Young Silco Pls Just Give Me One Chance

okay I just finished binge reading this series and I'm seriously in love,,, this somehow managed to bring me all the way back into my harry potter phase holy shit

Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 10 - FINAL (a yr later)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 | PART 9

Summary: PART 10 ! of Draco accidentally falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and going into the start of the battle of Hogwarts hoping to have reader by his side at the end of it now that it's all over.

Warnings: ANGST, crying, mentions of; blood, torture, abuse, war, death, murder, trauma basically everything violent :(

Words: 10.8K i apologize for any mistakes !

A/N: surprise :)

“It’s in Carrow’s office?” He asked, his nose instinctively scrunching when he said his name as if it disgusted him to even mention the man. You nodded as a wordless response in fear that Draco would be able to hear the slight tremble in your voice after a lump at the back of your throat had begun growing at the thought of going back to that awful place. It clouded your mind with darkness and echoing screams of pain as Bellatrix sat over you with her nails piercing into your skin while she demanded answers from you that you refused to give her.

You were silent as you trailed behind him, eyes trained on the top of his muddy silver hair with him nearly pulling you by your hand from how sluggishly you were dragging your feet up the stairs to the floor where everything truly went up in flames. It was almost as if he could sense your distress when you finally reached the undesired floor because as soon as you stepped foot onto the gravel and dirt-filled stone, his arm was wrapping itself snugly around your waist as he leaned over you to press a soft kiss into your temple.

"I'm sorry," he mutters quietly while his mouth was still beside your ear.

"For what?" You respond just as faintly.

"For what they did to you." He stops you in the middle of the corridor, his eyes darting towards the end of it where the office was just around the corner. "If I knew, Merlin I'd-“

"You didn't know," you frown, interrupting him as soon as you noticed his brow starting to furrow. "And it's done with now. Besides, I finished what he couldn't."

"Yes, you did." He answers with a fleeting small smile, a hidden proudness behind his words even though he half-heartedly tried to hide it. "But that still doesn't make it alright. Are you sure you're okay being here?"

You let out a deep breath before nodding up at him, forcing on a brave face so that this would be over with and you'd be reunited with your wand and on to face the next challenge that was waiting for you on the main floor.

"I'm fine, let's go," you say quickly. You grab onto the sleeve of his dress shirt and continue down the hall with him, entirely oblivious to the large statue standing tall at the far end of the way, right outside the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. Hanging upside down from the top of the statue by a thick piece of rope was Amycus, bloodied and bruised and very obviously frustrated. You didn't see him, but Draco did, and before you could notice the presence of the man who has shaken your reality with desolation and agony, you were being moved hastily towards the door of the room where your wand was lost in.

"I'll meet you inside, give me a second," he urged as he opened the door for you and continued to gently try to shove you inside. You turned to give him a questioning look, wondering why he unexpectedly was becoming so antsy in getting you inside. He stared back at you with a feeble pout and his eyebrows creased, a clear sign that whatever he was up to; he didn't want you to be around for it.

"Fine," you mumbled, forcing yourself into the poorly lit room to begin your search.

It felt sickening and nauseating being in the room again. Images of the painful night passed by in your head like a nightmare that you were made to relive as soon as you walked in. You wanted to reach out for Draco again, looking back towards the doorway where you thought he would be standing but he wasn't and the room felt emptier than it did before. You walked towards the door, holding on to the stone wall to keep you from collapsing and peeking out from behind it to see if you could spot the waves of silver hair nearby doing whatever it was that he was so adamant about keeping hidden from you.

You watched as he walked down the corridor briskly, wholly focused on something or rather someone as he moved like he was on a mission with his wand gripped tightly in his right hand.

Draco swore he was seeing red blind his vision, rage coursing through his veins as he came closer to the hanged man. He squatted down in front of him when he finally reached him, his forearms resting over his knees and twiddling around his wand in his hands with the utmost feeling of satisfaction from the sight in front of him.

The man who constantly berated and belittled him and his family, the man who made it his goal to make his life a living hell inside and out of Hogwarts, and worst of all, he was the same man who tortured and kidnapped his lover on multiple occasions now. The man who went out of his way to ruin people.

He was nothing but a fragment of what he was only hours ago, defeated and physically almost unrecognizable if it wasn't for his murderous beady eyes and permanently scowling mouth.

"What? Are you going to kill me now, boy?" Amycus questioned sarcastically. "Everyone knows you're too weak. Go ahead, prove them wrong."

:readmore:

He gave in to the itching to press his wand against Carrow’s throat, letting the hawthorn tip dig harshly into his artery. The killing curse was ready to roll off his tongue and put an infinite end to the destruction Amycus brought. He wanted it more than anything, to be the one who took him out, but as the idea became more realistic with each passing millisecond and with his hand starting to tremble, he knew he couldn’t do it. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to, how much he deserved it; he couldn’t.

“I knew you couldn’t,” Amycus croaked once Draco’s wand moved away from his throat.

“I’m not like you,” he mutters bitterly. “I’m not a murderer.”

“You’re right,” Carrow responds coldly. “You’re nothing. You’re a blood traitor, you're weak."

Amycus' words were a broken record to him, the same phrases being repeating over and over again like a never-ending torturous cycle of all his biggest insecurities enlaced within a few remarks. If it was a year ago, maybe even a few months ago, or weeks - he would have believed his insults. Just like he always did when they were fired at him, he doubted himself and his character, his strength and skills. But he was growing tired of giving in to his struggles, of giving in to false beliefs.

"Is blood traitor the only insult anyone's got?" The classic sneer on Draco's face was one he always used to wear, his blood boiling even further as he stared down at Amycus' careless expression. Even if he was hung upside down, body battered and bruised, his evil spirits never left him.

"It's the only one that matters," he replied. "You think you got yourself all sorted out now? You think those people down there would welcome you with open arms knowing where your family's loyalties lie? You're looking for someone to blame for your troubles, blame that foul muggle-loving darling of yours. I was only ever trying to help you."

"Help?" He let out a disbelieving scoff mixed with a short chuckle, "is that what you call threatening the lives of the people I love?"

As you watched from afar, gnawing at your bottom lip anxiously while grasping the doorway in fear that in any second the script could flip and it would be Draco who was in danger. You wanted to intervene, you could see Carrow's eyes darting around the corridor, switching gazes between you and the blond raging over him and you were scared that evil would conquer and he'd somehow find a way to hurt the two of you without either of you expecting it.

"It doesn't matter what I tell you anymore, you're lost."

It was Carrow's sheer tone of confidence that pushed Draco over the edge he was teetering off of. He stood up from his kneeling position without wasting another breath. Amycus Carrow was purely wicked and there was no point in trying to make conversation with him.

The interaction just solidified Draco's wrath, and though he refused to kill him, he wasn't past causing him pain and he wasn't above using the Death Eater's body as a receiving end to his crucio. His time with the enemies did increase his power and his effectiveness. He didn't even have to say the spell or force his will to do it, it just flowed from the tip of his wand and seeped itself deep within Carrow's body. He made sure to wordlessly use the 'oscausi' spell before his torment as well, glad to see Amycus' mouth disappearing and shutting him up before his agonizing screams met your ears, something he didn't want you to hear no matter how much this monster deserved it.

He continued his torture until he was pleased; until he saw tears of blood escaping beady eyes and defeat completely wash over the man. Draco lowered his wand, letting out a breath of relief and eyeing the disaster in front of him again. Amycus thrashed around, his momentary defeat fading away as his swinging body attempted to break free but the younger Death Eater wasn't finished either.

He lifted his knee, the Italian leather shoes he wore were the last thing Amycus saw that day before Draco slammed his foot down onto his face with a powerful kick, knocking him out cold and fast. He checked for a pulse, found a weak one, and nodded to himself with satisfaction.

That was enough for him.

When he turned back on his heels to rush down the hall, he wasn't expecting to see you standing at the end of it where he purposefully hadn't left you. He briefly stopped in his steps, watching you cautiously to see if what you caught had bothered you, but it didn't. You briskly began walking towards him, his body still in a bubbling rise of fear until you were in front of him wrapping your arms tightly around his middle. You felt him relax in your touch, his hands smoothing over your lower back and encircling around your hips.

"I'm sorry you had to witness me like that," he apologizes with pained eyes. "I just had to make him hurt."

"I understand, Draco," you sympathize with his revenge. Although you didn't particularly enjoy seeing your lover so violent, Amycus was someone whose downfall had been long overdue.

Draco walked with you into the dingy office, the stone floor covered in hundreds and thousands of tiny gravel particles that shook from the ceilings with each hit the castle took from the outside. You heard a muttered 'Lumos' coming from the blond, the majority of the room now all of a sudden glowing with a cold white light, flashes of your last moments in there flickering across your mind like a nightmare you couldn't escape now that everything was becoming visible. You took a deep breath, moving forward hesitantly in short scuffles around the area you saw your wand discarded when it was taken from you.

It was hard to look around, the flood of emotions almost running completely through you as tears pooled in your eyes faster than you could try to blink them away. You were positive Draco couldn't see you or hear the small sniffles you were trying to play off by talking about how dusty it was, but he was too observant and never dumb when it came to you.

He sighed to himself, his heart dropping to his stomach slightly when he saw how your gaze shifted around the room and the floor anxiously as though you were reliving whatever you had gone through in those moments when he couldn't save you. He reached out for your hand, his cold fingertips brushing against your palm and snapping you out of the daze you were in with a small almost inaudible gasp. He gently tugged you behind him, lowering his wand towards the ground and kicking around some of the debris until he finally saw the familiar wand he loved to see in your hands.

"There," he announces quietly, bending down to pick it up and dust it off on his dress shirt as if dirt had never bothered him in his life. "Back where it belongs." He places it into your palm carefully, your hand encircling around the wand tightly and holding it against your chest lovingly as if it was alive. He smiled down at you, his hand reaching up to rest on the back of your hair while he gingerly pressed a kiss onto your forehead.

"Thank you."

"Nothing to thank me for, darling," he responds softly.

He took your hand again in the direction of the exit, hurrying you out of the room in quick strides until you were out into the corridor and around the corner leading you to the grand staircases.

He hesitated at the first step that would begin the descent to the first floor where the entirety of Hogwarts was gathered in the Great Hall all injured, dead, or alive. He was getting a sudden rush of fear, the same unease repeating in his head that you had already tried to hush away but it still stayed. He didn't want to be turned away and he didn't want to feel outcasted anywhere anymore.

"They're never going to forgive me. They'll probably cast me outside directly into the line of fire themselves."

