witchywrter

[witchywrter]

Push

Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Summary: you love teasing the Olo'eyktan's oldest son, but how much will he let you push before he snaps?

Warnings: childhood friends to rivals to lovers, angst, slight enemies to lovers but they're just dumb, (aged up) nsfw, kinda dom Neteyam, inexperienced reader, p in v

It started when you were young.

Your infatuation with Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan came on hard, and swift.

It was your fifth cycle around the moon. A group of children came together to play and fish in a small pond. Neteyam, though only a year your senior, was much more skilled than any of you. One of the perks of being the future Olo'eyktan.

He showed you how to hold the line, how to feed the bait onto the carved hook. When you failed time and time again, he waited until no one was looking, and shoved his own fish into your hands. He pulled them up over your head, declaring that you had the first catch of the day.

You beamed, an expression that was reserved only for him for the next several years.

He was a pillar in your life. Always there, a gentle teacher when things were hard. He coached you for weeks before you tamed your own Ikran. Helped you master the bow. Supported you at your coming of age ceremony. Painted your skin with traditional warriors paint before missions. He was your rock, providing stability at every turn.

Until...he wasn't.

One day, as if a flip simply switched, he became cold. When you returned from hunting parties, he was no longer on the sideline waiting. He avoided you around the village, turning the opposite direction if he saw you coming near. If you managed to hold his attention for even a few seconds, he exchanged pleasantries and quickly excused himself.

Your best friend was gone. Just like that.

You had no idea what was going on. Nothing had happened, no fight, no betrayal, nothing you could think of that would tear him away so swiftly. From that day on you tried your hardest to break through the newly formed wall between you.

When he sat alone weaving, you would occupy the space beside him and talk until he responded politely. If he was going on an adventure with his siblings, you'd ask to join, knowing at least one of them would agree. You'd wait around outside his family tent, ready to trail him to wherever he was going.

That is, until one day, when he returned from a hunt and told you how he really felt.

“Eywa, will you just stop?” He turns abruptly, making you lurch to a halt in order to avoid ramming into him.

“What—I don't understand, 'Teyam. Did something happen—” A hopefulness shakes your voice. Hope that it isn't you. That something happened on the hunt to make him so irritated.

“You're so annoying, always following me around.” His hands gesture harshly, anger tightening his face. “Don't you have any friends to bother?”

You simply stood before him, gaping for several long moments. By the time the words processed, he'd already fled with a rough breath. That was the day things really changed between you.

Unbeknownst to you, there was a reason for the sudden shift. His parents, always thinking of the future, had told him a mate would be chosen for him soon. He would be the next Olo'eyktan, after all, and the pairing must be suitable for the prosperity of the clan.

They chose you.

From that moment, you became more than a friend. You became an obligation. Another addition to the long list of expectations his parents piled onto his shoulders. He crumbled under the weight, directing his spite to you since he couldn't show disrespect to his elders. It ate at him, the way he treated you, but the damage had already been done.

At first, you were sad. Many tears were shed over the situation. Many lonely nights spent at the secret spots the two of you had once frequented. Then, you got angry. Who was he to abandon you without reason? Without explanation?

So, you did what any vengeful woman would do and decided to get even.

You decided you would get his attention one way or another. Several methods proved successful. When you challenged him, his eyes would zero in on you, something dark flickering behind the glowing yellow. If you bested him, he'd huff and stalk off, shoulders tense. But if you teased him? That really got the reaction you were looking for.

He'd challenge you to races, and you'd win nearly every time, never wasting an opportunity to gloat.

“Oh, you were so close. Maybe next time.” Your voice is sickly sweet as you release your queue from your Ikran, feet hitting warm stone.

Neteyam lands a moment later, quickly dismounting his own beast. He turns on you, chin dipped, eyes hooded as they slice through yours harshly. “You cheated.”

“Don't be jealous just because I know a shortcut.” A huff falls from your lips as you smooth a braid away from your face.

“You always do this.” Fists clench at his sides, mouth slanting into a deep frown.

“Do what? Beat you?” You blink up at him innocently, and he seethes.

He seemed to always get angry if you put yourself in harms way, scolding you just as he would his siblings.

“You should not be so stupid.” He points a finger directly in your face, shoulders hunched with tension.

“You should not be so uptight.” You mimick his stance, poking a finger into his broad chest.

He growled, actually growled, the sound sending a flutter from your stomach to the heat between your legs. He took a step toward you, hand extending before he thought better and pulled it to his side.

“Be more careful, or next time I will tell your father.” He stalks off in a huff, leaving you to smirk victoriously to yourself.

After some testing, and pushing, you realized that nothing riled him up quite like the sight of you with another man.

You used this to your advantage, waiting until he was in view to share a few lingering touches or soft glances. You never took it too far, knowing it wasn't fair to give anyone the wrong idea. Your actions were innocent enough, but still, they made his blood boil.

He noticed every touch, every smile, every tiny little interaction. He was constantly distracted by it. Hearing the way the other men talked about you, that was hard enough, but seeing it right in front of him? It was almost too much to bear.

The moment he'd had enough came just after your twentieth birthday celebration. The entire clan came together to dance and sing, lifting you up in prayer for a good future. He was looking for you toward the end of the party, eyes flicking over the crowd. He was about to give up, go back to the family tent for the night, when he heard you.

His gaze snapped to the edge of the forest. You emerged with a burst of melodic laughter, head thrown back in joy. You weren't alone. One arm dragged behind you, fingers entwined with another's. Instantly, he saw red, his vision blurring until that small connection was the only thing in sight.

He stalked toward you without hesitation, something pulling at his heart when your smile dropped.

“A word?” He barks the order, giving you no time to protest as he rips your hand free and drags you back into the trees.

“Neteyam, what's going on?” Your voice is breathless as you lurch forward, trying to keep up with his brisk pace.

He doesn't stop until you reach a secluded section of the forest, surrounded by glittering foliage. He turns on you, quickly dropping your hand.

“What were you doing with Zuey?” The question is ground out through a tight jaw.

You stumble back in surprise. “I don't see how that's any of your business.”

“When someone touches you, it is my business.”One large step closes the distance again. “Did he touch you, Y/N?”

“I—” This dance continues, you moving back and him advancing, stalking you like prey. “I don't—”

“Answer the question.” His voice drops, the raspy demand making you swallow thickly, something fluttering deep in your stomach. The intensity of his eyes burns through you.

You don't stop moving, walking backward until rough bark presses into your spine. Neteyam meets you there, looming over you from only a few inches away.

“No.” The response isn't as firm as you would've liked, your voice wobbling with some unknown emotion.

“No, he didn't touch you?” He tilts his head down to meet your eyes, one hand moving up to rest against the tree above your head. “Or no, you won't answer?”

You lift your chin in defiance, gaze locking with his in silent challenge. A sudden brashness wafts through you. “Why does it matter?”

“Y/N, I swear...” His jaw clenches so hard he fears he might crack a tooth. He doesn't even sound like himself, breathing ragged and voice deep.

“What are you gonna do, mighty warrior?” A smirk tilts the corner of your lips, seeing how worked up you've gotten him.

He growls darkly, free hand moving to wrap around your throat. Your eyes widen in surprise, a gasp parting your lips just before he connects them with his. He isn't gentle, lips slanting over yours as he takes the final step forward to eliminate any remaining space between you.

With his chest pressed against yours, you feel the rapid cadence of his heart. You can't help but instantly respond, stomach dipping. A pathetic sigh echoes from the trees, your hands lifting to wrap around his thin waist.

“This is what you wanted, isn't it?” He rips his lips from yours, instead moving to litter your neck with sloppy kisses. Your head all but slams against the tree as you throw it back in ecstasy. “You push, and push, just waiting for me to break. Isn't that right?”

A ragged moan falls from parted lips as sharp fangs nip at your skin.

“Say it.” He demands, moving back to pin you in place with a heated glare.

“Yes, yes.” You cage his face between your hands, pulling him back in.

Your lips slot together perfectly, moving in a feverish frenzy. He hums against you, knee knocking into yours to force your legs apart. He pushes his leg up, wedging his muscular thigh between yours.

He groans as your heat warms his skin, covering the sound of your desperate gasp. In an instant he grips your wrists, pining them above your head with one hand while the other moves to rip your loincloth from your hips.

“Is this okay?” He asks a moment too late, but you're too delirious with desire to care. Your head bobs quickly and he wastes no time in reconnecting your lips.

He holds you in place, strong thigh supporting your weight as you begin trembling. Your hips rut against his strong thigh, seeking friction. A broken sound pours into his mouth when his smooth skin catches your clit. Your core pulses with want, aching to be filled.

You've never felt like this, so out of control with desire. You don't know exactly what's going on, just that you need something. Anything to satiate this feeling. A tightness swells in your lower belly. Neteyam groans against you when he feels your slick against his leg.

He can't wait any longer, trailing a feather light touch down the column of your throat, your chest, your stomach, until he reaches the place he wants to be most.

“I need to stretch you, yawne (beloved).” He warns, just before a finger tentatively prods at your entrance.

You cry out against the foreign feeling, though the digit slides right in without protest. You tremble against him, feeling the walls of your pussy clench around the intrusion.

“‘Teyam!” You use the nickname that hasn't passed your lips in years, head tilting back as he gently thrusts his finger a few times.

“Yeah, that's right.” He grumbles, chest tight with emotion, adding another digit. “Say my name, sevin (pretty).”

“‘Teyam, ‘Teyam, ‘Teyam!” You cry out with each languid push against your sex, hips rocking to force him deeper.

He grunts against your neck, forehead pressed into you for support. He's painfully hard beneath his loincloth, hips rutting into yours shakily. He could cum from this, the noises you're making pushing him dangerously close to the edge.

He adds a third finger, and you wail pathetically, the pleasurable sting unlike anything you've felt before.

“‘Teyam, need you, please.” You don't care that you're begging, that he's gotten the best of you in this situation. You just need him to quench this desire, this emptiness suddenly fluttering your insides.

“Fuck, Y/N. You're not ready yet.” His voice is guttural, tormented with the wait, but he needs to make sure he won't hurt you.

You groan in protest, ripping your hands free of his loose hold. He's momentarily stunned as you undo his loincloth in record time. Your fingers wrap around his length, and he mewls. His hips snap forward, broken noises rumbling against your shoulder.

“Now, Neteyam.” You demand, angling his tip at your entrance.

“Shit, yawntutsyip (darling), wait.” His fingers leave you, but you barely have time to register the way your pussy clenches before he hoists you up, wrapping your legs around his hips.

He carries you a few steps to a clearing and gently lays you down, back now pressed against soft grass. You smile up at him as he leans over you, fingers soothing over his cheeks.

“Hi.” You whisper, eyes glittering under the eclipsed sun.

“Hi.” He can't help but grin, heart soaring at the position. He finally has you the way he wants, the way he's always wanted but was too stupid to realize.

“Ready?” He grips his pulsing cock and lines it up to you, gaze boring into yours to make sure.

“For you, always.” Your arms wrap around his neck languidly, pulling him in as he gently eases inside you.

Your back bows from the earth, chest pressing into his. He releases a ragged breath, eyes pinching at the way you're squeezing him. Slowly, slowly, he presses on until he bottoms out, tip nestled tightly against your womb.

“Neteyam…” You whimper, brows pinched, unsure what you’re even asking for.

“I know, baby, I know.” He coos gently, fingertips pushing stray braids from your forehead. “Gonna move now, okay?”

“Please.” You nod vigorously, legs tightening around his hips in encouragement.

“Fuck.” The curse slips past tight lips as he pulls out, slowly pressing back in to test the feeling.

“More, more.” Your head thrashes, the sensation too much and not enough all at once.

His forearms press into the dirt, caging you in as they support his weight. He grits his teeth, restraint tightening his chest. “Don’t want to hurt you, yawne (beloved)."

You groan with frustration and decide to take matters into your own hands. With your legs, still wrapped tightly around his hips, you twist harshly. The two of you roll to the side, Neteyam’s back hitting the ground with the force of the movement.

Wide eyes meet yours in surprise, the expression quickly morphing into one of pure ecstasy as you pull back until his cock is nearly all the way out before slamming back down.

“Fuck, Y/N, wait—” Fingers clamp around your hips to force you still.

Your core rolls forward, grinding your clit just how you need against him. You’re a moaning, stuttering mess, blubbering on top of him. Hands move to press into his strong stomach, stabilizing your efforts.

“Oh, Eywa.” His eyes roll back, hands going slack to allow you more freedom. He’s gone, all composure forfeit under the need to cum, the need to make you cum.

He slides a hand to your front, thumb pressing into your clit gently. You let out a ragged, broken noise, and he circles the digit, needing to hear it again.

“‘Teyam! I—I think…” Breath catches in your throat, muscles tensing around him. Something swells in your lower belly, an unfamiliar but incredibly pleasurable feeling.

He growls, the friction sending his pulsing cock closer to the edge. “Atta girl, come on. Cum for me.”

In an instant you’re frozen, pussy clenching hard until it gushes around him. You scream, the sound echoing through dense trees as you tremble with the force of your orgasm. Your back bows, bringing your closer to him as he lurches upright to take a nipple into his mouth.

“Y/N—I’m gonna—can I?” It's a desperate plea, the last bit of restraint he has left used to hold off his impending orgasm.

You nod quickly, arms encircling his head. “Yes, yes. Fill me up, yawnetu (love).”

He ruts against you, spilling into your core with a rough growl. His fangs nip at your neck, not hard enough to draw blood but to leave a little sting. He pulls you tight against him, arms crossing around your back.

Ragged breaths fill the forest as you both settle into stillness. Your fingers rub gentle circles into the back of his neck, his own smoothing down your sides. You feel the quick thrum of his heart against yours as he twitches inside you, making you whimper pathetically into his ear.

He gently lifts you, pulling out, your core spasming against the movement. He lays down in the grass, taking you with him, tucking you into his side and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. A contented sigh leaves your lips, eyes closing to bask in the afterglow for several minutes.

“You’re mine now, you know that right?” His voice is gentle, no authority behind the words, just speaking them as plainly as the truth.

You chuckle gently, nestling closer to his chest. “I’ve always been yours, ‘Teyam.”

[witchywrter]

Summer Party

a/n: this is the longest fic i've written, i really hope you guys like it. it's fun and fluffy.

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

summary: no one thinks (y/n) henderson can have fun. she was hawkins' good girl. she decides to try to let loose at a start of summer party, making her brother ask steve harrington to look out for her. something that proved to be a little harder than steve thought it would be.

word count: 3.6k

You looked around your room. Not an inch of the floor visible, textbooks and sheets of papers full of notes covered every inch of the carpeted ground. Your senior year was over and all you had to remember your time in high school were the notes spread out in front of you. It was almost pathetic now that you really thought about it, all you did for four years of your life was study and stay home with your mom. Even your little brother had more of a social life than you. It didn’t usually bother you but now that high school was over it felt like you missed out on something that everyone enjoyed experiencing.

“You’re dragging it!” Dustin’s voice rang through the house. You uncrossed your legs and got up. He wasn’t supposed to be home so early otherwise you would’ve had his lunch ready. You walked to the kitchen.

“Dusty?” You poked your head around the corner expecting to see your younger brother but instead you were met with Steve Harrington.

Dustin’s newfound friendship with Steve has made your life a lot harder than usual. You and Steve had gone to school together, when Steve was a senior you were the only junior in his calculus class. The calculus teacher assigned you to be his desk buddy so you could help him throughout the year. Obviously at such close proximity to King Steve anyone would develop a small crush and you weren’t an exception. He was just everything you thought he wouldn’t be. He was so kind and funny and caring. When he started hanging out with your brother it only made things worse. Seeing him in your house, picking Dustin up and dropping him off. It made you melt seeing him love and care for your brother.

He looked up when he heard you speak. “He’s actually putting his big radio thing in his room right now.”

“Right.” You started making your way toward the fridge. “Uuum, I’m going to make him a sandwich, would you want one?” You reached in and grabbed the ham, cheese and mayo and plopped all of it down on the counter.

When you looked back to Steve he was trying his best to hold back a smile. “Cute shirt.”

“What?” You looked down at your shirt with your eyebrows knit together in confusion. Your eyes were met with the green monstrosity that was your science club shirt, Einstein and Pythagoras fighting over a C2 plastered on the front of it. Of course, you shouldn’t feel bad about wearing a comfortable shirt in your own home but the fact that Steve was there to witness you in it made you want to crawl into a hole and never come out; just full on become some sort of mole person. “Yeah, thanks.” You turned around to start loading up the slices of bread exactly like Dustin likes. “So, about the sandwich?”

“Oh, sure. But I’ll make my own.” He walked over to where you were standing and grabbed the ingredients you had just finished with. You never noticed how tall Steve was. You had never really stood next to him a whole lot to really notice but now he was so close you were almost shoulder to shoulder. It set your skin on fire. You looked up to his face and examined him as he worked on making himself lunch. The sun was setting outside and the rays that broke in through the window kissed his skin with golden light. His lips looked so soft and shiny, you wondered what kind of lip balm he used; what it tasted like.

Maybe saying small crush was just a tiny bit of a lie. More of a lie to yourself, really. Having romantic feelings for someone was a fairly new concept for you, and it felt messy; out of your control, and you hated when you weren’t in control of things.

“You alright over there?” Steve bit into his sandwich, leaning back onto the counter. Your eyes widened at the realization that you had been caught staring at him. You could see a hint of a smirk on his lips as he chewed. That cocky bastard.

Before you could give a response Dustin walked in. “(y/n), sorry for not letting you know the idiot was coming over.” Steve took a step forward and smacked the back of Dustin’s head, his cheeks plump as he continued to eat.

“It’s alright, bubs.” You held the paper plate up, offering him his sandwich.

“I’m not 10 anymore, you don’t have to make me my sandwiches.” Dustin said whilst inching forward and grabbing the plate off your hands.

“Oh really? You too old? But just last night you were begging me to give you my desk lamp to use as a night light.”

Dustin’s head shot up and he stared at you with wide eyes. He couldn’t believe you had just betrayed him in this way, in front of Steve and God.

“Don’t tell me young Henderson is afraid of the dark.” Steve laughed a big hearty laugh, like a kid who just received a new bike on his birthday. It was coated in sweetness and fun. Clearly he was enjoying this new piece of information.

“Hey! It’s a perfectly reasonable fear, alright?” Your brother picked a piece of crust off his sandwich and threw it into Steve’s hair. “We are most vulnerable in the dark!”

“Of course we are Dusty.” You ruffled his hair and he cringed away from your hand.

Dustin got up from his seat and walked over to the trash. “Steve is going to that ‘start of summer’ party. Maybe he can give you a ride.”

“I don-“

You were cut off by a muffled chuckle. Steve had a hand over his mouth as he tried his best to keep from laughing.

“(y/n) Henderson at a party?” He quickly realized it probably sounded like he was making fun of you and he really wasn’t. “I mean not that you wouldn’t be welcomed at a party, I’m sure a lot of people like you, it’s just” He cleared his throat. “I attend a lot of parties and I’ve never seen you at one.” He ran a hand through his already perfect hair, a nervous tick of his. Steve watched your amused smile slowly falter until it completely disappeared, replaced with a frown. You looked hurt and it made Steve’s heart contract in his chest. He had never felt more like an idiot.

It felt dumb to be insulted by Steve’s words. You knew he didn’t mean it maliciously but you were kind of hurt. You knew what everyone thought of you, good girl with good grades and no life. Wet blanket Henderson. Boring and nerdy. But hearing that Steve thought those things about you too made it so much worse. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Dustin was still standing near the trash, completely still. The atmosphere was very awkward and he had no idea how to proceed. Obviously your brother knew you didn’t usually go to parties but he assumed the last one of your high school career was something you wouldn’t miss out on. Now that he asked he wants to stuff the words back into his mouth and never utter them again. He stood between his two favorite people in the world thinking of ways to fix the rise in hostility. “He didn’t mean anything bad, (y/n). Really.” His eyes shift to Steve. “Right, Steve?”

“N-n-no. What? No of course I didn’t mean anything bad!” He was panicked. He barely ever gets to speak to you anymore, and now he’s fucked up his chances of ever talking to you again. Steve has always liked speaking to you. Math usually made him want to eat and successfully pass rusty nails but all of a sudden it was bearable, sometimes even fun. It quickly became clear to him that he was just always happy to get to see you.

“You know what, I think I will be going to this party. It’ll be fun.” A big smile on your face. “I don’t need a ride, Steve. I’ll drive myself.” You started walking back to your room. “See you there, Harrington.”

When you finally left the room Dustin walked over to Steve and punched him in the arm. “Dude! She’s totally pissed.”

“What do you mean? She was smiling.”

“That is definitely not a happy smile, Steve. I’ve only seen that smile one other time.” Dustin looked out of the window, dramatic as ever. “I was 8, Jonathan and Will were over here. We were all having a good time until Jonathan had the bright idea to tell (y/n) girls couldn’t join the boys’ soccer team.” He turned his head back to look at the older boy. “(y/n) spent months constantly harassing the coach and that year the boys’ soccer team welcomed their first girl midfielder.”

Steve remembered that. A 12-year-old girl brute forcing her way into an all-boys’ team, he thought you were the coolest.  The soccer moms did not share the same opinion as young Steve, they were so angry. His dad pulled him out of that soccer team and enrolled him in a different one that year. He never questioned why but now that he's older he understands and it made him a little angry.

“This can’t be good.” Your younger brother was a little anxious now, you had never been to a party and now you were trying to prove a point, it couldn’t end well. You were definitely going to do something stupid. “Steve, listen to me, focus.” His hands land on both of the taller boy’s shoulders. “You need to look out for her tonight. Please.”

“Yeah no shit, Henderson.”

When you asked your mom for the car and told her it was to drive to a party she didn’t believe you. It took about twenty minutes of both you and Dustin convincing her that you were being serious. And when she finally did believe you she was terrified of letting you leave, but ultimately agreed; just a tiny bit happy to see you finally socialize.

The drive there was silent and filled with anxiety, it felt like your head was so full of thoughts they were pushing against your skull. You were one hundred percent taking on too much way too fast but you were too far in it to chicken out. If you didn’t do this now you would never do it.

