#devastating and unbearable in its sweetness

[dindjarindiaries]

How about

“Honey, have you been crying? What is it? What’s wrong?”

with everyone’s favorite Mandalorian, Din Djarin.

I dropped my phone before I could finish my message! I’m sorry it came across as short and rude. I just wanted to thank you for even considering my request and I appreciate all your work. Thank you so much again!❤️ (A/N: Not rude at all, dear - but thank you so much for adding such a sweet note!)

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompt: “Honey, have you been crying? What is it? What’s wrong?”

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

You peered through the visors that concealed the viewport once again, only to be met with the darkness of the Nevarro night. Another breath tightened your chest as the familiar needles pricked at your throat. You considered the emergency comm that you were kneading in your hand, but refused to use it.

There was no emergency, and thus no need to worry him. There was just an unprecedented loneliness.

Din and Grogu's most recent venture had run two days longer than expected, though Din had communicated that to you via holo. He had promised they would be back in two days' time, and that time had arrived. If another delay came their way, you didn't know what you would do, because you were certain you couldn't wait another minute.

The worst part was that you didn't understand why. For years, when your home was a ship and not a cabin, you were able to go even longer without seeing Din as he ventured on job after job. Now, long after the Crest's devastating fate and years spent close together...

It was just lonely.

You glanced over your shoulder at the empty cabin. Only a single light was on, casting much of the comforting space in an ominous shadow. It felt so empty without all three of you there, and it was getting unbearable. You had tried to keep yourself busy with errand-running and other tasks, but there were only so many mundane tasks you could do.

You exhaled and squeezed your eyes shut, holding the comm even tighter in your fist. It was time to come to terms with the reality that Din had faced another delay, and that you would have to sleep in an empty bed for one more night.

The prickling sensation around your throat didn't cease as you resigned yourself to your fate and prepared for bed. After all you had been through with Din, you refused to cry over something as pitiful as loneliness. Your emotions, however, didn't agree with your sentiment, and the prickling only got worse as you settled into bed.

Your cheek rested upon your pillow as you looked over at the empty half of the bed. The tightening of your throat only got worse until you had to obey its demands, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut once again as the tears fell. With the comm still nearby on your bedside table, you tried your best to sleep, and somewhere amidst your crying your body finally gave out.

It wasn't much longer until the sound of your bedroom door opening woke you up.

At first, you were alert, sitting up straightaway and nearly reaching for your blaster in the process. When you caught Din's silhouette, however, all that panic faded and was exchanged for the sweetest wave of relief.

"Din," your utterance of his name was breathless as you rose from the bed and approached him. He met you in the middle, leaving his travel pack on the floor in favor of returning your embrace. A gloved hand firmly held your back before it ran along your spine in a gesture so overwhelmingly comforting that it almost made you sob with relief into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry we were late." Din's voice was hushed, causing it to crackle through his modulator as he continued to hold on to you. He waited until you were ready to pull away.

"It's okay." You smiled as you braced your hands upon his beskar, studying every inch of his visor and taking it all in. "I'm just glad you're safe."

Din gave his helmet a fond tilt. "We were..." Din paused as he studied you in return, and his helmet straightened in severity. His chest stalled as he lifted a gloved hand to the side of your face. His thumb ran over your cheek in a slow, steady motion. "Cyar'ika, have you been crying?"

You blinked a few times at him in disbelief. Your lips parted as you sought a way to dodge his question, but if the evidence was there for him to see, then there would be no way of lying to him.

"What is it?" Din's free hand removed his helmet from his head in one swift motion before it rested on the other side of your face. His brown eyes were widened in concern as his gaze searched yours. "What's wrong?"

You exhaled, your throat tightening again—but that time, it was in embarrassment. "It was nothing serious, I promise."

Din circled his jaw as he gave you a once-over. "Anything that bothers you is serious to me." His brow wrinkled together more as his gaze found yours. "Please, let me help."

You held his wrists and offered a reassuring smile. "You already have." You gave his wrists a squeeze as he lifted an eyebrow at you. "By coming back."

Din's brow relaxed in understanding, but you still offered the confirmation he was seeking.

"I just missed you. That's all." Your voice was pitifully quiet.

Din immediately took you back into his arms. "Oh, cyar'ika, I'm so sorry. I had no idea." He rested his chin upon your head. "You can always comm me. You know that, right?"

You closed your eyes and shrugged. "I didn't want to worry you." You swallowed hard and added one more thing. "Or make you feel bad."

Din took a deep breath, and the movement took you with him. "I appreciate you thinking of me like that, but you don't have to. Especially when it comes at the sake of your own wellbeing."

You nodded and kept yourself nestled in his warmth. "Okay." You let out a sweet exhale. "But you're back now. That's all that matters."

"I am." Din kissed your head before he urged you away, gesturing with his head to the bed. "But rest also matters, too."

You huffed and shook your head at him. "Whatever you say."

Din kept you closer than usual as the two of you rested that night, bringing a relief that went beyond any words—and soothed the ache in a way only he was capable of doing.

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

I love the at a canes length story.

The power dynamic of him just reclined back watching his partner in their knees for him just does something yk?

Any ideas for him bossing around his partner like that? Or him being able to do what he want and they are not allowed to touch him, even if they beg? (All consensual ofc!!)

we’re all into our darling tease viktor, aren’t we? btw, i’m naming this drabble after my favourite am song.

cw: gn reader, smut, dirty talk, nipple play, i got too carried away and wrote a poetic filthy little thing.

word count: 700~

Normally you wouldn’t dare to complain about your lover’s hands — deliciously nimble, they never failed to tame you with the length of each cautiously curious finger, the callousness of them tortuous, yet professionally precise — just the right spoon of tar in a barrel of sweet honey. They were the hands of a pianist, attached to those lanky, just as much fitting for a musician arms — had your brain stupidly doomed whenever their defiant owner rolled up a ruffled sleeve just high enough to tease you with a sight of a pointy elbow or a weave of cerulean veins under the translucently pale skin. 

However, tonight — they became the hands of a jeweller, short nails the figurative tweezers gently piercing into each pretty bud of your nipples, restraining you with the unbearable thoroughness of Viktor’s most sensual touches — all lazy tugs and languid circles besieging the aureoles. Pure torment — nothing more and nothing less, increasingly intricate considering the utter complacency in the pair of amber eyes ogling at your naked chest — not a single bead of sweat left unnoticed or unkissed away.

And this tactic — although insanely efficient — made you hiss numerous pleas into the softness of a dump pillow, back an impatient arch above the clinging to your sticky skin sheets. Because jewellers are impeccably methodical — most importantly slow, and slow was never your pace of choice, despite all its charming offers of savouring. You wanted him now, invariably inside, shirtless, with spitslick lips and open against the curve of your shoulder mouth: fast, and deep, and eagerly frantic — something a pianist might allow, but a jeweller must strictly avoid. How truly devastating. 

Or, perhaps, not?

His tongue is an unexpected tool — it gently soothes the pinched nipple, dripping with generous, thick moist onto the awakened goosebumps — a welcomed diversity, most perfectly combined with the dexterity of his skilful digits, and you meet it with a string of breathless curses — grateful for the little mercy, yet still not nearly satisfied enough. 

The ‘no touching’ rule effortlessly slips your mind when Viktor’s mouth lingers there — wrapped around the relentlessly teased bud, sucking at it so gently you might just melt into this very bed. You impatiently clutch his tie, clumsily pulling him forward into a pathetic attempt of stealing an open-mouthed kiss, and Viktor instantly regrets he didn’t free his slender neck off it earlier, silently remorsing the missed opportunity of tying your wrists together. 

He sighs, reluctantly peeling his right palm off your covered in saliva chest, and it insistently nudges you off the tie and leads right back where your hands belong — nailed into the pillow right above your head. 

“Was I not clear enough when I kindly asked you to avoid touching me?” his voice is soft — raspy and gentle, not upset with you in the slightest — just genuinely curious, ludicrously polite for a man so eager to torture you. “Or, perhaps, patience is simply not one of your virtues?” 

He offers you a smile — a chaste one, oh that specific stretch of thin lips into an unbearably handsome line — worthy of whatever foreplay-durations he wishes for. 

Now it’s your turn to sigh. 

“It’s just that… I’m afraid you might not be done with me even until dawn,” you mumble sweetly, fingers already itchy to intertwine with his hair — and you wonder if he might be willing to consider this compromise. He simply arches a thick brow, humming with a playful half-turn of a head. 

“I was not aware we were in a rush,” he chuckles, and — oh heavens, finally! — hovers above your flushed face for a split second, picking a feature to award with a long-awaited kiss. 

You’re not surprised when his warm gaze drifts over your lips, evidently recalling the irresistible softness of them. No matter how much into denying it Viktor might be, he is a needy man in the very depth of his heart — and these rare occurrences might just be your favourite moments of his vulnerability. And when you’re almost ready to release an ardent tongue into the blissful heat of his mouth — your precious inventor smirks, cruelly changing his route. 

“Besides,” he whispers — cheeky, and so unbearably hot, brushing the tip of his sharp nose against your earshell. “You’re underestimating me. I intend to proceed until at least next noon.” 

[ghostradiodylan]

TW: canon-typical graphic violence for The Quarry (all under the ‘keep reading’).

Particles and Waves: A Ghost/Love Story

Dylan Lenivy knew he was going to die.

Not in the abstract way that everyone knows they’ll die eventually, but right now, today, in about the next 30 seconds. To say he was too young to die would have been a cliché, sure, but it would also have been true. He’d graduated high school in May and turned 19 in July. He’d just finished two months working with his friends as a summer camp counselor. He was supposed to be starting college in a week, he’d already packed for his move before he set off for camp. He’d kissed his crush in a game of truth or dare beside a campfire just that evening, his heart in his throat and cheap beer on his breath. He’d even managed to save his friend Kaitlyn from a werewolf attack in front of the Hackett’s Quarry Summer Camp lodge. He’d lost a hand that night, too, so it wasn’t all highlights, but, on the whole, Dylan felt like he had kind of a lot going for him. He would have preferred to stick around.

Since not dying didn’t appear to be in the cards anymore, though, Dylan hoped his end would at least be quick, that the grotesque, oddly fleshy werewolf, drooling and snarling inches from his face, staring him down with its demonic red eyes, would rip his throat out in one bite and be done with it. Unfortunately for Dylan, this beast had other plans. It gave him entirely too much time, sitting there in the cab of the magnetic crane at the Hackett scrapyard, to anticipate what would be an unrelentingly brutal end. As soon as it had knocked the blowtorch from his right hand, his only hand, he knew the fight was over. His one available weapon had flown to the left side of the cab, where his handless arm dangled uselessly, at the same time that the wolf had grabbed his remaining intact arm in its jaws.

The werewolf (was it Nick, he wondered. Or his boss Chris Hackett? Or another of his friends who’d been bitten and turned while he wasn’t looking? Surely it hadn’t been long enough since Dylan had seen him for it to somehow be Ryan) was taking its sweet time gnawing through what had been Dylan’s good arm, tearing muscle and sinew, splintering bone. And there was absolutely nothing he could do; no way to fight, no way to flee. He could only curse and cry and scream, so that’s what he did. The pain was indescribable. It was so much worse than the chainsaw, worse than anything he could have imagined, and it just would not stop.

Dylan wished that Kaitlyn could have come put a bullet in his head, euthanized him. That would have been a relief. Failing that, though, he hoped she was running already, hoped she’d gotten a decent head start out of this werewolf choosing to finish him off so slowly. Run away Kaitlyn, he urged her mentally, run!

He’d expected to pass out from the hemorrhaging by this point, especially given that this was Dylan’s second bloody attack of the night, and the last one had come complete with an amputation, but no, that would’ve been too easy. His stupid, stubborn body was so determined to keep itself alive that it just kept sending out bursts of adrenaline that he could do nothing with but shake and suffer. He remained conscious and screaming for several more unbearable seconds.

Though the pain and the terror wouldn’t quite allow Dylan’s all-too-short life to flash before his eyes like a movie montage, he did get momentary visions. He saw his mother, who he knew would be devastated beyond all consolation, and the packed bags and boxes that would never make it to his college dorm. He thought of his ginger cat purring on his lap, of Ryan’s smile and that little beauty mark at the corner of his mouth that Dylan thought might be the most attractive thing he’d ever seen on a human face, and of how it felt to be on the receiving end of Kaitlyn’s infectious laughter. He thought of everything he would miss, the blazing blue summer skies and the sound of boat paddles softly churning the surface of the lake, the faces of his friends in the bonfire light, all the songs his favorite bands would put out that he would never get to hear. And none of this distracted him from the pain, it only piled on another layer. It filled him with longing and sadness and, worst of all, guilt. He was dying, through no fault of his own, really, and he felt so damn guilty about it, about what it would do to everyone he loved.

Eventually, the monster ripped his arm in two and tossed the severed forearm to the side. Dylan might have made a ‘no hands’ joke now if only he hadn’t been too busy with the whole dying in agony thing. The creature then grabbed him by the throat with its huge, clawed hand and he was ready for that, he welcomed it now. But instead of crushing his windpipe and ending his torment, it merely used the leverage to hold him still (wow, really? he thought, this is just gratuitous). Then, it switched its attention to his other arm, the one that had arrived to the scene of his demise already down a hand, and proceeded to slash that one completely off at the upper arm with its claws. He felt the arm tearing away and the gush of blood, but he didn’t cry out then—the blackness had begun closing in on him too quickly, and Dylan was grateful for that. He was barely even aware that the beast had ultimately gone for his throat with its teeth because it did so only in the very end, once there was not one single shred of mercy left in the act. His last thought, as his heart stilled and his breath left his ravaged body, was oh, finally, thank fuck.

Dylan Lenivy had died, but that was only the beginning.

————————————————

Redoing the landing pages for my fics because I finally learned how to use tumblr semi-properly. 😅 Late to every party. Don’t mind this if you’ve already seen it!

[cuppafoxtea]

I think i just watched the most emotionally devastating episodes of television in the most terrible circumstances i could physically manage

Okay so i'm into ABC Castle, like deeeeep into castle. This show has given me more brainrot then any show ever had (this is 99% because of Kate, obviously). The last half of season 4 is absolute torture because the will they wont they is getting wirse and worse. Ive been screaming in frustration all through it because it became unbearable. Finally season 4 finale, this HAD to be the moment they would finally smooch those lips together and get together! Right? Yes... BUT NOT BEFORE THE MOST INTENSE FUCKING EPISODE. I would have screamed all the way through if my dad didn't shush me! And i WOULD have been invested in any case, but god the circumstances made it so. much. worse.

Because

1) I was expecting this to be the sweet episode whwre they got together, not the episode thats trauma and akso them getting together in the second to last scene

2) I had literally made Kate and Castle into d&d NPC's (yes im that brainrotted, shush) for my campaign and made Stana (my Kate character, i used the actor names reasons, and i made em Lionin abd the actors last names had good opportunities for cat puns 😌) very important to the plot, needing to roleplay her quite a bit, needing to get really into Kate's head. So yk worsening my Kate obsession and also making me feel way more empty for a fictional character then i usually would

3) Im on my period, hormones are doing in shit and STOMACH ACHEEE

Please god send help im unwell i wanna cry this show is torture and i cannot stop watching because its SO GOOOOOOD

[mik0rin]

is it better to speak or to die ?

college!jean kirsten x college!black fem reader

genre: angst

warnings: the word die is used quite a lot, major character death (even though not explicitly stated), grief, cursing

word count: 1.3k

a/n: acacia flowers symbolize concealed love, just a little fact you should know ;))

Is it better to speak or to die? 

Maybe it’s better to speak. 

