#They could’ve ended up as sitting ducks out there

[kouestar]

Do I get jumped if I say Parrot has a point he just sucks at delivering it

[luveline]

I know you’re asking for Spencer fics… While I adore single dad!Spencer… How about some single mom!reader and Spencer? 💕

You and your daughter work your way into Spencer’s life one chess game at a time. fem, 1.3k

It all starts with, “Hello.” 

Spencer looks up, and he finds any word he could’ve said dead on his tongue. You smile at him oddly gentle, and he assumes he’s got something on his face your afraid to point out.

“Hi,” you say, unperturbed by his lack of response. You keep your head ducked but seem friendly enough as you lick your lips. “I don’t know if you’re busy, but I was wondering if you’d play chess with my daughter. You don’t have to say yes, but she’s really polite and she won’t cheat, and she really wants to say hi.” 

Spencer looks behind you, where your daughter stands a ways away pretending not to watch. She could only be three of your years old —if she can play chess, she’s a prodigy. She has on stripy tights and a dress, a vinyl coat open over the top, her hands wringing together. 

“Okay,” Spencer says. 

Your smile is even nicer, then. Relief and thankfulness aimed fully at him. “Thank you.” 

You meander back to your daughter and bend down to whisper instructions too quiet for Spencer to hear. Shy, your daughter shimmies forward, then walks proper steps when you encourage her with your hand behind her shoulder. “It’s okay,” you whisper, “let’s say hi.” 

The chess boards are built into the tables at the park. Spencer sits on one stone stool, and your daughter makes herself comfortable on the opposite one. You kneel beside her without worry, knees on the dirty floor. 

“Hi,” your daughter says. She has a high voice, reedy, like she needs a drink. 

You rub her arm. 

“Hello,” Spencer says. “Have you played before?” 

“Me and mom play.” 

“So you know the rules?” 

“Some,” she says. 

Spencer’s only human. He does think about the horror of being trapped opposite of a toddler for the next half an hour bumbling through the steps, but it’s not as though he has other things to do, and, really, he loves people. He’s scared of talking, that’s all. 

“We play a lot on my phone, where it tells her what moves she can and can’t do,” you say. “But it’s okay. I have practice, I can be the phone.” 

Your daughter laughs like this is the funniest thing on the planet. “You don’t look like a phone,” she says. 

“That’s nice of you, but that’s ‘cos you’ve never seen my wires.” 

She laughs again. 

“I know all the rules, too, don’t worry,” Spencer says. “Are those your pieces? Or we can play with mine?” 

“Sofie has her pieces, it’s okay, we don’t wanna lose yours.” 

You let your backpack slip down your back and unveil a chess board box with sellotaped corners. The sleeve inside is unhurt, and you put it in the middle of the table. Spencer takes initiative and grabs the purple ones. You and Sofie arrange the pink ones in a mirror. 

Sofie is surprisingly good at chess, considering her age. Sometimes Spencer ends up playing against you, your advice murmured in her ear, and every time you smile at him he feels a little nauseous.  

He lets her win, of course. The first few times, at least. Over weeks, you and Sofia occasionally see him in the park playing chess, some days in the middle of a game with someone else, other times alone. Sofie comes up to him increasingly confident to ask for the next game, and Spencer realises he’s somehow made two friends. 

“Spencer!” Sofie shouts, tumbling over the grass bank to stop on the end of the retaining wall bordering the chess tables. You’re just behind her, looking tired. 

“Sofie, hi!” 

Sofie jumps down off of the wall before either of you can stop her. “Spencer, where have you been?” She rockets toward him. He stands, worried she’ll fall flat on her face, but she continues to race toward him until she’s throwing her arms around his legs. “I missed you.” 

“Well, I missed you too,” he says, surprised. He gives her back a tentative pat. “I’ve been learning new techniques.” 

“But where did you go?” she asks. 

“I went to Alaska. It was super cold.”

“Hi, Spencer,” you greet, flushed as you plop down on the stone seat opposite him. 

Believe it or not (easily believable), Spencer didn’t ask you your name the first time you met. Or the second. On the third occasion you met, you actually apologised with too much sincerity and said, “I’m so sorry, I never asked what your name was. I can’t believe it. I’m Y/N.” 

So now you’re introduced, and Spencer has a raging crush on you. 

Spencer grins as Sofie sits on his seat, shuffling over so they can sit together. “What, you’re on my team today?” he asks her excitedly. 

“Yes!” She pats the chess board. “Mom, my pieces.” 

“It’s okay, we can use mine.” Spencer’s are already out on the table. He’d been hoping to see you both. 

“I won’t lose them,” Sofie promises. 

“I might. Where have you been, Spencer? Sof made us come here four times last week, we had to play chess with Melinda.” 

“I was working,” he says. “We’re always going somewhere far away, I didn’t realise we’d be there for so long.” 

“‘Cos he’s a special agent,” you whisper to Sofie. 

She puts a finger over her lips, “Mom, don’t so loud!” 

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” You nudge a King back onto his square. “Did I blow your cover?” you ask, your voice a rolling murmur.

Spencer holds Sofie’s back reactively as she wiggles on the seat. He has an answer. He should play along —he’s been reading up on how to flirt like he’s not a lonely weirdo and that’s with confidence and running jokes, but the way you’re looking at him stops him in his tracks. 

No one ever mentions the panic of a shared smile. 

“What happens if people find out?” Sofie asks worriedly. 

“Nothing happens, Sofie, I’m the boring kind of special agent where nothing I do is a secret.” He winces at her crestfallen expression. “I’m sorry. Maybe we can have a secret mission together? Me, you, and mom?” 

“Really?” you ask, surprised. 

Spencer nods enthusiastically. “Oh, yeah! Yeah, of course.” 

“Like�� dinner?” 

Spencer bites the tip of his tongue, to an immediate sting. It’s not the first time in his life a conversation he’s in has occurred without him: you’re shared smile was you flirting first. His reciprocation, while not intended, has served as flirtation. 

He didn’t mean to do it, but he doesn’t care, he won’t mess it up, “If you want to?” He clears his throat, his voice returning to a more acceptable tenor. “We could go for dinner… tonight.” 

“Tonight?” 

“Not tonight. Not… unless you want to?” 

“We didn’t have dinner yet,” Sofie says helpfully. 

Your gaze falls to the chess board. “I don’t think I’m dressed for dinner. I had such a long shift.” You’re shrugging, minimising yourself. 

Spencer moves his and Sofie’s first pawn. “You always look beautiful.” 

He cannot look at you after he says it, but he doesn’t need to. 

“Mom, you're doing that smile like when Mr. Mailman brings our letters.” 

“Thank, Sofie,” you say. 

Spencer sneaks a glance at your smile. It’s decidedly shy, and if he were to touch your cheek, he guesses he’d find your skin warming. “What does he do when he brings the letters?” Spencer asks. 

You pin him with wide eyes. 

“He says she’s pretty with a big ‘p’,” Sofie whispers. 

“She is pretty,” Spencer whispers back. 

You move a chess piece with a breathless laugh. “Okay, then let’s get dinner after I wipe the floor with you both.” 

Spencer decides now is the appropriate time to reveal that he is very good at chess. He and Sofie win in ten moves. 

[demonic0angel]

Normal City spirit Danny except villain attacks are pretty much like horrific migraines or something for the poor dude. So basically he becomes Gotham's warning system. Like it takes a while for people to realize they've got their own mothman now except theirs is a white haired boy who looks like he's going through hell.

(At this rate, I should publish this lmaooo. A series of short events where Gotham Spirit City Danny watches over random Gothamites. It gets long 💀. Also, cw: kidnapping and physical violence towards a minor at the end)

Joel the gas station employee eyed the homeless looking teen that was across the store. Said teen was staring at a pack of yogurt covered pretzels, looking dazed as he just stared mindlessly.

Joel wanted to ask if he was actually alive, but decided not to, since this was Gotham and everyone was crazy.

He continued to count the coins in the tip jar, but out of the blue, he heard a voice.

“You should go to the back room.”

Joel looked up. “Sorry?”

The teen stared at him with bright blue eyes like glowing stars. In fact, he kind of looked like he belonged to the Waynes. But that wasn’t possible, because Joel didn’t recognize him at all.

Unless he was new? But surely not… Bruce Wayne usually gave some warning before. And this kid looked homeless.

“You should go to the back room,” the boy said again.

They stared at each other. Then Joel nodded stiffly and went. He wasn’t about to question the sudden order. Not in Gotham. But before he could leave entirely, the teen called out again, “I like your pin.”

Joel turned again slowly. “What?”

“I like your pin,” the boy said, pointing to the pin in Joel’s apron that said, ‘he/him motherfucker’ over a trans flag.

Joel blinked and then smiled. “Thanks!”

The boy gave a small smile back and waved a hand for him to shoo. Joel raised an eyebrow in exasperation but nodded and moved.

Just as he ducked behind the counter to move to the back room, there was a commotion and a sudden eruption of noise and gunshots nearby. It was clearly some sort of robbery, since there was a pretty successful bodega nearby that was run by an asshole. Several bullets hit the glass of the gas station window, striking exactly where Joel was standing just moments ago.

Joel’s jaw dropped.

When he looked back at the shelves, the kid was gone and so was the bag of pretzels. The perfect amount of pay was left on the counter. Extra tips included.

————

Lina stared at the boy who was sitting on the swing. However, he wasn’t swinging, just staring at the night sky.

When she looked up to see what he was looking at, she saw a surprisingly clear sky with sparkling stars. She watched in wonder for a moment before she looked away.

Lina wasn’t supposed to be outside right now, but her friend had told her that there was a cat that wandered around the playground at night. Lina had wanted to see it, so she snuck out. Now she kind of regretted it, being so cold while it was night. But since she was already out, she was determined to wait for the cat to come out.

“Mister,” Lina said, because her mom always told her to be polite, “Are you going to swing?”

The boy turned to her and then asked, “Want me to push you?”

Lina perked up and nodded. They switched places and the boy pushed her on the swing gently. He didn’t push her as high as he could’ve, but she didn’t mind. She was still waiting for the cat. Lina told the teen as such, and he smiled at her gently, freckles across his face glowing ever so slightly like stars whenever her flying shadow passed over his face.

“That’s nice, Lina. I’m sure it’ll come soon.”

And sure enough—

“Meow!”

“Kitty!” Lina called, and she jumped off the swing in her excitement. But before she could crash onto the ground, she was plucked from the air and gently deposited onto a flat surface. Lina turned to thank the boy, her heart pounding, but when she whirled around, he was gone.

She blinked. Where was he?

Something soft brushed against her legs and she looked down, where an orange tabby was rubbing against her ankles, mewing softly for attention.

She pet the cat for a little while. A feeling washed over her, like a gentle call from her mom to come home, and Lina said goodbye to the cat and turned back to the empty playground.

“Thank you, mister!” She called. She knew it was him who had brought the cat here. A feeling like fondness washed over her again and Lina skipped all the way back home. Her mom was still asleep and the TV was still playing, but things were good. Lina crawled into her mom’s arms and slept the entire night away, dreaming of cats and stars.

————

Elizabeth sighed as she tried to straighten her poor back. Ever since last year, her bones seemed to be feeling weaker and weaker by the day. She suddenly missed her husband, when he would’ve held her hand and they would’ve walked to wherever their hearts lead them together.

She clutched her cane and started moving again.

“Excuse me,” a voice called. “Do you need some help?”

She turned and stared at a young man. He looked scruffy and somewhat dubious, but Elizabeth had an excellent judge of character. In his eyes was a sort of kindness that she hadn’t seen in a long time.

She nodded. “Please. I’m trying to get to my doctor’s appointment.”

He tilted his head but reached out to steady her gently. Together, they walked slowly as he supported her. “Why not call for a taxi, ma’am?”

“It’s not dependable,” she said. “And I cannot get off or on easily. It’s easier to walk.”

That was a lie, but what could she do? She was too tired and too weak to call for a taxi and exit on and off of it by herself.

The young man nodded. “I see. Where’s your doctor appointment, ma’am?”

She pointed to the direction and together they walked. At first, it was pleasantly silent, but she eventually asked, “Tell me about yourself, son.”

The young man laughed lightly. “There’s not much to know. I’m just someone who’s trying to get by and help others.”

“That’s a good cause, sonny. This world could always use more kindness,” she patted his hand with her crooked fingers and he gave her a small and brilliant smile.

“I’m glad. I hope to make a difference every day.” She was focused on their feet as she tried to keep steady as to not inconvenience her helper. “Oh look,” he suddenly said, “we’re here.”

She looked up and true to his word, they were in front of the clinic she used for checkups. She blinked.

She was old, but surely she wasn’t old enough to hallucinate, was she? How on earth had they gotten here so fast?

She wasn’t able to question it as the young man led her inside. Elizabeth confirmed the appointment and she had expected him to leave once he had completed his task, but he stayed with her throughout. He sat down with her in the waiting room and they chatted about anything and everything under the sun.

Elizabeth had no children and no siblings. Her husband had died and her friends were also getting old. She was lonely, but this young man was accompanying her throughout the appointment and she felt endlessly grateful that Gotham City had not snuffed out another bright light just yet.

When she was called in, the young man still followed her inside and talked to her physician for her.

She was suddenly reminded of her father, who had died when she was 42. Her father had done everything he could to provide for her and her mother until he died from murder. She was starkly reminded of his protection and how she had mourned it when it was lost.

Elizabeth felt for the first time in a long time, like she was a young girl being protected by her father again.

When the appointment was over and Elizabeth was prescribed new medications, she was led outside by the young man again.

“Thank you so much, dear,” she said, a little teary eyed, “I appreciate the company and the help.”

The young man guided her to her apartment and said, “I’m just doing whatever I can as one person in this world. It’s the only thing I can do, y’know?”

They parted on good terms and it was only later as she sat in her home, that she realized that she had never asked for his name.

There was nothing to remember that kind young man by other than her waning memory and his act of kindness.

In her pocket, however, was a mysterious card for a free taxi service funded by Wayne Enterprises.

————

Tom and his friends were playing a game of heroes, with Red Hood as the hero and the other Bats as the villains. Tom was lucky enough to win the game of rock-paper-scissors and was Red Hood, valiant and brave with a pair of guns in order to protect Crime Alley.

“Alright, Batman!” Tom crowed. “This’s the end of the line for you!”

Maria, the only girl of the group, glared at him theatrically and flapped the ends of the jacket tied around her neck. “Red Hood, I’ll defeat you! For Justice!”

She waved her hand and their friends, who filled in the place of the other Bats, rushed at Tom with a war cry. Tom grinned and ran away from them with a loud laugh.

They passed through several alleys in their game of play, passing by no one but a boy with black hair and a girl with red hair. Tom didn’t really pay attention, just trying not to be tagged. But it didn’t matter, because no matter what, Red Hood was always able to get away and save the day!

Tom cheered as he pretended to shoot the Bats with his toy guns that he got for Christmas last year, and his friends all groaned and pretended to die dramatically. George, who was playing Red Robin, engaged in a fake battle with him as the others laughed and watched.

Tom was completely enthralled in their pretend play, when he suddenly froze with the sound of a car door being opened far too close and the sound of footsteps.

Oh no. Tom immediately grabbed at George and they were bolting down the streets they came from. They ran like their lives depended on it, because it quite literally did. But it was too late. Davis, one of the slower runners, was captured.

Tom turned and gasped at the sight of Davis struggling and kicking within the hold of a trafficker. “No! Get away from him!”

“Get the kids!” The man shouted as Davis screamed, and they all screamed as more men rushed into the alleys to grab them.

Tom screamed for Red Hood, Batman, anybody and popped off his fake guns. It did nothing but make loud sounds from the tiny amounts of gunpowder in it that Tom was saving. Still, he needed to do something. The sounds didn’t scare the men as they grabbed at him next.

Tom scratched and bit and struggled, but it was useless as he was hauled into the back of the van. Even as he knocked against the van’s door, making even louder noises to draw attention, it was hopeless as he was tossed inside. Jim, the smallest member of their group, was crying and Maria was knocked out, slumped next to a shuddering George. Alan and Davis were also captured and they were trembling.

There were also two other people, one with black hair and one with red hair. They seemed angry, and the teenage boy seemed especially cold while the young woman looked furious.

Tom glared at the traffickers. “You won’t get away with this! Red Hood is going to kill you!”

After all, Red Hood hated anyone who hurt kids. With him in Crime Alley, kids were now secure and safe under his protective wings.

Tom was immediately backhanded. He fell back, pain bursting from his cheek and he whimpered, tears in his eyes. Alan grabbed at him worriedly and pulled him away from the traffickers’ hands.

“Shut up, brat! Just wait and see! The Red Hood ain’t shit in these parts!” Then the door of the van closed. Tom and George lunged forward to bang on the door to no avail.

“Red Hood! Red Hood!! Help!”

As the van began to move, Tom choked back his tears. No, he couldn’t cry.

He was Red Hood for today. He was supposed to be brave.

Maria woke up then and started crying. The sound set off the other kids and Tom barely resisted crying too. Suddenly, the woman with red hair in the corner of the van opened up her arms. “Shh, shhh, come here.”

Realizing that there were adults in the situation, Jim and Maria went into her arms. She rubbed their heads and soothed them softly. Alan and George looked at her and the boy next to her with hope.

“Hey! Can’t you get us out?” George asked urgently.

The woman shook her head, but gave a small smile. “We’ll be okay. You just have to have hope.”

Tom bristled, scared for his life and irritated by the presence of other adults. His tears hadn’t fallen yet, but it was a very close thing. “So you don’t have anything? Figures.”

The boy spoke up, “Red Hood will come get you. You’ll be just fine.”

Tom looked down at the dirty floor of the van. How could he believe that now? He wanted to believe it, but what would he do if it was only false hope? If he and his friends got hurt, it would’ve been his fault because he was the one who led them too far away from home.

The boy gave a small smile, similar to the woman next to him. In fact, they were both weirdly comforting and familiar, like old family friends. He opened up his own arms and said, “Come here.”

Tom inched closer and leaned against him, as George and Alan also came closer. Davis squished himself between the two and all of them were being comforted by the two older people. Tom sniffed, and the teen started talking in a comforting tone, rubbing at his back.

“You’ll be okay. Close your eyes. When you wake up, Red Hood will be here to save you… that’s it. It’s alright, we’re here to protect you. Gotham City is on your side, little ones….”

When Tom snapped awake, he was shocked to find himself being held and carried by Red Hood. “Red Hood?!”

Tom startled, but the Red Hood just readjusted his grip and said, “Careful, kid. Your friends are over there.”