"Draco," you say softly, placing a gentle palm on his cheek while your fingers brush away the wavy strands hanging over his red-tinged eyes. "In all honesty, it doesn't matter what they think. They don't know you or understand you, just what you've done and that's all most of them will ever be able to see. But as long as you know and the people you love know who you are, that's all that matters. Besides, you're not alone anymore. You're stuck with me."

An amused airy sort of half-laugh escaped his lips, a small smile on his face as he eyed you, the sight in front of him allowing another exhale of relief from his worries.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." You feel his fingers graze against your open hand, his pinky absentmindedly linking around yours like you were children making a silent promise to be 'best friends forever.' "You're clever, Y/L/N, I'll give you that. Always knowing what to say to make me feel like I'm on top of the world."

"It's because I've bewitched you," you smile stupidly while the blond rolled his eyes.

"So you admit it? Are you slipping me amortentia too?" He searched your playful features, the glint of amusement in your eyes he loved and missed to see that always left him feeling breathless.

"Definitely," you answer sarcastically. "But enough stalling, let's go."

He let you lead him down the stairs, his hand held tightly in yours while his gaze stayed stuck on his feet shuffling slowly down the steps.

Your conversation was rattling around in his head for some reason, his heart a little lighter after the impromptu banter even if it wasn't the most appropriate time to joke around. But your words brought him back to the times when you weren't with him; when you were forced to separate. The days and the nights he'd be worried sick with his thoughts in a twist and his chest pounding with worry over your safety.

Sometimes through those thoughts, he would have a very odd and unworldly recurring one now and then that made him wish that really, you were just a smart witch who managed to slip him amortentia every day and that those concerns over you and your life weren't real. He sometimes felt so deeply that it scared him, feelings so raw that he couldn't possibly understand and that tore him apart if he wasn't distracting himself with something else. He couldn't help but seldom wonder if maybe the non-existent love potion you had on him faded away; so would his fears and feelings. But they never did, they only grew both more pitiful and meaningful in a whirlwind of others.

And though he often hated to admit just how deeply he felt and the vulnerability that came with it, he has no regrets about letting you in. Without you, his world would just be a dark storm of chaos and pain, but with you; there's a light at the end of a tunnel. You're the sun, the moon, and all the stars to him that light up his darkest days and help guide him and teach him in more ways than he could ever fathom.

Before he knew it, he was stepping over and maneuvering around debris from the battle, the hand holding yours feeling more clammy as you both witnessed for the first time the aftermath of what just happened in and outside the castle's walls not too long ago.

The sky was a blackened gray, a thunderous cover still sitting over the night with lingering clouds of smoke that looked like they came from fireworks but had instead been hexes and curses streaming through the air with the build-up of dust from the destruction.

It was painful, seeing people searching around still and calling out for whoever they were looking for. Bodies of Death Eaters and Scattered wands and ends of them that seemed to be snapped in half and dumped randomly. Giant holes blasted in the middle of the walls and so high up towards the tall ceilings that it looked like half the room was gone. It was silent, but mournful cries were ringing throughout the air and groans of pain coming from those who were injured. Everyone you had seen so far looked just like you and Draco did; dirty, disheveled, anxious, and dazed in a numb state.

You felt him get closer to you when you walked towards the wide-open doors of the Great Hall that sounded busier as you approached. You could feel the turmoil inside, the grief and the pain. Emotions were running high and strongly enough so that anyone who entered the room would feel it.

Draco swallowed thickly as he looked around, his stomach churning with shame as if it were his fault why everything and everyone was in anguish.

You looked up at him almost knowingly, your thumb soothingly running back and forth over the back of his hand while you gently squeezed it. You knew him well enough that he would start blaming himself, just like he always did much to your dismay.

You continued to lead him through the masses, both of you ignoring the furious glances in your direction as you trailed through with the very prominent silver-haired Slytherin who everyone now knew was associated with the Dark Lord and his servants. You heard a couple of hateful mutters, but it was relatively quiet as you ignored those too and kept your search for Madam Pomfrey with trembling and careful steps. Draco kept his eyes downcast, some of the spots of blood on the ground made him feel dizzy but it was better than anything else in his surroundings that he refused to acknowledge any more than he already had.

Madam Pomfrey was scurrying around a back corner when you finally found her, sweat dripping down her face and her uniform stained with grime and scarlet marks. The second she saw you, her hands flew up in surprise on either side of her head, the motion being followed by her hands suddenly clamping over her mouth as a shocked and visibly grateful expression crossed her face.

"Y/N!" She wailed quietly, her hands bunching up at her skirt while she moved around the area to meet you halfway. You weren't expecting her to pull you into a hug, her hand smoothing over the back of your hair as she pulled away and seemingly inspecting you for any injuries. "I'm so glad you're okay, dear. I overheard someone saying they saw you and Professor Carrow on one of the top floors and they weren't sure if you made it out alive before they left. I've been worried sick, I don't know how much more loss I can take."

You blinked hard, trying to register her impromptu vent and concern over you as if you were the most important person to her in the room. "You worried about me, Madam Pomfrey?"

"Why, of course!" She exclaimed as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. "I didn't watch you grow up, mend your injuries, and help you learn the beauty of healing without growing a soft spot for you. I sometimes feel like you're the daughter I never had."

You gave her a warm smile, her random confession making your chest feel a little less heavy. You were sure she was riddled with feeling the need to speak her mind and telling people how she truly felt about them after seeing all the deceased, all the people who she didn't get a chance to talk to, or whose loved ones didn't get a chance to either.

"While I have you here, a lot of people need tending and it's only a few others and myself, would you-"

"No need to ask," you quickly agreed, it was a no-brainer. Your hands were itching with the need to help, it was the main reason why you chose to come down. "Where do you need me?"

"Anyone you see who needs it."

She gave a curt nod to Draco who she may or may not have ignored just the slightest and gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before she rushed over to someone behind you who had been calling for help.

You turn slowly to scan the room, cot-ridden people some covered in bandages and some holding onto their wounds while they waited for Pomfrey or anyone. You decided to focus on those first, Draco trailing closely behind you as you began making a beeline towards the people who looked to be in the worst shape.

Your wand was now held tightly in your shaking hand, the stress of doing real Healer work being something more common than you could have imagined now being right in front of you. You were still learning, still strengthening your skills but they were still sufficient, a natural gift you carried with you.

The first person you helped was a sixth-year boy, one you remember seeing on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as soon as he was in his second year as one of their more skilled Chasers. You remember seeing him play, so determined and full of rough excitement especially when he would be in a match against Slytherin. But now he was here, bleeding out on a cot with his hands held tightly over a spot on his waist and the light gone from his eyes. He was barely alive, nearly defeated and it made you want to scream out of sadness and frustration.

"Draco, I need your help," you said quickly as you observed the wound, pulling the boy's hands away from his side. "I need you to lift him up while I check him from the back."

"What?" He wished he heard you wrong, but he knew what you were asking him to do.

"I need you to lift him, please, hurry," you say to him again and this time he hastily moved to lower himself to the ground beside you and timidly began trying to prop the boy up. When he finally was able to, he watched you carefully as you worked diligently. He watched your hands feel around for any more bodily harm, your eyebrows knitted together in deep thought and worry, your bottom lip stressfully caught in between your teeth. You were muttering hopeful remarks to the boy that he would be okay, and as you dragged your wand across the deep gashes with your magical contact and intense care; Draco had realized just how talented you were. You were in your prime, your element, in full force.

After you bandaged the boy up with a quick spell, you allowed Draco to set him back down and began moving to the next without missing a beat.

It was like that for a while, moving around like a robot with one job where nothing else mattered except the saving of a life. You helped every single person you were able to, all the while Draco was admiring your skills with deep respect even while you were ordering him around to help you.

Hours passed, it seemed like. The only indication that time had indeed passed was the brightening of the dull gray sky now welcoming dawn. You had been working relentlessly, so much so, that for a while you forgot where you were and what you were doing there. If it wasn't for Draco pointing out the new change of day and what everyone was anxiously waiting for - you would have kept healing until you couldn't.

A flurry of hushed whispers fell amongst the desolated crowd packed inside the Great Hall. People were beginning to stand up and look outwards towards the collapsed gaping hole in the wall that faced the main courtyard where an army of dark-cloaked figures was approaching from the castle's bridge. Voldemort was returning, and you weren't sure if it was going to be a fight or the surrender he had promised. You weren't even sure if Harry went to him, you were clueless about everything and so was Draco.

A mob of students and adults had hesitantly but willfully moved outside through the large hole exposing the outside. They had an air of almost guardianship surrounding them, shoulders squared and hands gripping their wands tightly as they blocked off the opening. Those who wanted to see what was coming had also begun making their way outside, leaving only the injured and the terrified inside.

Draco looked at you expectantly, silently telling you that he needed to be outside too. You knew he'd want to search for his parents and there wasn't any protest from you as you trailed behind him to the main yard. You stopped beside him on the steps where the majority of the people stood, allowing the two of you to blend in somewhat.

It was quiet but the sound of several footsteps, stopping suddenly with their leader where he wanted and then suddenly all that echoed throughout the courtyard was, "Harry Potter... is dead!"

You held your breath and at the same time felt Draco stiffen next to you. You saw his eyes land first on his parents, they were clear as day just as frightened as he was as they filled out into the courtyard. They stood at the front of the crowd with the rest of the inner circle they were no longer a part of, standing off to the side with sullen and exhausted expressions or terrified, you couldn't quite tell.

You couldn't process what vile words were being thrown out into the air by the creature and creator of evil himself, nor could you process the eerie silence that fell upon what seemed like the whole world. There was not a bird in the sky, not a shimmer of sunlight, no butterflies or pixies fluttering around. It was like the Earth was dying alongside everyone. The darkness was devouring the wizarding world, but it was also seeping into the muggle world.

You hadn't even noticed what was going on, Voldemort's unsettling speech fading in your ears until you felt Draco's grip around your hand tighten almost painfully as if he was petrified by something. He felt statuesque beside you, his skin feeling cold and clammy and after a few seconds of a complete dead quietness, you understood why.

"Draco!" Lucius called out loudly in a quavering voice. Your head snapped in his direction, and then towards Draco, his eyes were shifting around him nervously at everyone who had turned to stare at him. He was analyzing them too, wondering if any of them would ask him to stay or to leave. His adam's apple was bobbing up and down as if he wanted to cry, a trembling breath falling from his lips as his father called for him one more time to come to him.

Your heart was beating through your chest now, your body turning slightly towards his as you wrapped your free hand around his wrist softly. He was being tested and in the worst way possible with a whole expecting audience. The fight between wanting to be good or being with his family was visibly eating him alive; even if it meant betraying himself, he loved his parents and being with them even if it was in awful, wicked circumstances.