Talk endlessly until it ends in a fit of giggles. And then keep going because it makes one feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

Talk endlessly until it ends in blubbering tears. And then keep going because it hurts in a way that needs words to explain. 

And then the realization dawns that words carry quite the weight. 

And with that they can kill; they kill the soul, kill confidence, and kill relationships. 

But words can also resurrect, something the dead can never do. But do people always want to take that chance?

The brave do. 

Or maybe the foolish do. 

They string together eloquent sentences or stutter through their consonants. They speak because the words scratch them up inside, tearing at their hearts and minds until the pain becomes unbearable and the words must spill out. 

Is it better to speak or to die?

Maybe it’s better to die.

Is it a requirement for every thought to be vocalized? What’s wrong with quiet? With silence? 

There’s beauty in unspoken agreement and chats based on facial expressions. 

So die with unspoken words- without ever knowing the reaction of the ears it lands on. 

Avoid rejection and heartbreak. Creeping around arguments and pent-up anger. Narrowly missing trauma and anguish. 

Take your words to the grave the same way promises are taken to the coffin, and for every nail that keeps the wood in place: a person that doesn’t have to hear your wretched voice. 

Maybe it’s better to speak.

Speak with love and adoration. Joy and wonder. 

For every letter to pass through your lips at least thrice. And for syllables to start sounding rhythmic. 

To never die with words unspoken. 

Maybe it’s better to die. 

Die after life has had its fill with you. Die because you’ve had your fill with life. 

Die with words stuck behind your lips, saving your breath. 

For less than kind words to never bathe in sunlight. 

Or for the moonlight to be savored in silence. 

Is it better to speak or to die?

Maybe it’s better to speak and then die.

Because one cannot die and then speak. 

And even if it was possible, it would only be ghostly paragraphs and mourning speeches. 

Because the living and the dead can never truly have a conversation.

“What do you think? I have to turn it in tomorrow.” 

The repeating click of a pen follows the question. A sign of anxiety or maybe impatience. 

“I forgot a comma somewhere….” The voice trails off and flips the pages, looking for a mistake to correct. 

The spring wind blows and it carries the sweet smell of budding flowers and yesterday’s rain. It sweeps up the assignment, scattering it about the ground. And the boy begins to quickly pick it up, hoping the lingering rainwater doesn’t cause the ink to bleed. But a small fumble of the finger results in a paper cut and blood stains the sheets instead. 

“Ha.”

It comes out in a short puff of air.

Then another ha accompanies it. And another and another until they all just turn into laughter. 

Then laughter into devastating tears. 

“I must look fucking insane, bleeding and reading my homework to you. You can’t comment on anything, you can't even look me in the eyes anymore.” 

His hands grip the grass, tearing a few blades out of the ground. He sprinkles them back on the ground and grabs a tissue from his backpack, using it to wipe away his tears and to clean the blood from his small wound. His back hits the wet grass and it soaks his thin t-shirt but he doesn’t care, the uncomfortable feeling of wet clothing could be ignored. 

“Would you believe me if I said this was a love letter?” Jean whispers even though no one is listening. 

It wasn’t a lie, it truly was a love letter even if I didn’t sound like one. And it wasn’t supposed to be written like that either, the words were once arranged in different order and the stanzas weren’t twinged with such helplessness. 

The brown-eyed boy remembers when the paper was covered in a hundred different ways to detail her beauty, when he compared her to the cosmos and her voice to the calming sound of the tides. But that’s all he can remember, he can only remember the words he wanted to say. 

His mind is full of conversations they could’ve had and the paths he could’ve taken. 

Jean’s emotions, maybe the second most important part of this entire ordeal, only grow as the days go on. And he realizes humans are liars by design, not only out of ill-intent. He knows they were trying to make him feel better but all these emotions, the ones everyone said would subside with time, haven’t and he’s starting to doubt they ever will. 

The only thing that’s become faint are the memories. They have started to fade and it’s absolutely terrifying. 

What happens when he forgets the sound of her laugh? Her face of sheer determination and utter concentration. What about that quiet exasperated sigh that always left her glossy lips when she would explain something to him for the fifth time? (Even though he got it the first time but adores her pronunciation). When he can no longer recognize the scent of her perfume? When he forgets the way she slightly trips over her untied shoelaces, or how she saved him a seat every Wednesday because he was always fifteen minutes late. 

And how horrifying it will be when he forgets how absolutely wonderful and heartbreaking it was to only be her friend. 

“I was supposed to confess to you, you know.” A sad smile bends his lips, and the tears roll down his face once again but not as fast as before. 

“I had a whole plan and it was pretty brilliant, it had all these flowers and pretty lights and a love poem. You would’ve loved it- if you liked me back and I guess that’s the worst part of it all. I’ll never know if you would’ve accepted my feelings or rejected me. I’ll never get a chance to find out.” 

His voice cracks with grief as he continues speaking, “I really loved- love, I really love you and it isn’t fair. What good is it that only I know the love I have for you? You should know, you deserve to know, it’s something that should be shared between the two of us.” 

A single droplet of rain falls onto Jean’s cheeks and he confuses it with his tears until more follow. It starts as a light drizzle but within seconds it begins to pour and it drenches him. But he doesn’t move, he lets the rain wash over him and cover every inch of his body. 

And he cries.

He cries tears of sorrow, of regret, of desperation, and arguably the most important and painful: tears of love. 

He cries out her name and pleas for his lover to be returned back to him. 

And the last thing he cries for is an opportunity, an opportunity to tell her how much of his heart she owns.

The downpour starts to slow and the long-haired boy thinks it’s a sign telling him to leave. 

So Jean sits up, his clothes heavier and his heart even moreso. His papers were now reduced to mush on the ground and he couldn’t even read the title. He collects his rain-damaged belongings and stands up, mustering up the energy to leave. And as his parting message to his beloved, he places a single pink acacia atop the disintegrating papers and whispers out a very shaky, 

“I like you. I will always like you.”

a/n: hiii, i’ve returned (with something extra sad lmao) but i had to write after hearing a quote on tiktok,,, hopefully i didn’t break y’all’s hearts too much and if i did…. sorry <333,,, something happy will be posted next, promise !!

[amrv-5]

Hiiii Parker, for the writing meme, from S2G2 chapter 19, because I absolutely love Hawkeye’s inner monologue in this section:

He wondered what things were like over in the USSR. What they had thought of the war, during. Had it been just as roundly ignored except for, he figured, a few nervous mothers? Angry fathers? Heartbroken widows? Was there, even now, some Soviet doctor sprawled across his lover’s lap, sinking into despair, disgusted by the actions of his nation’s military, of every military, distrustful of its government, losing hope in humanity, pulling now only for the person-to-person good that could be accomplished outside of any sort of grander organization—was its citizenry as largely ambivalent to the war as the United States’ had been? Did that, too, upset him, this imaginary healer?

So much loss and destruction, and all for a piece of land approximately the size of Nebraska.

A childish thought: why couldn’t everybody just get along, and be nice? Damn the geopolitical complexities, the social nuances, the ideological impasses. Couldn’t everybody just sit the hell down and shut up and break bread? Would it be so terribly hard to just let everybody alone—except when they needed help?

BJ shifted his weight, his hand still moving in gentle circles over Hawkeye’s torso.

Hawkeye prepared to be pushed away, sinking into mild despondency.

Something grazed his lips, and he opened his eyes.

BJ was holding a strawberry to his mouth, expression soft.

Hawkeye closed his eyes, chest aching. Who was he kidding—the bad was so unbearable precisely because there was good in the world, and beauty, and light. Because people could be very, very kind, because, at the best of times, and even, dare he believe it, most times, everybody in the world was constantly engaged in minute acts of caretaking.

He opened his mouth. The strawberry was good. Sweet, ripe, tasting of summer.

BJ’s thumb brushed the curve of his lower lip before his hand withdrew.

And before he could spend too long focusing on the mechanics by which somebody obtained fresh strawberries in February, what massive logistics were involved, the ridiculous and shameful decadence of having ripe fruit available every day of the year while people elsewhere starved, there was another strawberry at his mouth.

Aghhhhhhh LISA HELLO!!!!!!! This is one of my favorite sections of the whole damned piece I’m so thrilled you picked it out:

OKAY AHHHHH I’m still. AHHHHHH about this being picked omg. Okay this is going to get so long I’m so sorry.

Okay, so, blow-by-blow, right off the bat we’ve got an invocation of the USSR and the shadow of nuclear proliferation, the anxiety of which (not sure if this is obvious? It might be so buried in implication it’s only clear after I say it outright) creeps throughout the background of S2G2. But I also tried to flip that and here have Hawkeye framing the war as a crime of government, and law-of-large-numbers himself into empathizing with a potential doctor from the “other” side who, after all, he has far more in common with than an American general.

But the ‘crime of government’ framing turns out to be too simplistic, actually, because Hawkeye half-indicts the citizenry of each country for their perceived apathy. It’s hard to see significant suffering and realize that your society has not just ignored it but in many ways actually profited from it, and appears entirely unwilling to do anything to prevent similar future tragedies. That’s insane-making, and another recurrent S2G2 Hawk-thought—is it really insane to be devastated by devastating realities?

And from there we hit maybe my most controversial Hawkeye characterization, which is that I agree with Alan Alda when he said Hawkeye isn’t actually an extremely politically (American) liberal character. By that I mean that I primarily see Hawkeye as a proponent of autonomy, and concerned with government overreach (he was drafted, after all), rather than a capital-D Democrat. He avoids the libertarian label, though, by being pretty clearly anti-capitalist, pro-education, and also by advocating for helping others in need while disavowing his government. Does this make him, like, an anarchist? I don’t really know, I’m not a poli-sci guy. He just thinks that people should be allowed to read or watch or wear or do with their own bodies whatever they want, so long as it isn’t hurting anybody.

Anyway, as readers know he’s been on a long, complex, and largely silent spiral this chapter. It’s a lot of heady stuff, reflecting on reflections of his despair, very internal work, and this is the final car of an exhausting freight train of thought.

Which is why we’ve got BJ to draw Hawkeye out of his head and back to the physical. He’s a grounding presence here, holding Hawkeye in his lap, touching him gently, literally feeding him.

At which point Hawkeye gets a reflection on the central catch of his despair, and why he can’t make himself entirely give up on humanity, even when it would be easier to do so: People can be so good.

The phrasing of his realization, by the way, is a big-time homage to the Ross Gay essayette “The sanctity of trains” from The Book of Delights, which basically changed my life via radio (I might write about this someday, or not, it’s not very interesting) and which anyway everybody should go read instantly:

“...I suppose I could spend time theorizing how it is that people are not bad to each other, but that's really not the point. The point is that in almost every instance of our lives — our social lives — we are, if we pay attention, in the midst of an almost constant, if subtle, caretaking. Holding doors open, offering elbows at crosswalks, letting someone else go first, helping with the heavy bags, reaching what's too high or what's been dropped, pulling someone back to their feet, stopping at the car wreck, at the struck dog, the alternating merge, also known as the zipper — this caretaking is our default mode, and it's always a lie that convinces us to act or believe otherwise — always.”

The rest of this is Hawkeye noticing the caretaking, letting himself accept it, allowing himself to just focus on feeling physically okay, the pleasure of being held and having something nice to eat. These are pretty obviously central themes in a lot of my work—the continuing unsolvedness of the big questions, the lingering suspicion of the validity of despair, and then tentatively finding contentment in just being an embodied animal. Not apathy, not naivety, but intentionally allowing oneself to find moments of peace because it is necessary for survival.

+Bonus my clear affection for food/feeding as love, because I’m incapable of keeping that from infiltrating everything I write yaaay. It's just so shatteringly romantic to me. Ugh. Anyway. THANK YOU SORRY THIS IS SO LONG

[gentle-author]

WORDS

Words.

Those little noises that human beings have managed to bring to life for everyone to understand their weird surroundings...

Words.

Τhose tiny mumbles that push people to the edge of their success, dig them into daydream beliefs and spontaneously lead them to the cliff of their ends...

Words.

Those trivial grins our mouth makes and suddenly changes the whole world...

-Our whole world.

Every meaning we thought our vocabulary had found out. Every reason why overthinking has taken over us.

Every... -"us"...

Words.

Sometimes words are just not enough.

Sometimes words mean nothing.

Sometimes our most important skill

-speech-

...is the most insignificant of all the reasons why someone would undoubtedly call our species "special"

-by, in the end, calling our echoes "special"...

-what an irony, huh...?

Words.

The way us

-uncontrollably mysterious type of writers- bleed on soft, dangerous paper every night, trying to figure out our triggering, yet excitingly curious minds...

Words...

Words...

Words.

Who doesn't love words?

Who doesn't adore these little, unbearable noises that we make up every single day since the day we were born...?

Words.

Words speak louder than everything.

..right?

Words are able to save people, devastate buildings, press unreliable buttons, speak the truth, change reasons and confuse seasons. ..right?

"Right..."

Yet... wrong.

Sometimes feelings perhaps speak louder.

Louder than the storms passing by every upcoming winter.

Louder than the earthquakes deserting the whole city.

Louder than all types of sirens.

Louder than you...

Louder than me...

Louder than every possible insomniac, single or taken existence.

Sometimes feelings cannot compare to words. Words can lie.

Easily...

With no sense of guilt.

Words can hurt.

Cut.

Deeper than a sharpened scary knife.

Words can freeze your bones and lead you to death.

Mentally... at least.

As far as I'm concerned they can't cause strokes... can they?

The "genious" technology may show us someday... but till proven otherwise, I can confirm that words are as dreadful as decent liars are. That's why they get along so easily. Liars lie.

Words also seem to lie...

But feelings?

They could never hide the truth.

Never.

And that's what makes them so special if you still think this "word"

-if not a sense-

exists.

The idea of love captured by a slightly green forest in your face, leaves blown away softly by the drizzling rain somewhere mid- July. Countryside.

Sweet loneliness.

It's just so tempting to go inside that awe-inspiring, endless forest.

Tempting to finally run along with the colourful, pale leaves and face up the true feeling of pure and utter happiness.

With what kind of words could you possibly describe that feeling, if not with the words of the soul, initially represented in your plain look ?

The idea of success captured in a tremendous amount of dark, furious waves coming all to drag you in the depths of your only ally, who's apparently not the ocean, but yourself...

That self that you let drown in anxiety and caused its only harm

-its self-harm-

leading you to the void, making you wonder what's like actually feeling something, while whipping away those little, careless but shivering rivers in your cheeks.

With what kind of words could you possibly describe that feeling, if not with the words of your inner surface, initially represented in your rosy cuticle?

The idea of running away captured in a sloppy hairstyle that's ready to come for you, anytime..., any day...

Maybe when the sun sets for good or the birds go to sleep after their daily... lovely

-if not annoying yet-

concert.

That ripped, black t-shirt covering your chest-bones and those highly appreciated black jeans of yours which have suffered every kind of isolation and fear or abandonment, but still, headed-up, are waiting patiently for yourself to order them to run, to ease, to pass away... violently...

With what kind of words could you possibly describe that feeling, if not with the words of the barely breathing material you hold onto, initially represented in your powerless strength of your casual existence?

The idea of pushing yourself to the limits in order to find the real reality of your unreal fairytale, trying to escape the meaningless and staring aimlessly towards the plane that finally crashes in front of what... you can't really tell is you, but in the end, it has always been you... waving and nodding positively at the eternal gates of heaven, living through hallucinations so as to stick to your relatable feeling of feeling nothing, that feeling that is not quite as empty as you would admit touching the sky is... which seems to be faker than yourself, or maybe... your hidden one...

