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fayes-fics · 2 years

Text

Honourable

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Anthony gets hurt and you tend to his injury.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, vaginal sex, slight innocence kink, loss of virginity, proposal, angst, injury.

Word Count: 4.6k

Authors Note: Hey Nonny. Thank you and thanks for your ask. I went with Anthony for this one. I hope you enjoy this and there is enough angst - my muse decided this is the way it wanted to go lol. I am so sorry this is so late. Also as per usual, this is not a 500-word ficlet lol. This got away from me in a BIG way and ended up at over 4.5k eek!! Thank you to @iboopedyournose for all your help wrangling this one. You rock lovely <3

“Lord Bridgerton?” you call out, concerned, as you spy a worrying trail of what looks like blood droplets across the shiny wooden floors of Aubrey Hall.

“Here,” he responds, a little strained. You follow the sound of his voice and the trail which ends in his private bathroom. You probably shouldn't be in this room, but then he did respond to you. You find him at his vanity sink; bloody shirt pulled off one shoulder, an angry-looking gash on his left bicep.

“Oh my god, what happened?” you stutter, unable to take your eyes off the wound.

“It’s just a scratch, don’t worry, Miss y/l/n,” he downplays upon seeing your face, “I’ll be fine.”

“No, no,” your caretaking demeanour kicking in from years of tending to family members, “sit down right now, let me take a look.” You know he is probably physically strong, but you care for him a lot - probably more than you would like to admit to yourself, let alone him - and need to know he is okay.

“Honestly, I'm alright. Just a bandage, and I’ll be good as new,” he attempts to assure, hissing as he removes his shirt somewhat stiltedly.

Elsewhere you can now see he has minor scratches on his hands, neck, torso and the start of a bruise around his ribs. Nothing looks broken, but he looks beaten up, his movements hampered as if his body feels abused.

“Lord Bridgerton, sit down now or so help me….” you threaten, pulling yourself up to your full height and pointing emphatically at a nearby stool.

To your surprise, he obeys, and you draw closer, inspecting the damage. The cut looks quite deep and probably needs a doctor, but you already know he will dismiss that idea out of hand. There is a little dirt and what looks like splinters of wood in the wound.

You gently prod his arm above, checking for tenderness, and he hisses, putting on a brave face. A little more blood oozes, and you know you must get it cleaned up and bandaged as soon as possible.

“I need to get this cleaned up before it gets infected,” you explain, attempting for a calm bedside manner, despite the oily fear you feel in your stomach that he could be in worse shape than you entirely know how to handle.

“It’s not that bad,” he frowns.

“Lord Bridgerton, just let me help you,” you sigh, frustrated.

He purses his lips but finally relents with a short nod. So you cross the room finding supplies - a porcelain bowl that you fill with water, some tweezers and some muslin wash clothes. Finally, you swipe a whisky decanter on a trolley near the big copper bath - that will have to do.

“Is that for me?” he raises an eyebrow, “I wouldn't say no.”

“It's actually to clean the wound, but here,” you remove the stopper and place it in his good hand. “I’m sure it will help with the pain.”

He takes a large swig. “I can't believe you are going to use 25-year-aged single malt to clean a wound,” he grouses.

“Well, deal with it,” you respond sharply, feeling immediately remorseful for being short with him when he's obviously in pain. “What happened?” you ask again with a softer tone, wetting the muslin in the bowl and gently cleaning the blood and dirt from the wound. It seems to have stopped bleeding profusely, which you are grateful for.

He huffs a sigh and closes his eyes as if embarrassed. “I was in dispute with someone, and things got a little ugly. I lost my footing and ended up falling on a broken tree limb, and my left arm took the brunt.”

“A dispute with someone?” you parrot. “Is that a nice way of saying you were in a physical altercation? Because it sounds a lot like it to me,” your mouth a thin line of disapproval.

“I didn't like what they had to say about someone of great importance to me,” he shrugs with his good shoulder, seemingly unwilling to elaborate, taking another sizeable swig of whisky.

“Who?” you inquire, “and hold still.” You grab the tweezers, intent on removing the splinters of wood you can see. You kneel to his side and try not to look anywhere else but the wound. This is the first time you have seen him or any man you are not related to without a shirt. And, despite the gravity of the situation, it's doing some things to your insides you are unsure how to process or ignore.

“Not your concern,” he responds a little terse, flinching as you pull on a shard of wood.

“I said stop moving,” you grouse, grabbing his forearm with some force, forgetting momentarily who you are talking to. You look up suddenly contrite when you realise.

His eyes flash at you. “Yes, Ma’am,” he murmurs in a deep voice that makes the flutter inside your stomach turn into outright war, a somersaulting breathless feeling. You break the intense eye contact and take a deep breath before resuming the task.

He is now silent and still, the only noise your joint breathing. Slowly you remove all the splinters you can see, being careful not to miss any smaller ones. There is a silence in the room that feels both comforting and rippling with potential.

“I think that is the best I can do,” you say quietly, reaching for the whisky and pouring a little onto a clean piece of muslin. “This may sting a little,” you warn.

He hisses as you press the alcohol-soaked fabric against the wound. You do the best you can to sanitise the area. Now it's time to wrap the wound.

“How fond are you of that shirt, my Lord?” you question, eyeing the shirt he removed, crumpled on the floor.

“Why?”

“Because I need something to bandage the wound, and cotton is the best thing,” you clarify, reaching for it, “I can tear this and use the clean right arm to make a bandage.”

“Go ahead,” his voice tinged with bemusement. Then his face morphs into admiration and something darker as you expertly rip the shirt sleeve asunder. “Something tells me you are not the usual lady of good society,” he rumbles.

“I may be a Baron’s daughter, but I grew up mostly on our farm just like my brothers,” you offer by way of explanation.

You begin with looping the fabric around his arm, trying not to let your fingers linger on the toned muscle there. Instead, you try to concentrate on providing enough tautness to bind the wound. Eventually, you tuck the loose end back into the top side.

“There, all done. Ideally, we need a pin to hold this in place, but that should do for now. But beware, it’ll probably scar,” you conclude.

“I care not,” he responds quickly, “the person was more than worthy of my defence.”

“If you’re not going to tell me, I'm sure the person you defended would love to know.” Perhaps it’s a little out of place for you to say so, but you have just assisted him with his wound and think he will likely offer you the latitude of a frank opinion.

“It was you,” he utters on an exhale.

“Me? Why would you need to defend me?” Mostly your response is puzzlement.

“The man was…” he pauses, “casting aspersions on your honour. I could not stand for it,” he speaks fiercely.

You know your mouth has fallen open. He has been injured for you–defending you. You had no idea he felt that deeply for you. Your feelings for him are something you have tried to deny for a long time. It seemed like a pointless endeavour to want him when the attraction always seemed so frivolous between you. Yet here you stand. Tending to the wounds, he got, for you. The chivalry of the act makes you feel grateful and vulnerable and hopeful he returns your affections. It's an exotic cocktail.

“Y.. you defended me in a fight?” your voice is a whisper now. “You got injured because of me?” It’s the only thing you can think to say, even though your thoughts run much deeper.

“As I said,” he intones purposefully, “someone of great importance to me was being disrespected, and I would not stand for it.”

You meet his eye, and everything feels different to your previous somewhat flirtatious encounters. Your skin hums with something akin to when a storm rolls in. Your lips and fingers tingle, your breath feels shallow, and your mouth is dry. The flips in your stomach morph into something more sinful, a tingle that buzzes right between your legs as your gaze drops to his lips.

There's a growl, and your stockinged legs jostle against the wood as he suddenly pulls you bodily against him with his good arm and his lips descend onto yours. You may have secretly kissed a few boys almost innocently, but it was nothing like this. He deepens the kiss, and his tongue snakes into your mouth; you can't help but make little noises. The sensation is so overwhelming. Your hands wind around his neck, one venturing up into his hair, so thick and luscious. The tingle between your legs is no longer just that; something is happening you have never felt before, a slight ache that seems to grow with every second.

Suddenly he pulls away.

“Oh god. I’m so sorry; please forgive me,” he breathes heavily, “I didn’t mean to take advantage…. I’m so sorry,” he repeats. “I just…” he looks lost for words and so wild, his eyes ablaze, his lips wet from your kisses.

“Anthony,” your voice thready, “please, please don’t stop,” you plead.

He presses his forehead against yours, breathing the same air. “You don't know what you're asking for,” he warns, his voice dark.

“I know if my honour is to be ruined, I want you to be the one to do it,” you whisper urgently.

He groans at that. “Don't say these things to me. I will not take advantage. I am a gentleman.”

“And I'm a lady,” you murmur, “and I want you to ruin me,” you assert, knowing you want him to, more than anything.

His lips are back on yours insistently with a growl, cupping your face, drawing you further into him. You kiss back fervently, desperate to communicate just how much you want him.

“I suppose,” he begins, as he breaks the kiss, “you are only ruined if I don't do the honourable thing,” his voice silky and full of a promise that makes your skin shiver.

“Stop…?” you venture, hoping that is the last thing on his mind.