You sat in your parked car and watched groups upon groups of people walk to the entrance of the house. You recognized some people from Hawkins High but there was a massive amount of people you had never seen in your life. The dress you decided to wear was a gift from your cousin as encouragement to go out, wish is lucky because it was the only clothes in your closet that could be considered party clothes. It was short, it was tight, it was red, it kind of made you feel hot which honestly was a rare feeling.

A knock on the car window interrupted the myriad of nervous thoughts clogging up your brain. You turned your head to the side, eyes landing on Steve. His arm was on the roof of the car as he bent slightly to look through the window. You were blinded by those pretty brown eyes of his for a moment but quickly rolled the window down.

“You going in there, tiger?” He offered a lopsided smile, trying his best to comfort you. He had been watching you sit in your car for about five minutes. You looked so nervous and although he thought you were very cute he couldn’t let you just sit there. So, he waited for you to willingly leave your car and when you didn’t he decided he should probably try to help you.

“Don’t patronize me, Steve.”

“I’m not. I swear.” There was sincerity dripping from his words. He so badly wanted you to understand how much he cared for you and how he would never ever say anything to hurt your feelings. It seemed every time he spoke to you he would say the wrong thing and it was driving him crazy. “C’mon I’ll walk in with you.”

There was a pause as you thought about his offer. You weren’t really mad at Steve; in fact you don’t think you ever could be truly mad at Steve but his offer made you feel like a charity case. The older sister of his friend he felt obligated to save.

So, you opened the door of the car and stepped out of it. “It’s alright, I’ll see you in there though.” You walked off, leaving Steve behind. He definitely could’ve caught up but he was too busy admiring the dress you were wearing. He stood there kind of speechless, Steve knew you were beautiful, anyone with eyes knew that, but he had never seen you out of big tee shirts and jeans. The dress was definitely going to be a problem for him, it was… distracting.

The walk up to the door felt like you were walking into a lion’s den. Which isn’t really too far off, the people at this party were definitely animals. And that was clear the second you walked through the door. There were people smoking and drinking. Some people were wrestling on the ground, some people were outside doing keg stands. And the floor was a little sticky. You assumed, more like hoped, it was people’s spilled drinks.

“(y/n) Henderson!” Some dude from your history class came to a full stop in front of you. “No way this is real, Miss goody two shoes at a party.” He shook your shoulders. “Oh this party is definitely going down in history if it got (y/n) Henderson to lift her head out of the books.” He was slurring his words, clearly a bit drunk. “C’mon I gotta show people you’re here otherwise no one is going to believe me.” He grabbed onto your wrist and started dragging you around the house. Introducing you to people you already knew and people you didn’t know, letting them know you were the school’s resident nerd girl that never showed up to any social event. He walked you to the kitchen where all the drinks were and went off to annoy someone else.

You looked around the room, feeling incredibly awkward. No one was really looking at you but it felt like everyone knew you didn’t belong there.

“Well, well, little Henderson out at a party.” Billy Hargrove stepped into your line of vision, his signature cigarette hanging from his lips. He was wearing a shirt which he kept unbuttoned and tight jeans. You had interacted with Billy in school maybe a handful of times and each time he was flirtier than the last. He was obviously crazy attractive, no one could really deny that but it was negated by how much of a douche-bag he was.

“Yeah just wanted to see what all the hype was about.” His eyes were roaming your body as you spoke.

“And how is it working out for you?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Honestly, I’m bored.”

“That can be remedied, pretty girl.” He reached over you and grabbed a shot from the table, offering it to you. “Is Hawkins’ angel too good for a drink?”

You looked at the drink and then back up at him. You knew this was a bad idea, I mean taking a random drink from a guy was covered in tape with caution written in big red letters. But when you looked past Billy and saw the way Steve was looking at you, like he knew you wouldn’t grab it. So you reached out for the shot and downed it. It burned all the way down and it made your face scrunch up as you cringed at the taste. It was your first alcoholic drink ever and it was awful.

Billy chuckled when he saw the frown on your face. It was always amusing to watch a good girl try to be bad. And he thought about how much fun it’s going to be to watch you.

“That was disgusting.” You said between coughs.

“Yeah well we don’t really drink for the taste, doll.” He offered you another shot. You looked at it for a moment, contemplating whether it was smart to take another. This is the problem. You thought. I overthink things instead of just letting loose and having fun. So, you decided to do everything you wouldn’t normally do and you threw back the shot.

Steve could not be having a worst time; he was on the other side of the house watching you talk to Billy. He wanted to walk over and drag you with him but he knew that would only make things worse for himself. You were obviously already a little upset with him and that was enough to make him careful with how he would keep you safe. Still there was no way he was going to let Billy get weird but right now there was nothing too serious happening for him to go all babysitter mode on you.

Throughout the next couple of hours you had downed about three more shots and you felt like you were floating. You were a little dizzy but you felt so warm and happy it didn’t matter.

The music was blasting in the living room, your urge to dance was becoming too strong to ignore now. You walked away from Billy leaving him mid-sentence, making your way to where everyone was dancing. There were so many sweaty bodies grinding on each other but you were too tipsy to care. Your eyes once again landed on Steve, he was leaning against the wall talking to some girl. Which was annoying but right now it was the least of your worries. You had to dance, it felt like if you didn’t you would implode. You know how they say alcohol gives you confidence? Well it gave you way too much because before you knew it you were getting on top of the dining table. You began to sway your hips to the rhythm. The people around you started cheering and hollering. Everyone extremely shocked that it was you on the table, dancing for everyone to see.

The commotion from the other side of the room ripped Steve’s attention from the girl in front of him. He looked over only to be horrified. He took his eyes off you for ten minutes and you were on top of table dancing, a crowd of people gathering around you, mostly gross men. And of course Billy was in the crowd, cheering for you the loudest. This was exactly a scenario Dustin wanted Steve to prevent.

He jogged over to the group of people and shoved everyone out of the way. When he reached the table he said “(y/n) that’s enough. Get down from there.”

“No, dad. I’m having fun.”

Steve reached up and grabbed your hand. He pulled you to fall into his arms and carried you off the table. Everyone around him started to boo at him before quickly falling back into their own stupidity.

“Let go of me, I was dancing.” You kicked your legs in an attempt to break free but Steve’s grip on you was strong.

He reached the door and put you down on the front porch. “Alright you can have fun, you have officially proved me wrong.”

“Not everything is about you, Steve Harrington.” The words slipped out before you could even really think about it. The immediate regret set in when you looked at Steve and saw the kicked puppy look on his face. “Steve, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” You sat down on the ground, not really able to hold yourself up anymore. “I just really wanted to know what I missed out on. I spent all four years of high school at home while all of you were having fun.” There was a pause as you caught your breath. “And sure I did want to prove you wrong, only a little.”

Steve sat down next to you, a close-lipped smile on his pretty face. “Well, I think you proved to everyone that you can have fun.” He chuckled.

Your head was resting on your hand as you stared at him. He was just so dreamy.

“Did you just call me dreamy?” His eyebrows were raised, an amused look on his face.

“Wait, what?” You froze. “Did I say that out loud?”

Steve burst out laughing. He couldn’t believe how cute you were. Years of silently pining over Dustin’s cute older sister suddenly seemed so worth it. “I think you’re dreamy too.” He bumped his shoulder against yours, making you giggle.

“Me? Dreamy? Stop, you’re going to make me blush.” You joked.

“Shut up, dork.”

“Steve Harrington, I’ve liked you since the day I walked into Mrs. Ansley’s class.” Again your mouth seemed to be moving before you could fully process what you were saying. It felt like a bucket of ice-cold water was dumped onto you when you finally did process your words.

“(y/n) Henderson, I’ve liked you since the day you walked into Mrs. Ansley’s class.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him so you could lay your head on his shoulder. “But we can talk about this tomorrow, when you’re not buzzed.”

“Deal.” You felt oddly calm being so close to him.

This worked out way better than the soccer thing.

taglist: @johnricharddeacy @slashersluttt

[witchywrter]

MARC SPECTOR NSFW ALPHABET

pairing: marc spector x fem!reader.

warnings: obviously smut, like 😭😭

authors note: also could be called marc dominating you... projecting my own fantasies out there, but isn't that what smut is?

A = Aftercare (What They’re Like After Sex)

A lot of people say they think Marc wouldn't care / not really feed into it. I would like to PROTEST. I definitely believe 100% that Marc Spector would carry you to the bathroom, run you a bath and wash you. I 100% believe it. You wouldn't be able to walk after your night with him. It's only fair.

B = Body Part (Their Body Of Theirs and Their Partner’s that they like) 

Marc loves his arms and his back. Especially, when you scratch his back. Leaving red marks all over it, sometimes they bleed and Marc almost cums at the feeling of your fingernails in his back, he knows he's making you feel good. I do believe Marc would be very proud of his arms though, he's a strong guy and he can fight. The bulk just comes with it. He think's he has the perfect amount. Not too bulky, but just enough so that he's toned.

Now, Marc loves your tits. God, he doesn't even have to be having sex with you to be anywhere near your tits. Marc will constantly find someway to sleep on them, or massage them. He just loves them. They're pillowy and soft, and he thinks your nipples are fucking beautiful, the way they get harder and the way you moan when he grazes his thumb over them is such an addicting sound.

C = Cum (Anything to Do with Cum; basically, I’m Nasty)

MARC SPECTOR LOVES TO CUM IN YOUR MOUTH. God, watching you swallow and taste every single last drip of his fucking load. It gets him off. The way it drips off your chin and onto those perfect tits. How he cums so much that you can't even manage to swallow all of it.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty Self Explanatory, A Dirty Secret of Theirs)

Now, I know Marc is obviously the leader, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to be dominated himself every once and a while... it's rare, and he hasn't told you about it. He would feel too vulnerable, he needs to be in control.

E = Experience (How Experience are They? Do They Know What They’re Doing?)

MARC KNOWS, oh he fucking KNOWS. I think we all know that before you, Marc would get around. But he just knows. He knows all the right spots to hit and make you feel good. He's the only person who's ever made you cry when you've cum and at first it was all the generic usual spots... I mean, the two of you started off as a one night stand, but as the two of you slowly built a relationship, Marc knew where to touch you, where he could make you feel better.

F = Favorite Positions (This Goes Without Saying)

He's a simple guy. He loves missionary. He can fuck your pussy so hard whilst looking into your eyes and telling you how much of a slut or a whore you are for his cock. He loves looking at you when you orgasm, 'cause you make the most beautiful face of pleasure.

It's not to say the two of you don't indulge in other positions, but he needs to see you when you cum, he needs to see you when he pounds his cock into you. He lives for that shit.

G = Goofy (Are They More Serious In The Moment? Are They Humorous? Etc.)

He's so serious. Of course, there are funny little moments. Of course there are moments when you're bashful or sound out a weird moan. Same goes for Marc. But he's serious. 99.9% of the time, he's fucking your face in or like I said before, telling you how much of a slut and a whore you are for his cock.

H = Hair (How Well Groomed Are They? Does The Carpet Match The Drapes? Etc.)

Marc doesn't like his hair. It's not like he's got time to trim it though, his line of work doesn't really allow for that time to rest. But when he gets the chance. BYE BYE... He fucking hates it.

I = Intimacy (How Are They During the Moment? The Romantic Aspect)

Marc being your daddy isn't the most romantic thing. That's more the aftercare or when you've been good. The most romantic thing he does during sex is praise you. Which is a little rarer, but he does.

... and he'd definitely call you "Princess" or "Sweetheart"

J = Jack Off (Masturbation Headcanon)

Marc doesn't really get off a lot. But when he does, it's always to the thought of you. He usually likes to wait for you so he can feel your body. Nothing will ever compare to your pussy or your mouth. But he's got a flesh-light and on a number of occasions he's used it to replicate the feeling of you, even though it's nowhere close, it gets the job done.

K = Kink (One or More of Their Kinks)

I said it a little earlier, but, Marc has a daddy kink. He's got a major daddy kink.

Marc will make you call him Daddy and make you get on your knees. He loves you and you love him and that's why you let him use you like a fucking sex doll, while he pounds the absolute shit out of you. It's true! He's fucked your mouth so hard you swear your throat was bruised, and your cunt so hard that it's hurt for a record of a week.

You love it, though.

L = Location (Favorite Places to Do the Deed)

Marc loves to finger you on the plane. I know, it's so random, but you're an archeologist, and most of your work is based in Egypt, so Marc comes with you because Khonsu usually demands it. The two of you probably spend more time in Egypt than in London.

So, yes, Marc finger fucks you on the plane every single time and no, you've never gotten caught. But you will one day.

M = Motivation (What Gets them Turn on, What Gets Them Going)

We'd be here too long, so let's just filter it down to everything... OR when you wear his shirts. He thinks that's so fucking sexy. How most of them are white and how he can see your tits through them, or when you wear his jumpers.

N = No (Something They Wouldn’t do, Turn Offs)

There's not a lot Marc wouldn't do. But Role-play. Marc's so done with that shit, pretending to be someone he's not. He just wants to be himself. He's been doing Khonsu's work for a long time and this is a place where he had no influence.

It's just you and Marc, that's all he wants. He doesn't need you to be anyone else. Just you.

O = Oral (Preferences in Giving and Receiving, Skill, Etc.)

Obviously, Marc loves to fuck the shit out of your mouth as if it's your cunt. But he definitely will not hesitate to suck all your juices and make you cum all over his mouth, feel your pussy pulse around his tongue.

P = Pace (Are They Fast and Rough? Slow and Sensual? Etc.)

ROUGH ROUGH ROUGH. But the speed differs, sometime's he'll draw it out because he doesn't want you to cum yet, or he'll fuck you so fast, that he makes you cum in at least a minute. Honestly, it depends on how he feels.

But, if you've had a bad day, it's funny how quickly that'll change for Marc. The only thing on your mind is making you feel good, so if you've gone through shit, he fucks you slow and only focuses on you.

Q = Quickies (Their Opinion on Quickie, How Often, Etc.)

Marc loves these so much. He'll fuck you quickly before you go to work almost all the time and fill your panties with his cum and make you wear them the whole day. You can't lie to yourself when you say you love that too.

Yes, he prefers having heaps of time to fuck you, but hey, he loves fucking you so he'll take it.

S = Stamina (How Many Rounds Can They Go For? How Long Do They Last?)

Marc can go for ages, it's usually you who gives out the fastest. Marc doesn't really love overstimulating you, so the most he can get out of you is at least three times, before he lets you go. The thought of you squirming underneath him and not feeling good makes him feel icky and gross. Even if he's dominating, he doesn't want to push you over your limits.

T = Toys (Do They Own Any Toys? Do They Use Them? On A Partner or Themselves?)

Marc believes a vibrator is on the side of a man. So yes, you own one, and he uses it on you sometimes. Sometimes whilst he gets your pussy ready for his length.

U = Unfair (How Much Do They Like To Tease?)

so much. Marc loves to tease you. He loves to rub his cock against your ass while your cooking dinner, or rub your inner thigh whilst the two of you watch tv. Even graze his thumb over the soft fabric of your panties. But sometime he'll just never give it to you.

But, you've learnt not to complain, sometimes you do, though... just so he can fuck you and punish you.

V = Volume (How Loud They Are, What Sounds They Make. Etc.)

Marc isn't too loud, actually. He loves moaning against your ear, and when he cums whispering shit to you. He finds it more intimate, he doesn't want anyone to hear you moan either... and you're loud, so he'll shove his fingers into your mouth to keep you quiet.

W = Wild Card (A Random Headcanon For The Character)

MARC IS SUCH A JEALOUS BOY, the amount of times you've come home from the bar and he's fucked you senseless because he saw some other guy flirting with you... oh, it gets you off.

X = X-ray (Let’s See What’s Going Under Those Clothes)

HE'S FUCKING LONG, he's got a big cock and he fucking knows it. He uses it to his advantage over you, making sure you take all of it in your mouth or in your tight cunt.

Y = Yearning (How High Is There Sex Drive?)

It's high, but not excessively, he loves those mundane moments, but when he gets turned on... he gets turned on. The two of you don't fuck every single night, but it is most nights and he'll fuck you until you forget your own name.

Z = Zzz (How Quickly They Fall Asleep Afterwards)

You nuzzle into him most of the time, and if he can't clean you up, then the two of you are out.

-

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[witchywrter]

Duty PT4: The Wedding

PAIRING: Robb Stark X Reader

WORD COUNT: 7844

WARNINGS: Uncomfortable sexual themes, emotional abuse, vomiting, mentions of violence towards animals, and hints of an eating disorder.

SUMMARY: The day of the wedding arrives, and though Y/N is drowning in dark memories, she forces on a brave face for her new husband.

A/N: I loved writing this chapter! I wanted to showcase both perspectives of the wedding, so this chapter will be in the reader pov, and the next one from Robb’s pov. Please like, comment, reblog, send an ask cause I love hearing from you! 💛

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

MASTERLIST | ROBB STARK MASTERLIST

Never in your life growing up in the Hills did you believe that you would one day find yourself sharing a meal with the Royal Family.

Prince Tommen is sitting beside you, the Queen Regent opposite you, and her daughter, the Princess Myrcella, beside her. The two youngsters are quite fond of you, constantly complimenting your hair and your dress. Whenever he sees you walking the halls of the Red Keep, Prince Tommen runs up to you and holds your hand. It’s very sweet.

The person you can’t read is Cersei Lannister. She has never spoken a mean word to you — always perfectly polite. But there’s something in her tone. The way she speaks to you in short, clipped sentences. You catch her looking at you sometimes like she wants you to shrivel up and die. A part of you hopes that it’s just her being a protective mother. Still, she leaves you with an uneasy feeling.

But the King? There is no doubt in your mind where his affections lie. He has constantly showered you with gifts and compliments from the moment you arrived in King’s Landing. The day your engagement was announced, he gifted you a golden necklace embedded with rubies.

“A token of my love,” he said. You have worn the necklace everyday since.

He’s sitting beside you now, at the head of the table where a King belongs. There’s been polite conversation all night long around the table, except Joffrey has been a bit irritable. It’s to be expected though, what with the stress of being at war.

Joffrey looks disinterested as you tell him the story of your sixteenth name day and how disastrous it was. Right in the middle of the story, something leaps onto your lap causing you to spill a cup of wine on the table and down your dress.

You look down in shock to find your kitten, Bells, staring up at you with big green eyes. Almost immediately, you burst into laughter and start stroking his dark fur as he purrs in your lap.

“What is that thing doing in here?” Joffrey snaps, as he stares daggers at Bells.

“Oh, it’s alright. No harm done,” you say with a smile, briefly glancing up at him.

He eyes both you and the cat then stabs into a slab of pork with his fork. “We shouldn’t have beasts like that at the table,” he says curtly as he sticks the pork in his mouth.

“He’s hardly a beast,” you chuckle, “He’s only excitable because he hasn’t learned yet.”

Tommen reaches over to pet Bells as Joffrey eyes the two of you.

“You know they say black cats are cursed,” he says, “Perhaps you’d be better off with a bird or a dog.”

You frown as you look up at him, completely bewildered by his harsh response to Bells’ playfulness. And that’s when you see it. The way Joffrey flinches every time Bells moves, his eyes wary of the animal.

A smirk spreads out on your lips as you look up at Joffrey. “Your Grace, don’t tell me you’re afraid of cats,” you tease him.

Cersei’s head immediately snaps to Joffrey and fixes on him. The King doesn’t say anything, simply glancing between you and the cat. You giggle — completely unaware of the rising tension — making Tommen and Myrcella laugh too.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let him hurt you,” you say, “I promise.”

You put Bells down on the floor again and watch him scurry off somewhere before returning to the food on your plate. Myrcella asks you questions about your home with Tommen hanging on to every single word.

What you don’t notice is how quiet Joffrey has grown. Nor the glare he’s burning into you from where he sits.

***

Nightmares of dark memories plague you all through the night. When you wake, your eyes are puffy and your body aches like you have been sleeping on cement.

Your mother is horrified at the state you’re in when she checks in on you halfway through the day, and thanks the Gods that no one has seen you yet. It is customary for the bride to remain hidden until the ceremony in the evening. She immediately asks for a bath to be drawn and leaves while you soak in it.

Amiria is the only one who stays while you bathe. There’s a towel filled with ice covering your eyes as she runs warm water through your hair, washing out the non-existent grease. She knows there is something bothering you, but she doesn’t want to push you to tell her. When you don’t say anything for a while, she decides to speak up.

“What is on your mind?” she asks, “I haven’t seen you this distressed since King’s Landing.”

You sigh heavily and sink further into the water. Slowly, you remove the towel from your eyes and blink them open, staring up at the grey ceiling.

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips as you tilt your head back to look at Amiria. “Today of all days,” you say, “Joffrey chooses today to haunt my dreams.”

The smile vanishes from your lips as you sit up in the bath again and pull your knees up to your chest. You rest your chin on your knees and hope that the water running down from your hair masks the tears that involuntarily escape your eyes.

“Y/N…” Amiria places a hand on your back. She clearly doesn’t have the words.

You sniff and force yourself to smile, wiping your eyes as you do so. “I’m alright, Ami,” you say as you turn to look at her, “I’m sure it’s just the stress.”

Her brows are creased with worry as she listens to you. “Y/N, His Grace is nothing like Joffrey.”

You nod, unconvinced, “I hope not.”

***

You’re forcing yourself to keep a neutral face, but are finding it difficult not to smile. After all, an invitation to join King Joffrey in his dining room is something to be excited about.

The Hound guides you into the room, not speaking a word to you the entire way, and when you enter, Joffrey greets you with a charming smile.

“Your Grace,” you curtsey as he approaches you, “I am honoured to join you for supper.”

“It is my pleasure to have you, my love,” he says as he kisses your hand, your cheeks heating up as he does so.

You glance around the room to see what is being served only to find that there is one bowl at the seat next to the head of the table, and nothing else.

Two guards stand by the doors, along with the Hound. Joffrey takes your hand and walks you to your seat, right where the bowl is placed. He pulls out your chair for you like a gentleman before taking his place at the head of the table.

You look down at the bowl the back to him, chuckling nervously. “Your Grace, will you not be having your supper?”

“No, no,” he says quickly, clasping his hands together and leaning forward, “This is a special dish I had prepared just for you.”

The smile on your face widens as you lift the dish cover to reveal a soup. It’s a little underwhelming, of course, but you’re still delighted to be honoured by Joffrey this way.

