Tonight I Feel Like More

Arachnid Anxiety

You're Spider-Woman, and you've been tasked with babysitting Mayday. Maybe you have a bit of stress that you need to vent about, and Hobie comes along quite conveniently for that purpose.

Genre: Fluff, reader having anxiety, Hobie giving her advice, very cute, reader is a Jessica Drew variant, perhaps mutual pining if you squint, takes place during the movie but before Miles arrives to the Society, terrible british slang attempts (sorry Hobie :'))

Word Count: 2.4k

Babies are hard to wrangle when they’re crawling up walls.

Of course, Peter B. Parker said that he needs a nap, just this once, and he needs someone to watch over Mayday while he sneaks away into the sleeping pods in the Spider-Society-System. Sometimes he and MJ don’t get sleep for days at a time, so you get it.

But Mayday is so curious, and you find yourself having to pull her prying hands away before she inadvertently tampers with things around Miguel’s labs and causes either a mass outage or a explosion or Miguel’s wrath. You understand why Peter is a little exhausted.

She’s a very cute baby, though, and you can’t help but coo at her as she clambers off the wall into your arms. 

“Who’s a good Spidey? Who’s gonna be the best of us?” You shake her up and down and she giggles, wrapping her arms around you. 

You instinctively flinch, feeling your Spider-Sense go off.

“Large statement to make. But I see where you’re coming from.” Spider-Punk comes up from behind you, and you turn to him. “She’s definitely punk.”

“Hey, don’t go claiming someone else’s kid as one of your own.” You joke, and Hobie scowls as he pulls off his mask.

“Don’t believe in claims. Or labels, for that matter.” He scratches his hair, looking effortless as he ever does, and you roll your eyes. “She is… who she is. Forgive me for using a descriptive word, Spider-Woman.”

“I get it.” You hold Mayday as she squeals at the sight of Hobie, and she motions in an uppy-uppy motion. She wants to be held by him, but he ignores her.

You never quite know how to feel about Hobie Brown. The Amazing Spider-Punk is revolutionary, known for being better than just his words– he holds himself to the very essence of anarchy. He practices what he preaches.

But you can’t quite get a read on the guy. You don’t know if he’s pulling your leg– or taking the piss as he would say– when he gives his bouts of advice while somehow simply being amazing through it all. He somehow knows what to say but he also isn’t the most comforting, and that in itself makes you drawn to him. He just happens to be kind of rough around the edges, and it’s because of that you know he truly means what he says. 

No sugar-coating, ever.

But you hate yourself, because you’ve somehow managed to fall for him. 

It’s not uncommon for Spideys to fall for each other. Peter Parker and Cindy Moon, Miles Morales and Gwen Stacy. But you know this is the one time it just wouldn’t end well for you.

You can already hear Hobie’s comments if he ever found out. He’d probably rebuke you even though you’d never try anything. Tell you he doesn’t feel that way and you’re delusional for potentially thinking that he would ever tie himself down. Spiders are meant to be swinging free and all that.

Even worse, he just happens to be beautiful. You’re positive that if Hobie wasn’t so anti-everything he would have stuck with being a runway model. His face is molded in a distinctive way that has you trying to catch his glance, even if he only looks at you with nonchalance, completely unbothered, not a hint of chemistry in his eyes.

It is with great displeasure that you find yourself wanting his bored attention anyways.

And so you’ve been swallowing your crush for the greater part of a year now. You’re sure it will pass like all things do.

Pavitr, as much as you love him, has told you many times about the “chemistry” between you and Hobie– and you have told him every time to fuck off. Not in an actual harsh way, because again you can’t help but love the guy, but because you don’t need false hope.

You’re just Spider-Woman. Another red-and-yellow suited variant of Jessica Drew, you might as well just be another Peter Parker. You know that’s not how you’re supposed to think of yourself, but it’s just how it is. Canon events brought you here, and according to Miguel, it’s not something you chose– you just happened to be there at the right time and place. You’re no Jess, who comes in on her motorcycle, raging heat and excitement on her toes– you are one of the many, instead of being exceptional like the few.

You’re not like Hobie, who is as far as you know, one of a kind.

“What’s on your mind, Spider-Woman?” Hobie asks as he picks through random tech on the desk in Miguel’s lab, taking what he feels is useful for whatever it is he does with the stuff. He’s never used your name, because he doesn’t know it.

You and a few other Spider-People have chosen to stay anonymous, for different reasons, and only Miguel and Margo know who you really are. Hobie has told you before that that’s pretty cool– he only chose to give up his name because it was easier to get along with people that way. Hobie knows there’s power in people.

“Just babysitting. Obviously.” You motion to Mayday, who takes this moment to thwip out a web and swing away from you– but you’re faster and you grab her back into your arms, and she pouts.

“Nah, nah. I mean that sour expression upon your lovely little visage, imbecile.” He pokes your masked cheek, and you find yourself blushing but pulling away from him. Hobie is like that– overly familiar and no real sense of space because he doesn’t care.

“It’s not lovely.” You retort, fully convinced of it because he has never seen your face, only your incredulous expression through the eyes of your mask. 

You think that Hobie is again being sarcastic about your unknown appearance, and because his back is facing yours as he searches through random shelves now, you don’t catch how his face frowns at your response.

“Disagreements about your anonymous-but-surely beautiful face aside– not that looks matter, mind you– you’re clearly miffed about something.” Hobie turns and crosses his arms, and it’s with a little embarrassment and comfort that you want his advice. Even if it’s kind of to do with him.

“Well, I guess, uh… lately I’ve just been feeling kind of down. Like what’s the point of all this?” You bite your lip, knowing Hobie’s feelings on nihilism. “I don’t mean like nothing in life matters, Hobie. I mean more that I don’t matt– I don’t… anyways, I feel useless. I don’t have anything special about me, I don’t really bring anything to the Spider-Society that wasn’t already brought.”

"Whoa whoa whoa. Nah, lady, you've got your priorities all twisted." Hobie pulls your arms, bringing you kind of closer to him, and rests his hands on your shoulders, making you listen. "This inner hatred stuff– that sick urge to feel shame and then blast it inside of yourself, all that repression, yeah? It's a crock of shit."

"Huh?" You and Mayday both peer up at him. You behind your mask, and she with her crocheted one. 

Hobie picks up Mayday, finally giving into her wishes to be held by him, and she immediately giggles. There’s a subtle smile on his face that warms him to you a little.

"It might feel good in the moment. It might even feel revolutionary." Hobie scowls, and scratches his jaw. "It's worthless. Notice, Spider, I didn't call you worthless. The very action is garbage, a visceral thing that brings no productive value– that's what they want you to feel."

"Ah, because then I'll never fight against the establishment, right, Hobie? I'll be too busy fighting myself." You say mockingly, taking on a fake-pretentious-Cockney accent, mimicking him, but Hobie gives you a chill look and nods.

"Now you're getting it."

"Aw." You slump and slouch and sit on the counter full of gadgets and gizmos next to him. "I know you're right, but… don't you ever get people getting mad at you?"

"You've lost me."