“Ask for your hand,” his tone almost casual, but there is a fire in his eyes.

It steals your breath, “Is that a proposal?” you stutter. Really the last place you expected to be proposed to was on a bathroom floor, but somehow you don't care as it's him, and he is looking at you like that.

“Is that a yes?” his expression is sincere but playful.

He stands suddenly, and with his good arm, he pulls you to your feet. “Come with me,” his whisper is seductive, slipping his hand into yours and backing from the bathroom into his adjoining bedroom.

“I'm not going to bed with you, Anthony Bridgerton,” you insist, “until you propose properly. Informing my family.”

He smirks, and his face lights up as if he has an idea he likes. “Wait there,” he says and walks to his bedside, ringing a bell. Within a few moments, there is a knock on the bedroom door. “Come in,” he calls, looking over at you.

His valet enters the room. “How can I help you, sir?”

“Kindly inform Baron and Baroness y/l/n of my intentions to propose marriage to their daughter,” he says, his gaze burning into yours. “I have been injured, as you can see, so I cannot be there at dinner tonight. But please inform them I had planned to propose at the dinner table. And I’m certain her answer will be….” he stops and looks at you expectantly.

Your heart is hammering in your chest. “Yes,” you whisper.

His smile lights up. “Also, inform everyone I need to rest tonight,” his face turns sinful, his stare still holding yours, “under no circumstances should I be disturbed.”

“Certainly, sir,” he says. “Will that be all?”

“Bring up two plates of the dinner and a bottle of our finest champagne. Just leave it by the door.” Anthony finally looks away from you to nod at his valet. “Thank you, Jenkins.”

Jenkins closes the door behind him. All you can do is stare.

“Is that acceptable to you, y/n? I assume I can call you that now,” he is stalking slowly towards you, his voice like velvet, “seeing as we are soon to be wed.”

“Very acceptable,” you breathe as he pulls up right in front of you, still shirtless; you can smell his skin. You look into his eyes and hold his gaze as you add, “Anthony.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly you are back in his arms. His kisses are insistent like before. He walks you slowly towards the bed, always his lips on yours.

“Or would you prefer I call you Viscountess already?” he asks, breaking away from your lips to kiss down the column of your neck.

“Anything,” you answer, a little breathless, as you feel the mattress press against the back of your legs.

“How about my love? Or my darling?” he offers, kissing across the top of your shoulder and gently pulling the neckline of your dress aside.

“Yes, all good”, you respond, eager for everything that could follow.

“Hmm, let me think a little more about what I want to call you most, my wife-to-be”, he hums as you feel his warm hands around your upper back, unbuttoning your dress.

“What should I call you?” you ask needily, “should I call you Anthony? My love? My darling?”

“All of them,” he shutters, and you feel a tug, then your dress falls to the floor in a heavy thump. You feel the warmth from his fireplace through your thin cotton chemise as his lips drag against your collarbone.

“Anthony, I….” you begin, suddenly nervous.

“Don't be nervous, my love,” he intuits, his voice soft and seductive against your skin. “I promise this will be pleasant for you.” his hands slide down over your back. “Take this off,” he murmurs, tugging on the chemise.

You do as asked, and he steps back to look at you. Instinctively your hands go to cover your underwear.

He grabs your hands and pulls them away to the sides. “Don't ever hide yourself from me, my love,” he urges, “you have nothing to hide; you look beautiful.”

He spins you around as if on the dancefloor but crowds against your back, kissing your shoulder. You feel his chest hair tickling your shoulder blades as his hands slide down your sides; everywhere he touches feels afire until he reaches your underwear, pulling on the string as they relent and fall to the floor. You are left in just your stockings and stays now.

The warm air swirls around your most intimate place, and your breathing becomes uneven as his hand moves from your hip, spidering across your belly, then questing lower.

Nothing in your twenty-one years on this earth has prepared you for the moment a man - this man, in particular - touches you between your legs. If this is what it's like, no wonder mothers keep their daughters in the dark about what happens between husband and wife. You would scarcely think of anything else. A loud moan escapes your lips.

“Oh darling, I want to hear you make that sound every day,” he utters into your ear. His fingers slowly press into your folds. “You are so wet for me, my love,” he adds with a tremor in his voice.

“What does that mean?” you ask, breathless and slightly out of your depth as he slowly moves his hand back and forth.

“You… you don't know?” he questions raggedly.

“No, I just know I have… duties I must perform for you in the bedroom,” you whisper, feeling almost drunk from what he is doing to you, moving rhythmically against his hand, almost swaying.

“No, no,” he says fiercely, “it is never a duty, my love. Does this,” his finger circles around a very sensitive part of your body, and you cry out at the heady sensation, “feel like a duty to you?” he asks, his tone a little smug.

“No, my lord,” you reply, and he groans into your ear, his finger moving faster.

“Oh god, yes, always call me that in bed”, he urges, his voice gravelly.

You grab onto his forearms to give yourself an anchor and keep pushing yourself against his hand.

“Does it feel good?” he asks silkily, his breath hot on your cheek.

“Yes, my lord,” your legs feel heavy, your breath coming out in pants, his fingers moving so fast against you as you feel yourself climbing an invisible ladder, your skin flushed, your brain switching off.

“Please don't stop,” you stutter as his lips suck on your neck, digging in his teeth a little as you feel ready to explode, a hot, heavy feeling all over. You can only sag against him, your legs spasming too much to stand.

“Yes, yes”, he growls against your neck, “let it go, my love”.

You feel something in you snap, and waves of pleasure pulse through your veins as you call out his name. You feel yourself flood against his hand.

“That's it, perfect,” he moans, pushing his body against you; you feel something warm and insistent against your lower back. He slows his hand and just holds you there as your breath slows, and you shudder gently. “How was that, my darling?” he busses against your cheek.

Words almost fail you. “That was…. wonderful,” you answer, enchanted.

“Good,” he says, “now it's my turn,” he adds a little darkly, one hand crawling up to your stays and plucking on the lace there.

After a few pulls, the material relents and falls away from your body. He spins you around, peels it off your body, and throws it away—his gaze heavy on you.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers reverentially, moving to give you a deep kiss, his hands cupping your face gently. “Sit down on the bed”, he requests against your lips.

You do as asked, and he drops to his knees in front of you, taking a leg into his hands and sliding off your stocking slowly. One hand traces down your thigh as the other pulls off the material around your foot, and he does the same to your other leg. Now, you are entirely naked.

“Lay back”, he urges, and you shuffle nervously until your head is on a pillow. Looking over at him, he's back to standing next to the bed.

With a sinful smile, he starts to unbutton his trousers. You can't look away, and your hand falls to your breast on instinct, rubbing your finger gently against your nipple as he makes a show for you.

“Are you touching yourself as you watch me undress?” his tone hungry.

“Yes, my lord, is that alright?” you reply, suddenly nervous you may have somehow done the wrong thing.

“It's more than alright,” he stutters and stops his movements, opting to climb onto the bed with one side of his trousers still fastened.

He crawls over you, and your breath speeds up as you feel the warmth radiating off his skin against yours. Then his lips close around your nipple, and the surge of pleasure again makes you cry out his name. You watch as his arm, with the bandage you made, moves down to open his trousers. For some reason, worried about his wounds, you reach down and help him.

He looks up at your face in surprise, then slowly moves his hand away as you give him a little smile and take over.

“Is this alright?” you query again, knowing the answer this time.

“You know it is,” he smirks back at you, watching your face as your gaze falls to where your hand is releasing the last button. Your mouth falls open as you see now the source of insistence you felt against your back.

“What…?” it looks fascinating, tempting and a little intimidating.

“Do you know what this is?” he teases, moving his hand down to grasp himself.

“No…”

“I love how innocent you are,” he groans and squeezes himself. “Here this is my cock,” he grabs the hand you were undoing his trousers with and shows you. The skin is warm and silky, and as he wraps your hand around it, underneath, it's hard and steely. His hand encircles yours, and he moves up and down slowly; you feel every ridge and vein there. “Yes, like that,” he encourages, moving his hand away.

He moans as you continue the movements he demonstrated. You watch as a bead of moisture appears at the top, and without thinking, you swipe your thumb through it. It's tacky and warm; he groans even harder.

“Call me my lord again,” his voice is thready, watching what you are doing to him.

“My lord”, you whisper, your other hand splaying across his chest, burying into the hair.

He looks up at your face, and his expression is wild.

“You are so wonderful at this,” he murmurs, “but I'm going to need you to stop now if you want to take this further.” He brings his hand over yours and slows your movements until he pulls your hand away and kisses it.

“What further?” you query, eager to learn everything he has to teach you.

He slots a knee between yours.

“Open your legs,” he says duskily, “a little more,” he advises, as you push your knees apart.

He shuffles off his trousers, then settles between your legs, lowering himself over you. He is kissing you again, his tongue invading your mouth, teasing yours. As he does so, his hands ghost over your breasts, and you surge against him, chasing sensation.

“Are you ready to become a woman?” he queries, with a dangerous smile, his mouth open over yours.

“Yes, my lord,” you reply throatily, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth.

