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swordgrace · 2 months

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𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!healer!reader.

SYNOPSIS: serving as a healer on the frontlines of a war that is tearing the realm apart, you come to tend the wounds of the warden of the north. inspired by robb & talisa’s relationship.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 8.2K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), fic is inspired by robb & talisa’s relationship, description of wounds/injuries, mentions of violence & war, canon-typical misogyny (cregan goes to the northern school of feminism), heavy mutual pining, both cregan and reader have experience, p in v sex, unprotected sex, all stark men have a breeding kink, size kink (cregan is much taller/bigger than reader), fingering (fem!rec), biting, breast play, hair-pulling, rain-soaked cregan, bed/cot breaking, lotus position, riding/cowgirl, gentle-ish sex, soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: Back with another Cregan fic! I absolutely love writing for him & this request was so perfect. This is taking place during the wars (HOTD S3). Thank you guys so much for your continued support and kindness, it means a ton to me! I hope you all enjoy! ❤️

𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 — 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡.

Yet, as he lay in his tent, feeling the bitter sting of what pain could bring, face-to-face with carnage, he felt some semblance of fear. It was the only time that a man could ever be brave, in the face of such strife. The Riverlands were occupied by Ser Criston Cole for some time, and in the name of the true Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Cregan Stark aimed to reclaim it.

The road to the Riverlands had been a lengthy one, hard on his force of Winter Wolves, greybeards that itched for combat. They were met with resistance at every turn after crossing the Twins, yet they endured, still a force of nearly two-thousand men.

More were on their way from the North, bannermen of all ilk and family called to-arms at Winterfell, to ride North and join his forces in the Riverlands. Despite his youthful age of one-and-twenty, Cregan was a fierce and proficient fighter, better than a great deal of the men under his command.

Struck by a stray arrow and slashed with a blade, he bared his injuries incredibly well — better than most. Cregan’s stalwart, hardened exterior served him well, never giving way to the pain he felt beneath. The arrow had gone clean through, thankfully. Much of his recovery was simply bandages and time.

He chafed at the notion of being bound to his tent for days on-end — he wanted to be with his men, helming any attacks, leading them to victory. He was useless here, abdomen wrapped in soiled bandages, laid-up and no good to anyone.

The healers who passed through all possessed older, wrinkled faces — men who had seen countless wars, perhaps thrice his age, acclaimed in talent and skill with the art of mending wounds and sewing bone together.

Imagine Cregan’s bewilderment when a young woman entered his tent one dismal morning.

You couldn’t have been much younger than him, clad in a tattered, coarse dress with a hem steeped in mud, white apron sullied with countless stains. Much of the cruor on your garments wasn’t your own, the blood of Stark men, men from White Harbor.

“Good morrow, Lord Stark.” The songbird’s lull of your voice had made him unusually calm, as if able to quell the growing tide of irritation he’d felt with his inaction. You brought with you a basket of supplies, tools of the trade that you had to scrounge around to get.

Men never looked upon a woman-healer with interest or a desire to teach — much of what you knew was from your own mother, or things you’d observed and taught yourself from piles of books at your disposal. Though, you found yourself excelling within your area of expertise.

Perplexed, Cregan watched you hawkishly, sluggishly sitting up from his bed of furs, a low grunt escaping him in the process. “My Lady,” He greeted with a nod of his head, muscles aching and sore from the clashes and skirmishes, coupled with time spent on the road. “You are a new face.”

Part of you wondered if he would take offense, given that you were a lady, but you decided not to address it. “I certainly hope that it isn’t a disappointment,” You mused, placing your supplies down at his bedside. “Other hands were needed elsewhere.”

He wasn’t disappointed in the slightest.

Cregan found you to be breathtakingly beautiful — it took one stolen glance for him to discern that. Your very presence seemed to flourish with warmth and amiability. It was a welcome change from the old men who poked and prodded at him, and he wouldn’t complain about being in the presence of someone his own age.

With a huff, he shook his head, wisps of chestnut tresses framing his visage. “Not at all,” He murmured, studying you with a thinly-veiled intrigue. “A welcome change.” Cregan replied, catching your amiable smile, as warm and as bright as the first inkling of springtime.

You had seen Cregan only in-passing, brief moments where you spotted the young Lord atop his dark steed, or stomping through muddied encampments alongside his soldiers. Now, up-close, you realized how young he really looked, with a youthful, babyish visage that did not match his stony expression or wisened, gray eyes.

“You say that now, but you’ll have to get used to me first, my Lord.” You mused, reaching for the first wrap of his soiled bandages. It was easier to make small-talk in the midst of situations like these — it often eased your nerves, gave you something else to think about.

Cregan moved his arms just enough, allowing you to unravel the crimson-crusted bandages. There was some momentary relief, without the scratching and irritation of coarse linen, wounds exposed to the lick of fresh air.

A steady exhale escaped him, and he watched as you discarded the bandages, fetching more from your basket, coupled with some strange poultice in a jar. He did not recall his former caretakers ever giving him something like that, and he refused Milk of the Poppy.

“How long have you had an interest in this?” Cregan inquired, genuinely interested in what led you down such a path. It wasn’t commonplace for a woman of your station, not in the slightest. He would never discourage it, but he was itching to know.

As you wrung out a cloth of hot water, you brought it to his left shoulder, thick and burly with muscle, gingerly swiping over the wound to clean it. “Many years,” You hummed, brows furrowing together in concentration. “My father didn’t like it, but I learned what I could from others.”

Cregan was the stoic sort, an indomitable mountain of a man who appeared so rugged and indifferent, yet he possessed a gentle hand and heart when away from wandering eyes. He listened attentively, soothed by the tenderness in your touch.

Becoming a Maester was something you’d desired in your youth, yet the Citadel never allowed for women to study and attain the position. You were left to your own devices, a life of healing and service to those who needed it most, and you were content with that. You would forge your own Maester’s Chain.

You then pressed the cloth against the still-swollen gash from the sword across his abdomen, the flesh around it somewhat angry and reddened. “You took quite a beating. I have no desire to see who was on the other end of your blade.”

A soft huff escaped him as he rolled his shoulders, dwarfing you completely in size and stature. Even for a man of his youth, he seemed imposing, larger than plenty of young men his age. “Best not to dwell on it,” He grunted, stormy hues following you wherever you went. “You are not a Northerner.”

The lack of a Northern accent gave it away, but you also spoke properly and eloquently, as if you had been raised somewhere with plenty of civility. “The Stormlands — I am from Bronzegate.” You replied, which happened to earn you a very threadbare smile from Lord Stark.

“A Southerner, then,” A twinge of amusement seemed interwoven with his gruff, husky timbre, a voice that you were rather charmed by. He was mesmerizing to listen to, Northern dialect and deeper voice marked by a stalwart calm. “What are you doing here?”

As you cleaned away the sluggish ooze of cruor, you ensured that his wounds were free of dirt or dried blood, inspecting them for infection. “Finding my way in the world,” You confessed, reaching for the jar of herbal poultice, a salve that you had made yourself. “As we all are.”

Cregan could respect your honesty and earnestness in knowing that you didn’t know what you were doing with your life — sometimes, he didn’t know, either. It was easy to forget oneself when tasked with the charge of leadership, easy to allow it to become a burden instead of a challenge.

Dipping your fingertips into the salve, you gently spread it across the wound on his shoulder, the strange concoction icy against his hot flesh. “What is that?” He questioned, the unusual smell of it stinging his nostrils. Whatever it was, it felt incredible.

“A salve that I made,” You chimed, clicking your tongue as you concentrated on spreading it thin, layering it across his skin. “It’s not something conventional. I exchanged certain herbs for others, and added something of my own. It takes the sting away, numbs the flesh around the wound.”

It did take the sting away, as you said, and soothed his wound at the same time. Cregan admired your ingenuity, charmed and ensnared by you. He hadn’t expected to enjoy your company as much as he was, which was always enough to draw some concern.

A union formed out of wedlock was a dangerous one, but these were perilous times, in the midst of war. He was bound to no one — he had no one. Gray hues silently appraised you, and whenever you got close enough, he could feel your sweet breath upon his flesh, smell the faint aroma of wildflowers and a dab of honey.

“If you are willing, I’d like to have your ingredients. It would be worthwhile for the rest of the healers to craft it, too. Do not waste it all on me.” Cregan rumbled, a soft sigh of relief escaping him as you spread the poultice all along the gash across his abdomen.

The instantaneous relief he felt made him relax, the tension unfurling within his shoulders. Once the salve began to dry just slightly, you took to bandaging him again, nearly chest-to-chest with him when you wrapped the linen around his torso.

Cregan’s jaw tensed, muscles tightening whenever you pressed closer, even if the action was a necessity. You felt the onslaught of warmth creep into your features, goosebumps cascading down your spine with the intensity of his gaze.

You happened to meet his smoldering stare for just a moment, butterflies swelling within the pit of your stomach, followed by a rush of heat that seeped into your very bones. “I will provide you with the list tomorrow.” You murmured, finishing wrapping up his wound.

The arrow puncture on his shoulder was something that you covered in a few layers of sturdier medicinal cloth, before wrapping it once to keep it stable. You had backed away slightly, the close proximity having made your nerves spark to life.

It was a warmth and intimacy that you hadn’t touched before, unfamiliar yet wild with curiosity. Perhaps you had a tryst with a young man back in Bronzegate, but never to this degree of intensity. Cregan gazed at you as if you were the only one to exist.

“I am finished here,” That was enough to shatter Cregan’s incendiary look, the heat dissipating from his gray hues. His visage resumed that stone-faced look, and he suddenly remembered himself and the bonds of propriety. “I will visit tomorrow with your list, if that’s all you need from me.”

He noticed how you straightened, posture somewhat rigid, fingertips stained in dried blood and cruor. You retrieved what supplies you had, placing them all back into your basket before you curtsied, as a Lady would before a Lord.

“You do not have to bow, my Lady,” Cregan assured, standing to his feet with a strenuous grunt. He was massive even when sitting before you, but seeing him upright and so close — Gods take you for the things you began to ponder and imagine. “I am grateful for your aid in these dour times.”

Cregan was as stubborn as an old mule, despite being so young. Rarely did he accept help from other people, preferring to do it all himself and be the guiding example, but this was something he was not practiced at.

“It is my duty, my Lord. It is a responsibility that I share for yourself, and for your soldiers. I pray that the Gods will usher you into a swift recovery, and victory.” That smile — Gods, you had a beautiful smile. It could melt even the hardiest of ice, bring exuberance and joy to those who had none. “I should take my leave.”

“Of course,” Cregan bowed his head, timbre gentle and akin to the roll of thunder before an encroaching thunderstorm. He retrieved his tunic from the foot of his bed, and before you could disappear from the tent, he cleared his throat. “What is your name, my Lady?”

You smiled, gaze dancing with a twinge of mischief and amusement as you chewed at the inside of your cheek. Lingering within the entryway of his tent, you took one, deliberate step backwards.

“I suppose you’ll have to learn that tomorrow.”

Sitting idly by while a war raged nearby had soured Cregan’s mood exponentially.

He had stared at the canvas canopy of his tent for so long that he began to lose count of the hours. It was only when his second-in-command harkened him to the war table, that he obeyed.

Green forces had stationed a battalion at The Trident, and the rest were attempting to seize Harrenhal from Daemon Targaryen and his Rivermen. Cregan intended on cutting off the battalion, ripping them out root and stem, effectively carving away a portion of Cole’s forces.

War was an ugly thing — killing a man never pleased him as it did some, but it was an unfortunate necessity. Ensuring that Rhaenyra Targaryen took her place upon the Iron Throne was paramount, an oath he forged with her son, Jacaerys Velaryon.

Cregan covered his wounds with his tunic and a fur cloak, knowing that the weight of armor would only hinder his recovery, and he needed to be prepared for what was to come. He spoke strategy with Lord Roderick Dustin of Barrowton, before taking his leave.

You happened to occupy his thoughts — a girl from Bronzegate, with a rosy, heartening smile and a demure nature, tending to his wounded men. Not a moment passed from last eve to now, an afternoon marked by grim, gray storm clouds, that he hadn’t thought of you.

It was improper, perhaps, to think so fondly of a young maiden out of wedlock, one he barely knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to you — and he had a feeling that you felt the same, a mutual sentiment.

The massive tent erected for those wounded in battle was marked by an ivory canvas and the hurried pace of healers floating in and out. Cregan knew where to find you, and he had learned of your name from several of his bannermen.

He spotted you outside, washing your hands free of crimson, the ends of your sleeves just as tattered and wrought with blood that didn’t belong to you. Your tresses were pulled into a braid to avoid interference with your work, brow creased in concentration.

“My Lady.” He greeted you with that familiar timbre, husky and gallant. There was a warmth that radiated from him, both in his tone and physically, that enveloped you whenever you were in his presence. He was a man of few words, but you made up for it.

Surprise settled into your features as you regarded him with mild bewilderment. You weren’t expecting him to seek you out. “My Lord,” You exhaled, bowing your head in reverence as you wiped the blood from your hands with a rag. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Cregan enjoyed your concern, staving off a threadbare smile before he shrugged, wisps of chestnut tresses fluttering with the breeze. The air smelled of rain, an approaching deluge. “You never said that I had to stay.” He stated, looking towards your hands.

A huff of laughter escaped you, hands mostly free of any blood, your knuckles bruised and bearing some scrapes. “Are you feeling well enough?” You asked, head canting to one side. There was a quell in the battle for now, allowing you time to recuperate.

“I have been for some time,” Cregan sighed, brows furrowing together. “Old men wished for me to stay abed, and I heeded them, until now.” Two wounds wouldn’t stop him — there was something powerful about him, a determination to continue even in the face of agony or strife.

You couldn’t help but smile in spite of his stubbornness — you wondered how his men dealt with him. Many soldiers and bannermen that you had conversed with praised Cregan, with nothing but honorable things to say about him. He was regarded as stoical and resigned, patient and pragmatic.

“Let me have a look. It’s the least that I can do, considering you made the trek here.” You motioned for him to follow you, sweeping the canvas aside as you beckoned him into the wounded tent. There were scores of men in worse states than he — some of them brushing close to death.

Cregan stepped behind you like a massive wall of stone, a mountain of a man, his shadow casting itself over you. Some of the healers seemed surprised with his coming here, a handful being familiar faces that had tended to him when he was first wounded.

The space in which you operated was a great deal smaller, yet tidy and orderly. He sat down with a grunt atop the cot you gestured to, shrugging off his fur cloak. Part of him felt strange for being here, considering the grievous state of some of the men.

A roll of parchment lay atop your footlocker, a lengthy list of ingredients used in your medicinal salve, the one that Cregan had requested yesterday. He watched you scurry about, fetching fresh bandages and your mysterious poultice that seemed to do him a world of good.

Some of the healers looked upon you with thinly-veiled disdain and scrutiny, eyes of wizened men who believed themselves to be better than you. A woman doing such gruesome work wasn’t exactly proper.

“Your tunic,” You murmured, averting your gaze away from Cregan’s body as he removed the smoky-blue garment, revealing his herculean musculature. The more you studied Lord Stark, the more enamored you became — he was handsome and well-spoken. Stubborn, perhaps, but most Northerners were. “Thank you.”

Cregan thoroughly enjoyed watching you work — it was a captivating thing to behold, the way you navigated a wound with such care and precision. Your hands were disarmingly gentle as you shifted the linen wrappings away, exposing his shoulder to the brisk afternoon air.

The pain had certainly diminished, moreso in his shoulder than his abdomen. In usual silence, Cregan studied you closely, storm-colored hues appraising you, committing every detail to memory. There was something breathtaking about you, a magnetizing pull that drew him in, kept him enthralled.

He reveled in the sensation of your fingertips tracing around his wound, feather-light and delicate, leaving behind a trail of fire in your wake. “It’s healed wonderfully,” You murmured, brows furrowing together as you applied a dab of honey, a natural antiseptic. You placed the bandage back over it. “How does it feel?”

“Acceptable.” He grunted, though his tone seemed somewhat warped with amusement. Your lips twitched into a brief frown, as if he wasn’t telling the whole truth. “I am well enough. You needn’t worry, my Lady.” Cregan assured, resting his thick forearms atop his thighs.

A soft sigh left you as you circled around him, coming to stand before him with a tender expression. Your countenance still seemed furrowed with concern, but he neglected to comment on it.

Peeling away the linen bandages that clung to his abdomen, the angry-red swelling had nearly dissipated, and the gash remained, still healing. “The salve seems to have helped,” You fought hard to ignore the closeness between yourself and Cregan, mere breaths apart. “The swelling has gone down.”

The scent of your warm breath fanned across his visage, basking him in your saccharine smell. Even if your garments were well-worn and speckled in gore, he could still detect the aroma of wildflowers on you.

“You have my gratitude, my Lady.” Cregan uttered, a valiant attempt to relieve some of the lingering tension. It was something he rarely, if ever, experienced with a woman — especially one such as yourself.

“You know my name already, Lord Stark. You do not have to continue to refer to me as a Lady,” A twinkle of amusement lingered within your eyes, knowing that his bannermen had shared your name with him. “I am not of noble birth, I’m afraid.”

Cregan huffed, and he realized that you were clever. The wit and fiery spirit leapt out from you on occasion, and this happened to be one of them. “Honor and good pleasantries demand that I continue to refer to you as a Lady.” He replied, tender and deep, like the shaking of a mountain.

With an amiable smile, you changed the bandages around Cregan’s torso, applying your salve before discarding the old ones. “Don’t,” You chimed, tone softening to the lull of a songbird. “Call me by my name.” You stood, wiping your hands against a swath of clean cloth.

A low, rumbling ‘hm’ escaped the man, whose chestnut brows furrowed together as he ogled you — shamelessly, this time. There was a fond playfulness laced within your banter, something that Cregan wasn’t entirely accustomed to. “Cregan.” He insisted, establishing a firm foundation for your blossoming relationship.

“Cregan.” You repeated, his name sounding sickeningly sweet from your Southern tongue. The young Lord moved to tug his tunic back on over his hulking frame, musculature working in such wondrous ways. It was difficult to tame your wandering eye, heat crawling along your spine.