"Like… being so responsible." You roll your eyes as Hobie snickers and whispers the spider-mantra you all know so well. "Or just living by your own ideology so… efficiently. It's almost like a slap in the face to the rest of us Spiders. We don’t know how to cope, and here comes along Spider-Punk with all his personal assurance that even if things aren't alright, he'll make it alright for himself."

"Oi, trust me, it wasn't all that easy." Hobie sniffs and sits down next to you, holding Mayday close and then letting her go as she crawls onto the wall in front of you. "You really think I haven't had a bad day? I haven’t had my moments of self doubt, huh?”

“Uh… well. When you put it like that, it does sound kind of crazy.” You admit, and nudge him with your shoulder. “I didn’t mean any harm, Hobie. I just feel so… inadequate.”

“Just stop.” He crosses his arms and closes his eyes, and you feel that yet again, he’s somewhat unreadable. “Don’t think those things. You’re not inadequate.”

“But I–”

“Stop.” He grasps your hands, and squeezes them tightly in his own, and you wonder if Hobie has ever looked this seriously at you, his eyes soft yet firm with affection.

You’re in trouble, you think. Your heart is pounding and you’re really glad he can’t see your face.

“I don’t think you know how important you are.” He utters so quietly, in that very deep voice that has you leaning in to hear him better. “You’re not nothing, Spider-Woman. You’ve done a lot of good for your Earth-257, I’m sure, and that makes you something special. Like the rest of us– you’re kind of irreplaceable, right?”

“I guess.”

“Not ‘I guess.’” Hobie punches the side of your arm and you pretend to say ow, laughing a little. “If you didn’t exist, we’d all be poorer for it. Peter couldn’t ask you to chill with his baby, and I couldn’t be here talking your ear off.”

“But I’m not– I don’t really compare to her, you know?” You say without thinking, and then immediately squint at your own stupidity. 

“Who’s her?” Hobie is wary of how your expression is shifting. “Stacy?”

“Uh, no.” You inhale, exhale, and then decide it’s time to get it over with. “Jess.”

“Jess? Jessica Drew, huh?” Hobie smirks a little. “You don’t want to be adopted by her, do you?”

“More complicated than Gwen’s weird fantasy.” You shift on your spot on the counter, and pull off your mask after a minute of tribulations. “I’m… also Jessica Drew.”

You feel incredibly shy as Hobie takes in your face, wary of his every move as you feel yourself sweating, and he grasps your face gently, peering into your eyes and taking a look at your features, as if he’s really trying to remember them.  

“Huh.”

“What is it?” You say a little too defensively, and he shrugs. 

“You do have a lovely visage, you silly little sod. Even if it’s completely different from Jess’ face.” He laughs as you shove him away, covering your face in your hands. “No, don’t do that.”

He’s tracing your jaw, and he murmurs. “Maybe you could use a few piercings… a tat or two… ever thought about it?”

“No.” You shut your eyes. “I’m not cool like you.”

“Oh, shut it.” He leans in imperceptibly closer, and you blink, eyes open. Maybe Pavitr had a point that Hobie and you have something, because there’s not really another explanation for that look in his eyes. “You’re plenty cool, Jessica Drew. It was just a shit suggestion of mine.”

You think Hobart “Hobie” Brown is sweeter than you previously thought. You have half a mind to tell him about your feelings.

You and Hobie both look up, Spider-Senses tingling, and sure enough, Mayday is cooing from the ceiling– she leaps into your already waiting arms. She giggles at your expression.

Oh well, you think. There’ll be some other time to work up the courage to tell him.

Hobie half-smirks at her. “Way to interrupt us, Mayday.”

She looks at him all confused, tilting her head in a “huh?” motion, and you feel the same way, not entirely sure what Hobie meant by that and not willing to assume either.

He answers you by pulling your face in a sudden, swift motion, connecting his lips to yours, and in between the two of you, Mayday shrieks and laughs. She crawls off to the side of you, no longer smothered between your torsos.

Hobie is weirdly insistent– you feel like he’s been wanting to do this for a while, maybe longer than the length of your conversation (you don’t know if this is just a funny little fling for him, but you’re fairly sure it isn’t) and he’s a lot taller and lankier than you, so he really has to tower over you to reach your mouth better. He’s grasping your jaw and neck and the back of your head with a lot of intensity– you feel wildly dizzy when he pulls away.

“Uh.” Peter B. Parker is standing in front of you both, mouth wide open, and you look back at Hobie and he grins rather coolly, not really giving a damn. It’s enough to make you snort. “Wait, who are you?”

“Oh. Spider-Woman from Earth 257.” You remember Peter has never seen your face, either. “Jessica Drew?”

“Right, right.” Peter raises his hands in a whoop-de-doo motion, like he should’ve known that. “Nice to know what you look like behind the mask. Not nice to know that you’ve been avoiding your babysitting duties. Why are you two fooling around like prepubescent children? What happened to responsibility?”

“Ahhhhh, please, Peter. Live a little.” Hobie stands up, his full length of height drawing him to about the same height as Peter if not an inch taller. He picks up Mayday and hands her off to him. “Let’s not act as if you and MJ weren’t shacking up in the sleeping pods last week, yeah? Does Miguel need to know about how irresponsible you were?”

You think he’s kidding, but Peter pales and you clap your hands over your mouth, trying not to laugh. Miguel would absolutely throw a fit if he found that out.

“Uh…” Peter swallows. “At least that’s not an interdimensional tragedy-in-the-making like you two.”

“There’s no rules against that, I don’t think.” Hobie shrugs. “And if there are, fuck them. Miguel doesn’t know it all.”

“He really is punk to the very end.” Peter groans and leaves out to the hallway with Mayday. 

Hobie flashes a smile at you as he sits back down, ruffling your hair.

Separated - Peter Pan (6/6)

Jefferson/Mad Hatter x daughter reader

Peter Pan x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 525

Summary: A father and daughter are reunited thanks to a boy who wears green.

Authors Note: Final part. I might make a one shot to add to this series where Y/n and Jefferson catch up and he maybe shows her around town and explains what Storybrooke is and what exactly has happened etc etc. Would you guys be interested in that? Comment of send an ask if you are.

Masterlist

Once Upon A Time Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

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As Peter and Y/n walked up through the rounded driveway, up to the front door. Standing there was nerve racking to both for different reasons. Despite the nerves Y/n took a deep breath and knocked on the front door.

Keep reading

Could I get prompt 14 with Osferth pretty please

Osferth x Reader

Prompt 14. "Would you like me to whisper it in your ear?"

Thank you to the other people who also requested this. I had a lot of fun writing it

"I knew we shouldn't have left so late" Osferth's voice was horse as you slung off your bow and arrow, dropping it by the door of the Inn you'd found halfway between Rumcofa and Eoforwic.

Uhtred had sent you to meet with his daughter before the winter snow closed travel and for some reason he'd sent Osferth with you. Your relationship was strange to say the least. It began with you as the teasing dane from the North who took every chance to make Osferth's cheeks grow red. Then one day he turned it on you. Suddenly he knew how to hold a sword and talk back. He would meet your remarks with something as easily flirty, presuming he picked it up from Finan. There was a tension between you and yet neither of you had quite as much bravery to cross that line.

