No cars, but we got legs...wanna just go for a walk until our meddling kids decide to let their old folk back in?” He was going out on a limb, but...he couldn’t help it. Her presence was just so damn addicting...he wanted as much as he could get without having to pay the price of embarrassment just yet.

“Sure, Steve, sure.” with a gentle smile and a giggle...that was all the hype he needed to take her hand and pull her from the stoop.

“Well, m’lady - then let me lead the way.”

---

Hm...I can’t help but want more to this....partttttt 3 anyone? >.<

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x henderson reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #dustin henderson x sibling reader #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #eleven hopper #steve harrington fluff

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