“This may hurt a little, my love, but then afterwards, it will feel wonderful, just like when I touched you before,” he counsels as he rubs his cock over the place he touched you, causing your breath to catch and your hips to roll up slightly. “Ready?”

You nod and then feel an insistent press against your body. It feels hot and blunt and too large.

“Relax, my love,” he says, through gritted teeth, “let me in.”

You exhale slowly and feel your body relax, and he sinks further into you. You feel full and like something is pulled tight inside, ready to snap.

“Here, hold my hand,” he offers, and you lace fingers just as he surges forward. You feel a quick sharp pain inside, then just heat and invasion. He stops moving as his body meets yours between your legs.

He holds still as you get used to the sensation. It's so overwhelming, and unlike anything else you have ever experienced.

He brings the hand you are holding to his lips. “Are you ok, my love?” he asks, his voice laced with affectionate concern.

“Yes, my lord, it doesn't hurt anymore,” you affirm.

“That's wonderful,” he exhales, relieved, “I'm going to start moving now, and it should start to feel good soon,” he promises.

You nod, and he pulls back slightly, then surges forward into you. Your breath is a staccato as you catalogue all the sensations in your body: the heat, the pressure, the fullness.

“Wow, my lord, this feels so strange but nice,” your honest assessment makes him huff a gently laugh and kiss your nose, staring into your eyes as he moves slowly in and out of your body.

You glance down between your legs and watch, fascinated as he plunges into your body and pulls out. The sight causes you to tingle slightly between your legs, and you don't want to look away.

“Do you like what you see?” he purrs gently against your cheek, watching you closely.

“Yes,” you gasp.

“Good” he groans, moving an arm to hook under your knee, opening you further.

The change of angle causes a flood of something pleasurable to surge through you as he pushes in and you gasp loudly.

“There it is,” he gloats triumphant, “you feel that, don't you?”

“Yessss,” you hiss and close your eyes, grasping at him, wanting him to go harder, deeper. There is a spot you want him to hit over and over and over.

He speeds up his thrusts and pushes more forcefully as you start to gasp and moan and writhe under him, chasing after an intangible something you feel just beyond your grasp.

“Please don't stop,” you stutter, your hands now clasping his bum and encouraging his plunging movements.

“Look at you, showing me what you need. You are so perfect.”

“Please give me more, my lord,” you implore, chasing a kiss from his lips.

He growls and takes you harder, stronger. The bed makes noises under the assault of his movements.

You are climbing again like before when he touched you, your every breath now a moan. His brow glistening, dropping moisture into your hair. Then suddenly, the feeling snaps tightly, all of your muscles contract, and you scream as waves of pleasure hit you. Closing your eyes, pushing up against him, open-mouthed and panting, the pleasure concentrated most where he keeps hitting deep inside.

You hear him call your name and curse, but it's far away. Then you feel a strange warm bloom inside you as he shudders and collapses on top of you, heavy and breathless.

Your mind is blissfully blank; your body feels floating and tingly. It's such a mind-altering experience you scarcely feel able to do anything but lie back with a smile on your face.

“How do you feel now, my love?” he asks, his voice deep and rough, as he languidly kisses your neck.

“Oh god, Anthony, that was…. that was….” you don't even have the vocabulary to articulate it.

“Wonderful?” he provides, with a warm chuckle, as you feel him gently withdraw from your body.

“Yes,” you laugh lightly in response, “and so much more.”

“Well now, future Viscountess,” he teases, dropping kisses across your collarbone, “what do you say to a little dinner? Perhaps some champagne?”

“That sounds wonderful,” you breathe, pushing your hands through his hair and lightly scratching his scalp, loving the way he groans when you do so.

“How is your arm?” you ask, just remembering his injury and glancing at your makeshift bandage.

“Thanks to you, it is very well,” he assures against your skin.

“You should probably not put more weight on it,” you frown sagely.

“Thank you, my wonderfully attentive nurse,” he teases, surging up gently and capturing your lips.

“Perhaps if we do this again after dinner,” you say coyly, “I can find a way to be on top of you so that you can rest this arm? Is something like that even possible?” you hedge, starting up into his eyes.

“Oh god, yes it is,” his voice gruff, “I will show you exactly what to do.”

“I look forward to it, my lord,” you smile, knowing this is the start of a fantastic adventure.

Tagging: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddogg @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyouu @enichole445

#anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton #200 followers celebration #1k notes #1k notes omg you guys!

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doumadono · 5 months

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Idk if this counts as a emergency request but I might as well see right? Basically to make a long story short I never knew my dad all that well he left when I was super young and he passed away 3 weeks ago and even though I didn’t know him like at all it still hurt you know. And then my dog that I’ve had my entire life passed away 2 days after my father. And then 4 days ago my mom passed. It’s all been so sudden and back to back especially when my boyfriend left right after too I just feel so lost and alone and I don’t know what to do I’m finally like realizing that no one lives forever and it scares the shit out of me..Yeah so idk if that counts I’m but if you could write like bakugou or if you write Deku either one just helping me out. I was going to not do an anon request but I just writing it all makes me feel too vulnerable. Thanks. Much love 💗

Izuku & s/o in mourning - headcanons

A/N: I'm truly sorry to hear about the overwhelming challenges and losses you're going through, dear Nonnie. Please accept my condolences. It's important to acknowledge and process these emotions. Take your time, and I can assure you that brighter days lay ahead.

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

"I can't imagine the pain you're going through, but I want you to know that I'm here for you. Whenever you're ready, I'm here to listen," he tells you, holding your hand in his, drawing little circles on its top with his thumb.

Midoriya, known for his empathy, approaches you gently, recognizing the weight of your recent losses.

He sits down with you, offering a listening ear, allowing you to share your feelings at your own pace.

Deku may express his understanding of loss.

Midoriya acknowledges the depth of your pain, validating your emotions and letting you know that it's okay to grieve.

He encourages you to feel and process your emotions, assuring you that it's a crucial part of healing.

Sharing positive memories of your dog and mom, he aims to celebrate the joy they brought into your life, fostering a more positive outlook. "Let's remember the good times. Your dog and mom brought so much joy into your life, and those memories are something no one can take away."

Assuring you that he's there for you not just in this moment but for the long haul, Deku promises ongoing support, understanding that healing is a process.

"I know it's hard to see right now, but there's a future beyond this pain. We can take it one step at a time. I'll be right there with you," Izuku assures, gently kissing your temple.

#emergency request #bnha x reader #mha x reader #izuku hcs #izuku x reader #izuku fluff #izuku midoriya #izuku midoria x reader #mha fluff #izuku midoryia #deku fluff #midoriya fluff #midoriya x reader #mha midoriya #midoriya x you #deku x reader #deku x reader fluff #izuku midoriya headcanons

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gaslysgirl · 11 months

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Omfg I have missed you

Sorry I cannot stop thinking about Charles taking out the frustrations of a another Monaco loss on you

I missed all my nonnies toooo!! <3 Sorry for the wait girlies, but these are still applicable for this week anyway so lets make charles feel a little better

Charles' brows are furrowed together, lips pressed to a thin line as he watches the head of his cock rest against your lips. They're puffy from how hard he had kissed you barely seconds ago, and you had fallen to your knees within a split second as the hotel door closed behind you, his jeans unzipped and his cock pulled out. Charles moved his hand into your hair, grabbing it firmly in his fist and forcing your head back to look at you. "Open that pretty mouth for me, darling," he commands. "Gonna let me fuck it?" he asks, and you nodded as the head of his cock was already resting on your tongue. Charles watched his dick disappear into your mouth, your spit getting it wet and easier for you to take. You moan around him, staying still as Charles snapped his hips forward, forcing his cock further down your throat.

He grunts back as you start gagging on the tip, your eyes getting a little red and watery, but you're taking it so well. Charles' head falls back and his pace slows down, making you reach up to stroke him, your head bobbing up and down to continue as he stalled, your tongue lapping at the thick vein on the underside of his cock. His hips pushed forward again, his grip on your hair tightening and pulling your head back once more. Charles watched the string of spit connected between his cock and your mouth, making him moan as he leans down to kiss your lips, not caring you just sucked him off. "Get on the bed," Charles commanded, and you got up from the floor, kicking your heels off on the way and sliding your skirt down your legs.

Charles' clothes add to the pile, and he's satisfied to see you on your hands and knees. His palm harshly slaps your ass, and you moan as you feel the heat of the slap spread across your skin, making him repeat the action as he props one foot up on the bed and slides inside you. His thrusts are harsh, deep, no time for you to adjust. The wet, erotic sounds soon fill the room, pants and harsh breaths of yours and his mixed with it. He's vocal as he fucks you, grunting and moaning, holding onto the hard pace even though you're trembling and whining that you can't take it.

#cl

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campingwiththecharmings · 1 year

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hi :) this request isn't on the list you reblogged but i saw this on another post and thought it'd be cute for poe maybe holiday-themed idk your the expert :) thank u so much <3

“Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”

Midnight

AN: Thank you for requesting this, nonnie. I'm so sorry I didn't get something out to you earlier. Hopefully this is okay! 🤞💖 (also there is technically a new years-y holiday in Star Wars canon according to Wookieepedia sooooo 😜).