"It smells delicious," you say as you pick up the spoon, "What is in it?"

"Guess."

You frown and put a spoonful in your mouth. Joffrey noticeably grows excited.

"Is it boar?"

Joffrey giggles like a little boy, "No! Would you like a hint?"

"Yes, please!" He seems happy, so surely you must be doing something right.

Joffrey reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. The item jingles as he puts it down on the table right in front of you.

Your heart immediately sinks into your stomach.

It's a red satin bow with a tiny silver bell attached to it. The exact same bow that you tie around Bells' neck every morning.

Your eyes flash up to meet Joffrey's. Suddenly, they are no longer warm and inviting, but cold and evil. And that smile that just a moment ago was the epitome of charm is now menacing and cruel.

The spoonful you just swallowed rises like acid in your throat, and you have no clue what to do or think.

Joffrey continues to stare at you, his green eyes blazing like wildfire. “Well? Do you know what it is?”

He’s practically frothing at the mouth as his eyes dart from you to the soup.

You look down at the soup again in disbelief. “Y-You can’t—“

“I can’t? I can’t?!” He cuts you off, his voice shrill as he glances back at his guards. “I did,” he says firmly, all smiles disappearing from his lips, “Not that it was easy. The little beast was hard to catch. He wouldn’t stop screeching when Ser Meryn skinned him. Eventually we had to put him out of his misery.”

A whimper escapes your lips as your heart begins to pound. You’re suddenly very aware of how alone you are, and the terror of what awaits sends a chill down your spine. You can’t even look at Joffrey — too fearful.

“You’re not going to eat?” he asks, his tone still very matter-of-fact, “We went to a lot of trouble to prepare this meal for you.”

You look down at the bowl of soup — what is left of Bells — and your stomach begins to turn.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t?!” his voice shakes with rage, “You will. If you want to leave this room, that is.”

You gulp when you hear the Hound’s chainmail and heavy footsteps move closer.

“Now eat.”

***

The face staring back at you in the mirror is full of fear and sorrow. Your mother’s on the other hand is filled with pride and joy as she looks down at you.

“There. You look beautiful, sweetheart,” she says as she fixes the last of the pins in your hair.

You nod as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. Everything is perfectly in place. All that is left to do is put on your dress and shoes and the ceremony will take place after sunset.

“I’m going to miss you doing my hair,” you crack a smile, “It won’t be the same.”

“Don’t be silly,” she says, “After your father and I leave tomorrow, you’ll have more time with His Grace. Once you’re settled here, you’ll find that you barely think of us anymore.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach.

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Your head snaps up to face your mother. The action causes a braid to come loose making your mother sigh and put it back in place.

“Y/N, you know His Grace is at war,” she begins to clear your dressing table, “Robb needs all the men your father can spare. We have to return to the Hills as soon as possible.”

Each word is like a punch to the gut as your chest begins to tighten.

“You’re leaving me. Like the last time.”

Rania can see the panic setting in your eyes. She watches as you stand up and begin to pace around the room, untying and re-tying your robe.

“Please calm down,” she says, “This is not like the last time, Y/N. You know it isn’t.”

“Do I?” you ask, eyes wide in a panic, “You left me in King’s Landing. Alone. And as soon as you were gone…What if the same thing happens again?”

Rania takes your face in her hands. “Look at me,” she says, “It will not be like the last time.”

Your mother’s usual comforting words have no effect today.

“I need some air,” you breathe as you brush her hands away from you and scurry out of the room.

The cold air outside helps, but still your nerves are shot. Your breathing is erratic and your heart is beating out of your chest. You place a hand to your heart, hoping it will magically slow down, but to no avail.

Just as you feel like you might be dying, the contents of your stomach start erupting out onto the ground. Your whole body convulses with every heave, and you clutch your stomach to soothe some of the pain from your muscles contracting. You lift your head to find all eyes in the courtyard on you, and you start to worry that your coughing and spluttering is drawing too much attention.

Suddenly, you feel a hand on your back, rubbing up and down.

“Don’t just stand there! Get her some water!”

You wipe your teary eyes and look up to find Lady Catelyn standing above you, concern written all over her face.

She continues to rub your back until the water arrives and she passes you the cup. You gargle some of it and spit it out before downing the rest. She hands you a few leaves of mint which you’re grateful for as you chew on them. With a heavy sigh, you shakily stand up straight, suddenly freezing out here in the cold in just a silk robe.

“Are you alright now, dear?” she asks in a soothing tone.

You can feel your cheeks heating up as she wipes away a few tears you didn’t notice had slipped out.

“I’m…mortified, my Lady,” you say, attempting to curtsey despite the lack of grace she just witnessed.

She stops you halfway and lifts your chin to look at you properly. “Are you ill?”

“No, no, my Lady!” you quickly rush out, “I was just feeling a tad overwhelmed, that’s all.”

She narrows her eyes slightly but nods anyway. You get the sense that she doesn’t believe you completely.

Something catches your eye behind her. The sun is barely visible over the castle walls, and the sky is painted various shades of purples and pinks and oranges.

“The sun is setting,” you realise, knowing that the ceremony will be underway in a short time.

Catelyn must have caught the tone in your voice, because she placed a hand against your cheek and smiled softly, “You don’t have to be afraid, my dear.”

***

The dress feels heavy.

It's strange because when you were fitted for your first wedding dress – the one you would've worn to marry Joffrey – it didn't feel like this. Perhaps a part of you always knew that you wouldn't marry that monster.

"Mother, I feel like I can't breathe," you say as you pull at the high neck of your dress.

"It's because you are wearing three layers and we're still inside."

You know that is not the reason because the room is cold. The fire is barely burning and the room is bare. All your belongings have been moved to the King’s Chamber. Robb's chambers.

Rania slaps your hands away when you keep tugging at the neckline, "Are you trying to ruin the dress?"

You'd hate to do that. Despite how constricted you feel inside it, it would be a crime to damage such a beautiful dress. It had to be made in two layers to keep out the cold, but Lady Catelyn clearly put much thought into the design even with the little time she’s had to work with.

She also kept the colours of your House – blue and silver – in mind when choosing the fabrics. The under-dress is grey silk to match the deep, vivid shade of blue of the outer dress. The blue is covered in silver embroidery from head to toe.

Rania steps back when she fastens the silver clasps on your dress and places the cloak of your House around your shoulders. She's beaming as she ushers you to the standing mirror, waiting for your approval.

"What do you think?"

You can feel the excitement and joy radiating from her, but you can't seem to join her in that happiness. As much you want to be in this moment with her, you can't stop your mind from wandering. Just like that, you start to picture the night's events to come. From the ceremony, to the feast, to the bedding.

The bedding.

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind until now. What will happen once everyone is gone and it is just you and Robb behind closed doors? What will happen when he sees?

"Mother..." you ask in a voice that's almost a whisper as you turn to face her, "What should I expect from tonight?"

She shoots you a curious look, but from your face she can tell which aspect of the night you speak of.

“Well, sweetheart, it’s different for everyone,” she says, “A new bond is formed between husband and wife. It’s a permanent unification—“

“Mother, that’s not what I mean,” you cut her off before she can continue to ramble about flowery, vague notions, “I want to know…how it happens.”

She frowns and cocks her head to the side. “Sweetheart, I thought you already learned about this when you were young?”

“I did learn,” you brush your fingers over your knuckles at the memory of Septa’s cane on your hands. You hadn’t been able to stop giggling during the lesson, and Septa was less than amused. “I just…I don’t know how to start. He and I don’t know each other well enough. How are we supposed to…connect?”

Rania nods in understanding. The intimate aspect of making love is not something that is taught as much as the physical part of it.

“What I said before applies here as well — it’s different for every woman.”

She narrows her eyes at you as she bends down to fix your bunched up skirt in the front. When she’s done, she rises with a heavy sigh and looks you squarely in the eyes.

“The bedding ceremony will take care of the undressing, but I understand it is quite…awkward the first time,” she chuckles, “Being alone with a man you barely know, unsure of what to say to each other. The men however are often eager to hump anything and everything after a drink and a kiss.”

She laughs again when you shoot her a horrified look.

“Don’t be so bashful, Y/N. He will be your husband,” she says with a chuckle, “You’d be surprised at how quickly things move after a kiss – if it’s good enough. And for men it rarely isn’t.”

You nod your head and let out a shaky breath. Being vulnerable with a man in that way is something you’ve only ever imagined with one person. And you knew him. You knew that he would never judge you.

But Robb…How will he react when he sees all of you?

“Mother,” you whisper as tears fill your eyes, “What about my…?”

You move one arm over your shoulder to trace your fingers over your shoulder blade. Just under the fabric is where the longest scar that runs across your back starts. Not even your mother has seen the full extent of what’s there. You don’t want her to. Only Amiria has seen them, and it is only because she witnessed the horror on the day you received them.

You can’t bear the thought of another person seeing those scars, especially not Robb. You can already imagine the look of disgust on his face when he does. It's not a look you'd be able to forget.

Rania pulls your hand back down and grips your upper arms, giving you a little shake. “Stop it with that.”

The action makes a tear roll down your cheek. She lifts your chin with her finger, forcing you to look her in the eyes.

“If Robb is disgusted by them, then he is not the man I believe him to be,” she says, “And he wouldn’t be worth a single one of your tears.”

You nod quickly, wiping your eyes and sniffling. She smiles and brushes her fingers against your cheek. It is only now that you see she's on the verge of tears herself. Whether they're of joy or sadness you're not quite sure.

She wraps her arms around you tightly. "My beautiful girl," she whispers.

Your chest tightens as you feel another wave of tears threatening to hit. But you don't let them slip out, instead burying your face in your mother's neck, wishing you could stay in her arms forever.

***

If your father is nervous, he doesn't show it.

He's standing by your side, staring straight ahead at the rows of guests lining each side of the lantern-lit path leading to the heart tree. To Robb.

The godswood is still as stunning as ever. Serene despite the amount of people standing in it. It is a place that commands respect even from people like you and your father who have no connection to the Old Gods. A fitting environment for a wedding – but it does nothing to ease the fear in your heart.

"Father," you call out to him and he turns to face you.

He seems distracted.

You gulp and squeeze your hands together, "I'm afraid."

He furrows his brows in confusion and waves you off. "There's nothing to be afraid of," he says and faces his front again.

It's like he didn't hear you. But tonight, you need him to.

"Father," you call his name again. But this time you don't say anything.

When he looks at you, he knows. He sees the panic and pain in your eyes and he knows.

Your father has never spoken to you about King's Landing, nor do you think he ever will. Unlike your mother, however, you're certain that he knows more about what happened there than he lets on. There is no other way to explain why he took the desperate action that he did.

Moments like this when he looks at you, you can see it in his eyes. The pity, the regret, and most of all, the guilt.

He turns his whole body to face you and steps in front of you, shielding you from the guests. "I will never allow anyone to hurt you again, Y/N," he says firmly, "Do you understand me?"

He doesn't hug you, nor does he take your hand, but the way he speaks with fierce determination makes you feel safe.

You nod quickly and smile up at him. He steps back to your side and holds out his arm for you, and with a deep sigh, you slide your arm into his and begin the ceremony.

The guests stare at you as you walk past them. You choose to keep your eyes straight ahead, not wanting to see any potential judgement on their faces. There are a few murmurs here and there, but if it's abuse, you cannot hear it.

Eventually, you see the heart tree ahead of you with Robb standing just under it. As you approach, he seems to be smiling and the sight helps to calm some of your tension. He must not be completely miserable then.

But as soon as you lock eyes with him, the smile falls and his jaw clenches.

Is he angry?

Your blood runs cold as you tighten your hold on your father's arm. Once you arrive at the tree, he lets go of your arm, and suddenly you don't feel safe anymore.

Robb steps forward, his hands clasped behind him. "Who comes before the gods?" he asks, not quite shouting, but it's loud enough for the guests to hear.

"Y/N of House Myrrton comes here to be wed," your father responds in a similar tone, "A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods."

It sounds rehearsed because it is. No doubt your father has never heard these words spoken until he had to learn how to give you away the Northern way.

"Who comes to claim her?"

"Robb of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North. I claim her," there is not a hint of anxiety or apprehension in his voice, "Who gives her?"

"Cillian of House Myrrton, her father," he turns to you, his eyes soft and kind, "Lady Y/N, will you take this man?"

The question seems to hang in the air.

Everyone is staring at you, waiting for the answer. You're not sure why. After all you have been through to get to this point – escaping King's Landing, the long journey North, negotiating with Robb, and the weeks spent preparing for this day...what choice do you truly have anymore?

You swallow thickly, your eyes darting to the ground, and whisper, "I take this man."

No one reacts.

Robb is looking at you inquisitively, and even your father leans closer. It occurs to you that they may not have heard your response.

You step forward, looking up at Robb and letting out a deep breath.

"I take this man."

Robb holds out his hand to you, and you glance at your father unsure of what to do next. He urges you on so you step closer to Robb, slipping your hand into his. It's surprisingly warm despite the cold, and he grips your hand gently as he pulls you towards the heart tree.

You turn to Robb for guidance on what to do next. He nods reassuringly and begins kneeling down in front of the tree. You mimic his actions as he bows his head and begins to pray.

You look down at the ground, head bowed and unsure what to say. These are not your gods. You have no connection to them and doubt that they would answer your prayers.

Despite your unfamiliarity with these gods, you decide it can't hurt to ask them for something. You do not pray for riches, nor for Robb's love – only two things; happiness and contentment, in whatever form they may come.

Once you rise to your feet, you turn your back to Robb so he may complete the ceremony. He steps closer to you and you can feel his breath against the nape of your neck as he removes the maiden cloak that shrouds you. Then, you feel him place a slightly heavier one around your shoulders.

The Stark cloak.

Your fingers accidentally brush against his when you reach up to pull the cloak further around you, and you immediately pull your hands back, allowing him to wrap the cloak around you properly.

When he is finished, you turn around to face him, your heart in your throat. It's different looking at him now knowing that he's your husband. By law, you are now his, but in your heart it doesn't feel like it. As a child, you always thought that in this moment, looking up at your husband, you would be madly in love with the person in front of you. Instead your heart feels empty, longing for someone else.

Robb's expression is unreadable. Whether he is happy, or sad, or angry, it all appears on his face as apathy, and you're not sure why, but it hurts you.

Is it selfish? To want him to care about you?

You can't bring yourself to smile at him as he holds out his arm for you. Amiria may be right in saying that Robb is nothing like Joffrey, but you fear that you may be doomed still. Cursed to live a life of loneliness with a husband that will never want you.

***

"Now eat."

You're frozen where you sit. The Hound is hovering somewhere behind you, but you can't so much as turn your head to look. Joffrey is staring at you, waiting impatiently to take the next bite, but you simply can't move.

Every single part of you is begging for this to turn out to be some kind of joke. A sick, cruel joke, but a joke nonetheless. There is absolutely no way that Joffrey has truly murdered your cat and expects you to eat him. There is no way.

"Please, tell me this a joke," you whisper under your breath.

Joffrey looks to his guards and bursts into laughter. He leans back in his chair and cocks his head to the side.

"A joke? Do I look like I'm joking?" he asks in a low voice, "Do you know that there are starving people in this city who would kill to have a perfectly good meal like the one in front of you? And you want to waste it?"

The words make you want to spit. You don't believe for a second that he cares about his people. All he wants is to revel in your pain, but you won't let him have that satisfaction. Joffrey may be the King, but your father is a powerful man too, and the Crown needs him and all the resources that come with him.

Despite the fear that is tearing into you, you slowly rise to your feet and force yourself to appear confident.

"I sincerely apologise for whatever I may have done to offend you, Your Grace," you say calmly, though your voice shakes ever so slightly, "But I simply cannot stand for this kind of treatment. My father will not be happy to hear of this incident. For both our sakes, I will forget this night ever happened and we will never speak of it again."

Joffrey is stunned by your words.

"If you'll excuse me," you mutter as you turn to make your way to the door, wanting to leave the room as quickly as possible.

But it was never going to be that simple.

A scream erupts from your lips when you feel a large hand grab a fistful of your hair and yank you backwards until you almost stumble and fall. Your back crashes into the Hound's armour sending a wave of shock through your body. You haven't even recovered from that when you feel his hands grip your shoulders and steer you back to your seat. He forcefully pushes you down into the chair and holds you there with one hand on your shoulders and the other on your head.

Joffrey slowly leans forward until his face is only inches away from yours. "You are not leaving this room until that bowl is licked clean!" he screams at you, spit flying everywhere.

You don't know when the tears start flowing, but fairly quickly, they blur your vision until you can barely see what is in front of you. Your shoulder is starting to hurt from the Hound's firm grip, and you can feel the force of his hand against your head holding it in place. There is nowhere to run.

Slowly, you pick up the spoon and lift it to your mouth. Your hand is shaking so much that half the spoonful spills out before it reaches your lips. The soup is cold and you can barely taste anything past your salty tears, but you still gag knowing what you're eating. Your whole body wretches as you choke down the mouthful, a whimper escaping your lips when you swallow.

Joffrey's gleeful smile is terrifying as he watches the whole thing unfold. You pray that his perversion has been satisfied and that he will let you leave to your chambers, but Joffrey hasn't had his fill of tormenting you.

He pushes the bowl even closer to you and nods, "Finish it."

***

Why the Northerners decided to serve stew at a wedding, you have no clue. Staring down at the bowl of brown sludge, you're not quite sure what to do with it. You don't want to offend your new husband by refusing to eat at your own wedding, and yet, you can't think of anything worse than having a single bite of this stew.

You glance over at Robb sitting beside you. His bowl is empty, as is his plate that was once filled with potatoes and bread and cabbage.

Unlike the engagement ceremony, you and him are the only ones sitting at the High Table, with the rest of the wedding guests celebrating your union below. He hasn't spoken to you much. The first few hours of the feast were spent greeting your guests and Robb's bannermen, but the last half hour has been nothing but silence between the two of you. Once in a while you'll hear him chuckle at a story someone's telling or a lewd joke, but he never once says anything to you.

With a sigh, you push the bowl of stew away from you and pick up your goblet to have a sip of wine. Your father gave six barrels of this wine to the Starks as a wedding gift amongst others, and you are forever grateful for the gesture. You close your eyes, savouring the sweet taste on your tongue.

"You haven't touched your stew."

You jump when you hear Robb's voice. He's looking directly at you, an eyebrow raised as he nods at your bowl.

"I, um..." you hesitate as you put your cup down, searching for the right words, "I'm not very hungry."

Robb frowns at that and leans forward, slightly closer to you. "My mother told me that you were sick earlier," he says and you feel the heat rising to your cheeks, "Did you have anything to eat after?"

You're mortified and don't know what to say, so you simply shake your head in response.

"Then surely you must be hungry."

Again, you don't know how to respond, so you shrug your shoulders.

He reaches over on his side of the table and produces a bowl of fruit. Figs, plums, apples, grapes – all of it. He sets the bowl down in front of you and nods.

"You should have some, if you like," he says, "I wouldn't want my new bride starving herself on the first night."

He chuckles at his own attempt at humour. You crack a smile despite your confusion at his efforts to make you feel comfortable. He takes an apple out of the bowl and bites into it, leaning back in his chair, the conversation seemingly over. It might have been short, but you appreciate it nonetheless. You reach into the bowl and pull out a fig to eat.

"I should've said it earlier, but you look beautiful tonight."

You nearly choke on your fig when you hear the words, but when you turn to look at him, there is not a hint of humorous intent on his face. Only sincerity.

The change in his attitude is sudden – too sudden. Only a few days ago, you were convinced that Robb couldn't even stand the sight of you. And now he pays you compliments? Something must have caused the turnaround, but you can't for the life of you figure out what. For some reason, his kindness only makes you more cautious.

"Thank you," you give him a polite smile, "You look very handsome as well."

Not another word is spoken between the two of you for the rest of the feast. The war stories being traded amongst the men and the alcohol induced tomfoolery going on provides a suitable distraction from your anxiety. You even begin to enjoy yourself a little as the effects of the wine start to set in. But all that comes to a swift end with one announcement.

"It's time for the bedding ceremony!"

***

When the Hound returns you to your chambers, you feel broken.

Never in your life have you ever been so deeply violated. Tormented by a person you believed loved you. And Bells…

Poor, sweet Bells.

The silent tears you’ve been shedding suddenly turn into quiet sobs as you sink to your knees at the foot of your bed. Somehow you managed to do what Joffrey wanted without spitting everything back up, but now, the bile is riding in your throat and you don’t think you can control it.

You rush to your chamber pot just as the contents of your stomach spill out of your mouth. You wretch and spit as the stench fills your nostrils, but not even this stops the sobs from wracking through your body.

That is how Amiria finds you — curled up in front of your chamber pot, eyes red and cheeks wet with tears. Your state terrifies her mostly because she expected you to be in the best of moods after your dinner with Joffrey. Her questions don’t stop the whole time she is cleaning you up. She holds you as your body trembles with fear until your sobs subside.

“Y/N, what happened?” she asks.

You can’t find the right words to express how you’re feeling. The only response you can give her is, “I want to go home.”

***

The words instantly sober you up, but have an opposite effect on the guests. The hall erupts in cheers as everyone rises to their feet and begins rushing towards the High Table. You're terrified as they approach, digging your nails into the armrests of your chair. Panicked, you glance over at Robb but find that he's already being dragged away by the women.

You're hoisted up onto someone's shoulders and before long you're being groped and pawed at by the men participating in the bedding. Boots and stockings were pulled off of you as you're lifted into the air. You strain your neck trying to get a sense of what is happening, but you're too high up to see who is carrying you or what the remaining guests are doing.

As the men fiddle with the clasps on your dress and rip it open, all you can hear are a series of ribald jokes being tossed around.

"I warn you, Lady Y/N, the Young Wolf is quite the animal in bed!" came one of the jests followed by raucous laughter.

You feel someone grab your ass and squeeze, "Looks like His Grace will have his hands full tonight!"

The whole ordeal is humiliating, and you can't help but wonder if it is having the same effect on Robb. Eventually, you arrive at the King’s Chamber where you are lowered to the ground and ushered into the room before the door slams shut behind you.

Thankfully, they have left you in your chemise and not stripped you naked like you expected. When you turn to look at Robb, he's still wearing his trousers and a silk shirt. It seems the women didn't quite manage to undress him as thoroughly as the men did you.