Osferth shut the door behind you. He had wanted to leave Eoforwic earlier in the day to miss the winter storm but you'd insisted snow wouldn't fall for a other few days.

You hated to admit you were wrong but the damp of snow sodden clothes and freezing fingers begged to differ.

"There were no snow clouds when we left"

"And yet the skies opened on us didn't they"

You both had your backs turned until you heard Osferth groan. Looking back, you did the same when you looked over your shoulder.

One bed.

Your stomach flipped. Osferth cleared his throat.

Trying to ignore the feeling, you started to peel off your outerwear. Osferth reached for your cloak as you did and the rhythm you fell so often in began unfolding. You handed your cloak, he gave you his weapons. You noted the click of metal unlatching and dared not to turn as the man behind you took off his fighting leathers and sword.

After a while the Inn keeper brought you both soup and you sat in silence on the bed, sipping quietly. It was killing you.

"You're mad?" You broke the quiet.

He didn't look your way, sat on the bed in his trousers and a loose white shirt.

"I'm not"

Neither of you were convinced.

"Is it not a sin to lie?"

He raised a brow at you.

"I'm sure I'll repent in time"

As the night grew dark, you slid under the covers. You weren't one to talk so often but his cold shoulder was killing you and as he wondered the room, repositioning your drying clothes by the fire, you sat up in your bed.

"If I apologise will you speak to me?"

"I have spoken to you"

He got under the covers beside you rolling over to face away, the orange glow for the fire wrapping you in warmth.

"Properly I mean"

You rolled your eyes as you remained sitting, the blankets at your waist.

"I'm sorry okay"

He didn't respond. You huffed.

"Osferth?"

More silence.

"I'm sorry for not listening to you and getting us caught in that storm"

He hummed. It wasn't good enough for you.

"What more do you want?"

He rolled over to face you, eyes still closed and face emotionless.

"Would you like me to whisper it in your ear?"

You took the step and lent over him, your lips hovering over his ear as you spoke.

"I'm sorry. You were right"

He tilted his head, his lips inches from yours.

"Do you forgive me?"

"I-"

You rose your hand and ran your fingers through his hair. His eyes shut as you did.

"Baby monk?"

As if a spark had been lit within him, his hand wrapped around your wrist and pulled your hand out from his hair. With a force you weren't expecting he flipped you over, pinning your arm above your head into the pillow as he straddled you. Osferth looked down from above you and lent in. You raised your chin as he did, trying not to to appear as phased as you were.

"You don't call me that"

You struggled but he was stronger than you anticipated, grabbing your other hand when you reached for him. He swapped both your wrists into one hand as he balanced himself with his other, leaning down.

"Finan can call me that. You cannot"

You lent up as much as you could.

"And why not?"

He smirked. "You know why"

Osferth was good at fighting, Uhtred and his men teaching him well over the years. But you were a dane and had be born kicking and clawing. With a huff of energy you managed to shift your weight and pull him under, hands on his chest as you sat back on him. Somewhere along the way his hands had found your hips, holding you still.

"What now?"

It felt like a shift had begun. A new layer of the game you played had been revealed as you moved your mark forward, testing his limits.

"Now you're going to kiss me"

It wasn't a question but you responded. Your lips met his in a fury while his hands capture your waist, holding you down against him. The years worth of teasing, of testing his patients finally flooding down on you as he kissed your lips.

Despite the cold chill your body had only just escaped, it was a welcome cool down when Oseferth finally slid your shirt off your back and let his hands map your body.

You smiled knowing Uhtred would pin your sleepless appearance on the challenging wit of his daughters tongue the next day. However you didn't consider, Osferth's company on your mission that of the last piece of Uhtreds plan for you to finally confess your attraction.

idk about you but joaquin drunk confessing that he's been in love w you since he first saw you is so personal to me

Enamorado

summary: Joaquín’s drunken love confession. 

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: alcohol, drunk behaviour, established relationship

word count: ~760

A/N: i’m honestly not even sure if this was meant as a request or not but it was too good not to write something for 😩💕 you're so right anon,, have this lil blurb mwah (be safe when drinking, kids)

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(title means "in love" in spanish)

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

Usually, you don’t go to bars much, but this time it was a special occasion, so you went out with Joaquín and Sam. Even Bucky joined you, but now that he's a proper citizen and all, he left early. 

You glance at the time on your phone, it’s 2:46 am. Looking over your shoulder from where you sit at the bar, you see Sam on the dance floor, and smile to yourself. He’s having a good time, it seems. Joaquín is next to you, and as your eyes go back to him, he’s putting down his drink he just emptied. He looks at you with a goofy grin. 

“Alright, then, that’s enough for you,” you say with a gentle smile, pushing his glass a little farther away from his hands. “Let’s take a break, yeah?”

You’re fairly tipsy yourself, but Joaquín is proper drunk now. He doesn’t let himself get to this point often. Luckily he doesn’t get angry or physical when intoxicated, instead he turns to absolute mush, incoherent mumblings about how much he loves you and Sam leaving his lips incessantly, muttering about how glad he is to be part of the group, how badly he wants to meet the Avengers. He also gets a little clingy, not that you mind. His hands will always be on you somewhere, your leg, your back, your face. 

Right now, he’s leaning his forehead on your shoulder, grumbling under his breath, but you can’t make out what he’s saying.

“Wanna go take some fresh air?,” you offer.

Joaquín nods, getting off his stool, and he lets you pull him to the back, where you exit to a small patio. You breathe in the cool night air, the buzzing in your ears starting to dissipate. You lean onto the wooden fence and look out to the city below, the lights moving and dancing in the distance like a painting. Or maybe you just can’t focus your eyes right now.

You feel something warm coming up behind you, and Joaquín’s arms snake around your middle as he hugs you into his chest. He hums, swaying you both lightly from side to side, and you laugh, turning within his hold to face him, and you cup his face. His skin feels hot, and you can see the redness on his cheeks even in the dim light.

“You need to learn to pace yourself,” you say.

“Ssshuddup. Sam’s fault,” he retorts, and he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

“Right,” you chuckle. Sam and Joaquín did make some bet or other about how many drinks they could have before losing the ability to walk a straight line.

When he pulls back, his chocolate eyes find yours, albeit slightly out of focus, but his gaze holds so much warmth and affection, you can’t help but get lost in them. He hums again, a smile spreading on his lips. You tilt your head.

“Whatcha thinking about?” you ask.

“You.”

“Yeah?” Your heart flutters.

“Always,” he confirms.

“Anything specific?”

“I, when you…” he starts, struggling to form real words. “Desde el primer momento en que te vi…”

You chuckle, softly pinching his cheek, then cup his face again.

“English, please.”

“You, it’s always been you,” he speaks more clearly this time, and quickly turns his head to place a kiss to your inner wrist. “From the very moment I first saw you, I’ve been in love with you.”

You swallow, tears stinging behind your eyes as you smooth over his cheekbones with your thumbs. Joaquín’s hands slide from your waist to your back to push you closer into him.

