My Weakness (Natsu x Reader!Lemon)

My Weakness Is Him

Her weakness is him.

'Him'? Natsu Dragneel, no other.

Of course, the hyperactive pyro was nigh oblivious of her true feelings towards him, and she was absolutely petrified of confessing. She feared the chances of being seen differently in his eyes — for the worst. She feared being rejected. But, what if she weren't? What if she weren't rejected? Would that chance be worth it? He was so... childish. Arrogant. He was so dense. Yet, it was that she loved. Why? Well, good question. Not even she could answer that. His personality made her nervous — the way he knew no limits, his courage, the bonds he's achieved with both allies and enemies, his determination.. the thought made her stomach do flips, and all she could do was sit back and watch him with each passing day.

She was a member of his team, having been invited in by the pink-haired knucklehead himself, a few days after she had joined. Ever since, they went on every mission together, often accompanied by both Happy and Lucy. They've been doing so for a good two years now.

He made her so, so nervous. You never knew what he was going to do.

Countless times she had literally dreamt of confessing and being accepted — yet more than once had she had the terrible occurance of being denied, which would snake into said dreams and ruin her self esteem.

Man, she was thinking to much.

Confessing should definitely be worth it. She'd rather that he was aware of her feelings. She felt terrible for hiding such a thing from him. She didn't like secrets — and it was entirely apparent that neither did he.

Yes, she was going to do it.

She was going to confess her feelings; in probably the most cliche way possible.

She bent over, night her window, and stared out into her lucious back yard, fully broaden with towering trees and florid vegetation. Both elbows were propped against the wooden surface of the windowsill, a single hand cupping her cheek, leaning against the side of where she perched herself. This was so frustrating, and it was clearly gestured. She soon buried her blood-drained face in her palms of her hands, fingertips brushing her hairline and soon sinking within her locks.

This was going to drive her insa-

"Hey'a, (name)! We've got a job!" The all-too-familiar tone chirped, though a confused grunt soon took the place of his words. He had bounced atop her windowsill, feet balancing just next to where she had leaned. It startled her, resulting in a subtle flinch in a momentarily terrified face in the direction of the spiky-haired boy. It soon softened, though was to soon to be one replaced with nervousness.

Oh god. He was here. He was actually here.

"(Name)?" His tone had quieted, clearly dumbfounded with concern of the odd gestures in which she presented. He ungracefully clambered from the windowsill, sandals clacing against the ceramic tiles beneath him. However, he did not turn around, and merely stepped back and allowed his elbows to prop himself up against the window. He peered at the girl, somewhat reeling his head back to get a better look at her expression. Her cheeks were flushed, ears burning red. She was embarrassed.