It's just the two of you now alone in his chambers. The room isn't very large – nothing like the ones in the Red Keep – which means there is no hiding from each other. He doesn't take a step towards you, nor away. He just stands there watching you curiously, never making a move.

You nervously scratch the back of your leg with your foot, looking up at the ceiling, then back to Robb, then down at the ground. Out of the corner of your eye, the sight of the perfectly made bed is mocking you. You quickly turn away from Robb and attempt to compose yourself.

Why is this so difficult?

The man is your husband. This is what is expected of you, so why is your heart pounding in your chest? Why are your hands shaking? You place a hand over your heart and breathe deeply, calming yourself down by focusing on each beat. After a few seconds, you lower your hand and let out a breath of relief.

Mustering up every ounce of courage you have left, you hesitantly lift a hand to the strap of your chemise. This is the moment you have been dreading the most – letting him see the worst of it. Slowly, you being to lower the straps, and once they're off, the gown slips lower, revealing a portion of your bare back to Robb.

He gasps.

You freeze.

It is just as you predicted. You don't even have to look at Robb to know what he's thinking. That you're damaged. Disfigured. Hot tears sting your eyes as you quickly pull the straps back on deciding there is no need to disgust him or embarrass yourself further.

You turn to face him because despite his less than desirable reaction to your scars, the night still has to go ahead as expected. His brows are twisted in concern and his eyes...Perhaps you haven't known him long enough to decipher what exactly that look in his eyes means.

He makes no advances so you step towards him instead. He doesn't move a muscle as you approach him, and you cannot tell if this is normal behaviour for a wedding night.

Robb is obviously a very handsome man with his auburn curls, blue eyes and boyish grin. You've known it from the moment you laid eyes on him, but looks only bring you so far. When you look into his eyes, you don't feel anything. Your mother's words ring in your ears when you stop in front of him.

"You’d be surprised at how quickly things move after a kiss – if it’s good enough."

Praying that she's right, you lean in and press your lips against Robb's in a soft kiss.

It's not the first time you've ever kissed a man, but it's the first time you've ever done so and felt hollow inside. Robb's hands slide around your waist, holding you gently as he leaned into the kiss You slowly wrap your arms around his neck in a futile attempt to make it more enjoyable, but when you close your eyes, it is the man you love that you see, not Robb.

The reminder is like a dagger in your heart. This isn't how your wedding night is supposed to be. Consummating your marriage to a stranger and not feeling even an ounce of affection for your husband. Knowing that the both of you would rather be anywhere but in this room. Kissing a man that is probably thinking of someone else, and feeling ashamed that you are too.

"Wait, wait. Stop," Robb suddenly says as he pulls away from you, "Are you alright?"

You look up at him in confusion, not knowing what he's talking about, "What do you mean? I'm fine."

"You're crying," he uses his thumb to wipe away a tear from your cheek.

You gasp and quickly wipe the rest away before he sees, even though he clearly already has. The tears must have started flowing without you realising.

Robb watches as you struggle to compose yourself. You force a smile on your lips as you continue wiping your eyes.

"Ignore me," you chuckle nervously, "My emotions sometimes get the better of me."

"You don't have to pretend."

"I do if I'm to have even a smidgen of comfort tonight."

Robb seems deflated when you say that. He cocks his head to the side as he looks at you, "Y/N...we're not obligated to do anything tonight."

Of all the things you expect him to say, that is not it.

Throughout this experience, you have known that consummating your marriage on the first night is less of a choice and more of a requirement. To hear Robb dispense of it all together is a shock.

"What?"

He shakes his head and looks away from you, hands on his hips. "You don't want to do it," he says, a thoughtful expression settling on his face, "And without meaning any offense to you, I don't want to do this either."

Of course.

How could you have expected any different? He is in the exact same predicament as you – longing for someone he can never be with. For the first time tonight, you put yourself in his shoes and imagine how difficult tonight must have been for him. His heartbreak is still fresh, and it can't be easy for him seeing Elyse everyday.

He sighs and looks around the room, scratching the back of his neck.

"What should we do then?" you ask, "Shall we return to the feast?"

Robb yawns and stretches his muscles, cracking a few joints in the process, "It has been a long day for me, so unless you desperately want to return to the festivities, I would like to turn in for the night."

Your eyes follow Robb as he walks to the bed and collapses on top of it. You stand around awkwardly for a moment before going to blow out the candles in the room, leaving only the fire from the hearth to illuminate the room.

You climb into bed on the other side of Robb, keeping as close to the edge as possible and turning your back to him. He sighs heavily as he adjusts his position in the bed to allow you enough of the blanket to cover yourself with.

You begin to wonder how long things will be like this. How long will your husband feel just out of reach? Can you even call it that when you haven’t let go of the past either? You want to connect to Robb on some level, but you cannot do that without first being honest with him.

“I had my own Elyse,” you confess, staring at the wall in front of you.

You pause for a response, but Robb doesn’t say a word, so you continue.

“He was an armourer I met simply by chance,” you smile at the fond memory, “He was my comfort and my peace during the hardest period of my life. And I loved him for it.”

You turn to face him and ask, “Was it like that for you?”

Robb is looking up at the ceiling, one hand tucked under his head, the orange glow from the fire dancing against his skin. He turns to you when you ask the question,his gaze lingering for a moment before he answers.

“Yes,” he says, “Elyse and I…After my father’s death is when we grew close.”

You nod in understanding and look down at the sheets.

“When I left King’s Landing, I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to him,” you whisper as you feel tears prickling in your eyes, “I wanted to thank him for making me happy after everything that happened.”

You can feel the ache in your heart when you think about him. The fear that he believes you abandoned him. More than anything, you just want the chance to explain things to him, to tell him that you love him, but you know it will never come. So, to ease the pain, you’ve done your best to forget him.

Robb’s eyes stay on you, but not once does he speak. A part of you wants to ask what is on his mind.

But the fire is burning out, and it is only getting later, so you turn to face the other way and close your eyes, whispering a quick, “Goodnight.”

Robb is quiet for a moment, then you feel him turn and shift under the blanket, “Sleep well.”

***

Special thanks to these awesome folk! Please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist ❤️:

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[witchywrter]

NSFW will be tagged as #lemon sorta NSFW is #Lime Weird fet shit/ extreme NSFW is #orange reblog to spread awareness that we’re back on the citrus scale

[witchywrter]

Fog

Flufftober 27 - Geralt x Reader 

           It’s a simple fog.

If Geralt had said it, then it had to be true, so Y/N had no reason to be afraid and stick to him as they walked through the forest.

Even Jaskier was totally relaxed, he who was always a little nervous and excited when they had to take this kind of road, because they might come across bandits and monsters. Nervous because he didn’t want to die, even though Geralt was there to protect them, and excited because he was going to have new stories to tell in his songs.

If the bard wasn’t afraid, there was no reason for her to be afraid either, she was braver than him.

With his eyes, his sense of smell, his hearing, his medallion, in short with all these abilities, the witcher would know very quickly if there was something that was hiding in the mist and following them.

           "… You can spot the Foglers too ?“

           "Hmm.”

           "Because I remember the last time. You said you could tell if a fog was magic sometimes. But not all the time. And since they’re invisible, it could be hard to…“

           "Relax.” he sighed.

Geralt didn’t ask her to get away from him however. He didn’t say anything either when she jumped at a noise near them, and Y/N clung to his arm as if her life depended on it.

Which was a bit true most of the time. Whether it was for his job, or because he cared about them, even if he didn’t like to recognize it, the witcher always put himself in front of others when danger arose.

But that didn’t mean he liked being touched.

Well, it was complicated.

When they were in a big city, it was not uncommon for Geralt to visit courtesans. He had had a few lovers too. With his profession, and the way people treated him, being afraid of him because of all the rumours, and his appearance, there were few people who wanted to touch him. Or just to hit him.

Even though he wasn’t supposed to have any emotions, it was obvious he felt lonely and touch starved at times. But he couldn’t attach himself, he couldn’t show vulnerability, and he didn’t want to be fiddled with by the first comer, who could treat him like an object of curiosity.

After several years of friendship, Jaskier was still not allowed to touch Roach, and he could only approach Geralt to help heal himself or wash his back.

He certainly would have let Y/N do it, but she wasn’t a healer, and she seemed uncomfortable when he undressed in front of her.

However, he let her touch him as much as she wanted, whenever she wanted, without her needing to ask permission. Along with Yennefer and the other witchers, she was the only one to have this privilege.

Y/N wasn’t trying to figure out if that meant something. But she still felt flattered.

           "… Do you want to get on ?“

           "What ?” she asked, snapping out of her thoughts.

           "On Roach. You will be safer. Even if there is nothing.“

           "Oh. No, it’s okay. I trust you.”

           "Hmm. Obviously.“ he said with a mocking smile, looking at her who was still holding his arm.

           "That’s true ! And I feel safer here anyway.”

Near you.

She didn’t say it, it would have been embarrassing. Geralt still understood what she meant. He growled softly, but didn’t add anything, continuing to move forward, holding the horse in one hand, letting her do what she wanted with his other arm.

Behind them, Jaskier was starting to lose his confidence, as there was a lot of noise between the trees, and he wondered if the witcher had made a mistake.

           "Well, I want to get on the horse.“ He announced, walking faster to catch up with them.

           "No.”

           "But you proposed to Y/N ! It’s not fair. And she said she didn’t want to, and you’re not going to ride Roach either, so I…“

           "No.”

           "Mean witcher ! I’m scared too.“

Not being able to go directly next to Geralt, since the horse prevented him, the bard came to stand near Y/N, as close to them as possible, but when he moved to put his arms around her because as a fox was running past them, Geralt pulled Y/N towards him, away from Jaskier.

           "No. Don’t touch.”

           "What ?! You said “don’t touch Roach” !“

           "Shut up and move on.”

           "But I’m scared !“ the bard insisted.

           "Then get on Roach.”

           "… Really ?“ Jaskier and Y/N asked at the same time.

           "Yes. Hurry, before I change my mind.”

Not wanting to lose this chance, Jaskier jumped on the horse, which didn’t seem very pleased to have him on his back, but they were able to continue their journey, Y/N still glued to Geralt.

He had preferred that Jaskier touch his horse rather than her. She was more important than Roach. Even Yennefer was not allowed to touch Roach.

           "Geralt ?“ she whispered. "I can hardly see anything now.”

           "I can see very well. There is still nothing.“

           "And can Jaskier see things, from where he is ?”

           "I don’t think so. Why…“

Quickly, she placed a kiss, not aiming very well since she didn’t have his vision, but managing to touch a spot between his cheek and his lips. Then she continued to walk next to him without saying anything.

Geralt didn’t say anything, but he had tensed for a few seconds, before relaxing. And make a weird noise.

           ”… I hear something !“ Jaskier panicked. "Sounds like a big purring cat ! Geralt ! There’s a monster ? Geralt, why aren’t you saying anything ? Y/N ? Why aren’t you talking ?! Geralt, are you smiling ? Is it the fog ? Geraaaalt ?”

           "Damn it Jaskier !“

[witchywrter]

In his Eyes II (Geralt of Rivia One-shot)

Summary: You didn't think that you would see Geralt of Rivia again. Not outside of your dreams

Warnings: small angst, fluff, happy ending, soulmate au, strong language

Part 1 HERE II One-Shots Masterlist

There have been days where you felt like absolute shit. Where you would kill anyone who looked at you the wrong way. Normally, it was days where you were recovering from some injury or some toxin or venom that was in your bloodstream thanks to some monster you had fought.

But none of those days can compare to how you feel now.

You feel - for lack of a better word - empty. You knew this feeling wouldn't leave you easily after you had seen the White Wolf leaving through the gates of the village where you had met him. It was just like your dream.

He didn't even turn back for once last look to see if you might have been there to stop him.

Perhaps he's not your soulmate after all...

But the constant dreams of him you have every night makes you believe that that's just a lie you tell yourself to dull the aching pain in your heart.

You become cold and callous as the weeks go on, feeling tired from trying to keep yourself awake so that you don't have to dream about Geralt of Rivia again. You've heard that soulmates dream of each other when they're apart.

You hope that Geralt's dreaming about you and that it keeps him up at night too, the son of a bitch.

Because winter is on its way, you have to decide where you're going to go before the mountain passes close up with snow. You think Redania is the best option for you and it will give you a chance to see the family you have. That is, if they even want to see you. You didn't exactly leave on good terms.

The Pontar Valley is normally nice this time of year. It's peaceful, allowing you to breathe for a moment and clear your mind of the harsh things that have happened. You know you’ll have to leave soon, but you don’t want to. Not yet. You just want to feel the cool breeze on your face for one more moment, listen to the ungodly silence around you for a little longer. You want to feel like the only person on the continent. Maybe that will make you feel better and justify the loneliness you feel in your soul.

Walking through the trees in the valley, you pay no attention to the sounds around you, thinking that the footsteps you hear are just echoes of your own.

You only raise your head when the figure you had spotted out the corner of your eyes becomes clearer to you. You raise your head because the feelings you had inside your changed. Something changed. You don't feel lonely anymore. You don't feel that cold sting of abandonment in your heart anymore. And when you see that familiar figure in front of you, walking in the same direction you're walking in, you understand why.

"Geralt." His name slips past your lips, barely audible and it disappears with the wind that whips past you.

But he also stops in his tracks before slowly turning around.

You wish you could say that he looks a lot better than what you look like, but it's clear that he hasn't gotten much sleep recently. Not to mention that his disheveled hair and grit on his clothes tells you that he hasn't slept in an inn for a while. When was the last time he was in a civilized area?

It feels like an eternity that passes as you and Geralt stare at each other, not moving or saying a word. And that's when you feel the stabs of heartache again. The heartache that your soulmate didn't stick around to stay with you.

"I knew you would be here," Geralt finally says, taking a small step towards you.

You shift on your feet, keeping your head high as you try to convey that his absence hasn't affected you as much as it really has. "Really? I thought then you wouldn't have come here to avoid bumping into me," you snap, wanting to take a step back to show you retaliation towards him, but you feel as if you're unable to move.

He stops just in front of you, staring at your face and into your eyes just as he had done the first time he met you. It's those eyes that he's constantly dreamt about, those eyes that wake him in the middle of the night, those eyes that he sees every time he looks at his reflection in the waters of the river he had been traveling along.

"I'm on my way to Kaer Morhen for the winter. I had to cross through here. There would have been no avoiding you." You have no idea whether he's disappointed about that or happy about that because there's no indication about that in his voice. And when you look into his eyes, you can't put your finger on the emotion you see in them. But it does make your heart ache and your soul longs for him. "You haven't been putting yourself in danger, have you?"

You scoff, stepping back away from him and folding your arms over your chest. "I still have to make a living, you know. Especially now that winter's coming. I'm going to Blaviken. Perhaps you would like to join me," you sneer, trying to sidestep him so you can get away.

He grabs your arm to stop you, your head snapping up to his face, and your heart skipping a beat when your eyes lock with his again. He knows that you know he is not welcome in Blaviken and that your comment was meant to be sarcastic. But he can't bring himself to say anything against that, not while staring into your eyes that match his so perfectly.

"I suppose I owe you 100 orens. Seeing as you were right-"

"Don't," you whisper to stop him, shaking your head as it drops between your shoulders. You know you won't be able to take what you know he was going to say. You won't be able to hear him say that he left. "I don't want your money," you say, looking back up at him as his grip around your arm lightens up and he steps to stand directly in front of you. "I want you."

Geralt breathes out a sigh, his head dropping between his shoulders as he shakes his head, muttering something to himself as his hand starts to drop from your arm.

"Why do you think it's fair that Fate gives you a Child of Surprise but it's not fair that you get given me?" you ask, grabbing his wrist to stop him from possibly leaving again. His head slowly lifts. "Do you think I am unworthy to be yours?"

"No," he quickly says, taking a small step closer to you. His hand reaches up to cup your cheek. And your heart skips a beat. You want to lean into his touch but you're too afraid that he'll leave again and you'll have to go through everything you've already been through. "I just never thought Fate would think I'm worthy to have you and a Child of Surprise," he mentions, his hand moving to push a piece of your hair behind your ear.

"Every night, I see you in my dreams, and I wake up longing for you," he whispers, his eyes staring right into yours as his fingers slowly trace the side of your face. "I wished every day that I might see you again. And I knew that if I did, I wouldn't be able to leave again." He leans forward, rests his forehead against yours, and brings his other hand up to hold your face making your eyes flutter shut. "I want you."

You let out a small laugh of happiness as you feel a jolt in your very soul, a feeling you've never felt before. A feeling you never want to end and a feeling that makes all those other feelings that you had when he left disappear. You don't care about that anymore.

"Come with me. To Kaer Morhen."

A smile grows on your face as you step closer to him, resting your hands on his chest, your fingers just touching the silver wolf medallion. "Okay."

Tags - @midnightfury71 @lonewolf471 @mangoberry99 @wittysunflower

[witchywrter]

The Devil’s Eye

Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Soulmate AU

A/N: Here’s a soulmate AU that I felt really inspired for! I know it’s not an update on any of the series but I just really needed to write this while I had the creativity for it.

Also, I’m shocked that I haven’t seen this particular concept done for the Witcher before. Maybe someone else has done it and I just haven’t been looking in the right places, but I really thought this would be a more popular trope in this fandom. Be sure to let me know what you think!

Warnings: Character Injury, Reader Injury

Masterlist

        Cursed child, they called her. A monster’s mate.

        You’ve got the devil in your Eye, child, an old woman had warned her as a young girl.

        With a mother dead at birth and a father lost to a monster months later, she almost believed them when they told her she must be an ill omen, a harbinger of bad luck.

        (Y/N) wasn’t often allowed near a looking glass, but she had seen it a few times in the water down at the creek. The Eye that made everyone fear her.

        Everyone was born with one eye of normal color, and one Eye, the color of their soulmate’s eye. It was how those who were meant to be would find each other. At the first meeting of their gazes, the Eye would fade, leaving each soulmate with two eyes of their own same color.

        She was born with a Witcher’s Eye.

Keep reading

[witchywrter]

sharing a bed with your ''lover'' and being told to “stay on your side of the bed“ only to wake up the next day, with your ''lover's'' arms wrapped around you with Geralt? 👀

Thank you for enabling me, Amanda 👀

This is my first time writing Geralt so feedback would be appreciated 👀

Sleep prompts

“I don’t want us sleeping in separate rooms at the inn,” Geralt said as the two of you walked along the main street of the town, you on his left and Roach on his right, “I didn’t like the way that innkeeper was looking at you earlier, and I don’t want him knowing you’re in a room alone tonight.”

You glanced at him in amusement out of the corner of your eye.

“Defending my honour, are you?” you asked, biting back a grin at the noncommittal grunt he let out in response, “Fine. But you had better stay on your side of the bed.”

That earned you a snort of laughter from your stoic travelling companion as you reached the inn. The way that he placed himself deliberately between you and the stable boy to whom he handed Roach’s reins, and then again between you and the innkeeper with his wandering eyes as he collected the key to your room, was not lost on you.

There were some who mistook Geralt’s quiet ways for lack of emotion, lack of caring, but you knew better. He showed that he cared for you by keeping you safe, by noticing those who looked at you with mal intent and, if the need arose, by sleeping next to you. Throughout your months of travelling with the Witcher, you had chipped away at his stoic facade, creating a chink in his armour that allowed occasional chuckles and half-smiles to escape- for your eyes only, of course.

Your room for the night, you discovered, was little more than a cupboard with a rickety bed somehow crammed inside. It was dismal, but after a long day in the saddle it looked like heaven.

“I’m going straight to bed,” you announced, before glancing at your companion out of the corner of your eye, “If we’re going to share, you had better go and bathe. It smells like you’ve brought Roach inside.”

It was with some difficulty that you stopped yourself giggling as you heard Geralt grumble something about you not smelling much better than he did, and then something else about staying out of “his side of the bed” whilst he was gone, followed by the sound of the door closing behind him as he set off in search of bath water. Kicking your boots off and draping your cloak over the end of the bed, you crawled under the blankets and were asleep in minutes.

It was dark when you awoke to the feeling of someone climbing into the bed beside you, and panic briefly shot through your veins at the thought of the innkeeper’s wandering eyes. Careful not to move too much, you reached your hand slowly under your pillow in search of the dagger you had stashed there.

“It’s me.”

You relaxed at the sound of Geralt’s rumbling voice.

“I didn’t recognise you, smelling so clean,” you mumbled into your pillow, already drifting back to sleep, “I like it.”

You weren’t sure if you imagined feeling his huff of laughter warming the back of your neck or not, but it was followed by the mattress creaking under his weight as he got himself comfortable. You definitely didn’t imagine the feeling of his hand on the small of your back, gently pushing you away from him.

“Stay on your side of the bed,” in a fond murmur was the last thing you heard as you fell asleep.

It was light when next you woke, but that wasn’t the first thing that you noticed. No, the first thing that you noticed was the pleasant weight of a strong arm draped over your waist, and the warmth of a large body sleeping behind you. Biting your lip, you dared to peek over your shoulder.

Geralt’s face was more relaxed than you had ever seen it, his snowy hair loose and tousled by sleep; you resisted the urge to reach back and run your fingers through it. His breathing was slow and even, and you bit back the laughter bubbling in your throat as you noticed a final key detail about his sleeping position.

He was completely on your side of the bed.

[witchywrter]

The Accidental Princess (Part 2)

Prince Kit x Reader

Summary: A contract has been found, after twenty years, bearing your name and Prince Kit's... bound in matrimony.

Chapter Summary: You get settled in the palace.

Word Count: 4.5k words

Warnings: period typical misogyny, none?

A/N: Hi, guys! I'm trying my best with the taglist so if you didn't get tagged, chances are there's something wrong with the way I did it or you're un-tag-able?? Anyway, I know there are a lot of inconsistencies with this piece of fanfic but let's all just enjoy this lol. The lemon juice ink works, though. You can give that a try. I love hearing all about your thoughts! Reviews, comments, suggestions (and reblogs) are most certainly welcome! Here is Part 2 of The Accidental Princess!