With what kind of words could you possibly describe that feeling, if not with the words of the faded brownish moon you're looking up to or the illusions of your unfortunate, abused reflect of it, initially represented in your innocent soul?

The idea of living a whole life in a cage, full of naughtious flowers and scented candles, believing in stolen ideas and lost opportunities, waiting patiently for yourself to accept its indifferent difference between you and the monstrous world...

Trying to escape the reddish cage in order to heal...

Lying in a pink or purple leather landscape that lights up every time you touch it... Feeling its presence every millisecond that passes by your white silk hair....

With what kind of words could you possibly describe that feeling, if not with the words of your laddish actions against a gloomy instrument, initially represented in your pure feelings?

...

Words.

Five letters that someone, somehow, stuck together someday, somewhere... in the middle of exploring

-the unknown-

you could hesitatingly guess- and identified them as some kind of "special", without really trying to deepen in the deepest meaning of this insignificantly deep word...

...

Words.

Hesitated letters that stuck together and follow us around

-everywhere-

trying to convince us that we need something, everytime...

-not exactly telling us what that is-

when in reality, we only need to find ourselves, giving up every once in a

while, struggling to push the words

-and failing miserably for once again-

away...

...

After all, is there any doubt that words are the exact synonym of pointless?

[browser5]

Meet the Browns

On a sunny day, Adam Cambridge and Bridget Brown, the soon to be newlyweds, are visiting Bridget parents to have their first meeting. As they greet each other and sit down in the living room the mother blurts out an unexpected question.

Meera (Mom):

So Adam, have you ever knocked anyone up?

Adam:

Umm, sorry?

Bridget:

MOM ?!

Meera:

What?? We want a lot of grand kids and we need to see if he can breed you properly.

Adam:

Well- If you want I can just go get tested-

Meera:

That's alright, we'll just do it now!

Now lets see here, he must have one of these flying around- Ahh, there!

The Mother gets up and picks a magazine and a fleshlight from a drawer, giving it to Adam, as Bridget looks devastated.

Adam:

Uhh, It might take a while...this is a bit weird

Meera:

Don't be embarrassed, take all the time you need, we'll be waiting here. Just leave the sample on the counter.

Isaac (Dad):

Don't disappoint us Adam. Bathrooms down the hall.

Meera:

...by the way, where is Thomas?

Their voices slowly lower as Adam walks anxiously to the bathroom as he hears a loud noise. He opens the door to the bathroom as a *wet strained fart* and an awful smell hits him.

Tad (Thomas):

Uhh...who are you?

Adam:

Oh...sorry. I'm Adam. I'll go-

Tad:

No no no, please, come in and *strained drop* Smell the flowers.

*Water plops as the man pushes out fat turds with sweat starting to build on his forehead*, scrunching up Adams face. He looks back as the Dad says

Isaac:

Tad, meet your new brother in law, Adam.

Adam, startled, looks back to Tad as he lets out the loudest fart he's ever heard, followed by more straining to push out his big shits.

Tad:

Yup...that's..me, Oh fuck it's like giving birth...Well, welcome to the family sigh Adam

His ass is crackling as he struggles to push out the next turd

Tad:

No don't break off.

Adam, still standing there both disgusted and impressed, looks back at the dad with a confused gaze, but he answers proudly.

Isaac:

Taught him how to do that. Heh, the men in this family shit big son.

Tad:

Yeah *diarrhea chunks* thanks *strain* dad.

Tad concentrates as his shit softens and now, he was letting out a slop of shit, which echoes trough the hallway.

Tad:

Groan fuck yeah, that had to come out...Hey dude, is that the new Playboy porn mag? Can I see it?

Tad snatches the magazine out of his hands and ogles at the pages

Tad:

Damn, she's got nice nips...ohh and you brought me one of my cum cups, sweet.

Tad starts getting excited, as he admires his porn, until he lets out a nice shart.

Tad:

Oup, here comes round two *hard Grunts*

The stud poops out more shit slop, filling the bowl up higher and higher.

Adam:

I'm sorry, but what did you eat, cough how can someone shit this much ?!?

Tad:

Um let's see, I had my protein shake today *Flattering fart* , then yesterday those beers Stomach *growl* , a Milkshake ummm *Grunting* Right, and that must be the KF- *Grunting and shit avalanche* ,C.

Adam starts coughing more, as the horrid smell from Tads hole is getting unbearable.

Tad:

Come on man, its not that bad *Inhale* ,if we're gonna be family, you'll soon get used to the smell. This is only my morning shit.

Adam:

Wait, there's more ?! I go to the bathroom maybe 3 times a week!

Tad:

Man, that's crazy, I hit the can at least 3 times a day. *Dark Fart*

Adam is starting to look annoyed, as Tad apparently cant stop feeding the toilet. But with a final *drop*, he answers.

Tad:

Ahhh that should be it...Ok man, phew ok that does smell, just give me a second to catch my breath...

Adam looks relieved that its over, but then, Tads stomach starts *growling* like an earthquake and they both look into each others shocked faces.

Tad:

Fuck, never mind. Those enchiladas are next. *Wet Fart*

Back in the living room, the girls are looking at each other, rolling their eyes, looking at the dad, who seems proud of his son, looking back at them and shrugging. In his mind, a toilet is there to be used, no need to be embarrassed or shameful. The sounds of Tads moans, farts and watery diarrhea exiting his ass fills the house.

Adam looks pained himself, as he can only imagine how it must feel to poop as much and hard as his new brother.

Tad, with a happy euphoric expression and closed eyes, breathes out as he now is completely empty.

Adam:

You ok? All done now?

Tad:

Haaa, yes all done. Could you uh *Fart*, give me some toilet paper over there

He looks over to the cupboard and gives Tad a roll for his ass

Tad:

*Deep Fart* Thanks.

Tad leans over and uses wipes

Tad:

Yup, that'll do, *Trembling fart*, oof...Alright, I fucking needed that.

Tad gets up and pulls up his jockstrap which barely conceals his boner, and tries to flush the toilet, which to Adams horror, is almost overflowing with all consistencies of shit.

Tad:

Hmm looks like I clogged it, heh, Hey Dad! I clogged it again, fifth time this week!

Isaac:

You did good son, that my boy!

Adam:

Five times? But today is only Tuesday.

Tad:

Great, now to top everything off I need to jerk off. Hey man, you can have your playboy back, that dump was so good I don't need it.

He winks at Adam, as he pats his shoulder with his unwashed hands.

Tad:

Sorry dude, I'll text the plumber to come over, luckily they are next door. Uhh, You can use my moms bathroom, my dads is still broke from yesterday.

Walking towards the door, until the Mom shouts from the living room:

Meera:

No honey, he doesn't need to go, he's supposed to do a sperm test!

Tad:

Ohhhh, why didn't you say so, go ahead man, have fun! But I'd wait a bit until the smell dies down a litt-

Adam:

I don't need it anymore

Tad:

What?...Ouhh

A small stain and a bulge in Adams pants shows that he already has completed the deed. Tad chuckles heartily.

Tad:

come on you perv, I'll lend you one of my grey sweatpants.

Adams takes his pants off and holds his hands in front of his private bits, following Tad up to his room. As he passes by the living room, he says:

Adam:

Umm, I left the underpants on the counter, like you wanted.

The mother and Father nod and Bridget sits on the other side, flushed at the whole situation.

Seems that Adams in laws aren't stuffy at all, but rather open and laid back.

END.

[mismaeve]

The Gift

→ The Gift, Thranduil Oropherion x Fem!Elf Reader Word Count: 7.9k Warnings: angst, mentions of death and dead bodies, blood and slight gore, injury Prompt: "Have you no regrets?" Summary: Another war is slowly consuming Middle-Earth, and the Greenwood elves find themselves defending it against the evil forces. Taglist: @rainbowvamp @i-did-not-mean-to @wormsmith @lokineedshairgel @marvelschriss @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @blueberryrock @alldaysdreamers @heilith A/N: This is my own contribution to this month's writing challenge. I am super happy with how this turned out, and I am excited to be finally sharing this with you. I really hope you will enjoy it!

I pray you can forgive me for I should have waited.

The general slowly moved across the battleground, wrinkling her nose slightly at the sight of dead orc carcasses. Her eyes drifted to a couple of her soldiers piling up orcs to be burned. It wasn’t right, all this devastation and pain, all this death. Y/N’s footsteps grew slower until they came to a halt, and the general took a deep breath. The rancid air burned in her lungs and for a moment she felt sick to her stomach. The nature of war wasn’t lost on her yet to live through it was another matter entirely. Y/N allowed her mind to drift as her eyes wandered over the blood-soaked grounds. It saddened her greatly to see the lifeless bodies of her valiant soldiers among the corpses of orc filth. A misty veil fell upon her eyes as the elf general mourned her fallen kin. What a waste, what a gruesome waste this was. They didn’t belong here any more than she did, yet to march and defend Middle-Earth from everlasting darkness and evil had been their duty, and they had been called upon. And so, they had left the safety of Greenwood to venture South to engage the enemy on the East front.

A lone tear was working its way down Y/N’s pale cheek while she stood frozen, either unable or unwilling to move. We shouldn’t be here, my sweet. Many of her kin had fallen but not enough to weaken the company in her command. Still, it pained her greatly as her eyes moved from one fallen elf to another, making her heart ache unbearably. She knew each and every one of them personally, she knew their families and she had shared many a meal with them. They had been her friends, her family. Her sole responsibility was to keep them safe, to shield them from horrors such as war, yet it had been her to lead them here to their demise. They didn’t belong here, they shouldn’t be left here to rot among the dead ranks of their enemy, they deserved better. She owed them better, she owed them the same respect and dignity they had always treated her with.

“Redhedir,” Y/N called out softly to the young elf soldier who was currently overseeing the build of another corpse pile to be burned. “My lady?” the dark-haired elf was quick to make his way over to where she was standing.

“Gather however many you need to cover the ground in search of our fallen. I want all of them brought home to Greenwood to be buried with dignity and love,” the general’s voice was gentle and calm, even though rage was fuming inside her. As most elves, she was quite accomplished at keeping her composure, so much so that even her king saw attempting to read her as a challenge at times. She was excellent at masking her thoughts and emotions whenever she wished for them to remain private. Yet now she found herself struggling to do so, the wasted lives of her people weighing her down and shooting sparks to an already burning anger. “Of course,” Redhedir offered her a curt nod before hurrying off. Y/N’s gaze went back to the freshly made heap of orcs awaiting to be set afire. The general allowed herself to scoff quietly under her breath, it was more than this filth deserved. Even leaving them on the ground to rot was too good for them. Y/N knew it was her grief and anger talking now, just as she knew that they would double back eventually to clear the fields of all signs of war and death. It was against their nature to let something as foul as rotting orc flesh to stain and spoil the ground they walked on and the fields which brought them sustenance.

We nurture and we preserve, that is what we are tasked with. We do not paint this land red lightly, remember that always.

The general cast one last glance over the crimson spotted field littered with corpses before turning on her heel and heading towards the edge of the forest. Her mare was stood beneath the trees just on the outskirts of the woods. At the sight of her master approaching, the mare’s dark nostrils flared, and the animal gave a low neigh, as if to greet her master upon her return. “Elenath mellonen,” Y/N greeted her loyal companion, her hand going to stroke the mare’s long and muscular neck. She was a dark dapple-grey, thus earning her the name “all the stars of heaven” because of the thousand small white and light grey spots that covered her otherwise dark flanks and shoulders, and the length of her back. Elenath was a unique beauty but much like her master, she was also highly spirited and at times temperamental. Y/N hummed an ancient Elvish lullaby to soothe her companion while her fingers rubbed and massaged the animal’s neck, reaching higher and higher until they intertwined with Elenath’s long and dark mane.

“Do you miss our home too?” Y/N murmured as her own heart filled with horrible longing. They had marched from the safety and comfort of Greenwood months ago, yet the end of this war was nowhere near in sight. The Elvish general leaned her forehead against her mare’s shoulder, allowing her mind to drift back to home. She thought about the Great Hall, always filled with laughter and cheerful banter while everyone helped themselves to whatever delicious dish was being served. Y/N longed for the illuminated pathways weaving throughout the forest of their homeland, she longed for the sounds of birds, perching on high and low branches just outside her windows, gifting her with the privilege of their songs. She longed for the intricate hallways, so beautifully and masterfully crafted. But most of all, she longed for her husband and his touch, their blissful nights together when they would be alone in their chambers. What would he say if he knew? Y/N couldn’t help but send a prayer to the Valar that this war soon come to an end for she has been deprived of her husband’s love for far too long. There were no words, neither in Westron or Elvish, nor ancient Dwarvish, to describe the longing Y/N felt for her husband. At times it became utterly unbearable, making the general struggle to even fill her lungs with air. It felt as if her body was slowly dying without the touch of her king, her husband, her lover. She was a withering flower on a blood-soaked field, desperately trying to survive against all odds.

“Hiril nîn!” just as Y/N was about to lose herself to her torment and longing, Morfindaer’s urgent call beckoned her back to this world. She untangled her fingers from Elenath’s mane and watched as the young elf was dismounting his charger. He looked rather flushed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he hastily approached his queen. “Catch your breath, Morfindaer,” she spoke to the young elf soldier who gratefully bowed his head and allowed himself a moment to regain his composure. “Our scouts have sighted the king’s forces, they’re setting up camp just over that ridge over there,” Y/N’s eyes followed Morfindaer’s pointed finger to the ridge not too far from where they were located now. A warm sensation began like a soft and pleasant stream, taking course through her veins and invigorating her entire being just at the mere thought of seeing her beloved again after all these months. Perhaps it was time. Y/N closed her eyes as a hopeful smile was slowly beginning to decorate her features. As the Elvish queen opened her mouth to voice her joy over this happily unexpected news, she was interrupted by the sound of their horn signaling the return of their riders. A company of five were galloping towards their queen and general, their horses’ hooves unearthing dirt in all directions in their wake. They were making full haste towards her, making Y/N wonder if something had happened. Perhaps their scouts had sighted more orc filth in their vicinity but surely, they would have sounded the horn to indicate that the enemy was near, and they ought to get ready. Or perhaps they were rushing to bring her the news of something befalling her husband, their king. As soon as that dreadful thought entered her mind, Y/N forced it out. She would not entertain any such grim notions unless she knew for certain.

“My lady, we bring word from lord Thranduil. We are to unite our forces at their encampment as soon as possible,” Calemen, the second oldest of the five riders informed her upon their arrival. Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, utter relief washing over her bones and flesh alike. He had sent for them, for her. Unknowingly so, he has sent for you as well. “Then we must not keep our king waiting,” when she spoke, she was the same strong and capable general she had been only moments ago when her swords had slashed through orc ranks like they were nothing. As Y/N took hold of Elenath’s reins and moved to mount her, a very secret yet happy tear was slowly running its course down her cheek. Her soul would no longer be withering with longing, a breath of life was so near she could almost taste it. Soon, my darling. Tonight.

“Have our wounded mounted on horses for the journey. Prepare the wagons, we will bring our dead with us for now,” Y/N instructed from her horse as she adjusted her seat.

“Morfindaer, gather our forces, we are to march as soon as the wagons are loaded and horses ready,” her voice sounded her orders in a gentle yet subtly stern manner. The dark-haired elf offered her a quick nod before mounting his horse to go forward her orders to the rest of their remaining host. It was very trying to maintain a calm exterior when all Y/N could feel was utter excitement. Surely the others felt similarly, after all, Thranduil’s company consisted of their friends and brothers, fathers and sons. Soon, all of them would be reunited, a thought which filled the general’s heart and soul with warmth, for they were finally presented with a ray of light in their otherwise never-ending darkness and gloom.