“Madly,” he says, and places a kiss on your forehead. “Entirely.” Another on the tip of your nose. “Desperately.” His speech is a bit more slurred on that one, and he kisses the corner of your mouth, giggling goofily as he pulls back to look at you.

You mirror his love struck gaze, softly running your fingers through his curls before you hold the back of his head to pull him close, capturing his lips. It’s not as elegant as it could have been, kissing somewhat sloppily in the dark of night, but you can feel how earnest his words are in the way he holds you, breathes you in. And with every wet kiss he places wherever he can reach, he whispers ‘I love you’s into your skin, the press of his lips leaving a trail of fire, burning his words into your body, to remind you that you’re his and he’s yours. Madly, entirely, desperately. 

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🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @f1-tennisgirlie @magikdarkholme @tsunchani @Chuchu8293 @bitchy-bi-trash @guynamedaurel @crumbledcastle28 @sarahskywalker-amidala @crazy4lyricb

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

I Could Be Yours

hozier x f!reader

part one of lullabies <3

hi i have risen from the dead... new matt stone will be coming soon i promise!! i've just become infatuated with hozier recently so i had no choice but to devote a new fic to him <3

i didn't proof read because it's bedtime, i will fix tomorrow if there's any errors!! soz

cw: none really... just a shitty boyfriend and drinking. still 18+

word count: 3.5k

“That’s your man, ‘uh?” The deep voice behind me made me jump, forcing me to peel my eyes from Joe and the leggy blonde he was laughing with.

“Stop doing that!” I gasp, clutching a hand over my chest, jokingly punching Andrew in the arm. “But yes. That’s him,” I sigh, wanting to cut the conversation before it had a chance to start. Andrew was far too friendly to be talking to my walking storm cloud of a boyfriend.

“I didn’t know his sister was playing tonight,” he confessed casually, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Which one is she?”

“He doesn’t have a sister,” I shake my head, quirking an eyebrow at the human tower before me. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Huh?” He played dumb, though a soft pink blush tinted his cheeks, looking like he wished he could eat his words.

“Where did you hear that?” I repeated, the room suddenly too hot for comfort, despite Joe's protests that I was dressed like a 'tart,' in his words.

“I’m sure I misheard, hearing’s a bit shot,” he lied through his teeth, and he must be a fool to believed I'd let him play it off.

“Andy," I faced him now, trying to force him to meet my eyes he was so desperately avoiding. "Who did he say that to?”

“That woman,” his voice sounded pained, as if he were almost ashamed to tell me. He was too smart, he could read me, and if anyone could read the room, it was him. I just went quiet, his warm calloused hand placed on my shoulder, feeling like it might burn a hole in my dress. “You deserve better,” he professed sincerely, pulling that horrid face at me, the type you pull when you feel really sorry for someone.

I huffed some pathetic excuse of a response, forcing my eyes to the ground. There seemed to be a magnetic pull, forcing my eyes back to Joe, hurting my own feelings again and again. I can’t recall a time he’d ever looked that interested in me. Not unless he was trying to bed me, which was usually after a stressful day at work or after a massive fight.

“If you were my girl, every man and their dog would know. You’re too good for him,” his voice was warm, like being pulled from a frozen over lake and straight into an oven. His Irish brogue more apparent than ever, and I cursed myself for the way my heart leapt in my chest.

He just slipped past me onto the stage for his set, unaware that he just made me feel nearly every emotion in the span of two minutes.

“That’s not even a real job,” Joe scoffed, shaking his head indignantly like he always did, as if everyone were beneath him. He’s always looked down at others for as long as I’ve known him. His Napoleon Complex makes him feel like he’s six foot eleven, when in reality, I barely have to tilt my head to kiss him.

I bit my cheek to suppress an angry concoction of insults, swallowing it down and opting for, “so my job isn’t a real job?”

“Babe,” he groaned, one soft hand slipping off the steering wheel onto my thigh. “You know that’s not what I meant. It’s just not very manly, is all. He should be doing something that’s not just for chicks.”

“He’s a carpenter, actually,” I lied, arms barricaded across my chest as I tried to focus on the London Bridge we were rolling over. “Manly enough for you?”

“Could you relax? Jesus Christ…” he pulled his hand from me quicker than he placed it there, sighing emphatically. “You gettin’ your period or something?”

“No!” It was my turn to scoff now, turning to face him. His stupid face was contorted like it always was, as if he’d smelt something rotten. “You’ve hurt my feelings, Joe.”

“Oh, everything hurts your fucking feelings,” he seethed, hooking a turn so sharp I just about fell into the driver’s side. I muttered under my breath, gripping onto the handle at the top of my door, as it was highly likely I was going to need it for the rest of the trip. That’s my Joe. Sickly sweet when you first meet him, then cold and sharp when he drops the act. “I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this shit.”

“Excuse me?” I straightened up, my stomach twisting in that familiar nauseating knot.

“You. Your shit,” he rolled his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time, turning his head to me, deadpan. “Constantly starting arguments, whining about everything. You’re exhausting me.”

Then the rest of the entourage strides in on cue. The searing pain in my throat, the tears prickling into my eyes. The shame and embarrassment that pummel me like waves in a storm. Oh, God, the embarrassment. I feel my cheeks glow red, and suddenly the chill of late Autumn is comparable to a sauna, and there’s not enough air in the passenger side to satiate my lungs.

“Don’t cry,” he groans again, refusing to look at me again. And suddenly, I’m twelve again, trying to cry silently in my father’s car. Sigmund Freud would be laughing in his grave right now. “I’m sorry," he sighs, reaching for my leg again. I jerk away. "Shouldn’t have taken it so far.”

Though his apologies are just words at this point. I’ve walked this road too many times to not know any better. The rest of the ride home is silent, my knees pressed into the passenger door, trying to focus on anything but the fact that I will probably never leave. I will board this train wreck until he beats me down to nothing.

"He just has this weird infatuation for you. A blind man could see it," he tsked, shaking his head as if it were my fault. "And you just egg him on. He's a proper knob."

"He's the knob? What'd you think of your sister's set, hm?" I seethed, silently letting the tears fall as if I were in some sappy drama.

We didn't speak for the rest of the night, Joe slamming his car door, storming inside to lock himself in our bedroom. I washed my face in the kitchen sink and fell asleep on the couch in the small hours of the morning.

Joe didn't come to my show tonight, opting for the local pub with his work mates. I can't lie and say I was upset about it. Another thing I couldn't lie about is how Andrew's words played on a loop in my head for the rest of that night and all day today. I know he was just saying it to comfort me, but is it sad that I've never been so flattered?

"Hey," I smiled, the condensation from my breath hanging between us as I walked up to Andy. “Thought you were quitting.”

He was leaning against the brick wall outside the bar, a halfway smoked cigarette to his lips. He looked nice tonight. His usual unruly curls framing his face so perfectly, two layers under his dark denim jacket. He grinned infectiously as always, never once tearing his eyes from mine as he shrugged, “I’m no quitter.”

“Shut up,” I groaned, finding my spot beside him, now pressing my back to the cold bricks.

“So, where’s Jake tonight?” Now his eyes were fixed on the busy street before us, his arm brushing mine each time he’d put the cigarette to his lips.