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

It was an unusual request that you asked for lemons with your writing materials but they delivered. You merely said that those were for you to bite on but truly, it was for you to write a message that only your father could decipher. He had taught you the magic of vanishing ink one night during a particularly dreary travel. He had told you that the true message written with lemon juice would only be revealed on top of an open flame. You had tried it once and you were impressed and now, it was your only means of communicating with him without the rest of the palace knowing. This stratagem had only been used for important missives and what else could be more important than for your father to know that you had been married to the prince for two decades and that you would be kept to the palace indefinitely.

You wrote carefully, telling him to keep the information to himself. You had no ambitions of being a princess and the irony of you being one—or being called an ambitious girl by the Grand Duke—was not lost on you. You kept your secret message short and concise, and you also told him no promises of future missives lest you be found out. Once you were finished with the lemon ink, you let it dry and took to writing the obvious message with ink. You scribbled in between the lines written with lemon juice your requests for your trunks, writing implements, and the many books you were supposed to be reading. The letter was short and direct and you sealed it with wax and a sprig of lavender, your unofficial insignia, so your father would immediately know that the message was from you.

When your letter had been sent, a maid arrived, bearing with her a dress for you to change into. She had been scandalized at seeing you in your undergarments, which you had assured her that they were not, and she took it upon herself to start a bath for you.

“What shall I call you, miss?” asked the maid as she scrubbed your shoulders with warm water and simple soap. You had told her that you were fine with bathing yourself but the surprise on her face made you realize that you had asked for the unusual. Of course, guests of the king were expected to be waited on hand and foot.

“Y/N, please,” you replied. “I’m all but noble so please, do not burden yourself with titles to call me. If you are uncomfortable with calling me by my name, you may continue calling me ‘miss.’”

“It is rare for the king to house a common guest, miss, if you don’t mind me saying.” said the girl.

You smiled to yourself. “I find my situation quite uncommon for a commoner like me.” You washed off the lather. “What may I call you?”

“Abigail, miss,” she replied.

You let out a little chuckle then apologized. “Oh, do forgive me, Abigail. I find your parents quite humorous for naming you such.”

Abigail chuckled as well, to your relief. “They are humorous people, miss. My brother Hunter, he is the palace gamekeeper.”

You chuckled. “Oh, dear me. Your futures are already made out for you at the day of your birth.”

“To work for the king and the kingdom is an honor, miss.”

You turned to your maid slowly, careful of the water that sloshed on the side of the tub. “I haven’t been in the kingdom for quite some time, Abigail. Would you mind telling me what has happened in the last years?”

The maid looked at you uncomfortably. You touched the hand nearest to you and smiled. “I promise I shall not tell a soul of the things you wish to tell me. I am merely curious. If I am to be housed here for a while, I would like to be knowledgeable of what has transpired within these walls.”

Abigail looked around your room, you did as well, before nodding. “The Queen Amalie has died.”

Oh. You had not known that. When she was not present at the throne room earlier the day, you only thought she must have been busy with some other affairs. It did not cross your mind that the beautiful and benevolent queen had passed on.

Poor king. Poor Kit.

“What has happened to her?” you asked.

“She had taken ill one morning in the summer and passed on the day after. The king and the prince were devastated. The whole kingdom as well.”

“When was this?” You settled back on your tub.

“Just the year before,” Abigail started washing your hair. “Since then, the king had been in poor health. He is worried for the kingdom’s future should he soon follow his wife.”

“You do not think the prince capable?” you asked. You had known princes were schooled into being future monarchs since their infancy. Perhaps the Prince Kit was otherwise engaged in other matters, in addition to running the kingdom.

“The prince is very capable, miss. However, the king has stipulated that the kingdom be ruled by a king and a queen. Prince Kit has to marry before he ascends the throne.”

Of course. It was the very reason you were called for, after all. Your presence had been a great hindrance to the future of the kingdom. With you still legally wed to the prince, he would not be able to marry the Grand Duke’s niece.

“Does he have a bride he wishes to wed?” you asked when Abigail passed a cloth for you to dry yourself with. Any woman, noble or not, would be inquisitive towards the future queen of the kingdom. Even one married to said prince. You tried to maintain an air of ignorance on the matters so they would not be suspicious of your coming over to the palace.

“The Grand Duke’s niece, miss. It is said she is a princess from Zaragoza.” The maid let out a towel for you and you stood, taking it and wrapping yourself in it.

A princess. It was now truly understandable the ire the Grand Duke had with you. Who else is a better match for the prince than a princess?

The butterflies in your stomach fluttered as you remembered the blue of Kit’s eyes. He had looked over at you appreciatively, even in your disheveled state, and you had reacted in a way you had seen women did with their lovers. You knew you were flustered when you looked at him, felt the heat rise to your cheeks and made an utter fool of yourself by giving an ungraceful curtsy. You were often calm and collected, always poised unless the situation called for you not to be, and in that moment, you stumbled. All because of your husband.

Oh, dear.

You needed to stop calling him thus, even in your head. The king would have you locked in the dungeons if he ever caught you referring to the prince as your husband.

The dress Abigail had given you belonged to one of the former guests of the palace. It was a surprise the palace kept it at all; you knew they disposed of things that did not belong to the king or had them given away to a charity of some sort. But this dress, although a bit late in its design, was beautiful in its own way. Abigail had helped you don it, lacing your corset just right and as she laced the back of the dress, it was a surprise at how well it fit you. It was like it was made for you.

“Have you any knowledge of the Grand Duke?” you asked as Abigail buckled your shoes .

“Whatever do you mean, miss?” She took the other shoe and put it on your feet.

“I was not made aware of his presence only until recently. How did he come to be in our tiny kingdom?”

“He arrived as an adviser to the king, miss, about two years ago. We do not know more than that.”

“I see,” you said and smiled at your maid. “Thank you for your help today, Abigail. I hope you would not mind it if I ask you to give me a tour of the palace? I would not wish to get lost in any of the many rooms.”

“I fear I am not in the position to do so, miss.” Abigail said with a quick bob of curtsy. “Is there anything you require before I leave?”

You looked at yourself before the mirror and smiled. “No, Abigail. I thank you for your help. I shall see you again tonight.”

“Miss,” the young maid said before leaving.

You blew out a breath, walking back to the window and looked at the sea once more. The kingdom had suffered for a while, what with Queen Amalie’s passing and the king in poor health. The sudden revelation of your childish endeavours of being accidentally married to the prince would risk the already crumbling state the kingdom to come apart further. You had to help in any way you could; it was the very least you could do.

You strode out of your room, walking down the long hallway. You had a vague memory of where the library was, supposing it hadn’t been changed in the last two decades you had been in the palace. You recalled it being situated near the gardens on the east of the grand staircase, with ornate double doors of gold gilding. If you remembered correctly, portraits of the current royal family and ones of the prince should be hung on either side of it.

You walked down the hallway quietly, counting the rooms and committing to memory the doors and halls you had passed through lest you be lost when you return to your room. You went down the grand staircase, smiling politely at some footmen who opened doors for you. You stood before said ornate doors that you had remembered and once the footmen opened them, you went in.

The scent of wood and books assaulted your nose and you smiled to yourself. Your last trip abroad had been to Austria and you had asked for your father’s permission to take a little bit of an excursion to their famed Imperial Court Library. The place did not disappoint. Murals and frescoes of heavenly bodies adorned the walls and ceiling, with shelves that housed every possible volume of books you could imagine. It was a beautiful place and somehow, the palace library seemed to take that as an inspiration.

Any books on the politics of the kingdom would be a great help to you and to this predicament you put yourself in. You walked over to the section of the library that you thought housed the books on your kingdom’s laws when you did not notice that you were not alone in the room.

“I see you are getting comfortable in the palace, girl,” you heard the Grand Duke say.

You turned to the man and dropped into a curtsy, keeping your head down. “Your Grace.”

“What are you doing in the library?” he asked you in that way of his. His tone was almost always accusing and suspicious, despite meeting you only for a few minutes.

“I was hoping to get something to read, Your Grace.” You replied as you stood back to your full height.

“Anything in particular that you are looking for?” He walked over to you and looked you down through his hawk-like nose.

“Laws of this land, Your Grace,” you said honestly.

The way he chuckled grated on your skin. It was sarcastic and rude. “You are too comfortable, you ambitious girl. First, you marry the prince and now you wish to learn more about the laws of this land? What shall be next, turn us out of the palace?” He scoffed. “Find some light reading. There is a book on herbology that I find would best fit someone of your stature.”

You gave a polite smile. Like most dignitaries you had met, they often looked down on you. You found it best to let them underestimate you instead of engaging them in a fight head-on. You had the power prove them otherwise in the next opportunity. The Grand Duke needed to be surprised that you were more than what you appeared to be.

“Thank you, Grand Duke.” You replied with a quick bob. “Forgive me for intruding on your time in the library.”

You turned to the other side of the library, plucking from the shelves a book on herbs and plants in the German language, before taking two sheets of paper and a pencil.

“I shall bid you a good day, Your Grace,” you called out as you curtsied in his general direction once more. You saw him wave his hand at you dismissively and it cued you to leave the awful man alone.

In the very least, you knew where the library was located. The book about the laws of the land would have to wait. The book on herbology, however, looked interesting. You were conversant in many a language, reading this German book would not pose a problem. It would keep you occupied while you waited for your trunks to arrive.

You walked out to the gardens, smiling and greeting the footmen politely as you passed them. Most of the flowers in the garden were ornamental; you highly suspect they would own herbs in such a fancy orchard. Either way, it was a lovely day out and it seemed fitting that you read the book outside. You sat on one of the benches and opened the tome, starting off with Digitalis purpurea.

Kit saw you emerge from the doors of the palace. If he were honest with himself, he would say he was disappointed that you weren’t wearing your breeches and shirt anymore and that he couldn’t admire your shapely figure but with the dress you had now donned, there was no mistaking the contours your body. He had not had this visceral reaction to the Princess Chelina’s portrait, but then again, he had not seen her in person. You, however, he had seen you and had admired you. Perhaps, more than admired you. There was something different about you and for the life of him, he could not name what it was.

Other than, of course, you and he were bound in matrimony.

He could not find it in him to be angry with you. It was a peculiar situation you both had gotten into, the innocent intentions and legally binding contracts. You did not seem to be an opportunistic girl. He remembered your hope for a friendship with him, your eagerness in trying to copy your father’s way of sealing such relationships, and the way you were excited when you both had (unintentionally) sealed each other’s fate. It was simply laughable and not worth getting furious over, unlike his father and the Grand Duke.

“I see your father’s guest has taken your fancy, Your Royal Highness,” said his good friend, the Captain of the Guards.

Kit only grinned. “Don’t I always take fancy at the next pretty lady, Captain?”

The man chuckled heartily. “Need I remind you that you are soon to be wed to a princess. If there is a time as any to act on your fancy, it would be now.”

He only raised an amused brow, turning to his friend. “Is that so, Captain? Tell me, have you made any advances towards one of the abigails?”

“Her name is Abigail,” corrected the Captain. “And no, I have not. There is no reason for us to talk. For your father’s guest, however, there is. Any guest of the king is the guest of the prince as well, isn’t it?”

“If only it were that simple,” Kit all but sighed. Even if he and the captain were close friends, it would do more harm than good to tell him of your relationship with each other. His father had been adamant that he divorce the two of you quietly so he could push through with the wedding to the princess.

“Why not march over and talk to her? No one would turn away the prince.”

While he knew that was true, Kit did not want to disturb your peace. You were poring over a book on your lap while your hands were moving over a piece of paper. Scribbling, perhaps? he thought to himself as he looked over at you once more. He heard the captain say some words to him but he was only intent on watching you. He only moved when he saw the captain advance towards you with purposeful strides.

“My lady,” he heard the captain say.

Kit followed behind him, taking on an impassive air about him so he did not seem overeager to be talking with you even though he was. He wanted to speak to you once more ever since his father told him of the reason you were here. There was something in him that told him he had to know you better, other than from the words his father and the Grand Duke had said to him about you. He saw you look up from your page and stood when your eyes landed on him.

“Your Royal Highness, sir,” you curtsied before them.

“My name is Captain Thibault, miss. May I know yours?” the captain asked.

You stood to your height, eyes on Kit before turning to Thibault with a beautiful smile on your face.

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N, Captain.” you replied.

Thibault nodded to the book in your hands. “May I?”

You offered the book but his friend took the paper instead.

“Are you an artist, Miss Y/N?” Thibault asked as he showed the piece of paper to Kit. “Your sketch is remarkable.”

Kit had been under the tutelage of Master Phineas and he could see that your sketch was excellent with the way you handled your pencil. Your techniques were impeccable. It was like seeing another master’s artwork.

“No, Captain. I was just finding a way to occupy my thoughts. Luckily, I saw a Digitalis purpurea plant in this beautiful garden and decided to draw it so I can further study it inside my room.”

Kit watched you, enamored at the way you were holding yourself. Any woman would have cowered at the sight of the prince and the Captain of the Guards but you remained yourself. There was no air of pretentiousness or false modesty about you and it was very refreshing for him to see that you weren’t one to fall at his feet and wax poetic about his title or his dashing good looks.

“You study plants?” Kit found himself saying. When you turned to him, he felt himself stop at the look of your eyes.

“Oh, no.” You looked at him with your arresting eyes. “The Grand Duke suggested that I read a book on herbology because it befits my stature instead of taking the book I was intending to read. The first plant I saw when the book opened was thus.”

He raised a brow at that. “And what was it that you wanted to read?”

When you caught your lower lip between your teeth, it was a surprise that he did not catch on fire on the spot.

“The laws of the land, Your Royal Highness,” you murmured.

“The laws of the land?” Thibault asked, passing your scrap of paper back to you. “Whatever for?”

“My… friend desires to learn of the grounds of separation. She is convinced she isn’t a fit match for her husband.” You clamped the sheet in between the pages of the book.

German, Kit noted as he peeked at the title of the book you were holding. He learnt German when he was a child and had turned conversant in it. He was suddenly curious as to how you had learned such an arduous language.

“If I may inquire,” Thibault said. You watched the captain with curious eyes. “Why is the lady convinced she is not suit for her husband?”

Kit realized what reply you had given a few seconds before and watched you silently.

“For one, her husband is so above her in stature. It is an unusual marriage, if I dare say so, Captain.” You told them. Your eyes landed on Kit’s once more. “They had unmistakably signed a marriage contract and had been bound since.”

Kit’s lips twitched into a small smile and he found you give him a shy one of yours. Your offense was great in the eyes of his father but to him, it was comical. Absurd and laughable. If Sir William Shakespeare were alive and present, he would have another comedy in his hands.

“You are right, miss. That is unusual.” Thibault said. “But no matter. Should you wish to come back to the library, I am certain His Royal Highness would be of great help to you.”

Kit saw his friend turn to him and he cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. Although, I must warn you, the language the laws were written in are in English and some in Latin.”

You smiled, a dimple sinking into your cheek. “It is no matter. So long as the passage is not wholly in Latin, I think I shall understand it.” You told them.

Thibault gave you a polite smile. “Shall I escort you back to the palace, miss? Perhaps even to the library?”

“I thank you, Captain, but I must decline. I wish to tarry just a little. It is a beautiful day out and it would be such a waste to not bask in the sunlight.” You replied.

“Shall we take a turn about the gardens, then?” Kit asked. “I am sure Captain Thibault is needed by his Guards to command them.”

You looked at him, surprised. You flushed as your eyes collided with his and he would not soon forget the rosy hue that came upon your cheeks. Even with all the beautiful flowers that surrounded you, your beauty, to him, was incomparable.

Thibault only smiled in understanding and bowed. “Your Royal Highness.”

“I would not turn down a walk about the gardens.” You turned to Thibault and held out your hand as if asking for a handshake. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Captain Thibault.”

The Captain instead kissed the top of it. “And you as well, Miss Y/N.”

You blushed once more and then slipped your hand on Kit’s offered arm, walking beside him. Kit loved the garden like his mother did. The royal gardener had maintained well the bushes and the flowers. You were right; it would be a waste to spend the day indoors when it was beautiful like this outside.

“Nice day out,” Kit commented when the silence stretched on.

“Yes, it is, Your Royal Highness.” You said with a smile in your voice.

You tilted your head towards the sky and his eyes followed the outline of your face. A strong nose. Flushed cheeks. Flecks of spots across your nose. The little scar. You looked like you belonged in the lively rays of the sun, not inside the cold formality of the palace.

He caught himself looking at you for longer than what was permitted. “Please, call me Kit.” he said as he cleared his throat, turning away from you.

“Oh, I don’t think it proper that I do.” You murmured. You looked straight ahead now as you both walked aimlessly about.

“I insist,” Kit said once more. “After all, we are wed, are we not?”

Your hand squeezed his arm and he felt the heat of your palm even through the sleeves of his coat. “I apologize for that. It was not my intention to ensnare you in marriage.”

“I know,” was all he said. “May I call you Y/N?”

“You may call me whatever you wish,” you said as you bent and plucked a sprig of lavender.

“If I shall call you by your name, you have to call me by mine. It is a fair exchange.” He said with a smile as he watched you sniff the bud.

You smiled as you looked at him. “Still, it is improper, Your Royal Highness.”

“If you carry on calling me that, I shall call you that as well. You are a princess of this kingdom, after all,” he said lightly.

When you remained quiet, he nodded at the flower in your hands. “Do you like lavenders?”

“They are my favorite. I seal my letters with a sprig of this so people know they are from me.” You opened the book and placed the bloom in between the scraps of paper you had inside. “There is a reason why I wanted to read the laws of the land. I wish to help with this predicament of ours.”

Kit only hummed, walking about with you.

“Your father wishes you to be wed.” You told him, this time with a much firmer tone of voice.

“You do not wish to remain wed to me?” he joked.

“I am no princess,” was all you said. It was neither an affirmation nor a negation. Something inside Kit dared to hope. “I would not want to stand in the way of the future of the kingdom.”

He raised a brow and turned to you. You looked at him.

“You’re hardly in the way,” he said, looking deeply into your eyes.

You gave a shy smile. “Are you really as benevolent as your mother? Finding no fault even when I made such a terrible faux pas?”

All the jesting left him at the mention of his mother. It still felt quite taboo for the kingdom to talk about such terrible happening. He thought he had come to terms with it but he had not, judging from his reaction.

Your hand squeezed his arm once more. You both stopped in your tracks.

“Forgive me, Your Royal Highness. I spoke too liberally.”

He nodded stiffly.

“I shall let you be—”

“Kit! Is that you, cousin?”

Kit turned slowly to the voice behind him. His cousin made his way towards the both of you jauntily, smiling as if he did not intrude upon a serious conversation.

“Your father told me I was to find you here with Captain Thibault. I passed the good man on my way and he told me you were in the presence of a lady.” His cousin said.

Kit cleared his throat, nodding again. “Yes. Louis, this is a… friend, Miss Y/N Y/L/N. Miss Y/N, this is my cousin.”

Louis took your hand and bowed over it, kissing your knuckles. “Louis Toussaint, Duke of Granville.”

You let go of Kit’s arm, dropping into an elegant curtsy. “Your Grace.” you said. Kit was positive he heard a smile in your voice.

“Louis shall suffice, Miss Y/N.”

Kit saw the devious smile on his cousin’s face.

You rose to your height, smiling prettily at his cousin. “Very well, Louis.” You said readily.

Kit only raised his brow… and tamped down the vile green-eyed monster that had suddenly come up him.

[witchywrter]

this is so good omg please tag me when you post part 2 i need to read it!!!

Like a Human (Erik Lensherr - Part One)

Pairing: Magneto/Erik Lensherr x Mutant!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: none yet…. spoilers maybe? Do you have to warn for spoilers for movies that are old? This takes place entirely inside Days of Future Past

Summary: “Our roles are nothing more than how the times choose to cast us.” -Magneto

Notes: The summary is just an epigraph of a Magneto comics quote, but it does more to explain the inspiration of this fic than a proper summary would. This one goes out to some of the 38 Magneto fic requests I got when I put up a post asking for some.

Charles had wanted to go himself.

Charles knew the world Logan was going back to. He knew what he himself was going through, where Erik was, how Mystique thought. Had Charles gone, he needn’t worry about Logan convincing him of the future, pulling him from his despair, reuniting him with his abilities. Had Charles gone, he would have been in control of his own body. Breaking Erik out and stopping Mystique would have been far easier. 

It was with a heavy heart he admitted that Logan was best suited for the task at hand. The task before Logan was more monumental than he knew. 

The three of them, Charles, Erik, Logan, they were all very different men at the time.

There was no telling where Logan would wake up, what situation he was in, how far he would have to travel. He was no one to Charles, and Charles may as well have been no one to him. Logan would have to convince a total stranger he was time travelling to save the universe. Not to mention if the link broke too soon, they would be throwing a wild, unpredictable man into the heart of the action and could leave the situation far worse than they’d found it.

Charles was without his abilities, and he was a long way from getting them back. He was weak, depressed, and alone; even with Hank around, he was alone. He would need to be rescued from the brink in a way Charles wasn’t sure Logan would be capable of, not because Charles doubted Logan but because he doubted himself. Logan would turn up on his doorstep, and Charles wouldn’t know if he was lying or not. Charles would need to be convinced of everything, and even if Logan managed that Charles would be of almost no help whatsoever unless he stopped his treatment months before he ever had in this timeline. 

And Erik? Erik was miles away from Charles. He wasn’t just miles underground; they were miles apart emotionally. They blamed each other, hated each other. 

It had taken a miracle to get them speaking again. 

A miracle with a name.

Keep reading

[witchywrter]

timing

Request: hi, I was wondering if I could request a druig x reader! maybe the reader is an eternal and after reuniting the spark they had but always tried to hide revives and they try to figure this out while fighting the deviants and the whole celestial thing! y’know, flirty, fluffy, angsty<33

*SPOILERS OF THE ETERNALS AHEAD*

Gif is not mine. Credit to owner. 

Keep reading

[witchywrter]

Druig A-Z Headcanons

This has spoilers for the Eternals

This has an immortal/powered reader.

A – Anger (What was their first fight about? Any big or recurring arguments?)

Your first fight would be something small you'd bicker over. The only big argument I could see Druig engaging with is how to handle the human race and whether mind-control is the moral way to go.

B – Best (What would they say is the other’s best trait?)

Him- His best trait, apart from his abilities, is his perception of everything around him. Druig is very observant and makes judgement from that

You- To Druig, you're many talents and traits are equal but he has a think for wit so if you are quick witted he'd loved that more than anything.