With a watchful eye, Y/N followed the movements of her host, readying their horses and helping the wounded soldiers mount them. It pained her to see the pain written all over their features as they clutched at their wounds, blood running through their fingers and staining their neatly polished armour. She wished she could relieve their pain, she wished she could do more for them. For you. Y/N wished she could simply bring all her people home to Greenwood where they would remain safe, away from all this terror and in the hands of their skilled healers. Some of them had followed them from home, to tend to their wounded yet not enough, and their supplies were slowly beginning to run short. “Calemen, is there any word from lord Elrond?” Y/N asked the blonde elf mounted on his horse beside her, the both of them overseeing the host preparing to march. “Not as far as I know, hiril nîn,” there was sadness in his eyes as they found hers. He didn’t say but Y/N was sure he knew why she would inquire about lord Elrond. Elrond was a gifted and an accomplished healer, having taught the art of healing to many of the Rivendell elves. Elves that they now sorely needed. “There might be news of him at the camp,” Y/N suggested in hopes of reassuring the elf next to her. “Shall I ride ahead and find out, my lady?” Calemen asked, grasping the reins more firmly in his hands, ready to hurry off as soon as told. Y/N shook her head gently, offering the eager elf rider a soft smile. “No, that won’t be necessary,” Calemen nodded at her words and Y/N saw his hands relax, the previously tightly held reins now resting loosely in his long and slim fingers.

It wasn’t long before the field before her eyes was cleared of the deceased elves, their bodies carefully and gently put in wagons to be brought with them to their king. Y/N’s eyes darkened as she cast them over the remains of the enemy’s army. Where the foul creatures had cut down one of hers, her courageous warriors had cut down many a tenfold of theirs until every last orc had been slain. And the price they had paid for this victory, much like the one before and the one before that, was laying in their horse-drawn wagons. None of their triumphs had been entirely sweet, all of them bittersweet at best. Y/N paid her last respects to the place where many of her subjects had fallen and spilled their life’s blood in the name of everlasting peace, before nudging her mare forward with the gentle press of her heels. They would march in formation, Y/N at the helm of her army followed by a handful of those second in command closely behind her. She had chosen to have the wagons follow before the fighting soldiers, for she believed they deserved the honour of being at the head of their host for the invaluable sacrifice they had made in her name. It was only behind the wagons carrying their dead, that the actual host would follow. Her wounded would be in the middle of their formation surrounded by the able and the strong for protection in case they had a run in with the enemy whilst making their way around the mountain ridge. As their company began moving, the elf general sent yet another silent prayer to the Valar. Make it so that we may make our journey safely in peace for much that was dear we have lost already. ㅤ

As the first stars of evening rose high in the light-pink sky, Y/N ordered her host to a halt. They had been on the move for the better part of the day, and now that the light was slowly fading, it was time for them to rest. Although the wounded elves carried brave faces, Y/N sensed the state of pain and discomfort they were in. They needed tending, food and water, and a moment’s rest before they pressed further on towards Thranduil’s camp. “Make sure the wounded are tended and fed,” Y/N kept her voice low when giving her orders to the elves flanking her on both sides. Whether it was the waning light or a sense of foreboding, she could not tell, but she knew she did not wish to attract any more attention to their being here than they already had. The general’s eyes continuously scanned their surroundings, wanting to memorise every detail in case her host had to respond to an assault or flee from one they could not fend off. As the last light of day vanished from sight and darkness began its slow and menacing descent on the Elvish queen and her host, everything around them got eerily quiet. “Are we to set up camp, hiril nîn?” Calemen’s voice seemed several leagues away, the uncanny silence having a deafening effect on her senses. “Lau,” Y/N shook her head and closed her eyes. “My lady-,” Calemen started but was immediately silenced by his queen. “Shhhh,” she needed to listen, something felt strangely amiss. Y/N knew something was wrong or about to go wrong. As hard as she tried to listen, she couldn’t hear a thing save for the muffled sounds in the background made by her people. Something is terribly wrong. There were no signs of birds or any other animals for that matter. It felt like everything all of a sudden had frozen still. Too still to her liking. The longer she listened, the more uneasy she became, her body signalling her to remain alert. Something is coming. Y/N felt the cool evening breeze in her hair and on her skin, breathing it in, the general grimaced in distaste. The air bore a foul smell that burned like fire inside her lungs. Her heart sunk for she knew this particular scent rather well, it had become their constant companion, following them everywhere they went. The smell of death and destruction. While remaining in her trance-like state, Y/N felt her fingers reach for her sword. I will keep you safe.

Her eyes flew open at the sound of their horns somewhere in the near distance. Their scouts were signalling them that they had spotted their enemy. Soon after the first blast, more joined in, meaning only one thing. They were surrounded and the enemy was closing in on them like a hungry predator ready to tear them apart and devour their flesh. As if to announce their arrival, the air filled with the malicious howls of wargs. “Quickly, have the wagons pulled inside the forest for concealment, with any luck they won’t go looking there if we keep them occupied here,” Y/N was quick to give her orders, there was no time to be wasted, not when they were caught off guard in the dark. “What of the wounded? They are in no state to fight,” Calemen’s voice gave away his fear. Not for himself, not of dying but his fear for those who had been left weak and vulnerable. “Form ranks around our wounded!” Y/N’s commanding voice sounded all around them, making her soldiers gather around swiftly.

“Ready your bows!” the general bellowed her order and watched as her skilled archers sprinted to their positions. While Y/N’s host formed their lines and came together in formation, Elenath was getting restless, unable to stay still the mare was pawing the ground. It was meaningless to even attempt calming her now, Y/N was convinced the intelligent creature between her legs knew she would soon charge at enemy lines.

They could hear the shrieks and cries of orcs rushing towards them. Rushing to their death, the general thought in defiance as they waited for the confrontation, her archers ready to rain fire upon the evil creatures nearing them. There will be no mercy for the wicked. Soon the night would be filled with the clash of swords and cries of agony. Even though this could very well be the night of her demise, Y/N felt strangely calm. Her heart wasn’t racing, her breath was steady. The Elvenqueen was at the head of her army, ready and determined to lead her people to another victory. In the name of Greenwood and their king, they will hold their ground. Give me strength to shield us from this evil.

“Hold the lines,” her voice carried her strength and power when she addressed her warriors for one last time before all mayhem broke loose.

“Protect our weak,” Y/N continued, her eyes slowly and steadily moving from one elf soldier to another, engraving their faces into her heart should this night claim any of their lives. “No prisoners,” her tone took to a more threatening note as if to emphasise her message. “We may be surrounded and at a disadvantage, but we will endure,” the general’s voice rose as her fingers clutched the hilt of her sword, pulling it from its sheath and raising it high above her. “Send these creatures back to hell!” Y/N’s voice rumbled into the night at the same time as Elenath reared up on her hind legs pawing the air. The good will prevail tonight.

“Leithio i phillin!” she shouted and pointed her sword in the direction of their enemy. ㅤ

The booming roar of the mountain troll shattered the night like thunder. It pierced Y/N’s ears making the elf wince in pain. Shooting a quick glance over the field, she soon saw that their numbers were dwindling rapidly, they would not be able to fend off an assault of this magnitude. The orcs were mounted on wargs with several grown mountain trolls amongst their ranks. It was an uphill battle they were fighting, and they were losing. They needed aid but she didn’t dare send a rider out to Thranduil’s camp to ask for reinforcements, it was too risky. It was likely that the lone rider would be run down by wargs and torn to pieces. Another thundering roar brought her attention back to the battle and just in time as the queen immediately noticed a warg charging towards her, mouth open with baring teeth, ready to swallow her whole and send her to the darkest pit of hell. She gripped the hilt of her sword tighter just as the overgrown wolf leaped towards her, crashing into her and Elenath like a tumbling wall of stone. Elenath could not withstand the force with which they were struck, making the mare and rider alike go down. Y/N had driven her sword into the warg’s thick skull as they had collided, the beast’s heavy body landing on top of her as she struck ground. There was a crack and instant pain, sending an agonising shockwave throughout her body. No. Please. She struggled to catch her breath, the impact of the fall with the added dead weight on top of her, knocking the air out of her chest. Y/N coughed and grimaced in pain, a trickle of blood emerging from the corner of her lips. She was almost positive that she had broken at least one rib, most likely more than one. The general gritted her teeth and used all the strength she could muster and pushed the foul-smelling creature off her. Freeing herself of the heavy weight at last made her groan in pain but at the very least, she could finally breathe again. Breathe. Taking a deep breath that filled her lungs and made her ribcage scream in protest, Y/N carefully rolled on her side. The elf closed her eyes and braced herself for the pain which was to come should she try to get back on her feet. The air was thick with sounds of steel clashing with steel, arrows flying in all directions, the low and threatening growls of the wargs and roars of the trolls. She could hardly hear or sense her people; the havoc of this place was overwhelming and disrupting. With another pained groan Y/N got on all fours, her bruised insides making her cough up blood. No. Do not make it so, the general prayed in silence.

There was fighting all around her, she was bound to force herself up lest she be killed. Her insides were pulsating with pain, coming in waves, making her inhale sharply. As if sensing her master’s state, Elenath was soon by her side once again, giving Y/N a gentle nudge with her muzzle. “I’m alright, we’re alright,” the Elvenqueen whispered with a sad smile before clenching her jaw as another wave of pain overtook her. Elenath gave a low neigh before giving Y/N another nudge, this time more urgently. As her pain finally subsided enough for her to sense her immediate surroundings, she could feel someone, or something, approach her. Her hand reached for her blade which lay imbedded in the slain warg’s skull, her fingers wrapping around the hilt in time as the footsteps grew nearer. She would not give the enemy the satisfaction of killing her while she was down. The queen knew it was going to hurt, it would be agonising even but she was determined to keep on fighting until her last breath. I pray you can forgive me. The steps were nearly upon her now, an unknown fiend looming over her like a dark cloud, savouring the moment before striking her down. All her muscles tensed as she swiftly lifted her sword, swinging it fiercely at the unknown assailant Y/N got back on her feet with a feral cry. Steel met steel as pale eyes met hers. How could it be? Before she could utter a single word, let alone manage a respectful greeting of her king, Thranduil had withdrawn his sword and closed the small distance between them. “You’re hurt,” the worry in his voice was accompanied by the sorrowful look in his eyes. “Aran nîn, forgive me, I did not see-,” Y/N began to apologise but was unceremoniously cut off by her king. “Where are you hurt, meleth nîn?” Thranduil sheathed both his swords and once his hands were free, they went to cup her face, his eyes searching her face intently. “There’s no time for this now, we must…,” her voice trailed off as she finally noticed her husband’s host aiding hers, cutting down enemy ranks left and right. It appeared that they had been rescued and pulled from their impending doom. “Do you see? The battle is all but won,” his voice was reassuring and calm, “Now, you must tell me where it is you’re hurt,” he asked her in a more demanding tone. Does he sense it? “It is nothing, likely a couple of bruised ribs is all,” Y/N tried her best to hide the severity of her injuries, she did not want to add more worry to his already long list of troubles. “If I know my wife, then I know that her version of bruised ribs is most likely fractured or even broken,” he frowned at her through his bushy eyebrows, “Tell me, which of the two is it?” she could not hold his gaze any longer, casting her eyes down she let a yielding sigh escape her lips. Lying to her husband would be meaningless, Thranduil would see through it as easily as one sees through glass.

“The latter,” Y/N admitted as her eyes found his again.

ㅤ Thranduil had begged her to ride with him on his elk, but Y/N would not have any of it. Stubborn as she was, she gave her king no choice but to agree to her riding Elenath to his encampment. She had let him help her mount her mare but that had been all the aid she had been willing to accept for the time being. As his wife, she longed for his touch but for now it was completely out of the question, at least until she had seen one of the healers. We’re alright, she hoped against hope that the Valar had heard her prayers. Y/N tried to keep her breathing as shallow as possible, mainly because drawing deep breaths caused excruciating agony. Her breastplate felt too tight, making it that much harder to breathe properly. Her ears were ringing and the taste of blood in her mouth was making her sick. But she would show none of it, not when so many of her people had fallen, not when so many of them were in worse conditions than she was. “Are you certain you can ride on your own, meleth nîn?” Thranduil’s voice carried the worry he must have been feeling. Y/N turned her head and mustered up a smile before giving her king a nod.

“It’s not my broken ribs that pain me,” her voice sounded mournful as she spoke her truth to her king. Her eyes drifted from Thranduil’s as she took in the gravity of what had happened. Once again Y/N was facing a field covered in corpses. From what she could tell, nearly a third of her host was gone. She found that Thranduil coming to their aid and helping them to victory meant very little to her now. Grateful as she was to be alive and whole, Y/N couldn’t help but feel the sorrow and grief this victory had brought her. She wasn’t sure for how much longer she could go on, each day bringing more death with it, each night accompanied by more suffering. Her heart could not bear it. This isn’t the life I wished for you. “You were caught unawares, there was nothing to be done,” when he spoke, his voice appeared to be closer than it previously had. Turning to face him, Y/N saw that his elk was right next to Elenath, towering over her like a giant beast. “It doesn’t make it right,” Y/N responded quietly while shaking her head lightly. “None of this is right yet such is the nature of war,” Thranduil’s attempts to comfort her did very little, the guilt she was feeling was too overwhelming. “We brought them here, we asked them to fight, to die and for what?” Y/N felt her hold on her emotions weaken. She was too worn out, she could feel it in her bones, in every part of her being. “We have suffered an immeasurable loss, it is only natural that you would grieve,” the king reached over and took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze, “But do not let your regrets rule your heart and mind, we are only doing what is right,” he reminded her softly. “And you, aran nîn, have you no regrets?” Y/N asked him as her eyes found his light blue-hazel ones. His expression softened as his gaze held hers, his pale hues unveiling the hidden truth. Suddenly, the great king of the Woodland realm bore a look of despair, making Y/N regret her silly question. Was she so distraught that she had lost all her common sense? “You need only look around to see my regrets, meleth, they are as plain as day,” he noted dismally. She hated herself for asking, she hated to see her beloved in such grave pain, she hated this war above all else. They would be mourning their fallen until the end of days by the gruesome looks of it. Yet there was hope, she bore it inside her still. Their hope. ㅤ

Thranduil had not pressed the issue of Y/N being seen by their best healer immediately upon their arrival at his encampment, for which she had been grateful. Until their wounded had been attended by their healers, given food and water, and sheltered in tents and larger pavilions, there would be no talk or mention of Y/N seeing a healer. There had been plenty to do for both rulers before they could retire to their shared tent. It was only when the bustling noises within their camp had begun to settle down, that the king and queen finally deemed fit to seek the solace of their private pavilion. “Allow me to help you out of your armour before I send for Nestor,” it took him only two large strides before he was right next to her, his fingers going to work on undoing the clasps attaching her cape to her shoulders before moving on to her breastplate. Being attended to by Nestor while Thranduil was in the tent was out of the question, not when he was unaware of her current condition. She would have to come up with a reason, an excuse to leave their tent. As soon as her husband had removed her breastplate, a shockwave of pain exploded inside her, her injuries appearing to be worse than she had thought. Much to her dismay, she couldn’t hinder the low groan that had formed in the back of her throat, making her husband stop what he was doing, and go around her to face her.

“You’re in pain,” he said mournfully, a deep sadness taking to his pale eyes as he ran them over her face. Y/N forced a weak smile as her palm found his smooth cheek, her thumb caressing it softly.

“You need to see Nestor right away, meleth nîn,” the king whispered as his hand went to his cheek to take hers, giving it a gentle squeeze before pressing their intertwined fingers to his chest. He was right, she needed a healer. She felt it could wait no longer lest she risked the unspeakable.