You started to feel more frantic when Narcissa stepped forward, her facial expression was like stone, but the emotion swimming behind her eyes was vivid. You saw the same appearance on her the last time you were at the Manor, strong on the outside but troubled on the inside - much like her son. A pale manicured hand was placed on her husband's shoulder, her lips set in a thin line as she observed Draco and then you. You held your breath, knowing that if she called him to her, he would go. You felt like preparing yourself for the blow that was about to come, for the goodbye, for the letting go again, but nothing ever came.

She waited until Voldemort had his back to her, her eyes locking with yours suddenly and then over to Draco while she smiled ever so slightly, you almost missing it completely before she nodded just as faintly and mouthed, "it's okay."

The hold on your hand lessened almost immediately only for him to stiffen again when Voldemort looked back between him and then his parents. You sensed Draco about to lurch forward, but someone else did first.

Neville stepped forward, the attention falling on him now as Voldemort focused his unbelieving stare on him now. But what he thought was a new devoter was actually the complete opposite.

The speech he gave inspired the atmosphere again and gave strength to the people still willing to fight. You held onto Draco's hand tightly, his head turning to face you with worry at the death-like grip and the tremors shooting down your arms. He was about to take you away, about to run somewhere far away with you in his arms and ready to fight for his life to escape the next fight about to take place. He didn't want you to bear witness to any more pain and just as he opened his mouth to speak - everyone in the courtyard had audibly and roughly gasped in surprise.

He turned hastily, his gaze following everyone else's to where Harry now stood, wand in his hand and shooting a spell at the Dark Lord's snake companion. He saw Voldemort staring back in horror, throwing spells back at Harry's retreating figure while some of the Death Eaters began to apparate into the air in their signature black mists. That is when Draco found his footing again, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach as he damn near pulled you away with all his might.

You cried out in fear, the blasts being sent through the air and screams of spells like repeats of the night before were enough to have your courage muddled once again. This time, though, Draco was going to make it his mission to keep you out of harm's way.

He ran inside the castle with you, sprinting down the corridors with your hand grasped tightly in his as you passed piles of rubble and the empty portraits that were once alive. He stopped at a random door, forgetting about his wand and rather following his primal instincts to kick at its wooden planks until it swung open to reveal a dark classroom. He kept your hand in his as he maneuvered around the desks with you in the dark, his destination being the small storage room at the very back of the class where it was hidden by some tall display shelves.

The storage closet was cramped and empty, a couple of unlabeled and old dusty bottles of who knows what was left on the shelves above. He moved you inside - but he didn't follow this time.

"Draco," you warn. "Where are you going?"

He opened his mouth to answer but he quickly shut it, his head turning around rapidly at the sound of someone running outside the class. That's when you saw it, a dark mist unexpectedly showed up at the door, a harsh "Malfoy brat!" escaping his mouth as he started running towards Draco with his wand in his hand.

"I love you," Draco hastily said before slamming the door shut in your face. A clicking sound rang in the little room, your hand reaching for the doorknob he just locked on you to try and rattle it open.

Struggling grunts, loud bangs, and finally a shattering window echoed in your ears despite you being locked in the storage room. You were paralyzed with fear, keeping deathly silent to try and hear if they were still in the room or if someone had been killed. You prayed it wasn't the latter, increasingly growing angry with Draco for not allowing you to help him. Though you'd complained to him about him not letting you fight beside him, and saved him from being killed by the Death Eater the night before, you understood why he always flees to hide you.

It wasn't because he thought you were weak, he told you time and time again it wasn't your skills he was worried about - but his.

You fished out your wand with shaky hands and blurred vision, pointing towards the doorknob with a fervent 'alohomora.' It slowly opened, your foot kicking it forward only slightly as you cautiously stepped back out into the open. There was no one and nothing there but stained glass window shards on the ground near the middle of the room where the fight between the two undoubtedly happened. You ran towards the mess, leaping up onto a ledge and looking outside the window where Draco was nowhere to be found.

A dry mouth accompanied your fears, a coldness enveloping you with an unwelcome hug as you stepped back onto the ground and made a beeline towards the door of the classroom. You rushed through the hallway, ducking and hiding from Death Eaters as you ran with all your might towards the Great Hall.

It was still packed with people, more injured people than there was the last time you were in there less than an hour ago. Everything moved so fast, your feet carrying you forward without another thought as you bolted through the Great Hall and towards the courtyard.

You almost made it to the opening, your eyes suddenly spotting three heads of bright platinum hair in the distance hiding behind a large fallen pillar before you were met with the cold stone beneath you.

Someone had grabbed your leg as you were running, your body colliding with the floor as you ripped yourself away almost instantly once you realized you had fallen. You looked back with your wand on defense as you prepared to face your attacker, but there was no one.

A pale and almost green-looking older man stared at you with wide fearful irises, pupils blown out and mouth hanging open and moaning in pain. He gestured weakly to his wounded body and the sight nearly made you want to collapse all over again.

You glanced back towards Draco and then again towards the man, the decision in your head already being made with the innate need to want to heal the man before you as you scurried over quickly to tend to him. You used your wand to try and heal some of his more major wounds but some of them wouldn't close fast enough and you were left with the man falling deeper into pain as he lost more blood.

He started grabbing at your hands, forcefully pushing your wand hand towards his lacerations while you struggled to focus between him and the battlefield where Draco was standing with his parents.

"Please, heal me, please miss," he begged, pulling your arm again. You were forced to turn away, worry eating away at you as you struggled to center your mind for the spell to close up his wounds. He finally stopped clawing at you, sitting back in defeat as you croaked out the bandaging spell with a shaky hand over the area, and finally saw most of his gashes closing up while you did.

Your momentary focus was cut short when a loud boom roared throughout the area, some of the windows breaking from the frequency of it and your eardrums suddenly pulsing with a high-pitched ringing. You fell back on your hands, your blood running cold as you hastily turned around to look outside. You couldn't see anything, just a thick unpenetrable cloud of smoke and more chunks of the castle falling. You could feel the ground shake as they connected with the stone pavement, more dust flying up into the air as they did.

You felt like screaming, maybe you were, you couldn't hear a thing besides the ringing and distant explosions. Hot tears were falling down your face as you pushed yourself up from the ground, stumbling over your feet from how fast you were moving yet feeling so heavy at the same time. You couldn't stop yourself from trying to run blindly into the cloud of smoke, desperately trying to look for Draco all while praying that you didn't and instead he moved out of the way.

Your hearing was slowly returning to you; the sound of nothing yet everything was unnerving. Cries and spell incantations and destruction - but also panicked dead silence. You could feel and faintly hear yourself screaming out for Draco, his name echoing brokenly in the darkened air.

It felt like everything was moving in slow-motion, a feeling you don't think you'd ever get used to no matter how often it happened. It always ensued in the most unanticipated and painful moments, your adrenaline sky-rocketing and your mind moving rapidly, but everything else seemed to move like a stop-motion film.

People had started running out of the smoke and towards the opening in the wall to retreat into the Great Hall. They were coughing violently, some hobbling over and grabbing at themselves from wherever they were in pain. Some brushed past you, some bumped into you as if you weren't there, some gripped onto your arms and pleaded for you to go inside either because they needed help or were just trying to protect you from moving out of a danger zone. You felt dumb still calling out for Draco, no answer, no speck of white dirtied hair, no one hearing or seeing a thing about him.

The sob stuck in your throat finally tore itself through, your heart dropping to your stomach as Madam Pomfrey appeared near the wall to call out for you to come inside to help again. You didn't want to leave your spot in the sheer and blind hope that the love of your life would stumble through the area safe and okay. Even when the smoke cleared up and Harry Potter and Voldemort became clear in the courtyard again with their wands fighting against each other, you still didn't see any sign of Draco.

"Y/N!" Madam Pomfrey called for you again desperately as she ushered people inside. You were sick to your stomach, your vision hazy and your legs weak. You couldn't stop crying or shaking, all of your worst nightmares abruptly feeling too real for you to handle. Your name was called for again, your heart breaking even further as your feet unwillingly dragged you back inside only to be thrown back into healing people which was ironically the last thing you wanted to do at this moment.

Your tears didn't stop when you were kneeled and tending to someone's broken ankle, your whole body trembling still even as you tried to focus and still yourself enough to give them what they needed. All you could think about was Draco and how you might never see him alive again, never feel him, or experience life with him in the way you dreamed of. Every moment you spent with him felt like it was slowly going down the drain; everything you went through - all were just going to be agonizing memories. The recurring nightmarish flush of emotions that felt like they ran through you every other day when you thought Draco was dead was on the forefront now. You swore you were about to empty dry-heave over the person underneath you, forcing down the need to gag even if it was painfully bubbling in your throat.

It was panic all around you, and panic, and more panic - until there wasn't. You hadn't even noticed that all the rushing and commotion in the room stopped until you realized you were able to hear your faint weeping and then scattered shocked gasps and a disappearing howl of the wind.

You hastily stood up from your kneeled position over the person you were finished tending, your sight bouncing from every corner of the courtyard where the only visible person in your vision was Harry, his head following the movement of a long whirl of black ashes that were disappearing into the gray and polluted sky from the aftermath of the battle.

The realization hit you a million times over in the few seconds that you watched the ashes vanish into thin air.

Voldemort was gone.

The only thing on Earth that was standing between you and Draco from giving in to each other freely and thoughtlessly. It felt like all your fears had dissipated into the gray hub with the speckled ashes of the Dark Lord, no more worry for the future that no longer looked so bleak - but unknowing again. You couldn't find Draco anywhere and just as fast as your dread had left you; it came rushing back with a nauseating flood of terror. You were never sure whether to trust your intuition that always sparkled with faith that tried to wash away your worries or your mind that was racing with doubts and pessimistic thoughts telling the rest of your being to relax and lose the blind hope.

You almost tripped over yourself trying to scurry out towards the gathering crowd near the exit, your heartbeat feeling hollow and legs weak and feeling like you were sinking into quicksand. You brought up your elbow to try and maneuver yourself through the growing group of people, but someone with a swift grasp around your arm had stopped you and spun you around directly into their embrace.

Draco was no stranger to you. There was nothing about him that you wouldn't be able to recognize. You knew it was him the moment your nose brushed against the cool skin of his throat where it still smelled faintly of his cologne. You felt his disheveled hair tickle your cheeks and the soft thankful string of whispers that felt like a warm kiss going past your ear lobes. Your arms were tight around his neck, not caring about the possibility that you might be choking him but he was holding onto your waist just as hard and unknowingly spinning you both around in a slow and dazed way that felt like gravity was pulling you both together as he rocked you carefully back and forth in his hold. Your endless hot tears were falling onto his collarbones and soaking the neckline of his shirt, his physical presence almost being too much for you after you had accidentally convinced yourself of his death.