Ripping yourself from your trance, you busied yourself with something else. “The salve ingredients that you requested, I made a list.” You stepped towards the footlocker, retrieving the scroll of parchment as you offered it to him. “I hope that it will do some good.”

After having placed his thick cloak over his shoulders, Cregan grunted, the vibration spreading throughout his chest as he accepted the list. “This is noble of you,” He murmured, turning it over within his roughened hand. “The men here owe you their gratitude — as do I.”

Dismissive of his praise, you remained humble, politely curtsying before Lord Stark. “It is my duty, that is all. I will continue on for as long as I am able.” You didn’t like being thanked for healing — it was a passion that you chased after, a job that brought you joy.

“If there is anything that I can do for you as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, name it — it will be done.” Cregan nodded, countenance bristling with a burning affection, one that wasn’t concealed in the slightest. Despite his stalwart demeanor, he made his fondness of you known.

A delicate hum escaped you, but nothing of importance came to mind. You didn’t want to make any demands of him, especially given the circumstances — he had little time to cater to a healer when war loomed overhead.

“If you insist, I would ask for a suitable stationary set,” Simplistic and curious, something uncommonly asked for. Writing was something you had no part in, but illustrations — that was a different story. “Do not toil over it, my Lo — Cregan. Your generosity is kind enough.”

Cregan nodded, taking it into consideration. “I will not toil over it,” He replied, peering over his shoulder toward a pack of healers. There were plenty of wounded men that required your attention more than he. “Consider it done. I will leave you to your work.”

You bowed again out of common courtesy, hands folded together as you offered Cregan another warm smile. “Of course. Should your recovery change course, please do not hesitate to return. I wish you good fortune in the battles to come.”

“Until next we meet.”

Bellflower flourished in moss-laden groves around the forks of the Trident, petals ranging from ivory to shades of cerulean and a light lilac. It grew in clutches, its blooms spherical and pleasing to the eye. Despite the deluge plaguing the Winter Wolves at every step, it seemed to slow Cole’s army down exponentially, too.

As dusk fell in a dark, cloudy gloom across the encampment, Cregan carried a bound bundle of bellflower in his hands, to be given to one person in particular.

It had only been two days since your last meeting in the healer’s tent, his wounds on the mend, no longer weighed down with bandages. The stationary you requested had been brought to your tent sometime the next day, after you had addressed it with Cregan.

It was intended to be a gesture of gratitude, something that he knew you would find favor in, but it was easily passable as a rite of courtship. The constant prodding of a marriage proposal was always at the fringes of Cregan’s mind — it was his duty to marry, and he had prolonged the process as much as he could.

With war tearing the realm apart, there was little time to consider a marriage — but a relationship, perhaps a budding bond, that was something he could make time for. Even in his duties as the Warden of the North, a champion for Queen Rhaenyra, there would be a lull, a calm in the storm.

Your tent wasn’t a far trek from the healer’s tent, smaller and humble compared to his own. It didn’t seem fair, given your importance and what you had contributed to their cause, but he didn’t dwell on it — not now, anyway.

To see the ferocious, stoic Cregan Stark carrying a bundle of flowers that seemed minuscule within his grasp was a most peculiar sight. His fur trappings and leather-and-chainmail bore the motif of the Direwolf, the sigil of House Stark, making him seem larger than he already was. His ancestral longsword, Ice, remained slung across his broad shoulders.

The glitter of candlelight cut through the dismal haze of rainfall around him, its orange glow pooling from your tent, closed-off for privacy. Through the sliver of canvas, Cregan could see you, hunched over your chair, moving a quill across parchment. You wore your hair down this time, visage framed by wisps of your tresses, brow creased in concentration.

Cregan stepped forward, announcing his presence with a noisy clearing of his throat. “My Lady,” He rumbled, standing just outside of your tent, chestnut tresses sticking to his skull from the deluge. “If I might have a moment of your time.”

Your surprise was palpable as you flung open your tent, with Cregan Stark standing before you, soaked to the bone and entirely unphased. Your gaze fell to the bouquet of bellflowers in his hand, features becoming hot almost immediately.

“Cregan,” You stepped aside to usher him in, getting him out of the storm. “I apologize if you attempted to summon me, I’ve been preoccupied.” Preoccupied with the wrong things, perhaps, but you felt horrible that he had walked all this way in a torrential downpour.

“An apology isn’t necessary,” Cregan assured, so tall and mountainous that he seemed to consume much of the space in your tent, scalp scraping the canvas above. “I merely wanted to extend my gratitude, for your diligence and steadfastness in my recovery.” He murmured.

Your lodgings were quite humble, your bed nothing more than a cot lined in fur blankets, pillows stuffed with linens to make it bearable. The rickety wooden chairs were ones you’d borrowed — it served as a place to draw, a series of candles sitting along your footlocker. The ground below was covered in layers of canvas and fur — perhaps more comfortable than the cot itself.

You offered him a polite smile, though the air seemed charged with more than just friendliness. “You’ve already extended your gratitude, my Lord. You needn’t do it again,” You replied, heart thrumming within your chest. “You are soaked to the bone. Why don’t you warm yourself?”

Cregan was plenty warm, his own metaphorical sun, blood running exceptionally hot — especially this evening. “There is no need,” He rumbled, jaw somewhat tense as he extended the bouquet of bellflowers to you, bound together with a thick cord. “Blooming along the Trident. I thought of you.”

Thought of you — did he do that often?

Gods, did you think of him — you thought of him at each waking moment, torturing yourself over him, the Lord of Winterfell. There were nights where you fantasized about him in such sinful ways that it left you gasping for air. It made your belly stir with butterflies, heat simmering across your flesh.

“These are beautiful,” Touched by such a simple gesture, you accepted the bouquet from him, moving to place it inside of a tall flask that once held one of your salves. Its mauve petals added a flair of color. “Thank you, Cregan.” Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

Every man in this dreadful encampment paled in comparison to Cregan Stark, who gazed down at you with such intensity that you feared you would melt away. Your breath hitched within your throat when he stepped closer — involuntary or not, you sorely yearned for the closeness.

Droplets of water rolled from his temples, chestnut tresses sticking to his forehead, garb damp from the rain. He smelled of the woodlands — pine and petrichor, intermingled with that of a natural musk. Those gray hues of his raked over you, drinking you in with a thinly-veiled rapture.

“There are other ways to express your gratitude.”

Your mouth moved before your mind could tell you to cease — speaking to your Lord in such an uncouth manner was grounds for trouble. You hadn’t fully realized the salacious implications of your statement until it sank in, and you became nervous. Before you could apologize, Cregan stopped you.

“Why do you think I came all this way, my Lady?” He rumbled, lifting his hand to cup your face, palm nearly engulfing half of your visage. Gods, you were beautiful — nothing short of perfection in his eyes. The bulk of his arm hesitantly reached out to circle around you, drawing you closer into his embrace.

That wasn’t the only reason — Cregan’s fondness of you had manifested into something uncontrollable, and you shared the same sentiment. Your feelings were now just as raging as his own, like a wildfire spreading across a forest, unchecked and unchallenged.

“Aren’t you cold?” You whispered, brought into the warm expanse of his chest, broad and taut with muscle. Even through his armor, you knew that he was indomitable. Though, for all of his physical intimidation and mesomorphic might, he was disarmingly gentle, this mountain of a man.

“No,” The husky timbre of his voice made goosebumps dance along your spine, causing you to shiver. “Not anymore.” He murmured, gaze silently asking to kiss you. He did not move, didn’t intend on acting until you decided to let sentiments flow freely.

It was you that kissed him first, seeking his lips with a desperation that rattled even you. Cregan didn’t hide his mutual desire, brows furrowing together as he reciprocated your kiss, using the leverage of his arm to lift you closer.

His lips were rough, icy from being in the damp outdoors, visage slick from the rainfall. It was a stark contrast to the softness of your mouth, pliant and plush against him, your body curvaceous and perfect within his grasp. He felt your palms press against his chest, drifting towards the nape of his neck.

Rain-soaked tresses glided through your fingers, curling inward to grip and pull, kissing him with such dizzying passion. In the slim space of your lodgings, with rain pounding above, it provided a gentle ambiance that only provided to the charged atmosphere.

Your hands shifted toward the clasps of his thick cloak, hesitating as you pulled away, looking to him for approval. If it weren’t for the many layers he needed to remove, you would’ve shed your dress already.

“Is this what you want?” Cregan needed your consent and assurance before continuing on, thumb drawing circles into your hip as he held you close. His voice had dropped to a near-growl, husky and thick with desire. It only served to stoke the growing fire between the both of you, cracking with a mutual need.

You nodded, nearly rendered breathless. “Yes,” Barely above a whisper, you felt his hands settle over yours, unclasping the metallic direwolves that loosened his cloak. It was all damp and soggy from the rain, and it felt good to be rid of it. “I need you.” You murmured, voice pitched with lust.

Cregan didn’t hesitate, hands unfastening his armor, buckle by buckle, piece by piece. Your hands sometimes joined in on occasion, loosening a strap or helping to take it off altogether. You didn’t move away, allowing each item to join the growing pile until he was left in his smallclothes.

He gently reached for the nape of your neck, massive palm caressing into the base of your skull, tracing along your silky flesh as he brought you in for a kiss. Even without his armor, Cregan was impossibly large, with a bulk and stature that dwarfed your own.

His mouth moved in-tandem with yours, each kiss blistering with passion, an eagerness that never exceeded into something rough. There was a domineering undertone to his actions, but never anything that would hurt you or scare you off.

Northern perfection, an immaculate wall of strength and muscle, yet so gentle — it rattled you to your core in the best possible way, filling your belly with molten heat. You kissed him fervently, until he stopped to kiss along your jaw, roughened lips finding the silky column of your neck.

The coarse, cloth ties that gathered at the small of your back became unraveled by you, loosening the periwinkle-colored garment until it sagged upon your body. You let it drop, your plain dress pooling to the ground in a heap of wrinkled fabric. You nudged it aside, letting it join Cregan’s armor.

Gray hues flickered across your naked flesh, beautiful beyond compare, a woman’s body that possessed the loveliest of curves. Cregan was swift to lower his hands, smoothing them across your sides, and then to your hips, shamelessly grabbing greedy handfuls of your derrière.

“I’ve never seen a beauty like yours before.” Cregan rumbled, mouth pressing soft kisses all along your neck, and then to the hollow of your throat. His calloused palms caressed everywhere they could, savoring the sensation of your velveteen skin.

You shivered at his reverent touch, lips parting as a soft gasp escaped you. Your hands held his biceps, thick and taut beneath your fingertips as a warm slick continued to mount between your legs. He hitched one of your legs around him, keeping you steady.

As he continued to savor your throat, mouth dragging from your neck to collarbone, his available hand stroked along your belly, tracing a path toward the heat between your thighs. Cregan searched for signs of hesitation or protest, but found none, thick fingers sluggishly slipping against your core.

“Cregan,” You gasped, a sharp inhale escaping you as you desperately held onto him, clinging on like a drowning woman as he toyed with your cunt. He deftly pushed past your folds, digits tracing along your slit in rhythmic motions, exploring your body. “Gods, don’t stop.” You pleaded, face pressing near his shoulder.

Teeth scraped along your throat, gently biting at your sensitive flesh as his digits found a steady rhythm. With two fingers stroking along your cunt, his thumb moved to nudge against your clit, circling around the sensitive clutch of nerves. He was silent, save for the rumbling sounds of his grunts.

Gently coaxing you towards your cot, Cregan didn’t stop to think about how feeble it was for two people. Nevertheless, he sat beside you, wood groaning and splintering in protest to the sudden amount of weight it bore. Sitting atop the furs, he collected you into his lap, slotting you against his thigh.

Tangling your hands into the hem of his tunic, you managed to maneuver it off with his assistance, all wisps of air stolen from your lungs at the sight of him. Seeing him in this light, full of desire with candlelight dancing across his skin, he was wonderfully handsome.

One palm cupped your hips, holding you close as his fingers resumed their previous ministrations, thumb seeking your clit. He touched you with such fervent passion, mouth clamoring for yours, lips unable to tear themselves away.

Each kiss left you gasping and heaving, wanting more of him, all that he could give. Your hands sought to drape themselves over his broad shoulders, threading into his damp tresses as you rocked yourself into his hand. The friction it created was delicious, a raging heat that crawled all over your body.

Thunder split the skies outside, rain coming down in a noisy deluge that pounded against the durable canvas of your tent. Cregan shifted backwards, the cot continuing to groan and creak beneath his bulk, threatening to snap into two if your ministrations continued.

You felt along the corded muscle of his shoulders, his skin unusually soft beneath your palms. With the relentless appetite of a wolf, Cregan kissed you again, pulling away just enough to kiss your collarbone instead. Thick digits continued to nudge against your cunt, threatening to push their way inside of you.

At a slow pace, he eased two fingers inside of you, stretching you just enough for it to be quite pleasurable. A whine of delight tore from your mouth, head rolling back enough for him to have unobstructed access. Teeth nipped at your collarbone, providing a sharp sting that flourished across your body.

He was gentle yet vigorous, digits sluggishly pumping themselves in and out of your tight cunt, thumb providing a burst of stimulation against your clit. Your warm, sweet breath fanned over him, mouth agape as a series of excitable pants escaped you.

Planting hot kisses just above your breasts, Cregan’s rough palm caressed from the swell of your hip to your chest, full and perfect, kneading into your breast. The entirety of your body felt so soft — like a plane of velvet, unblemished and left in some state of perfection.

Rocking yourself into his hand, a myriad of needy whimpers left you in droves, ones that occasionally tapered off into wanton moans, others left hushed. Cregan’s chest blossomed with a stoic grunt, the vibrations of it rattling you to your core.

“Cregan,” A fleeting sigh of passion escaped you, breathless and wanting, caught within a tempest of desire and carnality. Your digits touched him wherever you could, from the bulk of his shoulders to his biceps, thick and taut, and his face. “Gods, I need you.” You moaned, coaxing him in for a kiss.

Such a sentiment was mutual — Cregan did not know what depths of want he was capable of, and the carnal need he developed for you was intense. Though, it had also manifested into something else, transcending into affection and ardor.

He did not want to be parted from you after this.

His rough lips molded themselves to yours, kissing you desperately, until he stole every wisp of air from your lungs. He occasionally scraped his teeth across your lower lip, digits still working their way in and out of you, continuing to palm at your breasts.

Between the stimulation of his mouth and digits, you were already worked up, tangled within a web of desire as the cot groaned in protest again — and then snapped.

Only one of the wooden frames suffered damage, and Cregan was quick to shield you from harm, if there was any harm to begin with. He simply sagged further into the canvas, a look of mild amusement rising to his features. “The ground, then.” He rumbled, and you began to giggle, nose crinkling from the awkwardness of it all.

“I could’ve warned you,” You mused, affection dancing within your fond gaze as you kissed his jaw. “It would not survive with your muscles sitting atop it.” Cregan found it difficult not to smile, the gesture faint yet prevalent as he stroked along your spine.

“I will have it replaced.” Cregan grumbled, but you didn’t care in the slightest, the both of you relocating to the sprawling floor of thick, layered furs. It was arguably more comfortable than your cot would’ve been anyway. Drawing you back into his lap, he touched you everywhere he could.

The glow of orange illumination covered the both of you, however faint, aided by slits of clouded moonlight that poured in from the gap in canvas. You were beautiful — everything that he had ever wanted, caged within his arms, staring at him with a heated intensity.

He was mountainous, even when sitting, large and powerful enough to move you wherever he pleased. Your kisses became feverish, as if each entanglement would be your last, heart hammering within your chest with a flurry of excitement.

For a moment, Cregan withdrew, content to gaze upon your smiling visage, gaze sparkling with affection. He lifted his hand, cupping your cheek and jaw, allowing himself a moment to commit every feature of yours to memory. His next kiss was agonizingly slow in the best way possible, causing you to sigh with passion.

He needed to be close to you, chest to chest, savoring every inch of your silken flesh. Cregan had never touched something so soft before, drinking you in again with those tempestuous hues, as alluring as gray clouds before a thunderstorm.

“I want you inside of me,” You pleaded, lips parting slightly as Cregan’s jaw tensed, lust festering within him. Gods, what a wonderful mother you would make — the thought was fleeting, but it lingered like a thick fog, taking up residence within his mind. “Please.”

Cregan did not hesitate, hands joining yours as you hastily unraveled the leather ties of his trousers. He wanted to stay this way, sitting up with you in his lap, allowing him to look upon your face, ravage your skin as he guided you atop his length.

To match his imposing stature and wall of muscle, his cock was just as intimidating, causing your stomach to turn with a twinge of worry. Then again, you had become so worked up that pain seemed impossible. Cregan’s hands steadied themselves atop the swell of your hips, bringing you up enough to let his cock glide against your slick folds.

“As you wish.” He huffed, letting you find your way, the flushed tip of his length beginning to penetrate you. You moaned at the intrusion, able to feel the girth of it stretch you perfectly, just as his fingers had. Cregan grunted, guiding you down until you could go no further.

Strong enough to ease you along his length with his hands alone, Cregan seized the opportunity to kiss you. You were only a few breaths taller like this, slotted within his lap, hands finding their purchase atop his shoulders as you began to ride him.

Gods, he was big — enough for you to realize that soreness was an inevitability. Being flush against him, nearly chest-to-chest, was perfect, something so intimate and sensual that hot shivers rolled down your spine. Cregan guided you up and down upon his cock, ensuring that he went at a sluggish pace, more for your sake than his own.

Tangled sighs and low, heavy breaths wove together, forming a heated cacophony that filled the tent with your lewd activities. The feeling of his calloused hands sinking into your plush flesh was mesmerizing, leaving behind a wave of goosebumps that crawled across your flesh.

Mouths danced together and then clashed again, kiss after kiss of pure ardor, tongues becoming exploratory as you brazenly lapped at his lower lip. It was messy and hot, feverishly so, bringing the both of you to heel as you happily drowned within desire.

The sensation of his cock filling you completely, nearly kissing your womb, almost made you sob from delight. The friction of your bodies was a delicious thing, with your chest brushing against his, knees squeezing near his waist, hands gripping his shoulders. Your nails sank into the muscle there, countenance one of complete and utter pleasure.