Tom leaned over Red Hood’s broad shoulders and looked for his friends. True to his words, they were next to Batman and the other Bats and Birds. Maria was being held by Batgirl and excitedly gesturing, while his other friends were chattering away to Batman, who was smiling.

Red Hood began to approach them.

“You did good,” Red Hood suddenly said. Tom looked up at him and the Red Hood tilted his helmet downwards at him. “You made a ruckus and got my attention. Good job.”

Tom looked guiltily down at his hands. “No… I was the one who led my friends too far… I got us captured.”

“It’s not your fault,” Red Hood said. “You’re not to blame because some sick ass— er, some sick jerks decided to take kids. You did good and that’s final.” He ruffled Tom’s hair.

Tom giggled and then nodded, chest warm. He couldn’t believe he was meeting his idol and was saved by him too! Then he asked, looking around for the woman with red hair and the other teen, “Where’re the other two?”

“Other two?” Red Hood asked curiously. “We only saw you six kids alone in the van.”

Tom paused for a moment and then shook his head. “Never mind. Musta been my imagination.”

Gotham City was a mysterious place. Who was Tom to question it?

However, he still silently thanked the two strangers. He was sure that they had been the ones to help them.

Some distance away, two spirits stood on the roof of a nearby building and watched the commotion.

“It’s a good thing we were able to find Jason in time, huh, Jazz?”

“Mhm. I’m glad those kids are going to be okay. Thank goodness the Bats responded in time.”

“Of course. With my protection and your help, we’ll help them save this city. So…. Meet up next week?”

“Yep! See you then, Danny!”

[talesof-old]

lay me down | r.l., s.b., j.p., & l.e.

pairing(s): poly!marauders + lily x fem!reader

warning(s): 18+, smut, sexual and nonsexual intimacy, mentions of war, near death experiences, mentions of child abuse, mentions of scars, talk of death, using potions for pain management, fingering (f receiving), piv, talk of pregnancy, Lily’s pregnant ???, the human need to fuck after a traumatic event, this started as one thing and then took a really weird turn — ends abruptly bc i needed to finish this :/

word count: 8.3k

masterlist

war leaves none untouched

Your hands shook as you smoothed a dittany balm over James’ newest magic induced injury.

Tonight has been a close call. Too close.

Lily was still arguing with the others in the living room, voice pinched and pitchy, eyes lined with livid tears. You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face as if to will away the adrenaline. Things were getting worse.

“Hey,” James caught your other hand, his thumb tracing gentle patterns into your skin. You observed the action with glazed eyes. All you could see was the Death Eater, wand spouting an all too familiar green spark before you were tackling James away from its trail. There’d been so many of them.

So many trying to kill you these past few months it was going to eat you alive. They’d keep coming, and you’d keep fighting, even if it ended with you six feet under.

“We’re alright, sweets. Alive and whole.” You glanced up at his face. Earnest, and worried, with a crinkle between his brows that nearly had you reaching out to smooth it.

“You almost died.”

The words were a broken whisper as they left your lips. His eyes softened further, reaching to pull you into a solid embrace as Lily continued to rant on about recklessness and careless stupidity. Tears burned at your eyes so you squeezed them shut, burying your face in James’ neck.

“I know we made some terrible decisions, but we’re gonna live to see another day, yeah? Promise.” You huffed, responding with a shaky giggle.

“I don’t know, Remus and Sirius might not with the lashing Lily’s giving ‘em.”

He chuckled and squeezed you against him, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You breathed in deeply with the hope of settling your frazzled nerves. James’ scent washed over you, a combination of his favorite cologne and sweat, lulling you into a place of safety you never wanted to leave.

“There you are.”

Lily’s frigid voice drew you away from James. He turned towards her, watching her with a sheepish apology written all over his face. Remus and Sirius ducked into the bedroom behind her, both wincing at her tone. You moved, leaving James and crossing over to the other two, taking stock of any potential injuries. Lily had done a little, though you knew she could’ve done more. Holding your tongue, you grabbed your first aid supplies, motioning for the boys to sit so you could heal their scrapes and cuts.

Sirius’ were minor, a scrape along his left arm and a cut on his right hand, plus a few bruises here and there. You kissed his forehead when you finished, moving on to your tallest partner.

Remus at least had the decency to wince when you started working on his worst injury, though part of that might’ve been his increased sensitivity with the approaching full moon. You gnawed on your inner cheek. His upper left thigh held a deep cut still oozing blood, the skin red and angry around the wound. You slipped into the bathroom, ignoring Lily and James as you passed by them, wetting a fresh rag and returning to clean the offensive gash.

You were used to this. Lily and you were the healers of the bunch, normally passing around the first aid kit like it was your calling, healing and cleaning as you went. Your mouth pressed into a tight line as you worked, a silent, wandless spell already closing up the majority of the injury. A dollop of dittany balm across the now much shallower cut worked like a charm, and soon all that remained was a pinkish scar.

Remus watched you as you went, cleaning any wound and healing it just as fast, goosebumps covering his skin. It took you a few moments to realize that the room had gone silent, and that all of them were looking at you expectantly.

You blinked, mouth twisting into a frown. Remus reached for your hand, a gentle grasp on your wrist as he guided you to the bed next to him.

“Are you alright?” The words were soft as they left him, warm, honey colored eyes seeming to stare into your soul. You drew in a sharp, shaky breath.

“I’m fine. Promise.” There was a weak smile plastered onto your lips that you were sure looked fake, but you couldn’t muster any energy to make it look real. Exhaustion gripped your very bones, and all you wanted to do was take a quick shower and go to sleep.

“You don’t have to pretend-“ Lily was the next to speak, though James was already shaking his head, eyes never leaving you. If there was one person in the room who could pick up on when to press an issue, it was him.

“Come here, sweets.” You finished packing the first aid kit, leaving it on the bed as James tugged you towards the bathroom, the shower already started. The mirror began to fog up, steam rising to the ceiling as you undressed. James followed suit.

You stepped into the shower; time seemed to slow down and speed up all at once. Water rushed over your sore limbs, working better than any spell to ease the tension between your shoulders. You sighed as James entered the shower behind you, warm hands coming up to caress your ribcage.

“‘M tired, James. Tired of having to fight all the time.” He smoothed his hands over your shoulders, simply letting you vent as he lathered up soap and a wash rag before handing it to you. You went silent again, cleaning the dirt and sweat off of your body. A panic had settled into your chest when the war started, and it seemed as though with each passing month, it coiled tighter and tighter around your heart.

“I know.” Those simple words were enough to break the dam you’d been keeping strong. A sob bubbled up from your throat and before you knew it you’d thrown your arms around James and shook in his grasp. He held you close, rocking you through every sob and hiccup as though he could somehow soothe away the fear.

“You’ve been so strong, sweets, let us take care of you.” You sniffed, thankful you were in the shower and not out in the bedroom, where everyone would’ve seen you crying. There was not a part of you that hadn’t held steady since everything went to shit. You’d been the one to comfort, the one to help, the voice of level reason. You haven’t stumbled once.

But the thought of losing James, or any of them?

You would never recover.

He pulled away from you, pressing a watery kiss to your forehead before washing himself. You stepped out from the water to let him rinse off, though your fingers twitched with the need to comfort yourself by touching him. A lopsided grin made its way to his face, though it was obvious to you that he couldn’t see a damn thing. Some part of you warmed at the fact that James couldn’t really see you with his glasses off. Your shower cap and snotty face was not exactly an image you wanted out there.

“I’m gonna go check on the others, okay? Gotta get some food together.” He pulled you towards the warm water again, his fingers running over the skin of your arms.

“Take your time. It’s okay to need support.” He pulled the curtain to the side just enough to pop out onto the bathroom mat and dry himself off. You could already imagine his messy black hair and comfy clothing. An ache settled in you that had you turning off the shower and reaching for a clean towel.

It didn’t take very long for you to get dressed, the lotion you used a birthday gift from Lily that you had taken to rationing for special occasions.

You felt like using it.

It reminded you of a certain redhead, of her signature floral and ink perfumes. You breathed in deeply, willing that ache away. It did you no good.

Instead, you let your mind wonder to other things, like the upcoming full moon. Just four days away, not even a week into December, but you knew Remus was having a hard time this month. He’d been jumpy, sensitive to touch, spent. You hoped that the potion you’d been working on would help, but all it seemed to do was dull the pain. That counted for something.

You didn’t have the energy to deal with your hair, choosing to pull it into a loose ponytail at the base of your neck to deal with tomorrow. James had been kind enough to grab some of your clothes; loose pajamas were slipped over your body and socks pulled into your feet and then you were leaving the safety of being alone. The door swung open soundlessly.

Sirius bounded past you, whatever he’d decided to say muffled as he shut the door and turned on the shower.

You sighed. Briefly, you wondered if this is how Remus felt every full moon: every bit a stranger in his own body, aching from head to toe with skin that felt much too tight. You shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself and making your way into the kitchen.

Lily was a whirlwind, putting together a meal of omelettes. James dutifully obeyed each of her commands, but you saw the way they both faltered. They were just as weary as the rest of you. Guilt bubbled in your chest as you turned away, choosing to approach Remus instead. You gently pressed yourself into his side where he was practically laying on the kitchen island. He glanced down at you, eyes bleary but far too seeing for you to handle. You buried your face into his arm. The pressure of your face against his bicep was enough to distract you from the tears that threatened to fall once again.

He cooed, shifting your body until your face was pressed against his chest and a soothing hand ran up and down your back.

The clatter of a plate near you had you startling. James rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, though he made a gesture to the plate.

“Eat up. You need food ‘fore you go to bed.”

You huffed, but reached for the fork he offered you anyway. None of you had eaten since early this morning, and even then it was nothing but granola bars and juice. Merlin, one of you needed to go grocery shopping.

Remus watched you eat like a hawk, making sure you ate every bite. Warmth spread across your face. You’d gotten better about remembering to eat, but they hadn’t forgotten about the mission that nearly ended with you in a casket because you went dizzy.

Lily set a glass of juice down in front of you and paused, hesitancy written across her features. You deflated. “Lily-“

Then she was crushing you, arms wrapped tight around your shoulders as she pulled you from Remus’ side into her, body trembling. Today could’ve ended much differently. If you hadn’t been fast enough, it would’ve been James or you that died. You melted into her touch, her soft body melding into yours until you weren’t sure where you ended and she began.

“I’m sorry.” Almost unrecognizable in tone, and filled with unshed tears, you said the phrase that all five of you hardly ever uttered. There wasn’t much else you could say. You wouldn’t promise to never do it again. If it meant saving them, you’d do it a million times over.

“I love you.” The words made you tighten your grip, burying your face in her neck. She still needed a shower, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. It was Lily: she had been there for you the moment you stepped onto the train to Hogwarts, and she’d be there for you until she drew her last breath.

“I love you too.”

She pulled herself from you, a hand coming up to caress your face. Her eyes searched yours for a moment, and when she seemed content with what she found, she went back to her cooking. Your heart ached at the distance, like a mournful puppy, and you slunk back to Remus’ side. He had no problems tucking you into his arms.

“Mine ready yet?” Sirius bounded in like a burst of energy, loud and eyes sharp. Remus scoffed and nuzzled his nose into your hair.

“Dunno, are you finally done with the bathroom?” Sirius smacked a hand against his chest in mock indignation, eyes opened wide with a teasing look of shock. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Are you suggesting I spend too long in the shower?” Remus shrugged, lips quirked up in a lazy smirk. Another plate was placed on the island and your now empty one was whisked away, James using magic to keep up with Lily’s demands. Comfortable silence settled, interrupted only by the clatter of pans and silverware.

You sipped on your juice while the others ate, and before long, James was waving a wand to clean and put away the dishes. He pulled you away from Remus, ignoring both of your half-hearted protests. His arms wrapped around your shoulders like a comforting blanket, slowly guiding you back towards one of the bedrooms.

You sighed against him.

With the shut of the door and a, “Sweets, let me take care of you,” James lead you to the bed and tugged on your oversized shirt. You shook your head. His grin turned teasing, his eyes sparkling in the artificial light coming from one of the few lamps still on.

“How dirty minded of you, I didn’t even mean it that way.” You shook your head and laughed, pulling off your trousers to just sleep in your shirt and pants. It didn’t take much for you to settle into bed, eyes closed and breath steady.

“Let me hold you?” Featherlight fingers traced over your bare thigh, but nothing could hide the uncertainty in James’ voice. You peaked over at him, his eyes on you even though his glasses sat on the edge of the bedside table. Something akin to grief tugged at your heart. It took a lot to truly shake up James—you couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked like this.

“James.”

That one word, just his name, was enough for everything to come spilling out. A tidal wave of emotion on an already broken shore. Tears pricked at your eyes again and you inwardly cringed, wondering if perhaps your period was nearly here because there was no other reason for you be crying like this.

“You almost died.” James’ words were spoken with enough intensity that it startled you. Sure, James was often passionate about a great many things, but the fire in his eyes burned differently this time. You knew why.

In just six months, you’d almost been killed on three separate occasions, and that was just you. The others had run ins of their own that nearly went south.

Pain twisted James’ pretty lips, his dark brown eyes as focused on you as they could be.

“You could’ve been killed! And it would’ve been my fault. I chose to follow after them, I put us in danger even after you begged me not-“

You cut him off with a kiss far harsher than you meant it to be. He startled at that, but was quick to use his arm to pull you against him, ruffling the sheets you were laid out on. He remained tense despite it, so you continued, kissing down his prickly chin and neck. He’d complain later when he had to shave.

“It wasn’t just your fault, James. I love you, and I don’t blame you for what happened. Were you the one pointing that wand?” You might’ve murmured the words against the skin of his collarbone, but you pulled away to look at his face once you finished speaking. A faint blush warmed his cheeks and neck, a pretty flush on his brown complexion.

You raised a brow. “Well?”

A shaky breath left his lips and he shook his head, fingers coming to play with the hem of your sleep shirt.

“I love you, James Potter. And I always want you around, ‘kay? You can hold me whenever you like.” He nodded, face even redder than before. You nearly giggled, choosing to instead bury your face in his neck and breathing in deeply. “Goodnight, Prongs.”

You woke up to complete darkness.

Well, not complete darkness, if the moonlight shining in through the curtains had anything to say about it. A sigh left you. At least you’d gotten a couple of hours of rest before your body decided being awake was preferable.

Faint snoring could be heard from the other side of the bed, quiet enough to let you know it was Lily. For a split second, you wondered if she’d let you finally run some tests tomorrow. She’d been complaining about sore breasts and nausea she attributed to a late period and stress, but you weren’t of the same belief. It’s not that you wanted her to be pregnant, you were all still so young, but it was bound to happen eventually.

Better her than you.

You cursed softly at the thought before slowly sitting up, careful not to wake up James or Lily as you eased off the mattress and padded across the hardwood floors. The door hinges were silent as you opened it, and then the door was clicking shut behind you, leaving you alone. You breathed in and out deeply.

Water was first on your list of things to acquire, and you settled into the couch with the glass in your hand and a blanket around you. Your books on different kinds of healing littered the living space (much to James and Lily’s dismay), but you almost always knew exactly where each was. You rolled your shoulders.

The minutes ticked by, your books illuminated by your wand as you studied. It wasn’t unusual to find you hunched over a book, eyes scanning every inch of the page to ensure you remembered the information spread out in front of you. The chapter you were currently reading was about the mental effects of certain spells, and it was engrossing enough that you missed the creak of a door opening down the hall.

“You’re up late.” You jumped, your own hand slapping over your mouth to muffle your yelp. Your heart ached in your chest as adrenaline rushed through your veins. Remus chuckled quietly and settled onto the couch next to you. He stretched, wincing as his bones popped before falling limp on the cushions. You bite at your lip before placing your book on the coffee table, choosing to instead shift closer to him. He let you, honey colored eyes framed by dark circles watching your every move.

“Why’re you up, hm?” You gently laid your head on his shoulder, your entire body pressed to his. He let out a tired sigh, letting his head fall to rest on yours. Every inch of him was rigid, like one wrong move and his bones would snap. You reached over to trace circles along his bare legs, his boxer briefs riding up just enough for you to stroke the edge of a particularly brutal scar on his upper thigh. His muscles flexed underneath your hand.

“James didn’t fucking give me time t’see if you were alright.” There was no animosity coloring his tone, just bitter resignation that had you humming, fingers still tracing over his scars. You understood James’ need to confess his guilt, but you didn’t even utter a word to Sirius before you fell asleep. You ran your tongue across the back of your teeth.

“Are you alright? And Sirius?” Remus nuzzled into your head, the action similar enough to a dog you would’ve normally laughed.

“Jus’ tired.” You nodded, hand coming to a standstill on his leg. Remus shifted, not bothering to hide the pained gasp that built in his throat. You pulled away from him, ignoring his whine, and were already crossing the room when he rasped, “What are you doing?”

You opened the potions cabinet, pulling out the last vial from your tester batch. A hopefully potent pain relief you’d been formulating for months. It glittered in your wand’s light, a beautiful shimmering pale blue. You’d originally tried to make a potion to help Remus’ transformations, but when that hadn’t worked, you’d turned to managing symptoms instead. This was basically meant to be a cure all, and a dropper full allowed you to go without pain for a full 24 hours with no side effects.

“My next batch will be ready to decant tomorrow, so I’m making you take this tonight.” Remus nodded, though you weren’t even sure he’d attempt to argue. It didn’t take away the unsteadiness brought about by the full moon, or the discomfort, but the pain was the worst part so you’d do what you could. You handed over the vial, settling down next to him once again. He pretended not to grimace as he popped the lid off of the glass bottle. The smell of bitter greens wafted towards you but you managed to keep a straight face.

Remus brought the bottle to his lips and tipped it back, nearly gagging at the less than agreeable taste. You patted his shoulder. He discarded the bottle and pulled you back against him, arms wrapped around your upper body. One of his hands rested directly above your heart, thumping beneath his palm like a steady drum. His muscles relaxed as the potion began to work its magic.

“Can’t believe you f’cking did that, ya know? Think I nearly had a damn heart attack when I saw that bloody spell almost hit ya.” His thumb ran over the hem of your shirt, edging over your collarbone. You took his moment of silence as a chance to study him. Messy curly hair that had grown just a tad bit longer than he liked, softer waves turning into tighter ringlets the longer he let it get. A newer scar on his cheekbone to add to the few that spanned across his face. It was only when you met his gaze that you knew he was studying you just the same.

“‘M glad you’re alive, dove.” Affection bled into his words, a far more frequent occurrence as of late. You smiled softly.

“Me too.”

The moon slowly moved across the sky, but the two of you stayed sitting on the couch, wrapped up in the comfort of simply being next to each other. By the time you glanced at the clock, it read a simple 3:48am.