"I thought you died," you mumble out muffledly into his chest. "I saw you and then there was a blast and-"

"You forget I can apparate, Y/L/N?" He whispers the question.

When you finally opened your eyes, you were still tightly held in Draco's arms, propping your chin on his shoulder as you held your breath from the beauty that was unveiling itself right in front of you. You were facing the opening to the courtyard, the dense gray thunderous clouds in the orange and blue sky were quickly disappearing as if they were being magically blown away like they didn't belong there.

The sun was beaming down on you, the rays kissing every inch of your face with a warmth that filled you with peace. You hadn't seen the sun in so long, bright and shimmering in all its glory like it was the first day of summer. Birds and other small flying creatures were soaring through the air again, the chirps and songs of dawn that began the new day were beautifully loud as if they were alarms that were waking everyone up from a nightmare.

It felt like the morning of a day you were yearning so long for, a day that felt like the equivalent of events that you were just so thrilled for and couldn't wait for, where you spent the night before wide-awake with adrenaline and couldn't sleep because of how excited you were for what lied ahead; like the day before you began your first-year at Hogwarts. Otherworldly and full of awe and wondrous hope for a future that was now infinite.

You weren't sure how long it took you to tear your stare away from the scene. You leaned back, his hands still resting on your hips to hold you in place as you gazed into his waiting eyes but it was enough to make you feel speechless again. You wanted to kiss him with every fiber in your being, feel his touch from head to toe.

You took a look around you and saw everyone in a mix of joyous tears, celebratory hugs, and kisses.

"Are you alright?" He asked you quietly, soft concern entangled between his words, eyebrows furrowed and eyes focused on yours attentively. "I'm sorry I left you in the storage closet. I was going to go in with you, I swear, but I heard someone coming and-"

"It's okay, Draco," you cut him off, releasing a huff of air, "I'm alright and I understand. Thank you." You gave him a teary smile. He returned the grin half-heartedly, one of his hands coming up from behind your back and carefully moving a flyaway out of your face.

"Good." He let out breathily. "Now let's get out of here for a minute."

His fingers interlocked with yours, his arm tugging you slightly in the direction he wanted to take you in as he turned on his heel and began towards the Great Hall's main doors. It felt foreign now that it was riddled with every awful thing that just happened, stained and etched into the stone walls for the rest of Hogwarts history.

Everything was different now, it looked and felt like so in the clearest way.

You were walking through the large meadows blossoming throughout the outside of the school now that the sun was out and all its beings that came with its bright renewing light. Tall blades of grass brushed across your ankles, flowers, and weeds latching themselves onto your calves slightly as if they were hugging your lower limbs like they were old friends.

He was taking you towards your tree, its lively branches twirling around in the whistling gales flowing through it. It snowed white and pink wispy petals and bright green leaves, the pieces of nature flying excitedly in the air as they fell all around you or disappeared into the passing breeze.

There was a pause when you both stopped in your steps in front of the sentient's trunk, right underneath all its shaking twigs. Your hands stayed in each other's grasp, but no words were said yet. No reactions or outbursts, just blankness written on his perfect face if you ignored the wrinkle in his brow you were sure was permanent now as it was always there.

"How do you feel?" You ask almost hesitantly, the thickness in the air growing by the second from his silence.

"I don't know." He sounds far away. His head was in a million other places than where he was. "It's odd, I thought I'd-" He stopped himself. You caught the disappointment that flashed across his icy eyes.

"What is it?" You waited. You hoped you didn't sound too eager, however the innate need you felt now to ease away all his worries always had you ready at your feet to bring him some sort of peace.

"I thought it would feel happier," he mumbles, looking up at you with vast watery eyes. "He's gone, but he left me with nothing."

You frown at his reveal. You could sense the uneasiness inside him as the adrenaline from watching the Dark Lord disappear into thin air had rapidly passed for him. He was realizing now that his problem was no longer Voldemort, but his life that got thrown off its track in the process.

"And the worst of it all," he mutters bitterly, his tears now rushing angrily down his face in muddy streaks. You felt him roughly pull his left sleeve up, pitiful sniffles emitting from him as he struggled helplessly to fold the fabric up his arm.

You placed a careful hand over his trembling ones, stopping his wild movements as you tried your best to hush him into comfort. It seemed like the simplest things work for him when they come from you, centering all his anger and sadness so abruptly it almost feels like he gets brought back down to Earth after being launched into space. He was still livid and ashamed, but for your sake only, he kept himself from moving recklessly and calmed his haphazardness.

"It's still there," he let out defeatedly, dragging his fingers across the faded black ink on his skin. You could still make out the skull and the snake, its form still clear as day, just significantly less opaque on his arm.

Draco felt let down almost. He built up the excitement of thinking he would be able to get rid of that horrible mark one day if Voldemort ever got defeated, but the day was finally here and yet it still stained him as a reminder of the worst years of his life that he wanted to do everything in his power to forget.

"I seem to remember telling you the night you first showed it to me," you trailed off as you replaced the hand over his mark with yours. "That, while I know you hate it and I know it hurts to see it. It’s not you. And one day, forth from today, it's going to be so faint that it’ll just be a reminder of how you survived and got through the most difficult point of your life. I know you want to forget, but this won't ever be something you can just ignore. It's going to be with you forever and the only thing you can do is move forward and try towards the future you dreamed of when you thought it was impossible. I believe in your future, Draco. You can still be who you want to be.”

He would never be able to fully explain to you how appreciative he was for you; for your entire existence and your presence in his life. He couldn't fathom how much the flurry of emotions that ran through his body affected him due to your reassuring words dripping from your lips like honey. Simple skin-to-skin contact from you, or even just a look - could send his mind into a hurricane like that. He doesn't think he'll get over it, ever.

The feeling of you.

Draco took a shuddering breath, allowing the unexpected warm air to fill his lungs and hopefully rid his body of its anxious random quivering. He didn't want to cry anymore in front of you, nor did he want to sadden you on what was supposed to be a relieving day.

Unfortunately for him, you were able to read him instantly. You finally cracked the code of Draco Malfoy and what he looked like when he was withholding words or sentiments from you. When he was genuinely troubled with his thoughts. Or any other beautiful or haunting expression that settled itself onto his porcelain features. Your speech to him had touched the deepest depths in his heart and eased his worries tremendously, but he couldn't shake the anxiety gnawing at him.

Right now, he was looking spooked and pained. His expression wasn't as harsh as it had been for the last many months you've known him now, but it was still clear he was disturbed. You knew nothing you said or did for him would be able to completely erase the events that transpired and changed not only his world but the whole wizarding world - and yours. Everyone had overextended their body, minds, powers, and efforts for the sake of a bright future with the endless possibilities that no one would ever take for granted again.

All you were able to do for him right now was gently tug his arm to wordlessly ask him to sit in the grass with you, to which he complied, and you embraced him with every intention of never letting go. Something about the way you wrapped your whole self around him made him feel grateful all over again and most of all, safe. Your hands ran up and down his back soothingly, every once in a while one snaked up his neck and played with the hair on the back of his head, nails grazing soft circles onto his scalp. Your chest was flush against his and he couldn't help moving you onto his lap to wrap his arms around you tighter and bring you impossibly closer.

This was the first time, he realized, that when he closed his eyes and saw the darkness surrounding his vision - it wasn't bleak. It wasn't hopeless as it had been just over an hour ago. It was like a huge iron weight had been lifted off his chest, the figurative anchor tugging him to the bottom of his despair was cut free and he felt himself slowly but surely coming back up to the surface. The drowning feeling in him wasn't overwhelming anymore.

Draco was unsure of whether or not his steady breathing was because he had automatically begun matching his inhales and exhales to the rise and fall of your chest against him, or if it was because of the continuous realization that the Devil looming over his fate was gone, but he was grateful.

Merlin, he was so grateful.

He was fine for a second. But then something much worse came to mind.

The thoughts of what would happen after Voldemort's death quickly changed from him wondering how can he move forward with his life and now tainted past, to realizing what he and his family did was a crime. An extremely unforgiving crime in his world and one punishable by an eternity of imprisonment in the worst place imaginable. A place that if he didn't have the soul sucked out of him physically, he would lose it himself with time as he rotted away.

Draco felt his breathing switch from steady to ragged almost instantaneously again. His hands were suddenly on your hips, carefully sliding you off of him and scooting away from you so that he could gather himself. He couldn't look at you right now, feeling insanely guilty for who he was and how you didn't deserve to deal with his mess. You didn't deserve to keep getting put through hell for him and he hated knowing that everything awful that had happened to you has been directly linked to him, caused by him indirectly.

"Draco," you call out to him gently. You saw the panic in his eyes, his cheeks growing red with dread, and his fingers pulling at his white strands. You feared for him, his heart, and his mind. You wanted to cry with him, understanding that he wasn't going to be okay for a while.

"I'm so pathetic, I'm sorry," he expressed to you meekly.

"What's wrong, love?" You try again. You crawled over to him, stopping in front of him where he was hugging his knees to his chest and sobbing into the fabric of his pants. His cries broke your heart like they did every time, the pain always evident in his wavering voice. "Maybe I can help?"

"No, Y/N," he muttered weakly. "You can't help me on this one."

"How do you know that if you won't tell me what it is." You frown at his stubbornness. You noticed his attempt at trying to take a deep breath to answer you and the way his head slightly shook from side to side.

"Unless you can stop the ministry from banishing me to Azkaban," he finally spits out with a shudder, "then there's nothing you can do."

A silence fell over you two. The government belonging to the Wizarding World was something that hadn't even crossed your mind yet. And he was right. There was a very big chance he could get locked away for his crimes, and there was a one hundred percent chance he would have to go to trial and hearing, perhaps even a sentencing.

You felt dizzy thinking about it, a sinister feeling forming at the pit of your stomach. You couldn't handle another separation from him, especially after everything you had just gone through, especially after letting yourself dream of a future with him again, and especially if he was going to be gone for good.

"I don't want to go to Azkaban," he hoarsely whispered.

Draco wanted to live up to all his hopes, live up to yours and what the two of you wished so deeply for if you made it out of everything alive. He let himself dream of the future just like you had, only his imaginations were cut horribly short.

"I don't want you to either." You couldn't bring yourself to give him false hope. This was something completely out of your control and you knew it would be wrong to try and make him believe it would all be sunshine and rainbows from here. You weren't sure how the Ministry of Magic would handle things now or how serious they were going to punish everyone involved.