Cregan untangled his lips from yours, finding the column of your throat, greedily kissing and nipping wherever he could. Your taste was ambrosial, skin delicate and saccharine beneath his mouth. You moaned, one hand moving to tug at his chestnut tresses, bringing your hips down upon his cock again and again.

The sluggishness of the repetitive motion was agonizingly wonderful — the pace was perfect, not rough enough in the slightest, but passionate, instead. You much preferred this, the intimacy and closeness of it all, the way in which heat radiated between the both of you.

You felt incredible, every fiber of your body burning for him, arousal thick and heavy between your thighs. “Cregan,” A noisy moan escaped you, grinding yourself against him, hips flush together. It was as if you were touched by hot embers, the heat raking across your body time and time again. “Cregan!”

A deep, trembling groan tore past his mouth, one that made your belly fill with liquid fire. You shivered within his grasp, feeling his lips clamor to the underside of your jaw, nose brushing against your chin. His cock throbbed with a sense of urgency, slick with precum.

He continued to guide you, hands descending from your hips to the pliant flesh of your haunches, digits sinking into your derrière. Despite the chill of the rain and song of the storm raging around you, Cregan kept you anchored, warmth radiating from him.

Your hands deftly roamed across his musculature, coming to plant themselves against the expanse of his chest, his heart thudding beneath your palm. “That’s it.” Cregan rumbled, kissing at your jaw before he finally coaxed you in for a passionate kiss. He wanted you to come undone for him.

The intensity of your release blindsided you, crashing into you like a wave breaking upon the rock. Your nails desperately scratched at Cregan’s chest, sinking into his collarbone as you bucked forward. He continued to guide you up and down along his cock until your legs rattled like leaves in the wind.

Cregan joined you, following suit as he reached his peak, forehead bumping into yours as he sought your mouth for a tender kiss. He swallowed your sweet moans, spilling his seed into your cunt. Hot ropes of his spend filled you completely, causing the both of you to sigh, a low rumble reverberating from his throat.

You very nearly collapsed within his lap, heaving with excitable pants, basking in the aftermath of your release. In an intimate gesture, you kissed his jaw, peppering his visage in soft kisses that only made Cregan pull you closer. “Are you alright?” He murmured, running a hand along your side.

“I am,” You smiled, palm reaching to cup his cheek. Cregan’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, pressing a kiss to the silky skin there. Thunder crackled overhead, followed by a flash of lightning, the onslaught of rain pounding overhead. “It seems you’ve no choice but to stay.”

A bemused huff left Cregan, who seemed more than content to share your tent. “Thank the Gods for the deluge, then.” He rumbled, continuing to kiss from your wrist to your hand. A shiver rolled down the length of your spine, aided by his affectionate gestures.

Removing yourself from his lap, you settled down to lay beside him on the floor of your tent, gazing up at the damp canvas. The Warden of the North descended to you, offering you a muscular arm to rest against, moving the furs around the both of you.

It was a comfortable silence, born in the aftermath of your lovemaking as you curled against Cregan, palm settling above his abdomen. “When do you ride next?” You uttered, referring to the raging war that you were both caught within. It was easy to not think much of it when you were with him.

“On the morrow,” Cregan murmured, chestnut brows furrowing together. He loathed the thought of leaving again, now that he had so much more to lose. His calloused digits idly traced around your shoulder, his other arm propped beneath his head. “We will fight hard, like Northerners.”

A subtle terror gripped your heart, foul tendrils sinking into every fiber of your being. You sat up just enough to gaze upon him, fingers drifting toward the slope of his jaw. “Promise me that you’ll be careful.” You uttered, stern as could be.

Cregan could not make such a promise — war was harrowing, and it was unpredictable. Instead, he reached for your face, holding you there as he met your gaze. “I will try,” A low rumble left him, gray eyes boring into you with devotion. “Should I fall prey to another arrow or sword, I will know who to seek.”

It was difficult not to smile, in spite of everything. You sighed, leaning in to kiss him, allowing gentleness and ardor to prevail. A low grunt escaped Cregan, gray hues fluttering shut as he drew you closer into the warmth of his musculature.

“I would certainly hope so.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not copy/steal my work and claim it as your own. please do not translate my works onto other platforms.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #cregan x reader #cregan stark #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd smut #house of the dragon smut #game of thrones x reader #hotd fanfiction

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dontforgetukraine · 1 month

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Ukraine Donation Guide Master Post

(Ver. 2 updated Aug 13th, 2024) I will be reformatting this and adding more in the future when I have time.

Also a quick note, all of the groups I have found through twitter have been around long enough for them to be vetted by each other and the brigades they work with. In fact, a lot of these groups collaborate with each other too. Those that are in the fight for Ukraine have been diligent in calling out those that are grifters. Word spreads around quickly if an organization doesn't show up with what they promised. They also use their social media (often Twitter) as a means of transparency for their work.

Remember: When considering on whether to donate, always use your best judgement and donate to those you trust if you do not see what is listed is up to your standards.

Multi-Purpose

United 24 has various fundraisers dedicated to defense and drones, medical aid, rebuilding Ukraine, humanitarian demining, and science and education. You can pick which one you want to contribute to under their various projects.

Liberty Ukraine uses funds for humanitarian aid, medical supplies, protective gear and equipment, and rehabilitation therapy. You can choose which campaign of theirs to donate to.

Come Back Alive is a charitable foundation that supports Ukraine's military with competent assistance while also focusing on security and defense. They also have projects that use sports to help veterans rehabilitate. You can choose which campaign to donate to.

Serhiy Prytula Charity Foundation works to help both civilians and Ukraine's army. You can choose to donate to an active project or any of their general campaigns. Civilian aid campaigns cover temporary housing, supporting crisis and emergency responses, schools, demining, and healthcare. Military aid campaigns cover drones, optics units, communications equipment, and support of air defense teams.

Food Aid

World Central Kitchen works with local partners wherever they are providing food aid. They make sure meals and meal kits are what the local population eats. Even though there is no separate fundraising campaign for Ukraine (that I can see), they still do great work.

Animal Rescue

Hachiko Foundation works to help displaced pets and strays in frontline areas. They help with veterinary care, outdoor shelters, setting up feeding stations, and rehoming animals.

Medical Aid

Hospitallers (Website) is a volunteer organization of paramedics that was founded in 2014. They evacuate the wounded, provide medical aid on the frontlines, assist in rehabilitation, and transfer of the deceased to burial sites. They are also supported by Ukraine Charity. Visit Hospitallers' website to see how many they have evacuated, different methods you can donate, and more information about them.

Other

Saint Javelin (Twitter; Website) is a great place to get apparel, gear, and other cool loot to show your support for Ukraine. They don't take donations, but instead raise funds through their shop with a portion of their sales going towards humanitarian aid and critical items needed by the defenders (generators, pick-up trucks, medical supplies etc). Part of their shop has items made in Ukraine to support Ukrainian businesses. Overall, their products are high-quality. I include them due to their impactful presence in the Twitter community I follow and how they make Ukraine visible in an alternative way. Consider buying someone a gift from their shop.

The Kyiv Independent (Twitter; Website) is a great English language resource for news about Ukraine. I include them because I think supporting good journalism is incredibly important, especially now when the information space is fraught with Russian propaganda, misinformation, and disinformation. My followers have probably noticed I've pulled a lot of quotes from their stories in an effort to amplify Ukrainian voices and experiences. Look on their website for more information on different way to support them, such as their Patreon.

---

If you're on twitter, there are a number of groups and people that fundraise for Ukraine and for specific units fighting on the frontlines. If there is no official website, a PayPal for donations is listed in their profiles. When considering on whether to donate, always use your best judgement and donate to those you trust if you do not see what is listed is up to your standards.

@/Teoyaomiquu almost always has a fundraiser for Liberty Ukraine with a specified purpose. At the time of writing this, he is currently raising funds for engineering equipment such as excavators. One such excavator is already in Kursk. Follow him to stay up to date with what he's fundraising for.

Dyga's Paw (Twitter: @/dzygaspaw) is a smaller group that has recently raised funds for starlinks, drones, batteries, and Ecoflow generators. You can look at the fundraising campaigns they currently have on their website.

@/DefactoHumanity represents and founded Planet of the People with their website U(a)nited for Freedom. She frequently posts updates about their fundraisers and what their partners need. They are known for providing Frontline medical aid supplies, protective equipment and other military aid, technical equipment (starlinks, drones, scopes, etc), and infrastructure equipment (generators, vehicles, power stations, etc). They even have a merch store of the battalions they partner with if that's your jam. Here is their link tree if you wish to explore more. And in case you're curious, there is an article bout the founder here.

@/wilendhornets (Website) specialize in making high quality drones that have gotten a lot of praise from Ukraine's army. They have attracted a lot of media attention too. Check out their website for the list of articles that have been written about them. Their Twitter is very active with strike footage.

Ants Kitchen Hub (@/ants_kyiv) is a volunteer kitchen that makes dry rations for the Ukrainian army. They are more active on their other social media. To learn more about them, check out their link tree.

@/frontlinekit (Front Line Kitchen) is represented by Richard Woodruff. Originally they made shelf stable food for the Ukrainian army, but now their fundraising has branched out to other campaigns such as raising funds for medical supplies and drones. They are a well known group that many battalions have come to for help.

@/bekamaciorowski (Rebekah Maciorowski) is as combat medic and nurse who helps provide medical care to soldiers and civillians at the frontlines. She raises funds for medical supplies and other equipment, but also helps train soldiers in first aid. More of her social media that features her work can be found in her link tree.

@/UkraineAidOps (Website) is another organization battalions frequently go to for help. They fundraise for all sorts of equipment from medical supplies to drones. If you're interested, they also have a shop with patches from different brigades and flags signed by soldiers. Their shop also includes a separate section called the Victory Gallery where artifacts from the war are turned into art. This includes shells that are painted on, scrap metal from downed enemy planes are turned into keychains, and pieces of a rocket are turned into lamps.

Chris Garrett is the co-founder of Prevail. His organization deals with humanitarian demining as well as training for trauma care, training of bomb disposal, and education to the public. Prevail works with local agencies in Ukraine as well as the army.

Project Konstantin (Twitter; Website; Linktree) is still going strong after the death of their founder, British paramedic Peter Fouché. His digital ghost can be found here. They collaborate with the military, thus giving them an insight into what is dearly needed. They often raise funds for starlinks, personalized first aid kits (IFAKs), generators, portable power stations, and other nonlethal military equipment. I regret forgetting them the first time this post went around. Visit their website to see everything they have done and more. It has more information on what and how they do it than this post can cover.

One Team One Fight (Twitter; Website; Linktree) has some of the original members that worked for Ukraine Aid Ops. They formed their own group after differences with the previous one, and are still helping Ukraine. They are very visible on various social media showing what they have accomplished in their deliveries to various brigades. They're another group that seeks to bring starlinks, drones, medical supplies and protective gear to the battalions that come to them for help. Check out their website for more information on their current fundraisers, their achievements, and received recognition.

NAFO 69th Sniffing Brigade (Twitter; Website) Another small group that focuses their funds on delivering drones, generators, vehicles, and saving the occasional furry companion. They are very diligent in their updates for their fundraising campaigns. Check out their website for more information and the articles written about them.

Postmaster General Boomer (Twitter; Website) focuses on humanitarian aid, animal aid, and logistics. Boomer is the beloved pet of one of the founders and the secret boss/mascot. They have many transparency reports and are diligent in reporting the various "tours" they do in getting supplies where they are needed to go. They are based in Germany but have built up many connections during their existence. They have also worked closely with Ukraine Aid Ops.

I am sure I have forgotten some, so please reply or comment with any more I should add to this master post. I will edit and update as I see and evaluate more.

Last updated: Aug. 13th, 2024

Version updates listed below

August 13th, 2024 Added:

Hospitallers

Saint Javelin

The Kyiv Independent

Project Konstantin

1 Team 1 Fight

NAFO 69th Sniffing Brigade

Post Master General Boomer

#Ukraine #Master Post #fundraiser #donations #links #resources

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wndaswife · 8 months

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trying your hardest | wanda maximoff & gn!reader

After moving to America to join the Avengers, Wanda wants to finally make a friend to ease her loneliness. She hopes to become friends with you, and frankly, Wanda idolizes you, but her social skills are... subpar at best.

Word count: 5020

Tags: fluff, humour, some angst, emo wanda being a baby, a little thing, a small very tiny little thing, wanda has a very big crush on you :3 (she doesn't know it yet tho cuz she baby)

A/N: for plot purposes, imagine the avengers didn’t have a catfight after aou

gif credit to (i tried really hard and i CANNOT find who made this gif im sorry)

Wanda Maximoff never really had an education as a child. What education was available in Sokovia was expensive, and despite her father’s late working hours, the twins’ parents could only ever afford their apartment’s rent. The twins were homeschooled as well as their parents could teach them, but after the bombing, they were on their own.

Government-funded schooling helped them for only so long. The schools they were sent to were decaying, and always under dwindling government watch from ongoing airstrikes. The ground shook with explosive tremors as they commuted to school on foot. Wanda and Pietro stayed at an orphanage with hundreds of other children whose parents had passed due to the war — and the Avengers.

Even the government’s debt caught up with what was left of Sokovia. Billions of foreign debt not paid, volume of imports that had increased exponentially since Sokovia worked on rebuilding their country weren’t making enough revenue to pay exporters back. Hundreds of children were booted from government care and onto the streets. The twins attempted to learn on their own, to become informed educated people if they were to ever make a difference in the world, but in Sokovia, even resilience could only get one so far.

Then, Doctor Strucker came along, promising them the extermination of the Avengers, the Western terrorists who had made the already politically-unstable and war-torn country their battleground.

In hopes to cure the world from their terrorist reign, both Wanda and Pietro agreed to Strucker’s experiments, but the education they were given intended for them to become weapons. They knew little of real geography and world history — only HYDRA’s propaganda meant to poison their minds with blind hatred and little else.

When it seemed like you couldn’t be any more different from Wanda as it was, you were also the team’s brain. Stark and Banner specialised in physics and mechanics, but you were the team’s hub for everything else. From computer science to philosophy, you knew everything. No one exceeded you in developing team strategy, setting the stages for mission locations, profiling adversaries, and a dozen of other things Wanda couldn’t have even fathomed when she first met the Avengers in person.

It took Wanda only several moments to realise you weren’t a frontline fighter from your muffled voice in the Avengers’ earpieces to their callouts of your name as frequent, and perhaps even moreso, than their teammates that fought alongside them on the field despite your physical absence.

Y/N — that was your name.

When she had fought the Avengers in Novi Grad, creeping behind the Western superpowers like a heavy looming shadow, Wanda had looked for you. Strategically, it was a rational move. You were the centre of their battle, the heart of their teamwork.

And yet, you were nowhere to be found.

It was only until she had crept up behind Clint Barton when your voice grew clearer than ever before. From the tiny earpiece, you were controlling the field. Perhaps you were just outside, or maybe you were in another country. No matter the distance, Wanda supposed your hold on the battle would be no less effective.

It was the distraction of thinking about you, perhaps — Y/N, the invisible hand — or Barton’s sole intuition, Wanda did not know, nor did she have very much time to think it over, that had made it possible for him to counter her magic.

Then there was pain — immeasurable pain that Wanda hadn’t felt since Strucker’s experiments. It shot through her forehead like a dozen bullets had permeated through her skull. Pietro grounded her, and soon after, the twins targeted Banner.

Despite the rumours about him, the insatiable angry force he was told to be, his mind was the easiest to corrupt. Mental instability and insecurity racked his mind, and he quickly shifted into the green beast the Maximoffs had heard so much about.

Carrying his younger sister, Pietro took the two of them back to Ultron’s base.

They had won that day.

You were all Wanda could think about even while she and Pietro were off missions. You weren’t the Avengers’ frontline defence like Steve Rogers, nor were you the brute strength of the team like Bruce Banner. You held your team in your hands rather than tugging them along by their leashes although you likely could if you wanted to.

Y/N.

Who were you?

On the television after the fight on Novi Grad, Iron Man and Hulk’s brawl in Johannesburg was on the news. The city was in shambles. Pietro said something about the deaths of innocents and the success of his sister’s magic in having the Avengers turn against themselves. But Wanda could only think of what you had thought when Stark and Banner came back to their compound, beaten and sore from none other than their own fists. Wanda assumed the Avengers’ compound — wherever that was — was where you were too.

Wanda wondered how you were dealing with the fight at Johannesburg. What were you saying about her and Pietro?

Later that day, Ultron approached the twins in their bedroom and turned on the television. Despite having been offered separate bedrooms, they insisted on sharing one. Sitting atop their respective beds on the opposite sides of the room, there was someone speaking on the television about Johannesburg across from the interviewer. Their expression was stern but their eyes were solemn. Eyebrows were furrowed together, masking concern and worry; if Wanda knew anything, it was how to read someone.

“Y/N,” the interviewer began, and Wanda’s eyes widened, her head lifting from being held up by her hands, elbows on her pillow as it laid flat atop her crossed legs. “As the Avengers’ strategist, as many put it, how are you planning on handling the devastation that came upon Johannesburg, and the inevitable contact that the Avengers will continue to have with innocent uninvolved civilians?”

The question was packed, and the news station quite clearly had their own sentiments about the Avengers; they were setting you up.

So that was how you looked. Wanda swallowed and felt her chest flutter.

With your upper lip stiff and your posture unbelievably straight, you answered without equivocation. “A common misinformed perspective of any conflict follows the belief that there is any one party entirely responsible for the consequences of violent confrontation, such as the one we witnessed in Johannesburg,” you were saying. With the way her wide eyes were pinned on the television screen, Wanda didn’t notice the way her brother eyed her obviously piqued interest.

“I don’t believe the Avengers are the world’s most honourable superheroes,” you continued. Ultron shifted and Wanda’s head tipped to the side, her interest in you ever growing. “I don’t think anyone is, no matter whose side you’ve taken since the conflict recently — and perhaps even after the invasion of New York’s in 2012.”