You groaned, choosing to instead move your body to straddle Remus, burying your face in his neck. He breathed a laugh, a large hand coming up to rest on your lower back as you got comfortable. You shimmied closer, ignoring his groan because you knew it had nothing to do with the moon. The potion had been working for nearly two hours now.

“We should go to bed.” He nodded sagely at your statement, though his fingers dug into your skin, pushing you down until your clothed cunt made contact with his half hard erection. Involuntarily, your hips rolled. He hissed. You smiled against his skin, arms wrapped around his torso as you pressed as close to him as possible. He let you, the sensitivity brought on by the moon turning him into something that craved intimacy and softness more than anything. Due to your and Lily’s curves, it wasn’t uncommon for Remus to hold either one of you close, basking in the comfort that you offered.

The week leading up the full moon normally saw an uptick to Remus’ sex drive, but two days before, he’d crash, needing nonsexual physical support instead. Any of you would jump through fire to make sure he got what he needed.

“Want you t’let me fuck you.” His soft voice hit your ears, breathy and hoarse with want. You rolled your hips again, cheek pressed to his collarbone.

“You sure?” He hummed, fingers coming to grip your hips. Nights like this made for lazy sex, nothing frantic or quick like what you’d often found yourself doing at school. You drew away from his chest, face to face. His eyes were half lidded, focused on your movements as though he already knew what you’d say.

You lifted a hand and carded your fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered shut as you did so, and you wasted no time in moving in to press your lips to his. His fingers tightened against your skin, the fabric of your sleep shirt bunched in his palms. You smiled against his mouth. Remus sighed against you, melting into your touch as you trailed your fingers from the back of his head down his chest, all the way down until your fingers came to the hem of his t-shirt.

“Take this off f’me?” He was quick to oblige. You couldn’t help the girlish giggle that left your lips at his hasty attempt to remove his shirt. You’d had feelings for Remus the longest out of any of your partners, an innocent schoolgirl crush turned deep infatuation. Now, he called himself one of your husbands, and it sent your heart fluttering. He tossed his shirt onto the floor, not caring where it landed. Your eyes honed in on the small chub of his belly from his slouched position, the scars that lined his torso. He nearly jumped out of his skin when your fingers grazed over his happy trail, a soft groan falling from his mouth.

It took you just a few moments to discard your own shirt, your breasts exposed to the chilly air since you’d forgone wearing a bra to sleep. None of your partners ever made you feel anything less than beautiful, and right now was no exception. Remus’ pupils had blown wide, nearly drowning out their beautiful amber colour, dark with desire as he took in your heavy tits. You’d often complain to Lily about back pain from your larger breasts, and while Remus would never want you hurting, he loved the mounds on your chest more than anything. One of his hands came up to your breast, thumb flicking over your right nipple. Your breath hitched and you pressed further into him.

None of you had had the chance to actually be intimate in the past three weeks. Between missions, brewing potions, and healing people, there was simply no time. Exhaustion had sunk its claws deep into each of you, and none had a chance to escape it.

“Always so pretty f’me, dove, always s’perfect.” Remus’ other hand, the one not preoccupied with your breasts, splayed across your lower back, almost as low as your arse. You arched into him, trapping his hand between each of your chests, though you weren’t sure he minded. He let you grind against him, the two of you in nothing but your undergarments. You ran your hands over his back, his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you could reach, simply wanting to feel him.

Heat pooled in between your thighs, pulsing in time with your heart. Remus looked similarly affected.

“Come ‘ere.” He lifted you off of his lap, ignoring your pout, and began to pull down your panties. They were old, a ratty pair you’d normally wear on your period, but you didn’t care. They’d end up on the floor anyway. You moved your legs to pull them off and deposited them by the foot of the couch, Remus doing the same. His dick slapped against his abdomen, the same brown shade of his skin, though the tip was flushed a deep reddish shade that had your mouth watering.

Remus’ fingers gripped your chin before you could move towards it. Something sparked in his eyes.

“‘M gonna ‘ave to prep you first, dove.” You let your head fall to the side as if disappointed, but Remus was skilled with both his wicked tongue and long fingers. You squirmed and clenched your thighs, desperate for some kind of friction that you were currently deprived of.

He smirked, drawing you to him, lips soft against yours. He cupped your neck and jaw, thumb running atop your cheekbone. You were quick to run your tongue along the seam of his mouth. He parted his lips ever slightly, teasing you as if he believed you’d force them apart. Instead, you drew back your tongue and simply deepened the kiss, forgoing any need to breathe. Remus was all you wanted to know, all you wanted to think about.

He moved, lips trailing from the edge of yours down your jaw, coming to suck on the sweet spot at the junction of your collarbone and neck. Your head fell, baring more of your throat to him. He sucked and nipped as he pleased, and it was only when you were trembling beside him did he gently guide your thighs apart. You shivered in anticipation. Rough fingertips caressed the tender skin of your inner thighs, wandering higher and higher until they were right where you wanted them. You nearly keened as Remus ran his fingers over your lower lips, spreading them apart to thumb at your clit.

“Quiet.”

He chuckled at your near silent whine and buck of your hips, urging him to do something other than tease you. He traced along your slit before dipping just the tip of his middle finger into you, testing your wetness. You hummed, rocking onto it, taking him deeper. He tutted softly, palm grinding against your clit, the roughness enough to send little jolts of pleasure through your body.

It didn’t take long for you to take the entirety of his finger, body jerking as he added his ring finger. He curled his fingers, a quiet, broken moan leaving your lips. He chuckled against your skin. Remus let you ride his fingers, scissoring and curling them expertly until his fingertips grazed some spongy spot inside of you. A strangled gasp echoed through the dark room.

Something tightened in your abdomen, your walls fluttering around Remus’ fingers. He grinned, thumb swiping over your clit in a much more targeted manner. Your hips rolled uncontrollably. Remus kept up with the circling of your bundle of nerves, every inch of your body taut as the coil went tight. He smirked as you gripped his hair and pulled him over to you, a clash of lips and tongue as your orgasm washed over you. Your legs tightened around his arm as you ride out the waves of your orgasm, thighs slick with cum by the time it’s over.

Remus withdrew his fingers with a squelch, immediately sticking them in his mouth and licking them clean. You whined, pussy clenching on nothing as he rearranged himself, turning to sit with his back pressed against the armrest of the couch, the cushions to his left. Your grin was hazy with lust and sleep, but you straddled him all the same.

He gave his dick a few pumps, precum spread along the shaft to help ease any pain. Your eyes hungrily took in the way his fingers looked wrapped around his pretty cock. His hands shook as he aligned himself with your opening.

You whined with sensitivity as he gently guided you into his dick, the head prodding at your entrance. You slowly sink down, pausing every few moments to accommodate the girth of him. Remus’ dick was longer than the others, and fairly large all things considered. It took you ages to get used to the feeling. Your pussy stretched, stuffed full as you rocked your hips to ease any uncomfortable sensation.

Remus hissed as you did so, shallowly thrusting to help you along. Soon enough, you’d taken him completely, bodies flush to each other. You clenched hard around him, relishing in the throaty moan that fell from his lips. His hands palmed at your arse, urging you to still as he gathered himself. You tilted your head forward, forehead pressed against his, noses touching. He tightened his grip on you, arms coming to twine around your waist. The closeness had your heart aching.

A few moments passed before you gave an experimental roll of your hips, Remus responding with a sharp thrust. The two of you found a rhythm, grinding and thrusting against one another in an almost lazy manner, relishing in each other’s touch. Heat spread through your entire body, turning your limbs soft and your mind fuzzy. You pressed another kiss to his lips.

Remus adjusted his arms, letting one of his hands come down to your pussy and swiping across your clit. You shivered against him. Pleasure snaked up your spine as he circled your sensitive clit, his body responding in kind. With every thrust, his balls tightened and throbbed, urging him to spill inside of you. You clenched around him again.

“Fuck, fuck-“

Broken groans and gasps muffled only by locked lips filled the space, along with Remus’ murmurs. You let your head fall to his shoulder, the vibrations of his voice lulling you closer to your orgasm.

“S’good f’me, s’pretty, so tight.” He was babbling, his last word punctuated by a sharp thrust, hitting a spot inside of you that had you seeing stars. You moaned, thighs trembling as something deep inside you knotted and tightened. His thrusts turned sloppy and frantic. You rolled your hips in time with his movements, every swipe across your clit sending you hurtling towards an edge.

Remus’ dick throbbed inside of you, and then you were in free fall, gasping and moaning as your pussy clenched like a vice around him. He grunted, following you in climax. He coated your inner walls, still rocking against you as you both came back down to earth.

You shook, falling limp in his lap. He chuckled wearily, both of you hissing as he slid out, pliable in his arms as he nuzzled into your breasts.

“Moony?”

In your chase of pleasure, the two of you didn’t hear the opening and closing of a bedroom door, nor the padding of bare feet on hardwood floors. You nearly jumped out of Remus’ lap in surprise, your head whipping around to face Sirius. He stood in the entrance to the hallway with messy hair and an amused expression. You settled into Remus’ arms again.

“And what do you two think you’re doing?” You huffed, reaching out a hand and making grabby motions towards your husband. He smiled widely, quiet as he crossed the room and settled beside you. His gray eyes swept over your naked bodies, at the wetness that coated each of your thighs and the glow of your faces.

“Could’ve asked me to join.” The words came out petulant, and if it wasn’t 4am you’d be laughing loudly. You hummed.

“You could join us now?” Sleep lined his face, though it was rapidly leaving as the seconds ticked by and you both remained unclothed next to him. Sirius sighed dramatically before shifting his body to curl up next to the two of you. Remus remained quiet, his thumb tracing circles on your left hip.

“Dunno if ‘m up for it…” You buried your fingers in Remus’ brown hair, peppering kissing along his cheeks and forehead. He scrunched his nose at the affection, though his eyes bled a warmth you knew meant he enjoyed it. Sirius halfheartedly pouted next to you. You tugged on the hair at the nape of Remus’ neck, lips trailing down from his jaw to his bobbing Adam’s apple, ignoring the way Sirius squirmed beside you. Remus panted as you continued your ministrations, skin decorated in a mosaic of rapidly reddening skin.

“Nope, enough. My turn.” Sirius all but dragged you away from his lap, tugging you into him like a child would his favorite toy. You rolled your eyes. He nuzzled into your hair, which by now had turned into a haphazard mess from sleeping and sex.

“I’m glad you’re alive, darling.” You nodded against him, sleep pulling at you more harshly than before. You yawned, choosing instead to burrow into his chest and close your eyes. Sirius ran a hand up and down your back—a soothing tactic he’d learned from Remus.

“Tomorrow?” He murmured against your temple. You snuggled closer to him and hummed, blindly reaching out to grab ahold of Remus’ hand. Warm fingers intertwined with yours and you sighed contently, finally letting your body sleep again.

At some point during the early hours of the morning, one of the boys had wrapped you up in a blanket and moved you to lay down. Sirius curled his long body around yours, one arm draped around your waist to hold you in place. Soft voices rose from the kitchen, leaving you groaning as it pulled you from dreamless oblivion.

“Morning, love.” Gentle fingers grazed over your hair, tucking it behind your ear. You preened at Lily’s soft touch. She giggled quietly. James whispered something to Remus, to which the taller man elbowed him in the ribs. He yelped, huffing laughter filling the room. Sirius groaned, tightening his grip on you and forcing you back into the warm cocoon he’d created for you. Lily clicked her tongue.

“Here.”

She offered one of the longer pillows on the floor and the two of you maneuvered it to replace your body. You grimaced at the state of your body. Neither you nor Remus cleaned up afterwards, leaving your thighs a now crusty mess.

Lily laughed, tossing you your shirt as she sauntered into the kitchen. You padded towards them, all too aware of your bare lower half. Remus smirked at your shyness and ran a finger along the bare skin of your arm, shivers following in its wake.

“So what time do you want to leave?” You glanced at the clock. 11:28am.

By now, the sun had well risen, which meant you’d probably see at least one or two other people at the potions ‘lab’. It truly wasn’t even a lab, originally starting out as a storage room at Headquarters.

“Uh,” you scrunched up your nose. “Give me thirty minutes?”

You didn’t leave until an hour later, Sirius still asleep on the couch and the other two pouring over defensive spells to practice. Lily clasped your hand as the two of you apparated away.

The ground disappeared from under you and suddenly reappeared, shiny hardwood floors replaced with dingy old ones. Lily stumbled a little beside you. You eyed her, her pale face twisted from nausea and tinged a faint green.

“Lily, I actually wanted to ask you something.” Her eyes were wide as she turned to you, though you were already moving across the room and offering her a rubbish bin. She took it, a grateful and sheepish expression on her face, as though she wasn’t sure if she would end up puking or not. Candles lined the space, adding additional light to the small window. You breathed a sigh of relief. The two of you were safe here, and potions were something you understood better than any other.

The walls were lined with used and unused bottles, ingredients in large glass jars, and bubbling cauldrons. Vapor from the potions spilled out along the floor, seeming to wrap around the legs of the tables before dissipating. You hummed as you looked from the potion of pain relief you’d been brewing.

The sound of gagging drew your eyes to Lily, and just a few moments later, she was vomiting into the container. Her eyes watered as she chucked up her breakfast, grimacing at the acidic feeling in her throat. You offered a look of sympathy and a little bag you'd packed just in case something like this happened.

“It’s so gross.”

You can’t help but snort at her dejected words, intentionally ignore her pointed glare.

“Take this.” After pressing a vial into her palm (a stomach soother that had been used by pregnant witches for ages), you begin to gather up all the supplies you’ll need to perform a pregnancy test. You wanted to get this done privately, without the boys hounding you or anyone else noticing.

Lily frowned as you closed and locked the door, motioning for her to take a seat at the large table you’d set up everything on.

“So I have a feeling,” you’d have to broach the topic carefully. A child, in times like these? You were losing a magical war because the Order of the Phoenix refused to fight dirty—not that you would ever say that aloud. But to bring a baby into the world with no certainty that you’d be alive to see them grow? Lily had once mentioned to you that she did want kids. That she’d wanted to be a mother.

You didn’t necessarily share the same sentiment, though you knew the risks of unprotected sex just the same as anyone else. Luck has been on your side up until now.

“I think you’re pregnant.” Time stopped.

Lily’s lips parted and she seemed to be frozen, though the frantic look in her eyes was enough to tell you she hadn’t. You reached across the wooden surface of the table and grabbed her hand, squeezing her fingers. She squeezed back, green eyes glazed.

Her cheeks flushed and you moved around the table to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

“Are you sure? It could just be stress-“

You raised a brow, motioning to the items before you. There was a chance it was simply a scare. It couldn’t hurt to test it, though the implications threatened to make your heart explode.

“What if…” Her voice was thick with something you couldn’t place.

“It doesn’t matter. It could be a scare, but even if it isn’t, we’ve got time to figure it out.”

Her messy braid bobbed as she nodded, though her face remained dazed. You sighed, running a finger along the shape of her arm. Goosebumps followed your finger but Lily ignored it. With most situations, she’d shake off how she felt and put on a brave face, but a baby was throwing her off more than she must’ve been prepared for.

“Let’s just see, yeah?”

Lily grimaced in discomfort as the two of you apparated back home, trembling with nervous energy. Her free hand and fingers were constantly flexing beside her, eyes still as glazed as they were several hours ago. The only difference now was the way her hand would occasionally drift to her belly, then drop back down as though she was afraid it somehow wasn’t real. You squeezed the hand you were holding, tugging her into you and wrapping your other arm around her shoulders.

“Lils, I’m gonna need you to calm down, yeah? Everything is gonna be fine.” She huffed, but all you could do was grin. Anything was better than the state of shock she’d seemingly gone into. Maybe if you hadn’t been so caught up in the woman before you, you’d have noticed the morose atmosphere of the place you called home.

She squeezed you tighter.

“You promise?” A breath of laughter escaped you before you responded with, “Of course.”

You broke apart, light finally entering her eyes again. A gentle, happy smile crossed her lips. There was movement in another room, but you paid it no mind as you crossed the living room floor, the potion bottles in your bag clinking together. Following a positive pregnancy test, you’d spent much of your time decanting multiple potions while Lily began to brew new ones. She didn’t seem to mind whenever you checked over her work to make sure she did it right.

“James?”

You heard muffled voices down the hall, but it was the lack of response that had you pausing and drawing your wand. Lily did the same.

The two of you pressed forward through the house, apprehension coiling in your gut. Had someone found you all? Were the boys alright? Were they hurt?

You rounded the hallway, entering the only lit bedroom with a resigned face. If they were hurt, or god forbid, dead, what were you going to do? The thought was pushed away as soon as it entered your mind. No, they weren’t dead.

It was the sob that alerted you to something wrong, something that perhaps didn’t involve Death Eaters torturing your husbands. The door swung open to reveal a blotchy faced Sirius, still devastatingly beautiful with his watery grey eyes. James knelt beside him, rubbing a comforting hand on his thigh as Remus half-held him.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

James opened his mouth as if to speak, but was cut off by both Sirius’ glare and voice.

“I’m fine.”

You sighed, pocketing your wand and shooing the boys away. Lily fidgeted, unstable in the emotional whiplash of the last twenty-four hours, and you grabbed James’ arm.

“Lily wants to make a cake. Help her?” He nodded, sending one last distraught look towards his husband before exiting the room with Remus and Lily in tow. You turned back to the raven haired man.

“I thought we promised not to lie to each other anymore.”

He ran a hand over his face, wiping away the tears that streaked down his cheeks. Something lit up in his eyes. A fire you knew well, too well, perhaps. You raised a brow at the anger that rose up within him.

“You weren’t here. Do you have any idea what it was like to wake up after last night and see that you were gone?” Your eyes softened and you moved to sit next to him. He flinched away from you. “I thought I’d made up the whole thing, thought maybe you’d actually died and I had fooled myself into thinking you were real.”

“‘M right here, Siri. I’m alive, and breathing.” He shook his head, shaggy curls frantically moving as he did so. Each of you deserved better than this, you thought. None of it was fair.

“You almost weren’t.” You nodded. Nothing you could say would change the fact that you jumped into harm’s way to protect James. You’d do it again in a heartbeat, though you knew for a fact they would hate to hear that. Sirius picked at the skin by his nails, prying at already inflamed and tender skin.

“Love,” you wrapped a hand over Sirius’ trembling fingers. His expression continued to flash between anger and distress, tears lining his eyes. He kept his gaze on your joined hands. Pots and pans were clinking in the kitchen, punctuated occasionally by Remus’ soft laughter. You glanced out the open door.

“You can be as angry as you want with me, but you’re not allowed to push me away.”