C – Camera (How do they document their relationships? Who likes to take pictures? Or videos?)

He lives away from a lot of technologies so I think he writes everything in journals. Now he is very familiar with technology so I imagine he has a Polaroid camera to document your relationship

D – Dates (What are their dates like?)

Very intimate and romantic. It is about the two of you so he takes you somewhere private where you can both enjoy each others company and ignore the rest of the world for a while.

E – Early (What was the first month of dating like?)

It was peculiar. Establishing a relationship with two people who are immortal, yet not invincible, was tough. Boundaries with powers was the most difficult thing to overcome.

F – Friends (How is their relationship with each other’s group of friends?)

The other Eternals adore you. You made the grumpy, pessimistic, and slightly out-of-control Druig calm down and lighten up. It's a miracle!

G – Gifts (Do they like giving each other gifts? What kind?)

Druig gives small gifts, mostly handmade or something he found. He is more than capable of grand gestures but the intimate present are from his heart which makes them all the more special.

H – Hugs (All things involving hugs)

The biggest cuddler in the multiverse. He won't admit it though, and he'll never ask so you have to initiate them but he'll melt into your arms instantly.

I – Inside Jokes (Do they have any?)

Many, you've both been alive throughout millennia. Inside jokes are in abundance.

J – Jealousy (Who gets jealous easier? How do they show their jealousy?)

No. Druig isn't jealous because he can just read minds to either find the intention of someone or get them to go away.

K – Kiss (How do they kiss? Who usually initiates?)

Druig's kisses are intense and passionate. They are filled with love and all the emotions he feels for you. He will, unlike hugs and cuddles, initiate the kisses the majority of the time.

L – Love (How do they first say those three words?)

He didn't realise he said it until you responded "I love you too." You were both in an orchid when the words fell from his lips.

M – Movies (What kinds of movies do they watch together? Is it a regular Netflix ritual?)

I dont think Druig is much of a movie guy. He prefers reading to you or vice versa.

N – Nicknames (Things they call each other)

Very traditional terms of endearment: Darling, My Love, Dearheart etc.

O – One (Tell us about the moment they realized they were with the one.)

When you weren’t scared of him and his powers.

P – Pizza (What is their favorite food to eat together?)

Foods that are long forgotten to history are his favourite. Especially dishes that have some form of fish or seafood in them. He also likes vegetarian dishes.

Q – Quit (Do they break up? Almost break up? What happened?)

No, if Druig got in a relationship, he would be entirely devoted. He wouldn't break up with his partner. To him, death is the only freedom from love.

R – Rainy Days (How do they comfort each other on dark days?)

Soft cuddles are the way to go.

S – Soft (Something one of them did that turned the other into absolute mush)

The way you smile at him randomly during the day, it reminds him of how much he is loved, and how much he loves you and it warms him inside.

T – Texting (Do they text each other a lot? What do they usually talk about over the phone?)

Druig doesn't text much, even though he owns a phone. If you were separated and needed contact, I think he would send a letter or wait until you retuned to him.

U – Unique (Tell us about some of their odd habits that surprised one another.)

Him- everyday he learns something new about you and you never cease to surprise him

You -He is very good at painting. Its something he earns throughout the years but his work could rival Picasso or Van Gogh.

V – Vanity (Something they’re proud of in themselves)

He is very proud of his work when he was with the Eternals fighting the Deviants. It was a herculean job and he was a major player in that. He is also proud he managed to walk away from that life.

W – Wedding (Tell us about your wedding head canon if they’ve gotten that far. Or if not, have they talked about it?)

It would've been soon after he realised how devoted to you he was. Why wait after all? It would've been simple with minimal attendees. You didn't need anyone else except an officiant.

X – X (Something they hate about the other)

You both have a mutual hatred about how much danger there is and how the other could get easily hurt.

Y – Youtube (What are they like online? Do they post about their relationship constantly?)

He doesn't have an online presence. Yes, he uses the internet and is very familiar but he refuses to post online, especially about your relationship. That is for you two only.

Z – Zzz (How do they sleep?)

Druig sleeps very poorly when alone. When he has you in bed, he sleeps like the dead. He usually has an arm around you in some way, pressing his body into yours, sharing warmth.

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee?

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

[witchywrter]

BEAUTIFUL CENTURIES ; d.

pairing(s): druig x asgardian!reader

Warnings: maybe some mild spoilers for the eternals (i really don’t think i actually have any spoilers, but i just want to be safe), a timeline that’s all over the place because i’m mixing the comics and mcu dates

a/n: so… ya girl watched the eternals last night… and yes, druig and makkari did basically grab me by the throat. They’ve probably become the sole reason im reviving my actual writing on this tumblr, so any of yall who want makkari and/or druig fics, feel free to send them in <3

685 A.D.

The first time you meet Druig, you would hardly call yourself beautiful.

That isn’t to say you don’t deem yourself attractive, of course - it’s just that there’s a dismembered Deviant lying at your feet, and you suspect that maybe some of the blood and gore extended beyond the lower half of your armor. So one can imagine your surprise when the train of your thoughts in the aftermath of the battle are interjected by a low, “Hello, beautiful one.”

You turn around.

If you were a poet, perhaps this would be the moment to inspire your works for the centuries to come. The moment you lock eyes with the man in red and black standing across the field, the way his lips tilt upwards when he knows you’ve seen him, the startled laugh that escapes you when the words beautiful one register.

But you are not a poet. You are simply an Asgardian - and he is Druig, the Eternal.

You hadn’t seen him during the battle, but from you know of the Eternals (admittedly, not too much), you understand that it doesn’t diminish his strengths towards the group. Five fighters, five thinkers is a mantra often heard amongst them.

“You are Druig,” you say, stepping over what you think used to be a Deviant arm.

“You know me.” By now, his smile has settled into more of a… smirk. Mischievous. Teasing. Amused? Either way, it holds until you are within a breadth of him and your weapon is sheathed at your side. “But I don’t know you,” he continues, and then there it is again. “Beautiful one. You came with the Asgardian king?”

By now, you understand that your king is already making himself known to the matriarch of the Eternals herself. In a way, the woman reminded you of your queen, raised and borne of witches, warm as the sun but cunning as a snake.

“I did,” you confirm. When you tell him your name, you find yourself revelling in the way it feels in the air between the two of you as he says it - the way the syllables roll off his tongue.

Beautiful, beautiful one.

800 A.D.

The second time you encounter Druig, he presents you with one of Idunn’s golden apples. To this day, you still have no idea how he acquired such a thing, although you suspect it may have something to do with the friendship he’d been able to maintain with Loki over the centuries.

“Hello, beautiful one.” This time, you don’t startle at the sound of his voice - although it is much closer than the first time, spoken at a low murmur right by your ear that you can still hear clear as day, even with all the revelries taking place in the tavern you’re both in. You turn your head just slightly and there he is.

“Hello, Druig.” This time, you’re out of your armor, and he dons local-wear in shades of black and grey fitting him in a way that does make your mouth run dry for a moment. You still indulge him in the best smile that you can, even as you take a sip from the mug of ale beside you. “How kind it is for an Eternal to grace a mere warrior with his presence.” It’s all in good jest. It always is.

He tuts anyway, reaching into his robes for… something, even as his eyes never leave your face. “I think we’ll have none of that now. Besides, I hear you’re moving up in the world, babysitting that prince of yours.” When you dig an elbow into his side for that comment, he only laughs again. “Guarding,” he corrects.

“That’s more like it,” you affirm, stopping to raise your mug as Thor makes another rambunctious announcement for cheers. Teenagers. By the time you’re back to focusing on Druig, the hand that had been withdrawn into his robes is back out, presenting you with a perfectly round, perfectly golden, apple. The startled laugh that you let out isn’t unlike the one you’d given him during your first meeting, and you accept the offer with a slightly reserved glee. “And how did you acquire this?” you ask him, admiring the apple in your eye and pressing your lips to it before taking a bite.

“Does it make me the apple of your eye?” The one-liner is enough to get you to choke on the apple for a moment, and Druig graciously allows you the dignity of a recovery before he continues. “It is said that those apples are the source of the Asgardians’ immortal youth and beauty. Is that true?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him as you take another bite, humming contemplatively. “Is this your way of saying you’d like me to be more beautiful?”

“Oh, beautiful one, never.” He even puts a hand over where his heart would be. “I don’t think I could handle that.”

“Mmm. That wasn’t a bad save on your end, Druig.” You catch the way his gaze flickers from the apple, then to your lips. You hold the apple out to him. “Would you like to try a bite, then?”

When he doesn’t say anything, you shake it lightly in front of his face. “This isn’t an offer made lightly.” it’s enough to break him out of his trance, because he smirks again and settles into his seat more comfortably, giving you a slight nod but grasping your wrist when you try to hold the apple out to him.

That’s not how I want to taste it.

It’s the first time you hear him in your head - and really, you shouldn’t be so startled. It’s not as if you don’t know the things he can do, haven’t seen him bring human conflicts to a standstill with a mere thought. And you can feel him in your head, too, sometimes, never prodding, never prying, just… there.

You like it, you think.

So does he.

Before he can close the distance between the two of you - before you can invite him to bridge the gap, you hear Thor call your name with a raucous laugh, mug raised to the heavens, inviting with a “Come drink with us!”

To Druig, you offer a shrug and an impish grin of your own, rising from your seat and offering him a bow as you make to leave. “Duty calls, then.” Rather than look upset, he just plucks the apple from your hands, eyes never leaving yours while he takes a generous bite.

Then one of the Warriors Three has you by the arm, the same time that you see one of the other Eternals bids Druig to rise - Kingo, you recognize, and he says something to Druig that has him scowling and shrugging his grip off as his cheeks redden slightly.

You feel his gaze on you for the rest of the night.

2013

By now, this isn’t even the third encounter you’ve had with Druig - not even the fourth, the fifth, even the hundredth. You lose track by now, centuries blurring together. Centuries of Heimdall keeping a watchful eye out, telling you where Druig has landed himself, where to go when he opens the Bifrost for you. Centuries of meetings (hardly clandestine) as Thor distracts his father from the fact that his loyal bodyguard is almost nowhere in sight, of Loki conjuring mirages of you that get better by the decade, of Lady Sif and her Warriors Three making false alibis for you, of your queen giving you a knowing look whenever she passes you by.

You know how you must look, trekking through the Amazon rainforest and into the now-familiar encampment. You pay no heed to the stares that some of the men and women pin you with as you pass, don’t think twice about the golden glow in their eyes that flashes and passes.

When you reach the building at the opposite end of the encampment, you don;t even enter. Part of you isn’t even sure you have the energy to open the doors, so you just settle at the foot of the wooden doors and lean against one.

The door to your left opens not a minute later, and in your peripheral vision, you see Druig standing there, clad in dark pants and a sleeveless grey top. He crouches next to you, bumping his shoulder against yours affectionately, and you pretend like that will be enough to make you keel over, swaying to the side in a dramatic motion.

“Oh, stop that.” When he steadies you, there’s no real bite to it. “And not even a hello for me, beautiful one?” You sigh, as though burdened greatly.

“Hello.” He presses his forehead against yours and you smile a smile that feels more real than anything you’ve mustered over the past few days. You feel him squeeze your arm, and you don’t tense, but when his hand goes over a fresh injury over your ribs that has not healed, it earns him a loud “ow” and a slap to the shoulder. “You’re a fiend,” you start.

“You’ve been in battle,” he says, and truly, your lover is brilliant. Astounding. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Only in my heart,” you jest, and it partially works because you see his lips quirk up before he settles back in a more serious expression. He waits for you to continue, and he doesn’t even need to use his abilities to know that there is more on your mind that you want to say. “We lost,” you begin to say, and his eyebrows shoot up, because he knows you and you never lose a battle. There have been so many fights to be fought, and none to lose.

“The Dark Elves,” you manage to continue, and the two words sit heavy in your throat, like they’re trying to choke you before you can finish what you want to say. “Queen Frigga was killed. So was Prince Loki.” And despite what your king says, despite the terrible things Loki did, he was still a prince of Asgard. From children to adolescence and to adulthood, you’d watched them both grow, sometimes alongside Druig, sometimes not.

Druig, who doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t offer words of empty comfort, who can feel what you feel in this moment, who looks at you now the way he looks at his humans sometimes - worried for them, wanting to interfere, wanting to keep them safe. So you press a hand to his cheek, opening your mind and heart to him, smiling as he leans into your touch.

I’ll be okay.

You will mourn. You will move forward. He, too, knows this.

2021

You feel Druig before you see him. You know his touch in your mind - have known it for eons, could feel and recognize it across the span of time and space.

My beautiful, beautiful lover.

The words are whispered into the embrace of your mind, softly becoming you to turn and look. You do so, only after you’ve set the crate of harvested and fished goods on the trunk of Valkyrie’s truck. The sight of Druig standing at the end of the pier, the ocean wind and spray whipping strands of his hair out of his face, has you holding your arms out for him.

You laugh when he reaches you and he pulls you into an embrace, one that literally sweeps you off your feet. “Beautiful one,” he says, and you can hear the laughter in his voice as he presses a kiss to the side of your head. “Did you miss me?”

“Did you miss me?” you counter, pulling back just enough that you’re able to get a look at his face. Eight years apart should be inconsequential to the two of you, who are fated to live for millenia, but it feels like an eternity of a lifetime. “I didn’t know you could venture out of that forest of yours, beautiful Druig.”

“Only for you,” he says, always quick with a retort. Witty or otherwise. “I even had to pack a jacket.”

“Yes, you did,” you agree, finally taking note of the studded black leather that he dons. Running a hand over one of the studs has you shooting him a very amused look, and he retaliates with a tug to the knitted sleeve of your new sweathers.

“I see that you’ve taken up the fisherman chic. Is that the fashion of New Asgard? I’ll be sure to dress more appropriately for the occasion next time.”

“Cheeky.” You’re only partially aware to the knowing look that Valkyrie gives the two of you before she is driving back to town, the two of you left to privacy. “Come on, you,” you add, linking your arm with his as you begin to lead him away from the water and up to one of the hills overlooking the town.

“How is Thor?” he asks you, and though it’s been many years since you were called to the duty of watching over the prince - no, now the king - of Asgard, your heart aches for the boy you watched grow into the man of loss you know today.

“Not the same,” you tell Druig, your footsteps coming to a stop as he moves himself in front of you, facing you. He keeps your hand clasped in his as he moves it over his chest, and you can feel the beat of his heart even through the jacket he wears. “He lost - we lost - nothing is the same.”

It’s hard to put into words, you think. You think of the person you were when you first met Druig, think of the naivety of that youth. You wonder what it is like for him now, to see the edges of that person chipped and worn away, eroded by the winds of love and loss.

When he brushes a strand of your hair out of your eyes, when he presses his forehead against yours, you feel some of those broken edges start to knit together again.

I’m sorry.

I should have been there.

I’m sorry I’m rooted to Earth.

“You’re here now,” your murmur, your eyes still closed. “You’re always here when I need you.” For that, he presses a kiss to your forehead before stepping back. He makes sure not to let go of your hand.

“I have something for you, you know.” His other hand is already reaching into his pocket.

“Should I be worried?” you ask, only in slight jest. “Your gifts are wonderful, really, but you do like to play things on the mischievous side-” Your words die in your throat when you see the golden apple he produces for you, glittering in the sun that’s starting to break through the clouds. “Oh. Oh, Druig.”

“You won’t demand the ways I acquired it for you?”

“You’d just evade the question - oh, Druig.” As he presses it into your palm, you have to breathe in sharply and blink back the stinging in your eyes. He shrugs a little, trying to play it nonchalant, even as you have to press your face into his shoulder so you can compose yourself without looking at him.

“People on Earth like to do this with a ring,” he says, suddenly, voice slightly louder to be heard above the wind. “A gold on. I thought-” you feel him shift his weight, and you squeeze his arm to steady him. “I thought this would be better.”

“Do you have a question you must ask of me?” Finally, you lift your head to look at him. “Beautiful Druig.”

“You’re the beautiful one,” is his automatic response, and the word, the endearment, has always been so natural. On the battleground. In a tavern. The past, and the present. This gift that he’s given you.

He is Druig, the Eternal. And he calls you beautiful, because he loves you.

Druig Taglist

@gemmywrites

@scmndr

@slksk

@alons-y-odinson

@simp4fictionmen

@mads-weasley

@rqmanoff

@vibrantlyjaz

@ginger-demon

[witchywrter]

Spiderman Huh?

Peter Parker x reader

Word Count: 900

Warnings: nothing I don’t think 

Author’s Note: I am very excited to be posting this because 11 year old maya is literally over the moon with it. I hope you enjoy love! 

Requested: by anon, hey :) i saw that you would write for andrew garfield’s spiderman and im here to request a fic (he’s SO cute i love him)! could i request a soulmate au (i don’t really have a preference for what kind) where they meet at a halloween party or something fluffy? thank you so much 💕

Summary: I used the first words of your soulmate is on your wrist AU! 

Genre: fluff

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

Keep reading

[witchywrter]

Ok ik you wanna do different characters so I thought of 3,4 and 13 from the prompt list with Peter Parker sorry if that’s to many the reader could have powers of you want but if not that’s cool too I just really wanna see what you come up with.

Okay, I made a really long fic with this ask, but I couldn't help it, I just loved the concept I had SO much.

Prompts used:

#3: I just told you I liked you but now I’m shy and say “never mind, forget it” and why are you looking at me like that?

#4: We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair

#13: This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 a.m. and I should really go home…

Ragdoll's Midterm

Desc: You and Peter Parker are best friends, who work on a college midterm assignment together. Lots of mutual pining, feelings, and Peter ends up having to stay the night when you work on the assignment, because I said so. Mostly just fluff!! You can imagine any Peter for this :D

Word Count: 9k

Peter was a bad best friend. In his opinion, he wasn’t that awful, but he knew it wasn’t fair that he had consistently been late to his first lecture of the week, and you always tried to bail him out no matter what happened.

“Mr. Edinson, he has a part time job!” You always retorted, raising your hand, without fail, anytime Peter was marked absent.

“Sorry, Ms. L/n. As you all know, my class, my rules, and Mr. Parker needs to learn to obey.”

God. You really hated Edinson, even if this class was one you really were interested in.

Graphic Design in Journalism, also known as GDS 201, wasn't a necessary class for either of you. Both of you were students at Empire State University, also known as ESU. You started thinking about Peter, as if that would will him into showing up sooner.

Peter was majoring in all three Big Sciences, also known as Bio-Chem-Phys as slang. He was insanely intelligent and stupid all at the same time, which you liked to remind him when he eventually showed up to class.

You were in Political Science, with a minor in Public and Business Administration, meaning that eventually you’d likely work for the city of New York in some capacity. Questioning the current dogma of authority was right up your alley, so to speak.

You had met Peter last semester, during a mutual liberal course about the Criminal Statistics of New York. During the little icebreaker during the beginning of that class, your professor had asked you to turn to the person (which happened to be Peter) next to you, and explain your reasons for taking the class. Peter was interested in it because he figured it was “important to know what’s out there.”

You, on the other hand, knew it was pertinent for a future government worker to be aware of how to combat crime in New York, considering how rampant it was there. Peter had jokingly mentioned working alongside Spider-Man to make things easier, and it was a new friendship from there. You were a massive fangirl of the hero, and Peter was very humorous and easy to talk to about that and many other things.

It was just safe to say two academic nerds were bound to get along anyways. You loved rambling about the laws in place at New York, and Peter enjoyed enthusiastically replying in turn about how scientifically speaking, you were just levitating constantly based on how atoms work. That was always funny, that he enjoyed talking about the strangest facts, but you were also surprised he knew so much about the governmental system in New York too.

“Way to show off, Parker.” You had grumbled in jest, and he snorted.

“Wouldn’t someone like you prefer if everyone was governmentally inclined? That was what you were going for, right?” He had had a point, and ever since then, you had gotten used to bantering with Peter Parker.

After passing the Criminal stats course, you and Peter were too close to really say goodbye after that, so you exchanged phone numbers, hoping to see each other over winter break.

You didn’t have the guts to admit it, but you were really, really attracted to him. But he was already shaping to be such a great friend, who had common interests with you, and he was always there for you, the last thing you wanted to do was to push him away with your feelings.

Besides, he was handsome and good at talking, and it made you sure he already had a girlfriend. So you swallowed your feelings, and visited him a few times over the break, at his apartment, which only further cemented everything. It was practically already decided when you asked Peter if he wanted to take another liberal together next semester.

The only problem was that Edinson’s class took place at 8 AM on Mondays, and no matter how much you both liked Graphic Design, it was impossible to wake up. Well, not for you, because you lived quite close to ESU’s campus anyways, but Peter always struggled. You could hardly blame the man, he had so many tasks to do, it made your head spin.

Peter was a part time worker at the Daily Bugle, taking pictures of New York City and Spider-Man (to your immense joy). He was also on a paid internship at Oscorp, one that he had achieved based on his research work at the university. And when he wasn’t buried under these two jobs and his homework, he volunteered at the local homeless shelter where Aunt May worked, F. E. A. S. T., which could’ve been an entire job on it’s own. You always joked that only he could be capable enough to take three majors, and three jobs, and still be okay, but he really wasn’t all that okay.

If you broke it down, Peter was in classes from Monday to Thursday, and he spent Fridays at the internship. Then the weekends were reserved for F. E. A. S. T. work, and handing in pictures to the Daily Bugle, and free time, where he’d sometimes hang out with you. Lately, though, Peter really struggled with something along the way, something you knew he wasn’t telling you, and that’s why he was late to GDS 201 almost every Monday morning.

In comparison, you only had your classes during the week and a part time job at the Ragdoll Joint, a 50s themed cat cafe. Peter couldn’t hold in his laughter when he found out that’s why you were so close-lipped about your own work, and he especially made fun of you having to wear a kitty paw print apron and a button up collared full circle skirt dress, and a cat ear headband/50s style hat. It sounded insane, but it was a niche that brought in the customers, and you had rationalized it as so.

“Listen, Peter, we can’t all be super smart like you. It’s a living!” You had huffed, watching him convulse with laughter about how the cats were named after famous 50s stars, like Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, Grace Kelly, and Elizabeth Taylor.

“Oh, I’m not suggesting otherwise, Y/n.” He had grown silent. “I get needing to do what you need to do.”