That was The Incident, Wanda recalled, when the Avengers terrorised New York. That’s what HYDRA had always told her and Pietro.

“Despite whose side you may be on, as differing as our collective opinions may be, one thing is undeniable — we are all trying to reach a goal of peace for the world, fighting for what we believe is just. There is nothing more powerful than that. Perhaps, it is idealism that serves to be the strength of humanity.”

Ultron laughed morosely. He ridiculed your words, but Wanda wasn’t listening. Whatever you were talking about wasn’t only about Johannesburg. What were you referencing? Who were your words meant for?

Suddenly, your head turned to the camera and Wanda met your eyes. Everything in her froze, her eyes undeviating from your face.

“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff,” you spoke. Pietro looked over at Wanda, shock written on every inch of his face, and Ultron’s eyes darted between the twins, almost accusationally as he undoubtedly suspected coercion. Wanda almost expected you to step through the television screen and into her bedroom. “I know what you want.”

The screen was shut off suddenly, the black mirror of the television reflecting Wanda’s astonished expression. She looked away, shutting her eyes as she felt the burning gaze of Ultron on her. But your words reverberated in Wanda’s mind until your every feature and movement of your lips was memorised. Like a promise, like an ode, your words were immortalised within her.

Pietro wasn’t there when you took Wanda in your arms and saved her from a falling Sokovia. He wasn’t there when you laid her down onto the Helicarrier, nor when you took her hand and told her she’d be taken care of. Wanda cried into your chest at the sight of her brother’s body.

What would he have said if he saw the way your arm refused to leave from around Wanda’s shoulders as the two of them trailed behind his body while he was carried into the compound?

Pietro liked you, and would’ve loved to meet you. He referenced your broadcasted interview several times during their fight in Sokovia. He was proud to work with the Avengers, and proud to finally work towards their goal to help people just like them. He wanted to meet you.

Your voice was different from what Wanda remembered from the broadcast, and not because her memory had failed her, but because you were just… different. You were real, and not a picture on a wall or an untouchable reality forever separated from her by a television screen. As she watched you talk and laugh with the other Avengers, you were real.

But if Wanda was honest, she was much too shy to even start a conversation with you. Perhaps it might’ve been easier to approach you if you were an admired character on one of her favourite television shows, but it was exactly what made her admire you so much that also made her feel so shy around you.

Granted, there was much to adjust to now that she lived in America and was now a part of the Avengers, and she did believe herself to be a generally introverted person, but she was especially nervous around you.

Wanda had gotten enough confidence to speak with some team members. Natasha was welcoming and kind. Thor was easy not to feel nervous around, but his energy was far too much for Wanda to handle just yet. Bruce was much more comfortable to chat with, and Wanda found that he was able to be rather nice once he forgave her for her associations with Ultron. Steve was always very kind to Wanda and she felt very safe around him, with Steve always trying to make her feel like part of the team, but she found that they didn’t have very much in common.

And there was Vision, who seemed to have taken a liking to her since even before the final battle against Ultron. He was nice company, but she found her mind preoccupied thinking of you while in his company, wishing that it was you who gave her as much attention as Vision did.

However, she’d been wanting to start a conversation with you since the day she arrived at the compound. Initially, she needed time to herself, and along with Steve, you also made the effort to check in on her and give her your support.

Once she was finally able to gain some footing in adjusting to things while shouldering the weight of her losses, Wanda started becoming more active within the team by joining training sessions. During them, she found herself unable to stop looking at you, watching what you were doing, seeing how you interacted with everyone.

Even as the Avengers’ primary strategist that was almost never in the field, you still made efforts to train and stay connected and involved with the team — and Wanda quickly learned that training was a major part of team building.

You were everything Wanda wished she could be more like; you were the kind of person she had never thought existed in a world she believed was only full of cruelty and injustice until recently.

There was an upcoming party at the Avengers Tower in celebration of the assigned team’s return from a successful mission tracking down a recently-located HYDRA base still hiding out. It was almost any ordinary mission, but it was the first step towards steadily eradicating all of HYDRA’s bases, even after Strucker’s primary base was taken down in Sokovia. Though Steve did also tell Wanda that he felt that Tony also primarily wanted to find any reason to celebrate since it’d been some time.

Wanda hadn’t been to any of the parties yet, and she thought that she’d be able to use this one as a chance to start a conversation with you.

Wasn’t that what people did at parties? Talk?

Truthfully, she didn’t quite know for sure — she’d only ever heard about them through the sitcoms she watched as a child. She knew only of dramatised American portrayals of teenage parties through television.

Whatever it was people actually did at parties, Wanda was certain she would be able to make some effort to talk to you. At least in a social setting, it wouldn’t be strange for her to start a conversation with you.

Wanda made herself look nice and presentable, but not too formal since she didn’t want to overdress or bring too much attention to herself. She wasn’t sure what might happen if her plan to talk with you didn’t end up working, and if she was somehow left with nothing to do, she wanted to be able to slip away without anyone noticing, as if she had never made any attempt to come at all.

While deliberating whether it was better to arrive on time or a bit later once the party had been going on for some time, Wanda realised that at some point too much time had passed and her only option now was to join the party a bit later.

It was only once she arrived at the penthouse floor where the party was being held that Wanda finally realised how terribly thought-out her plan was.

What would happen if she didn’t get to talk with you? What would happen if she did, and she only made a fool of herself? Would it be better, then, to stay as two people who’d never conversed so that she might retain what impression you had of her now? Even if that meant she would never get to talk with you the way she wanted?

It was far too late now to change her mind if she wanted to, as she soon found herself walking further from the elevators and into the party.

The party was rather filled; mostly, they were familiar faces, but it looked like many brought guests, and some guests had brought some of their own. It seemed that Steve was right — atop of celebrating the taking down of the HYDRA base, this was also a social get-together.

She was still relatively at the edges of the room, so she was still going unnoticed. As she walked over to the bar, fidgeting with her fingers as she did, she took the time to look around and try to spot you. She reached the bar, crossing her forearms on top of its counter, and tried to draw the least attention to herself while avoiding eye contact with anyone as her eyes raked through the crowd.

Eventually she caught sight of you also at the bar, but at the very edge with your own drink, your back facing the party. Wanda’s chest fluttered and she felt she nearly stumbled moving one foot in front of the other when she turned to walk towards you.

She worried what would happen if someone suddenly approached you from behind, which would force her to then stop wherever she was standing and pretend she hadn’t just failed at her attempt to come up to you.

The pressing concern aided her greatly, and she was well on her way to coming up to you without hesitation. But once she actually made her way to your side and once you raised your head from your glass and looked at her, Wanda damned herself for being so distracted, now without a plan or even a terribly-planned script to follow in making conversation with you. She didn’t even get to look at what you were wearing.

It would be too strange of her to look you up and down before greeting you, right?

“Hi,” she said, hoping that the small smile she felt on her face was actually there lest she look like an absolute fool.

You turned around in your seat in order to face her, and now having your complete, undivided attention made Wanda’s legs feel like mush. “Hi,” you replied with a friendly smile. “Are you enjoying yourself? I don’t think I’ve seen you at a party yet.”

Wanda swallowed and nervously drew shapes against the bar counter with her fingernails, also trying her best to maintain a steady, friendly smile. “No — this is the first I’ve gone to. I haven’t been here for very long. I decided only a moment ago to come.”

“I’m glad you chose to come,” you told her and suggested for her to take the barstool beside you. Wanda lifted herself onto the seat and sat, facing you.

While you were talking, Wanda took the chance to look at what you were wearing. You looked nice, and Wanda thought you always dressed in a way that put-together, respected people did. She saw you in some likeness to the well-dressed characters on the sitcoms she liked — but, of course, modern.

Maybe she had been taking too long to respond, for you spoke again: “How have you been doing? I know that the move must have been rather hard to go through.”

When she took a moment to respond and found that a response wasn’t immediately escaping her, Wanda felt panic settle in her chest. She knew she should have planned out what to say. She looked like an idiot in front of you. She didn’t know the first thing about socialising or making friends.

“It was hard,” she said finally. “It is hard. Not so bad now. I mean, I’m trying to adjust.”

You nodded in understanding and Wanda felt herself losing your interest; she was sure that your responses’ intentions were now only to remain polite, to keep conversing with her because you knew she didn’t make very much effort to go out.

Then you asked, “Did you want me to order you a drink?”

“Oh, I’m okay — I don’t drink,” Wanda answered, fidgeting with her fingers between her knees. Truthfully, she’s never tried alcohol before. Maybe she should have taken you up on your offer.

“How have you been getting along with the team?”

“I think well. I like everyone. They’ve been very kind to me,” Wanda said. She could hear herself as she spoke to you; she sounded robotic and uninteresting. She thought she might try her hand at being honest about what she was thinking then and there. “But Pietro was always the most social of us both. It is hard to get along with others without him leading the conversation.”

Wanda must have not noticed how solemn she became after she mentioned Pietro, for you reached out and brushed her shoulder with your hand supportively, your fingers squeezing gently around her and lingering for a moment before letting your arm drop.

“I understand,” you sympathised. “You don’t need to pressure yourself into anything — really. I think you fit in here well, and I think you’ve been doing a wonderful job.”

That was the first time anyone truly supported Wanda like that; she was supported by the team as she was grieving the loss of her brother, always being told that she had a shoulder to cry on or a helping hand if she ever wanted someone to talk to.

There was something frustrating about the way the team approached her grief. They had to have anticipated that she would feel a bit better at some point — or at least well enough to get back to team member material.

In the way she was spoken to, Pietro and her struggles with his death were always approached as something she would get over at some point or another — like Pietro was something she was going to get over. She didn’t expect anyone to understand how she felt nor to share in her grievances, but it seemed to her that what she was going through was seen only as a temporary distraction to the rest of the team.

They were kind in giving her their support, but her grief never seemed quite real enough to them.

Granted, she was rather new to the team, so she understood, to some degree, their inability to understand her pain. But it was frustrating, nevertheless.

But with you, it was different.

You didn’t talk about Pietro or her struggles and pain like it was something to get over. You valued her as she was now, and saw her efforts as they were now.

Wanda felt slightly pathetic for how worked up she was getting over your response, be it as brief as it was, but what you said meant quite a lot to her. She felt, for the first time, that she was being spoken to as a real person rather than a ball of temporary grief and pain.

“Thank you… I really appreciate–”

She was cut off when you were called to meet one of Tony’s friends, an expert in software development who had even helped program some of the software you used for communication with the team while they were working on the field. Naturally, they wanted the two of you to meet.

For a moment, Wanda forgot how popular you were amongst your colleagues. Why wouldn’t you be? It was only that you had a certain kindness and authenticity about you that seemed signature to you. But if Wanda admired that about you, and if she idolised you, why wouldn’t anyone else?

You looked at Tony calling you over then at Wanda, who was awkwardly staring at the floor in some pitiful stance of defeat. It made your chest tighten.

This was Wanda’s first time joining in at one of the parties, and you were the first she spoke to. Moreover, there was a kind of sensitivity to her that you knew lay beyond her typical timidity.

Through the conversation with her, you could vaguely see Wanda’s eyes flickering behind your shoulder occasionally, where the floor’s balcony was. From there, one would have a view of the spacious training fields and the expansive forests beyond that separated the base from the main roads.

Tonight, there were clear skies and a rather prominent moon.

Gently, you tapped the back of Wanda’s hand that was resting on the edge of the bar to get her attention, and she raised her head and met your eyes.

“Would you like to step out onto the balcony with me?” you asked. “I’m not quite in the mood to talk with them right now.”

Wanda seemed to perk up and she straightened in her seat. She nodded, and when you stepped off from your barstool, she followed and trailed behind you as you headed for the balcony.

She watched from behind as you led her forward. She played idly with the tips of her fingers as she watched your hair brush against your back, watching the back of your head attentively as if it could tell her anything about you.

Frankly, she felt a bit starstruck.

A certain panic settled within her as you opened the balcony door and ushered Wanda outside and into the warm evening air; she didn’t know what to say now.

She wasn’t certain if she was interesting enough at all to have such intimate conversation with.

What could she say that could possibly be of interest to you?

In spite of the disappointed chatter and lighthearted jabs from the rest of the team in response to your very-obvious aversion to socialising, you closed the balcony door behind you until it clicked shut softly until it was only you and Wanda outside.

“Is it okay that you’re out here with me?” Wanda asked, looking at you as she stepped beside you.

“Of course,” you answered and walked forward until you could stand against the rails of the balcony. “Why not?”

Wanda appreciated how easy it was to talk with you, and how your relationship with the team wasn’t all that you were. “I thought that maybe you might prefer being out there.”

“No — I want to be here.”

Wanda flushed and she looked away, using the excuse of looking out past the training fields as an excuse to hide her face from you.

Making a bold move, Wanda thought that she might be honest with you; she had the real opportunity to make a friend, granted she pulled it off. “Y/N, I really appreciate you being so kind to me.” She garnered some confidence and turned her body and looked at you.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” you replied bashfully, and Wanda noticed that you also seemed a bit timid. She thought you were sensitive, and she liked that.

“But also,” Wanda added, taking in a small breath, “I really appreciate your effort in being sympathetic towards Pietro and I, even when we did not deserve it — especially after Johannesburg. Before your interview broadcast, I had never known of such kindness. It seemed you knew more about what Pietro and I wanted before even we did.”

Without a thought behind it, Wanda’s eyes left yours and she added, “I wish he was able to meet you. I am sure he would have felt equally as stunned by you.”

You asked, “I stun you now, do I?”

Surprised by the realisation of what she said aloud, Wanda looked at you and at the sight of your slight smile, also realised that you were teasing her. She flushed and rubbed her warm cheek with the back of her knuckle and distracted herself with two of the party guests walking through the field.

Wanda reminded herself that she came to make a friend — to be friends with you. So she spoke again. “To be honest, yes,” she replied. “I think you are admirable; everyone seems to like you very much, and the kind of bravery and kindness you have is of a kind I did not previously know could ever be sincere.”

She finally said it, and now, Wanda felt anxious about what you might say next.

You shifted and repositioned yourself as you pondered for a moment in consideration. “Well, I have to confess that most if not all of my bravery is rather insincere — I’m truly not as brave as you might think. In fact, I would argue that you’re more brave than I; you’ve experienced so much, undergone so much change, and yet you seem to have more drive than anyone to try your hardest at adjusting and getting back on your feet.”

You thought she was braver than you? Wanda could collapse. She felt her chest flutter.

“But… the kindness,” you said, “is very sincere. I’m glad you see it that way.”

Wanda found herself stepping closer to you, feeling more comfortable in your company and feeling that she wanted to be closer to you physically, to hear your words within a closer vicinity and to see your face free of the soft shadows that the moonlight casted along the curve of your nose and the angle of your cheekbone.

“I think you’re really special,” you told her. “I’m happy that you’re a part of the team. I’m glad you’re here.”

In all her life, there was only one place Wanda ever felt she belonged — with her family. Over some time, what this meant was redefined with the bombing of her home when she was ten and, recently, with the loss of her brother. There was a feeling of loss, an empty pit that burrowed itself within the deepest depths of Wanda’s identity where Pietro and her family and some sort of identity should have been.

It was not only others and her country that she lost, but a part of herself, when all the landmarks she had ever belonged to were stolen from her. But if she could learn anything from still being able to stand where she was and try her best and be brave — like you said — in spite of all her loss and grief, it was that she was not all that she identified herself with.

She still existed, and was still worth something, even without all that was lost.

It would be difficult to even begin finding who she was, exactly, without Pietro and Sokovia and her parents and the truths of herself and the world that HYDRA had always taught her. But she hoped that you might be at least the first step to her self-discovery — you were her first friend.

“Are you alright?” you asked, tipping your head down slightly to try getting a better look at Wanda’s face.

Wanda had lost herself in her thoughts and forgot to reply to you. She must have been silent for a bit of time. “Yes, I’m okay.” She subtly swiped at her cheeks when she realised she was crying — perhaps it was from thinking of her family or of Sokovia, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the moment was that she started crying — as she looked over at the field for a distraction again.

Without another word, you stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Wanda’s shoulders, bringing her against your body in a soft hug. It was wordless and quiet and casual — support and comfort without any conditions.

Every time Wanda believed that she’d fully grasped the world’s capacity for kindness, believed that there couldn't possibly be something more gentle than what you have thus far shown her, you prove her wrong.

She hoped she would never be right.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #marvel #marvel fanfiction #elizabeth olsen

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theosbutterfly · 5 months

Text

the best thing at this party — t. nott

❝ fighting in only your army frontlines, don't you ignore me i'm the best thing at this party ❞

pairing: jealous!theo x malfoy!reader

context: at yours and draco's annual back-to-hogwarts bash, a pair of weasleys show up uninvited, much to theo's dismay.

words: 2.3k+

warnings: jealousy, somewhat possessive behavior, reader's kind of a bitch, theo's kind of an asshole, marijuana use, alcohol use, vomiting, a little fluff, mainly angst

"so where's the principessa?" you hear theo bring you up in conversation as you and pansy descend the stairs to join the boys in the foyer. "taking extra time to fix up her hair?"

"é un dato di fatto, lo ero," as a matter of fact, i was. you lean a hand against the banister, stopping on the last step, eyes focusing on theo. there's a chance you may or may not have learned italian just to make sure he couldn't insult you without your knowledge—not that it stopped him, but at least this way, you could defend yourself. "it takes time to look this good. but glad to know you noticed my absence."

"ooh, she got you there, mate," blaise chuckles, placing a hand on theo's shoulder, who shrugs it off.

"whatever," he spat, rolling his eyes. "i need a drink."

"finally something i can get on board with," mattheo points a finger at him, and they both turn to head towards the sitting room, pansy trailing closely behind them.

"is pans still trying to get with matt?" enzo asks, tilting his head up at you as they walked away.

"beats me," you shrugged, stepping down the last step and glancing between them. "now, why are you two standing here like a bunch of statues? last i checked, party's over there." you point your thumb towards the parlor, which appeared to be glowing green.

"the gate's still open," blaise shrugs. "draco wants us to watch for 'undesirables'."