He leaned his head back, swallowing hard. Silence stretched. You let it, focusing on the steady drum on your heartbeat and breath. Sirius fell into your breathing pattern.

With a low, hoarse whisper, Sirius turned to you. “I can’t lose any of you.”

You sighed, opening your arms and drawing him close. He pressed his face into your neck, cold nose pressing against your warm skin. You hummed and threaded your fingers through his hair.

“I promise to do what I can to keep myself alive.”

As you attempted to move, he gripped onto your coat, fingers tight on the dark wool blend. It proved a struggle to get up with him latched onto you, but you managed. The two of you shuffled down the hall towards the kitchen. Remus had pushed James away in favor of helping Lily mix up the ingredients, bumping hips every few minutes and exchanging soft smiles. James pouted off to the side, likely exiled due to his overeager attitude towards anything kitchen related.

Nearly all the prep work had been done already, and you shared a knowing look with Lily. Leftovers from the day before would be eaten tonight, finished off with a cake you’d decorate to let the boys know they’d be fathers. Lily seemed infatuated with the idea, and after convincing you she insisted on using blue frosting in the middle. You sighed against Sirius, leaning into his body. The great thing about magic was you were able to see what the sex of the baby was far earlier. Lily’s gasp and subsequent teary eyes had you agreeing to just about anything.

You discarded your coat along with your bag of potion vials, gently tossing it over the side of James’ favorite armchair, shuffling next to the man. Sirius remained by you, clinging to your form. James wrapped an arm over your shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You buried your face into his chest. The three of you stayed there, wrapped up in each other, as Remus and Lily finished stirring the box cake mixture and poured it into the pan. Remus dropped it gently back into the counter, hoping to remove any bubbles. The oven’s soft beep let you know that it was ready. Your heart turned gooey warm and soft at the sight of Remus putting the cake into the oven and turning to wrap his arms around Lily.

“Heat up the food, would you?” Lily directed the request towards your trio, settling into Remus’ warmth. Sirius huffed beside you. He complied with little complaints, exhausted from the day he’d had. You melted further into James’ side.

Dinner was a quiet affair.

The lot of you spent most of your time actually enjoying the food you’d previously rushed through eating, comfortable silence broken only by the quiet noise coming from the radio. At some point, Remus got up to take the cake out of the oven, setting it on a hot pad to cool.

You glanced at Lily as James asked, “How were the potions?”

She paused, taking a sip of water as her green eyes flickered between the both of you. You sighed.

“It was fine. I got my next batch of pain killers bottled.” James nodded along. Sirius narrowed his eyes at Lily before looking at you expectantly. You shrugged, choosing to get up to check on the cake. You patted Remus’ shoulder as you went. “Anyone fancy a cuppa?”

[another-lost-mc]

Desperation

There's something wrong with Asmodeus.

ASMODEUS x afab!Reader 7.4k Words | NSFW | Smut with Feelings | Angst with a Happy Ending | First Time Summary: You were bullied by another student at RAD. Asmodeus hasn't been the same since. Content Warnings: Mentions of: anger, unhealthy coping mechanisms, possessive thoughts/behaviour, arguing and threats of violence, blood, brief bullying/harassment, bathing together, vaginal fingering, PIV sex. Reader uses gn!pronouns. ➤➤ Obey Me! Masterlist

The tub in Asmodeus’s private bathroom is more like a pool than any bathtub you ever used prior to coming to the Devildom. It’s as enchanting and mysterious as the demon himself. You’re not even sure how he fills it - it must have some magical charm that keeps it full. The fresh petals he adds to the water never seem to wilt or lose their scent.

You’re sitting with Asmo near the edge of the pool. You skim your fingers along the surface of the crystal-clear water and it ripples gently at your touch. Asmo sits behind you on the marble step and supports your weight while you lean against him. He hums gently into your ear while he runs his fingertips through the ends of your hair. His chest is warm against your back. He’s naked from the waist up, but he left his boxer briefs on - for your comfort more than his. 

Normally you wouldn’t let Asmo see you like this - naked, vulnerable - in the bath or out of it. But earlier when he said he wanted to take care of you, his eyes burning with an intensity that left you speechless, he swept you away to his private bathroom. You were both still reeling from what happened earlier that afternoon, and you realized you wanted his comfort as badly as he wanted yours.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day at RAD: classes with the demon brothers, a student council meeting with Diavolo and Barbatos, perhaps breaking up a fight or two depending how well they got along today. You were sorting through paperwork near the front of the room while the demons bickered in their seats on the dais behind you. 

What you didn’t expect was Solomon bursting through the doors, grinning when Thirteen followed him inside. He ducked behind you while he asked for her to be reasonable and you knew things were going to end badly. She screeched at him as she pulled some sort of black, metallic orb from her bag and tossed it with all her might. 

The trap missed Solomon but it hit your arm instead before it dropped to the floor. It beeped menacingly at your feet and you felt the twinge of pain shoot through your arm when you raised your hands to cover your face. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for whatever was about to happen. 

Thirteen ran over and disarmed the orb before it did whatever else it was supposed to do. She apologized to you but glared venomously at Solomon who was still hovering behind you. He rolled his eyes and tsked, completely unbothered by her fury when she continued threatening him for trying to break into her cave again.

Asmo came to your side before any of his brothers could and shouted at Thirteen and Solomon for involving you with their squabble and putting you in harm’s way. Lucifer followed him and reprimanded Thirteen for her irresponsible behaviour, and he blamed both her and Solomon for disrupting the meeting.

While Thirteen was being lectured by a very grumpy-looking Lucifer, Solomon turned to you with a sheepish smile and apologized for involving you in their little disagreement. You shrugged your shoulders to brush off his apology - it could’ve been worse, after all - but his eyes narrowed when you winced in pain.

“Are you alright? Here, let me take a look—“ he offered as he reached for the lapels of your blazer.

Asmo nudged you back, pushing Solomon’s hand away and effectively shielding you from him. “I think you’ve done enough,” he gritted out angrily. His expression would’ve scared anyone that didn’t know him better - he looked terrifying, and even Solomon must’ve thought so because he raised his hands placatingly and stepped back.

“Come on, let’s go home,” you suggested quietly, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket to get his attention. Your arm throbbed and the room felt uncomfortably tense as tempers flared; you didn’t want to be there anymore.

He looked at you over his shoulder and the fire in his gaze softened. He put his hand over yours and squeezed, turning from Solomon without another word and guided you towards the exit. He paused outside in the hallway long enough to murmur a quick healing spell to lessen the pain in your arm.

The walk home was quiet and uneventful, a blur of typical Devildom nighttime noise but the demon at your side had a scowl on his face that had others on the street giving you a wide berth. It wasn’t typical for the Asmo you know. He draped an arm over your shoulders to keep you tucked into his side but you could feel the tension in his body when you walked together.

When you arrived home, you started to walk towards your room for a shower and a nap, but he held onto your hand and seemed reluctant to let you go. No matter what you said, you couldn’t convince him you were fine; maybe he knew you were lying to yourself.

Let me take care of you.

When you agree to use his private bath, you don't expect that it’s going to be both of you bathing together. You’re too tired to argue -  and you’re genuinely worried about him too - so you finally relent and start to strip away the layers of your school uniform.

Asmo is visibly displeased when you ask him to dim the lights in a moment of self-consciousness. He reminds you that you have nothing to be ashamed of, but he does as you ask because he wants you to be comfortable.

While you undress, he gathers fluffy towels from a cabinet and sets them on the edge of the bathing pool. He grabs an empty basket and picks out bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. He even picks up a small bottle of fragrant oil and adds a couple drops to the water, satisfied when the steam from the warm water starts to diffuse the light floral scent. 

By the time you’re naked, he is standing in the tub, his underwear still on - you felt guilty that the silky material was probably being ruined by the water. He doesn’t seem to care about that or anything else except you. When you approach the pool hesitantly, a small smile graces his lips for the first time since the incident at school and he holds out his hand to you. When you place your hand in his, he keeps you steady while you step into the pool and wade through the water towards him. 

You want to sink below the surface of the water or shield your body from him with your hands, both desperate attempts to hide as much bare skin from him as you can. He senses your nervousness because he pulls you into a gentle hug that feels warm and soothing.

When you finally start to relax, he pulls away and reaches for the basket of toiletries floating nearby. You dunk your head into the water to wet your hair while he grabs the bottle of shampoo. He rubs his hands together and massages the suds onto your scalp. He hums quietly and your body sways gently in the water. Your eyes slip closed at the pleasant sensation of his fingertips working through your hair, rubbing at the back of your neck and melting away the tension between your shoulders. He does the same with the conditioner next; he seems to enjoy the sensation of your soft hair between his fingers while he pampers you.

You recognize the scent of the hair products and realize he’s using his own. His taste in cosmetics is luxurious and expensive, more than what you would ever dream to spend on yourself. You feel spoiled, like you’re someone precious. You’re distracted by how relaxed you feel, and you realize too late that he’s pouring body wash into his palm and sudsing it up between his hands.

He reaches for your left arm first, lacing your fingers together with one hand while he smooths the fragrant bubbles over your skin with the other. He does the same with your right arm, pausing before he accidentally touches the purple bruise forming where Thirteen’s trap struck you. He stares at the mark, barely brushing his fingers across it like he’s afraid of hurting you even more.

You squeeze his fingers to pull him out of the worried trance he’s fallen into. “It looks worse than it feels,” you say quietly. You try to reassure him but he doesn’t look like he believes you. He bends his head and brushes his lips over the mark before he continues with his task.

He washes your back, kneading the skin gently with his hands as he moves them across your body. He doesn’t stray below your waist, and he only washes the delicate column of your throat and shoulders before turning around to give you privacy. He gathers his basket and sets it on the edge of the pool while you quickly wash your chest.

You rinse the soapy layer off your skin by the time he turns around and pulls you into another hug. The water was a bit tepid now and it’s covered with a thin layer of film from the bath products he used.

“We should probably get out soon,” you murmur, resting against his bare chest. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says and he holds you a bit tighter. “No one is going to bother you tonight.”

You run your fingertips across the water’s surface. “But the water’s getting cool and it’s soapy.” It’s one of the reasons why you normally don’t like taking baths and prefer to shower.

But Asmo holds his hand above the water and starts whispering an incantation you don’t recognize. His hand glows and the water around you ripples gently before it settles. You nearly gasp at the odd sensation of the water instantly warming up again. The bubbly residue from his bath products is gone too.

“Well, that’s a neat trick,” you say with a quiet laugh. He watches your delighted reaction with a smile.

Asmo walks back towards the edge of the pool and pulls you with him. He hops back onto the marble step and scoots backwards. He spreads his legs and pats the space between them where he makes room for you. After a moment of deliberation, you follow him and settle against his chest. His thighs are bracketing your hips and one of his arms is crossed over your front.

He smooths your hair back and brushes it out of the way, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a sigh. He nuzzles your shoulder with his cheek. When you glance at him from the corner of your eye, you realize his eyes are closed.

“How do you feel?” you ask him in a near-whisper.

He turns his head towards you, humming in contemplation. You can feel his warm breath on your neck. “I should be asking you that,” he replies. He’s dodging your question.

You turn to face him properly - or as much as he allows with his arm still wrapped around you. “You were very upset with Solomon earlier,” you remind him. “You didn’t seem like yourself.”

Asmo’s eyes are open and they flash at the mention of the sorcerer’s name. “Did I frighten you?” 

You shake your head because it wasn’t fear you felt in that moment. “No, I wasn’t scared of you. I was worried.”

Asmo rests his forehead against your shoulder and sighs. “I don’t think you understand how hard it is when–“ he starts to say, then he makes a frustrated noise in his throat. "I don't like it when someone else hurts you.”

Asmo is protective of you the way all the other demon brothers are, so his answer doesn’t surprise you. But you’ve known for a while now that something between you has changed, like there’s some gap neither of you are able to cross. Most of the time he seems like himself - carefree, happy, excited by all the wonderful things in the world that he loves. When he’s not himself, his eyes are cold and his tone is sharp.

Sometimes you forget that Asmo’s capable of rage or violence as much as his brothers are, even though he tries not to show you that side of him. The anger in his eyes earlier when he faced off against Solomon in your defense was very real. You’re surprised he didn’t shift into his demon form; perhaps he would have if you hadn’t gotten him out of there in time.

“Does this have to do with what happened a few months ago?” you ask hesitantly.

His body freezes for a split second but it’s enough for you to notice. His arm tightens around you ever so slightly.

“We never did talk about that, did we?” he sighs. He sounds nervous, uncertain - you know he’s trying to avoid having this conversation with you, but you don’t know why. 

“No, but maybe we should. I wasn’t lying earlier when I said I’m worried about you - and not just today. You’ve been…” you gesture vaguely with your hand, “…different lately. After what happened.”

The water is still warm but it feels like you’ve both overstayed your welcome. Asmo relaxes his hold on you and leans over to grab a towel for himself. He stands and quickly dries himself off. The boxer briefs he wears leave little to the imagination when the water-soaked fabric sticks to his skin. Your cheeks burn when you turn away quickly to give him privacy, and you hear him chuckle under his breath.

He sets the towel over his shoulder and grabs a second one for you. He holds it open in front of him and you stand quickly, stepping out of the pool and letting him wrap you in the towel like a blanket.

He tips your face up with a finger under your chin and looks into your eyes. He leans closer and his eyes dart to your lips for the briefest moment. Before you can even ask what he’s doing, he shakes his head and gestures for you to follow him to his room.

You dry yourself off quickly while he steps into the privacy of his walk-in closet. Your RAD uniform is in a crumpled pile somewhere and you wait for him to return, wrapping the towel tighter around yourself so you don’t get cold.

Asmo steps out of his closet wearing a bathrobe that’s tied loosely at his waist. You catch brief glimpses of his bare thighs when he walks towards you; it’s obvious he’s not wearing anything underneath. He hands you a spare bathrobe to put on as well, and he collects the discarded towels and tosses them in the laundry hamper while you shrug the robe onto your shoulders. 

Asmo lays on his bed above the covers, sinking into the pile of ornamental pillows against his headboard. He raises his arm invitingly and you settle on the bed beside him, tucking yourself under his arm and letting your head rest against his shoulder. One of your hands is on his chest and he covers it with his own.

He peppers the top of your head with a few brief, barely-there kisses then sighs warily. He’s delayed this conversation long enough.  “What would you like to ask first?”

You think back to nearly three months ago when a loud slam woke you up in the middle of the night. A yell echoed down the hall from your room and it prompted you to get out of bed quietly and tiptoe outside. What if someone was hurt? you worried at the time. The sound of hushed, frantic voices led you to the front hallway. 

“Asmo?” you whisper, staring at the demon you barely recognized. Blood was splattered across his arms and face, his clothes stained and torn. He was speaking to Lucifer, but his eyes met yours for a moment before he looked away again. You took a hesitant step towards him, but Mammon appeared out of nowhere, blocking Asmo from view and gently pushing you back towards your room.

“You can talk to him tomorrow,” he said quietly, glancing at his brothers over his shoulder. “He wouldn’t want you to see him like this.”

“What happened that night when I saw you in the foyer?” you ask.

“Diavolo finally agreed with Lucifer’s recommendation that the demon bothering you should be expelled from RAD.” Asmo hides his smirk in your hair. “Lucifer decided his punishment deserved a personal touch, so he sent me on behalf of the student council to make sure he went back to the corner of hell he came from. He might’ve been a little worse for wear, but in one piece.” Mostly one piece, anyway.

“Why did Lucifer ask you to do it?” you wonder, looking at him curiously. A thought suddenly occurs to you, and you push up so you can look at him properly. “Does that have to do with the fight you two had?” You weren’t sure what happened, but in the days leading up to that night, Lucifer and Asmo barely seemed to get along; they ignored each other at mealtimes and exchanged icy glares when they were forced to speak about official school business.

Asmo smiles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course it does,” he says. “You tried to hide it from us, but I knew that demon was harassing you. I was worried about you but Lucifer insisted on following protocol. I found his lack of urgency frustrating.”

“I think we need to reconsider allowing the new student to study at RAD,” Asmo said from his seat in Lucifer’s office, his voice quiet and serious. 

Lucifer sighed warily. It wasn’t the first time Asmo spoke to him of his concerns regarding the new demon on campus but his accusations were vague and unsubstantiated. “I already told you that my hands are tied unless he does something actionable.” When Asmo opened his mouth to argue, Lucifer added quickly, “something actionable with proof.”

But something in Asmo’s tense expression made Lucifer hesitate. “What’s wrong?”

Asmo shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it. That demon is dangerous.” He doesn’t say that he’s terrified something bad might happen, that he might not be there in time to save you if it does.

Lucifer leaned back and rubbed his tired eyes with the palms of his hands. “I believe you, but Diavolo needs some sort of evidence to justify expulsion if we want to to avoid any political repercussions. Your intuition simply isn't enough.”

Asmo stood from the chair with a frown and strode away. “If you don’t do something about him now, it could be too late.” He pulled the door open and glared at Lucifer over his shoulder. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he snarled before slamming the door closed behind him.

Asmo pulls you against him and rolls you both over. When you’re both laying on your sides, he wraps an arm around your waist. He smiles when you copy him. 

“I thought it was something I could handle on my own,” you finally admit outloud. “I hoped things would get better with time. I didn’t want to involve anyone else if I didn’t have to.”

But since you didn’t tell Asmo about anything that was going on, you still have to wonder, ”How did you know what was going on if I didn't tell anyone?”

Asmo cuddles a bit closer to you and his eyes slip closed when he tightens his hold on you. “Call it a hunch.”

Mammon tried to explain it to you during your early days as an exchange student. You were curious about Asmo’s fixation on beautiful things - including himself. “It’s not just about beauty or sex with him - it’s about passion. Anger, hatred - he can sense those feelings too but that sorta passion’s ugly to him. That's why he focuses on the feelings that make him feel good. That’s why when he sets his mind to something, he puts in everything he’s got, every time. It’s all or nothin’ with that guy. He doesn’t do half measures.”

It was fortunate that you were still at RAD the day things spiraled out of control. The demon that was bullying you had you cornered in an otherwise empty classroom. He pushed your shoulders against the stone wall and hissed with explicit details how he planned to decorate the room with your insides. Despite all your power and education, you froze in the face of real danger. You were naive to think that there weren’t demons left in the Devildom that would still want to harm you.

Whatever the demon was about to do next was interrupted when the classroom door opened suddenly. The passerby yelled for help and within moments the demon was pulled off you. You slumped to the ground, overwhelmed by the adrenaline and fear coursing through your veins. 