(Un-beta'd)

Rated: T Words: 733 Pairing: Poe Dameron x GN!Reader Warnings: kissing, friends to lovers, possibly terrible writing. AO3

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“We don't have to do this, you know,” he half-shouts, leaning closer so you can hear him over all the commotion in the room. “It's just a silly tradition.”

You lean back a little, shaking your head as you shout back. “What? No, it's fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, Dameron. Why’re you trying to talk me out of this? Does my breath smell bad or something?”

He cringes, his eyes teasing. “Well, I wasn’t gonna say anything but—”

You scoff, reaching out a hand to push his shoulder. “Shut up.”

The whole base is buzzing with excitement as the new year looms, and while you’re still in the middle of a war, everyone can’t seem to help celebrating. The General says that these kinds of moments are necessary, not just to keep up morale, but to remind everyone what they’re fighting for, that hope is not yet lost.

The energy in the hangar is at its peak as you near midnight, everyone around you loudly counting down. You and Poe join in, laughing when there are only a few seconds left.

At the count of one, he leans forward, pressing his lips against yours. Your breath stutters at the contact, heat unexpectedly flaring in your chest; his lips are soft and gentle as they move tentatively against yours. He sucks in a breath when you kiss him back, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. His hand comes up to cradle your cheek and you lean into it, sighing when he pulls your body against his with the other. His chest is solid and warm against yours, and you wonder if he can feel your heart beating like a drum against your rib cage. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, all you know is that you want more—more of this, more of him.

After what simultaneously feels like seconds and hours, he pulls back. You’re dizzy, feeling almost drunk as you close your eyes, savoring the memory of his lips against yours. You swallow thickly, trying in vain to bury the feelings kissing him seems to have brought to the surface. There is an ache in your chest at the loss of him, and suddenly you wonder how you’ve managed to go on for so long without this.

You open your eyes, meeting his with a smile, all the while praying he won’t be able to see the longing there. He smiles back at you, his familiar brown eyes almost glassy, as if he’s had a little too much ale. Everyone cheers around you, a part of you registering that midnight has come and gone, that a new year has begun, the rest of you not caring the least.

He’s still holding onto you, your hands resting against his chest as you gaze at each other, his hand still cupping your cheek. You can’t look away, you don’t want to look away; it’s like a switch has been flipped inside your head, unleashing all of your (seemingly) long-repressed feelings for him.

“Happy New Year,” he rasps, swallowing thickly as he studies your face. "You okay?"

You nod dumbly, wetting your lips, your stomach flipping as the action draws his gaze there. “Yeah. You?”

“I’m—yeah, I’m great,” he breathes, still looking at your mouth.

You should be panicking right now, but instead, a strange sense of certainty has come over you; it’s like somehow you always knew this would happen, like it was always meant to happen. The thought makes you giddy and you can’t stop the chuckle that escapes you.

This seems to shake him from his staring contest with your lips, his eyes flicking immediately to yours. Your heart aches at the panic there, at the thought that you might be laughing at him. You do your best to ease it, meeting his gaze unwaveringly, trying to show him that you want this, that you want him. The panic disappears from his eyes almost as quickly as it appeared, a lightness replacing it.

“You know,” he says conspiratorially, sliding his hand down your arm to grasp your hand in his. “Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”

“Well,” you say, smiling as you lean in, your mouth hovering over his. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint them, would we?”

“No, definitely not,” he murmurs, smiling as he captures your lips in another kiss.

Review (pretty please)?

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#poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fic #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron reader insert #my fic #lol i am so impatient y'all couldn't even wait until tomorrow 😂

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fandomshatefatpeople · 11 days

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I've been fat my whole life. Ever since I was a kid. And ever since I was a kid I've been mocked, bullied, ridiculed, insulted and even physically assaulted for being fat. To the point I ended up with an eating disorder and lost a lost of weight. Way too fast. In a way that wasn't healthy at all. But I still wasn't happy. Because I couldn't recognize myself anymore. And I felt like i was just doing this for other people. But it's just so hard for me to accept my body. It just feels like I'll never be happy with it no matter what

I'm so sorry we haven't answered this. I know that this is a triggering ask so I'm gonna add all the tags i possibly can followers.

I'm actually a lot like you Nonny. I was a chubby kid, then got my period at 10 because I was so fat. I had an eating disorder by 14 and while it didn't last long (the bulimia at least) I kinda got comfortable in my skin even though I slowly crawled back up to my previous weight I got diagnosed with depression and anxiety. So the meds they put me on made me gain weight (50 pounds in 6 months). There after I did yoyo dieting and exercising flirted with bulimia again but it didn't work this time.

I'm not telling you this to trauma dump. I want you to consider my age and experience. I'm in my early forties. And its like... part of the reason I wasn't happy with my body was because I grew up with magazines and tv and movies constantly showing me thin ppl.

i don't think I stopped yoyo dieting until the cycle of yoyp dieting made me hit 250 lbs (I'm only 5'2) by then i was like 28/30ish. And like I think what changed was that I was watching media with like Donna from Parks and Rec, Shirley Bennet from Community. And they were never made to feel ugly for being fat. It was eye opening. (spoiler alert even though I'm not black Ugly betty was like more of the same thin ppl are the only that matter).

I don't think I really got comfortable in my skin until I joined pinterest about 7 or 8 years ago and got fed a steady stream of fat people in cute outfits.

Its still hard to find fat representation though. And I started looking into romance novels with chubby and fat protagonists about 5 years ago. Most notably the Brown sisters trilogy. They're all overweight and they all have these handsome men falling head over heels with them.

But like its one thing to admire people on pinterest with cute outfits. its a complete other thing to actually shop for yourself and give yourself permission to buy cute clothes.

One strange thing that happened about 3 years ago was that I gained like 40 pounds and all of my boring clothes didn't fit me anymore.

So this time shopped on lane bryant for cute dresses and jeans. and torrid, and hot topic. I started playing with makeup. (before I had like a uniform of jeans).

I'm not gonna lie people will *always* praise you for losing weight even if its because you're literally sick with an eating disorder or having health problems. (a friend of mine who did belly dancing lost like 30 pounds like really fast because all of the sudden she couldn't process meat anymore everyone fawned over her weight loss). she was literally starving and people wouldn't stop cooing over her skinniness.

I don't know what to think about society at large and their obsession with thinness. I've tried telling my family that I no longer want to keep clothes from when I was 250ish and they're all like "oh don't worry you'll lose the weight!!!"

I'm like bitch please. But its exhausting having people encourage you to lose weight. If you want you can message us off anon!!!

*hugs*

mod laina

#eating disorders #disordered eating #fatphobia tw #diet culture #bulimia mention

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theladyyavilee · 1 year

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Hey, as someone newer to the fandom what is up with the sunset, construction on sunset thing?

hey nonnie! (sorry this took a while <3 I took this as an excuse to compile a full sunset meta post and there was more than I thought!) okay so this one is a little more meta even than the trapped dads meta, buuuut it is one of my favorites, because at least to me it is pretty loud and they've - especially recently - been calling back to it in very cute little ways, but the callback in this episode was the loudest in a WHILE and it is actually a beautiful parallel to the first ocurrence of the whole construction on sunset thing!

so, as far as I know it all dates back to the mention of 'there was construction on sunset, I had to take a detour' in 4x8 when Eddie returns from his math date with Ana to Buck taking care of Christopher and the connection between Ana and Sunset, which was beautifully laid out by @yramesoruniverse here in this post and there is a gifset by @catdadeddie here highlighting the parallel!!

for me personally the fact that they brought both SUNSETS aaand CONSTRUCTION back for this episode, when Eddie is dating again? yeah that was a loud choice! especially the fact that he was called over to do repair/construction work for Pepa, only the real reason (the real construction and the REAL reason for another detour he is taking on his path to love) was the blind date all along and they put not one but two pictures with a potential* sunset onto the walls in Pepa's house to make sure we saw that the 'construction was on sunset' AGAIN xD see this post by yours truly for pictures and lots of yelling! xD

*okay, I say potential sunset, because last night an anon asked about whether it is a sunset or a sunRISE and indeed we do not know for sure! now after that I went onto a google research binge and found that sunrises and sunsets are hard to distinguish on pictures, as they are the exact same phenomenon, only with movement in different directions! the only thing that sometimes makes a distinction possible is the fact that air pollution increases during the day and clears during the night, so sunrises often have a clearer and crisper feel to them than sunset, which in exchange provide more of a color spectacle caused by the increased refraction on the air pollution particles

based on that @stagefoureddiediaz, @mistmarauder and I have come more or less to the conclusion that the picture we see behind eddie could very likely be a sunrise - signaling a new beginning for him, while the picture in the living room, behind vanessa and her tia and connected to the dating of it all, is another sunset - standing for both the construction on sunset causing a detour in eddie's love life of it all, as well as a (potential) relationship coming to a close as soon as it has begun xD

now on the exact meaning of sunsets by themselves we have not yet found exact agreement, but they seem to be about endings, about the sun setting on something, as in the sun setting on a specific relationship or relationship dynamic!