The Dark Ages may have ended, but something else entirely had begun and you weren't sure what it was or what it would entail. But you're in love with Draco Malfoy, and you accepted all of him including the unforeseen future that always followed him around but as long as he would have you, you'd be there for him, just as he would for you.

"Draco, you know wherever you go, I'll always be there for you."

"You can't follow me to Azkaban, Y/N," he breathes out.

"I know," you say dejectedly. "But maybe we can figure something out. I'll come up with a spell that allows me to apparate inside your cell as a pest or a bug. Or I'll become head at the Ministry of Magic and give myself the permission to visit you. Or, what if you don't even have to go to Azkaban? Whatever happens, it doesn't matter, this won't be the end for us."

He looked up at you with his reddened and puffy eyes finally, lips quivering as he searched your face for an ounce of doubt or regret like he always feared to catch but it's never there. Only warmth. That's all he ever saw from you.

"Even if they lock me up forever?"

"If that happens then I'll break you out myself and we can run away, start a new life as muggles in the muggle world."

"That sounds revolting." He couldn't help the small momentary grin that formed on his lips. "You'd give up magic for me?" He said, suddenly serious.

Without missing a beat, you answered, "I'd do anything for you, Draco."

His hands were on the grass now, raising himself from his sitting position to now being on his knees and surprising you with a firm kiss as he lurched gently forward. One hand found its place on your jaw, his fingers softly gripping at the skin on your neck and cheek as he kissed you deeper.

He laid you down onto the grass, your hair splaying itself like a halo around you as he moved his hand to bury itself at the back of your head and rested his elbow on the ground to stabilize himself. You melted into the feel of each other’s lips, feeling pixies in your chest and stars in your head as you sunk into one another’s hold. He kissed you passionately and hungrily, while making sure he kept his love for you apparent as he moved away from your lips every few kisses to plaster more all over your face in adoration. He would let his tongue slip past your lips now and then, smiling to himself when you repeated the action. You had your feet planted on the ground and knees pointed towards the sky as he ran a hand up and down your outer thigh.

He pulled away fully, ocean eyes searching your face or rather admiring it as if it was the last time he'd ever see it despite the both of you silently praying with all your soul that it wasn't. You reached a hand up to massage the crinkle forming between his brows, your thumb caressing the soft skin and wiping away the soot that was still glued to his face with tears and sweat.

He kissed your forehead in turn, slightly smiling down at you with contentment as you peered up at him. You wished you could hear his thoughts, understand the words and pictures that swirled in his mind that you may or may not ever hear or see. You never knew what was going through his mind when he looked at you... like that.

"On second thought maybe the muggle life doesn't sound all too rubbish," he admitted with a pink tinge to his cheeks, the tips of his ears following in suit. "As long as it's with you, I'd give up everything if it meant I can be by your side. You saved me, Y/N and I'll forever be grateful to you."

Now it was you who wanted to cry. The selfish boy you always knew to be obsessed with magic and power, his fortune, and his undeniably successful future that was in his stars just admitted he would give up all he knew that once meant everything to him, just to be with you in a place he once swore he'd rather die than become a part of. But that wasn't him anymore, this Draco was completely different. Unrecognizable. And no matter how many times you saw it, his newfound softness always took you by surprise and knocked you off your feet.

"My little healer."

You cried after that, welcoming his full body weight with open arms locking around his shoulders as you pushed him down onto you.

And it felt like just the two of you existed at that moment, basking in each other's love and devotion you discovered and developed at such a young age. You two stayed there, lying in the grass, your tree once again sending its flowers descent onto you like a silent blessing from the universe. You two were tired in every way and will never be the same, but you had a renewed hope for the future that right now seemed so far away but was nonetheless bright because if Draco was going to be by your side, there would always be a light that follows.

---

"la venida de cristo" (the cumming of christ)

paintings by fabián chairez (mexico, born 1987) also available as a postcard set

his exhibition in mexico city is currently being targeted by extremist religious groups and christian groups are trying to sue him (X) for his work so i thought i would show all of tumblr

---

more modern!ellie headcanons

a/n: just a little something... as always AI AUDIOS AT THE END... replies and reblogs are appreciated

ellie is a complete night owl

like you actually are concerned about when she sleeps

if you have an early morning class together she is always running late

or just doesn't show up so you would have to call her and wake her up

"hey baby, what's up i just woke up"

"ellie, class is about to start."

"oh shit, we have class today?"

she would sit next to you in any class you shared and scribble little doodles over to you

or communicate with you through notes

ellie hates going out in public but she loves going with you to do your errands

you're going grocery shopping? ellie is there

you need to find new shoes? she is there

barnes and noble? she would probably be there before you

she likes to do this thing where she will pick out a book for you and you will pick out a book for her and you will sit in the back and spend your day reading together

sometimes she hates the books you pick out for her

"ugh, another colleen hoover book? i gave you a cool book and you give me colleen fucking hoover?"

"little women is cool?"

"i can't believe you just said that."

if you two are out in public together she likes to pretend that the two of you are a married couple

like for example if you're at the cash register and she brings an item up to you and asks if she could get it

"no ellie, put that back."

she would turn to the cashier and say something like "what the wife says, goes... am i right?"

even when she's not with you and she's out drinking at the bar with dina and jesse she would randomly be like, "the wife's not gonna like this one" and take another shot

or when she buys you lingere that is obviously not for her she would be like, "you know what they say, 'happy wife, happy life'"

ellie is really not a social person either

unless she is a few drinks deep which leads us to... drunk!ellie

drunk ellie is soooooo clingy and sentimental

not that she isn't regularly, she's just way more affectionate when drunk

her usual comments would be like, "you're so lucky i love you so much..." or "you're so cute when you're not patronizing me..."

but her drunk? "i think you're the best thing to have happened to me, please never leave me."

"being in love with you is all that matters to me right now... take your clothes off."

she's always touching you in some way if she's drunk

if she's drunk at dinner and she's next to you, her hand in on your thigh or her head is resting on your shoulder

if she's drunk at a party, her hands are on your waist at all times whether she's dancing with you or talking to others

she just wants to be around you

she also can't sleep without you if she's drunk

you would be trying to put her to bed and she would just grab your wrist and mutter a, "please stay"

ellie always orders something you like so you can pick off of her plate

"you want some, baby? i knew you were going to ask for some anyways."

she's always thinking of you

when she sees little trinkets she's like "aw my girlfriend would love this."

or when she sees someone trip in public she's like "i wish my girlfriend was here, i know she'd die laughing."

ellie reads you books so you can sleep

if she knows you had a particularly rough day she will be like, "you okay, babe? want me to read you something?"

and then your climbing in her bed and resting your head in the crook of her neck as she reads to you

she will send you a picture of any animal she sees on the street

loves getting you things because she loves your reaction to gifts

... the two of you study by getting to take an article of clothing off each time you get something right

let's just say you pass most of your tests

ai audios:

extras:

what the wife says, goes

happy wife happy life

the wife's not gonna like this one

you want some baby?

perhaps some will disagree, but i think the world got worse when we changed the colour of the night

---

literally in love

𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you get upset when eddie's friends think you're clingy. he sets you straight with some unbridled affection. requested here. fem!reader, 2.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The diner is bustling with life and smells alike, people in their summer jackets eager to sit down and dig into a plate of greasy, fatty meats. You're just as excited, your fingers curled into Eddie's sleeve and following his lead as he weaves between a gaggle of kids playing between the bar and the booths. 

"Sorry, sir," a young girl says to him, springing out of his path. 

"That's okay," he says, leaning back to squint at you curiously, "Do I look like a sir?" he asks you.

Pale faced, dark-haired, the remnants of last night's eyeliner clinging to his bottom lashes, you can't say you'd look at Eddie and think, Sir. Pretty boy extraordinaire with a rather inviting smile, absolutely. 

"I think so, sir," you say. 

Eddie laughs at you, pressing a hand behind your shoulders to move you along. His friend Gareth waves from a booth tucked in a corner under a white sconce. Jamison sits to his left, and Margaret to his right. You feel a little skip in your pulse at the sight —they intimidate you, and you want desperately for them to like you, only you never know what to say. 

"Hey," Eddie says as you approach the booth. He pushes you gently to encourage you into the seat first. "How's it going? Did we order?" 

"We were waiting for you. They said we have to go up to the bar when we're ready."

"We're late, I get it. Where's Jeff?" 

"He went to the bathroom, like, ten minutes ago," Jamison says with a sigh, climbing to his feet. "I'll go see if he's alright." 

"He's fine. Maggie, are you coming to order?" Gareth says, getting up with him. 

"Yes, finally!" she says. 

The relative chaos of your arrival has you hesitating in your seat. Margaret left her purse and her jacket on the table, and Jamison his keys. 

"You okay to stay here while I order?" Eddie asks. 

You'd much prefer Eddie order for you, but you don't want to be sitting here by yourself if Jamison and Jeff come back before him. You won't know what to say. It won't be their fault. You'll make things awkward for everyone. 

You stand up again, shedding your jacket as you do. No one's gonna steal anyone's stuff, the bar is too close. "I'll come with you."

Eddie slots your fingers together easily, grinning, "Lucky me." 

His friends order first and return to the booth soon after. You and Eddie get cut by a cranky looking old lady but neither of you say anything, nowhere to be and no reason to mind. He tells you about the guitar he's been repairing at work and you listen adoringly, in love with the shape of his lips and how he says every word. He's a great storyteller. 

A new friend appears once you've ordered. 

"Hey, Eddie!" one of the waiters says, appearing from the kitchen with a tray of drinks and fries in hand. "Man, I've been trying to get a hold of you all week. The string on my daughter's guitar flew off, nearly blinded her in the process, would you be able to fix that for me? I'll pay you for your time." 

Eddie waves it off. "It'll only take five minutes, you can drop by whenever I'm home. Why do they keep splitting like that, is she messing with the pegs?" 

"She definitely is. Can I get your number? Macey washed my pants without emptying the pockets."

There's a mad scramble for a pen. You have one in your jacket because Eddie's always looking for one, but your jacket is back in the booth. You promise to make a hasty return and set off for it, glad to see Jeff's alright, standing at the table likely waiting for you and Eddie to get back rather than move your things. You like Jeff most out of everyone. With the whole group collected you know he won't drag you into conversation. 

"She's a bit… much," Gareth's saying.

"How can she be a bit much? She doesn't say a lot," Maggie says. 

You frown. You're the only other she. 