Afterwards, you would remember it was Asmo who picked you up and carried you to the infirmary, who sat at your side and held your hand while you were examined for injuries. It was Asmo who slept in your bed that night to help fend off bad dreams, who stayed home with you the next day while Diavolo and Lucifer finished their investigation.

You had all the pieces to explain what happened, the truth that you were too blind to see: it was Asmo that asked to carry out the demon's punishment because he threatened to kill you.

“What have you done?” Lucifer snapped angrily when he confronted Asmo in the front hallway. He expected his brother home hours ago.

“I did as you asked,” Asmo said in an eerily calm, detached voice. “He’s on his way back to the outer ring and we won’t have to see him ever again.” 

Lucifer grabbed Asmo’s arm when he tried to walk away. “When I gave you permission to do this, I stated very clearly the limitations of what you could and could not do. We all feel the way you do, but–”

“I warned you this would happen!” Asmo cried, aura burning as his rage flared. He quieted himself, remembering the late time and not wanting to wake the others, or you. “He’s still alive. If I ever see him again, he won’t be so lucky.”

You knew Asmo was a powerful demon - he was a demon prince of the Devildom, after all - but you never realized his potential for anger or violence could match the intensity of his love and admiration for the things he held most dear. It overwhelmed you to think that he considered you something worth protecting.

But the more you thought about it, the more you realized you underestimated the depth of his feelings for you. He tried to tell you so many times in so many ways that you were important to him. He brought his manicure kit to your room so he could do his nails while you did your homework. When you finished, he would reward you by doing your nails too. He invited you on spontaneous trips to Majolish or your favourite cafe, refusing your offers to pay for the gifts he bought for you. He was always trying to take your photo, or he’d pull you to his side for selfies together. When you asked him why none of the photos ended up on Devilgram like most of his other pictures, he just winked and said he wanted to keep those pictures for himself.

He teased you playfully if other demons tried to ask you out, and he even encouraged you to accept sometimes - not that you ever had interest in any of those other demons, and he knew it. That didn’t stop him from giving you his usual pep talk before all of the dances you were invited to attend at Diavolo’s castle or The Fall:

“If anyone tries anything with you that you don’t like, blast them with some of that magic of yours. Or better yet, summon me and I’ll take care of it. No matter where I am, I’ll come to you. I promise.”

The realization dawns upon you and you feel like you’re drowning, emotions choked by the truth you’ve always known about his feelings for you, and your feelings for him.

“How long have you felt this way about me?” you ask him, your whispered voice breaking. 

When he opens his eyes, they begin to glow as he gazes at you with so much love - it’s hard to breathe. His cheeks flush just the slightest bit pink when his lips slowly tick up in a small smile. “Oh, my precious darling, when have I not?”

You bury your head against his chest to hide the tears spilling down your cheeks. You’re sobbing and shaking your head, whispering apologies over and over again while your fingers clench the silky material of his robe.

“It’s alright,” Asmo says quietly, his hand rubbing your back in an effort to calm you. “I’m here. Everything is going to be fine from now on, I promise.”

You look at him through blurry, red-rimmed eyes when he pushes you back gently so he can see your face. “But y-you did all that for me and I didn’t know. Or I-I-I think I knew but I pretended I didn’t. Things have felt so off between us and it’s my fault. If I wasn’t so weak, maybe I could’ve—“

Asmo frowns slightly and puts a finger to your lips to quiet you. “Nothing that happened was your fault. I did what I needed to do to keep you safe. I’ll save you as many times as I have to.” He cradles the back of your head and leans forward to brush his lips against your brow.

“I love you,” he says when he lowers his head and kisses your cheek.

“And I’ll never let anything happen to you,” he whispers when his nose brushes against yours and he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth.

The kiss is soft enough that you can ignore it, giving you the chance to turn away, to pretend it didn’t happen. He’s giving you an out, you realize. But when you’re this close, all you can see is the faint glow of his clementine eyes.

The kiss you offer him in return is soft and sweet.

His eyes flutter closed as he moans quietly, and the way he tilts his head so he can slot his mouth against yours reminds you this isn’t a dream. 

“Please,” he murmurs repeatedly against your lips. The quiet, needy pleas are muffled but you understand him perfectly.

When you nod, he doesn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, groaning when his lips move against yours harder and with more urgency. When you part your lips, he licks into your mouth, moaning between swipes of his tongue like he’s devouring you, starved for everything you can give him. His hand slides down your body, squeezing your waist gently before he pulls you tighter against him like he’s trying to blur the lines where you end and he begins.

When you start to roll onto your back, Asmo follows without hesitation, sliding a knee between your thighs and pressing his chest against yours. His kisses become sloppy and the soft, wet sounds are punctuated by your breathy moans.

You’re able to touch him more easily in this position and you tentatively skim your hands along his arms and across his shoulders until your fingers find purchase in his hair. There’s a rumbling noise that vibrates in his chest, and when you tug on his hair with just a bit more force, he breaks the kiss with a groan that makes the dull throb between your legs ache with need.

His hands are everywhere when he drags his lips across your jaw and down your neck. He’s panting between fiery, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. When he latches into the junction between your neck and shoulder and sucks with just a hint of teeth, you gasp.

He hums when he pulls back slightly to admire the mark he’s left on your skin. He raises himself up on his hands so he can look at you properly. You take the opportunity to explore him too, hands sliding down his chest slowly until they settle at his waist. You feel him shudder at your touch. 

“I should be doing this properly,” he says suddenly. When you tilt your head in confusion, he explains, “getting dolled up for you, taking you out for a romantic dinner, seducing you afterwards.” He grins when you flush with embarrassment, but his smile falters after a moment when his gaze pierces yours. “You deserve that. I can give you that if you want. We don’t have to go any further tonight if you’re not ready.”

You cup his cheek. “Do you want to stop?” you ask curiously.

He turns his head so he can kiss the inside of your wrist. “Fuck, no,” he breathes, shaking his head. His hair falls over his eyes, totally unkempt. He’s beautiful like this.

Earlier it was hard to ignore the weight of his cock hardening against your hip, the stilted movements when he kept himself from grinding against you while you kissed. It makes you feel less self-conscious of your own desire, the way his pleased sounds made you feel hot with need. The insides of your thighs are damp with slick and you’re desperate for some kind of friction against your clit. You’ve been clenching around nothing, secretly wanting him to fill you but not having the courage to ask for more. 

“I want you too,” you whisper, staring into his eyes and it feels like you’re finally being honest, trying not to let fear ruin the promise of what his love can offer you. You’re emboldened by the way his eyes are smoldering when he looks at you, the way you’re both trembling with need and the way your voices shake with so much emotion. You don’t want him to have any doubts about how you feel about him or about how desperately you want him too.

He only hesitates a moment before he pushes himself to his knees. One of his knees is still wedged between your thighs, not quite close enough to give you the friction to grind yourself against him. He undoes the knot holding his robe closed and slides it off his shoulders. The sight of his naked chest leaves you breathless.

Your eyes roam across his smooth, unblemished skin. Your fingers grasp the blanket when you feel the itch to grab him and pull him back down. You’re close to begging for him to touch you, and something must flicker across your expression because his gaze darkens. The sweet, somewhat bashful tilt to his lips sharpens into something a little more hungry. 

He leans down, one hand clenching the sheets for balance while he slips his other arm between your bodies. You feel his fingers pull at the thin fabric of your robe and pry it apart and the sudden chill causes goosebumps to spread across your exposed skin. You resist the urge to cover your breasts when you feel your nipples harden. 

“You’re lovely,” he whispers, kissing your cheek softly. “You’re so incredibly beautiful, I can barely stand it.” You tilt your head back when his nose grazes along your jaw and he scrapes his teeth against the sensitive skin below your ear. He pulls your earlobe between his teeth and tugs, licking the skin in a mock apology when you gasp and arch your back against his chest.

“I bet you say that to all your dates,” you whimper. His desire is intoxicating but you can feel the self-doubts bubbling over, your inhibitions threatening to spill from your lips and ruin everything. Before you can say anything else, Asmo sighs his head and tilts your head so you’re forced to look him in the eye.

“None of that matters anymore, not when I finally have you,” he says quietly, like it’s some sort of oath. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He gives you a hard, quick kiss. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.”

He shuffles closer and his cock hangs heavy against you. The tip is dribbling precum and it feels warm and sticky on your thigh. His head tilts back with a moan and he slowly rubs against you, painting your skin with his desire and leaving no room for doubt that he wants you.

You can’t stop yourself from reaching for him and you pull him closer as you spread your legs invitingly. “Asmo, please–”

He growls quietly and in an instant his lips are around one of your nipples while his hand snakes back down between your bodies. His tongue swirls around the hardened bud, and he sucks it into his mouth at the same time his long fingers dip between your folds. Your hips jolt when he brushes against your clit, puffy and wet with your desire and it’s all for him.

Asmo moans around your nipple when he feels the wetness between your legs. He kisses across your breasts as he starts grinding against you a bit harder than before.

“You’re almost ready for me, aren’t you?” he asks, amazed by how utterly perfect you are, bare and needy under him. He licks his lips and you can see a hint of his fangs when he grins.

The way he looks at you makes you squirm underneath him. You move your hips and try to chase his fingers as he explores the soft skin of your folds. The delicious pressure of his fingertips rubbing against your clit is enough to make your thighs quake. You feel the beginnings of your release, but you whine when he suddenly moves his fingers away. Before you can ask him to touch you again, he slips a finger inside you and the sudden fullness makes you groan. 

He’s hypnotized by the way your body moves in tandem with his, arching your back and undulating your hips as he pumps his finger inside. He’s being slow and deliberate, studying your face for every reaction, and when he adds another finger he thrusts them both in deep. You take the intrusion so well, like your body was made to be his, and he knows you're close when your moans pitch higher and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets.

“You feel so perfect around my fingers,” he murmurs, watching with half-lidded eyes as his fingers move faster in and out of you. He bites his lip when he feels you clench around him, and he’s nearly mad with the desire to have you finally wrapped around his cock. “You’re so responsive.” He strokes your clit with his thumb as his fingers stretch and tease your gummy walls, crooking his fingers inside you like he’s inviting you to sin.

The sensations drive you to the edge and you’re chasing your release, eyes closed and swallowing thickly after you choke on a moan that sounds suspiciously like his name. “I want you so badly,” you beg, and your voice sounds breathy and pathetic to your ears but you can feel the heat of his gaze on you when your body tightens around him. He keeps brushing over that spot inside that feels so good and you don’t want the feeling to stop, you want more. “I want you to come inside me, I want–” 

You cry out as the orgasm crashes through you out of nowhere, wave after unrelenting wave of pleasure setting your body ablaze as his greedy fingers coax every last breathy moan from your lips. He savors the way your body flutters around him, like you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of his fingers still pumping inside you but your pretty little hole’s too greedy to let him go.

Asmo finally pulls his hand away when you try to clench your thighs closed to stop him from teasing your oversensitive nerves. He sits back on his heels and waits patiently while you catch your breath. Your skin glistens lightly with sweat and he can’t stop staring at you.

When you finally open your eyes, he brings his slick-soaked fingers to his mouth, licking your essence from his fingertips before sucking them both into his mouth greedily. Once they’re clean, he releases them with a quiet pop.

“You taste delicious,” he coos appreciatively. He’s so tempted to dive between your legs, to lap up every last drop of slick that clings to your folds. He wants to breathe in your intoxicating scent until it’s seared into his memory forever, to plunder your hole with his tongue until you can’t possibly give him more. 

But as much as Asmo wants to make himself a new home between your legs buried tongue-deep inside you, or to pull you on top of him so you can grind against his face so he’s drenched in your slick, he knows that will have to wait until next time.

He’s been with hardly anyone else since what happened a few months ago. He was overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings for you - the fear of losing you, the need to claim you properly - and it sent him into a tailspin. He tried to pretend there was nothing wrong and he went to his usual haunts, but he didn’t want any of those other demons: none of them were you. 

Now that he has you, he’s not sure anything can possibly be better than this: the way you looked swept away by pleasure; your loud, high-pitched sounds like music to his ears; and the way you fucked yourself on his fingers and begged for his cock inside you - it’s too much temptation for even the Avatar of Lust to bear. 

When the sensitivity has ebbed and you’ve caught your breath, you let your thighs fall open again and Asmo doesn’t hesitate to shuffle between them properly. His cock bumps against you and when he lowers himself to his forearms above you, he teases you with the glide of his cock along your folds. He rolls his hips slightly so that the tip of his cock grazes your clit and then he pushes even lower, letting the head of his cock tease at your hole. He adds just enough pressure at your entrance that promises more, and that has you moaning in anticipation and spreading your legs even wider for him.

You lift your thighs so they rest against his hips to keep him in place, to encourage him to come even closer, to fill you so you never feel empty again.

His head tips back and soft sighs fall from his lips when he finally pushes inside. Neither of you seem to care about the way your body squelches obscenely with the slow drag of his cock along your walls. It’s a smooth glide until he finally bottoms out and he moans, but he blinks his eyes open rapidly, surprised at the sudden wetness clinging to his eyelashes. One of your hands is clutched to his back, the sharp grip of your fingernails a delightful mixture of pleasure and pain.

You cup his face with your other hand and wipe away the rogue tears that roll down his cheek. “I love you so much,” you say in a quiet, shaky voice, because there’s nothing more perfect you can say in this moment, not when his body cages yours and you feel so utterly wanted. When his cock twitches eagerly inside you, you wonder why it took so long to do this together; it feels like you were both fighting inevitability.

He nuzzles against your hand and kisses your palm before he rolls his hips with a few shallow, exploratory strokes. You both moan, and your other hand leaves his cheek so you can grasp onto his shoulder to brace yourself.

Asmo bites his lip when he rocks into you again. “You feel—“ he breaks off with a groan, wincing when your walls squeeze around him. “You feel so fucking good, I don’t think I’m going to last.” 

Despite the pleasure gripping his senses, he feels the faintest ripple of embarrassment too. He’s worried about disappointing you after finally getting to have you after all this time. The longing for you festered so deep within him that even touching someone that wasn’t you didn’t really satisfy him anymore. He’s overcome by his desire for you even though he tried to ignore it, because he didn’t know if you wanted him, if you were ready for what he wanted to give you so badly—

But you breathe out his name and the unabashed lust in your eyes is unmistakable. You’re panting lightly, wetting your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue and he tracks the movement greedily. “I just want you,” you say when you tighten your legs around his waist, urging him even deeper. 

That’s all the invitation Asmo needs. He braces himself on his hands and starts to move inside you with slow, controlled thrusts. The heat of your walls wrapped around his cock and your soft, needy moans and whimpers overwhelm his senses, and it’s hard to maintain the gentle rocking of his hips against yours when he feels the tethers of his self-control start to snap.

He puts more power into his movements, answering your whimpered pleas for him to fuck you, to give it to you harder and faster. You’re not commanding him, but you don’t have to; he obeys willingly with the rough snap of his hips as he fucks you into his mattress. He growls approvingly when you toss your head back in submission and pleasure, whining and choking on the moans he drags out of you with every push and pull of his cock claiming you from the inside-out.

The bed frame creaks from the force of his thrusts and the headboard bangs against the wall, but Asmo doesn't care, not when it feels like you’re both teetering on the edge of an abyss and he’s so close to falling. He’s determined to drag you down with him.

“Touch yourself,” he whispers in a rough voice when he feels his orgasm approaching.  “I want you to come with me.” He doesn’t remember the last time he felt so desperate, but you reach between your bodies and start stroking your clit in time with his powerful thrusts. Your body clenches around him almost immediately and your back arches, and his cock is suddenly enveloped with even more slickness when you come for him a second time, his name falling from your lips in a broken cry.

He can’t possibly last after that and he doesn’t want to, and your pleasure rips the orgasm from him and he cries out when he spills inside you, marking you as his in a way no one else possibly can. His hips stutter as his thrusts become sloppy and shallow, and the desperate haze clears from his mind when satisfied exhaustion takes its place.

You both groan when his softening cock finally slips from your body. He collapses at your side to avoid crushing you with his weight, and he pulls you against him. You’re both hot and sticky and the air smells like musk from sweat and sex. Asmo knows there’s a wet spot drying on his sheets where your slick and his come pooled between your thighs.

He knows you’re both exhausted, but he hasn’t felt this content in weeks.

You nuzzle into his shoulder and sigh, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. You’re still trembling slightly, but you melt into his embrace and it makes his throat thicken with emotion. 

“I think we need another bath,” you murmur sleepily. Your lips tickle where they graze his skin and he smiles.

“Later,” he promises and he wraps his arms around you. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispers.

Stay with me forever, he thinks and doesn’t say out loud. But when you nod and cuddle even closer to him before sleep claims you, Asmo believes he didn’t have to.

[oimitocat]

TTANG | OS

bang chan x m!reader

gun wounds + injury + violence + crying + death threats + coping mechanisms

a/n: i have another req. similar so stay tuned

security is on high alert. it’s been a week or so since the death threats have begun. maybe they should have expected it… as many people love you, there is always a few that hate you. it’s the blessing and curse of being famous.

ilogical, you’d say. super stupid. people that have nothing better to do and rile things up.

many (true) fans are defensive.

you and chan have talked about it. how good it feels to know the fans are taking care of them however they can. chan himself always makes sure things go right. he’s checking in with security, with managers. everything.

there is that slight worry. the members don’t exactly talk about it, but you yourself know they think the same as you. what if?

the concert starts and your enjoying yourself. you make contact with jeongin and grin. you fist bump with felix and laugh with minho when jisung makes a mistake. you talk to your fans and simply end up feeling at ease. you put your trust in security and management.

you check up on chan during outfit change.

“see, all good.” you say softly, rubbing his arm.

he nods. he’s pretty serious but you don’t put much mind to it. you trust that at the end of the night he’ll lighten up for real.

sadly, at the end of the night is when everything goes south. felix is talking as the show almost comes to an end. you casually look around at the hundreds of fans watching them- when you here a gunshot. everyone naturally ducks. the fans scream. security runs around. your in ear is suddenly ringing a noise in your ear.

your managers are screaming at all of you to run to backstage. you spin around and run, catching up to chan who, despite the situation, makes sure the other kids are backstage first.