(more under the cut)

so on this scene in 2x17 where we see Eddie reading Shannon's letter and more or less letting himself say goodbye to her and finally cry over this loss, while on the beach at sunset

@mistmarauder says 'Well, I don't actually think sunsets are Buddie coded. I think they're relationship coded. And really the sun is setting on his relationship with Shannon because she's gone. [...]Sunsets make me think endings. Not beginnings.' and also '[The] Sun sets on one thing and rises on another.' which after a brief conversation @stagefoureddiediaz points out doesn't quite preclude it from relating to Buddie as well by saying 'Not necessarily just because we haven’t got there yet doesn’t mean that that sunset wasn’t relevant to buddie - it’s kind of like a chapter ending - but it’s like that sunset brings on the darkness that is the tsunami which leads to the dawning of a new and different friendship - one we’re still seeing grow and change - I think if we looked at when all the sunsets appear in connection with buddie they’ll come at key moments of shift - so they’re constantly chapter endings - drawing them increasingly closer together - but it’s kind of a secondary theme with the sunsets rather than the primary one'

furthermore we have come to the conclusion that some of the smaller depictions might intentionally be ambiguous on whether or not they are a sunrise or a sunset, because at a turning point it is natural for there to be a chapter that closes and another, new one, that begins!

alright now for fun little nods to the whole sunset thing they've done since then:

we have Buck's heart drawing in 5x14 being done in sunset colors, pointed out by @fiona-fififi in this post, going perfectly with Buck 'misunderstanding the assignment' another detour having to be taken!

then we have three posts by @stagefoureddiediaz, this one about the sunset balloon at the bedside of the girl who was living a fake life in 5x15, an episode that had multiple nods to Eddie maybe also not letting himself live his life quite true to who he is! another post for 5x17 and the sunset colors on the cake for ramon's retirement! and then in this very recent costume meta for 6x13 kym points out how in the very lovely buckley-diaz scene with the math homework, Chris is wearing a shirt that has a small pineapple on it that is inlaid with a teeny tiny sunset scene!! she has also pointed out that there is a good chance that the full picture on the front of Chris' yellow shirt that he wears in the scene immediately before the Eddie/Ana break-up in 5x3 is depicting a sunrise/sunset too!

and then for two more posts that actually put various meta concepts, including 'construction' and 'sunset' into relation to each other we have this one here by @ktinastrikesback and this one by @ktinastrikesback and @fruitydiaz!!!

okay, this got kinda long, but should be most of what we have so far! which does not mean there won't be additions to this post in the near future, because we have actually decided to take a new look through all episodes under the added aspect of sunsets/sunrises, as well as actually looking at episodes that predate the Ana introduction on Sunset Boulevard, so watch this space if you want some more insanity later on xD

#9-1-1 #me answers a thing #anon #911 meta #my meta #buddie meta #sunset beloved #oh man I hope this is even remotely coherent xD #also sorry for everyone getting tagged I am trying to compile a complete overview of the sunset meta over the years xD #also trying to wrangle meta like this into post is so hard because there are always so many layers separate mentions that build #on each other xD #I'm sure I have missed stuff #PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I DID

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typh0nas · 2 years

Note

hi hello hi hi i’m nervous🤺 BUT UM can you make an ike x reader one shot with an angst/comfort setting? any prompt is ok i just want to feel hurt🤩. BUT IF YOU ARE NOT COMFY DOING IT, i am fine with it!! have a nice timezoneeeee<3!!

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Content Warnings: cheating(not from Ike), angst to comfort, cursing/foul language

Character(s): GN!Reader(no pronouns mentioned), Ike Eveland

Authors Notes: Hi nonny! My specialty is hurting my readers with my writing >:) This kinda turned from a one-shot to a short scenario but regardless, I hope you like this!

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Ike Eveland {🖋🔷️}

“Alone With You”

You curled up on the floor, feeling the tears threaten to spill their way out. Your best friend Ike is seated next to you as he listens to you rant about your day, and your shitty ex.

“T-this motherfucker has the audacity to show themself at work, and act as if nothing happened. Can you believe it?” you sniffled, burying your face into your arms. Ike on the other hand has a hand rested on the small of your back, a look of concern crossing his features. “You know I should have been smarter, should have seen it coming...all those times that they blew me off, making up excuses that they were busy with work, I should have known that they were up to no good. A-and that they weren’t to be trusted,” you spat out, feeling bitterness well up inside yourself.

“Y/N..” you hear him call your name out gently. You look up, wiping your eyes, knowing that they would probably be swollen tomorrow morning. Tilting your face up more so that you were looking at him, Ike brushed a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, leaving featherlight touches as he carressed your cheek. “Look at me?”

Your sobs quieted down to soft hiccups as you looked up at him. “Sorry...I probably look like a mess right now,” you said, wiping your face with your sleeve, “Just like the rest of my life right now,” you mumbled.

“Hey...don’t say that alright?” Ike frowns, using his thumb to wipe away the tears that started to spill out once again. “I know you’re hurting, and that it pains you to see someone you once trusted going about their life as if nothing happened. But...I want to be the person that can make you feel like you’re always included and never neglected, someone that never fails to make you smile when you’re feeling down; I want to be that person for you.” You gazed up at Ike, dumbfounded and at a loss for words. “Ike...? What are you trying to say?” you ask, your words barely audible.

He stares at you, sincerity in his gaze. “I care about you a lot, so much so that my heart aches whenever I see you upset....would you let me be there for you?” he murmurs, leaning in. You close your eyes, feeling your heart clench in your chest, and suddenly it feels as though it’s hard to breath. “I-ike I-...” you feel like your breathing is constricted as you struggle to formulate proper sentences.

Ike pauses, his body stiffening slightly. “Of course...you don’t need to answer me right away,” he adds, you open your eyes, taking note of the slight flush present on his face. You internally panic as you sense him leaning back and moving away. “Wait!” you yelp, grabbing at his sleeve and pulling him back in closer. Ike’s eyes are widened in surprise, almost as if he didn’t expect you to do that. “Please don’t go,” you whisper softly, pleading with him, “Stay with me, if just for tonight.”

There’s some silence and you feel whatever boldness you had that enabled you to grab at him shrivel away. But then you feel a hand cover yours as Ike takes a seat besides you on the floor. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll stay by your side for as long as you need me to.”

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#ashers writing #ashers requests #ike eveland #ike eveland x reader #nijien #nijisanji #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji en #nijisanji luxiem #nijisanji en x reader #luxiem #luxiem x reader #luxiem x you

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mochie85 · 2 years

Note

I just read Her and ugh I love your writing! Would you think about writing Loki having a dream about Thanos kidnapping the reader/wife and/or their kid?

To Have and To Hold - Chapter 3

Series Masterlist | My Complete Masterlist

Summary: Things take a turn for the worst as you continue to make decisions that's best for you. A/N: I'm so glad you enjoyed "Her," Nonny. I had a lot of fun writing that one. Thank you so much 🥰. Pairing: Loki x OFC/Reader Word Count: 2.5K Tags/Warnings: Lots of angst. There's a dream sequence where Thanos is basically threatening a child's life. Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

“Darling…I’m sorry.” The first words Loki said to you. The only words he said when he came inside your hospital room. You took one look at him and you cried. You couldn’t keep the emotion in anymore.

You covered your face with your hands as salted tears seeped through your fingers. Loki couldn’t keep it in either. The sight of you broken and hurt on the hospital bed left him feeling helpless and despondent.

A strong sense of defeat and weakness at not being able to help you, or the child, in your time of need. The emotion was so strong. It crumpled up inside him, buckling his knees as he reached for you on your bed. He should’ve been there for you. He should’ve cared for you. Supported you. Instead, the last words you said to each other before you left were ones of judgment and fear.

“My darling girl. I’m s-so very sorry.” He cried into your joined hands. He held it close to his lips, weeping on his knees.

It went on for a while. The two of you were sniffling and teary. Sometimes a new wave of guilt and tears would wash over both of you and the crying and wailing would restart all over again. Neither of you said anything other than apologies or promises that everything will be ok.

At one point, you both had shared the gurney, and you were cradled into his arms – careful of all the tubes and needles that were still attached to you. His hands wandered your arms and your face. But he didn’t dare touch your stomach the entire night.

Loki took care of you the best he could. He moved you to his room which had better views of the river and a larger en suite. A bullet wound through the chest was painful. You didn’t realize all the movements that relied on your pectoral muscles. Moving your arms. Turning to your side. Stretching your back. It was all an ordeal.

It wasn’t long before news of your loss traveled throughout the compound. It was one thing to find out that you were dating the god of mischief but then to find out you were pregnant with his baby, and then lose it while on a mission. The gossip mills wouldn’t stop churning.

The most awful rumors circulated like you were all back in high school and that somehow the knowledge of your life was currency for higher status within the gossiping ranks.