"undesirables?" you repeat the word just so he could hear how ridiculous it sounded. "has he gone mad?"

"he wants to make sure no one from the other houses show up," blaise clarifies.

"fuck that," you shake your head. "come on." you link your arms with one of blaise's and one of enzo's, waving a finger up in the air. "colloportus!" the spell causes the front door and front gate to seal shut, as you begin walking with blaise and enzo towards the music. "now, where's dobby?"

your house elf immediately appears in front of you at the sound of his name.

"dobby is here, miss y/n," he looks up at you. "what can dobby do for you?"

you unlink your arms from blaise and enzo's and crouch down to be eye level with him. "fetch me the good liquor from the cellar downstairs, and then come find me when you've got it."

he nods. "dobby is on it miss y/n!"

—

"what are you doing standing here all alone?" daphne greengrass saunters over to theo, who was leaning against the bar, a drink in hand.

"daphne greengrass," theo greets her. "i'm surprised you're here. wouldn't the head girl disapprove of rowdy parties as such?" he waves his drink towards the crowd that had turned the malfoy's parlor into a makeshift dance floor, and she chuckles.

"i'm turning over a new leaf," she shrugs, taking a sip of her own drink. "it is our last year, after all."

"thank merlin for that," you walk between them, and lean over the bar to reach for four shot glasses.

"y/n," daphne's voice is strained as she clears her throat. "nice to see you."

you stand up straight after retrieving what you were looking for and turn your head towards her. "i'd say the same, but i'm not a liar."

theo shifts his eyes between the two of you, slightly amused at the way daphne takes a deep breath to keep her composure while you throw her a close-lipped smile.

"where'd you get the bottle, y/n?" he cuts in to prevent a cat fight from breaking out between you and daphne, and eyes the bottle of fire whiskey in your hand.

you look at him. "i had dobby fetch it from the cellar," you say. "pans and i are gonna drink it dry."

"just the two of you?" he raises an eyebrow, condescension painting his features. "does draco know about that?"

"why?" you challenge. "are you gonna go run off and tattle on me?"

before he could reply, another voice cuts in. "oi, malfoy! are we getting pissed or what?"

you turn your attention away from theo to the one of the weasleys you'd found lurking around the corners. "well, you're quite the impatient one, aren't you, freddie?"

heat rises in theo's chest when he gets a better look of the guy under the green light, and realizes its a weasley. what the hell was he doing here? and why were you allowing it?

"time is of the essence, darling," fred tells you. "george and i are trying to get a taste of this drink you've got before we inevitably get kicked out of here."

"what are you doing here, weasley?" theo speaks through gritted teeth, and looks at you. "you invited them?"

"of course not," you shrug. "they snuck in."

theo's eyes narrow at you. "and you're offering them a drink instead of throwing them out?"

"they ditched their house colors to don ours for the night," you tell him, eyes focused on fred. "i think that deserves them a little taste of slytherin."

theo doesn't miss the way fred's eyes trail over your body, and rolls his eyes. "maybe even more than a little," fred smirks.

you giggle at his words, but before you could walk away with him, theo grabs the back of your arm, pulling you close, his lips right above your ear. "cosa fai?" what are you doing?

you tilt your head up to have your eyes meet his. "mi sto divertendo," i'm having fun. "dovresti provarlo qualche volta." you should try it sometime.

you yank your arm out of his hold and don't give him a chance to respond, waltzing away towards the crowd.

"merlin, she is fit," fred comments, watching the way your hips sway as you walk away. "is she seeing anyone?"

"if she was, it certainly wouldn't be you," theo tells him.

"we'll see about that, mate. excuse me," fred throws him a smirk, before walking away to follow you across the room.

theo watches as he does, bringing his glass up to his lips to finish of his drink.

"do you-" daphne starts, but he doesn't let her finish, slamming his glass down on the bar and walking off.

—

"you all look pissed," pansy stumbles over to the guys, who were seated in a secluded area of the manor that was somewhat devoid of all the noise from the party in the parlor, passing around a joint.

"not as much as you, it seems," mattheo chuckles as she falls beside him, head falling against his shoulder. "where you been?"

"drinking with y/n," she says, eyes slowly fluttering close.

"that was your first mistake," enzo tuts, taking a long drag and inhaling. "that girl can drink double her weight in alcohol."

"mhm," pansy hums, eyes fully closing as her body falls limp against mattheo.

"alright," mattheo shifts, just enough to wake her and get her up on her feet. "look like someone's had enough for the night. come on." he begins to the guide pansy out of the room, his eyes telling the guys that he'd be right back.

"what the bloody hell did they even drink?" blaise asks, shifting his eyes between theo and enzo.

"fire whiskey," theo blows smoke out of his mouth and takes another drag.

blaise's eyes widen. "and they didn't think to share? bloody wankers."

"they were too busy sharing it with y/n's new conquests," theo replies bitterly, passing the joint off to him.

"seems to me she's sharing more than that," enzo cuts in, raising his silver flask to point at you and fred on the opposite side of the room, where surely enough, you were tucked between him and the wall, one hand beside your head and one hand on you waist.

"oh, bloody hell," theo rolls his eyes, pulling a chuckle out from enzo.

"who is that guy anyway?"

"fred weasley," theo grits out.

"you're bloody kidding," blaise snickers, leaning forward to flick off some ash from the a joint.

"oh, i'm bloody serious," theo nods. "he's been eye-fucking her since she showed him the tiniest bit of attention. it was quite pathetic, if you ask me."

"what's with the bitterness, mate?" enzo asks, attention shifting to theo. "you jealous?"

theo scoffs. "jealous? please. non durerà in alcun modo." no way that's gonna last. you weren't exactly the "relationship" type.

enzo shakes his head. "no clue what that means, but it didn't sound nice."

"you know how y/n is," theo tells him, hand motioning towards you and fred across the room. "it's nothing but a game to her."

"so what?" blaise asks, handing the joint over back to enzo. "you bitter she won't let you play?"

"who won't let who play?" mattheo rejoins them, and sits back down beside theo.

"theo's jealous fred weasley's got his claws in y/n," enzo catches him up.

"alright," theo stands from the sofa, no longer wanting to hear anymore of it. "i'm done with this shit."

—

unfortunately for theo, the second he headed for the bar and away from the boys, you were also already there with fred.

"alright, freddie, what's it gonna be?" your body was bent over the bar counter, fred's eyes trailing over it as you tried to reach for two different bottles. "rum or brandy?"

"oh, i'm in the mood for something much tastier, love," fred flirts, causing theo to roll his eyes.

"bloody hell," you hear theo mutter, and stand up straight after taking a hold of the two bottles you were looking for. "can't you two do this elsewhere?"

"well, no one's forcing you to stand there and watch," you retort, eyes shooting him an ice cold glare.

"for merlin's sake," he groans, clearly frustrated. "if you wanna fuck him, at least do it in one of the many private rooms upstairs so you can at least keep some of your dignity."

the words fall out of his mouth before he can stop them, making you scoff and set both bottles down before getting close to him to make sure he hears you loud and clear. "fuck you."

you walk away from both of them and head for the corridor, while fred looks at theo.

"that-"

"don't fucking say anything, weasley," theo cuts him off, and leaves him behind, legs immediately following after you.

"y/n, wait!" he takes grab of your wrist and pulls to make you stop and turn to look at him.

"get off!" you shake his hand off your wrist, arms crossing in front of your chest as you looked at him.

"oh, smettila di essere una tale stronza," oh, stop being such a bitch. he tells you.

"you know what theo-" you start to give him a piece of your mind, when an uneasy feeling suddenly creeps into your stomach and slides up the back of your throat.

fuck.

you immediately push past him to head for the nearest bathroom and he follows, as your knees hit the cold tile floor and reminiscents of what you ate before you started drinking came pouring out into the toilet in front of you.

"alright," theo winces, crouching down beside you to take a hold of your hair and gently rub a hand up and down your back. "let it out."

—

"ugh," you complain, swinging your bedroom door open and proceeding inside as you tucked your now messed up hair behind your ears. "this was not how this night was suppose to go."

theo chuckles behind you, closing your door and tossing your heels down on the ground beside your dresser.

"oh, i'm so glad you find this amusing," you spat, undoing your hair and placing the bobby pins down on your vanity.

"i just find it funny that even after two years of drinking, you still can't hold shit down," he says, taking a seat at the edge of your bed.

you mimic his words, but don't actually say anything. "ugh!" you groan loudly when it suddenly becomes much harder to tug your dress off. "why is this not-"

you stop when you feel cold fingers trail across and down your back, your skin feeling like over a hundred degrees. "hai dimenticato di aprirlo, farfalla." you forgot to unzip it, butterfly.

your eyes threaten to flutter close at the deep sound of his voice, goosebumps rising upon your skin, as he slowly unzipped the back of your dress. "theo…"

his hand lingers above your lower back, as he leaned down, lips just right above your ear. "potresti fare meglio di weasley, lo sai?" you could do better than weasley, you know that?

his breath on your ear makes a shiver run down your spine, as your head tilted back against him. "mostramelo meglio allora." show me better then.

to anyone else, this would seem odd. but to the two of you, this was just how you worked. one second you were bickering, and the next, whispering sweet nothings. it was a dance that you both knew all too well.

though the thread he used to keep you at a distance threatened to snap, theo holds himself back—you were draco's baby sister. he wasn't suppose to want you. he couldn't.

"dovresti dormire un po'," you should get some sleep. he lets himself stay beside you for one more moment, before finally pulling away—to your disappointment.

"you're not gonna stay?" you grab at the sides of your dress to keep it from falling down as you turned to look at him.

"non posso," i can't. he shakes his head at you, despite your forming pout. he didn't know what he'd get himself into if he stayed, and a part of him was afraid to find out. "buona notte, farfalla."

good night, butterfly.

part 2 coming soon!!!

re-entering my slytherin boys era bc tension with theo is the BEST kind of tension, and hopefully this didn't disappoint.

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33

click here to be added to my tag list!!

tags: @helendeath @freshlypickledpancakes

#theodore nott #theo nott #slytherin #theo nott angst #theo #theo nott fic #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #slytherin boys #slytherin fic #harry potter fic #hp fic

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 3 months

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For our nikkes and then anyone else you want. How about an S.O. who lightly pins them to a wall (trying to be romantic/naughty), leaning in for a kiss, only to get flustered, chicken out at the last minute only to get reversed pinned and kissed themselves.

(Genshin Impact/GoV: NIKKE/GFL) Kabedon Reversal on their S/O

Genshin: Furina, Clorinde, Arlecchino, Lumine, Eula, Yae NIKKE: Rapi, Anis, Neon Girls' Frontline: AK-12, AK-15, M16A1

Furina's voice is caught in her throat the moment S/O catch her in a corner, their arm extending and making sure she couldn't escape.

Her eyes dart left and right, looking anywhere but them.

Until their fingers tilt her chin upwards, making her shut her eyes and pucker her lips for a kiss, her heart beating in her chest.

...For a kiss that never came.

(Furina) "...S-S/O?"

One of her mismatched eyes slowly creep open, noticing that S/O's face was just as red as she felt.

A small smirk grows across her lips as she confidence comes surging back, quickly grabbing their waist and pushing them against the wall.

(Furina) "HA! Now the foot is on the other...u-uh...!"

And when she looks into their eyes, it vanishes just as quickly as it arrived.

No wonder S/O couldn't go through with this, it was nervewracking!

Both her and S/O are too shy to initiate the kiss, instead awkwardly standing at the wall and staring at each other.

Clorinde is caught off guard for only a moment by S/O, her eyes slightly widening as S/O gently pushes her against the wall.

Her surprise is brief as she watches S/O shrink by the second, almost leaning in to presumably kiss her before they quickly back away, stammering an excuse.

(S/O) "S-Sorry, I was just...um...-"

Gracefully, Clorinde quickly switches place with them in one fluid motion, so fast that S/O didn't even realize what was happening at first.

And with a small smile to her lips, she presses it against S/O, both of them sharing a quick but passionate kiss.

Pulling away, her thumb brushes against S/O's cheek affectionately.

(Clorinde) "Not a bad attempt, S/O. But I think I've won this time.

Arlecchino watches S/O's every step, knowing damn well that they were already too flustered to follow through.

But she wanted to know how far this could go, and she simply observes with little change to her expression.

(Arlecchino) "...Well?"

(S/O) "A-Ah...It's just that..."

First of all, S/O was shorter than she was, so it was amusing to Arlecchino that they even attempted this.

Secondly, she would not budge an inch until S/O committed, unblinking and watching them fidget.

S/O sighs and backs off, trying to hide their embarrassment from her.

It doesn't work.

(Arlecchino) "Allow me."

Without warning, Arlecchino pushes S/O against the wall as one arm rested next to their head and she leaned in with no hesitation.

Lumine yelps when she feels S/O corner her into the wall, not knowing how to react.

But she quickly knows what to do the moment she sees just how flushed their cheeks are, a smirk slowly forming.

(Lumine) "Y'know, you're usually not supposed to be that nervous when you're doing it."

(S/O) "S-Stop teasing me!"

With a soft giggle, she simply taps one finger against her arm as she crosses it, waiting for S/O to make the move.

(Lumine) "Make me."

And seeing just how their body froze up from her response gave her all the time she needed to reverse this.

In one fell swoop, Lumine quickly swaps positions and smoothly kisses them in the span of a few seconds, feeling S/O freeze but then relax into her.

Eula chuckles, seeing S/O hesitate to move in for the final motion.

(Eula) "Cold feet, S/O?"

(S/O) "I-I...No, of course not!-"

Her oath of vengeance goes unsaid but its understood between the two of them.

Because she only scoffs at their false confidence before her arm scoops their lower back, and she picks them up easily and has their back against the wall.

Nevermind the fact her own heart was pounding, but with this reversal she would at least be in control, Eula not resisting her urge to kiss them deeply.

If you were going to sweep someone off their feet, then she would have to show them how it's done.

BIG MISTAKE.

Yae was pleasantly surprised that S/O would try something so bold.

Until they hesitated for even just a second, making Yae bare her fangs playfully.

(Yae) "Aww, aren't you so cute?"

And before S/O could even respond, she reverses the situation without breaking a sweat, one finger tracing their neck down to their shoulders.

(Yae) "If you wanted me to do this, you should've asked instead of doing it yourself!~"

Despite her teasing, S/O's attempt made her heart flutter. Now it was time for her to do the same thing, but with the correct amount of confidence needed.

S/O had a lot of bite marks on their neck after the fact.

Rapi's eyes widen as S/O pushes her gently against the walls.

She was unsure of what to do in this situation, but judging by S/O's rapidly increasing vitals, they probably had no idea either.

Or rather, they lacked the confidence to continue.

With her own cores rapidly heating up, Rapi simply chuckles and lets her arms wrap around S/O, letting her forehead rest against S/O's to calm them down.

(Rapi) "Good try, S/O. Would you like some help?"

Someone close to her once said that she should be more assertive. What better way to do so than now?

Twirling in place, albeit slowly, she now had S/O in her previous position, and placing kisses on their lips, cheek, and forehead, hearing them laugh.

She was amazed at her own confidence, but she supposed having someone to love would do that to a girl.

(Anis) "G-GAH! S/O?!"

Anis is for once at a loss for words when S/O has her against the wall.

Oh god, right now?! What if someone walks in-

...Nevermind. Anis just detected S/O's heartbeat climb to higher and higher rates, and that was before she even looked in front of her.

And just like that she immediately regains her snarky composure.

(Anis) "Come on, if you wanna try something as daring as that, you gotta have the backbone for it!"

She's careful not to utilize all her strength as to not crush them, but it was very easy for her to swap positions.

And with one playful kiss against her lips, she pulls back with a toothy grin and continues walking, leaving S/O a flustered mess.

(Neon) "OHGOSH-"

Neon's world spun for a brief moment before her eyes landed on S/O in front of her.

Oh, a kiss! Weird way to do it but whatever-

(Neon) "WAIT! Are you doing one of those Cabbydoms on me?!"

She had seen this talked about in her shows!...She thinks, anyway.

Neon suddenly becomes excited, eagerly waiting for S/O to continue before they immediately averted their gaze, making her pout.

(Neon) "Oh fine, I'll do it myself!"

Neon, despite being so small, aggressively slams S/O against the wall before crashing her lips against theirs.

(AK-12) "Oh?"

12 allowed herself to be gently shoved into the wall behind her, waiting to see what S/O would do.

Much to her amusement, they did nothing after that. Or more accurately, they failed to kiss her after making a valiant attempt.

(AK-12) "Hm, so close.~"

Her eyes open for a brief moment just to tease them, and suddenly pushes them against the opposite wall, still staring into their eyes as S/O's darted to avoid her close scrutiny.

(AK-12) "Look at me, S/O. I'm about to show you how it's properly done."

Kissing them for a brief moment, she pulls away and closes her eyes once more, hearing S/O stutter almost every word and making her giggle.

Well, S/O tried to push 15 to the wall to kabedon them.

Instead, she remained completely still as they failed to even make her budge, making her raise an eyebrow.

(AK-15) "S/O, do you require something?"

(S/O) "A-Ah...n-nothing, don't worry about it."

Detecting their vitals, it was clear S/O was lying. Were they attempting to show affection?

RPK-16 told her of a style to make your lover's heart race, and decided to try it.

15 effortlessly pushes S/O into the wall, picking them up with both her arms and kissing them, hearing S/O yelp before kissing back.

At least it worked.

M16 has a shit-eating grin the entire time, her eyebrows playfully waggling at her S/O.

(M16A1) "Oooh!~ Gonna shut me up, S/O?"

She watched S/O go through six different emotions in the span of a few seconds as she genuinely thought they would kiss her.

And to both her disappointment and surprise, they didn't.

(M16A1) "Don't wuss out, S/O! Gotta back up what you're doing! Like THIS-!"

M16 crashes her lips into S/O before pinning them into the wall, her hands grabbing their wrist, not letting them come up for air until she got her message across.

It was a good thing she both had a few drinks in her, and that they weren't completely alone so her confidence wouldn't shrink.

Truth be told, if they had done this to her in private, then she would be just as nervous. Not that S/O needed to know that.