“It’s Joe,” I corrected with an eye roll, though there was no malice in my expression. “And he’s watching the game with his mates. We’ve barely spoken since last night.” My heart ached a bit at the reminder of what he’d said to me on the drive home. You’re exhausting me. If his wish was for me to rethink the past five years, he certainly got it.

He gave me that pathetic poor you look again. "Come on. I'll buy ya' a drink. I insist."

"Who am I to deny you?" I grinned, following close behind him as he stubbed his cigarette out under his boot, holding the bar door open for me.

He ordered himself a whiskey on the rocks, a coconut margarita for me. We slid into a small booth at the back, the walls practically vibrating from the drunken chatter and the obnoxious drum solo on the stage.

"She's busy tonight, eh?" He half shouted across to me, leaning over his drink.

"I know, right? I've never seen the place like this," I agreed, taking in just how alive the atmosphere was tonight. "Remember me when you're famous."

"You're not easy to forget. You remember me!" He grinned at me, taking a large swig of his drink. I couldn't tear my eyes from his Adam's apple bobbing with each sip, his eyes dark in the dim lighting. I felt extreme guilt, forcing my eyes anywhere but his direction.

He must've sensed it. This man could read me like a book. Thankfully, he steered the conversation smoothly, "what're you playing tonight?"

"Oh, no. I'm not singing tonight," I shook my head, polishing off my drink in a sip a little bit too big for my mouth. "Want another drink? My shout."

"Why aren't you singing?" He ignored me, pulling a face that screamed, are you mad? "If there's any night for it, it's tonight."

"Honestly, I just want to get pissed and be the observer for once." I smiled sweetly, hoping he couldn't see through the facade. "What're you singing then?"

"An original," he smiled coyly, eyes faltering.

"Oh, Andy! How exciting," I cheered, genuinely happy for him. He'd shown me some of his poetry, and with such a beautiful voice, there's no possibility he could go wrong. "You're going to blow the roof off. This calls for another drink."

"As you wish," he grinned, holding eye contact as he finished off his glass, the faintest pink tinge to his cheeks.

When I made my way back to the table, my heart sunk a bit when I saw a girl leaning against our table giggling, tucking thick red locks behind her ears. He was laughing too, body language practically begging for more. I might be exaggerating. Why did I even care? I am in a committed relationship.

Funny, he looks just as amused as Joe did last night.

I made my way to the table, sliding his drink to him.

"Hi, I'm Harper," she smiled wide, a beautiful array of pearly teeth on full display.

"Lovely to meet you. Y/N," I smiled back, unable to look at Andrew. "I'm gonna go watch the show. I'll leave you to it."

I turned my back just as he was about to protest, sipping at my drink as I kept my word, finding a seat before the stage. I couldn't really focus on the music though, my mind reeling over what Joe was up to. He hadn't even texted or calls. His location was off too. I grabbed another couple drinks, bumping into Andrew when I made my way back to the stage.

"Y/N," he reached for my arm, a sincerely apologetic tone to his voice. "I'm sorry for earlier, that was rude."

"No it wasn't," I replied a bit too quick, brushing off the apology. "You're single, you can do whatever."

"I meant having someone at our table," shit. Was that the wrong thing to say? Their margaritas are always too strong. "I was enjoying just having you and I time."

"No worries, there's always next time," I smiled sweetly, though really, I just wanted to get in the nearest cab, pack all my shit at home and move back to Bristol. "You're nearly on! I'll be front row." I turned away again, finding my way back to the nice girls I made small talk with earlier.

Sure enough, Andrew was up within the next fifteen minutes. The announcer, somewhere hidden backstage spoke, "please give your warmest welcome to our absolute favourite, Andrew Hozier-Byrne!"

He walked onto the stage, acoustic guitar hanging from his neck as he awkwardly made his way onto the stage, adjusting the microphone to his height as he did each night.

"Ehm, this song is called I Could Be Yours," he offered a tight lipped smile to the crowd, a few cheers heard here and there. "Thanks guys."

I couldn't help but grin at his shyness, the complete opposite of how he was with me.

I could be soft and sweet, I could be hard and loud.

I could be everything you'd ever need somehow.

Why don't you hear me sing out from the lost and found,

I could be yours, I could be yours, I could be yours.

He seemed to be scanning the crowd, probably for Harper, meanwhile all eyes were on him, basking in his glory. As if he were rain in a drought, not a single soul in the audience not mesmerised by his syrupy voice. Myself included, wide eyed, the epitome of awe.

Why don't you try on me? Why don't you take me home?

I'll match the colour scheme of your bedroom walls.

Oh, take a dose of me, it doesn't hurt at all.

I could be yours, I could be yours, I could be yours.

His skilled fingers danced along the strings, his eyes, when not scanning the crowd focused on his measured movements. To say I was moved was an understatement. His voice thick and sweet as honey, his eyes shining under the stage lights, the hypnotic effect he had on the crowd. Unlike anything I had ever experienced.

Then his eyes found mine. It was almost like nothing existed in the same realm as him and I. Just us.

Oh God, I'd benefit from your sweet tenderness.

Oh, thank God, it could've been, 'cause nothing comes from it.

That'd be a helpful thought if I could remember it,

but I could be yours, I could be yours, I could be yours.

"Thanks," he nodded awkwardly to the crowd, eyes leaving mine as he did the stage, the audience cheering and clapping.

I couldn't put into words the feelings I felt if you held a gun to my head. No doubt my eyes glistened back at his, tears of joy swimming at my waterline, completely estranged from last nights'.

"He was looking right at you!" One of the women I'd met shouted over the cheers, shaking me by the shoulder. I just hummed some response, smiling and beelining for the exit.

The bite of the outdoors was a stark comparison to the warmth of the bar, my nervous system seeming to reset instantaneously. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. 8:45pm. I told Joe I wouldn't be home til midnight and not to wait up for me.

It was wrong to feel this way about Andrew. He was my friend. I had Joe. Even if we had our rough patches.

My phone buzzed wildly in my hand, and when I checked the caller ID, I nearly didn't pick up.

I sighed. "Hello?"

"Hey," Andrew spoke loudly over the drunken chatter, a few good one mate, and, good on ya's here and there. "Where'd you run off to?"

"I, uh, had too much to drink," I lied through my teeth, kicking at the gravel beneath my feet. "I'm just heading home."

"Oh..."

"I'm out the front," I piped up, not wanting him to think he caused this. Or that I was running away. Because I was not. Right?

He hung up and shortly after, his tall figure emerged, his shadow reaching me before he did.

He opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. "Great song, Andy. Really beautiful." I meant it.

"Oh, yeah. Thank you," he smiled, looking down at his boots. "How're you getting home?"

"I was gonna get a cab, or an Uber, or something." I shrugged, acutely aware of how breathy I sounded. Beyond tired. I wasn't lying when I said I'd had too much to drink.

"No need, I'll take you." He offered, digging his hands into his pockets and gesturing with his head for me to follow.

"It's okay, Andy, really," I countered, giving him my must sincere smile I could muster. I was too confused right now. Nobody had ever made me feel this way while I've been with Joe. "Get in there and mingle. They loved you."