“Right, and you know there’s no way I could work so many jobs like you do.” You had smiled at him at the time, and he focused on that. “This job isn’t so bad, by the way. I get paid a lot because no one else really wants to do it.”

“That’s good. I’m sure many people come in to see a cute costumed girl with cats.” He had smiled genuinely, glad that one of his best friends wasn’t struggling like he was, but you had sputtered at his compliment, causing him to grin. “But really, I’m sure you could do what I do. You’re not nearly as useless as you make yourself sound.”

“Aw-shucks, Pete. You really razz my berries.” You had said, totally dead-pan, seeing his face turn as he did his best to keep in his laughter at that. “Genuinely though, thanks.”

“You’re… welcome.” He had strained out, but it was no good. As his best friend, you knew what made him tick, and he began to guffaw loudly, nearly falling on the ground as he smacked his knee. You grinned at that.

“Are those really words they make you say there?”

“Yeah.”

“God, I think that might be cruelty against workers.”

You had shoved him, but started laughing too. It was always a good time with Peter, because he always knew how to cheer you up. You only wished you could do the same for him, because he really struggled with something, even if he acted like everything was alright.

“Any chance I can see the outfit-”

“No.”

Even if he had called it cute, it was too mortifying for you to let your best friend/crush see you in what was the most corporate, almost-mascot outfit. You wouldn’t even tell him where the cafe was located, to his massive amusement.

Of course, this caused your current bet. If Peter found the cafe while you were working a shift there (without the help of Google Maps, of course), then you would have to pay him in sweet, sweet store-redeemable only Calico Coins, which would allow him to buy one drink of his choosing. If he didn’t find it within the next two weeks, he’d have to help you find a government-related job, much to his chagrin.

“You know I’d do that anyways. Why not pick something you know I wouldn’t normally do?” He had asked, folding his arms. Peter was responsible to a fault.

“Well, I don’t want to burden you anymore than that.” You had admitted quietly, and he groaned.

“Y/n. I’m your best friend!” He had ruffled your hair, to your embarrassment and secret delight. “What kind of best friend- no, friend am I, if I can’t do something you actually want?”

At that, you had smiled fondly. Of course Peter would want to do something more special. The small part of you wanted to say that he would have to go on a date with you, but that was far too confident and big to just say.

“Okay, fine. You can either help me find a political science, government job, or you can introduce me to Spider-Man.” You had raised your eyebrows at how he stilled. “You know, since you take so many pictures of him?”

“Uh… Yeah! I mean, I’d have to ask him of course, but I think that would be cool. If he’s available, and all that.” Peter had rambled on, obviously too starstruck about it. You decided not to sweat on that too much, and you had told Peter that it was fine if that couldn’t happen.

All this thinking and overanalyzing about your best friend (which you usually did anyways) could not bring him to the lecture any sooner than 8:32 AM, at which Edinson promptly turned towards him.

“Alright, Mr. Parker. I see that you finally decided to grace us with your presence today.” He sneered, and you rolled your eyes. Edinson loved making a show out of Peter, for no reason other than being a bully.

“Sorry.” Peter replied briefly, none of his usual snark showing, and he climbed his way up the stairs towards your seat. This lecture hall was big, but Peter somehow never failed to sit next to you, even when he was late.

“Anyways, class. We’ve got a pretty big midterm assignment coming up. You’re going to need to apply the knowledge I’ve taught in the past few weeks carefully.” Edinson droned on, as Peter sat next to you.

You took one look at him, and saw that his eyes were totally blanked out, from exhaustion, and his under eye circles were dark, giving him the general look of someone who had gone through torture.

“Jesus, Peter. You look horrible.” You whispered.

“Okay, great. I look the way I feel.” He joked, a tired smile working its way on his face. He would always smile when he looked at you. “Did I miss anything?”

“Other than me trying to tell Edinson that it’s not your fault that you’re chronically late, not really.” You nudged him. “Maybe you should take a break, Peter. You work so much, and I really have no idea what you’re up to.”

At that, he felt kind of bad. It was honestly his fault for taking on so much, but there was so much he wanted to do in life. If he could function without sleep, he would.

He also felt ashamed that you were out of the blue on the whole Spider-Shenanigans, but he couldn’t tell you that just yet, no matter how close you were.

“Sorry, Y/n.” Peter apologized, and he began to open up his bag as you sighed. You would come back to this later.

As Peter looked for his laptop, he realized he forgot it, and you laughed quietly at that. Typical Peter Parker. He looked at your laptop screen instead, and Edinson finally began to get to the point of the assignment.

“So, class, this midterm is worth 30% of your grade.”

There was an immediate dissenting chorus from your classmates, including you and Peter groaning. Of course Edinson would just drop a huge bomb like that on you, even though the class mark up scheme was originally divided like this:

10% for five small Photoshop assignments, so 50% in total.

20% for the midterm assignment.

30% for the final assignment.

This had to mean that Edinson had removed one of the smaller assignments, and he admitted as much.

“Settle down, settle down! I’m doing you a favour, aren’t I?” He tried to say, but you scoffed.

“He only wants less things to mark.” You whispered to Peter, who nodded in annoyance.

“I literally spent half of Friday working on that and now you’re telling me it doesn’t count.” He sighed. “Just wonderful.”

“We don’t even know what the midterm is and now we have to make up for Edinson’s laziness by working harder on it!” You lamented, unfortunately a bit too loudly.

“Have something to say, Ms. L/n?” Edinson raised his eyebrows as you remained silent. “No? Okay, great. You’ll find the information regarding the assignment under New Works, in our Google Classroom page. This is a partnered assignment, by the way, so be sure that you can work efficiently alongside whoever it is. I will not be changing partners for anyone.”

Peter laughed as you began to furiously type on your own laptop, hoping to find someone you’d be willing to work with in your partner section.

Opening up the assignment rubric, and the instructions, you scrolled down to see the partner list:

Y/n L/n and Peter Parker.

“Thank God!” You exclaimed, shaking Peter’s shoulder in excitement.

“That does make things a lot easier.” Peter replied, squeezing your hand. “We should be able to ace this.”

Together, you read about the assignment, knowing that if you had been paying attention to Edinson’s droning, you’d know what it was all about. Peter moved in a little closer to read the screen better, his cheek nearly brushing your own, and although you were used to the general closeness from him, you still felt an unnerving warmth run through you. He glanced at you, and you did your best to seem normal.

“So… it’s a mockup of a newspaper, due on Saturday.” You said, surprised it didn’t seem to be so bad.

You needed to provide three self-written articles, organized in a newspaper format, as well as photography and appropriate headlines and graphics. It was Graphic Design in Journalism, after all.

“Peter, you work at the Bugle-”

“I sometimes take pictures for them, yes.”

“So you know what newspapers should sound and look like! Easy.” You smiled at him, and he felt the overwhelming urge to hug you. It didn’t matter how many times Peter tried to say it. You were unbearably cute at times.

“Right. Not that you’ve ever read a newspaper, Y/n.” He snorted, and you scowled.

“You know what I mean! You have more experience.” You began to type in your Google Calendar. “I’m organizing an appointment at my apartment where we can meet and work on this because I know you’re really busy. I hope Friday at 8 PM works.”

You knew his schedule down to a T, and it just made him more fond of you. Who else would know that he finished his Oscorp shift at 5 PM, and then went home to work on whatever else? That’s why he knew you knew something was up, because something was missing from his schedule. He felt bad, again, that you were the most accommodating best friend, but he sucked.

“That does work.” He swallowed at how you beamed at him. Lately, he’d been a little distracted by you, and it confused him. Why did he spend so much time thinking of you, in ways he didn’t normally before? Your kindness was always on his mind.

He still chalked it up to the fact that you cared so much about him, so he would obviously emulate that back. But that didn’t explain why he felt so shy at times with you, or why he was staring at your features, or why he felt the urge to run away from his entire life with you.

He thought he was just busy, so he was giving importance to the one thing that made him feel less stressed. You. But that thought only stressed him out more in the long-run. Was he about to fuck things up?

It would be just Peter’s luck to start crushing on his best friend instead of actually being there for her.

He shook this thoughts away, turning back towards you. “Listen, I didn’t eat breakfast, so I was hoping…”

“We’re not going to the Ragdoll Joint.” You sneakily grinned at him. “You have to find the cafe when I’m working there, remember?”

“It was worth a shot.” His stomach grumbled, and he sighed. “Okay, fine. I just really like those, uh, what do you call them again? You bought it for me once.”

“The Catpaw Tarts?” They were fluffy little paw shaped pastries filled with oodles of jam and cream, with notes of cinnamon and honey in the glaze on top. Peter had drooled just smelling them, and he had voiced his delightedness with his mouth full, causing you to laugh.

“Yeah.” He tapped the desk, hunger really getting to him.

“Okay, fine. I’ll buy that, if you buy pizza for lunch.”

“Deal.” Peter shook your hand, classic best friend deal coming through once again.

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

It was Friday, and you were getting ready. Sure, you saw Peter throughout the week, and you always conversed and texted with him when you could, but this was new. Somehow, he had never come to your apartment before.

You’d always seen his, covered in tests and study notes about all kinds of crazy equations and theories you’d never understand. Plus, there was a huge pile of laundry stacked in the corner of his bedroom, which he always swore he was getting to.

As comfortable as you were with Peter and his own home, you just wanted to make a good impression on him, and this mad you beat yourself up on the inside even more. You weren’t supposed to be crushing on him, let alone trying to impress him.

You tried to rationalize it with the fact that he had never seen your home, but you knew that was a lie.

Your apartment was pretty small. Composed of three rooms, there was the kitchen, the bathroom, and the bedroom/living room. The latter was really just a room with a TV, a desk, and your bed, and it was what people saw as they walked in through the door.

It wasn’t much, but you certainly called it home, and that was why you hoped Peter would find it as homey as you did.

You cleared off all the excess garbage you had lying around, like notes that were from last semester, old takeout boxes, and some wine bottles from when you decided to drink away a bad test. You laughed at the memory of you a few weeks ago, crying because you thought it was all over, that you had failed this test, and you had drunk dialed Peter, who had immediately jumped into comforting you.

He had told you to get up, to drink some water, and to not drink yourself into a stupor, and you had laughed at him the entire time. Something about how unselfish and sweet he was was making you laugh, and you couldn’t explain why. He had sounded a bit concerned, but even drunk you could tell he was smiling from your antics.

Then, a few days later, when it had turned out you had passed that test after all, you were so relieved that you had immediately hugged him, to his surprise, but he was quite receptive to it. He hugged you back, and you had blushed, coughing, saying that you were just caught up in the moment.

Peter had scratched his head, smiling, and said it was fine. That he liked when you were excited, and he would never mind a hug.

This moment, along with many others, replayed in your head constantly, especially because he was so sweet about everything. It made it hard to believe he didn’t like you at least a little bit back, but you knew that was just wishful thinking, and that he was like this with everyone. You knew the best you were going to get was him being your best friend, which made you a little sad, but sometimes you had to friendzone yourself for the greater good.

It was 7:45 PM. Fifteen minutes until Peter needed to be here. You began to clean your kitchen counter, noticing an abundance of pots and pans that needed to be hung on the wall. When you were about to hang the final, large wok, there was a ring of the doorbell, and you swore as you dropped the wok on the ground, the clattering sound echoing.

“Y/n? Is everything alright?” Peter’s voice came through the door, and you sighed audibly. Of course he’d come early the one time you were freaking out.

“Yeah…” You walked over, and yanked the door open, seeing him standing there in confusion. He had his backpack, and he was holding a plastic bag with round takeout boxes tied neatly inside. “Sorry, Peter, I was just cleaning.”

“Oh. You know it’s just me, right?” He snorted, and made his way in, as if he had been in here a million times before.

“...Wow.” He whistled as he took his first look at your general decor.

“It’s not messy, is it?” You tensed up for a second, but he laughed.

“Will you just chill? Why would I care if it’s messy, you’ve seen how awful my place is.” He had a point. “It’s not, by the way. It’s very Y/n.”

“Oh, thank you.” You finally smiled at him, feeling reassured, and he beamed back.

“Here.” He handed you the bag, and you opened it to see the classic circular wooden boxes that typically contained dim sum. It had been a long time since you and Peter had gone out for food that wasn’t wildly unhealthy, or super easy and cheap to make.

“It’s uh, like a homecoming ceremony thing. I don’t know, I thought it would be nice to get something more special since this is the first time I’m here.” He grinned, and you felt touched that Peter would consider something like that. He was definitely a sweetheart when he wanted to be.

“Thank you.” You would’ve said more, but you found yourself turning embarrassingly red, and instead chose to walk towards the kitchen, as Peter admired your living room. He sat on your bed, putting down his backpack, but then immediately stood up again.

“Uh, Y/n! You have a GameCube?!” He launched forward, looking at the old console still hooked up to your TV. “Okay, we gotta finish this assignment really fast, so we can play some Melee.”

You giggled at that, and agreed. “Only if I get to main Zelda.”

“Oh, I always main Link.” Peter admitted gleefully, and you smiled. The fact that Zelda and Link were two of one pair was not lost on you.

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

Working on the assignment wasn’t so heinous, as you both sat on your bed. Even though Edinson had made it sound stressful, the three articles were easy to write when you both wrote one simultaneously. Peter tackled the one about genetic tampering, something you knew he knew more about, and you wrote about the lack of female senators in the US Senate. It wasn’t really supposed to be that long, about 500 words each article, and by the time you got to the third one, it was only 8:55 PM.

You were both over achievers, after all.

“What should we write for the third article, Peter?” You asked, as you finally felt the pangs of hunger. Peter had been scarfing down food for the last fifteen minutes, and every bite was interlaced with “Are you sure you’re not hungry, Y/n?”

Knowing your best friend had a bottomless pit of a stomach (and the metabolism that wouldn’t show it, to your jealousy), you tentatively bit a shumai dumpling, and it began to fall apart in your chopsticks, causing you to fully put it in your mouth.

“That’s so good.” You sighed in bliss, your mouth full as you chewed it down, and Peter swallowed. He looked away, biting his lip, and then ran his fingers through his hair, looking a teeny bit flustered.

It was dumb on Peter’s part, but he had entirely forgotten that he was alone with you, in your apartment, and something about the way you had pressed the chopsticks against your mouth made him remember that. He wanted to kiss you.

It was really, really stupid of him, to continue staring at your lips, before he remembered what he was doing and who he was to you and why he was here in the first place.

He turned to his laptop again, deciding that it would be easier to just start googling relevant New York topics, but it was becoming apparent to him the longer he thought about it. He did like you, and he was going to probably have to push this down so you wouldn’t find out. You were his best friend, and a hard worker, and he felt like he’d be a total jerk for not seeing everything you’d done for him, and instead treating you like an object.

Still, you gently asked him if he wanted to eat more, and he cursed on the inside. Why were you so thoughtful and nice to him? Were you making it difficult on purpose, that he’d have to ignore his reprieve?

But Peter was Spider-Man after all. He was definitely too strong to just start liking you, right?

You began to work together on the final article, about crime stats in New York, and you eagerly began to talk about Spider-Man again. You were so glad that Spider-Man was keeping New York safe, and you said you only wished there was some way to make it up to him.

Peter grinned at that, wondering what you’d do if you knew he was right next to you, and then his mind sputtered to a stop, immediately filled with thoughts you should definitely not think about your best friend.

As in, he was not thinking about you in the Ragdoll Joint apron and nothing else, which was madly perverted, something he would never, ever do. No sir, not Peter Parker.

But you had made it so easy for his mind to think that when you said you wished there was a way to make it up to him.

Peter also wished he could just tell you, so you wouldn’t worry so much about his exhaustion anymore. He hated making you feel like that, like you were missing out, or that you were burdened with his own bullshit.

It would be so helpful if you could just meet Spider-Man, but he would be sacrificing a bit of your safety if he did that. He felt like he was letting you down, but he knew that bet was kind of the only way for you to see Spider-Man, so he had two options in his mind:

Find you at your job (unlikely)

Just show up as Spider-Man at your apartment and say that Peter sent him.

That last one sounded like the best compromise.

After finishing the article, the main, easy part was making the newspaper. You worked on proper fonts, the headlines, and the borders, while Peter attached photos and edited them relevantly to whatever you had been writing about.

It was mostly silent, as the night sky was still rather coloured with the last little streaks of sunlight, and you suddenly turned towards him.

“Peter, we’re done.” You motioned at the file on your screen in Adobe Indesign. “The midterm assignment is over with!”

You had titled your newspaper “The Hyrulean Moon,” and he laughed at the name.

“Stop, you know we both like the Legend of Zelda. It works out.” You giggled, and he agreed.

“You’re right. It’s perfect. We’re done!” He shook your hand jokingly. “Good working with you, reporter.”

“Right back atcha, cool cat.”

“Ugh, Y/n. Enough with the 50s slang, please.” He pleaded, flopping on the bed. “My heart can’t take it.”

“Aw, it’s cute!” You said jokingly. “Okay, okay, fine. What’s cute are the cats at the cafe.”

Peter disagreed silently, thinking that you were far cuter than any pet, and that the only reason his heart couldn’t take 50s slang was because you made it far more adorable than it had any right to be. It was all you, and that was why he liked you.

His heart was pounding, and he tried to remind himself to just think of you normally, that you were his friend, but he definitely liked you also because of that.

“Wanna play Melee now? Unless you have somewhere to be…” You picked up a GameCube controller, swinging it around, taunting him, and he stifled a laugh.

“You’ve got another thing coming if you think I’m not about to stay to beat your ass, Y/n.” He checked his watch. “It’s only 10 PM, I’ll just take the 11 PM subway.”

“Cool.” You turned on the TV, excited to play.

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

Sitting on the bed next to Peter, casually beating him up in Super Smash Bros. Melee made you feel right at home. Like you were always meant to end up here at some point, your knee brushing his as you laughed at his attempts to attack you.

“For all you know, we’re acting out Link and Zelda’s divorce.” Peter said, which took you off guard as you laughed, causing him to strike a lot of damage on you.

“Hey! That’s cheating.” You pushed his arm, and Link fell off the platform in the game, dying.

“Look who’s cheating now, Y/n.” Peter jokingly grumbled, knocking the controller out of your hand. You picked up your controller, shooting Link with several small magical attacks.

Peter furrowed his brows, and leaned in closer to the screen, as if that would make him fight faster, or better. His body hunched over as he bit his lip, focusing extra hard, and you couldn’t help but feel that he was really attractive like that. You had seen it before, of course, when Peter was really in depth reading a book, or when he was scrawling notes next to you in a lecture hall, and it was just so intense.

You had been distracted for so long, that Peter unleashed a final smash on Zelda, causing you to die and for him to win overall.

“Yes!! In your face, Y/n!” He whooped, raising his arms excitedly as he practically fell off the bed. “Sorry.”

“No worries, Peter.” You laughed. “You did say you were going to beat my ass.”

He still looked apologetic. You rolled your eyes, knowing he only really felt bad if you felt bad, not that he won.

“Next time, I’ll win.”

“Sure.” He smiled. “This was really fun, but I should probably get going.”

You began to head to the kitchen, as you asked Peter to take some of the dim sum leftovers, since it was 10:45, and he was going to need to walk really fast if he wanted to make the 11 PM train.

He noticed your wok was still on the ground, and he began to pick it up, hanging it on the wall.

You handed him the bag, neatly tied with lots of napkins and little sauce packets, when there was a large clap of thunder.

You squealed, unexpectedly, and Peter instantly grabbed your shoulders, reassuring you.

“Sorry.” You said, as you both turned towards the window of the kitchen.

Sure enough, lighting bolts rang across the sky, and there was a huge downpour of rain. Your window looked as if someone was hosing it down, but it was just the sky.

“Someone needs to tell Thor to calm down.” Peter jested, but he still worried. What if he couldn’t go back home?

“Let me check the weather.” You sighed, and you pulled up your phone. “Well, it looks like it’s a random storm, that meteorologists weren’t expecting. So you might be right about Thor.”

“Wait, wait, hold on.” Peter scooped up his backpack, and grabbed the bag of food from you. “Sorry Y/n, I gotta see if the subway is still open. I’ll text you.”

He hugged you extra fast, and then bolted out the door, rapidly running as he tripped here and there down to the elevator.

You stood there, mouth agape, until you realized what had just happened.

Well, it was your own fault for being distracted by Peter’s hug, but you knew now that there was a chance Peter would have to stay here.

You gulped, hoping that he would, but also hoping that you wouldn’t do anything stupid or out of turn.

About four minutes later, as you stared at the news on the TV, your phone dinged and you picked it up.

Peter: Yeah, it’s all flooded lol sorry Y/n

Peter: Sent an attachment (image description: subway tunnel, flooded with water, would probably come up to your knee)

Peter: Looks like I’m going to have to ask for a huge favor?

Peter: Sorry tho

Peter: If you’re uncomfortable, it’s fine, I can always try somewhere else

Y/n: You didn’t say the favor, dummy

Peter: Oh

Peter: Right

Peter is calling…

You picked up the phone immediately, and heard Peter’s frantic breathing.

“Y/n, listen. There are no more trains going right now, they’re all canceled.”

“Okay, then just stay here?” You asked, and he paused.

“That’s the favor I was talking about. Are you sure, though?”

“Peter, it’s raining, it’s the middle of the night, where else are you going to go?” You looked out the window again. The dark clouds and rain didn’t make it seem like it was going to stop anytime soon. “I’m your best friend and the last thing I want is for you to be unsafe.”

“I won’t be that unsafe, it’s just New York.”

“Are you forgetting we did a whole course and an article, just now, about that very topic?!” You said a bit loudly, and Peter sighed.

“You’re right.” He wished, again, that he could just tell you he was Spider-Man, so you didn’t need to worry, but even he knew Spider-Man didn’t deserve to be totally outside in the rain with no help. Besides, you were offering.

“See you in a second.” He hung up, and you sighed, knowing that soon Peter was going to be in your apartment. Sleeping over.

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

When Peter showed up, the first thing you noticed was that he was soaked to the bone. Literally, his t-shirt, sweater, and pants were entirely wet, as if he had just jumped in a lake of water.

“You can still back out if you want to, Y/n. I still don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He shuddered, suddenly, and you yanked him into your apartment.

“Look at you!” You gestured at his totally wet clothing, and he grimaced. “I’m not backing out. It’s fine. It’s not that weird.”