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pimosworld · 6 months

Note

Hi it’s me!! Since you are open to requests, could you please do a very fluffy smut with Joel where the reader is very insecure about her body and he makes her feel loved and it’s just so sweet?? In need of a comfort daddy Joel 🥺

Pairing- Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary- Joel wants you to see your body the way he does, a work of art.

CW-18+, MDNI, NSFW, A smidge of angst because (body image issues), Fluff,miscommunication, reader is not described other than not feeling herself lately, Soft dom Joel, smut, body worship, mirror sex, fingering, unprotected piv, cream pie, self acceptance, no use of y/n

WC-2.0k

[Joel Miller Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

A\N- My first Joel request and I would say I was feeling inspired by some body issues I’ve had lately. Thank you anon for this lovely request I hope I did it justice.

Clothing optional

There was a war going on in your house. Two separate wars to be exact, although you personally had no idea about one of them.

You’re currently on the frontlines in your room with a pile of mass casualties on the floor beside you. As you stand and face the mirror in front of you it’s unclear who the enemy is. Logic would have you believe it’s the clothes, the clothes that fit not long ago…that much you’re sure of. The cruel part of your brain, the part you couldn’t seem to shut off was telling you the enemy was your body. This body that has carried you through life, through ups and downs, through grief and happiness. Yet you stand here and shame it, calling it the enemy.

This dress, one that you were never really that fond of but could always rely on it fitting was the straw that broke the camel's back. It hugs in all the wrong places and definitely seems shorter than you remembered the last time you put it on. The lace at the seams is frayed a little and you swore you heard a stitch pop when you tried to unzip yourself. Now you’re frozen in fear that you’re stuck in this godforsaken thing and you’ve still not figured out what you’re wearing to impress Joel’s business partners. He was always so put together, what could they possibly think of you by his side.

“Sugar ya in there?” A knock on the bedroom door and Joel’s sweet voice causes you to panic.

You’re not even close to being ready. Tears streaming down your face, makeup ruined and your claustrophobia is aching to get out of this dress.

“Don’t come in.” Your garbled voice is evident all rushed out in a frenzy as you hear the door swing open.

****

The other war.

A war that’s been silently brewing in the house over the last few weeks. Joel noticed something different about you. It took him a lot longer than he’d cared to admit once he realized. He knew your body in and out. Every freckle, every line, every scar or birthmark. He’d made it his mission in life to be able to pick you out of a lineup blindfolded, only tasked with his hands or his mouth.

He was insatiable for you.

He never understood when other men would say that after some time you won’t be as obsessed with each other. After marriage things become monotonous and it feels like a chore. He loved chores, being able to complete a task. If loving you and worshiping your body was a chore then he wanted that duty everyday.

At first he thought he must’ve said or done something to upset you. He knew his mouth could be pretty reckless at times so he gave you a few days to cool off.

When you shy away from him or insisted your shirt stayed on during sex he started to grow suspicious. Maybe he hadn’t told you enough how much he appreciated your body. He thought he did a pretty good job of it but things get complicated when you’re in the heat of the moment. He made your brain go all fuzzy and it was hard to concentrate on what he was sayin’.

He’d had just about had enough when he walked into the kitchen the other day. You were reaching something high up on the shelf. Instead of asking if you needed help he just stood there ogling you as your shorts rode up, exposing the bottom of your ass. He wanted to sink his teeth into it. He wanted to grip your thighs and bend you over the counter. He could just imagine it as he pounded into you from behind while you screamed his name, the ripples from his thrusts dancing across your skin. You looked so startled when you saw him there, his eyes blown black with lust as he stepped towards you. His heart broke a little when you scurried away and returned aggressively wrapping your robe around you.

****

A peace offering.

You knew there was no way he was staying outside at any sign of your distress. He enters your shared bedroom slowly like he’s approaching a frightened animal. You’re sure you look like one in your state.

He’s quite the opposite. Crisp black on black suit, his hair combed back out of his face to show off those beautiful brown eyes. His cologne wafts towards you with hints of bergamot and cedar wood. Just the sight of him has you weak in the knees.

“You wanna tell me what’s got ya all worked up?” He takes a tentative step towards you as you shake your head and wrap your arms around yourself.

He clicks his tongue, hating how defeated you look right now. “Listen sugar, I’m gonna count to ten.” He gently unfurls your arms from you and wraps them around his middle. “And by the time I get to ten.” You take a shuddering breath against his chest relishing in the comfort he’s bringing you. “You’re gonna tell me what’s wrong.”

“One.”

“None of my clothes fit, I hate the way I look right now and I don’t want to embarrass you tonight because I look ridiculous standing next to you in some dress that I hate.” It’s all rushed out and muffled into his chest as he cradles your head and rocks you back and forth.

“Is that all?” He teases as you nod your head. “I’m thinkin’ maybe there’s a little more.”

“Two.”

“Well…the other day.” You let out an exasperated sigh as you look up at him. “You were starin’ at me, in the kitchen. I couldn’t tell what you were thinking, but it didn’t look good.”

He thinks for a moment, back to his thoughts in the kitchen and you must have read him all wrong.

Joel steps back from you briefly as he undoes his tie, letting it drop to the floor. “The other day in the kitchen.” His hands start to work at the buttons on his dress shirt as he shucks it off his broad shoulders. “I wasn’t tryin’ to stare. I was tryin’ to keep my hands to myself.”

Your breathing picks up as he undoes the buckle on his slacks and lets them join the rest of his clothes. He palms himself through his boxers, his hard length growing at the slightest touch.

“Joel, what are you doing?” He doesn’t answer you as his hands grip your shoulders turning you toward the mirror. “We’re gonna be late for the dinner.”

He leans in, taking your earlobe between his teeth as you gasp. “We’re not goin’ to the dinner sweetheart.” Joel’s eyes lock with yours in the mirror as he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Do ya see how beautiful you are?”

His grip stops you from shaking your head no and you figure you might as well get with the program now, since he’s being so generous.

“You wanna do this your way or my way?” He asks with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Your way?” You shakily answer as he smiles all wide and kisses your cheek.

His hands make quick work of the zipper that was stuck and he eases it down your back. Carefully dragging it down your body, letting the fabric pool at your feet. His hand kneads your breast and soft whimper leaves your lips as it trails down your stomach. “You weren’t plannin on wearin’ any panties to this event?” His fingers dip lower circling your clit just barely teasing you.

“I…I hadn’t gotten around to them yet.” Your voice is shaky as he winds his other arm around you pulling you taught to his chest.

“Well good thing…you won’t be needin’ em tonight.” His words send a shiver down your spine as you stand there, naked as the day you were born trying to stay afloat. “Now, I asked you if you see how beautiful you are?”

“Yes.” You moan out as he slips two fingers inside, chuckling to himself as he works you open.

You cry out at the loss as he pulls them from you, holding them out in front of your face. It’s lewd the way he licks his fingers and his grip on you tightens as your legs threaten to give out at the sight.

“You want me to show ya’ what I was thinkin’ about in the kitchen?” Rhetorical question of course but you're feverishly nodding your head all the same.

He places a soft kiss to your neck as he guides you to the bed. Neither of you trusting your feet to carry you there. “Lay down for me baby girl. Face me.” You lay down on your stomach, resting your head on your arms as you watch him place the mirror near the edge of the bed.

His fingers tug down his boxers and it surprises you every time, the sheer weight of him. His cock twitches at the sight as if it knows you’re looking, admiring as you stop yourself from reaching at the angry red tip to swipe your finger through the bead of precum leaking out.

The bed dips behind you as he straddles your thighs. You can see him in the mirror watching you as you wiggle your ass, that fight part of your brain no longer concerned with the way you look. Not with the way he’s looking at you. Like he wants to eat you alive.

His fingers grip your flesh as he tilts your hips up, he’s rock hard as he slides the tip through your aching folds. You clench around nothing as you try to draw him in.

“Eyes on the prize baby.” You tear your eyes from him as you catch yours in the mirror. He wants you to watch, but not him.

You’re the prize.

He sinks down in one fluid motion and it takes every fiber of your being to keep your eyes open. You both moan in unison as he starts a slow agonizing pace.

Joel watches you as long as he can but he can’t tear his eyes away from the ripple of your skin as he pounds your flesh. Hitting something deep and devastating inside you as you clutch the sheets. Soft chants of his name punched out in his thrusts as he tries to hold off his release. It feels too good and just like his daydream. Having you bent over all fucked out, unable to form a coherent through. The only thought he wants running through that head is how perfect you are.

“Oh fuck…I’m the luckiest man alive, ya know that.” He grits out as he meets your eyes again.

His strong hands haul you up against his chest as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. All you can manage is a head nod as you keen at this new angle.

You can feel the beads of sweat from his hair drip down onto you as you cling to his arms, he growls in your ear as your climax peaks over you, taking you by surprise as you cry out his name.

“This pussy was made for me darlin’.”

He can feel you suck him in and his balls draw up tight. Your front bathed in a sheen of sweat down your breasts and across your stomach as you ride out the aftershocks. His hips slow to a stutter as he holds your prone and pliant body, pulsing inside you as you let out a soft exhale.

You’re completely and utterly wrecked and he thinks you’re like one of those renaissance paintings with the naked ladies. Better than that because you’re real and you’re all his.

It takes you a moment to gather yourself as you lay there, Joel’s hand draped over your body at the edge of the bed. You can finally look in the mirror and see the war that was waging was all on your head.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

#joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x f!reader #joel x reader #soft joel miller #joel the last of us #joelmiller #tlou imagine #joel miller fanfiction

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gay-dorito-dust · 4 months

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Can I request headcanons for Calcharo, and Jiyan with shy gn s/o?

Jiyan

He doesn’t mind your shyness, not one bit.

He’s not exactly someone who can actively engage in socialising, especially not when most of his time was spent on the frontlines talking about strategies, supplies and coming up with ways in which they would avoid having mass casualties.

So if anything he’s the last person to judge you on your shyness. It would be unfair.

Jiyan is the person you go to for comfort, for advice because he brings you a lot of clarity and certainty unlike any other that you feel as though you could go to him for anything and he would try his best to help you, which is true.

He didn’t mind it when you practically tried to hide yourself behind him whenever there were people talking to him, he just reached a hand behind him in search of your own and holds it reassuringly until the group leaves, where he would then ask if you were okay.

Jiyan would much rather spend time with you in a secluded spot away from everyone, watching the Gulpuffs swim by as you both sat underneath the shade of a trees then be anywhere else if it made you happy.

He’s always preferred moments of peace and quiet after dealing with the chaotic and unpredictable situations he’s use to on the front lines, is sometimes he finds it hard to make his body relax and enjoy life when his eyes were always looking for the next big threat. So being in those moments of peace and quiet with you made jiyan relax easier as he had someone he deeply cared for to share this moment with.

He’d even find it even more peaceful if you were to fall asleep against his side, comfortable with him enough to allow yourself to be in a vulnerable position as he’s left to watch over you as you slept, always guarding you from everything and anything that would do you any harm.

Bonus if he falls asleep soon after, resting his head atop of yours and it acts as a cute moment to look back on with fondness and gratitude that you stayed by his side.

Jiyan worries that might not always be there for you due to his duty as General, he also worries that he might not make it back to you one day, that one day he’ll see you for the last time before going back to the frontlines to face the new threat.

So he makes you promise to plant a flower just for him if that were to ever be the case and you hugged him as tightly as possible in response, muttering that he wouldn’t die, jiyan wordlessly hugged you back equally as tightly, internally wishing that your words held truth to them for the future was always uncertain; now more then ever.

Calcharo (I love this Vergil/sepihroth looking beauty)

Another man who doesn’t care whether you were shy or not.

At first he might’ve intimidated you but after several instances where you were shown that he was far from the stories -or misconceptions as he’d call them- that you’ve heard about him and his group.

He’s a gentle and sweet man when you saw past the perpetually grumpy, brooding air about him.

He’s more or less protective over you and wants to keep you safe from anything and everything, human or not, no one was safe from his wrath if he were to be made aware of you being in any danger.

So Calcharo tries to stay close to you however he can so that he could keep an eye out for shifty characters with ill intentions, he does not tolerate it when people take advantage of people who couldn’t stand up for themself, it was pathetic and cowardly in his eyes and he want about to let you be their next target.

He’s a man of few words but that’s because he mainly lets his actions do most of the talking. So if he saw there was something you’d like but couldn’t find the voice to speak about it, he would silently stalk away and come back to present you with the thing you wanted in hand.

Calcharo could read you like a book and knew what you wanted and needed by a few simple bodily gestures. He wanted you to feel comfortable with him and he knew that takes time because he too took time to get accustomed to having someone in his life.

‘Do- do you ever get tired of me?’ You asked one day and Calcharo could tell it took all the willpower you had just to come up to him and say it.

‘What do you mean by that dearest?’ He said as he watched as you internally fight to get the words out and growing frustrated with yourself when you went to open your mouth, only for nothing but silence to come out.

‘Take your time.’ He calmly reminds you and you took a deep breath.

‘It’s just- I know I’m shy and struggle with doing things on my own such as order a meal or making doctors appointments, but I can’t help but think that maybe you’re getting tired of me for not doing things on my own.’ You admitted to him, finally getting the weight off of your chest as you stared at the brooding man in front of you, worried about what he might say.

‘I do not grow tired of you, I don’t think It’s right of me to grow tired of you when all you’ve ever been doing is trying your best.’ Calcharo replied as he stood in front of you and slowly reach for your hand and caresses the back of it with his thumb. ‘Your shyness is far from an issue for me and you shouldn’t have to be expected to be perfect at everything just to keep a partner or a friend.’ He squeezes your hand reassuringly. ‘So no, I do not grow tired of you.’

Calcharo couldn’t care less if you were shy or not, you were his partner and he cared for you immensely, which to him should be enough proof.

He may not be the best lover but for you, he tries.

#wuwa #wuthering waves #wuwa x reader #wuwa x you #wuwa imagines #wuwa imagine #wuthering waves x reader #wuthering waves x you #Wuthering waves imagine #Wuthering waves imagines #calcharo x reader #calcharo x you #calcharo imagine #calcharo imagines #jiyan x reader #jiyan x you #jiyan imagine #jiyan imagines

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salsakiyoomi · 1 year

Text

you knew miya atsumu from highschool.

yes, the miya atsumu, the star hit volleyball player, the one on almost every magazine cover, the one with over a hundred million followers on instagram, the one who's notorious for flirting with his interviewers and having an attitude with an over the top ego yet still managing to quiver under his coach's gaze and putting his arrogance in check.

yes, you knew him.

you knew him as the loud, rowdy kid who never shut up in class, who definitely had an over the top ego and attitude problem back then as well, who also flirted with your friends and even you on some if not all occasions.

god, you hated him.

he was arrogant and ignorant and overall a huge dickehead who needed to be tamed.

this was the light you saw him in up until graduation day, when he came up to you with a smirk plastered on his face and you noticed it, mentally preparing yourself to tell him to fuck off if he was here to flirt with you again.

but he didn't saying anything flirtatious, instead, all he said was, "hey, congratulations on being in the top three, man, it's freakin' awesome."

he was congratulating you for when you took your diploma and the principal announced that you were in second place between all the other graduates.

and after that, miya atsumu left and you never saw him again.

it wasn't until a few years later that you randomly saw his name on a twitter headline that said 'new upcoming volleyball star : miya atsumu is certainly making his way to the frontlines!'

it was obvious that volleyball would be his go-to, he was definitely talented at it, and against your bitter will, you had to admit that even you were awe-strucked when he played on the court.

however, it still was definitely a surprise when you saw his name on headlines, it left you with your mouth hung open in astonishment.

and after that, he was everywhere you went.

on tv, on magazines posing with his teammates, on instagram and twitter, on youtube in 'top ten funniest miya atsumu moments' video compilations — heck, even in a fucking advertisement for a hair conditioner.

you truly couldn't escape him.

by heart, you were a journalist, and so soon came the day where miya atsumu is sitting in front of you, conducting an interview.

well, it isn't him alone, it's him and his teammates — it's loud in the room as all of them talk over eachother, but his eye catches yours and a hint of recognition flashes in them, before a smile spreads on his lips, one that you eventually mirror as if the both of you are sharing some inside joke.

miya atsumu recognizes you.

he recognizes your face and your eyes, he recognizes you smile, and oh how he recognizes your voice that's speaking in a soft, professional tone now, but used to scold him with a harsh and sarcastic tone then.

and so, in the next thirty minute you spent interviewing him and his teammates, miya atsumu's mind kept flashing through the very few memories he had with you in highschool, and most importantly, feelings of an old crush resurfaced now that he's face to face with you.

he's smiling at you, giving you heart eyes, and answering every question that you asked him personally with an almost child-like enthusiasm.

atsumu truly hasn't felt this shy around someone since highschool.

the interview passes quick and everyone scatters soon after and you find yourself standing outside the stadium, with your phone in your hand and waiting for your uber to come.

you think, while miya atsumu still had some of his unmistakable traits such as his attitude and talent to annoy others effortlessly, there's still some traits to him that make you tolerate him a bit more now.

after all, you don't really hate him as much as you did back in highschool.

or it you can even call what you felt towards him back in highschool hate — it was more of a feeling if annoyance really, since he was a nuisance.

"well, well, well, long time no see." a familiar voice plastered with cockiness to it calls out to you, and you turn around to face the blonde.

speak of the devil, you think.

"well, surprised to even see you still remember me, miya." you tease, smirking at him.

"what can i say? it's hard to forget you when you used to call me a 'motherfucking jackass' everyday at school." he shoots back, laughing loudly at the way you turn your face away in embarrassment.

"listen, you used to annoy me alot, okay?" you defend, "and i see that none of that has changed."

he grins at you, and says, "one can only change so little, i see you still have very little tolerance for me."