"I'd rather know you're safe."

I ended up in the passenger seat of his car. He'd kindly put the heater on full blast, though no doubt, he'd be sweating under all those layers. I protested, but he kept fretting about how red my nose was from the cold.

"You alright?" He asked, my head leaned against his window.

"Yeah," I breathed, struggling to keep my eyes open, though my mind was very much awake and racing.

"You've been acting funny, did I upset you?" He glanced over at me, concern written all over his features. Had he always been this handsome?

"It's not you. I'm sorry," I lifted my head to look at him. Tequila and I are not friends. I flipped down the visor mirror to see a tiny it of smudged mascara under my eyes. I wiped it away, sighing for the hundredth time. "Joe just... things aren't going well. I slept on the couch last night. Well, barely. He's just so mean, you know?" I babbled drunkenly, a huge weight lifting after finally telling someone. "He always picks at everything I do. You complain all the time. You put too much salt in this. That isn't a real sustainable job, babe. We never shag anymore... Shag? Isn't that disgusting, Andy?"

I continued my drunken spiel, probably including more details than I should have. Andrew just kept his eyes on the road, sharing glances here and there to let me know he was listening.

The grande finale, "why can't all men just be like you? You would make a wonderful husband, you know. You wouldn't tell your girlfriend she's too lively in bed, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't," he laughed, shaking his head. He looked at me fondly. For once, it wasn't a look of sympathy. It was kind of sad, almost.

"I've said too much, haven't I?" I probably looked like a kicked puppy at the realisation, but one smile from him eased any disconcertion I had.

"Not at all," he sighed, staring at his hands on the wheel. "I have a lot to say. I just don't think I should be the one saying it."

"Well, now you have to tell me," I countered, lolling my head to the side to face him.

"He's a fuckwit," he shook his head, his grip on the wheel tightening. "He doesn't deserve you. Not even a little bit. He's going to fuck it up and won't realise what he's lost until it's too late. And you know what? Good."

He pulled onto the road before my house with perfect timing, getting out of the car to open my door for me. He took my hand in his, helping me out, and thank goodness he did, because I still nearly rolled my ankle. I laughed and let myself fall into his chest, steadying myself after a hearty, obnoxious laugh.

"Oh my God, I've made a complete fool of myself tonight," I sighed, this time it felt like a release, not a breath weighing me down. "Thank you for taking care of me, Andy."

"Anytime at all," he grinned leaning against his car. I couldn't help myself, lurching forward at him, wrapping my arms around his torso. My head barely reached his shoulder, even when standing on the curb.

"I loved your song," I murmured against his chest, pulling back to grab his face. He turned ghost white. "You are my favourite singer. Ever."

His cheeks darkened as he looked away, chuckling softly with the shake of his head.

"Drink lots of water for me tonight. That's an order as your favourite singer."

"Yes, Mr. Hozier-Byrne," I grinned, turning on my heels and heading for the door. The garage door was 1/4 open. Joe must be home early.

I fumbled through my purse for my keys, finding them after what felt like an eternity of great difficulty. I was going in with a good attitude. I was going to sit him down and hash this out. We can fix this. We've been together nearly 6 years, this is just a rough patch.

I walked up to my bedroom, sure my ears were deceiving me. When I opened my bedroom door, I saw red.

omg angst... just hear me out i have good direction for this one. i hope u enjoyed <3

Switched On

Connor (RK800) x gn!Reader | 1.8K | SFW

You, a deputy at the Detroit Police Department, have been working closely with Lieutenant Anderson and Connor on their deviant cases. You have often witnessed Connor demonstrate his precise fighting techniques and wish to be coached on how to defend and apprehend deviants. Connor agrees to help you practice but finds himself surprised by the outcome.

A/n: this is one of my old fics from wattpad that i’m posting here to keep safe!

The room’s air was stale and smelt like dust, with dummies knocked over and left there for what looked like years judging by how mould had bloomed in spots. This old training room was left untouched since the opening of the new firing range in the warehouse across the street; these days the force wasn’t much concerned with taking on a foe in hand to hand combat than shooting them from five feet away. But now that the stakes were higher you felt compelled to take matters into your own hands.

You weren’t unfit by any standard, in fact you kept up with your exercise. You never knew when an ounce more strength could come in handy and possibly save your life or another’s. But reality faced you in the new cut that curved around your neck, luckily not deep enough to have killed you. An android had been the cause of your wound, which was now covered in gauze and ached like hell.

Fingers snapped in front of your face, the person in question coming into focus as he pulled his hand away.

“Are you paying attention, Deputy (L/n)?”

You shook your head, shoving away the scene. Trying to not picture the blade slicing through your skin as you were rendered totally helpless, overpowered and outmatched by the android’s perfect estimations.

“Yeah, sorry.” You mumbled, shaking your arms to get your blood flowing. “I just…”

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Imagine Peter walking in on you and Harry...

HARRY BLURBS

prompts: ‘’I can’t be a simp- I don’t even know what that word means.’’

summary: Peter walks in on you and Harry liplocked.

character: tasm!Harry x fem!reader

warnings: a bit steamy

‘‘Fuck.’‘ Harry moaned as his hips bucked up against me. Plastered to the wall of his office I buckled in his grip.

He dipped down again, his lips catching mine, moving with such fervour and impatience.

‘‘Oh god, Harry, I have to do paperwork after this.’‘ I slid my hands into his hair as he kissed down my neck.

‘‘Guess that’ll just have to wait until another time.’‘ He mumbled into my jaw, his lips feeling mine once more.

So caught up in ourselves we didn’t notice Peter walking into his office.

His loud gasp captured out attention though.

‘‘Shit!’‘ I hissed, pushing Harry off me, he looks at me feigning offense.

‘‘What- what is going on, man? Why do I have to walk in here and find you sharing spit with my best friend?’’ Peter groans.

‘‘I thought I was your best friend? Besides-’‘ Harry gestures to me. ‘’We’ve done more than share spit and you haven’t had a problem with that?’’ 

‘‘I know but seeing it is so much worse, burns my eyes, y’know?’‘ Pete shivers.

‘‘Hey, I’ve seen you and Gwen in worse positions when I’ve walked in either of your bedrooms.’‘ I speak out.

‘‘True true, fair point but at least I don’t simp over Gwen as much as this shorty does over you.’‘ He sticks his tongue out at us, even though that statement is in no way factual.

‘‘I can’t be a simp- I don’t even know what that word means.’‘ Harry crosses his arms.

I look at Harry and wink, he blushes and smiles.

Chicken Shop Date

By @imagine-that-100​ and @alovesreading​

Description: Matty Healy x Reader (Female) | You and your best friend Amelia came up with a very simple idea of taking celebrities on awkward chicken shop dates, and somehow, it’s managed to become both of your jobs. In the past, you’ve found sitting across from some of the biggest stars on the planet and eating chicken nuggets easy. But then Amelia manages to score you a date with the man who you’ve been obsessed with since you were nineteen; Matty Healy.