“go!” you shove him, spinning him around at the entrance when the second gunshot is fired.

your bodyguards are barely getting on the platform to guard you and change whatever outcome could happen.

yet, at the third gunshot, you cover chan. your guards don’t make it in time to prevent the situation. your eyes widen when a pain shoots from your upper back. the impact itself sends you forward, stumbling down the flight of stairs. chan screams, so do the kids and staff waiting at the bottom.

a hiss and groan escape your lips when you hit the floor. you force your eyes to open, watching chan run down the stairs to reach for you. it’s so noisy- screams, orders and crying. yet, your ears muffle it out when you finally take your hand away from your chest. you had blood dripping between your fingers. your eyes flit to chan’s wide eyes, his hands grabbing your bloody one.

the pain subsides into numbness. you’re bleeding out on the floor, breathing is hard- then you’re on a stretcher. then you feel yourself drifting in and out of consciousness.

then everything goes black. you can hear for a bit. you wish you could’ve heard chan’s voice instead of the EMT’s yelling out codes and whatnot. soon though, you truly black out.

it’s not a very comfortable sleep. literally felt like you were in a sleep paralysis. by the time you come to some awareness, that’s all you feel. you hear people talk. you feel when you’re moved to a bed. you knew when the lights were on or off. you felt cold sometimes and hot other times.

after who knows how long you actually were out for, you finally open your eyes. your manager gasps and sits up.

not even a few minutes later you’re popular by a couple nurses and a doctor. turns out the bullet hit your from the back breaking a rib and shot through. fatal, apparently.

you beg and ask for them not to tell the members. they already know you’re recovering, just not awake yet. you don’t want visitors.

it’s an agonizing few days. your manager keeps updating you on things. all you want is to be in chan’s arms, really. your body is still sore from the aftermath, but all you really care about is how chan is doing.

you know he’s strong. but you also know how much he can take. this isn’t something light. sometimes you close your eyes and remember how scared he was.

you miss him.

“what’s with that face?” chan sits up and whips his head around to look at you.

he opens his mouth but nothing comes out. he can’t even stand without stumbling. “y-y/n!”

“you’re supposed to be at the hospital-“ he falls silent when your fingers brush the side of his face.

“i got discharged an hour ago,” you say casually, sitting next to him on the bed. “so, what’s with that face?”

“i was just…” he stares at you. he knows you, so as much as he wants to pry and ask, he knows you’re not up for it. he shrugs, swallowing down his emotions while looking away. “thinking.”

“about me?”

“who else?” he chuckles dryly, “but about everything… i never thought anyone would actually go through with a threat…”

you watch him, “i mean we had talked about it, but experiencing it is different. i’m okay and that’s what matters.”

“but the bullet was for me-“

“it was for any of us.” he looks at you, “okay maybe it was for you. i don’t even know how but i just felt the need to be blocking you and then that happened. jyp already released a statement and like i said, what matter is…” you swallow when you see him wipe away his tears, “is that i’m fine. i’m alive. i’m here.”

there’s a silence that engulfs you. then, you pull him into a hug. “i’m here, chan.”

and he sobs into your chest. after days of holding everything in— his worry, his anger… his love. his fear of you not coming back. of something probably going wrong last minute and you don’t make it- “i love you so much,” he cries.

“i love you just as much,” you tighten your arms around him. “i think me taking that bullet proves it.” you pause when his arms twitch around you, “okay my bad, i shouldn’t joke about it.”

chan sighs, sniffling after. “that’s what i love about you… it makes me happy to know that you’re still you.”

“of course,” you wince a bit as you try to get him onto your lap to cuddle him better. “this is good. i have something to flex during interviews.”

chan snorts, shaking his head. he looks up at you, tears still glimmering in his eyes. you eye him, taking every detail of him. he’s so fragile now. you remember the look of absolute mortification when you were bleeding out on the floor. you lean in and kiss his lips before hugging him again. you bury your face into his neck.

“we’re fine, chan.” you whisper.

he nods, embracing you and closing his eyes.

[kayawolfhorse]

The breeze that whispers between the stalks of bamboo encircling the cherry mountain’s highest point is a welcome coolness against Scar’s face. However fresh it may be, the red that runs beneath his skin seems to boil his blood as physically as it does in the purely metaphoric; he’s warm enough to have discarded his waistcoat and pushed his sleeves further up his arms.

Lizzie and Jimmy are asleep, bedrolls laid out around the embers of a once-fire, shrouded in enough torchlight to keep the mobs at bay. At the cusp between dusk and darkness, they’d taken joy in kicking the empty shells their killer snails had left behind down the ridge of the hill, and Scar had cheered with them when the shells had crumbled into dust at the bottom. He hasn’t touched his own.

Restlessness prickles at his palms and itches at his mind. Scar’s effort to sleep had been mendacious by his own standards, but the moment his head had met the pillow beneath it, he knew rest would evade his every attempt.

All is quiet, all is still. Scar’s tiptoe is careful, and his teammates sleep through the ringing crack of the branch he could’ve sworn was not there a moment prior. Scar ducks through the bamboo and starts to scale his way down the hillside.

His plan of avoiding the staircase had seemed brilliantly inconspicuous on flat ground. It proves useless when Scar runs straight into company.

He nearly sends himself barreling down the steep drop, taking Grian with him. He would’ve, in fact, had Grian not clutched his arm and pulled their collision into something closer to an anchoring embrace.

Grian’s touch is gone as soon as Scar’s no longer in danger of dying to fall damage. Scar blinks at him. “Hello there.”

“What are you doing?” Grian’s hushed voice is halfway between a hiss and sigh. His sweater is wound tightly around his shoulders.

“I could ask you the same thing.” They’re about halfway down the mountain the Bamboozlers and the Spanners share, on the face opposite to where Grian’s team has hung their bridges. The ridge they sit upon is no larger than a cascade of cherry blossom petals and a smattering of tiny pink flowers. “Scheming up the next wild card? Scouting out traps?”

Scoffing, Grian casts a hand across the empty wilderness beyond them. “Who would I trap? Why would I be setting up traps right now?”

“You’ve always been the prepared type, you could be getting your licks in early,” Scar says, and the teasing that sweeps up his throat is familiar.

The faint smile Grian fights to keep off his face is at contrast with the sharp edges of his frame. “I really wasn’t, not this time. Just… taking in the night.”

“Hm.” Scar wonders how the things Grian keeps from him weigh against the things Grian shares. Not that it matters here—they’re hardly allies this time around; enemies, even. As red as his eyes are, Scar should shove Grian right off the mountain and see how his iron armor fares.

The full moon’s light shines through the strands of Grian’s golden hair. His knee is warm against Scar’s own when Scar dares to nudge closer, and Grian makes no moves away from him. Selfishly, Scar remains, and the silence that falls between them is generosity extended.

Still, something lingers. Eventually, Scar softly says, “Thanks.”

Grian startles slightly, and glances at Scar before fixing his sight on the horizon. “What for?”

“All you’ve done to keep me alive,” Scar says, and the sudden rush in his ears is a stark reminder of what he’d almost lost. His lives gone are splintering cracks spreading across his chest; the final one is as fine and fragile as a spider’s web cast over his heart. The shattering sure to come was deafening before Grian had thrown the world into a resolute halt.

“Well. It was nearing the end of the day, anyway,” Grian says, near-defensively. “It’d be silly to lose a player so early on from something so preventable.”

Now, that just won’t do. Scar tilts back and balances his weight between his arms. “Sure, sure. But you and I know the truth, don’t we?”

Grian scoffs, and drily asks, “The truth, huh?”

“Why, you’d miss me so terribly, of course!”

“Miss what about you, exactly? Pretty sure you tried to kill me earlier.”

Scar waves a hand. “That was just for fun. Anyway, I have many miss-able qualities. On who else would you see this handsome of a face?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Mumbo’s mustache is pretty hard to top,” Grian drawls, but his shoulders have lowered and his hands are loose at his sides.

“Very indam-itat-ible.” Scar nods solemnly.

“Indomitable?”

“But, you just can’t beat the good times, Gri,” Scar continues. “It’s impossible, even. Who would fill that treacherous void, if not me? I’m doing the world a service!”

“Your idea of service is a wink and a scam to whoever you can sell it to,” Grian says through a smirk.

“As a salesman trying to make an honest living, I’m wounded that you’d think I’d do anything as vile as scamming people,” Scar says, wiping a dry eye.

“Honestly, I’m still not sure how you managed to talk anyone into buying pieces of colored glass or bits of junk from the back of your cabinets,” Grian says. “Must’ve been all the flirting.”

“The flirting is a Grian exclusive, I’m afraid!” Scar says. “The ol’ patented charm got the rest. That does remind me, though, I’ve got a limited time offer on the table, just for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Grian says, and the glint in his eyes rivals an entire barrel-full of gleaming crystals.

“Yeah.” Scar brings his hands forward and cradles Grian’s wind-touched cheeks between his palms to press a quick peck to the side of Grian’s mouth.

Grian catches Scar by the hand when he starts to pull away, and his calloused thumb splays against the delicate flesh of Scar’s inner wrist, shifting until it rests against his pulse. Scar takes a moment to kiss Grian thoroughly.

“I suppose you do have a pretty nice face,” Grian concedes after he’s leaned back into his own space.

“Why, thank you,” Scar says with a wink.

Blossoms sway gently above them, and the plains below hum with spiders and cicadas. The thoughts tumbling behind Scar’s eyes have eased to a steady churn. Grian’s fingers are still against his wrist.

Together, they sit and bask in the glow of company beneath the moon’s silver shine.

[afyrian]

japan’s summer persimmons kita shinsuke x fem!reader (fluff) m.list | wc: 1k | synopsis: based on 'good directions' by billy currington

    the sun sits high in the sky, baring its bright rays down onto the country roads. the summer heat leaving a refracting effect, a wavy appearance to live through. some of the crops’ leaves start to wilt under the extreme heat. however, none of it seems to affect kita shinsuke. a wet rag is resting on his neck, straw hat blocking the sun from entering his eyes.

  he sits comfortably in a folding chair, boots propped up onto a low stool. the pair of jeans he wears has rips and dirt caked into each stitch, matching his shirt that needs another soak. his arm rests on the increasingly hot truck bed, hand holding the farmer's almanac for the upcoming year. 

  very rarely will kita find himself selling out of his flatbed truck. but once the season starts getting to the end of the season, he needs to get rid of some of the extras. especially his persimmons which he sells at a discount. they're slightly deformed, perfectly edible by his standards, but unlikely to be sold at traditional grocery stores. and while they sell well, the past month has been too hot for people to stop. 

  however, today seems to be his day as another car drives up. it's a beautiful car, shiny with some mud on the wheels, the license plate written out to say 'tokyo'. the windows are slightly tinted as a few magnets bedazzle the back bumper. kita tilts back his hat, setting down the almanac onto the truck. taking in a deep sigh, he stands up, resting his hands on his hips. 

  the door opens and out steps you. you have a pair of sunglasses on, protecting you from the intense glare of the sun. your arm rests on the top of your car, a pair of stylish overalls’ straps rests on your shoulders. “hey! would you by any chance know how to get to the interstate?” you bring up your free hand, raising your sunglasses to see him better.

  in this moment, kita was completely dumbfounded by you. the way you stood in the bright light, blocking some of the sun as a halo effect displays around you. it seemed as if a city angel made their way to his little bumpkin town. “the interstate? well there’s a caution light down yonder, a little country store stocked full of food,” he starts, taking a few steps towards your car, thumb moving to rest in his pocket.

  “you have got to stop in and ask for ms. yamada’s green tea. she’d love ya,” kita can’t help but feel his heart racing, a smile growing on your face, “now a left will take you to the interstate. but a right will bring you right back here to me.”

  kita was never the forward type, but knowing that you’re from out of town, that he may never see you again. he just had to take a chance. it seems to work well as you tap the top of your car, still smiling ear to ear, “really, well i’ll ask ms. yamada her opinion of you and i’ll see which way life takes me.”

  “before you ask her, just remind her who supplies her persimmons stock,” he tips his hat some, standing back as you duck into your car, rolling your eyes. 

  however, he can tell the way you do it is sarcastic, that there’s a little worm named kita who had entered your mind. he watches as you drive off with a dust cloud behind you, already holding the picture of you in his mind. the way the sunglasses framed your face, the movie star look that you held. it felt a little too good to be true, the way someone like you talked to someone like him. 

  there was something so different about you, kita being so used to the country appearances of his neighbors. but not just that, it’s the way you joined in, made a joke of your own. for him, it’s like you could be the yin to his yang. he grabs his hat, turning around to toss it into the back of his truck. quickly wondering how he could’ve missed your name.

  something so critical, your name. and yet he was so enamored by your very being that he couldn’t remember to ask for something as simple as that. when he looks back up, your car is already past the light. and he knows that his old truck could never catch up with yours, especially with that bin of persimmons resting on top.

  sitting back down in his seat, he rests his foot on his other knee, leaning his head back. a trail of sweat runs from his forehead to his neck, his mind wracking with slight embarrassment. believing you likely didn’t actually like him, that his words were just a little too forward, attitude just a little too ‘farmer’ for you. grabbing the almanac, he shakes his head slightly. 

  while bringing his hand up and rubbing his face, he looks up, taking in a deep breath. just as he’s about to open up the almanac and wish that that had never happened, he hears the roar of an engine coming from a distance. staring out at the car, kita wonders if the heat is finally getting to him, if that’s really your car. 

  as it turns into his long driveway, he can see that it’s you. the woman of his dreams, if he’s entirely honest. you stop the car near his, stepping out with a glass of what he can only believe is green tea. “i went past the caution light, found my way to ms. yamada. and, she vouches for you, and your persimmons,” you walk back to your trunk, setting your drink down.

  “figured i just had to come back and give one a taste, what do you think, mr…?”

  “kita, shinsuke. and i think they’re just about ripe for the picking, plus first few on the house for a beautiful woman,” he leans against his truck bed, a small smile tickling at his lips. 

a/n: if you want a similar vibe please check out @nectardaddy’s ‘88 ford

[ragingbookdragon]

Make Me Sway

1930's TF 141 x Reader

Word Count: 2.6K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I have so many AUs planned but @temeyes said run with this one so I shall :) -Thorne

**********************************************************************

She wakes with a startle, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling which turns into an unfamiliar room. Fancy, obviously a wealthy owner, the room’s almost as big as her entire apartment. She sits up and blinks, looking down at herself—still dressed in the clothes she was in last night, save her shoes.

“Finally awake?” Her head swivels to the side to see a young man standing with a calm smile on his face. “Hi, I’m—”

She scrambles off the bed, puts it between them and she looks around for an exit to flee from.

“Woah, calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.”

He takes a step closer, and she reacts, grabbing the lamp from the bedside table, yanking it from the wall and flipping it upside down to use as a weapon. He snorts, trying to hide it and puts on a firm look. “Will you—will you please put the lamp down?”

“W-where am I?” she asks, keeping the bed still between them; she waves the lamp at him. “Who are you?”

“My name is Kyle and you’re here at my boss’s mansion.”

“Where is here?”

“Just a few miles out of New York City. Countryside.”

“Oh, Jesus,” she says in shock and when he takes another step, she waves the lamp and moves to the end of the bed. “Back! Get back!”

Kyle throws his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, easy. I’m not going to hurt you, I swear.”

She looks around the lavish room, it’s green, calming, the wood is cherry, and she breathes in the scent of lavender. “Why am I here?”

“I can’t answer that,” he says and takes a cautious step forward. “But I can get my Captain so he can. He told me to watch you until you woke and take you to him when you did.” He looks at her, deep brown eyes firm but kind, trusting. “I can take you to him, but I need you to put the lamp down before you hurt yourself.” She lets him get close, hands him the lamp. “That’s a good girl. Now—”

He starts talking but she lowers her gaze to the gun sitting in his between his pants and shirt, tucked neatly at his hip; it only takes a split second to decide, and she yanks the revolver from him and points it at him as she backs up and now, he looks even more worried.

“Easy,” he says the word lowly, a warning; looks at her shaking hands. “You don’t even know how to shoot a gun, I reckon.”

“I can learn,” she retorts with a wavering confidence. “I’ve learned a lot by doing in the moment.” She thinks of all the things she’s learned in the nursing ward she’s been in for the last two years.

“Why don’t we—”

The gun aims over his shoulder and a blast rings out in the room as the glass picture on the wall shatters.

“Christ!” he shouts, ducking. “Are you fucking mad! You could’ve fucking shot me!”

“No, but I’m sure I still have a few rounds in the chamber,” she replies. “Perhaps you should go get your Captain, hmm?” she waves the gun to the door. “Run along.”

Kyle lifts his hands over his head and backs up slowly to the door. “Crazy, fucking bat—” he hurries out and she lowers the gun, hyperventilating, tucking herself into the corner; a quick look out the window dismays her idea to jump out the window—she’s on the second floor high up.

It’s only a few minutes before a knock sounds on the door and she lifts the gun again as a calm, deep voice comes through. “Can I come in?”

She swallows thickly and backs closer to the corner. “I have a gun!”

“I’m well aware,” the voice replies humored and in steps an older man, early forties, clean kempt and clean shaven, light brown and dusting gray mutton chops; his eyes are soft, a bit crow-footed around the edges, times of worry and weariness evident, but his expression and body language appear non-threatening. “Gave my Sergeant quite a wake-up, didn’t you, love? I’ve always loved a woman not afraid to make her peace,” he notes with a grin, and she can’t help but let out a startled laugh.

She watches as he walks over to the table in the corner and plucks two hardwood chairs up and sets them down in the middle of the room, followed by a small table from the window; he sets them a distance away, a safe distance and sits down in the chair closest to the door.

“Care to sit?”

“Not particularly,” she says and waits for him to speak, but he doesn’t, only smiles when the door opens and in steps the same young man but he’s holding a silver tray with a tea kettle and a few small cups.

“Tea, Captain,” he murmurs and sets it down on the table before leaving.

“Thank you, Kyle,” he says and looks at her. “You look awfully taut, love, come have some tea and we’ll sit a while and discuss what’s going on.”

She looks at it dubiously. “And how do I know you haven’t poisoned it?”

He blinks and pours himself a cup before blowing and taking a sip. “Wouldn’t drink it, would I?” He can tell she wants to argue but doesn’t know what to say and he smiles, nodding to the chair a few feet from him. “You’re confused, scared, and untrusting. Take a seat and I can help clear up some of those for you.”

“You’re not going to hurt me?” it’s a stupid question to ask really, naïve even, but still, she can’t help it.

He laughs. “If I was going to hurt you, I wouldn’t have you up here in my guest bedroom.”

She purses her lips and tips her head side to side; can’t argue with that. Taking a seat, she lets him pour a cup.

“Sugar?”

“Two, please.”

He nods. “Sweet love, aren’t you?” handing her the cup, he holds out his hand. “May I have Sergeant Garrick’s gun back, please?” His tone is kind, but it’s obvious he’s a man who isn’t to be argued with and she hands the gun over. “Thank you, love.”

She holds the cup in her lap, watching the steam waft up to her face. “Where am I?”

“At my mansion just outside of New York.” He takes a sip. “First, I’d like to offer my sincerest apologies for what occurred last night and how you unfortunately were involved.”