"as always."

he laughs again, and then his laughter quiets down, but a smile still remains on his lips as he looks at you, his expression timid and his voice almost shy as he says, "haven't seen you in so long, i missed ya."

you think you're imagining it when you see him with a faint pink dusting his cheeks.

now it's your turn to laugh, you aren't necessarily laughing at him, just more so that you're surprised by his sudden statement, and so you reply with, "well, my everyday was kind of dull without you annoying me, so i guess i missed you too."

you can swear that the pink on his cheeks got darker when you said that, but you decide not to say anything of it.

he chuckles and stuffs his hands in his pockets, "well, i'm glad we can finally agree on something." he let's out a long sigh, "who knew fate would bring us back like that? as a hotshot and an interviewer?"

he's being dramatic and cocky again.

you roll your eyes at him, "you think quite highly of yourself, it's sickening."

atsumu grins at you, and you shake your head at him with an unwilling smile on your lips, thinking that maybe his company right now isn't so bad, and that maybe you're actually enjoying talking to him right now.

atsumu asks, "so, are you waiting for someone?"

"my uber, yes."

"well, then i guess you wouldn't mind if i waited with you then." he says, shuffling a bit closer to you — atsumu isn't sure why he's doing this to himself, talking with you knowing how nervous and jittery you get him to be, with his heart pounding fast in his chest and his hands clammy in his pockets and he hasn't felt this way since highschool — but maybe, just maybe he's hoping he could build up enough courage to ask for your number.

"you already are," you remark teasingly, smiling at him.

your phone vibrates in your hand and you check the notification that tell you your uber is almost here.

"it's almost here anyway," you state, and you don't notice how his shoulders suddenly slump down like a disappointed child.

"oh," he says disappointingly, "well, it was nice meeting you again after so long, y/n." he smiles brightly at you.

you state at him for a moment, your mind racing through some thoughts, before you finally decide that : fuck it, you'll just go for it.

"give me your phone." you demand.

he furrows his brows in confusion, "what? why?"

"just give me your phone."

atsumu reluctantly and confusingly pulls his phone out and hands it to you without asking any further questions.

you tap away at his screen for a few seconds before handing his phone back to him — and just then your uber pulls up.

atsumu only catches a glimpse of 'y/n from highschool' saved into his contact list before you're standing on your tippy toes pressing a peck to his cheek and pulling away, smiling and waving at him as you make your way to your ride.

you call out, "call me later, okay?"

atsumu swears his heart went flying with the next gust of wind that blew, and red bloomed on his cheeks as his eyes scanned over your contact name a hundred times, almost as if he couldn't believe it sat in his phone now, and when his mind finally registered it, a giddy, shy smile that he couldn't resist spread to his face.

oh, for sure he'll be calling you later.

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thewulf · 4 months

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Beneath the Healer's Touch || Azriel

Summary: Request - I was wondering if you could write an ACOTAR fic with Azriel as the reader’s mate where the reader is Madja’s apprentice, but she rarely ever asks her to personally treat their patients, like she’s just there to assist with the equipment and materials and stuff and the IC never really questioned it... Read Rest Here

A/N: Wasn't planning on putting two Az fics out in a row but I just had to write this. Love it so much, thank you for the requests :)

Pairing: Azriel x Female Reader (Night Court Healer Reader)

Word Count: 5.6k +

TW: Use of Magic (fluffy), yelling

You huddle against the rough fabric of the medical tent situated perilously close to the front lines. As Madja’s apprentice your role in the Night Court has always been subdued. Your presence nearly as invisible as the shadows where you often stand. A shy but observant female fae, you’ve adapted to watching and learning. You assisted with the preparation of healing instruments and materials rather than engaging in the direct act of healing itself. Madja, the seasoned healer you serve under has never asked you to step beyond these boundaries . That was until today.

Outside of the tent the clash and clamor of war reverberate through the air. A constant reminder of the stakes at play. Inside the tent the atmosphere is thick with the scent of blood and herbs being punctuated by the groans of soldiers bearing the fresh scars of battle. Each day the flow of injured warriors increases, overwhelming even Madja’s formidable skills.

Her usual calm efficiency begins to wane under the strain. Her movements growing more frantic as she tries to attend to multiple critical cases simultaneously. The limited space of the tent is filled with the wounded and the air is heavy with desperation and the iron tang of blood.

Seeing the desperation in Madja's eyes as she struggles to keep up you begin to feel the weight of every unattended soldier pressing down upon you. Your hands which were so accustomed to organizing and managing the background needs itch to do more — to heal and to help directly.

In a moment of sheer necessity Madja turns to you with a look of grave urgency. "I need you now, more than ever," she says over the din of suffering. Her voice thick with exhaustion. "You must help me heal them. We are losing too many. I have called for more help, but I need you today."

As the urgent call pierces through the chaotic sounds of the medical tent you look into Madja’s eyes feeling the weight of her plea. Your heart races but your response is calm and resolute. “I’ll do it,” you say quickly. The words almost catching in your throat.

Madja reaches out, her hand briefly squeezing yours. A gesture laden with both gratitude and apology. “I’m sorry to ask this of you,” she murmurs as her voice laced with regret as she glances at the wounded waiting for attention.

You shake your head dismissing her concerns with a small, reassuring smile that you hope masks your nervousness. “It’s alright, Madja. I’ll be okay,” you assure her while stepping closer to the first of many soldiers who need your help. Your voice is stronger than you feel, imbued with a determination that you muster from the depths of your commitment to heal. Despite the personal cost.

With a deep, steadying breath you prepare yourself for the task ahead knowing each healing touch will draw the pain into your own body. But in this moment of desperate need your resolve is unwavering. You are ready to face whatever comes for the sake of those who depend on you.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you step forward. Your usual place behind the scenes abandoned for the harsh reality of frontline medical work. You approach the first soldier laid out before you. His injuries severe and daunting. As you extend your hands to begin the healing a part of you recoils knowing the personal cost you will soon pay. With a deep breath you brace yourself against the incoming tide of pain that will transfer to you as you heal him accepting the burden as the price of your newfound duty.

In the stifling heat of the medical tent, you move from one soldier to the next. Your hands becoming conduits of both healing and suffering. The first soldier’s injury—a deep gash across his arm—closes under the gentle press of your palms but the sharp sting of the wound sears through you as if the blade had cut into your own flesh. You stifle a gasp, biting down on your lip to keep composed as the pain lingers. It was a cruel echo of the soldier's relief.

With each healing the burden grows heavier. A fractured leg brings an ache that settles deep into your bones making you falter for a moment as you steady yourself against a tent pole. A burn from a fire spell sends waves of searing heat coursing through your skin. You struggle to maintain the calm exterior expected of a healer. Despite the agony each touch brings you press on being driven by the urgent need around you.

The soldiers were unaware of the cost you pay with each healing thank you with weak smiles and hoarse words of gratitude. You return their thanks with nods and a faint smile making sure to hide the toll their pain exacts upon you.

Throughout all of this the Inner Circle is embroiled in their own battles too consumed by strategic planning and counterattacks to notice the quiet suffering of Madja’s apprentice. They see you sometimes as a fleeting figure moving among the cots, but the depth of your sacrifice remains unseen being masked by the chaos of war and the stoic mask you wear.

The pain accumulates as a collection of injuries that are not your own yet reside within you. As the day wears on you feel yourself weakening. The physical costs of your hidden ability dragging at your limbs making each step heavier. Each breath shallower. Still, you continue, the need to help, to heal, pushing you beyond your limits. The cries of pain are a call you cannot ignore even as each healing tears a little piece from your own reserves of strength.

In the privacy of brief moments alone when you can lean against the cool canvas of the tent and close your eyes, the reality of your situation presses close, intimate, and overwhelming. How long can you sustain this? The question haunts the back of your mind, but you push it away instead focusing on the faces of those you’ve saved on the necessity of your pain for their relief. This is the path you’ve chosen. Hidden in shadows yet illuminated by the faint glow of altruism, bearing silently the scars that no one else can see.

As dusk begins to settle over the camp casting long shadows between the rows of tents Azriel returns from a skirmish. His usually composed expression tightened with discomfort. The shadows that constantly swirl around him seem agitated reflecting his unease. He carries a minor wound. A laceration on his arm that under normal circumstances would be a trivial matter for a healer of his caliber. However, this wound is tainted with faebane, a substance notorious for its ability to thwart fae healing magic.

You watch from a distance initially noticing the way he grimaces as he presses his fingers against the jagged edge of the cut attempting to coax his own magic to seal it. But the faebane embedded in the wound repels each attempt. And with each failed healing his frustration grows. An exceptionally rare crack in his usually impenetrable demeanor.

Recognizing his struggle, you approach him tentatively. The weight of the day’s healings presses heavily on you. Each step toward him a battle against the fatigue that threatens to buckle your knees. “Azriel,” you call softly not wanting to startle him.

He looks up and for a brief moment you’re caught in the intensity of his gaze. His eyes that were usually so guarded and unreadable were now openly display his vexation and pain. "It's this damned faebane," he mutters almost to himself as his hand falls away from the wound.

Stepping closer you offer a small, reassuring smile though your body screams in protest. “Let me try,” you whisper while extending your trembling hands towards his arm.

As your fingers brush against his skin a shock of connection jolts through you. Stronger and more profound than anything you've felt with the other soldiers. It’s as if his very soul resonates with yours. A hum of compatibility that whispers of a deeper bond. Your heart stutters in your chest but you focus on the task at hand pushing away the implications of what this connection might mean.

You press your palms to the laceration and immediately a sharp pain slices through your own arm, mirroring Azriel’s wound. You stifle a cry by biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. The sensation is intense, more so because it’s Azriel’s pain you’re sharing now. Despite the agony you pour your energy into the healing being driven by a newfound desperation.

Azriel watches you. His expression shifting from one of pain to concern. "You don’t have to do this," he starts. His voice rough with his own discomfort and the growing worry for yours.

But you shake your head pushing through the pain with a determination that frightens even you. "I can handle it," you lie. The words barely a whisper over the throbbing in your arm. As the faebane slowly loses its grip and the wound begins to close a wave of dizziness hits you. So strong that you sway on your feet.

As Azriel steadies you with his shadows curling anxiously around his form he is acutely aware of the pain coursing through his arm, mirroring the wound he just healed. As a shadowsinger he has always been attuned to the deeper often hidden emotions of those around him. He was capable of sensing the unspoken pains and secret fears that others carry silently. However, this experience is startlingly intense. A raw echo of agony that pulses through him with unusual clarity.

The pain he feels as you heal him doesn't feel like his own. It’s as if he’s tapped into a direct stream of your suffering. This connection, though new and unexplored, unnerves him. It is more profound than anything he has experienced through his shadows before. Almost as if the pain itself has a voice, whispering of shared suffering and mutual burden. He struggles with the realization that he is feeling your agony so vividly. The lines of empathy blurring into something deeper. Something he can't quite understand yet.

In this moment as the faebane's resistance fades and the laceration begins to heal, Azriel finds himself grappling with a mix of concern and a peculiar sense of protectiveness. The intensity of the connection doesn’t fit into the usual confines of his abilities or past experiences. While he doesn't comprehend the full extent of what this means—far from realizing the potential of a mate bond—he recognizes that something significant lies beneath the surface of this shared pain. This unexpected insight into your sacrifice doesn't just alarm him. It shifts something fundamental in how he perceives you. Compelling him to reassess the nature of your relationship and his instincts towards you.

His hands were gripping your shoulders with surprising gentleness. "What is this costing you?" he asks. His voice laced with a rare note of vulnerability having felt a trace of your suffering through the nascent bond neither of you yet understands.

You want to reassure him. To tell him it’s nothing but the shadows in his eyes seem to see through you, recognizing the depth of your sacrifice. In this shared moment of pain and healing the unspoken truth of your connection lingers heavily between you. A secret laid bare by the battle scars you both carry.

You meet Azriel's intense gaze seeing the concern etched in his features threatening to unravel the composure you've fought so hard to maintain. His hands on your shoulders feel both grounding and alarming. As if they're the only things keeping you from collapsing under the weight of your own sacrifices. "I need to keep going," you manage to say. Your voice a strained whisper that barely conceals the weariness lacing each syllable. "There are others who need me."

Trying to inject a note of reassurance into your tone you add quickly, "It's part of healing, Azriel. I'll be okay." Even as you speak the words you feel the hollowness behind them. A contrast to the truth of your pain. But you're determined not to let him see just how much it's affecting you not wanting to add to his burdens.

With a gentle but firm push against his hands you step back pulling away from his comforting grasp. "I have to go," you insist, turning towards the next cot where another soldier lies moaning in pain. You don't look back almost afraid that if you do your resolve will crumble under the weight of his worry and the unspoken connection that you both feel but don't yet understand. You move forward, each step fueled by a mix of duty and the urgent need to escape the intensity of his scrutiny and the complicated emotions it stirs within you.

Azriel was still visibly troubled by the earlier interaction. With your evident strain he insists on accompanying you as you move from one wounded soldier to another. His presence is a silent, watchful shadow that lingers just at the edge of your vision. While the others of the Inner Circle are engaged in the throes of battle, Azriel has chosen to remain by your side. A decision that speaks more of his concern than any words could.

As you press on each healing session takes more from you. Draining your energy, drawing more of your strength. Azriel observes closely noting the increasing pallor of your skin and the subtle tremors in your hands each time you withdraw them from a wound. Despite your attempts to mask your pain, each expression, each falter does not escape his vigilant gaze.

As you lean over a severely wounded soldier focusing intently on sealing a deep, life-threatening laceration the accumulated pain from your healings surges like a tide, overwhelming and relentless. The sharp and unyielding agony lashes through you, blurring your vision and weakening your knees. You feel the darkness creeping in at the edges of your consciousness threatening to pull you under.

In a desperate bid to maintain control you reach out not for Azriel but for the tent’s support pole—a futile attempt to steady yourself. Yet, your hands grasp only air as your strength finally fails. Before you can process the fall Azriel’s arms are around you. His reaction swift and sure. He pulls you gently against him cushioning your collapse as he lowers both of you smoothly to the floor of the tent.

In this moment your pride battles with the undeniable relief of his support. You hadn't called for him. You hadn't wanted to admit that he might have been right about the danger of your condition, yet here he is, the one catching you as you fall. His presence is both a comfort and a confrontation. A not-so-subtle reminder of your own vulnerability.

Azriel cradles you against his chest. His expression a mask of concern etched deep with the lines of fear for your well-being. He doesn’t speak immediately instead opting to brush a gentle hand across your forehead, pushing away strands of hair matted with sweat. His touch is soft, almost reverent, as if he’s both trying to comfort you and reassure himself of your presence.

Around you the battle's distant roars continue but within the tent a quiet bubble of stillness envelops you both punctuated only by your labored breaths. Azriel’s gaze is locked on your face searching for any sign of recovery. Looking for any indication that you might overcome this bout of weakness.

In his eyes there is a flicker of something more—something beyond mere concern. It's a profound realization of your sacrifice. Of the silent suffering you've endured to heal others. And with this realization comes a fierce protectiveness. A vow forming in the depths of his being. He holds you closer, a silent promise cradled in the curve of his arms, that from this moment forward he will do whatever it takes to protect you. To ensure that this burden of pain is no longer yours to bear alone. The bond between you seemingly mysterious and undefined becomes his anchor. The thing he clings to as he silently pledges to be the safeguard you might not admit you need but he knows you deserve.

The pain you've been shouldering now echoes clearly through the bond that neither of you fully understands yet. But its intensity is unmistakable. Azriel feels each pang as if it were his own. A shared torment that binds you together with an ironclad tether. His face was mere inches from yours and is etched with deep concern and something akin to fear. "Hold on," he urges. His voice a low, desperate command. "Stay with me."

As Azriel holds you in his arms feeling the distressing ebb of your consciousness his protective instincts surge into high alert. The warmth from your body seems to be fading and your breathing becomes worryingly shallow. Typical signs that your physical limits have been catastrophically breached. Panic tightens its grip on him. A vivid contrast to the usual calm demeanor of the shadowsinger.

"Madja!" he calls out desperately. His voice piercing the relative quiet of the tent with an urgency that rattles the air. The shadows around him stir reflecting his growing desperation. He needs her expertise, her understanding of your mysterious condition that now seems perilously close to claiming you.

Madja rushes through the flaps of the tent with her healer's bag clutched tightly, the sight that greets her—a formidable Azriel cradling you, pale and barely conscious—draws a sharp intake of breath from her. She kneels beside you both. Her experienced eyes quickly assessing your condition.

"What happened?" she demands. Her voice thick with worry and confusion. As she lays her hands on you seeking to gauge the extent of your depletion Azriel's gaze hardens.

"She's been healing the soldiers, taking their pain onto herself," Azriel explains. His words rushed. His tone laced with both accusation and fear. "She collapsed just now. How could you not know the toll it was taking on her?"

Madja's expression crumbles into one of profound guilt and regret. She meets Azriel's intense gaze with a resigned sorrow. "I knew," she admits. Her voice a whisper of remorse. "I knew, but I thought we could manage it—keep it under control. I feared the implications of her gift being fully exposed. I thought I was protecting her."

Azriel’s anger wanes slightly instead replaced by a sharp pang of understanding. He knows all too well the complexities of hiding one's true capabilities in a world that might not understand or might exploit them. However, his concern for your well-being remains paramount.

"She needs help now, Madja. What can we do?" he asks with his voice softening but still tinged with urgency.

Madja nods. Her focus turning entirely to you. "I can stabilize her for now, but we need to rethink how she uses her gift," she says as she begins to channel her own healing magic into you. A gentle flow designed not to heal but to sustain.

As Madja works Azriel holds you closer. His thoughts racing with concern and resolve. He watches the slight return of warmth to your cheeks under Madja’s skilled care, feeling a blend of relief and determination surge through him. A promise forms in his heart. Not merely to protect you but to truly understand and support your unique gift, no matter the cost.

However, the demands of the ongoing battle pull at him. Madja noticed the conflict in his expression speaks with a calm authority. "She must rest now, Azriel," she advises with her voice steady. "And they need you. The battle isn't over yet."

Reluctantly Azriel nods. The weight of his responsibilities clear on his face. He leans down with his lips brushing your forehead in a gentle kiss. His assurance of returning to you. "I'll be back soon," he promises. His voice a whisper meant only for you. With one last lingering look that conveys all his worry and care he stands and leaves the tent. His figure soon disappearing into the fray.