“She should’ve never been with him, to begin with.” “I bet you she only wanted to trap him.” “I bet you he’s the one that pulled the trigger.” “Guys, can’t you see they lost a baby? Give them a break!” “She should’ve never gone on that mission knowing what she did!”

And although they were quiet and nice to your face. Inside they were watching like a hawk. Mentally taking notes of your expressions or actions. Anything to report back to the gaggling circle of chicken heads.

You had to stop Loki on numerous occasions from getting into an altercation with some of the other agents. The more daring ones gossiping right in front of the both of you.

Both Steve and Tony had to set new guidelines on romantic involvement within the team. As well as castigate those who spoke ill on your behalf.

Luckily, it was easy for the team to rally behind you and Loki. Once they got over the initial shock, everyone knew that you two were good for each other and that you two were stronger together and will help each other through the loss.

The loss. It was so easy to forget your lie. It was so easy to forget that you still carried the baby within you. As long as you didn’t outright lie to Loki, he wouldn’t suspect any falsehoods within you.

You couldn’t keep up the charade for long. Soon, morning sickness had set upon you. Hard. You couldn’t even get up some mornings it felt like the whole world was spinning. Luckily you could blame it on your injury.

You couldn’t, however, blame your ever-growing belly on your injury. You needed a plan. A way out.

Loki was called away on a brief mission. Two days tops. Some local arms dealer was making a sale and was finally getting apprehended.

Loki had decided to go only because he saw you getting better. You were able to lift your arms without wincing in pain. The nausea was still there, but you couldn’t help it with all the medication you’d been taking.

So, he agreed to this quick mission. As soon as he returned, he planned to talk to you about what happened. Or failed to happen. A family.

He loved you. He knew that. He was hoping that you still loved him too. You might not have gotten the family now but going through this ordeal made him realize that he did want one. And he wanted it with you.

Ever since you were discharged into his care, Loki was operating on automatic. He had two rules for himself and was trudging through existence, barely living.

First rule: Always watch out for Violet. To take care of you. Be whatever you need. Whether that be a masseuse, a barista, or your protector from those nasty rumor-mongering agents working in the lower levels. He would always be there for you. To take care of you in your injured state.

Second rule: Give her space. He knew that being there for you, didn’t necessarily mean smothering you. He wanted you to be able to find yourself in this trying time and not be defined as his girlfriend or the mother of his lost child. He wanted you to be you. The person he fell in love with all those months ago.

Being away on this mission granted both of you time away from each other. To assess what you wanted from each other and continue with your lives.

“Hello.” You answered on your phone.

“Dearest.” He said low into the other end of the phone.

“Hey, Loki.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m better. Thank you.” You answered. Loki still felt your hesitation. He felt a chasm forming between the two of you.

“That’s good news. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Listen, darling, I was hoping to speak with you about something when I get back tomorrow.”

“Sure, Loki.” His name on your lips would normally send him in a downward spiral of ecstasy and longing. As of late, he’d long for any type of endearment. A simple ‘hun’ or ‘babe’ that you used to call him.

“All right then, I just wanted to check on you and see how you were doing.”

“I’m doing great. Thank you.” You lied. And Loki could hear it in your voice. You were not fine. He could sense it. He hung up the phone after a brief goodbye feeling trouble in his heart. This talk was going to be the end of your relationship. He could feel it. Something bad was on the horizon and he wouldn’t know how to cope.

Would there be any way to convince you otherwise? Convince you to stay in this relationship. He loves you. So very much. But is he selfless enough to let you go?

Loki was on one knee, looking down at the ground. He tried not to draw attention to himself as the Mad Titan walked in between his children. “Oh, don’t look so sad, Odinson. You will get your chance to prove yourself to me.” Loki froze. He did not want to look up. To see the death stare of Thanos looming over him. “We will need a guide after all. You are experienced in all things Midgardian. Are you not?” Thanos asked him. Loki nodded his head once, still unable to look him in the eye. “Excellent. We wouldn’t want your wife to be robbed of a husband and your child to be left orphaned, now. Would we?” Thanos asked in a threatening tenor. Loki looked up with horror carved onto his face. He saw Ebony Maw holding you with his telepathic power to restrain you and keep you quiet. While Midnight Proxima held a child in her arms, cradling the babe with recklessness. “I sense great power within this one, Odinson,” Thanos said waving his hand over the tiny babe. Their head- like a small bead under the Titan’s palm. “I sense a new fledgling in the Black Order.” “NOOO!” Loki yelled. His fear and anger pushed him up onto his feet as he pointed his dagger toward Thanos’ throat. Ebony Maw saw to stop Loki from his advances, leaving you unguarded and falling to the ground. “Loki!” You cried as Thanos picked you up by your neck. Your feet dangling beneath you. With his other hand, Thanos picked up your tiny babe from Proxima. “Choose, wisely. For your impudence, you can only keep one.” Loki’s eyes went wild. His breathing got rough and labored as he tried to move his frozen hand holding the dagger. Trying to inch it closer to Thanos’ throat. You shook your head as sobs wracked your heaving form. Your neck- caged in the firm grasp of the monster. “Loki. Loki, please. L-look at me. Look at me.” You whispered with your last breath. His eyes traveled to yours. They were red from crying, but now red from the ever-tightening grasp of the brute before him. “I love you, Loki.” You whispered. “Keep them safe.” “No. No. No!” Loki continued as he heard the snap of your neck.

Loki sat up from his horrible nightmare. The sheets surrounding him were drenched in the cold sweat that overtook his body. He reached for his phone ready to call you but looking at the current time, momentarily paused. You would be asleep by now and he did not want to trouble you any further.

This nightmare was by far, one of the worst he’s ever experienced. It was almost as clear and vivid as the waking world he was in now.

It troubled him wholly.

Amid the sorrow and fear, the only good that came out of that dream, a silver lining if you will, was that you both still had your baby. Loki was heartbroken that he never got a chance to see his child. To see whether they had your eyes or his lips.

If what Strange theorized was true about dreams and multiverse realities. Then somewhere out there…Oh, Norns.

It was like his other self was calling out to him, pleading for assistance. As if your other self was calling out to him, to remind him that you loved him.

He had to see you. Had to hold you in his arms and assure himself that you were there.

He got up and went straight to Rogers, time be damned. He needed to see you and no one was gonna stop him.

*~*Earlier that night*~*

You hung up the phone with Loki. Your heart felt like sharp vines were squeezing it. Winding tighter and tighter as the thorns bled your weak heart. You hated lying to Loki. You hated being in this complex. You hated the people. You hated the gossip. You hated yourself!

“Heimdall, I know you can see me.” You whispered out into the empty bedroom. “I know that you are powerful. And honest. And vigilant.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me young one.” He responded. As if you were transported, your surroundings changed to that of the gilded temple where he presides. “But I honor your sincerity and effort. What can I do for you?” You stood there not knowing how to ask or where to start.

“Have you…”

“Yes. I have seen all. I know all.” He says as his eyes dart down briefly to your abdomen.

“Does Odin know?”

“No, he does not. He has not asked. He has no inkling of what has transpired. Only that you are a significant part of his son’s life.” You nodded at Heimdall’s information. “Else, you would have been whisked away to the halls of Valaskjalf, don’t you agree?”

“Thank you for your discretion.”

“You did not come here to thank me for my silence. What is it that you wish to ask of me?”

“Shouldn’t you know already? You are the god of foresight.”

“I will have you ask, just the same.” He said patiently. You fidgeted just for a little while longer. The last month cramming through your mind like a fast-forward movie. “I can see why he loves you. You are strong-willed. And guileful, considering your plan so far.”

“I need safe passage. I need to hide from Loki.”

“Why?”

“Because he cannot know I still have this child.”

“Why not?”

“If he found out, then Odin will find out and the child will be taken from us.”

“Do you not trust your prince to defend you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why the inquisition?”

“Because I see things little one. I can see the past. The present. And the future. But what I cannot see is your reasoning. Why do you think your prince can not defend you?”

“BECAUSE I’M NOT WORTH IT, OKAY!? You happy?!” you shouted back at him. “I asked him to keep our relationship a secret because I knew he didn’t want to tie himself down with someone like me. Those nosy gossipmongers proved that when they found out about us and just started circling like hungry vultures. Did you see the toll it took on him? Having to defend me constantly from them.

“When he found out I was pregnant? He didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. The only reason why he’s with me now is out of guilt and duty. When he comes home tomorrow he would undoubtedly give me the ‘talk’ and he would break off all ties with me. So I’m giving him what he wants.” You stood there looking down to Heimdall’s feet, unable to look him in his golden eyes. Tears welled up in your eyes at what you had just confessed, not only to Heimdall but, to yourself.

“Yes. You two are a lot alike.” Heimdall said after a brief pause. “Gather your things. Small belongings. Call upon me when you’re ready. I will take you where you want to go.” He agreed.

“And you won’t tell him? Loki? You’ll keep it a secret?”

“It is considered treason to lie outright to a member of the royal family. Even more ludicrous to lie to the god of mischief.” He said matter-of-factly. You looked ashamed at having asked him to do something so heinous. “But I will shield you as much as I can.”