It takes a second and her memory flashes.

The guns went off before she realized what was happening, bullets ringing from over the street. One of their faces appears in her vision and then other faces, fingers pointing at her and she felt her heart drop into her stomach as she picks her bag from the ground and ran down the alley.

It’s only a moment before a weight like a train hits her back and she falls to the ground, sliding in dirt and grime behind the dumpster as she scrambles for her bearings. A cocking echoes and she looks over, the barrel of a gun in her face and she pleads with the man, “Please, please, I don’t want to die!”

He curses at her, screaming and then he looks down the alley he came in from and curses again, running off, but not before yanking her bag up and taking off with it.

Two more men run to her, and she slips in the watery mud as she tries to get up and run, but then one of the men’s arms are around her waist.

“Hold it, lass!” She starts screaming, and then his hand is over her mouth. “Stop fucking screaming! You tryna call the fuzz!”

His hand is over her nose, and she thrashes wildly in his grip as oxygen shorts from her lungs.

“Careful, Johnny,” the other warns. “Price’ll be livid if you kill her.”

Her vision blacks out, consciousness bleeding away as his response turns to mush in her ears.

“John and Simon weren’t supposed to do their mission in the neighborhood they were in. It’s my fault you were involved with it.”

She blinks the memory of the night before away and looks at him.

He looks almost ashamed. “Believe me, I’ve already expressed my anger thoroughly with them. They’ll both be in here to apologize at some point. John, especially for how he treated a young lady such as yourself.”

“…I take it you’re not exactly ‘law-abiding’ citizens?”

His eyes find hers and he smiles, holding out his hand. “Jonathan Price.”

She takes his hand and shakes it. “(Y/N) (L/N).” she looks him over. “You’re a mobster, aren’t you?”

“I prefer to call myself a well-distinguished businessman who simply operates outside the rules of engagement.”

“Long way to call yourself a criminal,” she snaps and sips her tea.

“Probably.” He gazes at her. “What happened last night was a fight over territory with a rival gang. You weren’t supposed to get involved.”

“Really? I had no idea?”

She knows he doesn’t take kindly to the sarcasm, but he can’t blame her. “That being said, it’s already through the channels that you’re somehow involved with my group. They’ve put a hit on you.”

Tea goes down the wrong pipe and she coughs, massaging her chest as she manages, “I’m sorry? Can you repeat that?”

“Because John and Simon brought you back, the others have assumed you’re a part of the one-four-one. They’ve officially put a target on your back.” He takes her shock in stride and in return calms, “I don’t intend to let anyone, or anything hurt you before all of this is cleared.”

“I’m going to die?”

He blinks and shakes his head. “No, you’re not, love.” Reaching over with a gentle hand, he places it on her wrist and looks into her eyes as he promises, “I won’t let anyone hurt you as a result of my men’s piss poor planning. You will be safe until it’s over and can return back to normal life.”

She breathes deeply, looks at the hand on her wrist. A stranger’s hand shouldn’t be so peaceful, so gentle, but his words sway her into a peace, and she exhales, her shoulders drooping. “I…but I have my job, my life. I…how am I supposed to live?”

Price frowns and pulls his hand away. “For now, I’ll contact your job and have you put on an extended leave, we’ll call it a family emergency.”

“The hospital would soon rather fire me.”

“Not on my watch they won’t,” he replies with a grin. “I’ll have your apartment cleared of your necessities and brought here, the rent paid for the next few months, depending on how long this takes.”

She looks around the room. “I’m supposed to live here for this time? All day, every day? Like a bird in a cage? A prisoner?”

“Of course not. My mansion is yours to explore freely. I have acres of land that are patrolled regularly so you’ll be safe anywhere. The only rooms that are off limits are my office which connects to my bedroom, and the rooms of my men unless they allow you into them.” He looks at her. “I have an extensive library and gallery, a decent stable with horses, a vast kitchen—the choice is yours to go wherever and do whatever. If there’s something you’d like, simply ask and I’ll see to it that you get it.”

“And what if I want to go into the city and go shopping?” she challenges. “A girl can’t stay cooped up forever in a nest. She’ll go insane.”

Price smiles but it’s evident he’s already thought of her question. “We’ll see what we can arrange.”

She lets out a sigh and sinks back into her chair, all of it suddenly hitting her and she tears up, setting the cup down to wipe her face as tears begin to fall. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry. I don’t usually cry like this.”

He simply hands her his pocket square from his suit and says, “Cry all you’d like, love. It’s my fault you’re in this mess, and I promise to get you out of it smoothly the best I can.” Another few moments of her crying before she sits up straighter and wipes her eyes one last time and he smiles. “Done?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Then perhaps, if you’re up for it, I’d like to introduce you to my men.” When he sees the pause on her face, he adds, “We don’t have to now, if you don’t, but given that they’ll be looking after you, it’d be important to get it over with.”

She nods her head and sighs, “I understand.”

Price smiles and looks to the door. “Boys.”

The door opens and in files three men one after the other, the first, a tall blonde with a black face mask to match the all black suit he’s in, the next, a slightly shorter man with a head of shaved sides in a blue, pinstriped suit, and the third, Kyle, the man she’d met previously in a green and brown plaid suit.

Price gestures to the first, “My second-in-command, Lieutenant Simon Riley, my first Sergeant John MacTavish, and you know Sergeant Kyle Garrick.”

She swallows thickly and looks over them with quickly warming cheeks. “How do you do.” She meets eyes with Kyle and offers him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for…shooting at you.”

The others snicker as Price shoots them a disapproving look and Kyle simply smiles back and shakes his head. “S’alright, sweets. No harm, no foul.”

Price looks over all of them fondly then back to her. “These are men I would gladly lay my life down for. I trust them beyond measure. None of them would ever hurt you.”

She glances at them, and they all show looks of pride but also have a demeanor of respect and determination. “Um, I’m (Y/N).”

The second one, John, grins at her. “Bonnie lass, ain’t ya? Definitely wouldn’t mind taking you on the town.”

Her cheeks get hot, and she looks at her hands, as Price scowls at him. “MacTavish, don’t forget you still owe Miss (L/N) one massive apology.”

John’s own face turns red as he looks at the ground, mouth snapping shut, and this time, Simon and Kyle laugh at him.

Price turns to her and smiles. “They’re a bit rambunctious at times, but a good lot. I’d like to have them rotate turns on keeping you company, if nothing else so you don’t go insane all alone here.”

“Oh, alright,” she agrees. “Will it be every day or every other…?”

He looks back at the men and then back to her. “Perhaps every week? I think a week with each one would give you adequate time to become comfortable with them. Less confusion to figure on who’s day it is when it’s simply someone’s week.”

“That sounds fine,” she nods and clears her throat. “Well, who is going to be with me first?”

Price smiles and pats her knee before standing and walking to the door. “I’ll let you have the honors of such a decision, love. That being said, I have some business to attend. I’ll see you all at dinner.” He looks at the masked one. “Simon, if she doesn’t choose you, I’ll need to see you in my office.”

“Yes sir,” he replies lowly, never taking his eyes off her as Price shuts the door behind him.

She’s left with the three men, an apprehensive look on her face as she stares back at the three men. “So…how’s everyone’s morning going so far?”

[taylorsburner]

Are You Forgetting Anything?

A/N: I really wanted to write something fluffy for Bob. It's like a requirement; Bob is fluff. It's really short but I love it. It's not my first fic, but it's my first Bob fic so I hope y'all like it :)

No matter how many times Bob went over his mental checklist, he always managed to forget something. Whether it be his wallet, or his keys, one day it was almost his flight suit, Bob always had to have a little reminder of his essentials before he stepped foot out of the door every morning. If it weren’t for the fact that his glasses were practically glued to his face, he would’ve found a way to forget them too. Bob had to have you doublecheck over everything, otherwise, he’d be in pretty bad shape at some point later on in the day.

This morning, for example, Bob almost forgot his phone.

After getting up at an ungodly hour and helping him get himself ready for his day, Bob was almost ready to leave for base. He somehow managed to grab his bag and coffee off of the counter, but leave his phone that was sitting right next to them behind. Luckily for him, you were trailing behind him to the front door with his phone in tow.

“Are you forgetting anything?” You ask as he grabs his keys from the dish beside the front door. 

Bob then turns to face you with a wide smile on his face before ducking down to place a small kiss on your cheek and then lips. 

“I think I’ve gotten everything now.” Bob proudly grins.

“Thanks, but I was talking about this.” You whisper, biting back the small smile threatening to show as you reveal his phone. Bob's face almost instantly turns red at the sight of the phone he left behind.

“I could’ve sworn I had it in here.” Bob huffs confusedly, taking the phone out of your hands. “One day I’ll have it all together.”

“One day.” You muse with a smile, sending a small wink his way and smoothing your hands up his arms to his shoulders.

“What on earth would I do without you?” Bob hums, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you into him.

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“Well me neither, and I don’t plan on finding out.” He whispers back with a dopey smile, bringing his lips down to yours for a proper kiss. A kiss you more than deserved for saving his butt once again.

Was bob a little forgetful? Yes. Did that mean you had to get up at the same time as Bob, a time that you couldn’t even fathom being awake, to make sure he had it all together? Also yes. But at the end of the day, he never forgot the most important things, and that’s all that mattered. And most importantly, you loved him dearly. Him and all of his forgetful tendencies.

[hp-hcs]

IM THE ONE WHO REQUESTED THE THEODORE X MALE READER THING AND IT WAS AMAZING I LOVE IT SO MUCH OMG

i’m glad!! 😭😭 i was stressing out so much over that one cause there’s no real coherent plot but i pROMISE I KNOW WHERE THE STORY’S GOING

ends at kind of a weird spot cause idk how to end anything ever

ty to the person who said this could be a five part series. i appreciate your confidence in my attention span.

requests? please, sir, i want some more 🥺🤲

this fire ain’t the only thing that’s camp (Chapter Two of Splinched) — death eater! theodore nott x splinched! male! muggleborn! reader

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Theodore comes tromping back into the clearing with an armful of branches, twigs, pinecones, and duff. He clumsily dumps the load into the snow, wiping snow off of the log-turned-bench by the fire pit, and sitting down.

“Okay, now what?”

“Build the fire,” you instruct. “Make a pyramid shape.”

You bring your hands together so that your palms are far apart but your fingertips touch, making an ‘A’ sort of shape to illustrate your point.

“The pine needles and dead leaves and stuff, that’s all great tinder. It’ll burn the quickest, and help start the fire. Put that in the middle of your pyramid. Build your pyramid around that with the kindling; the twigs and thinnest branches.”

Theodore does as you say, making a rather shoddy pyramid that he seems quite proud of.

You pull your blanket tighter around yourself. You sit inside the entrance of the tent, the flap open and pinned back so you can still talk to Theodore.

You had caught a nasty fever the day after Theodore’s spell, leaving you incapacitated for days. To make matters worse, an unexpected snowstorm—nearly a month too early—froze the entire forest. The storm itself reeked of bad magic; everything about it seemed unnatural.

Merlin must’ve had a vendetta against you both, because additionally during that time, Theodore’s wand had begun to spark and malfunction. The Dark spell he’d cast must’ve done serious damage to the core. But his wand had fully given up that morning, shriveling up and blackening like a spent match.

You toss him your lighter and watch as he unskillfully manages to light the tinder, by the grace of God, and cheers with a loud whoop! that sends the birds in the nearby trees scattering into the air.

“Now just add the bigger branches as needed,” you advise, your teeth chattering.

Much to his chagrin, Theodore was quite relieved with your silly Muggle knowledge. He had no idea how to make or light a campfire without his wand, but you assured him that it wasn’t difficult to do the Muggle way.

Glancing over at you with a dumb, silly grin on his face, quite proud of his own achievement, he opens his mouth to mock-boast, only to have his breath stolen from him.

You still look quite sickly, rather weak and tired, but you really make quite a sight. Against the dull olive of the tent and the muted dark blue of the blanket you’re completely enveloped in, the red, sick flush of your face stands out quite a bit. White snowflakes dot your eyelashes, and your pretty eyes seem to track his every movement.

Stop it, Theodore. You have a job to do.

Clearing his throat, he makes his way back to the tent, ducking in and sitting next to you while occasionally glancing over to keep an eye on the fire.

Your face barely peeks out from the thick blanket as you peer out at him. You clearly are thinking of asking him something.

Please don’t ask why I did it, please, for the love of Merlin, don’t ask, don’t as-

“Why’d you help me?”

Fuck.

“Hm?” Theo hums, as if he hadn’t understood you, wrapping one of the spare blankets around himself.

“You could’ve just left me to bleed out. Or you could’ve said fuck it and Apparated anyway. Why’d you help me?”

“The Dark Lord doesn’t like his things damaged,” Theo says in a gruff voice, any friendliness in his demeanor completely vanishing and signaling the end of the conversation.

You just nod, retreating back into your blanket cocoon.

You both sit in silence.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chapter Three

[l0velybvnny]

a dreams end.

summary: after the whole showdown with sukuna itadori reveals gojo left the four of you letters.

“gojo-sensei left us letters y/n-sensei!” the pink haired boy says, running over to where she, kugisaki and megumi are sitting.

looking over at latter boy, a content smile can be seen on y/n face as she stares at him— resisting the urge to caress his cheek like she would when he was younger. after the whole battle against sukuna she thought she wouldn’t see the boy ever again.

“sensei?” nobara calls, shaking her shoulder lightly trying to get her snap out whatever daze she’s in.

“yes, sorry. got lost in thought for a moment.”

she says shaking imaginary crumbs of her blouse, giving the children an easy smile. “did satoru leave me a letter, aswell?”

“well yeah! it’s fairy obvious which one yours is.” itadori mumbles, giving out the dedicated letters out.

*looking down, she’s notes how indeed obvious which letter is hers, a tall chibi figure of a white haired man, with obnoxiously blue eyes is standing beside some who obviously resembles herself.

“haha.. how silly.” y/n finds herself mumbling, rubbing her finger gently over the drawing before looking up and noticing how the children have already tore into theirs.

shrugging she opens her own, ever so gently before seeing a small paragraph written.

“hi baby, i’m writing this incase something happens to me. i love you, sweets. really, i’m about to go up against sukuna and i can’t help but feel something, i think i’m a tad worried i’ll lose but i know my students are bound to win for me if i don’t. i had always thought, deep down that you’d leave me, like suguru. weither you died not because you’re weak tho, or saw things the way he did, realizing your own life isn’t worth risking over people who dont have a clue about what we’re doing. i never thought i’d think i’d be leaving you first. anyways, i’m grateful for everything, for the fact you stayed and everything you’ve done for me. i love ya, sweetheart :3.

p.s i was the one who stole your kifuku back then <3 !!!

not noticing the chuckles around her, or even megumi has the biggest smile you’ve ever possibly could’ve seen fat hot tears roll down y/n’s cheeks, holding onto the letting she ducks her head down, keeping in her small sounds.

slowly quieting down, the students notice the small gasps coming from their teacher. “sensei?” megumi calls out to her gently, turning to look at the others when he gets no response.

“oh satoru..” y/n mumbles, a small sad smile on her lips as she clutches the letter.

[psithurista]

approach shift pt. nine

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version) length: 4.3k rating: explicit 18+ warnings: Mentions of death, fingering, a quick wristy (lol)

Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can’t afford distractions right now. So there’s only one thing to do.

a/n: Last full chapter but there will be an epilogue in the not-too-distant; I'll probably have more notes then. Thank you x

series masterlist

The back of your head is torturously itchy. 

You try surreptitiously to press your knuckles to the spot, just to relieve the worst of it. The nurse sitting closest to you glances up at you from over the top of her monitor and guiltily, you clasp your hands back down into your lap. 

It smells sour in here, like soft plums left to rot. Whichever industrial cleaner it is this hospital uses, it’s definitely not one anybody’s trying to market for domestic use. It’s probably cheap as fuck, you contemplate, your hand drifting back up towards your head.

“You can go in now,” a new nurse says beside you. You jerk your hand away. “He’s awake. I let him know you’ve been waiting.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say, unpeeling yourself from the plastic waiting room chair. “I won’t be very long. I just wanted to say hi.”

She gives you a mild, distracted okay-that’s-nice-whatever smile and disappears. You push open the door to the room she’d just exited and duck inside. 

It smells far better in here. There’s a vase of opening lilies leaving red pollen-stains on the table in front of the window, and the lavender-powder smell of clean sheets. Doctor Brant is propped up in the bed, frowning hard at the tablet in his hands.

“I hope you aren’t working while you’re meant to be resting,” you say.

He tilts his head down to peer at you over his glasses. “Oh, no. It’s just sudoku. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Doctor. How are you?”

He nods, and sets the tablet aside. “Well, they’ve finally taken me off the oxygen so I expect I’ll be allowed to leave soon. All things considered, a little smoke inhalation injury at my…advanced age could’ve been far worse.” His eyes glint a little bit. “Were you injured?”

You shake your head. “A concussion, but I’m fine. The. He. Um. You know. He got me out, before he went back for you.” 

“You shouldn’t have stayed to look for me.”

You sit gingerly on the very edge of the chair next to the bed. “I thought. I didn’t think he’d made it to you in time. I thought you were both.” Your voice starts to sound weird, so you stop talking.

He folds his hands together over his chest. “It’s strange. I remember the first time I saw him. I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought it must have been a stunt, or an advertisement for something. Silly, really. And yet he’s saved Oscorp from itself more times than it deserved. After Connors and Dillon and that whole terrible disaster with young Harry. It’s too much. There’s no reason for anybody to endanger themselves in that place ever again.” He takes his glasses off and sets them beside the bed. “Which is why I’ve resigned.”

You stare at him. “You. What?”

He smiles at you; the expression a little indulgent. “All those years of work, gone. And for nothing. I’m sure you’ve already heard what happened?”

You have. It’s been all over the news the entire week. First the speculation: was it an attack? Was it political? Was it another disgruntled ex-employee? A competitor? And then, later, the worse, more boring truth: regular old corporate negligence. An undertrained technician who’d tried to prematurely purge a vac test chamber with concentrated oxygen. An alarm system two years overdue for maintenance. And floor upon floor of laboratories filled with dangerous substances, improperly stored.



Nobody else in your department was seriously hurt. But others weren’t so lucky.

“When I started with Norm, it was all about changing the world for the better. And in the end, we’ve helped nobody.” He shakes his head. “If you’ll forgive my language…Fuck Oscorp. I’m ready to start over.”

You grin at him, even though it feels a little watery. “I’m…really happy for you.” And you are. In the brief time you’ve worked under him, his passion has been obvious, but he’s always seemed so bogged down by the minutiae of red tape; appeasing a board of investors with no interest in the importance of his life’s work beyond its potential profitability. 