“I would much rather see Rîleth, she has been wonderful with caring for my company,” Y/N murmured softly, her eyes not leaving his. Thranduil watched her for a moment but didn’t question her choice. “Ethirdaer!” he raised his voice slightly so their guards would hear. Almost instantly, her husband’s guard entered their tent and bowed respectfully. “My lord, my lady,” the veteran guard addressed them.

“Send for Rîleth with all haste,” Thranduil ordered. With a quick nod of his head, the elven guard left their tent.

“Thank you,” Y/N said gratefully after Thranduil had helped her out of the rest of her armour, leaving her in her tunic and wool breeches. “I do not understand what is taking them so long,” he grumbled under his breath as he helped Y/N take a seat on his armchair. Her pain had subsided some but not enough to allow her to move freely and without discomfort. Thranduil would easily take notice of her hurt even despite her best efforts to hide it.

“Plenty of our people need tending, my love, we must be patient,” Y/N reminded him softly. She knew he was feeling restless and helpless because it was her who had been hurt, he really couldn’t stand the sight of his beloved in pain and discomfort. The absence of his reply told her he knew she was right. We are selfless, our people come first, remember that always.

“I must confess, sometimes I forget how selfless your heart is, my queen,” he whispered as he got down on his knee before her, taking both her hands in his, “But I refuse to let it take you from me,” he mumbled quietly against her skin before planting a tender kiss on her knuckles.

“There isn’t a force strong or powerful enough in this realm, to take me away from you,” Y/N reassured her husband. “We are not invincible, meleth, I will not have you perish defending this accursed land,” when he lifted his head to find her face, his expression was somber, his fear of losing her plain in his eyes. “What is this talk, my king?” Y/N asked, pulling her right hand from his she placed it on the side of his head, her fingers moving into his silken hair, “Was it not you who once claimed you pitied our enemy, for they had to fend off my swords?” “Your skill is unmatched, my queen, much like your accomplishments as the general of our armies,” he began slowly, leaning into her touch, “yet none of it should come at the price of your life.” Y/N was certain they wouldn’t be having this conversation at all had she not been wounded. It had been the first time her husband had seen her fall victim to injury, making him now ponder his fears out loud. She fought the urge to say that for as long as they ruled together, they would go to war together as well, for they were equals in all aspects. “I understand your fears, aran nîn, for I have my own of losing you,” she whispered tenderly as her fingers continued playing with Thranduil’s long strands of golden hair. “Should I come to suffer the day where I lost you, my heart would go with you, leaving but an empty shell and aching soul to walk this world without you,” Thranduil’s eyes closed at her words, as if they pained him somehow. “Then your heart must be a mirror of mine,” his words were barely audible, the tone of their conversation growing heavier still yet they had to accept it for what it was – the sincere truth. They had been husband and wife for centuries, it wasn’t long by any Elvish standards, yet their love for each other had grown during their time together. There were no more words left to say now, they had voiced their fears along with their ever-growing love for each other. Despite the screaming protests of her wounded insides, Y/N leaned down to find Thranduil’s lips in a gentle kiss which sent a soothing current throughout her entire body. Her discomfort eased significantly as their kiss began to grow, bringing to surface their need for each other, reminding them of how long they had been apart and denied each other’s touch. Unfortunately, their private moment was interrupted by Rîleth’s polite clearing of her throat. “My lord, my lady,” she greeted them with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her delicate lips.

Neither Y/N nor Rîleth had missed the annoyed glance that Thranduil had quickly shot at the healer upon her arrival. Once the king of the Woodland realm remembered why he had sent for Rîleth in the first place, his expression softened, and he offered the healer a respectful nod of his head. The elf healer had only shaken her head in mild amusement before turning her attention to her queen. “My lady, how may I be of service?” Rîleth asked tentatively, her green eyes quickly going to Thranduil before finding Y/N’s again, a questioning look on her features. Y/N knew instantly what the healer meant and gave a very subtle shake of her head. “Perhaps before we begin, if it would please my lord, could we have the room to ourselves?” Rîleth’s sudden question caused the king to raise his dark eyebrows in question. “I beg your pardon?” his demeanour changed instantly, he almost looked insulted by her question. Y/N suspected that the healer’s request had seemed absurd to him, if not downright disrespectful. “I will not be dismissed as some-,” the king began, his voice growing icier with every word until the queen interrupted him, her words bringing his attention to her. “Aran nîn, she is not trying to dismiss you,” Y/N started slowly, careful to hide the true intentions of Rîleth requesting to be left alone with her, “I promised her advice on certain matters of the heart regarding one of your guards, I’m sure you understand,” she finished with a smile, her eyes going to the healer who thankfully understood what Y/N was doing, and gave a shy nod. “Matters of the…,” Thranduil mumbled before clearing his throat and straightening himself out.

“Of course,” he nodded before taking Y/N’s hand in his and kissing the top of it. “I will give you your privacy while I go check on our supper,” the queen offered her husband a grateful smile before he turned to leave them to their matters of the heart. ㅤ

“Forgive me, I couldn’t think of anything else,” Y/N went to apologise as soon as she was sure Thranduil was out of earshot. Rîleth shook her head in amusement as she approached the queen. “Do not worry, it is unlikely that the king will remember any of this once you bestow your greatest gift on him,” the healer’s voice was gentle and mildly soothing. Even her mere presence carried a certain calm with it. Y/N’s eyes went to her stomach before finding Rîleth’s again in a questioning manner. “And is there still a gift to bestow?” her words were a whisper, it was difficult for her to voice her question, and more difficult still to await its answer. The smile on the healer’s face turned upside down as she quickly got on her knees before her queen, her hands going to Y/N’s belly. “Did something happen?” Rîleth whispered as her hands began feeling the queen’s stomach. “I took a tumble and got crushed by the dead weight of a warg,” Y/N explained to the healer while she continued to examine her.

“Henion,” Rîleth nodded thoughtfully as her hands proceeded to work. Y/N was watching the healer elf, anxiously awaiting the final verdict on her gift to Thranduil. The queen had decided to have an elfling shortly before they had been called upon to defend Middle-Earth, and there had been no suitable time to tell her husband that he was going to be a father at last. They had been so taken with each other at first, Thranduil and her, that they had agreed to wait with forming a family. It was only rather recently that they both had talked about how wonderful it would be to have a young one running around and about their kingdom. Y/N grimaced in pain as Rîleth’s fingers came too close to her ribcage, disturbing her broken bones, making her instantly wish she had waited even longer. I couldn’t have known, she thought to herself, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. “I am sorry, rîan nîn,” Rîleth sounded apologetic as her fingers immediately withdrew from Y/N’s belly, “May I have a listen?” she asked the queen quietly, to which Y/N gave an affirmative nod before closing her eyes. Soon she would receive either the greatest news of her entire life, or the most devastating. The queen held her breath as Rîleth lifted her tunic and pressed her ear to her stomach. Hot tears were paving her cheeks as she continuously prayed to the Valar that her little elfling was unhurt. She could not tell how long the healer was listening to her stomach, her expert hearing waiting to hear any signs of life. At last, she could feel Rîleth lift her head, opening her eyes again, Y/N saw that the healer was smiling brightly. “Your little one is alright, my lady,” the healers words made the queen release a relieved gasp which soon turned into outright sobs. Each new sob brought with it a wave of pain from her broken bones, but Y/N did not care, her little elfling was unharmed and well. Her hands went to her belly, stroking it gently while tears fell from her cheeks. She thanked the Valar that they had heard and granted her prayers, vowing to tell her husband as soon as he returned. ㅤ

When Thranduil returned, he found his queen freshly bathed and her wounds tended. Y/N was comfortably bundled up in her evening robes as she sat in her chair waiting for her husband.

“How do you feel, my beloved?” he went to her at once, his eyes casting an examining glance over her frame. Y/N set down the cup of herbal draught Rîleth had made for her pain on the wooden table next to her chair, and slowly got up on her feet. “Much better, meleth nîn,” she assured her husband as she moved to embrace him. His arms went around her, and he gently pulled her closer to his chest, still mindful of the injuries she bore. Y/N went to rest her head in the crook of Thranduil’s neck, breathing him in she closed her eyes. He smelled like home, like the vast and lush forest which was their kingdom, he smelled of fresh wood and wildflowers. “I am relieved to hear that,” he murmured into her hair before moving to rest his head on top of hers. Y/N stayed in her husband’s embrace, relishing being able to be close to him at last after months of being separated by this cursed war.

“There is something I have been meaning to tell you,” the queen spoke softly as she broke their embrace. Thranduil’s face still bore the signs of being relieved at his beloved feeling better when her eyes caught his pale ones.

“Oh?” his fingers went to move up and the down the lengths of her arms while he waited for Y/N to share her wonderful news with him.

“Do you recall questioning the purpose of defending this, as you so eloquently had put, accursed land?” she asked him with a tilted head, raising her eyebrow she watched the king grow thoughtful. “Yes, go on,” Thranduil nodded after a moment.

“As luck would have it, I am about to provide you with one,” Y/N cast her eyes down to her belly before finding his eyes again, a warm and loving smile lifting the corners of her lips. Thranduil glanced to her stomach as well before his eyes found hers again. His eyebrows were slowly furrowing in confusion until finally realisation hit him, and his eyes grew wider. “Are you-?” Thranduil’s eyes went to her belly once again where they lingered for a moment. He was perfectly still, it seemed he was even holding his breath, his pale eyes intently focused on her stomach. “Yes, meleth nîn,” her words made his eyes find hers again. Watching her husband’s features melt and mould into a singular expression of pure joy, made her heart fill with so much warmth and happiness, she feared she might just burst. When Thranduil smiled, it reached his eyes, making them sparkle with delight. He swiftly closed the space between them, his hands going to cup Y/N’s face. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a quick kiss before moving to plant a tender kiss on both of her cheeks and lips. “When?” his excited state was making him appear to be out of breath, his chest was rising and falling more rapidly now. “Shortly before we marched, if I had known-,” she wanted to tell him that she would have waited, that she would not have risked it while they were off at war, but Thranduil cut her off. “Shh, my darling, none of it matters now,” he reassured her before planting another soft kiss on Y/N’s lips, “All that matters is the life you carry inside of you,” he murmured before he moved his hands and carefully placed his palms to rest on her stomach. The queen smiled warmly at the sight of her husband’s glee, there wasn’t a single worry on his features, the dreary clouds had vanished from his bright eyes, and they finally shined with hope. “I’m to become a father, a dream I dared not dream while forced to endure this inferno of flames and death,” he whispered as he leaned his forehead against hers, his palms remaining where they were, on her belly which carried his child.

“Are you pleased, my husband?” Y/N asked quietly, her hand going to Thranduil’s cheek. “Pleased?” he breathed out before chuckling lowly under his breath, “Darling, this is the greatest gift you could have ever bestowed upon me,” he whispered in a state that was near euphoric. Y/N felt tears of happiness building at the corners of her eyes, tears of utmost joy and overwhelming glee were taking control of her body and spirit. She almost felt guilty of being this happy when there was so much death and destruction around them. But to see her king be besides himself with joy shoved her guilt aside and made way for more delight, it meant the world to her to witness his spirits be lifted.

Y/N watched as Thranduil got on his knees before her and carefully, as if not to hurt her or the elfling inside her, pressed his face to her belly. The queen’s hands went to rest on his shoulders as her king kissed the fabric of her robes where her stomach was. “My little leaf, it’s your ada,” Thranduil’s voice broke half-way, the king being overwhelmed with the emotion of this intimate moment. When he glanced up at his wife, there were tears in his blue-hazel eyes. “I ant lîn vîr vin faer nîn,” he whispered to Y/N as a single tear was making its way down his pale cheek.

“Gi melin,” the queen murmured lovingly making the smile on Thranduil’s face grow even wider. “I love you too, my wife,” he breathed out as he quickly got back up on his feet, his palms going to cup her face once more as his lips met hers with passion so fierce and fiery it could set their entire kingdom ablaze.

ㅤ

Glossary:

Mellonen – my friend

Hiril nîn – my lady

Lau – No (no indeed not, on the contrary)

Leithio i phillin – release your arrows

Aran nîn – my king

Meleth nîn – my love

Henion – I understand

Rîan nîn – my queen (rîan – queen/crowned lady)

Ada – father (dad)

I ant lîn vîr vin faer nîn – I shall treasure your gift in my heart/ your gift is a treasure to my soul

Gi melin – I love you (informal)

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 76: Puppy Eyes

"Don't." Draco growled, turning back to the tomato on the cutting board.

"But babe," Harry whinged as he took a step closer.

Draco shook his head and kept his eyes on the task at hand, "Don't do it," he said.

It didn't matter that he wasn't looking at him, he could see him in his mind's eye and his conviction was already wavering. It was impossible to resist Harry's puppy eyes.

Harry hooked his chin over Draco's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist, "You always have fun," he said.

"That's not even true."

Harry huffed, the warm puff of his breath ghosting over Draco's neck. "We'll just look, I won't even touch, I promise."

He leaned back into Harry's embrace, "That's definitely not true."

"Draco, please?"

Draco made the mistake of turning slightly to look at Harry; his eyes were warm and pleading, and all of his resolve melted away like ice cream in the sun. "Fine," he huffed.

"Really?" Harry asked, perking up immediately.

"Yes, but you have to promise. No touching."

He nodded eagerly, "No touching," he said.

(Read more below the cut)

Harry Potter was a liar.

And Draco knew that because this had happened before. Four other times.

They showed up and Harry couldn't keep his hands to himself and it always got them into trouble.

It wasn't that Harry meant to lie to him, it's just that he lost all semblance of self control when it came to adoption days. He saw the cats there and he lost his damn mind.

Every time.

Draco stood, leaning against the fence they'd erected to keep the cats inside, watching his stupid (adorable) boyfriend bond with every cat in sight. Harry had sat down right in the middle of the circle, one cat curled up in his lap, another rubbing against his side, a third laying sprawled out against his legs, and a fourth receiving scratches behind its ears.

He looked up, caught Draco's eyes and pointed to the white cat he was scratching behind the ear, "What about him?" he asked.

"No!" Draco replied, shaking his head just to reiterate.

Harry pouted and turned back to the cats in front of him.

He was proud of himself. He'd stood up well to Harry's pouting and pleading.

That was until he saw a tiny little calico kitten stumble toward his boyfriend. Then Draco knew he was completely doomed.

Harry caught sight of the kitten and his whole face lit up, bottom lip protruding as he reached for it, "Baby," he cooed at the kitten, bringing her up to his face and rubbing his nose in her fur. "Oh you beautiful little bean," he said, booping her nose with his. "Look at your tiny, perfect little paws, sweet girl," he said. "Look at your beautiful little white mittens. You're just the prettiest little kitten I've ever seen."

He groaned, dropping his head forward onto his arms.

"Draco?" Harry called, his voice sugar-sweet and pleading.

"You promised!"

When he looked up, Harry had displaced all of the other cats and came over with only the little calico curled up in his arms which Draco knew meant he was serious about her. "Look at her," he said, holding her out to him, "Give her a cuddle, breathe in her kitten scent."

"How many cats do we already own?"

"Four," Harry mumbled, looking down at the little kitten in his hands and bringing her close to his chest once more.

"Do we need another cat?"

Harry nodded emphatically, "We don't have a calico," he said, "And look at her paws. Isn't she beautiful?"

Draco sighed, "You're going to be unbearable until we get her, aren't you?"

"Well, I wouldn't say unbearable," he answered. "Devastated? Yes. Heart-broken? Also yes. But not unbearable."

Draco groaned, "You're the worst. Why do I let you come to these things?"