The war rages on demanding every ounce of Azriel's focus and skill. Yet his thoughts frequently stray back to the medical tent, to you, lying there in recovery. Each moment he can spare he finds himself glancing towards the tent. His mind racing with scenarios of returning to you.

As the last echoes of battle fade and a weary peace begins to settle, Azriel's duties finally allow him a moment to breathe. He wastes no time. The moment he is able he rushes back to the medical tent with his steps quick with urgency and anticipation. Pushing through the tent flaps, Azriel’s eyes immediately seek you out. He finds you awake but visibly exhausted propped up against some pillows. The sight of you, alive and recovering, though still weak floods him with relief.

“I’m here,” Azriel breathes out as he quickly crosses the space to your side before kneeling beside your cot. His hand reaches out brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with a tenderness that belies his warrior's exterior. “How are you feeling?” he asks. His voice low and filled with concern. His eyes scanning your face for any sign of pain or discomfort.

Azriel’s presence instantly eases some of the weight pressing down on you and relief softens your features. "I'm exhausted," you admit but manage a weak smile. "But I'll be alright, just need some rest." Your eyes meet his and even in your weariness there's an undeniable relief that reflects back from his gaze. An unspoken understanding of the solace you both find in each other’s presence after the chaos of battle.

"You had us worried for a while there," Azriel says. His voice a mix of relief and mild reprimand. His eyes scan your face still searching for signs of pain or lingering fatigue. His concern palpable but not overwhelming. "Madja told me you'd recover but seeing it for myself makes all the difference."

Your smile deepens slightly at his words. You were grateful for his concern and the straightforward honesty that always marked your interactions. "I'll be fine, Azriel. Really," you assure him with your tone aiming to put him at ease. "It's good to have you back though."

In the days following the battle, as the camp slowly transitions from a place of urgent healing back to routine operations, your strength begins to return. With each passing day the pain and exhaustion that had once clouded your vision start to fade instead replaced by a growing vigor that Madja assures you is a good sign of recovery. Azriel, true to his word, visits often. His presence a constant reassurance as the camp breaks down around you. The war finally declared over.

Once you're deemed well enough to travel Azriel accompanies you back to Velaris. The journey was facilitated by the magic of winnowing is quick but disorienting. A dramatic shift from the dusty tents and the sharp smells of medicine to the lush, serene beauty of the Night Court. Back in Velaris the city seems to embrace you both with open arms. The familiar sights and sounds of the vibrant city life, the cobblestone streets lit by lanterns and the murmur of the Sidra River, provide a comforting backdrop to your continued recovery.

A few nights after your return, once you feel stronger and more like yourself, Azriel invites you to join him on a balcony overlooking Velaris. The balcony was part of a high vantage point in the House of Wind and offers a breathtaking view of the city spread out beneath a canopy of stars. The transition from the harsh realities of war to this peaceful setting marks a significant shift in your healing process—both physical and emotional.

Seated together on the balcony the atmosphere between you is one of tentative peace. A reprieve from the chaos of the battlefield. The evening air is cool and carrying the gentle scent of night-blooming flowers. There’s a quiet that allows for softer, more intimate conversation. Here with the distance from the front lines you both find the space to reflect on the recent events and the impact they’ve had on each of you discussing thoughts and feelings that the war left little room to explore.

This tranquil setting in Velaris which was far removed from the demands of war allows you both to see each other in a new light. Appreciating the resilience and strength each has shown, and perhaps, beginning to understand the deeper bond that seems to have formed in the crucible of conflict.

Azriel breaks the silence between you with a gentle voice reflecting the calm of the night. "I've been thinking about your healing abilities. About your gift," he says before pausing as if searching for the right way to broach the subject without overstepping. "It's a heavy burden you've carried… taking on others' pain."

You nod appreciating his careful approach. "It can be overwhelming," you admit. Your voice low. Sharing this truth with him feels both vulnerable and relieving. "Especially knowing that each time I heal, I take a little bit of that pain into myself."

The softness of his gaze as he looks at you speaks volumes, and he shifts slightly closer. "Perhaps we can find a way to ease that burden," he suggests. "Explore methods to shield you or at least to share the load." The idea of sharing this part of your life with Azriel, having him understand and perhaps help carry the weight, brings a warmth to your heart. It’s a tentative step towards deeper connection and you find yourself hoping for more.

"And how about us?" Azriel adds after a moment, the question hanging between you like a delicate thread. "These past weeks, feeling everything that you have felt... it’s made me realize how deeply connected I am to you. More than I anticipated." The admission hangs in the air and is charged with an unspoken depth of emotion. You felt it too. The inexplicable pull towards him. Something beyond mere friendship.

You smile a soft, genuine expression that lights up your eyes. "I feel it too," you confess. "It's like there’s something between us, something... more."

The conversation flows more freely now, the initial hesitance giving way to a hopeful exploration of what might be. Neither of you mentions the word 'mates,' still dancing around the full depth of your bond, but there’s an unspoken acknowledgment of the significance of your connection.

As the night deepens between you, you and Azriel make promises. Not grand declarations but quiet vows to support each other. To explore the depth of your bond and understand the extent of your powers together. It's a mutual commitment filled with the promise of discovering not just the mysteries of your abilities but also the potential of what you could be to each other.

With the city of Velaris sparkling below and the tranquil night wrapping around you there’s a sense of beginning. Of possibilities waiting to be explored. Together you watch the stars comforted by the presence of each other and hopeful for the future.

In the quiet of the pre-dawn, you and Azriel linger on the balcony ensconced in the gentle embrace of Velaris' early morning serenity. The sky is a tapestry of deep blues and purples and begins to lighten at the horizon, heralding the dawn. The air around you is charged with the quiet anticipation of the world waking up. A fitting backdrop for the profound moment unfolding between you.

Azriel's gaze remains fixed on the horizon, but his mind is clearly elsewhere—on the revelations of the night, on the words that now hover on the edge of being spoken. Finally, he turns to you with his expression open. He was vulnerable in a way that you've seldom seen from the reserved shadowsinger. "There's something undeniable about the connection between us," he begins. His voice soft, reverent almost. "It goes beyond what we’ve had. Beyond friendship.” You meet his gaze feeling the truth of his words resonate within you. It's a truth you've sensed but haven't dared to define until this moment.

Finally finding the courage to speak what he’s discovered he steps closer making sure to bridge the gap between you. His presence enveloping you in warmth. "I've felt every echo of your pain, every ripple of your joy as if they were my own. It's more than just empathy… it's a bond, a deep, unbreakable bond." His hands find yours. His touch gentle but firm. "I believe we're mates," he says. The words charged with emotion and an unspoken plea for you to feel the same.

Your heart leaps. The simplicity and sincerity of his admission cutting through any lingering doubts. You smile, not just with your lips but with your entire being, accepting the truth of his words and the bond they confirm. "Azriel, I've sensed it as well," you reply with your voice soft yet filled with wonder. "It’s as if there’s been a song woven into the fabric of our days, subtle yet persistent, waiting for us to finally hear it and understand its tune."

Azriel's smile in response is a thing of quiet joy. A uniquely rare and tender sight that stirs something deep within you. He pulls you gently closer and you find yourself wrapped in his embrace. The city around you awakening as the first light of dawn spills over the edges of the world.

In the tranquil embrace of dawn Azriel holds you close. His heart beating a tentative rhythm against yours. His voice carries a rare vulnerability that makes the air around you thrum with the weight of his words. “Do you want that?" he asks softly. His breath warm against your hair. "To always be there for each other. To face whatever this world throws at us, together, as one?"

He pulls back slightly as his hands were still gently cradling your face. His eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. This question isn't merely rhetorical. It's a genuine, open-ended inquiry into your desires. A request for your heart's agreement with his. Azriel's usual certainty is replaced by an endearing, hopeful uncertainty. Highlighting how deeply he values your consent and participation in this burgeoning bond.

You look into his eyes. Into those deep pools of night that have seen so much sorrow and solitude, now laced with tender hope. The dawn casts its first gentle rays illuminating the sincerity and slight apprehension on his face. This moment, this question, isn't just about confirming a bond. It's about choosing to build a future together.

"Yes, Azriel," you respond. Your voice steady and sure, a soft yet resolute affirmation that echoes the depth of your own feelings. "I want that more than anything."

Azriel's response is immediate. His eyes reflecting a profound relief and joy that seem to brighten the very air around him. A broad, genuine smile spreads across his face transforming his usually stoic expression into one of pure elation.

"You've just made me the happiest male in all of Prythian," he breathes out as his voice is rich with emotion. The sincerity in his words resonates deeply echoing the significance of your acceptance.

His arms pull you closer. The warmth of his embrace enveloping you as he whispers, "We'll face everything together, side by side. No matter what comes we won't face it alone."

"Always," you echo back, your voice a soft yet resolute affirmation. The certainty in your agreement strengthens the bond between you weaving your fates together with threads of shared strength and mutual understanding setting a path forward together in the intertwining dance of your shared lives.

Azriel’s smile deepens at your words. His relief and joy palpable. The certainty of your mutual promise solidifies the bond between you weaving your fates together with threads of shared strength and understanding. His hands that still cradling your face shift slightly and his fingers brush tenderly across your lips. A touch so gentle it sends a shiver down your spine.

The intimate gesture holds a world of meaning. As he gazes into your eyes the warmth and intensity of his emotions are clear. He leans in, his breath mingling with yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. Then with a tenderness that quickly deepens into something more he pulls you in for a kiss.

What starts as a gentle meeting of lips soon transforms into a kiss filled with passion and longing. As if all the emotions and realizations of the past days and weeks are being poured into this single, breathtaking moment. Azriel’s kiss is both a promise and a declaration, sealing the bond between you with a fervor that leaves you breathless.

Your arms wrap around him pulling him closer responding to the depth of his kiss with equal intensity. The world around you fades away leaving only the two of you entwined in a moment that transcends everything else. As the kiss lingers it becomes clear that this is not just a bond forged in the fires of battle but a connection that will shape your future, side by side, whatever may come.

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kiwismitten · 4 months

Text

Tired words | Wriothesley x GN!reader

Angst/comfort: Being the frontlines for the whole country’s fate can really make a man lose sleep. After the events that took place, and the sudden return of his lover he’s very snippy.

spoilers: main fontaine archon quest!

CW: yelling , reader almost ded , wriothesley kinda ooc (let me know if i missed anything!)

words: 1751

The halls of the Fortress of Meropide have never felt colder as you make your way to your boyfriend’s office. The events of the days before fresh in everyone’s mind. The incident in Poisson only a few days before your return.

You were on an academic trip to Sumeru, learning about the herbal medicines and picking up some fruits and herbs to bring back to Fontaine. As soon as the steam bird articles showed up at your host home’s door the night of the incident, you apologized and began packing your bags. You’ve never moved with such haste. Of course you know about the prophecy, and Wriothesley had told you before he didn’t even know if he was Fontainian and joked a ton about getting turned into water alongside everyone else. You personally, just weren’t willing to let him take that chance.

The rushed trip back still felt like it took twice as long as the venture there. Jogging through the city with your bag still on your back, listening to depressing conversations from the other citizens about their impending fate. Frantically, you reach the Fortress entrance, and make your way down.

That’s how you ended up standing outside your boyfriend’s office, anxiety coursing through your body. Even the fortress was in disarray. Your soft knocks on the door earn no response, so you slowly push the heavy doors open with a loud creek.

“Darling?” Your voice echos through the bottom floor, your eyes gazing over everything before landing on the strange staircase going further down that you never noticed before.You drop your bags at the door before cautiously venturing down. “Wriothesley?”

A strong hand grabs your shoulder from behind you making you gasp.

“What are you doing?” He looks exhausted, his tone of voice far from the playful, carefree Wriothesley you’ve grown attached to. Sounding closer to how he addresses inmates. Heat fills your torso with joy, seeing he’s okay, and you fling yourself at him wrapping your arms around him.

“You’re okay…” His normal scowl doesn’t leave his face. Different again since his face normally softens at your contact.

“Yes, yes I’m okay what are you doing here.” He says the bags under his eyes more pronounced than normal, sparking worry in your brain.

“I heard what happened in Poisson, and I left early,” You stood in front of him staring up at his towering figure. He sighs, wiping his face with his wrapped hand. His exhaustion seemed to be weighing on him harder at your statement.

“Why.. did you have to come back now?” he pinched the bridge of his nose between his pointer finger and thumb. Your joy falters at his display.

“What do you mean darling..” Your arms fall to your sides. He stares at your form, his eyes piercing through you.

“I mean I thought with you away I'd have one less thing to worry about,” Venom laces his words. “Especially coming to the fortress during times like this, I thought I’d finally be able to focus on the prophecy, but now with you here you’ll need me to be with you so often.” Your heart jumps to your throat. He’s never been so cold to you. Has he always seen being with you as a chore, or is it just the high stress of the current situation. The emotions thick in the air make it difficult to think rationally. The salty air filling your lungs feels heavy and overwhelming.

“I’ll get out of the way.. I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Glancing down at your feet.

“Well I am. Now please, I have very important matters to get to.” He pushes past you mumbling under his breath. Stunned in silence, soft tears well in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Slowly, you made your way out of the fortress to stay at a small hotel.

You stayed at the hotel for the night, before the news of an archon going on trial reaches you in the morning. News travels fast in Fontaine, especially when there’s always a journalist creeping in the background. Deciding that staying and rotting in a hotel isn’t how you want to spend your first full day home, and you take a short stroll through the bustling streets. It’s as if no one really minds their impending fate. After reaching the opera epiclese you sit at one of the benches by the fountain. Staring into the water you smile remembering all the times you and Wriothesley sat at the near by benches eating together after his work. How you would lean your head on his shoulder listening to the soft roar of water as it cycles through, but if you were to melt into the sea now, it would be knowing that he brushed you away for being worried about him. A sigh escapes your lips as you continue your stroll, and eventually it gets interrupted by a crowd of people trickling out of the opera house. Gossiping amongst themselves about the archon, and not even batting an eye at the soft patter of rain on pavement.

The rain starts to pick up at an alarming rate, making people rush off under trees, and any form of cover they could find. A somber look rises to your face. “Is this it?” You take a seat on your normal bench, getting soaked in the pelting rain feeling the rain pool at your feet closing your eyes and letting the joyful memories flow through you.

All you really remember is the feeling of water picking you up. Floating through with a peaceful look on your face.Then a graceful arm wrapping around you and bringing you up, and you were suddenly in the air able to breath once again before everything went black.

Waking up in the fortress is never really a heart-warming experience. Especially when it’s in the cold clinical setting of the infirmary. The blurry metallic ceiling is the first thing you see, the bronze color only familiar to the fortress, so you’re immediately aware of where you are. You try to sit up, only to get pushed down by the smaller head nurse.

“Y/N be careful please, you’ve been out for a whole day you’re still healing.” Sigewinne frets over you holding her sticker covered clipboard.

“I feel fine,” You sit up in your bed, feeling the exhaustion hit you. You look around the other beds full of inmates. “I just need some food in me, and I’ll be right as rain.” a smile sheepishly crosses your face at the small joke. Sigewinne frowns and huffs as you pick at the various vital trackers attached to you. She helps a bit and takes out your IV.

“Just like his grace said you would,” you tense at the mention of him forcing a smile. “Just stay here he said to grab him as soon as you’re awake.” Eyes widening, you wait for her to leave before pulling the sheets off of yourself and rushing out of the infirmary. Your vision still blurry from the lack of food. Rushing through the halls, you stop at the canteen, smiling at Bran who waves you over.

“Ah y/n here for your welfare meal?” He smiles softly at your tired form before turning behind him to grab one of the nicer meals. “Courtesy of his grace, eat up.” You slip behind one of the many boxes before sitting on the floor and opening the delicious meal.

Wriothesley walks ahead of Sigewinne his heavy steps unmistakable. When he reaches the infirmary and sees your bed empty he curses under his breath. Sigewinne sighs pouting.

“I did ask her to stay your grace, but they did act weird when I mentioned I was fetching you,” Irritated he walks out, going immediately to the gardes who rat you out immediately.

Too immersed in your delicious food you don’t even notice the heavy steps approaching the canteen.

“What can I do for you your grace,” You stop mid-chew peeking out from the top of the box.

“Have you seen y/n I’m looking for them,” his voice has the carefree energy that you missed so much. His eyes dart around the canteen before meeting yours behind the box where you duck under again. “Ah, never mind, bran.” his heavy steps approach the box, his shadow looming over as you pop back up looking at your hands. He places a heavy hand on your head.

“Wriothesley,” you say breathlessly, tears threatening to fall again. At the break of your voice, he scoops you into his arms his long strides carrying you to his office. He wraps his arms around you as you feel small water droplets fall onto your clothes.

“y/n..” his voice cracks. You’ve never seen him break down like this, he’s the strong one, the one that never lets his strength falter. “I was so scared, i’m so sorry, I should’ve never said any of that shit to you, I was so stressed out after the fortress almost collapsed to the prophecy. I wasn’t getting enough sleep I was exhausted and I took it out on you. I’m so fucking sorry.” Seeing him crumble on top of you was heart-wrenching. His rambling spilling through his lips as his eyes dart across your face. “When Clorinde brought you onto the ship I just wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, I tried everything but you felt so cold..” He buries his face in your neck.

“I’m okay Wrio, I don’t know what happened but, I’m here I’m fine,” You wrap your arms loosely around his torso. “Honestly I thought I was gonna die with you angry at me, but now I’m here. Getting pushed away hurt, but we’re both okay,” You mumble into his chest.

“I’ll never speak to you like that again, I don’t think I could ever live with myself knowing you left this world with me angry at you when I had no right to be. All you wanted was to make sure I was okay,” He pulls away and holds your face in his hands. “You’re my whole world and I should’ve held that in the front of my mind this whole time. I don’t think I can say sorry enough my love.” His sharp eyes now soft as he leans in to place a soft caring kiss on your lips.

“We’ll be okay,” you melt into his touch, letting him hold you close

#i did my best #sorry i love wriothesley breaking down fics #wriothesely x reader #wriothesley #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley angst #genshin angst #angst with a happy ending #x gender neutral reader #wriothesely genshin #genshin x gender neutral reader

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