Word Count: 18.3k

A/N: Okay so, Matty’s chicken shop date really had me and @alovesreading​ spiralling so we decided to make an even better version of the date. This will more than likely be 2 parts and the second part will be posted on A’s account so make sure you’re all following. We wrote this in like 53 hours and we’re super proud of it. We hope you enjoy it as much as we do, and we can’t wait to see what you think. Enjoy and thanks for reading x

| N’s Masterlist | A’s Masterlist |

Going on chicken shop dates with your favourite celebrities at one point in your life seemed like something entirely plucked from yours and your best friend’s imaginations. You guess that is all it was at one point, but you never for a second imagined it would become your job.

It’s a stupid, fun idea that you and your best friend Amelia ran with and now you’ve gone on ‘dates’ with some of the biggest stars on the planet. It was beyond your wildest dreams and it’s opened up so many opportunities for the both of you that somehow, you’re now both invited to big events that these stars also attend.

You and Amelia were both at the NME awards earlier this year, surrounded by musical legends that the both of you knew you needed to try and ask on your ‘dates’. The amount of award shows the both of you were asked to host their red-carpet shows were also insane to the both of you.

The imposter syndrome really kicks in for the both of you when you’re at these events but you both remind yourselves to use your fake confidence that you use on your ‘dates’ and it somehow gets you through. But you wouldn’t ever take for granted the opportunities the both of you were getting now.

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I have a request 🐉

~you can chose the house we are in :3

imagine being betrothed to bran stark (readers father wants her to be queen). after the wedding how would bran act? reader likes him but bran is kinda cold to her but he eventually warms up to reader after he sees all the effort she puts into the marriage. will he fall in love with her?

something like this please and thanks

-lady 🐉

A/N: AHHH this is ADORABLE <33 I decided to write both some headcanons and a fic at the end for this because i liked the plot a bit too much and might have gotten carried away, so apologies for the length! 🥲💞 I hope you enjoy this my dear ^^❤ Also, let's pretend everyone's alive and happy and well, yes? :") another note: originally, i was planning on making the reader either a Reed or a Greyjoy, but since i wasn't so sure which House to choose, i wrote (L/N) so you can refer to your own last name as a House, or, pick whichever house you'd like to be in! Hope this is what you expected dear, i'm getting used to writing for GoT 😂🥲❤

Pairing: Bran Stark x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings?: Long, very. More than expected.

────────────────────

• You're (Y/N) of House (L/N). Your father has arranged you to marry Brandon of House Stark – expecting you to become the future Queen, eventually.

• Of course, as expected, the previous days before your wedding you had to meet your now future husband and the castle you were going to live in to, at least, get familiarised with each others presence a bit, and as well to get used to your new home.

• Being fairly honest, it took him a bit to get used to the idea of being betrothed to someone, even if he constantly reminded himself that the idea of being betrothed/married to someone was all merely political, and to show union between the Houses.

• His first impression of you, was that you were a rather sweet and lovely girl, but you were still a stranger for him; and a stranger he soon would have to refer as "Wife". He barely knew you properly, since you had only talked for a small bit, and didn't really feel the type of love he's supposed to feel when getting married to someone. But what can he do about it? He's got no other option.

• You, on the other hand, as cold, unexpressive, and introverted as he seemed when you met him for the first time, you couldn't help but develop and instant crush on him. What you liked about him, was how cute he was (despite his awkwardness around you), and how he kept his gentleman behaviour. You were afraid you'd be stuck in an unwanted, abusive marriage like most girls you'd met, but he was quite the opposite – and that was more than enough for you to fall for the coffee-eyed boy.

• The day of your wedding, you were extremely anxious, yet excited about it. Your parents – and his family as well – reassured you everything was going to be just fine, and complimented you quite often in hopes of calming your nerves.

• Bran, as distant as he seemed towards you, also seemed to calm your nerves with his tranquil, shy personality, and with his compliments: making you feel much better, and even, spend a nice time in your wedding, surrounded by people who loved the two of you.

• Your marriage, even if it was sudden and kind of unwanted (at first!) was better than you expected. You tried to be the most loyal, and faithful wife as a girl could ever be, and you were beside your now husband no matter whatever happened. Always helping him out, sticking by his side, defending him when you heard people saying hurtful comments about him, taking him to the garden – whatever you could do to cheer him and have a nice time, you did it.

• ^ And of course, so did he, being the true gentleman he is, even if he's still not fully used to the idea of being married.

• With the passing of time, he eventually grew very fond of you, and became closer. Bran enjoyed your warm presence, it was very calming and you were a very good and loyal companion to him.

• And, from one day to another, oddly enough, Bran suddenly began noticing you more than he often did, even if he was already warming up to you. A particular new sensation for you sparked inside of him, a feeling he's never felt for anybody else, but for you: desire. There was something about you he loved so much, and he wouldn't stop admiring you from afar, even if you didn't notice.

• He thought of you as incredibly kind, sweet, beautiful, and he adored how despite you being incredibly pure and innocent as a dove, free from the cruel stains of the world, you could easily stand up either for yourself or for anybody else without flinching. The way you always put so much effort into your marriage, and how you always tried to give him the best, was something he admired and appreciated a lot.

• He's began taking a particular liking for you, and there's no turning back from that – he has fallen in absolute love for you.

• For Bran, he's uncertain and absolutely clueless about how to properly express his feelings for you, and confess to you that he's in madly love with you. So, to discreetly tell you he loves you, he'd do small things to do so, such as: pulling you closer to him while sleeping (or him cuddling you), complimenting you more often, gifting you jewellery (if you like wearing it, of course), holding your hands more frequently, giving you small kisses on your cheek/forehead, etc.

• You found it odd that he suddenly began showering you with love in small ways, but deep down inside, you enjoyed the particular attention you've been getting from him.

• Even if you're married already (because you had no choice tbh), he'd spend a long time thinking of ways to tell you how he's recently began feeling about you, in a way that doesn't kill him from the anxiety.

• The best way he thought of confessing that he truly loved and cared for you, was doing it while you were showing him the blooming flowers in the usual garden walk you always gave him in the mornings. It was peaceful, nobody would interrupt you, and it was a perfect moment.

• And my final answer for your question? Is yes. He would most likely fall in love with you when he notices how you always try to stick for him by his side, and always try to make him as comfortable as possible in your marriage.

────────────────────

The warm rays of sunshine delicately hit your faces, as you strolled your husband's wheelchair through the blooming garden. It was your favourite activity to do in the mornings, and even if he wouldn't admit it, he quite enjoyed it as well; helping him relax, and make him forget about everything, at least, for a short while.

Your father had recently betrothed you to Brandon Stark, just a few full moons ago, and quickly got wed. All of this, was only so you could become the future Queen once Bran was named King. For both of you, the idea of being married to someone you barely knew still felt awkwardly odd, even if you knew it was eventually going to happen. Getting betrothed with someone was all purely political, and only to unite Houses. In this case, unite House Stark and House (L/N).