"Not like that, just– the touching and stuff. She's always grabbing onto him like a toddler. I don't think I could stand it." 

"You don't have to stand it," Jeff says. "She's Eddie's girl." 

"Clearly." 

"Gareth, when was the last time you got laid?" Maggie asks, flicking a hair tie at him, to his annoyance. "You're being bitter. They fucking love each other, man, it's nice." 

"It is a little tiny bit too much sometimes," Jamison says.

You wince. You know it's a matter of seconds before one of them turns to see you standing there. Is it worse to turn around or to approach? 

You walk up to the table just as Gareth says, "Yes! Thank you man, she's too–" 

He cuts off when he sees you with a cough.

"Who?" you ask, full well knowing it's you. Honestly, you're shy but you still get mad, you kind of want him to own up and say it while you're there, and at the same time you're hoping against hope they'll lie. 

Thankfully, they pretend it was about someone else. 

"Nobody," Maggie says. 

"Some girl at the library," Jamison says. 

You lean past Jeff with as sunny an apology as you can manage to grab the pen from your jacket. "Eddie," you say by way of explanation, holding the pen up with a shrug. 

You walk away quicker than you should. It's obvious you've overheard. There's a thump and a, "Nice fucking job, loser." 

Eddie's deep in conversation as you offer the pen. He takes it without stopping, but he makes sure he kisses your cheek. 

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom, okay?" you say. 

"I'll be right there, sweetheart." 

To get to the bathroom you have to walk past the booth again. With the hurt feeling pounding between your ears and what you suspect might be all eyes on you, you make for one of the two doors. The summer sun and the dry Hawkins heat hits you immediately, a second layering of smothering to wrap around the first. You walk around a rainbow chalk hopscotch and into the shade of the smoking shelter, hands at your collar, breathing hard. 

Don't cry, you think firmly. Don't cry. They'll know if you do and that's twice as embarrassing as walking out. Imagine how embarrassed Eddie will feel if you cause a scene.  

You sit on the little perch in the shelter and stare at the floor. There's nowhere to look that isn't stingingly bright, the sun in the white-blue sky glaring down on you and the sidewalk bleached a blinding ivory. You close your eyes against it. Your shoulders hunch in protectively. Your hands find their way to your face. 

Like a toddler, Gareth said. You press your fingertips into your eyes, fighting against the ache. Is that true? Are you childish in how much you rely on Eddie? You take his hand and his arm, you catch onto his clothes when you're worried, you step behind him when you're overwhelmed. 

"Shit," you whisper. 

The breeze washing over you does little to cool you down. You must sit there for a handful of minutes, worried and nauseous. 

"Hey," Eddie says gently. You flinch despite his best efforts not to startle you. 

He looks tall outlined by the sun. 

"You okay?" he asks. 

"I just wanted some fresh air," you say. 

He raises his brows slightly. "That why Gareth just apologised to me?" 

You wince as he sits down. All of you wants to sag into his side, but a small voice tells you not to. You stay ramrod straight, hands pressed flat and clammy to your knees. 

Eddie gives your elbow a rub. His thumb digs into soft skin and the harder suggestion of cartilage and bone before sliding up. He uses touch often to convey silent reassurement. This seems to say, I don't know what happened, but I'm here. 

"I'm fine. We can go back inside," you say, attempting to fool him. 

"There's no rush." His voice tips to a low, rough register. He's keyed in to your upset, no doubt about it. "It's a nice day, babe." 

He gives you a minute. The small feathering of clouds skirts one edge of the horizon to the other, the shadow of the diner stretching tall as the sun lazes down. You push the worst of your feelings from your mind. It's easy to do with such an unshakeable support at your side, his fingers curling down to your forearm, vying for a hand to hold. 

"I heard your friends talking about me. It wasn't all nice," you confess. 

"Assholes." 

You glance at his face. He has a crease between his brows. 

"Well, mostly Gareth. He said that I… act like a kid. A toddler, that I'm too much, at least for him to stand. And don't get me wrong, Eds, I'm not thrilled that they were talking about me, but I guess I…" You take a short breath and look away from him. "I hate that it's true." 

"You can be mad when people talk shit. I'm mad," he says. "He said you're like a toddler?" He shuffles closer to you on the bench. "Babe, it's not true, okay? You're not too much. Fuck, we're here to hang out and they can't wait ten minutes to run their mouths–" 

"It wasn't like that, it was just Gareth." Gareth's always been the selfish friend. 

"He doesn't get a pass for saying something shitty 'cos he's always shitty. I brought you here," —you peek at him, recognising upset in his tone even when it's the barest inkling— "knowing you didn't really want to come because you get so nervous," —he sounds pained for you— "I fucking told him to leave you alone. I said we wouldn't come around if he didn't stop being a mood killer." 

You worry at your bottom lip. "Maybe that's kind of his point, Eds. You have to look out for me. You had to ask someone to be nice to me 'cos I can't handle it–" 

"You don't have to handle it. The people around you should be nice to you. This isn't high school, you don't have to put up with it, and I told him that." Eddie grabs your arm with the hand that isn't tangled in yours and turns you to face him. "I'm sorry," he says, almost a murmur, "I didn't invite you today to have you humiliated." 

You're feeling a little mortified by the passion of his feelings. He's mad at the wrong person, isn't he? "Why are you sorry? I'm the one who clings to you." 

"I want you to." Eddie holds your eyes, brown and big and imploring you to listen, the starts of his brows sewing together. "I'm sorry because it's not fair. And because Gareth was a dick to you. And for getting mad." He smiles at you ruefully. "I'm being a dick, too." 

"In what world?" 

Eddie leans in slowly, giving you enough time to close your eyes as his nose bumps into yours, encouraging your head up to allow for a kiss. He kisses twice, a third time, pulling away to rub your bottom lip. 

"Are you really upset?" he asks softly. 

You know whatever answer you give him is one he's okay with. 

"I feel so embarrassed," you say. "They knew that I overheard them. Now I feel like I'll be constantly worried about how much I'm touching you." 

"Well, that's their problem. That doesn't say shit about you," Eddie says, wrinkling his nose. 

"I'm really not too much?" you ask. He can likely hear how desperate you are for a kind answer, your throat burning with the effort it takes to stave off tears. 

"You've never been too much. I'm the too-much one. You wouldn't even hold my hand when we first started dating, you remember that? We'd go to the movies and you'd get so flustered when I bought your ticket." Eddie's arms wrap around your waist, the breeze ruffling his sweet curls and sending gusts of his smell your way. You're a goner, dropping your face into his shoulder. "Do you remember that?" he asks again, his face slipping down to yours as he hugs you close. "The first time we went to the Hawk together, I went first, and I don't know why you thought you'd have to buy your own ticket but you got all quiet when I got yours, too. I loved that. You know what I loved even more than that?" 

You smile, knowing he's going to say something lovely. "What?" you ask. 

"I loved how proud you were to sit down with me. You wouldn't hold my hand but you'd put your cheek on my shoulder just like this." 

Eddie rubs the tip of his nose against your temple. "I love how much you want to be near me," he says. "It's not childish, is it? If being closer to me makes you feel better, there's nothing wrong with that. Gareth's just jealous 'cos he isn't getting laid." 

"That's what Maggie said." You laugh. 

"Maggie's a good one. She makes Gareth bearable, kind of." 

You feel the stretch of his back under your hands. Your head is pounding from the sudden rush of big emotions, your tongue dry and throat aching, but you don't have a lick of urgency to get up and go back in. 

"He's such a dick," you whisper. 

Eddie laughs, patting your back. "Such a fucking dick." 

"I can't help being a loser and wanting to hug you so much," you say. You're joking now, but it's true all the same. 

"I tempt the untemptable," he says agreeably.

You laugh and lift up a bit to hug him harder, your face pressing into his neck. 

"You're not a loser," he says more seriously. "You know that, right? What Gareth said, it's not okay, but there's no accounting for idiocy." Eddie sits back on the bench, taking your forearms into his hands for some more soft massaging. "He can think whatever he likes, I'm not the government, but he was wrong, and also it's rude and, again, super shitty of him to do that here. So with your blessing I'm gonna punch him in the face." 

"Nooooo," you murmur. 

"Very soft no. Taking it for a yes."

"Eddie, you can't hit Gareth."

"He should watch his mouth, then." 

You reach up for a second hug. You love that he prioritised how you felt, as well as how eager he is to stick up for you —how mad he is on your behalf. 

"He's trying to take this away from me," Eddie says, leaning back under your weight, arms crossing behind your spine. He looks up at you like you've stolen his breath, lips parted and teeth peeking out with his smile. 

"Do you really want to punch him?" you ask. You sound very fond.

"I hate that he made you feel bad about yourself. And he irritates me." 

"But…" 

Eddie hums like he's thinking for a moment. "No, I definitely still want to hit him." 

You tuck a curl away from his cheek tenderly. "Thanks for wanting to defend my honour, Eds," you say.

"I'm on your side through everything." He looks ridiculously pretty saying such a ridiculously lovely thing. "That's how we work, right? You're on my side too?" 

Your face flushes with heat. "Of course I am, baby." 

"Good. Unrelated to our previous conversation, how much money do you have, roughly? In case I need financial aid in the coming days." He drops his voice to a whisper, "How much even is bail lately?" 

You cup his cheek. "We can't afford it," you whisper back. 

"Typical." 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!♡

---

i love papas cute silly moves. 🥰

this is SO fun, i'm already sprinting to the next part

more bob smut please!!!!!

Sweet Treats and Side Effects ✩ Bob Reynolds pt. 1

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. use of y/n, bob reynolds x fem!reader, found family, accidental aphodisiac, chaotic prank war, slow-burn, mutual pining, thunderbolts frat house energy, dubious influence (consensual but under a magical substance), yelena’s chaotic best friend energy, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, rough sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), praise kink, slight dom!bob, bob whimpering!!! (yes godddddd)

Summary: When Yelena kicks off her next move in the Thunderbolts prank war with a bag of questionable aphrodisiac chocolates, you agree to help her “prank” Bucky Barnes into a very inconvenient eight-hour erection.Unfortunately, Bob Reynolds gets there first. Now the most powerful man in the tower is red-faced, sweating, and very, very desperate for one thing—and it’s not chocolate. It’s you. And when the side effects kick in full-force, you’ll have to decide if you’re helping your friend… or completely, shamelessly indulging his deepest, filthiest desires. Chaos. Horny chocolate. Yelena being the worst. And Bob being the sweetest, softest, most absolutely feral man alive.