“Okay, okay, understood.” He shivered from the cold, and you grabbed his hand, causing him to blush. You led him towards your bathroom.

“Take a bath so you don’t die of hypothermia.”

“I won’t die.” Peter snorted, stubborn as ever. “Besides, what other clothes will I wear?”

“Lucky for you, I happen to have extra large clothing.”

“This is starting to sound like you just want an excuse for me to get out of my clothes.”

“-!” You shoved him, sputtering, and he laughed loudly.

“Just kidding.” He looked at the tiled floor of your bathroom. “Thanks, by the way. It can’t be easy letting me stay and take a bath and all that. I’ll repay you.”

“There’s no need for that.” You waved him off, and then exited the bathroom, doing your absolute best not to imagine him naked.

You felt bad, again, that you were being courteous and yet here you were, imagining his naked body. Would it ever end?

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

It was almost midnight, and this was massively awkward. Peter was wearing your large t-shirt that was adorned with random Sanrio characters, which oddly kind of suited him, and his boxers, which somehow were not wet. The fact that Peter’s bare legs were unnervingly close to your own was not lost on you. Why did you both have to be wearing shorts/undergarments?

“Y/n.” Peter whispered, his face on his bicep, as he awkwardly did his best to not lay too close to you. “Are you asleep?”

“Do I look asleep? My eyes are wide open!” You snorted, and he sighed.

“Oh, true. It’s a good thing tomorrow is Saturday.” He yawned, and then did his best to sleep. He could hardly stay still, because your bed was made for one person, and he was teetering on the edge out of respect to you.

The problem was that even as far as he was, your body warmth was spreading to his, and he had a hard time not thinking of you like that. Like a cute girl next to him, almost close enough to cuddle with, except you were that, and you were his friend, and in his tired mind, these two things were colliding until they were kind of the same thing.

Why shouldn’t he like you? It wasn’t like you had a bad time today, right?

In Peter’s tiredness, he carefully came a lot closer to you, his hair brushing your own, and you turned a little red.

“Sorry.” He giggled quietly. “There’s just not much room.”

“You can scooch over closer-” You paused, shaking your head. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s not weird, is it?” He came as close as he could, his legs brushing your own, and sighed in relief. “Ah, my back isn’t cramping anymore.”

“No, it’s not weird.” You whispered, and closed your eyes, feeling yourself smile like a moron.

Peter smiled at that, at how adorable you were, and he felt himself fall asleep.

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

When you woke up, you realized that Peter’s arm had casually wrapped around your waist, and your head was buried into his chest. The room was still dark, meaning that it wasn’t morning yet, and you stumbled back in surprise.

Your movement caused Peter to wake up, and as he yawned, he noticed his hand was still splayed across your waist, causing him to pull back, turning red. The slight exhaustion in your features, the way your eyes were bleary, and your hair’s general disheveled state made him realize he’d do anything to see that every morning. It was intimately personal, how close you guys had been, and how beautiful you looked when you actually rested a bit.

He knew he was breaching a line of trust you had in him by going any further.

Peter had already accidentally cuddled you, and the only way to not ruin the situation was to apologize. Immediately. But you shyly looked at him, and began to speak, and you weren’t sure where your confidence was coming from.

Maybe it was because you were already acting like a couple.

“Peter… forgive me if this isn’t my place, or if I’m coming across too strong,” You swallowed. “I really, really like you. And I was so scared, to say anything, because you know, you’re Peter Parker! You’re good at everything, and the last thing I want to do is come in and muck it up.”

He raised his eyebrows at that, but you continued. “I didn’t want to say it, but you’re such a good friend, and I think I like you even more because of that. I’m… sorry.”

You finally stopped, realizing you had been rambling for a minute or two, and Peter hadn’t said anything. In fact, he was just sitting there, his mouth slightly open, and you internally cursed.

“I mean, for all I know, you have a girlfriend, which would make sense, because you’re absolutely gorgeous, but here I am, being the awkward friend who just crushes on someone knowing that it would never happen.” You whispered, suddenly bashful and resentful that you had said so much without a hint of reciprocation, especially because now you would have to go back to being his friend. You looked at the pillow sitting next to you. “Sorry. Never mind, forget I said anything.”

He was still silent.

You gingerly looked up. “Look, I know that was a lot to unload, but a lot has happened today, and I just want to be able go back to being friends.”

Peter Parker was short circuiting, and things were going bad because of it. He was still processing and mulling over what you just said. That you, the kind friend he was trying so hard not to take advantage of, liked him back. If he didn’t say anything back, you were going to feel rejected and sad, when that was the last thing he wanted to do.

How could it be that you both had the same feelings but didn’t pick up on it? Peter knew he was sometimes a bit bad at picking up hints but he didn’t think he was this oblivious.

You began to turn away, ready to go to sleep again, when Peter’s hand softly brushed your face. You looked into his eyes, and saw that he had set his mouth into the firmest expression. He smiled, gently, and then came even closer.

“Y/n, with all due respect to my best friend, I’m going to kiss you now.”

“What-” You were cut off, as Peter desperately lifted your face towards his own, kissing you with a passion that you never imagined he would ever had. The same sort he had earlier when he played Melee against you, or when he was studying, or, unbeknownst to your knowledge, when he was Spider-Man.

Like he was going to die if he didn’t keep going.

His mouth never left yours, and as you came closer, he pulled you in, on to his lap as he continued to kiss you.

When he finally stopped, pulling away, breathing hard, you were so out of it. Your eyes practically had stars in them, and you grasped his hands tightly.

“Really? That’s how you tell me that you like me too?” You asked, laughing as Peter snorted.

“Yes, really.” He held you close. “Sorry. I was just freaking out and didn’t know what to say.”

“I… I’m glad you said that.” You smiled into his neck, and you felt his throat rumble as he stifled a laugh.

“Does this mean I get to see the Ragdoll Joint?”

“No! What does this have to do with our bet?”

“I thought maybe you’d be distracted from kissing.” He admitted, and you groaned. “C’mon, Y/n. You know I have to see how cute you look in a kitty cat apron.”

“You can see that when you find the place.” You smiled again, as he scoffed.

“Wait, Peter! Look at the sky-” You pointed out the window. It was totally clear, no clouds, no rain, nothing.

“The moon is certainly pretty tonight.”

“Not as pretty as me.” You grinned.

“I’m supposed to compliment you, dummy.” He chuckled, and then checked the clock. “It’s around 2 AM. I didn’t even mean to stay that long-”

“Well, you had to, Peter.”

“Yeah, but I should really go home now, right? The subway should be open by now.” He blinked. “Tomorrow I gotta go help at F. E. A. S. T., I think.”

“You can be a little late. I’ll come with you so May has twice the amount of help.” He gave you a look, and you shrugged. “We’ve kind of been having such a nice time, I don’t want you to go…”

“Aw.” He hugged you tight again. “Has anyone ever told you you are impossibly adorable?”

“You do, all the time! That’s why I like you.” You shyly admitted, and Peter reflected on that.

It was true, he had spent a lot of time complimenting you, but that’s what friends did, and he figured most of the things he was saying was already true. Right? Or was it that his mouth already knew what he wanted before he did?

Considering his first course of action was to kiss you, that was definitely true.

“Well I like you just as much back.” He held your shoulders. “Can this be considered a first date?”

“Well, I’d want it to be more momentous…”

“What’s more momentous than coming to your apartment for the first time, and revealing our feelings? It was practically a rom-com, Y/n. I came back from the rain for you.” He grandly bowed. “I’ll take my Oscar now.”

“Right, right.” You yawned suddenly, and Peter blinked.

“We should go back to sleep.” He replied, holding you in close, this time consciously, as you both lay down together. He gently, briskly kissed your forehead, which made you smile, and you began to drift off into sleep again.

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

The next week, Peter swore up and down he was going to find the “stupid cat cafe” if it was the last thing he did. He elaborated by saying that no, it wasn’t stupid, it was just annoying because he couldn’t find it on time. There was just a week and a half to go during the bet, and the image of you and a bunch of real cats, and the 50s attire, and everything you had said about it was just too much. He had to find you.

The only problem was that he knew you were working on this Thursday evening, and he was currently patrolling as Spider-Man. What was he going to do? Casually stroll in, see you, and then later text you the address of the Ragdoll Joint?

But then you would put two and two together, right? There’s no way you wouldn’t notice Spider-Man.

“What am I worrying about? I should just tell her.” He whispered to himself, and he decided to just be selfish about it this one time.

He swung through Times Square, knowing you wouldn’t be there, and started going through lots of different streets and alleyways. Where would such a niche cafe be anyways?

He finally arrived on Bleecker Street. Where the Sanctum Sanctorum and Doctor Strange were located. He figured he could give his favourite wizard a shout.

The last thing he expected was watching Stephen walk out of a cafe, on the other side of the road, holding a coffee cup and a bag, and for the door jingle to be accompanied by a bunch of meows.

Peter smiled to himself. Jackpot.

“Hey, Stephen!” He yelled, from up on the ledge of the Sanctorum, and the man looked up, a slightly irate look already spreading across his features.

“Hello, Spider.” Stephen coldly began to walk towards the door, sighing. “I have a lot of work today, Mr. Parker, so I’d appreciate if you asked someone else for help.”

“I’m not here for that.” Peter jumped off the building, and landed next to him. “Was there a girl, about my age, working the counter of the cafe you were just in?”

Stephen furrowed a brow. “Yeah. Why-”

Peter ran off, approaching the cafe, as fast as he could, as Stephen sighed about youth and whatever it was they were up to these days.

He opened the door, and was greeted by: several more cats than he realized would be here, just a few customers, and two employees up at the front of the store. One of which was you.

True to your word, you were wearing a button up dress, a cat-paw apron, one of those hat things 50s waitresses always wore, and a pair of cat ears. Looking as cute as all the cats around you.

“Hey, Daddy-O…” Your greeting was cut off short as you looked at Spider-Man, gaping your mouth in confusion. “S-Spider-Man?!”

Peter was about to laugh, again at the 50s slang, but he was going to have to explain himself. “Hi.”

He came forward, and ordered a Catpaw Tart, which should have indicated his identity to you. “Sorry, a couple of my buddies have been recommending this place.”

“Like Peter Parker?” You blurted out, but you immediately looked down again. “Sorry, I just know he knows you.”

“No worries. Yes, like Peter Parker, and Stephen Strange, I am here to try the infamous pastries you guys have.”

You snorted at that, and he wished he could laugh along, but a part of him felt like he knew that would give it away.

As he said that, a friendly orange tabby cat approached him from the counter. “Hey there…”

He petted her, and she purred, closing her eyes. “What a nice cat.”

“She’s a close looker to the cat from Breakfast at Tiffany’s, so that’s why we own her.” You explained, giving her a little scratch between the ears. “Her name is Audrey Hepburn.”

Peter practically started laughing again, but he had a comment to make.

“Wasn’t that movie from the 60s?”

“Yeah, but Audrey is an infamous 50s star, so it doesn’t matter anyways.” You shrugged. “She’s up for adoption, by the way.”

“Ah, my place doesn’t allow cats.”

“That sucks.” You smiled. “Not really, I keep hoping everyone will say no, so I can adopt her.”

“I’ll web anyone who tries.” He joked, and you chuckled.

You grabbed the bag of tarts from Martha, your coworker, and handed them to him. “I gotta ask...”

“Ask away.”

“Did Peter put you up to this? It seems too coincidental, to this bet we have going on, so I refuse to believe that you just came here. I think he probably found this place, and knowing that he won the bet, he decided to be nice and let me win, too.” You sighed wistfully, to Peter’s fondness. “That would be just like him.”

“Tell you what. I’ll explain, but only on your break, because I’d hate to be taking up your work time.”

“Martha!!” You yelled, unexpectedly, and she nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

At first you thought Spider-Man was just going to take you to the corner of the cafe, but he instead pulled you outside. Audrey purred at your feet, and you picked her up to take you with her.

He brought you to an alleyway, and you were scared for a moment. Was this the real Spider-Man, or were you about to be assaulted in an alleyway, with a cat?

Fortunately, he webbed the bag of food to the wall, which made you less concerned, and more confused.

“What’s up?” You tilted your head, and Audrey did the same, which made Peter snort. You furrowed your brows, feeling like his laugh sounded a little familiar.

Peter sighed, and lifted up his mask, revealing… himself. Obviously.

But you gasped, seeing Peter, and his disheveled hair, and suddenly it all made way more sense. The busy lifestyle, the chronic tiredness, the pictures and friendship with Spider-Man.

He leaned in, laughing, kissing your cheek, but you were too surprised to even say anything back.

Eventually, you came up with: “Peter! You dumbass, how could you not tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to be in danger, and you weren’t my girlfriend yet.” He shrugged, as you shook him. Audrey meowed loudly, not used to being shook as well. “Sorry! I know, big deal.”

“Big deal?! You mean the dude I’ve been fangirling about this whole time to you was you?!”

“I guess when you put it like that, yeah.” He laughed. “Honestly, I’m not sure how I didn’t figure out that you like me.”

“Well, I didn’t know it was you, to be fair.” You smiled at him, and he put the mask back on. “This means the bet is over, right?”

“Yep. You gotta pay me with those Calico Coins.” He looked you over jokingly. “Sweet uniform, by the way. Just as cute as I imagined.”

You blushed. “I could say the same about you.”

“What, this is cute?”

“Well, you’re cute, so by extension, Spider-Man has become a lot more attractive.” You leaned in kind of close. “Don’t you think about some of the things we could do with that costume-”

Peter swore, under his breath, not expecting you of all people to say something like that. “Y/n, I swear to God, you cannot just say something like that.”

“What was so bad about what I said?”

“Oh, no. You already know exactly what you did.” He whispered in your ear. “What if I told you I totally imagined you in that apron and nothing else?”

Now it was your turn to splutter, pushing him back as you laughed. It was funny, but it was also kind of hot, which is exactly how you saw Peter anyways.

“Hey, Spider-Man!” An elderly man called out from his window. “My window is jammed, can you fix it?”

“Uh, yeah! No prob!” Peter called. He winked at you, spider-eye on the mask blinking, and then approached the wall, climbing it with ease. He was incredibly suave as Spider-Man, and you wondered if that was why he was so athletic looking despite never playing sports.

He stood on the fire escape, and with a bit of super strength, he unjammed the window. The man thanked him with a clap on his shoulder, and Peter shot a finger gun at him.

“Just doing my part as a Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man!” He gracefully jumped off the fire escape, webbing keeping him hanging as he stretched down in front of you.

He was upside down, his head just dangling in front of yours, and you could tell he was laughing silently.

“What?”

“I just had a dumb idea.” He urged you to pull down the mask, just so his mouth would be free.

As you did, he pushed forward and kissed you, the feeling of his upside down lips unlike any other kiss you had had before

“Mrowwww…” Audrey meowed, pulling you two apart.

“This is shaping up to be the best break ever.” You murmured, as Peter flipped off the building and on to the ground again. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to tell me or even keep up that side of the bet, but you did.”

“Thank you.” He hugged you really close. “You’re always there for me.”

[witchywrter]

Fake Dating- Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Request:  Hi! Can you write a Stark!Reader x Peter Parker (Andrew please) were they’re fake dating because May was starting to catch onto the Spider-Man gig? They end up catching feelings and are scared to admit it? I hope this made sense! Thank you!

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N; id love some feedback on this! and let me know if youd like a part 2

“So, let me get this straight” Peter nodded for you to continue “You want to fake date?” He nodded again. You gave him a questioning look. “Care to explain or no?”.

“Right, right. So, Aunt May is starting to catch on. The other day, I came home all dirty from helping people and she looked at me like I just killed someone. So, you know about the spiderman thing so that’s not a problem. And since your my best friend” He gave a sweet smile “i figure, when she finds out we’ve been ‘dating’ she’ll think thats why Ive been acting strange.” He explained like it made absolute sense. It didn’t. You were contemplating throwing him off of the roof you where stood on.

“righttttt…” You looked at him strangely. “How do you know it’ll work?” you had a feeling this was gonna go very wrong.

“well, you know- you know, she’s aunt May, shell believe it” There was also another problem.

“You know if my dad gets wind of this he will literally kill you right? Like he will 100 percent get all the avengers to murder you, and then he’ll bring you back to life, then re-kill you himself” You stated dramatically. He paled then gave you a look. That look. The look that he had given you for the last 5 years. The ‘im right just trust me on this one’ look. 9 times out of ten he wasn’t right. But for the sake of both of you, you hoped this was the one time he was right.

“Fine fine, ill be your fake girlfriend or whatever” You groaned leaning into his shoulder.

“Wow, (Y/N) act more believable” He joked.

“Ah, Peter Parker, of course ill be your fake girlfriend!” You laughed loudly, shoving him.

“Shh, she might hear you!” He joined in, throwing his head back in laughter. After the laughter died down, you lay your head on Peters shoulder. You looked out into the sunset. It made you feel weird. Peter Parker’s girlfriend. No. Peter Parker's fake girlfriend.

As the night was getting late, you decided to make your walk home, not before making your ‘relationship’ very clear to Aunt May. She was sat in the living room as Peter walked you to the door. As he opened the door for you, May looked your way, so you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to Peters lips before scurrying out the door. He lifted a finger to his lips and blushed. Obviously Aunt May, who’d known you for 5 years and had never seen you kiss Peter, had some questions.

“Peter? What was that about?” Her question pulled him out of his romantic state. Its just because she’s your best friend, He told himself.

“uh-h” He awkwardly laughed. Why was he so hopeless. “She’s my girlfriend, now, actually” He mumbled tentatively. Before he knew it, Aunt May had gotten up and swooped him into a hug.

“I always knew you two had something going on!” She cheered. He furrowed his brows but hugged back nonetheless. Why would she think that? He shrugged of the thought and told Aunt May he was going to bed.

“Hey Parker! Hows ‘the plan’ going?” You jogged up to him as he made is way through the school corridors, clutching his camera. “She believe it?”

“y-yeah she did” He noted as you fist pumped the air. He thought you looked amazingly beautiful today. As you two stepped outside, he spotted a cleared bench, he longed to take a photo of you.

“(Y/N)?” He asked getting your attention. “Stand righttttt there” He pointed towards the clear bench as you happily jogged over and stood on it. Peter had always taken photos of you, but today it felt different. For him at least.

“Like this?” You giggled as you struck a pose.

“Yeah yeah, exactly like that” he threw his head back in laughter as he snapped plenty of photos at your ridiculous poses.

“(Y/N)! Parker!” Your photography fun was immediately stopped by the dreaded voice of Flash Thompson, making his way over.

“uh oh” You whispered to Peter as he helped you jump from the bench.

“I hear she’s your new girlfriend” Flash nodded towards you, grinning devilishly. You and Peter looked at each other.

“Yeah- Yeah she is” He was trying to be brave. It wasn’t working very well.

“Lay off, Flash” You both turned your heads your Gwen Stacey, the girl Peter had been crushing on for a few weeks. Although, he didn’t feel like that any more.

“Come on, Gwen. You cant seriously believe this can you. Little Peter Parker dating famous Tony Stark’s beautiful, intelligent daughter?” You felt disgusted at his comment, so did Gwen. “Does Daddy even know? Nah, he couldn’t, Parker would be dead by now. Or has Daddy just lost his game? Not as strong as he used to be. You could feel that Peter was about to say something out of anger, so you quickly moved your hand to hold his, even though anger was coursing through your veins

“Listen, Flash Thompson” The group of students surrounding the scene got slowly bigger. “im not dating ‘little Peter Parker’ im dating Peter Parker, a guy who is 10 times more smart and intelligent and handsome as you’ll ever be. So why don’t you go listen to Mommy’ nodding towards Gwen. “And lay off. Oh wait! You don’t have a Mommy” You made a mock sad face then giggled. The entire group was in shock, even Peter. Okay maybe it was a bit uncalled for, but he shouldn’t have insulted your dad.

Flashs’ face turned magenta as he balled his fist and tried to throw a punch. You ducked under his fist. Your dad had taught you to fight once you could walk.

“Wow! You just tried to hit a girl” You smiled incredulously, while Flash was still bright red. “Thats fine, im all for feminism, ya know, equal rights equal fights” You said nonchalantly. “You shouldn’t have punched Tony Starks daughter though” You added, right as your fist connected with his jaw and our foot connected with his nether regions. You grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back as the ever expanding group cheered. Just as you were about to stand on top him, Peter grabbed you and pulled you away.

“Okay, enough fighting, avengers style” He dragged you inside the hallway.

“He deserved it for what he was saying” You grumbled.

“Im sure he did but-” Peter paused as he saw the principle and two concerned looking teachers, making their way down the hallway. “Rain check?” He whispered.

“Yep!” You whispered back as you jumped onto his back and he sped of, out of the school.

“You have to admit, it was pretty cool” You grinned at Peter as he fixed up the cuts on your knuckles.

“It was cool. You knocked out Flash Thompson. ‘The’ Flash Thompson. But you got yourself hurt in the process” He whined.

“Wow, Mr ‘im-spiderman-and-i-risk-my-life-everyday Is telling me about danger, okay I see how it is” You joked.

“You know what I mean” He grinned. As he finished wrapping your hands, you heard footsteps coming upstairs. “Its Aunt May. What do we do?” Before you could think of anything, you instinctively brought his lips to yours and your hand fell into his hair. He kissed back passionately, like his entire life had been leading up to this moment. It sent a flurry of butterflies into your stomach. He felt the same thing. His lips tingled and his hand lay on your waist. You had officially caught feelings. And so had he. You heard the door open and kept your eyes tightly shut and lips moving.

“You got into a fi-” You furrowed your brows, that didn’t sound like Aunt May. You moved away from Peters loving kiss to face the door. The second you saw who it was your face turned bright red, you were done for.

“Dad?!” You shrieked. Peter was drawn from his daze, dreaming of you beautiful lips, by your loud voice.

“Mr. Stark” He almost fell out of his chair at the sight of Tony Stark, Happy and Aunt May, all stood in the door in shock.

“Alright, Spiderling, hands off my daughter” Your dad hurried over and grasped your hand, gently shoving you out the room. Of course Tony Stark knew about him.

“s-see you later, Parker” You muttered. After Tony left, Aunt May shut the door awkwardly, returning to living room. And once, he was left alone with his thoughts. His thoughts about you.