"Because you love me," Harry replied, leaning across the fence to kiss him, "And you secretly love our cats."

He rolled his eyes, "Merlin help me I do," he sighed. "Come on then. Let's do her paperwork filled out and get out of here before you decide we need another."

Harry grinned and held her out to Draco once more as they headed over toward the woman running the adoption event and Draco took her, falling a little bit in love with her already.

--------

Day 75: Love Language | Day 77: Shoes

[zmayadw]

'Goodbye', but not 'the end'

- a Duskwood based (Jake x Mc) story - PART THREE (final part)

->PART ONE<- ->PART TWO<-

„Maybe not all goodbyes are the end – and that's what makes them good.“ - Gwendolyn Heasley

In the time that followed after she learned of his fate, Mc tried, and god how she tried hard, to survive day after day without falling apart. The process of trying to heal her shattered heart was no fun at all.

She would move around her apartment in daze, eyes swollen, wondering if the tears will ever stop. And in the rare moments when they did, she would break down and cry again over silly things, like spilled milk or a broken nail. She would force herself to eat, swallowing every bite with disgust and try to keep it from coming back. Night after night, she would toss and turn in her bed, just to be awakened by the same nightmare, with those cursed words echoing in her head long after it.

Those days quickly turned to weeks, weeks became months, and in the blink of an eye the seasons changed, too.

Then one morning, dragging herself tiredly through the apartment, she stopped at her window and stared through it in awe. She just stood there motionlessly not daring to blink, afraid that if she do, this breathtaking scene she was seeing would disappear on her. She situated herself dreamily on the window bench, and for the first time in months her shattered heart jolted in excitement, as her eyes once again got lost in the beauty of her cherry tree.

Its soft pinky-white blossoms were long gone, foliage in mesmerizing shades of red, orange and gold taking their place. They moved playfully with the wind, the sun illuminating them giving the illusion of a thousand tiny flames dancing before her eyes. She was hypnotized.

Her tree looked so vibrant, its grief over lost blossoms erased by this new emerged beauty. With that thought, she cried one last time, that thought stirring up a trace of hope in her, that maybe, just like her tree she, too, could feel alive again. And once again, the sight of her beautiful tree helped calm the restless spirits inside her, to make her pain begin to lessen, and allow for her shattered hear to slowly, but surely begin with the process of healing.

~~

Week after week, she began to feel better. The pain of his loss was still much present within her, but it was no longer unbearable or threatening to break her again. Each new day brought more peace to her restless mind, and she slowly returned to her usual routine. But there was an unexplainable and constant feeling deep inside that something was still holding her back, that there was something she still needed to do to really be able to move on with her life. But she couldn't quite figure it out.

~~

Walking back to her apartment from the store, Mc shivered. The fall was coming to its end, the branches of just recently colorful trees almost completly bare by now, and the hint of winter slowly creeping in was felt in the increasingly colder air. Impatiently waiting for the green light to cross the street, her gaze fell on the headline in the sports sections of the newspapers the man in front of her was holding. "Goodbye to another first division team" For some unknown reason, she lingered thoughtfuly on that first word, not realizing that the man started crossing the street.

„That's it!“ she suddenly exclaimed out loud, noticing the green light and hurrying across. That's what she needed, a goodbye. She never said a proper goodbye to him, and that's what was missing. She needed a definitive closure, the end, before she could truly move on. But how to do it? How was she suppose to say goodbye, when the person who she needed to say it wasn't here? How to do it meaningfully, so it won't just seem like empty words spoken into the wind? As if hearing her thoughts, the wind whistled in her ear, making her tuck her hands deep inside her pockets and quicken her steps.

When she reached her apartment, she was still contemplating on how to do it. And when the evening came, she was still completely clueless. And frustrated. How hard can this be? she thought, sitting down on a sofa with a heavy sigh. She got up again, pacing frustratedly around the room. She suddenly stopped, turning around and hastily moving to her desk. She sat down opening the drawer, and with a shaky hand took out her light green letter writing set.

Emotions stirred up in her, thinking of all those letters she wrote before. All the feelings she poured out in them resurfaced back, but exactly because of that the idea of writing one more letter, one last letter to say her goodbye with it, appealed to her more and more.

And so she decided to do it. At least she tried. She started with the letter so manny times, but each time after writting just a few lines she would crumple the paper in frustration throwing it on the floor. And after a while, she ended up just staring numbly at the blank paper in front of her.

Suddenly it dawned to her why she was struggling with this so much. She was doing it wrong all this time, constantly trying to write down something that was completely unneccessery. Shaking her head she chuckled to herself and reached for her pen. At the end, she wrote down just three words, before neatly folding the paper and placing it inside the envelope.

She began to feel lighter looking at the envelope in front of her, as if some invisible weight was finaly lifted from her shoulders. The pain was still there deep inside her, and some tiny piece of it will probably stay there forever. But she was happy, managing to find a way for the end she needed to move on. And she found her perfect ending right there at the beginning of it all.

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

„Oh come on, Nym, don't look at me like that! I'm not doing anything wrong here!“ A little black pup tilted his head sideways as a young man spoke to him. „And besides“ he started again raising his eyebrow at the pup „Didn't we agree at keeping an eye on her? Just out of precaution?“ The pup barked in response, happily wagging his tail. „Mhm, I thought so.“ he said smiling and scratched Nym behind the ear. He turned his head back to his laptop, to a live feed from a CCTV camera on it. The smile slowly left his face, looking at the girl sitting at the window table of a coffee shop.

The reality of not being able to be close to her and hear her voice, to move a loose strand of hair behind her ear, or not being able to feel her warm touch on his skin, or savour in the sweet taste of her lips – the reality of it all hit Jake hard as he watched her, he hasn't noticed when the tears started falling down his face. The little pup suddenly jumped at him, calling for his attention. He looked at the pup with teary eyes, lifting him onto his lap. „Don't worry, Nym, I'll be all right.“ He hugged the pup, his little muzzle finding its way to his face licking at the tears. He closed his eyes with a chuckle „All right, all right, I get the hint, Nym. No more crying, I promise.“ The pup licked at his face few more times, then jumped from his lap running off, happily wagging his tail. Shaking his head after him, her turned back to his laptop.

Mc was now in a company of a friend. And after so long, her face was finally smiling, the trace of agony of the past events nowhere to be seen. After what he put her through, seeing her like this made him a little bit relieved. But that devastating pain he felt when he decided to fake his death, and knowing the effect it will have on her with the cognition of it, was still much present at him. But it was crucial for her to belive in it, to truly belive in what happened to him. He couldn't risk the tiniest possibility for her to know anything about it, then all of this would be in vain. Like this, with time, they will leave her completely at peace and she will be safe again, her life returning to normal.

His gaze then turned to the light green envelope lying on the desk next to his laptop. It was the last letter she sent, the one that contained only three words, but those words were the saddest and most painful ones he ever read. Nym suddenly barked next to him, Jake turning to look at him. The little pup had his leash in his muzzle, impatiently pacing in the spot. „All right, Nym, lets go.“ He said with a chuckle, taking the leash from the pup. „I did promise you we'll go explore our new place of stay.“ Nym barked excitedly before rushing out through the doors leading to the yard of their new place. Jake got up, glancing once more at the envelope on the desk. 'Goodbye, my love.' That was written on the paper inside it. Just three words, but they were more than enough to break ones heart.

Stepping outside, Jake welcomed the warmth of a winter's sun hitting at his face. Nym was eagerly waiting for him, wagging his tail so fast from the excitement upon seeing him, scattering snow all around him. He started walking towards him, and even though the pain in him was going strong, he couldn't stop a mischievous smile coming to his face. Ofcourse, the consequences of what he have done are no joke, nothing to laugh about there, and saying goodbye is never an easy thing to do. But then again, if you really think about it, some 'goodbyes' don't mean 'the end', you know?

[marvelouslycaptivating]

At First Sight-Part Four

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson X Reader

Summary: Loki comes to a realization

Authors Note: Thank you all so much for continuing to read this story!! Your feedback and support has been incredible, and I appreciate each of you. I had originally said I wanted this story to be 4-5 parts, but I think it will end up being a little longer so that it can be wrapped up properly. Be sure to check out my other stories and follow me to see more of my work!!! Please leave your feedback, like, and REBLOG so that others can read too!! Until next time. Xx

Betrayal was something the God of Mischief was well aquatinted with. He had betrayed those closest to him more times than he could count. He had also been a victim of betrayal numerous times, and he had always brushed those instances off with a laugh.

Not this time. This time it felt as though his soul had been viciously ripped from his body. His mind was clouded with rage. His heart was laden with devastation. He was losing control of his emotions. They were like a fraying thread that could snap at any moment, and that terrified him. He slammed his fist against the heavy, oak door of his chambers causing the entire piece of wood to shake. He could hear your labored breathing just on the other side.

Part of him desperately wanted to rip the door from its hinges and take you into his arms. He wanted to whisper sweet nothings into your ears until your breathing steadied. He wanted to kiss your tears from your cheeks and tell you how beautiful he thought you were. He wanted to prove that he cared for you.

The other part of him, the darker part of him, wanted to ensure that you endured the same pain you’d inflicted upon him. He wanted you to feel guilty. He wanted you to cry. He wanted you to beg him to listen, and he hated himself for that. Maybe he was a monster, after all.

He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his forehead against the door frame. He listened to the soft patter of your footsteps retreating down the hall. Once your footsteps could no longer be heard he allowed himself to break.

A strangled scream ripped from his throat as he crumbled to his knees. His hands carded through his hair and tugged at the long, midnight locks. Salty streams of tears poured down his porcelain cheeks, and his shoulders shook violently as he cried.

He remained there for what felt like an eternity, drowning in his pain. He cried until his eyes were dry and red. His head ached and his body felt unbearably weak. He sighed and pushed himself to stand. He braced himself with his hands against the door as he regained his balance.

“Darling?” A soft voice called from behind him. A voice instantly calmed him. It could only belong to one person.

Loki turned his head to the direction of the voice and saw his beloved mother standing just a few feet away. She was in her dressing gown, hair pulled away from her face as if she were preparing for bed.

“Mother…” he spoke, his voice hoarse. “What are you doing here?” He asked, turning his face away from her so that she wouldn’t see his tear stained cheeks. Though he knew that she could sense his turmoil.

“I could sense something was wrong.” She explained, stepping closer to her son. Loki’s shoulders were tense, and she could feel the distress bounding off of him in waves.

“I’m perfectly fine, mother. Head to bed.” He croaked out, running a hand over his face. He didn’t care to relive the moment over again.

“Oh my darling boy, you cannot lie to me.” Frigga chuckled.

Loki could feel the tears brimming in his eyes once more. He let out a shaky breath as Frigga reached out her hand to delicately stroke his back.

“You can tell me anything, Loki.” She whispered, reassuring her youngest son. Loki’s heart squeezed in his chest. He could always count on his mother to bring him comfort.

He nodded and pressed his lips into a firm line. He turned his head to look at his mother. Her brows were creased with worry, her blue eyes glimmering in the dim lighting.

“I…” He started, his bottom lip wobbling slightly. He sucked in a sharp breath and closed his eyes. His thick lashes fanned against his cheeks.

“Go on, my love.” Frigga encouraged. Her hands still rubbing gentle circles on Loki’s back.

“I feel so lost, mother.” He rasped out, shaking his head. His raven hair fell over his eyes as he let his head droop.

“She..Y/N she’s the woman I was searching for.” Loki confessed, looking up to meet his mothers gaze.

“Yes, I know.” Frigga smiled, brushing the hair from her sons cheek. He wondered if she’d known all along when he’d asked her in the garden.

Loki’s brows furrowed in as he stared at his mother.

“How…?” Loki asked, his cheeks tinged pink. He could feel anger beginning to bubble in his chest again.

“A mother knows everything, my son.” She smiled, her pearly teeth gleaming in the light. She had always known.

“Well, then you know that she thinks me to be a monster.” He snapped, voice thick with disappointment.

He brushed past his mother and stormed down the entryway. He crossed the sitting room in three long strides and plopped down in the chair you had occupied just a few hours prior. It still smelled faintly of your floral scented perfume.

“What leads you to believe this?” Frigga questioned, crossing the room to stand in front of Loki.

The prince rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. He let out a huff before answering.

“She accused me of something so positively vile that she must believe me to be a horrendous man.” Loki spat, jaw clenching.

“Did she say as much?” Frigga questioned, raising her brows and she fiddled with the sleeve of her robe.

“No, of course not…it was implied.” Loki responded, gazing across the room. He could feel his mother’s eyes on him, but he refused to meet her gaze.

“Was it?? Or did you just not give her a chance to speak?” Frigga queried, a smug smile beginning to etch its way on to her lips. She knew her son very well.

“Mother..” Loki huffed, shooting her an icy glare. He clenched his fists in his lap, his fingernails digging ugly crescents into his delicate skin.

“Did you ever stop to think that just maybe the question wasn’t about you?” Frigga chastised as she walked closer, “That just maybe it was about her?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“What ever are you talking about?” He snapped, unable to contain his annoyance any longer. He stood from the chair and began to pace across the floor in front of the large fire place.

“Perhaps her question was asked out of fear.” Frigga spoke, her voice soft. “If she too has felt what you have been feeling the last month, then I’m sure it can be a startling experience.” She crossed the room and placed a hand on Loki’s shoulder.

“That’s an utterly ridiculous reason for such an accusation.” He spat, his forehead creased. He ran his hands through his hair frustratedly. “She doesn’t even know me!” He bellowed, his entire face flushing crimson.

“Precisely, my love. She just knows what she’s heard of you.” Frigga explained. “You are known as the God of Mischief, of deceit, of lies, and not everyone knows the depths of your heart as I do.” She cooed, running her fingers over the sharp outline of his jaw.

Realization dawned on him then, and he felt downright foolish. His mother was right, as she always was. His stomach churned as he basked in her words.

“What have I done.” He muttered, his eyes finding his mothers. “What am I to do, Mother?” He asked, his voice small and childlike.

Frigga smiled and patted his cheek softly before backing away.

“It will be alright, darling. Talk to her. Apologize. Be yourself. The two of you will figure this out together.” She smiled taking a step back.

“Did you know? That day in the garden?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

Frigga chuckled, “That is a discussion for another day, my darling son.” She spoke, before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Loki sighed and ran his hands over his face once again. He needed time to sort through his thoughts, but he knew he had to make this right.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Three, long days had passed and Loki decided that it was time to set things straight. He knew that you hadn’t left your chambers since the night you spoke. He assumed that you wouldn’t want him showing up at your door, so he sat down at his desk to draft a note to you.

His hands shook as he dipped the quill into the pot of dark ink. He took a steadying breath and began to write:

My Darling Y/N,

For the last three days my thoughts have been clouded with your vision. I have been unable to think of little else but your luminous eyes and vibrant smile. A smile that I had so violently taken from you. I have many regrets from the evening I saw you last. My actions were foolish and childish. I should have requested an explanation instead of being so quick to anger.

Please allow me the chance to redeem myself. To apologize to you properly. Meet me this evening in the garden just after sunset, and I shall bear my heart to you.

If you do not come, I will take that as a sign not to bother you again and though that would pain me…I would understand.

Always yours,

Loki

He folded the paper delicately and placed it into an emerald green envelope. He sealed the envelope with gold wax. In the center he stamped a serpent. He rung the bell for a servant.

A young servant knocked on his chamber doors a few moments later. He stood with the envelope in hand and trudged over to the door.

He twisted the golden knob and yanked the door open quickly.

“Ah, Myra..can you do something for me?” He asked the young woman in front of him.