Author's Note: you ask, i deliver. here's another one 'cause i really can't get enough of bob. i love him so much it hurttttsssss. i had this idea while I was showering and I kid you not I jumped out off the shower and grabbed my phone sooooo fast to start typing on my notes cause I have adhd and I forget things so fast LOL. also thank you soooooo so much from the bottom of my little heart for all the love and support in don’t let go and ruined <33 i appreciate all of your comments and messages and screams in the reblogs, it really warms my heart<3 i hope you guys like this first part. yelena my beloved my beautiful girl i cant i love her so much!!!!!! if you want to be added to the taglist just comment below<3 part 2 is posted!!!

masterlist. part 1. part 2.

The Thunderbolts Tower wasn't built for this kind of chaos.

At least, not this kind. The late Stark Tower—once a monument to genius, ambition—had now been refitted as the New Avengers' headquarters. High ceilings, soundproofed rooms, high-tech gadgets, sleek black interiors, furniture that probably cost more than all of their salaries combined, and reinforced windows that could withstand a helicarrier crash—it all screamed “elite modern high-tech paramilitary chic."

But then Yelena moved in, and the whole place became a "deranged prank way frat house battlefield." Everything went to hell. In a good way, though. In a really good way.

She brought with her 17 leather jackets, around twenty pairs of brass knuckles, an entire crate of Bulgarian wine, and a feral grin that had everyone—Valentina especially—deeply concerned. Yelena had called Bucky “grandpa,” told Walker his jaw looked like it was Photoshopped, and challenged Alexei to a sparring match while doing vodka shots.

By week two, she had both Bucky and Walker in such a vicious prank war that Valentina personally installed panic buttons in every room and a 24-hour hotline staffed by two overworked interns.

"Listen," she'd said to Bob one evening, slouched across the common room couch holding a vodka cranberry in one hand and a glitter bomb in the other, "if you're not part of the prank war, you're part of the problem."

You, curled in the armchair with your Cosmopolitan, just snorted and shook your head. “Don’t engage,” you whispered. “That’s how it starts.”

But it was already too late.

By week four, someone—probably Yelena—had rigged the gym's ceiling vents to explode with glitter every single time music was played. It looked like an ABBA concert every time anyone tried to work out. Walker was victim number one. It took him two weeks to clean out all the vents. He was still finding glitter in places no man should.

By week six, Bucky's protein powder was replaced with powdered sugar—Walker's doing. The next day, Walker's toothbrush was swapped for a hot pepper-infused prank toothbrush so strong he almost wanted to rip his tongue out—Bucky's doing. Yelena claimed no responsibility, but laughed out loud until her tummy hurt. Alexei said nothing, but looked immensely pleased. Ava just walked away every time, muttering "children" and "imbeciles" in every single language.

And you? You opted out of everything.

So did Bob.

You were the “normal” ones—if “normal” meant tired, trauma-bonded, and one missed therapy session away from losing it. You liked your body not covered in glitter. You liked your food unsabotaged. You liked your showers dye-free. You liked your clothes not sewn together by a super-soldier with a grudge. You liked peace. Quiet.

Bob, too, had retreated from the chaos the moment it started. He was quiet, nervous, so polite. The Sentry—the most powerful being in several galaxies—was also the one who carried I <3 New York mugs with two hands, murmured “sorry” when he sneezed too loudly, and apologized to furniture when he bumped into them.

You once caught him whispering "sorry" to the coffee machine. You hadn't recovered since.

And then there was Yelena—your best friend, your platonic soulmate, your disaster twin, your ride-or-die with a taser in her boot and a flask in one of the many pockets on her vest. She thrived in these situations. Like a vengeful little chaos gremlin.

You loved her like family. Like a sister. You also wanted to strangle her at least once a day.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d bailed her out of prank-related disasters. You had a permanent, invisible sign that read “Yelena’s Damage Control” stamped on your forehead. Once, you caught her trying to set up a trap involving a pulley system, three buckets of Jell-O, and a pressure sensor under Walker’s mattress.

“Yelena,” you had deadpanned, “this is a war crime.”

“I know,” she’d whispered, eyes gleaming.

You couldn’t stop her. But you could try to contain the fallout.

She'd always been the troublemaker, and you'd always been the one holding the broomstick, ready to clean up after every single mess.

Which is how you found yourself curled up on the couch one lazy, peaceful evening, blanket over your legs, a movie playing quietly. Peaceful, until it wasn't.

Yelena burst into the common area with the chaotic glare of a feral racoon who had just tried McDonalds for the first time.

She had a pouch in one hand, and that look in her eye. The one that meant she was either going to kill someone, or make them cry. The look of someone who had Googled "legal prank weapons" and actually found something.

You didn't look up from your phone. "If that's another glitter bomb, I swear to God Yelena I—"

She grinned, flopped on the couch beside you, and dropped the pouch in your lap.

You frowned. "You bought chocolate?"

"Yes and no," she said, vibrating with excitement. "It's not regular chocolate, silly. It's special chocolate."

You narrowed your eyes. "So... you bought weed chocolate?"

"What? No!" she scoffed. "Not weed. They're sex chocolates.

You stared. “I’m sorry—”

“I found them online,” she said proudly, holding up the tiny pouch like she was unveiling a horcrux. “Not technically illegal. Just... wildly inappropriate.”

Your mouth had opened and closed a few times before you got a full sentence out. "You bought aphrodisiac chocolate."

“Yes,” she continued nonchalantly, as she dramatically placed it in your palm, like this was completely normal and not a felony, “chocolates that make you horny. The bag said you should only eat half of one ‘cause otherwise—" she wiggled her eyebrows, "side effects. And it might make you horny as hell.”

You sighed.

"You're going to poison Bucky Barnes with horny candy? Jesus Christ, Yelena."

“It’s not poison,” she snapped, snatching the bag back. “It’s hilarious. He put fucking green dye in my shampoo, I looked like Shrek’s third cousin for three weeks. Like a fucking radioactive lizard. That shit didn't come out for three weeks. This is justice.”

“You looked adorable with green hair,” you offered.

“Not the point.” She held up a wrapped chocolate. “The point is this—” she pressed it against your cheek “—is going to drive him insane. I leave this out. He eats it. Gets inconveniently boned for eight hours. I laugh. You laugh. We all laugh. Valentina cries. Justice is served. The universe realigns.”

“Or,” you offered, “he kills you.”

“Worth it.”

You sighed, already in too deep. “Okay fine, I approve.”

“Good, ’cause I’m giving it to him right now.”

You frowned. “Isn’t it too suspicious for you to give him the chocolate? He’s gonna suspect you’re up to something.”

“You’re right…” Her eyes lit up again. “I’ll leave it on the kitchen island. The man can’t resist abandoned snacks.”

“Okay… but—”

“No no buts. This is gonna be fun.”

“Yelena…”

“Shush. He’s gonna come back any minute.”

You leaned back onto the couch again as she bolted to the kitchen, dropped the chocolate in plain sight like bait in a trap, then sprinted back and threw herself dramatically onto the couch beside you, both of you pretending to watch the movie playing on the screen.

You started giggling.

“Shut it!” she hissed, elbowing you. “He’s gonna suspect if you giggle like that.”

“I can’t help it,” you wheezed. “I just— I can’t wait to see his face.”

You tried to calm down, but you couldn’t stop picturing it: Bucky, scowling and always so suspicious, wandering into the kitchen, finding the lone piece of chocolate on the island like a bear stumbling across a candy bar in the woods, sniffing it, probably poking it, and then—against all logic—eating it.

And fifteen minutes later? Uncontrollably, catastrophically horny.

It was horrible. It was perfect.

And yet… the common room stayed quiet except for the hum of the TV. The chocolate remained untouched. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Still no Bucky.

“Where the fuck is he?” Yelena hissed under her breath, peeking over the back of the couch. “He’s usually sniffing around by now. Post-workout fridge raid is like, a sacred ritual.”

“Maybe he’s actually working for once,” you offered, scrolling lazily through your phone. “You know. Doing his job.”

Yelena groaned like you'd personally insulted her. “Ugh. What a nerd.”

She flopped sideways dramatically, letting her head land on your thigh with a little oof. You chuckled and absentmindedly ran your fingers through her hair, brushing it out of her face while she mumbled something about "uselessly punctual super-soldiers" and “flirting with dietary supplements.”

Eventually, her mumbling trailed off. Her breathing evened out. She fell asleep in your lap, curled like a cat, snoring softly.

You stayed like that, warm and peaceful, letting the TV flicker in the background while your thumb scrolled mindlessly over your screen. The prank chocolate glinted under the kitchen light.

And then—

“Oh. Hi, Y/N.”

You looked up.

Bob Reynolds stood in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light, soft curls slightly tousled, wearing a black T-shirt that read sorry I’m late, I didn’t want to come in lowercase comic sans, and his usual grey sweatpants that hung low on his waist.

Your stomach dipped.

"Hey, Bob," you said, smiling.

He gave you a soft smile—shy, unsure, always like he was surprised you were still happy to see him. “Hi.”

His eyes flickered to Yelena, then back to you. He lingered there—just long enough to make your heart flutter.

It wasn’t the first time.

He always did that—like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to greet you. Like saying your name out loud made something flutter in his chest.

And God, he had no idea how obvious he was. At first, you thought it was just nerves. Bob was quiet, thoughtful, shy. But then you started noticing the patterns.

How he always looked for your laugh when the room was loud. How his eyes lingered on your mouth when you were focused on something. How he watched you when he thought you weren’t watching, gaze soft, warm, wanting—not greedy or possessive, just… curious. If you spoke, he listened—not just politely, but curiously, like your words mattered more than anyone else's in the room.

There was always a slight delay when he smiled at a joke—like he waited to see if you were laughing first.

And when you caught him watching? He looked away so fast it was like his thoughts had been yanked straight out of his brain.

You’d noticed. Of course you had.

Yelena noticed it too.

"I—uh—I just came to grab a snack," he said softly, motioning toward the kitchen.

"Sure," you smiled, turning your attention back to scrolling on your phone, trying so hard not to think about him.

A moment later, Yelena stirred, mumbling into your thigh, “He’s so into you.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not.”

“He is.”

“He is not, Yelena.”

“Babe. You’re so blind,” she mumbled. “I say this with love. Wake me up when Bucky eats the chocolate.”

She was out again within seconds.

You resumed your doom scrolling, ocasionally chuckling at stupid videos on the internet. A minute passed. Then another. Then you heard soft footsteps.

You looked up—and froze.

Bob was back. Glass of milk in one hand. Torn silver wrapper in the other. And—oh no.

Oh no.

A smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth.

“Uh, Bob… where did you…?”

He blinked, startled. “Oh—this?” He held up the wrapper. “I, uh, found it on the kitchen island. Was it… was that yours?”