In a blink of an eye, you were back in your shared bedroom. Your heart beat fast as you moved about, gathering your things in a small duffel bag.

You looked around his room and noticed some books in the corner. Parenting and pregnancy books long forgotten and shoved to the side to collect cobwebs. You grabbed the topmost book thinking it might be helpful to get some info for yourself, now that Bruce will not be on hand to help you. After grabbing items from your old room, you called on Heimdall again and he transported you out of the compound.

⬅️Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 ➡️

All Taglist: @alexs1200 @a-witch-with-words @athalialaufeyson @britishserpent @crimson25 @el-zef @fictive-sl0th @goldencherriess @huntress-artemiss @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @immersed-in-mischief @kellatron55 @kkdvkyya @lokidbadguy @lokiprompts @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @lokisgoodgirl @lokisninerealms @lokischambermaid @loopsisloops @lucylaufeyson3 @luvlady-writes @michelleleewise @mischief2sarawr @muddyorbs @nopenottodayson @one-oblivious-nerd @ozymdias @peaches1958 @salempoe @theaudacitytowrite @user13cabs @vbecker10 @vickie5446 @wheredafandomat @xorpsbane

TH&TH Taglist: @princess-asgard @k-writer17 @slytherclaw1227 @thomase1 @bruh-anator3000 @highkeysimpingforloki @vanicahgg @trickster-maiden @staygoldsquatchling02 @aeanya @kittiowolf210 @for-hearthand-home @fluffybunnyu @leahjean @koagasm @fernk21

#writing ideas #fic prompt #loki fanfic #loki fluff #loki angst #mcu #loki laufeyson #loki fandom #tom hiddleston fanfic #loki x you #loki x reader #anonymous request #unplanned pregnancy #loki series #marvel fanfic

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thelonelyshore-if · 9 days

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Hello! I saw that you were coming up with names for the animal shelter and I thought I would ask if I could offer a name. My kitty Luna passed recently so I thought I could ask to have her name be with the other shelter kitties to keep her memory alive. If you’ve already picked out the names no worries at all. Your game is amazing and I can’t wait to read the next chapter :)

Hi there, Nonnie! First off, I'm so sorry for your loss. I recently had to say goodbye to my childhood dog, so I understand how hard it is. I hope you're doing alright <3 I think that sounds lovely, and I'd love to include her name in the story. Luna is a great name c: Thank you so much for your kind words, as well!

#asks #pet death tw

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radley-writes · 1 year

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Different anon here. Been suffering a pretty significant depression slump that magnified tenfold after a pretty devastating breakup.. my main WIPs were romances but now the idea of romantic love makes me want to puke from the anxiety. It's been almost half a year now, and I feel like I'm in a constant state of mourning, a ghost of myself. Will I ever be able to write again..?

Oh, nonnie. You've really been through it. Come walk with me to the river, okay?

[image description: a sunlit field, lined with trees, and a pale blue winter sky above]

It's a lovely sunny (if FREEZING) day, so you'll need a coat and a sunhat!

Here we go...

You've been through something horrible, which has tarnished your love for your favourite genre. I'm so sorry that the breakdown of your relationship took writing romance from you. That sounds incredibly difficult, and to grieve that loss is understandable.

Let's head down through the farmland, along the muddy tracks pitted with the hoof prints of wild deer...

[ID: a dirt road leading between two thin lines of trees, with green fields on either side]

As far as I see it, three options lie before you.

1) push through the anxiety and force yourself back into writing what you used to love, risking making yourself hate it even more and causing yourself psychological damage in the process.

2) abandon the idea of writing romance entirely and focus on something new - which means letting go of something you still care deeply for, and many memories you cherish.

3) wait to heal and hope time will resolve your lingering trauma around romance - but you don’t know how long this will take, or even if it will work at all.

.... We're gonna have to take a detour because the rich city slicker bastards are out shooting birds for 'sport' again 🙃. Scuse me...

[ID: A copse of spindly birch trees, leafless in winter. ]

[ID: A fallow field with a green field behind it. The green field is dotted with numerous white fabric flags.]

Back onto a new path! And look at all the flags on that one field.... Fuck any geese who land THERE in particular, huh?

Any one of those options might work for different people! However, I suspect you’re aware of these choices, and for whatever reason, they aren’t working for you.

I can't give you a perfect answer. I can't even promise that you will write romance again. But if you’re ready, I can give you a few ideas that invoke elements of Option 1, 2 and 3, which might help with the healing process.

[ID: A path along the edge of a field, leading into a group of trees. A river is visible beyond it.]

Sometimes, we start to resent ourselves when we can no longer do something from which we used to extract joy - be this for any reason, trauma, physical disability, end of a hyperfixation, etc. If this is the case, holding tightly onto the past may not be in your best interest.

If the mere idea of writing romance brings you no joy and satisfaction, only repulsion and misery... If you are clinging on to your desire to write romance out of a need to prove that you are the same person you were before you went through this, and that what you suffered did not effect you... it might be best for you to cut that desire loose.

There are so many creative outlets out there. Something else will call to you. You could try to - very slowly and gently - broaden your reading horizons, and write something completely devoid of romance. You could dabble in different hobbies and turn your focus to alternate means of creativity, from dance to cooking to pottery.

And if you sample many different dishes and none of them appeal... There's a fair chance that, by the time you reach that point, you might have put enough time and distance between yourself and the disintegration of this relationship, that writing romance no longer feels like stabbing yourself repeatedly in the chest.

It might still hurt, but it’ll be more like grasping a thorn. A small, sharp pain, but one that isn't going to tear you all the way open.

We're almost there!

[ID: A muddy path through leafless, ivy-wrapped winter trees. A river is just visible between them]

It’s alright to change. It’s alright to let trauma and loss shape us, so long as we don’t let it ruin our lives and the lives of people around us.

We're here! Let's sit down for a bit.

[ID: Half of a simple wooden bench, on a grassy bank, pointing away from the camera.]

I want you to sit quietly for a while. Think about what I’ve said, and ask yourself, truly, if pursuing becoming a romance writer again is the best course for you.

If it is - or if you are unsure, but still want to try - let's focus on trying to help you reclaim that part of yourself that you used to love.

Does reading romance also give you panic attacks? How about novels that include romance, but focus their plot in a different direction? Sit down with a fantasy book that has a minor background romance - I can give you some reccs, if you want! See how you feel.

Is there a show you really love, and some characters whose relationship you're invested in? Do those characters feel sufficiently distant from your situation? If so, could you write a few short snippets of fanfic. You don't have to publish them - but if I'm in a slump, writing fanfic often feels far less personal than writing about my own OCs. That might help you rediscover your affection for the romance genre, without cutting out your own heart and slapping it on the page.

Alternatively, could you write a platonic romance? By which I mean, for writing practice, try to incorporate all the 'beats' of a romance book, but focus on a different type of love - that between friends, or siblings, or even a parent and a child. Again, this might help you access the emotional ups and lows of a romance novel and help you hone your writing skills, while avoiding the core issue of a romantic relationship.

[ID: a river meanders over a flat countryside, reflecting the blue cloudy sky]

Here's our river, winding away. I hope that no matter what you choose to do, you take good care of yourself.

You will find creative joy again, somewhere, even if it's not in the same way you're used to. Of that much, I'm certain. X

#Writeblr #Writing advice #Burn out #Radley rambles #romance

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itsjaywalkers · 20 days

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This is maybe gonna sound rude but i'm promise it's not i just dont know how to express my feelings in english since its not my first language

But reading nh gave me so much anxiety?? And well no one likes being anxious but thats good when reading right?? And i dont get why its giving me anxiety its not like its super angsty or anything? I read sooo many fics in the past year and many of them were super angsty and shit but none of them made me feel like this..idk if its your writing or the story itself but idk I LOVE IT and your writing its just so??? No wordss

Cant wait for the next part honestly its keeping me on my toes..and for some reason i liked lil jeggy when they were 10 and 14 it was sooo cute to me and my heart was breaking for lil reg??? He was adooorableeee i wanted to wrap him in a blanket and keep him safe..but so did james and that was just soo puree and lovelyy..

And then James teaching him how to kiss??? I want like part 2 of that without the bitch breaking the moment..girl did nothing wrong if it was a real life situation i would of hated james..but fanfiction?? Cmon yeet that hoeeeee

nonnie this doesn't sound rude at all!! i get exactly what u mean, and ur explanation also helped. i'm so very glad that my story made u feel this much?? that it's real and raw enough to make u anxious?? like ofc im sorry too, like u said it's not exactly a nice feeling but . it's an understandable reaction as the story progresses and the dynamic begins to turn darker and more unhealthy, and the fact that i managed to do this even when it hasn't even become that angsty yet is !!! fucking amazing !!! thank you truly <3 i'm a bit at a loss on how to reply to this, ur message left me in shock in a good way

i'm also incredibly excited for the next part!! i've been focusing on it a lil lately bc i've been very inspired when it comes to nothing happens, and it's a story that comes so easy to me, writing it is always very fun and fulfilling for some reason. LIL JEGGY WERE INDEED ADORABLE i know that part 1 is probably the most boring of them all but i enjoyed it so so so much.. 11 year old reg has a special place in my heart and i was cooing and giggling the whole time while writing him

JAMES TEACHING HIM HOW TO KISS he was crazy for that one tbh.. (he's about to become even crazier). and pls im cackling i kinda adore emma and she gagged james a lil as she fucking should bc my god what an asshole but also . i feel u and this is fanfiction at the end of the day so u are very real

thank u again babe, i appreciate ur words and ur support more than you can imagine <3

#asks #anons #fic series: nothing happens

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fayes-fics · 1 year

Text

Meet Ugly

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Two walks of shame, one lost wallet and one bruised nose.… it’s the start of something

Warnings: none really… hangovers, flirting and references to a one night stand.