“Of course, your highness.” She smiled politely. Her round cheeks flushed a soft pink and she smoothed her hands over her skirt nervously.

“Can you deliver this to Miss Y/N’s chambers immediately?” He asked, extending the envelope to the young maid.

“Yes, of course.” She smiled, taking it from him with trembling fingertips.

“Be sure she gets it.” He smiled at her and watched her scurry down the hall before shutting the door.

He walked through the sitting room and stood at the window. He gazed at the garden below, and watched the people milling about tending to the flowers. He let out a deep groan and fiddled with the buttons on his coat.

Nightfall was still hours away, but all the young prince could do was wait.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You’d been lying in bed for the last three days. Your eyes were swollen and irritated from all the tears you’d shed. Your face appeared sunken, dark purple bags beneath your eyes. Your every thought had been haunted with Loki’s pained expression. You desperately wanted to make things right between you, but you hadn’t yet found the courage.

You were resting in a large, comfortable arm chair reading when a sharp knock sounded at your bedroom door. You raised your gaze to stare at the door. You weren’t really in the mood for visitors. You turned your attention back to the book in your lap hoping that whoever was outside would get the hint and leave you be.

The knock sounded again, louder this time and you sighed slamming the worn book shut. You tossed it carelessly onto your bed as you got up from your perch. You crossed the room swiftly, yanking the door open to reveal a young maid.

“Yes?” You asked, annoyance clear in your tone.

“Sorry to bother you, miss. I was asked to deliver this to you.” She smiled apologetically and extended a green envelope to you.

Your heart hammered against your ribcage. This envelope was a dark, ominous green. It could only be from one person.

“Miss?” She questioned, catching your attention.

You offered her a watery smile and shook your head.

“Sorry, thank you.” Your voice was soft as you reached out to pluck the envelope from her hands.

“Good day, miss” the young maid smiled as she turned away.

“Good day.” You mumbled, closing the door once again.

Your hands shook as you held the envelope in your hands. You ran your fingers over the delicate wax seal for a moment, trying to steady your breathing.

“Go on, don’t be a child just open it.” You mumbled to yourself.

You took a deep breath before breaking the seal and pulling out a piece of thin white stationary.

You unfolded the paper and gazed down at the delicate handwriting. You read over the words carefully. A smile finding its way to your lips at the gentleness that could be felt just from his words.

You couldn’t help the hopeful tears that filled your eyes as you folded the note back up and tucked it away into your nightstand. Nightfall was just a few hours away, and you had to figure out just what to say.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tag list: @twhiddlestonsstuff @kingtwhiddleston @blackwidownat2814 @hollylol123 @d1a2n389 @itscale @jhawk608 @hey-there-angels @feburarian @petertingless @lovesammikinzz

[wintersongstress]

❣️🖤💗 with Joel please 👉🏻👈🏻

Of course! Sorry for the wait, but thank you for your patience. I hope you enjoy 💞

🖤- do they enjoy loving or being loved?

After the devastation of losing his daughter and twenty years of vicious survival, Joel is a man broken: cold and cutoff. Romantic love has no place in the unforgiving landscape of his life. He knows better than to get attached to someone when any day can be their last and nothing is for certain. So much has been taken from him, and reliving that kind of pain would weaken him in a way he cannot afford in order to continue surviving in this world. 

His journey with Ellie changed all of that: changed him. When they came back to Jackson together, his softer, gentler side was rekindled, and he remembered how rare and special a thing love is in all of its forms. You would think gentleness and Joel were two things that could never exist together in the same sentence—given all of the gruesome things he has done—but his capacity for love and tenderness is what drives him to protect those he cares about to any lengths necessary. 

Joel’s love is profound and unyielding to a point of selfishness. His ability to lovingly care for those close to him and fiercely protect them is what makes him who he is as a man. Without love, he would have nothing to keep on fighting for. 

💗 – how do they show affection?

As Joel’s heart starts to soften and heal after Ellie’s influence, the possibility of beginning a romantic relationship with someone is not as improbable as it was before. After he settles into some semblance of domesticity and normalcy in Jackson, he notices you. He tries not to, but your lovely smile turns his insides warm and he is helpless to admire your competence on dangerous patrols. You also happen to make him the best sandwiches.  

The first sign of his affection towards you manifests as protectiveness. He pushes you behind him when an infected comes out of nowhere while searching an abandoned house on patrol. Your head spun at how fast he reacted, the split second decision to put himself in harm’s way. Silence hung in the air after the gunshot, the moment suspended in time as smoke curled from his revolver's muzzle. Though it was only the briefest brush, the skin of your wrist tingled, remembering the sudden grasp of his hand and the strength behind his arms as he pushed you away. 

In the next breath you thanked him, and Joel’s attentiveness only surged. He found excuses for his touches to linger, evolving into caresses. The yearning look in his concerned eyes grew unbearable, until one day as he held a damp rag to your face to clean a scratch you turned into his palm and pressed a kiss to his wrist. As your eyes closed and you remained, his other hand slid along your neck and his shadow fell over you. A slight tipping, a pull of breath, and then your lips knew the taste of his, the warmth and their rough press and the scratch of his beard on your cheeks. Realizing that neither you wanted anything bad to happen to the other settles in, and a relationship blooms naturally. 

Joel shows his affection during time spent alone together. At night, in the safety and the warm light of his living room, he loves to play old music and sway you in his arms to the tune, his forehead pressed to yours. His smile comes so easy when you hum and close your eyes, resting your cheek against the flannel softness of his shirt. Your shoulders deflated with a sigh as you let him hold you for long after the music stopped. 

The front porch is another place you both like to linger. Well into night, with the moths fluttering in the light, the strings of his guitar will lighten the air with soothing strums, and his mellow voice joins the melody as he sings to you. His jacket is large around your shoulders, a piece of him you tug closer against the breeze that flutes through the trees. 

Aside from old VHSes, watching thunderstorms together is another favorite pastime. A mug of coffee warms your hands while his arm envelops your shoulders to keep you close to his side. Rain falling, lightning dancing, as you sit together Joel will draw idle caresses along the back of your hand. Nothing bothersome or clingy, only subtle, hardly felt touches meant to reassure himself that you are real and not going anywhere—not being taken from him. In public he drapes his arm around your waist, and before leaving the settlement he gives you quick but deep pecks on the lips that leave you with lashes fluttering. 

Lying in bed, Joel loves to leisurely drag his fingertips along the length of your arm and kiss the knob of your shoulder in the quiet dark of your bedroom, his mouth trailing kisses that grow lazier and lazier, slower and dragging along the delicate skin of your neck until you both fall asleep, legs entwined. Those are the touches that say the most about his affection for you. He finds peace with you and shows his gratitude daily. Though he is often busy, Joel will make time for you, because with you he can forget about all that he has lost, and start to appreciate all he has gained. 

❣- what makes them blush/gets their heart pounding?

Honestly? Seeing you being great with kids. When he stumbles upon you helping the kids in Jackson learn how to build bird houses, showing them how to safely hammer the nails in and teaching them how to paint afterwards, he watches with the warmest feeling unfolding in his heart. He hardly notices Tommy when he comes up behind him, looking to see what has him smiling so much, not until he asks Joel when he is gonna start a family with you. At that he blinks away his daze and pointedly looks away, hand on the back of his neck as he stammers to change the topic of conversation. Tommy’s eyes only crinkle as he slaps his brother’s shoulder, sensing his embarrassment and deciding to ease up.

Your compliments also fluster him. Telling him he looks handsome, saying something sweet and from the bottom of your heart, or saying I love you when he does the simplest thing you find absolutely endearing can turn his cheeks red. It takes awhile for him to get used to how honest and freely you show your fondness for him, but he loves that about you. The fact that you know the effect you have on him alone can drive him crazy. 

[blazingparker]

When I’m Like This, You’re the One I Trust

hello my lovelies!! I’m here with the one-shot I wrote as a massive THANK YOU to each and every one of my followers. When I started this, I had just reached 100 followers and now there are even a few more of you! I’m so grateful to each and every one of you, and I really hope you enjoy this fic.

This was inspired by the song Blinding Lights by the Weeknd. The specific stanza is referenced in my author’s note on ao3!

read it on ao3!

---

It wasn’t often that Peter had a sensory overload, but when they did happen, they were...devastating. Physically, mentally devastating.

This was one of those days.

Peter woke up with a pounding headache, every brush against the fabric of his pajamas or his sheets feeling like fire licking along his skin. Tony was apparently making breakfast for them, evidenced by the fact that Peter could hear every clunk of a dish being set on the counter and the crack of an egg that fell into a sizzling pan.

Against his better judgment, Peter cracked open his eyes. The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their bedroom was normally a welcome sight, warming his skin and making him feel like a cat stretching out into the rays. Today, though, it was a blinding assault on his eyes that made him whimper and try to curl away from it, only to be met with more burning sensation from the fabric.

“Good morning, Peter,” FRIDAY greeted him, and the young man actually let out a soft cry at that. The voice, normally bearable, was so incredibly loud that he could barely stand it. He reached his hands up to cover his ears, trying to do something -- anything -- to make it better.

“FRIDAY, activate Spider Shutdown Protocol,” a voice whispered, but to Peter it sounded like a normal volume. FRIDAY didn’t respond verbally to the command, as she was relegated to listening only while the protocol was activated. Immediately, the windows were blacked out and the light blocked from the room. The heater kicked in, since Peter had told Tony once that his inability to thermoregulate seemed even worse when he was like this. Though they made no sound, Peter knew the walls of their bedroom had been soundproofed as well. He wouldn’t have to deal with hearing all the sounds of Avengers tower as people began to wake up and go about their days.

“Hey, my love,” Tony whispered as he carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. “Are we having a bad spider-senses day?” He asked, reaching out as if to smooth his hand down Peter’s back before pulling away, realizing that might not be a good move right now.

“Yeah,” Peter whispered back in a hoarse voice, feeling tears prick at his eyes. “Sorry for ruining breakfast, it was really sweet of you to cook.” He hid his face in the pillow despite the pain it brought him, trying to keep Tony from noticing his tears. His boyfriend knew him better than that, though, picking up on how his voice wavered slightly. He might not be able to see Peter, but he knew him well enough by now to know how he was feeling even without that.

“Honey, no,” he murmured back immediately. “You didn’t ruin anything, hear me? If anything, you saved our frying pan from getting another egg burnt onto it. We’ll eat whenever you’re ready, and not a moment sooner.” Peter relaxed somewhat at that, summoning the energy to scoot closer to Tony in their bed.

“Okay. Thank you,” he whispered. After a few moments of silence, Peter reached out for Tony’s hand. Finding it, he guided it to rest lightly in his hair, sighing softly in happiness as the man began to ever so gently card his fingers through his curls.

“You’re okay with touching?” Tony asked, voice still soft as he continued his motions. Peter instinctively went to nod, but stopped himself and instead just turned his head towards Tony’s voice. He didn’t want to make his headache even worse.

“You, yes,” he clarified. “Anyone else...no.” Tony felt his heart swell at that admission, knowing that he was the one Peter trusted when he was like this. Not anyone else.

“I’m honored,” he said truthfully, smiling down at Peter in the dark. Peter blushed, instinctively turning his face away from Tony as though to hide it, forgetting there was no way his boyfriend could see it in the dark.

The two stayed there for a while, in the dark and in silence. Peter’s headache was still raging but the feeling of Tony’s hand in his hair and the darkness of the bedroom were steadily making things better. He was so grateful for Tony’s endless patience, how there was never a sign of irritation or restlessness. It was like there was nothing Tony would rather do than stay here with Peter - and knowing him, that was probably true.

“How about a bath? We can get those pajamas off you, if they don’t feel good on your skin?” Tony eventually suggested. Peter had complained to him before about the feeling of sheets or clothes on his skin when he was like this, unable to handle the sensation. When everything was too much, even the smallest thing made everything seem all the more unbearable.

“You just want to see me naked,” Peter grumbled back, but the amusement in his voice was clear. Tony huffed out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

“It’s too dark for that, Peter. But I won’t deny I always enjoy the view,” he shot back with a wink that his boyfriend couldn’t see. After much playful grumbling, Tony was able to help Peter up and out of their bed and move them to the bathroom.

“Okay, cover your ears, my dear. The water might be too loud. I’m still working on that dampener,” Tony said once they got to the bathroom, gently helping Peter hop up onto the counter and going to start the bath. He added Peter’s favorite bath bomb - eucalyptus and lavender, something Tony had made specially for him. Peter had loved the eucalyptus and mint scent from Bath & Body Works before the spider bite, but afterwards the smell and taste of mint had become unbearable. After mentioning that particular fact to Tony off-handedly one night, the mechanic had traded his Iron Man gauntlets for bath bombs and room sprays, determined to create something Peter would like.

Once the bathtub was filled, Tony turned off the water and immediately returned to Peter’s side. He helped the young man out of his pajamas, FRIDAY wordlessly increasing the lights in the room by just a small percentage so he could see and keep himself from whacking Peter in the face or something.

“In we go,” Tony murmured when they were finally ready for their bath, helping his boyfriend down from the counter and easing the two of them into the warm water. He leaned back against the wall of the tub, pulling Peter into his chest so all he had to feel was the water and Tony’s skin - not cold tile. Peter’s tense, coiled muscles immediately began to relax and the younger man let out a contented sigh.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re the best boyfriend ever?” Peter asked, almost in a daze as he rested in the water with Tony. There was no blinding light, no fire on his skin, no sounds except for the water and their shared breathing. Everything was so much better, and he had Tony to thank.

“Oh, you’re going to want to be careful with those compliments. The team is always bitching about the size of my ego already,” Tony joked, beaming when he earned a small little laugh from the man in his arms.

“Mmm, I’ll beat them up for you. I’ve already stolen Cap’s shield once, I’ll do it again,” Peter mused softly, smiling sweetly when Tony leaned down to kiss his forehead.

“My hero,” Tony murmured back, but his voice had lost all its playfulness in favor of sincerity. He wanted -- no, needed -- Peter to know just how important he was to him. After an episode like this, the younger hero could have a tendency to get in his own head, blame himself for “putting Tony out” or “making Tony deal with him.” The older man was hoping to get ahead of that this time - maybe prevent that guilt from manifesting at all.

“I’m so glad you trust me to take care of you when you’re like this,” he whispered. “I love you so much, Peter. So, so much. Every part of you. Good days and bad days.” Peter twisted in Tony’s arms, looking up at him.

“I love you too,” he said, voice a little stronger now. “Thank you for taking care of me. You-you make it better.” Peter lifted a hand and stroked Tony’s cheek, droplets of water falling into that impeccable goatee.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Tony said with a soft smile, leaning into the touches on his skin and turning his head to press a soft kiss to Peter’s palm. The two remained there, whispering sweet things to each other and exchanging soft caresses until the water ran cold. Only when Peter started to shiver did Tony dare to move.

“Time to get you nice and warm, and maybe get some food into you. You feeling up to any lights?” He asked, climbing out of the tub and grabbing towels for them both.

“If they’re low, we can try it,” Peter agreed, smiling as he got out and was immediately wrapped in the softest, warmest towel he’d ever felt. FRIDAY brought the lights up just enough so they could see each other but it was far from their normal brightness.

“We’re okay?” Tony asked, drawing Peter into his arms and holding onto him before dropping a kiss to the top of his boyfriend’s hair.

“We’re okay,” Peter murmured back, tucking his face into Tony’s neck and pressing a soft kiss to the skin there. “Thanks to you.”

“Anytime, Peter.” Tony got to work on drying them both off and dressing them both in his clothes. Peter initially wasn’t thrilled, forgetting that Tony’s clothes always felt so much better than his own. His disappointment quickly faded when he was wrapped up in soft fabrics and Tony’s cologne.