You stared.

“Oh god.”

“What?” he said, confused. “Was it like, fancy chocolate? I didn’t mean to—was it yours, Y/N? I’m so sorry—”

You slapped Yelena awake. “Wake up. Wake up right now.”

She groaned, glaring at you. “What the fuck, Y/N! Why would you—”

“He ate the chocolate.”

She blinked and puffed. “What? Ugh, Y/N! I told you to wake me up when Bucky came!"

You stood up, grabbing her chin and physically turning her toward Bob like you were revealing a murder suspect. “He ate the chocolate.”

Her jaw dropped. A full gasp escaped her. “Oh my god. BOB.”

Bob backed up. “I’m sorry! I just— I saw it— I thought it was for everyone—was it yours, Y/N? I didn’t mean to—”

Yelena stomped over and grabbed his face with both hands like she was inspecting a crime scene. “How much did you eat?”

His eyes darted between you and her. “I—what’s happening?”

“Answer the question, Bob.”

“I… I ate all of it?”

“WHAT?!” you shrieked, vaulting to your feet.

“I didn’t know!” Bob said quickly. “I thought it was just normal chocolate—I was hungry—”

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

Yelena spun toward you. “Get the bag. Read the label.”

You fumbled with the pouch, hands shaking, and scanned the fine print.

Recommended dose: HALF a chocolate. Effects last 6-8 hours depending on metabolisim. Fast-acting, onset in 10-15 minutes. Possible side effects: increased sweating (short-lived), spontanous arousal, inability to regulare desire, increased physical sensitivity, touch dependency, increased stamina, vocalization, elevated body temperature, hypersensitivity, desire fixation and obsessive focus on most recent object of desire.

You looked up. Your throat went dry.

Bob was already sweating.

He stood in the middle of the room like he’d just wandered out of a sauna, shirt clinging to his chest, breath coming in short little bursts. He tugged at his collar, blinking rapidly like he was trying to remember how air worked.

"Oh fuck," you whispered.

“Uh…” Bob said, weakly. “Is it… is it warm in here?”

Yelena clapped her hands. “We’re so fucked.”

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @notreallythatlost @mandoalorian @urfavfakeblonde @sunday-bug @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @pey2618 (if you want to be added to the taglist just comment below)

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rain and regret ~ loki x f! reader

This fic is part of the In sickness and in health series! Where a lot of different favorite characters take turns to take care of you. 🧻🌡️🩹

masterlist faq

A/N; He's so fucking dramatic AAAAAAAAAA he's acting like you got the damn plague or something awful of the sort.

minors dni. i am not responsible for what you consume.

do not copy, translate or claim any of my stories as your own.

The rain starts suddenly, tapping gently on the floor-to-ceiling windows of the lounge. You glance up from your coffee. Thor notices the gleam in your eyes before Loki even lifts his head.

“No,” Loki says immediately.

“Yes,” you say, already standing.

Thor beams. “A storm! I shall join you!”

Loki groans, setting down his book. “You’re not children.”

You spin toward him at the door, dripping anticipation and glee. “Says you, the literal God of Mischief.”

Thor lets out a booming laugh. “She has you there, brother!”

Loki’s eye twitches.

“I wreak controlled mischief,” he mutters, folding his arms tighter. “Not puddle-soaked madness.”

You don’t even reply—you just sprint into the rooftop garden barefoot, arms open, hoodie bouncing, socks already soggy, Thor thundering after you.

The sleek stone paths are quickly covered in puddles, the air smells like ozone, and your laughter echoes through the Tower.

Thor crashes out behind you, shouting war cries as you chase him in circles through the wet grass and stone. You slip once—catch yourself and cackle like an absolute menace.

From the doors, Loki watches.

Arms crossed. Jaw tight. His silhouette sharp in the dim interior light.

“Absolutely unhinged,” he mutters. “Someone electrocuted her brain as a child.”

Eventually, soaked to the bone and breathless from laughter, you came stumbling back inside, trailing muddy footprints and giggling like you’d just outrun death.

Loki was waiting.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked forward, placed a towel on your head like a parent too tired to scold, and started patting your arms dry with another one.

“Happy?” he asked flatly.

“Ecstatic,” you beamed.

“Moron,” he replied gently.

Thor just let out a deep, satisfied sigh and said, “That was magnificent.”

“I swear to the Nine, if you fall ill—”

“I won’t,” you say, too fast.

He narrows his eyes. “You will.”

Later...

The room is dark and quiet. The rain still whispers against the windows.

You’re curled up in bed, shivering under layers of blankets, a tissue clutched in one hand and a cup of barely-sipped tea on the nightstand.

“I told you not to go out in the rain,” Loki says, arms folded, his voice sharp—defensive. But underneath it: worry.

“I was out there for five minutes,” you rasp.

You try to laugh. It comes out as a cough. Loki’s eyes flash with alarm.

Without another word, he kneels by the bed, his tone shifting from annoyed to concerned beyond comprehension.

“You mortals are so… fragile.” He brushes a strand of damp hair from your forehead, frowning. “Is this… normal? To look like you’ve been cursed by a frost giant and then claim you’re ‘fine’?”

You manage a weak smirk. “It’s just the flu, Your Highness.”

He glares at you, then stands and swishes his hand—suddenly the tea is steaming hot again, the pillows fluffier, the blanket heavier.

“Better,” he declares, smoothing the blanket over your chest. “You will rest. You will drink. You will not die of this absurd condition, or I swear I will enchant your immune system myself.”

“Is that a thing?”

“For you? I’ll make it a thing.”

Later, when you drift into a fitful sleep, Loki doesn’t leave.

He sits beside you, conjuring small spells of cooling mist for your forehead, whispering in Old Norse to soothe your dreams. When you stir, eyes hazy, he leans down and murmurs, barely audible:

“You must recover. I am not yet done loving you.”

The hallway is quiet.

Dimly lit by warm sconces and the faintest shimmer of magic, it feels like a dream as you step out, the blanket draped around your shoulders trailing behind you like a cape. You’re barefoot. Sniffling. Half-asleep. But your body noticed his absence, and that was enough to rouse you.

“Loki?” your voice is hoarse—barely above a whisper, soft like cracked porcelain. You sound like a Victorian ghost haunting the corridors of her lover’s estate.

You catch him off guard.

He’s seated on the floor, leaning against the wall, knees drawn up, a hand over his mouth. But not fast enough.

You see it. The shine in his eyes. The way he quickly wipes his cheeks with the heel of his palm, trying to make it look effortless. Like he wasn’t crying in the hallway over you.

“What are you doing out of bed?” he asks, standing swiftly, voice low and tight. “You shouldn’t be up.”

You shuffle toward him, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders. “What are you doing crying in the hallway?”

He falters.

“I’m just…” he swallows, hands twitching at his sides. “Worried. That’s all, my love.”

You blink at him, voice raspy as you deadpan, “Dude. It’s the flu. I’m not dying.”

He exhales a breathy, incredulous laugh—but there’s no mockery in it. Just relief. Just you. Standing there like a sleepy little gremlin, dragging your blanket like a train.

“I know that,” he says softly. “But it’s never... just the flu when it’s you.”

You step into him. He immediately wraps his arms around your shoulders, blanket and all. You melt into his chest like he’s gravity.

“I’ve seen gods fall,” he murmurs, lips brushing the top of your head. “But nothing ever felt as terrifying as watching you burn up and not being able to stop it.”

You tilt your head up, brow bumping his chin.

“You big softie.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he mumbles into your hair. “It’ll ruin my brand.”

You smile.

“I’ll take it to the grave,” you whisper, before pulling him back toward the room. “Now come on, I need you to warm my feet before I freeze to death.”

You shuffle back to bed wrapped in your blanket like a burrito, sniffling but victorious for having made it down the hall and emotionally checked on your God of Meltdowns.

Loki helps you ease under the covers without a word, conjures a mug of tea with a flick of his fingers, and gently places it in your hands.

“Small sips,” he murmurs, crouching at the edge of the bed like a healer at your feet.

You raise a brow at him over the rim of your cup. “What, no lecture this time?”

His eyes flick to yours. “I think you’ve suffered enough.”

He says it lightly, but there’s something heavy in his voice.

You just drink your tea—warm, minty, a little sweet. He vanishes beneath the blankets to press his fingers around your feet. With a quiet spell, heat radiates gently through them.

You hum in response.

He gives a quiet snort, and then he’s moving again—slipping into bed on the other side of you, pulling you back against his chest in one slow, protective motion. His arms curl around your middle, locking you in like you’re the last thing holding him together. You don’t resist.

His forehead presses into the curve of your shoulder.

You breathe. He breathes with you.

His magic flickers again—faint, warm, steady. A soft buzz at your sternum, like he’s trying to anchor himself to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

You wake up in the middle of the night, groggy and flushed. You’re not burning up, but you’re hot enough to feel gross, and the congestion has hit full force.

You let out a few rough coughs—not violent, but deep enough that your chest aches a little.

Loki stirs immediately beside you. He sits up halfway, one hand braced on the bed, the other gently touching your back.

“You’re alright?” he murmurs, sleep-rough and tense.

You nod weakly, coughing into the crook of your arm. “Just… stuffy. Gross.”

He watches you like he’s trying to read your pulse with his eyes alone. Then he exhales, brushing your hair from your forehead.

“Please don’t do that again,” he whispers. “Don’t go out in the rain like that. Don’t—don’t scare me like this.”

You blink at him. “Loki, I’m okay. It’s just a cold.”

“I know,” he says. But he doesn’t sound convinced. “I know.”

And then he lies back down and pulls you to him anyway, like he still needs proof that you’re alive and warm and real.

He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed, like he’s trying to draw breath from you. As if your existence is what’s holding him together.

You fall asleep like that, wrapped in his arms, his magic pulsing faintly against your back.

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I've enjoyed writing it! If you need more comfort fics, check out the series linked at the top!

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omggggg this is amazing

chapter 3 of the spiderverse au fic is done and dusted so to celebrate i cooked up some spider-jayce and doc vik designs :]

read the fic here!

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I'm malfunctioning this is actively altering my brain chemistry

End of the Line - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: “A less sentimental part of me wants to see you swell with my child purely because you’re mine. I want everyone to know it was me who impregnated you– that it was my cock that filled you with life. I want you to beg me to breed you before you fall apart and come all over me. The urge is fucking insatiable, you have no idea.”

No alternative summary because it’s exactly what it looks like.

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit content, breeding kink

PART TWO NOW ADDED ! The full fic can be found here on Ao3 

Keep reading

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