Word Count: 1.6k

Authors Note: This is a very belated anon request fill from October (request: I read this idea and thought of you. You would be brilliant with the Walk of Shame one). Sorry it’s taken me months to write this Nonny, I only just had an idea for how it could play out. It's probably not how you envisioned, its mostly humour/fluff, but I hope you still enjoy. I went with Anthony for this one. <3

When you wake up on your friend's sofa, head fuzzy, a mouth of cotton wool, shoes dangling precariously off your feet over the end of the sectional, you decide maybe it's time to try dry January. Never mind that it’s March; it's never too late to turn over a new leaf, you justify to yourself, staring at movement on the ceiling that you hope is a spider, not your mind playing tricks.

You know your friends, such a lovely couple, are sleeping in their bedroom; it was very kind of them to let you crash at their flat. Not that drunk-you probably gave them much choice in the matter. You can be very persuasive after a few drinks, or more accurately, belligerent in a friendly, loving way.

Sitting up gingerly, you find your phone wedged under your left hip, amazingly still with enough battery to be useable. Rather than disturb them, you decide to order an Uber home and leave a note of thanks/apology on the fridge. You quietly pad to their kitchen, pour a quick glass of water and check your reflection in a mirror over the dining nook. Remarkably, your makeup is somewhat intact, and with a few finger-pulls, even your hair is mostly presentable. It will undoubtedly do for the ride home.

Slipping out of their front door a few moments later, you don’t expect to run face-first into a solid wall of human—yet you do.

“Owww,” you exclaim reflexively, even as you detect a hint of delicious cologne.

“Watch where you are going!” a deep, very well-spoken voice grouses as if you somehow have caused them injury rather than vice versa. Then his tone seems to change as he whips around and regards you. “Oh…” is his only retort.

You reel back, rubbing your nose from the impact, and squint up at the offending party, and you are quite lost for words yourself. Beautiful brown eyes on a very handsome stubbled face. He looks a little worse for wear, much as you, but no less attractive for it. Fitted shirt and tailored trousers that look rumpled but still achingly expensive.

“Apologies,” he mumbles, “I am a beast without a coffee in my system.”

“Likewise,” you nod with a sympathetic but brief smile, still rubbing your nose as it aches.

He is blocking your way to the lift, so you raise your eyebrow expectantly, hoping he will get the hint.

“Partying too hard?” he asks with a smirk. “Because I was,” he adds self-depreciatingly.

“Perhaps.” is all you are willing to concede at the moment.

“Sorry I was in your way; I uh just left the flat of this woman,” gesturing at the door directly opposite your friend's place, “and I've just realised I've left my wallet in there. But umm, I’m not sure I want to ring the bell and ask for it to be honest,” he winces, knowing what he says sounds bad.

“Not the best of one-night stands?” you quip.

He smiles. “Not really, no. It might be easier to report it stolen than face up to my own questionable decision,” he chuckles.

“Fair,” you shrug. “So, does that mean you have no way to get home?” You make small talk as you both seem to drift towards the lift. It appears he’s made up his mind to cut his losses with the wallet.

“Well, I still have my phone in my pocket. Oh, and, I um…” he winces as if embarrassed, “I have a driver.”

“Alright, Mr money bags,” you jest.

“Yeah, I know how it sounds,” he smiles, holding his hands up in defeat, “in my defence, it’s for the good of the country that I’m not driving myself this morning.”

“You could just take the Tube or Uber like the rest of us normal people,” you point out, waving the phone you hold.

“Got a long wait?”

You flick open the app and sigh. “Well, when I last looked, it was five minutes away. Now it appears the driver just cancelled the pickup. Bloody hell,” you roll your eyes.

“Well, that’s shitty,” he concedes as he punches the down button. “I think I spied a Costa just on the corner. How about I buy you an apology-about-your-nose coffee while you wait for another?” He posits.

“Okay,” you agree. “Wait, is my nose all red or something?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious

“A bit”, he chuckles, “but you still look lovely.”

Just then, the lift sweeps open, and you can see your reflection in the back wall. It looks bright red—not broken, but probably a touch bruised.

“Oh, just fucking great,” you sigh as you step in with him and fumble in your little evening crossbody bag for your compact. Some powder may help.

“So, are you regretting a one-night stand? Or do you not hate whiskey as much as I do right now?” he inquires sardonically as the lift jerks gently to life.

“I uhh might be regretting the tequila shots,” you offer, “but luckily, no one-night stand, not this time. This is the walk of semi-shame, just from a friend's place.”

“Ahhh,” he nods in understanding, “so, unlike me, you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Well, I might have invited myself to stay at theirs, not given them much choice, y’know? So maybe some shame,” you respond, and he chortles bemused.

“Bossy drunk?” he huffs, amused, as the lift opens on the ground floor.

“Opinionated,” you correct with a smirk, and he laughs aloud, chivalrously signalling for you to step out before him.

“Sounds like exactly what I would say,” he opines airily, taking a few paces to catch up and walk alongside, matching your stride. “You walk fast for a hungover person,” he observes.

“It’s amazing how quickly I move towards coffee,” you state and again can't help but feel something warm unfurl in your tummy at his noise of amusement. You don't think you've exchanged this much fun banter with anyone in months, especially with someone this good-looking.

You nod a silent thanks when he moves ahead to open the building door for you, and you walk the few doors to the coffee shop in companionable silence, the crisp morning air waking rather refreshing.

“Mmmmmm…” you inhale happily as the scent of coffee envelops you as you enter.

“…Coffee,” you sigh in unison and share a light-hearted giggle.

After you place your orders and he kindly pays using his phone, you grab a couple of armchairs by the window, the only customers at just after 8 am on a Sunday.

“I'm Anthony,” he offers, touching his chest as he leans back in his chair.

“Y/n,” you reply “thank you for the coffee, Anthony,” you hold up your paper cup in greeting.

“You are very welcome, y/n” he leans forward to press his cup to yours, and the look he shoots makes you feel hot before you’ve even taken a sip of your coffee.

“Please excuse me. I’m just going to order another Uber,” you explain, looking down at your phone, needing a less flustering distraction.

“My driver can take you to wherever you need to go,” he politely offers as you squint at your screen.

“Oh, that’s very kind,” you stumble, slightly taken aback, “but I could never impose like that.”

“It’s no imposition,” he insists casually, “and if you are concerned for your safety, I actively encourage you to share location with a friend, family member.. boyfriend?” The last word uttered with an inquisitive tone.

“No boyfriend,” you clarify, perhaps a little too quickly.

“Husband?”

“Haha, definitely not,” you deadpan.

“Girlfriend?” He hedges with a very playful expression. You almost want to roll your eyes at that predictable male behaviour but can’t help wanting to flirt back.

“Not my style,” you wink, and his responding grin does funny things to your insides.

“Well then, if no one would object to you pulling up at home in my car, I think you should do it,” he argues.

“Okay,” you capitulate, “on one condition.”

“Name it,” his gaze holding yours.

“You allow me to buy you brunch sometime as a thank you,” you offer before you can censor the idle thought.

“You have a bloody deal,” he answers instantly, eyes dancing in a way that catches your breath.

You have no idea what possesses you to make such an offer to a stranger. But there is something about him feels safe; trustworthy, despite his attractiveness, like he carries responsibility on his shoulders so effortlessly.

“So there are two things I’ll need to know,” his voice taking on a low velvety tone, “where you live and if you’re free in about two hours.”

“What for?” You frown.

“Brunch,” he shrugs with a winning smile.

You laugh; you didn’t mean today, but then, it’s not like you have any actual plans. You can feel Anthony watching you, a hopeful look on his gorgeous face. After a few moments of consideration, you pipe up with your suggestion.

“How about… we go for brunch now, then you drop me home?”

“I like the way you think,” he nods, breaking out into the most breathtaking smile, “let me just make a quick reservation. I know just the place,” he adds, getting up from his seat as his call connects.

“Shouldn't I pick where, if I’m paying?” you ask drolly.

“This place knows me—it’ll be my treat after all. Tell you what, you can pay next time,” he winks, and butterflies erupt in your ribcage at the prospect.

You settle back into the chair with a tiny smile tugging at your lips as you sip your drink and watch him wander away, making arrangements, your eyes lingering on his rather shapely rear.

Well, this could be the start of something very interesting...

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya

#anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton

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