“Breakfast?” He asked hopefully, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Tony finished putting his shirt on and turned to look at him with a smile.

“Sure. What are you feeling?” He asked.

“Toaster waffles?” Peter asked, blushing a little bit as he glanced away. “The chocolate chip ones, maybe?”

“If that’s what my Peter wants, that’s what he shall have,” Tony said with a charming smile and a wink, holding out his hand. Peter smiled shyly back at him, reaching out a hand covered by the sleeve of Tony’s sweater. Their hands clasped together and the smile went from shy to positively radiant.

Sensory overload days were tough, for sure. But Tony always knew how to make them better, and Peter was grateful for that.

[mitsamu]

cry for me

SUNA , OSAMU

— your boyfriends love torturing you until you're nothing but a crying mess.

› smut. MINORS DNI.

F.READER ; DACRYPHILIA , TOYS , MULTIPLE ORGASMS , OVERSTIMULATION ; TAKING PHOTOS (BRIEFLY).

› words : 1.2K

notes — repost from my old blog.

the air around you was heavy with arousal, its sweetness ingrained deep within you. rising and falling swiftly, your chest followed the pattern of your ragged breathing and rough heartbeat, the silent symphony deafening in your ears. your body was splayed in the middle of the bed, legs embarrassingly spread to your sides. your hands were holding onto the thighs underneath you, nails digging crescent shapes in the smooth skin.

blissfully ignorant to the fire that spread through your body, taking over your limbs and making them burn with the effort of maintaining their position, you shivered and shuddered, desperately mewling into the emptiness of the room as osamu drove the vibrator deeper inside of you.

“look at you, so ruined already…” the man in front of you scoffed. he took ahold of your chin and forced you to look at him. there was a greedy smirk plastered on his face. his eyes followed the lines of your trembling body. “you’re being so good, angel… isn’t she, osamu?”

the toy inside of you pressed harshly against your sweet spot, its dull sound became louder as rintarō adjusted it to the highest setting. a broken whimper left your lips, half a plea for more, half a cry for it to stop. you had lost the count of how many orgasms they had forced out of you like that, one controlling the settings while the other fucked you senseless.

“so good. our good little fucktoy.” osamu’s lips grazed the shell of your ear as he spoke, warm breath fanning over the curve of your neck.

his free fingers danced on your body, touch light and soft. He trailed them up and down your sides, circled around your nipples, teased the skin around your clit — avoided all of the places that ached to be touched.

“in fact, she’s earned herself a… reward, hasn’t she?” even if you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the devious smirk in the way he spoke. your eyes widened as rintarō mirrored the man’s expression.

without even giving you time to protest or fight back, rintarō knelt in between your legs, a bullet vibrator that seemed to have come out of nowhere held tightly between his fingers. he toyed with it for a moment, looking at it pensively, as if he was pondering on what to do with it. his smile only seemed to grow as you tried harder and harder to fight off osamu’s hold.

you weren’t sure you’d be able to withstand any more of their sweet torture. even so, you should’ve known better than to misbehave.

an arm snaked around your middle section, caging you against osamu’s chest. rintarō pressed a knee against one of your legs as his free hand held the other one apart, effectively ensuring you wouldn’t be able to close them. he brought the toy closer to your body, rejoicing in the nervous expression that painted in your face.

the cool material sent a jolt through you upon first contact that made your friends chuckle, but it wasn’t until he began exploring your body with it that you started trembling and squirming. he ran the small object along the line of your neck, the valley of your breasts, even the curve of your lips.

his tongue busied itself with your nipples, adding fuel to the growing warmth inside of you. he swirled and twirled and nipped at the little buds, harder every time just so he could hear your little yelps and whines. osamu didn’t fall behind, thumb glued to your clit as he cruelly pushed the vibrator deeper and deeper inside of you. his lips were attached to your neck, relentlessly littering your skin with wet kisses and bites.

the bullet vibrator finally found its way to your clit, pushing the other’s fingers aside. rintarō pressed it hard against you, holding it there with a smirk on his face.

it immediately sent a jolt through your body, and you were soon turning and writhing in as lewd mewls poured out of your lips. you threw your head back against osamu’s shoulder and held onto him tighter than before. It was almost unbearable, painful, how bad you wanted to come.

intense, hot waves crashed through your body, and soon, you were nothing but a babbling mess, incoherent and desperate pleas filling the air. your head was clouded with lust, tears beginning to pool on your eyes and blurring your sight. vaguely, you could hear them chuckling and cooing at your ruined state.

“p-please…iI can’t take it… please.” tears were now flowing freely down your cheeks, twin rivers decorating your face as you implored, begged for a little mercy.

in spite of the numerous orgasms you had experienced that night, or maybe because of them, you were growing sensitive — every light touch had you squirming, the abuse of your most sensitive spots pulling sobs and cries out of you, the devastating need to come making you tremble.

“oh? what was that, baby? you want us to stop?”

you only realized what was going on when they pulled away, almost at the same time, with no sign of touching you again. unaware of the teasing in rintarō’s voice, you started shaking your head profusely, sobbing and stammering as you tried to beg them to keep going, needing that sweet torture and the promising release that awaited you, that consumed you.

“no! no, no, don’t stop. please, don’t stop.” you cried, desperate and shameless.

with his middle finger and thumb, he forced you to face him once more, his index resting against your lips as if to quiet your sobs. he shushed you, a fake smile of sympathy on his face, and lightly pressed the bullet vibrator against your clit, enough to have you begging, but not enough to offer release.

“i’ll be good, i promise. just don’t stop… please.” the last word was pronounced in a wretched moan, voice breaking pathetically as they resumed their attack on your body.

you were partially aware of the distinguishing sound of a phone’s camera, but your mind was too dizzy with pleasure to fully realize.

rintarō’s voice mocked you, cooing at how cute and pretty you looked when you cried for them, but the condescending praise too got lost in the fog. all you knew was the burning feeling that washed over you, sinking you into a blissful state that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your mouth open in loud pleasure. your toes curled, legs trembling uncontrollably, whole body writhing agitatedly as you pushed your hips against their hands.

just like that, your body went limp against osamu. you stayed like that for a moment, panting heavily and weak, sobbing in the aftermath of your orgasm, unable to move in the slightest.

rintarō took the toys and placed them on a cloth next to you. a lazy smile stretched your lips at the knowledge that the torture was over.

“are you okay, baby?” osamu’s voice was soft, full of adoration as he grabbed your face in his hands and cleaned the tears off of it. you simply nodded, too dazed to speak, and observed as both of them took care of you, cleaning your body and dressing you up in comfortable clothes that smelled suspiciously like them.

[imagineddworld]

Favorite victim

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: You are Fred’s favorite prank victim, which creates a lot of hatred towards one another. Until a mistletoe proofs you both wrong.

Word count: 2 k (2000) 

Author’s note: I am so sorry for being this unactive. Also sorry for the lack of quality. University is taking up all my time and has given me a headache that lasts for a week already. Thanks for understanding. I hope you enjoy this shorter fic.x

You and Fred had a complex friendship, if it even could be considered that. He always seemed to take the piss with you. For some unknown reason you were his favorite pranking victim. It all had started innocent. Hiding your ties, placing your books at the highest shelves that were impossible to reach, and switching your ropes with one of the other houses. Putting potions in your food that made it taste odd, made you sneeze, and made your voice a high pitched squeak. But over time they became more evil. The potions no longer got their innocence. They coloured your hair in plenty vibrant colours, made your nose bleed, and made you cough up feathers. The twins put traps everywhere, so you would trip and get covered in a thick, stinky liquid. In class they made your books explode, messed up your potions so you would end up with a loud explosion to the face and getting covered with whatever concoction was in the cauldron. 

It was getting out of hand. Last week they had replaced your soap with one of their own brewed ones. It was supposed to make your head purple, but instead you had started to swell up. Your face felt as if it was about to pop. You angrily approached them during breakfast. “Thanks a lot mate. Good luck explaining to McGonagall why I can’t attend her class”, you threw the soap at them, shaking your head in disappointment. “This hurts a lot”, you said through gritted teeth, before leaving them. You quickly headed over to the hospital wing for the umpteenth time. Later on you found out that you had a bad allergic reaction to one of the oils the twins had put in their soap. Your swelling first got worse, before it vanished. You barely could open your eyes and breathing had became difficult too, but luckily it faded soon enough. Their stupid little prank had resulted in you spending a good few days in the hospital wing. As soon as you were released form your bedrest, you gave the twins a lecture about the dangers of their pranks. Luckily for you they never used that oil ever again. But they managed to cross the line many more times in various other ways. You started to grow more hatred towards the beloved twins. One day they would actually kill you. 

Today they had stolen your alarm clock. You were woken up by annoyingly loud ticking noises coming from your closet. Over time it grew louder and more unbearable. As if being late wasn’t bad enough, they also had to steal all your clothes and replace them by those idiotic toys. They didn’t even had any specific shape, just odd metal forms. As if a robot and car got merged together but had melted during the process. After you finally found some clothes, hidden somewhere safe, you stormed out in search for the redheads. They were sat in the common room, happily chatting with some other students. “Weasley!”, you slammed the door shut behind you, angrily stumping your feet on the ground as you made your way over to him.  “I swear to Merlin, If i find another of your stupid little - toys- I will personally stick all of them up your throat till you choke to death”. As you were yelling at Fred, you had earned the attention of the whole common room. Even if the constant bickering had become a daily routine, they still waited impatiently for the scene in front of them to unravel into your usual fights. “Wow (Y/n), relax”, Fred showed his famous smirk. He stood up, meeting you halfway of the common room. He towered over your small frame, looking challenging into your eyes. But two could play his game, you didn’t budged as you gave him your darkest, murderous glare. You raised your eyebrow as a signal for him to explain himself, already knowing that only nonsense would be spewing from his mouth. “It was just a joke. Not even a dangerous one-”, the last part of his sentence got cut off by a loud exploding sound coming from the girls sleeping room. Or more specific, your closet. At the same time, the toy in your hand had exploded as well. You let out a scream of shock, while throwing the lightly smoking object to where Fred’s feet were. He jumped as a reflex. His face turned angry for a slight moment, but you could care less. You were beyond furious. The day were he would succeed in killing you, would came sooner than you had thought. “Not dangerous?! Not da-dan- Are you joking me?!”, you stuttered due to your overwhelming emotions, mostly furiousness and hatred. “Well, that’s kind of the point”, he cocked as if nothing had happened. As if he didn’t just could have injured someone really badly with his stupid prank. “I still could have been in there”, you said, hitting him on the chest to have more impact on him. “Someone could have gotten hurt, or worse -” Which each word that left your mouth, you hit him a bit harder. But he didn’t moved at all, he just grinned down at you. As a foolish idiot, loving the sight of your angered state. His smug face only made your anger worse. Nothing would ever sink in his brain, he just brushed it off. You wanted to comment on it, but found yourself unable to. You were just going to waste your time, so you decided to storm off to somewhere you wouldn’t need to see his face again. Somewhere you could calm down. 

Once you vanished out of the room and the watching crowd returned back to their daily routines, George stepped up to his brother. “Well well, Freddy. You know we are meant to play nice”, he smiled with a hint of a smirk hiding in the corner of his lip. “Shut it. I’ll play nice when she does”, He glowered, looking like a grumpy little child. “Oooh, so you want her to play nice with you”, George teased, as he wiggled his eyebrows at his twin. “Shut up”, Fred responded again, leaving his twin alone. George just smiled and shook his head at the foolishness of his brother. 

Luckily for you, you didn’t saw Fred’s face until your study session. You were nearly done with your potions essay, when a huge amount of ink fell out of the sky. Your clothes were soaked by the black liquid. As you looked down to your desk, you saw your essay covered in huge spots. “Noo”, you said a bit too loud, voice lightly cracking from your exhaustion. Your head shot towards the chuckling sound. “You”, you spat out, as if he were a poison in your mouth. You murderously glared at Fred while approaching him. “What have I done”, he smiled innocent. You bit down on your teeth, clenching your jaw. It was hard not to slap him across the face right now. You dug your fingernails into your palm, while deeply breathing in. “Do I really need to explain it?!”, you grumbled through gritted teeth. “Be my guest”, he smiled, beaming with excitement and mischief. His hands rested on his hips with much attitude. “You- Ruined - My- Essay”, with each word you stepped forwards, closing the gap between the two of you. You slapped your essay onto his chest, staining his clothes with the black ink. “I’ve spent days on it. And you know for a fact that Snape won’t care”, you pushed him away from you, making him stumble the slightest bit. “Ruin your own essay for once”, you said in a small voice, as the previous event slowly started to sink in. You were devastated, all your hard work was for nothing. Your eyes started to water a little. You were exhausted, not only from the long nights you had spend on the now ruined essay; but also because of how draining these pranks had gotten. Ever one of them gave you more reasons to hate these beloved twins.

As you looked up from your ink-covered hands, you saw Fred with a dumbfounded look on his face. Only seconds ago, he was beaming with joy. “What?”, you asked harsh, but nowhere near the intensity it usual would have. He gave no response, so you sighed and tried to walk off. But you found yourself unable to do so. A force kept you in place. “What do you want?”, you muttered in a mix of anger and despair. You were too exhausted and too distressed to have a fight. “Just let me go”, you said with a much softer voice. You were still turned away from him, as you were trying to hold in your tears. “I don’t have a hold of you... I thought you had a hold on me”, he said slow, confusion knitting his eyebrows together. “What? Why would I-”, you started, turning your head back in his direction. As you eyes trailed to his face, you caught sight of something green above Fred’s head. You let out a frustrated sight as you realized what it was. Stupid mistletoe and its bright green leaves.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, totally over this whole situation. You desperately tried to free yourself with some spells. But the mistletoe wouldn’t move, neither could any of you. “(Y/n), you know that won’t work. You should know that. You are lots better at charms than me”, Fred said, sounding sincere. A unexpected heat raised to your face. Fred Weasley just had given you a compliment, what a rarity. “But we need a way to get out of here before any teacher catches us out past curfew”. You used the lame excuse. You truly didn’t care if you were out past curfew or even got caught. You just wanted to get away from Fred before he could pick up on your emotions. Not that he would care. Everything just seemed to be a joke to him, surely when it included you. “I know a way”, he responded casually. But you were unimpressed, showing it clearly with your facial expressions. “Trust me, okay?”, he muttered softly, his voice almost coming out as a whisper. His big hand cupped your cheek, leaving a warmth at the place where your skins touched. “Just this once”, you replied, before his sweet lips pressed against yours. His other hand went to the small of your back, pulling your body tighter to his chest. Your hands lightly tugged on the fabric his shirt, staining it even more with the black liquid. Neither of you caring how big of a mess it would be. 

The kiss lasted longer than you had expected. You melted in his touch, losing yourself in the heavenly kiss. Your hands found their way to his jaw and the back of his neck, leaving a trail of blackness everywhere you had touched his soft skin. Only when you broke apart to breath, you realized what had happened. Your eyes slowly fluttered open. You were met with a grinning Fred, who now also was covered in the black liquid. But you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction he wanted. He was not going to get you that easily. “This changes nothing, Weasley”, you suppressed the smile that desperately wanted to curl your lips upwards. You turned away from him, relieved that you finally could move again. You were about to head over to your belongings, when he pulled you back by your arm. “Well, I think it does, (Y/l/n)”, he grinned the biggest smile he had ever had, “Mistletoe only sticks to people who have feelings for each other”. The smug bastard. Of course he would know such a thing. As he pulled you in for a second kiss, you couldn’t help but smile against his lips.