When you met Bran for the first time, a few days before your wedding, as cold and distant as he seemed to be at first, you thought he was cute: which made you develop an intense crush on him. Why? Because, he acted different from the other Lords and future Kings: in your life, you've met several girls who married Lords and future Kings, and sadly, all of them were stuck in an abusive, unwanted relationship. You were absolutely afraid of ending with that same fate, but lucky for you, Bran proved to be the complete opposite of the other future Kings – he was a gentleman with you, and he was polite as well, even if he was quite unexpressive at the moment, naturally. But his personality was what had charmed you.

You thought, the feelings were only one sided – and even if it hurt a bit, you had to accept it. So, despite him probably not experiencing the same interest you had for him, you decided to still be a good wife to him, and stand by his side at least, as a loyal companion who'd try to help him with whatever thing he could possibly need. And how wrong you were to think he couldn't possibly like you.

Your natural sweet, kind, and helping self was more than enough to make him take a particular liking for you, soon growing to become love. It was hard for him to express his feelings for you, as they made him feel anxious, but he loved it when you helped him lay in bed, defend him, stay by his side whenever he needed it, and, like you are currently doing right now: take him to the gardens in the early mornings.

Snapping out of your thinking trance, you took a look at your surroundings, filled with beautiful colours from the flowers. Stopping, and gently touched a rose that has now fully bloomed. “Look, Bran, the roses and the lillies have bloomed so preciously. Some new flowers have bloomed as well, they're so pretty. Don't you think?” Breaking the strangely awkward silence between the two of you, you looked down at him, who was admiring the recently grown flowers as well. “Yes, they're quite beautiful.” Bran said, a small smile forming on his lips, as a contented sigh escaped from you.

As you tenderly touched the petals of the new grown flowers with the tip of your fingers, he noticed a particular odd flower that stood out from the rest. The flower had a strong crimson yet bright colour with some darker red strings that grew from the center, it's shape was different than the rest of the flower – as if it were more vivid, and so mesmerising as well. Bran carefully took the flower from it's stem, and softly raised it to his nose, feeling the sweet, pure smell of the flower – causing him to smile even wider at all the pleasant sensations. As he admired the flower he was holding, he thought, the moment was perfect to do what he's been wanting to do for a while, now: confess his feelings for you. No one was around to bother, or interrupt you, and your surroundings were so calmingly pleasant – it couldn't possibly get any better than that.

Bran couldn't understand why – or how – could you make him feel so nervous. You were already married, and you were very kind to him, yes, but he was afraid you were doing it out of politeness rather than sharing the feelings he had for you. Taking a deep breath, he turned around to look at you, slightly lifting the flower so you could see it; signaling for you to take it from his hand, in a way. It was nearly impossible for him to hide the growing redness on both his cheeks.

“This flower is for you, my love. I believe, it resembles your beauty.”

Looking down at him with wide eyes in surprise, a faint blushing rose your cheeks as well. Lately, he had been becoming a bit more expressive and less distant with you, leaving his cold, awkward nature around you far away. Bran had complimented you many times before, and he became so sweet with you, but never like this, acting very suddenly.

“Wait, why, wha– Really? Why, thank you, darling.” Stumbling upon your words as you began speaking, you offered him a shy smile, not hiding your blushing. You gently took the flower from his hand, and smelt it. “It smells tremendously sweetly, as well.” As you spoke, your voice tone was low. Crouching a bit to him, you placed a kiss on his cheek, which was warm from blushing. “You deserve it, beautiful. You've always been so kind for me, and I feel as I haven't returned you the favour.” Before you could open your mouth to speak, he signaled for you to sit on front of his lap by gently patting it. “Come, and hand me the flower for a second. I have something important to tell you.” Bran didn't even know where all his current courage was coming from, but that didn't matter anymore.

Doing as told, you first handed him back the flower, and continously, you shyly adjusted yourself on his lap, a bit tense from the sudden physical contact you were both having at the moment. Bran placed an arm around your body to properly hold you, as he tenderly tucked the flower behind your ear. He lovingly admired your flustered face for a brief moment, before he spoke. “I must apologise for being so distant and unexpressive towards you when we first met, my dear.” As he lowly spoke, he lifted the hand that tucked the flower behind your ear, only to softly stroke your cheek with his thumb. “I am sure you'll understand the reason of why I acted that way towards you. The idea of being suddenly betrothed and getting wed in a short span of days was a complicated thought to process, as expected as it was for both of us, knowing it'd eventually happen in our lives.” The only thing you could do, was shyly nod in agreement, as he kept spoking. “The idea of getting married merely for political terms rather than getting married for love was disappointing for me. But, I believe, fate has bought us together. I've realised–” Bran made a short pause before he kept speaking, trying to hold his own nervousness, as your heart pounded faster.

“I realised, I can't see my life without you in it now. It started by noticing how attached I became to your genuine sweetness and effort in making our marriage work, allowing me to warm up to your presence, and now, I desire to stay by your side for the rest of my life. I love you, and I am so happy to have been betrothed with you.” His words seemed so genuine and true, that made your eyes get watery with happiness of receiving the love you had terribly longed for since the first moment you met. “I am proud of calling you my wife, I desire no one else, but you. There aren't enough words to express my true feelings towards you which is beyond any possible barriers, my love, but hopefully, this will prove it.” His body began leaning towards you, and naturally, you did the same, until your faces were inches away. Ever so lovingly, the hand that was previously stroking your cheek now went to the back of your head, and pulled you closer to him – your lips finally meeting, in a pure, genuine kiss.

Of course, you had previously kissed in the lips before the day of your wedding, but it didn't feel genuine; it felt rather cold, and forced as well. It had been utterly bittersweet for you. The rest of the kisses you had given to each other, especially these recent days, were small shy kisses given in either the forehead, the cheek, or hands. This precise kiss, felt warm. Warm with the genuine, unstained love he had recently began developing for you in such intense way, that there was no possible physical way for him to prove it, unless you got inside his mind. Kissing his plushy lips was something you've only dreamed for so long, thinking you would never really get to experience his sweet taste – but here you were.

As you slowly pulled apart from him, you slightly gasped for air as a smile began forming on your lips. “I quiet enjoyed that,” You lowly cooed, as you wrapped both your arms around his neck, and placed a loving kiss on the corner of his lips. “But I think, we should get going. If we go missing for too long, they're going to start looking for us.” You said, as you played with some strands of his hair. “Yes, I think we should.” Bran said, placing one last kiss on your chin, as you tried to untangle yourself from him. Before you could place a foot on the ground to stand and go back inside with him, he tightened his grip on your body, and pulled you closer to him once again.

“Allow me to carry my dear wife back inside.” He said, notoriously teasing you, as the red colour on your cheeks slowly began appearing again. “Alright, only if you say so.” Adjusting yourself back on top of him, your arms went back to being wrapped around his neck, some giggles escaping your lips as he wheeled the two of you back inside the castle. Once you got back inside, you received some funny looks from the people who were walking around the halls, and around the castle in general. Seeing the future Queen on top of the future crippled King as he wheels the two of them throughout the halls was certainly not something you saw everyday. Of course, none of you cared about the way other people looked at you.

The two of you were now happy that each others feelings were fully reciprocated, even if it had taken a while to do so after being betrothed and getting married. You were happy that way, and no one would be able to change it.

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