But it also makes your already-uncertain future with the company even foggier. You’ll need to find someone else willing to offer you a similar graduate position, and you already know you won’t find anything else quite as specialised as the work he’s been doing. 

He takes a sip from the glass of water beside his bed, then sits back with a sigh. “Publicly-funded research is a far less glamorous world than that of private enterprise. We’ll be relying primarily on grant funding and academic support. There won’t be any glass fountains or vertical gardens, I’m afraid.”

You nod sympathetically. “I can imagine. It’ll be a big change.”    His eyebrows draw together at you. “I would understand if your answer is no.”

You blink. “My answer?” you say, like a genius. 

“If so, I would, of course, write you a glowing recommendation. And I have plenty of contacts I could put you in touch with, if you’d prefer that.”

Holy shit. Is he…? “Hold on. Are you offering me a position with you?”

“Well, yes.”

He grunts as you dart in and hug him. “Oh! Yes! I mean, of course! I would love to. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this.”

“Uh.”

You lean back as he smooths his blankets down. “Sorry,” you say, a little sheepish. “That was unprofessional.”

He tries to look stern, but it’s unconvincing. “Well, yes,” he says again. “But I’ll choose to ignore it just this once.”

You stop by to see Bear on your way home. The roller doors in the alley beside the grimy little theatre are propped open so you can see all the half-painted set pieces inside, and there’s a bunch of people dressed all in black gathered around smoking. 

“Are you gonna be home tonight?” you ask, watching her inhale the deli sandwich you’d brought after correctly guessing she hadn’t stopped rehearsing long enough for lunch.

“I can be if you want,” she says, her mouth full of half-chewed food. “But I was kind of planning on staying at a friend’s.”

You press your knuckles absently against the back of your head and leer at her. “Would this friend happen to be the same person who wanted you to move in after one salad date?”

“If you don’t stop scratching your stitches I’m calling the hospital and narcing to your doctor. And yes.”

You make a face. “I’m not even touching them!”

She stuffs the rest of the sandwich in her mouth and wipes her hands on her jeans. “I’m seriously cool not to go, though. It’s totally fine.”

She’s barely left you alone since you got back from the emergency room, even setting alarms and checking up on you throughout the first couple of nights. You know for a fact she’s had to cancel other plans for you—again. You shake your head. “No, go. I kind of want some alone time anyway.” 

It’s another cold, bright afternoon. You walk into the feet of your shadow and spread your fingers beside your body as your arms move, watching them elongating out on the pavement in front of you, lost in thought. You’ve been lost in thought a lot, lately.

You’re just past the end of your block when you catch sight of the figure sitting on the stairs outside your building. Long legs in faded jeans are stretched out and crossed over at the ankles, and there’s duct tape around the toe of one sneaker. You slow to a halt on the sidewalk. A woman behind you huffs with irritation, veering around you, a giant paper grocery bag clutched in her arms.

He looks up from his cracked phone screen as you draw level with your door. His hair is as chaotic as ever, stuck up in every direction, except for at the nape of his neck, where it curls gently around in little flicks. He looks tired. He’s always looked tired, the whole time you’ve known him, but you notice it differently now. Like the holes in his jeans, and the bruise on his jaw, and the angry-sore-looking blisters on his knuckles. 

He smiles a little, jerking you out of your silent staring. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t wanna just show up unannounced. I’ve been trying to call, but,” he holds his phone up, and you shake your head.

“My phone was—”

“Yeah, I figured.”

The wind lifts the edge of your scarf and shivers under the neck of your coat. There’s something sweet in the air; like cinnamon sugar, maybe someone baking from one of the open windows overhead. “Do you want to come inside?”

His expression is soft as he considers you, looking up through his lashes. “Okay.”

Neither of you speak on the trip upstairs. Your hand accidentally brushes his as you reach out for the elevator buttons, and you both pull away, as awkward and over-polite as strangers. 

He stands a respectful distance back as you open your door, and you lead him inside, waving your hand vaguely toward the sofa. “Do you want a drink?”

He folds himself into the seat nearest the window, hunching over and shoving his hands between his knees. A cold drift of sun touches his jaw. “Um, no thanks, it’s cool.”

You sit down beside him, folding your hands across your lap like you’re about to get a class picture taken. 

He chews his lip, runs his thumbs over his burned hands. Outside, a car horn beeps. “It’s not because I didn’t trust you,” he starts. “If you’re wondering. I don’t want you thinking that’s the reason.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “You don’t need to explain.”

“I just want you to know—”

“I know.” You try to smile at him, and it feels a little watery. “I get it. I know why you couldn’t tell me.”

His brows bend together just enough to mark out a pained line. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Really. Don’t be.”

It falls silent in your living room. The little clay pinch pot in the centre of the coffee table Bear had brought home from the artists’ market watches you both watching one another; soft-skinned and tender as nervous newborn things.

“You might die doing this,” you finally point out. “One day. All those times you’ve been hurt. You might…not come home.”

He nods at the floor. “Which is why I couldn’t really ask you to, you know. Waste your time with—” he waves his hands vaguely back and forth between your bodies. “It’s not worth it. And, like, trust me, I would never, ever want to drag you into any of the shit I’m involved with. I didn’t mean to fuck you around so long, knowing you wouldn’t...” He looks back at you, his dark eyes soft. “It was just. The happiest I’ve been in a really long time. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry. It was shitty of me. Selfish.”

You stare at him for a few seconds in stunned disbelief. Then you laugh. You don’t mean to, and his head jerks back, startled. “Are you serious?” you manage.

His eyes are huge. “Uh. Yeah?”

You laugh again. It sounds a little manic. “You’re unbelievable.”

He flushes. “Could you maybe quit laughing at me when I’m trying to—”

“Peter. You saved my fucking life. Twice. Even after I was a total asshole to you. You saved me.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah, look, I don’t want you to feel weird about that. Like, it’s totally, one-hundred-percent not a big deal and I never want anybody to feel like—”

“You help people. Strangers. Every day. For nothing. And they aren’t even grateful. The things people write about you.” He hasn’t moved, and you realise you’re talking louder than you need to, considering he’s right in front of you. “You’re the least selfish person I’ve ever met,” you tell him, emphatic, needing him to get it. “You’re a good person, Peter. I’m so sorry I didn’t see that before.” Your voice breaks a little and it’s embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as the fact that your vision has gone blurry and your cheeks feel suddenly too hot.

You stop and breathe for a few moments, willing yourself not to cry. He doesn’t say anything, just studies the edge of the rug as though he’s pretending not to notice, and you’re grateful. 

Then, quietly, he takes a breath. “I was going to tell you. Before the fire. I saw May, and she told me she saw you, and that you’d talked, and. I wanted to explain everything.”

You remember the way May had looked that day in the park; her small, sad mouth, and the way she’d spoken slowly like she was choosing each word carefully. “Does she know?”

Peter half-shrugs. “We’ve never talked about it. But, like, I know she knows. And she knows I know she does.” He gives you a little smile. “It’s easier if we both keep pretending we don’t, though.”

“Does anyone else?”

His smile turns tight. “I guess not. Not really.”

“So you’ve been doing this all on your own? The whole time? How?”

He runs his hand back through his hair. “Yeah. Well, I guess I’m pretty good with DIY now, you know? I wasn’t always. I had to learn. Shit went wrong a lot in the beginning. Shit still goes wrong a lot.”

You lean in a little, curling into the cushions. “What’s the hardest part?”

You’re expecting him to say the fear of discovery, or the isolation, or the sheer physical exhaustion. But he wrinkles his nose. “God. The sewing. It’s so hard. And it’s constant. I swear I pop a different seam every day.” His face goes blank for a moment and he looks at you as though a brand new thought has just occurred to him for the first time. “It’s actually really nice. Getting to talk about this.”

“Am I allowed to ask about the outfit?”

He slaps his hands over his face. “You are absolutely fucking not allowed to ask about the outfit.”

Your mouth drops open in outrage. “I wasn’t gonna laugh! I just want to know why—”

“Look, I was going for, like, a velodrome thing. Like for speed and better flexibility and less wind-resistance and then like, anonymity as well, obviously, and originally—”

“What about the, uh, pattern?”

“Yeah, okay, okay, it seemed cool at the time! I was fifteen!”

The thought of Peter as a child, alone, in danger, no doubt even ganglier and nerdier than he is now, sends a fresh pang of sadness through you. You try not to let it show. “Do you eat the webs?”

He stares like you’ve just asked if he’d like to swap heads with you. “What?”

“Certain types of spiders go back and eat their webs after they’re done with them. Like, to replenish the protein they expended making them. Do you ever eat yours?”

The expression on his face is the funniest thing you’ve ever seen. “Uh, no. It’s inorganic. Like, it’s a, like essentially a nylon polymer composite. It’s not edible. I mean, I’ve never tried, but it’s designed to dissolve after a few hours, so I guess if you did really want to eat it, it wouldn’t hurt you…” He trails off, sheepish, looking at you sideways. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Yeah,” you say, unable to stifle your smile any longer. 

He grins and ducks his head. He hasn’t shaved today, you note; there’s a little bit of stubble along his jawline. 

Your chest hurts. Seeing him, being close to him, just like before. It pulls open the ache of missing him, turning it from a bruise into a wound. You know you shouldn’t. You tell yourself not to. But you do it anyway.

“I miss you.” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper. 

He looks so fucking sad. His eyes are huge and pained and so close, and then they dart down to your lips, and you see it; the precise split-second the urge hits him, then the one after as he fights it, and your heart sinks and you’re about to lean back but then his mouth is on yours and it’s soft and it’s warm and unbearably gentle as his hands sweep up to the base of your neck.

It’s not the best kiss you’ve ever had. 

You’re twisted uncomfortably to face him. Your hands lay shocked in your lap, and you’re pretty sure he can hear you attempting not to sniffle too much with your breathing, and you’re so busy worrying about it that you forget to open up to him; his tongue touching the edge of your lips. His fingertips brush the stitches at the back of your head and you flinch, pulling away.

“Oh, shit, sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, visibly mortified. 

“It’s okay,” you say. “Didn’t hurt. It’s just sensitive.”

“For kissing you,” he clarifies. “I know we’re not, like…you know. Anymore.”

That hurts. You shake your head. “We could be. We could try.”

“I can’t ask you—"

“No. Don’t do that. What do you want?”

He exhales through his nose and a tiny, pained sound escapes with it. “It’s not that easy—“

“It is. It is that easy. What do you want?”

“You have no idea,” he says, suddenly. “God. You have no fucking idea how bad I want you. I want this. You’re the only thing I. Fuck.” He knuckles at his eyes, frustrated. “You just have no idea how bad this could go.”

“I do,” you tell him, gently. “I know exactly how bad it could go. And I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry that happened. It’s so, so fucked up that that happened and I’m so sorry, and I know nothing I can say will ever make any of it any less fucked up, but fucked up things happen. They happen all the time for normal people, too. And fucked up things are going to keep happening and it’s inevitable and it’s part of being alive and that’s why we just need to take that risk every day, and choose to—to try to just be happy in as many stupid fucking hopeless ways as we can anyway, because we deserve to be happy. You deserve to be happy.”

He’s staring at you like he wants to believe you. Like he wants to cry. “You need to know,” he says, reaching his hand out, pulling it back. “I can’t promise you this’ll be okay. If you still wanted…I would try. I would try so, so hard for you. Harder than I’ve ever tried at anything. But I—I still just have no way of knowing that it’ll be okay.“

You smile at him, shaky and sure. “That’s any relationship, Parker.”

This time when he kisses you, you’re ready. Your mouth opens eagerly under his, catching the faint metal-salt of his skin, the dryness where his lips are ever-so-slightly windburnt. 

All the breath leaves your body in a rush. You shove your hands up through his hair, lifting up onto your knees and sliding across his lap until you’re straddling him on the couch. 

He tilts his head back to work his tongue into your mouth, one of his hands sliding up underneath your shirt to find the edges of your bra, and it’s awkward and clumsy and you’re both breathing hard by the time he manages to get your jeans unzipped and his hand cramped into your underwear. 

“Holy shit,” you gasp, half-dizzy from kissing without pause. You almost bite him when his fingers find your clit. “Can you—yeah, like that, oh, my God—"

“Hold on, it’d be better if, let me…” he murmurs, frustrated, and you let out what could only be described as a yelp as he lifts your entire weight up to easily shove your jeans and underwear the rest of the way off your legs before settling you back down over his lap. 

You’re stuck between trying to grind down against the front of his jeans and trying to give him enough space to work his hand back between your legs, ultimately deciding on the latter as he finds your clit again, this time his attentions unhampered by clothing. 

His body hasn’t forgotten yours. It only takes a few moments of searching before he has you melting into the palm of his hand; your bones soft and hot inside you as you roll your eyes closed. It’s easy with him, just like before, but better.

You’re almost close when he eases two fingers inside you, and that’s easy too, so easy, the way you give for him. Your forehead rests against his as your lips come apart; too focused for kissing anymore.

“I missed you,” he breathes, working his wrist. “God, I missed you. I missed you so much.”

You flex your thighs as you rock with the movement of his hand, and that’s when you need to touch him, urgently. It takes a little repositioning before you manage to open his jeans and ease his cock out, wrapping your fingers loosely around him. 

You feel him tense and shudder as you stroke him, too slow to really get him anywhere, too lost in the way his long, firm fingers curl inside you. 

He noses along your jaw, mouthing lazily at your damp skin, his eyes closed, and then he’s there, right where you need him, and you’re clenching and biting down on the sounds trying to escape as you come apart sudden and hard around him.

You’re still loose-limbed and shaky when he pulls his slick fingers free, gently moving your hand out of the way to grasp himself instead. You feel a little guilty; you’d almost forgotten about him straining in front of you, but he doesn’t seem to care as he jerks himself quick and short in his fist. His other hand cups the swell of your ass as he huffs hot breath into your hair, your neck, coming sudden across the inside of your thigh.

You slump your weight against him. 

Neither of you speak for a while. Your hand is curled between your bodies, trapped where it’s warm and you can feel his heart slowing in his chest. He runs his hand absently from your hip to your thigh, then back again.

“Peter,” you murmur.

“Mmm.”

“You do need to promise me one thing, though.”

He moves, just enough that he can look up at you. His cheeks are flushed. “What?”

“We can never. And I mean never. Tell Bear we fucked on her couch.”

His eyes widen in horror. “Oh, my God. She already hates me.”

“I know. But it’s okay, because we’re not gonna tell her.”

“I just don’t know if I can keep that secret; I’m not good at subterfuge, y’know, I’m just not that kinda guy—"

“Yeah, yeah, okay—"

“—and you should see me under pressure; I fold like origami—"

You kiss him again, just to shut him up, and feel his lips curling up against yours. 

Your thighs feel sticky and gross, and you’re starting to get cold, and when you get up you nearly fall over from the cramp in your leg from sitting so awkwardly, but you’re too happy to care in the slightest. 

You stand together in the bathroom, cleaning each other up. Every time his eyes meet yours in the mirror you both smile again, giggling and getting in each other’s way, like idiots.

It takes twice as long as it should to get back out to the couch, and you’re hoping he’ll curl up with you again but then you catch him glancing toward the window. “You need to go,” you say. It’s not really a question.

He hedges. “I kind of do, but…”

You offer him a little smile. “It’s okay. Go.”

He nods. You walk him to the door, where he pauses. He chews at his thumbnail, looking at you sideways again from under his eyelashes.

You watch him for a few seconds, waiting. “What?” you finally say.

He presses his lips together, runs his hand through his hair. “So. It’s probably, like, kind of weird. To ask. At this…uh, juncture.”

He’s nervous, you realise. It’s excruciatingly endearing. You nudge him. “I feel like weird’s kind of our thing.”

He grins. “Yeah. I guess. So. I was gonna ask if you’d like to go out. For dinner. Friday night.”

There’s absolutely no way to prevent the smile slowly pulling at your mouth. “Peter. Are you asking me on a date?”

He laughs, a little self-conscious huff. “Uh, yeah. Like. I mean, I wanted to way sooner. But. I guess I wanna try doing things properly this time. If you want.”

You can think of a thousand different things to say, but most of them are embarrassing, so you settle for keeping it simple. “Yes. Fuck yes. Obviously.”

He blinks. “Oh, okay, awesome, holy shit. Okay. Should we…? I don’t have your new number.”

“Oh, yeah, I need to get yours again too.” You pull your phone out and make a new contact before handing it to him.

He stares at your screen for a second, then he snorts. “You have me in your phone as ‘p.p.’?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Why? What do you have me as?”

He laughs again, quiet, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He hands your phone back. He takes a few steps out the door, then he sticks his hands in his pockets. “So. I’ll see you?”

“You will,” you tell him, watching the way his jaw juts crookedly when he smiles. 

He’s halfway to the elevator, walking backwards, his hands still in his pockets when he calls back to you. “Friday, Miss Jersey.”

You laugh. “Quit disturbing my neighbours.”

You stay there long after he’s gone, leaning against your doorframe, smiling to yourself, aching with stupid, giddy affection.

[adrift-in-thyme]

@skyward-floored remember that anon asking about a birthday fic yesterday? That was me :D

I wrote you a little something to celebrate your special day! I hope you like it!

Happy Birthday!! 🎈🎉

Ao3 link

———————————

Normally, Warriors would leave a guy to think. After all, he knows better than anyone the way working in a group can become a bit…suffocating. Being constantly surrounded by people will grow inevitably exhausting. It’s only right for one to go off on their own, seeking out some blessed solitude.

So, normally, if he had come across a certain hero sitting beside a quaint little stream, he would leave him to his duck watching and his thoughts and collapse onto his bedroll. But he has just come upon a certain hero sitting by a quaint little stream and he looks so absolutely pitiful that Warriors swears that he’s impersonating a kicked puppy.

And he can’t just leave him there, all sad and hunched over and shivery.

(Time and Arty are right, he guesses, he’s a hopeless softy.)

So, he sets aside his dreams of turning in early and starts toward him.

“Rupee for your thoughts, rancher?” He calls once he is within hearing distance.

Twilight startles and turns, blinking rapidly as though that will free him from his daze. Warriors keeps an easy grin on his face as his eyes roam the hero, cataloging what he sees.

Flushed cheeks, a light sheen of sweat on the brow, tremors running through the body, a glazed look in the eyes…and now a painfully hoarse voice as the rancher croaks his name in greeting. The captain suppresses a sigh. There can’t be any doubt about it, the rancher is sick.

He should’ve seen that coming — honestly, he had, though he’d shoved the suspicion back behind countless other strategies and worries and tasks. But he knows he isn’t the only one who picked up on Twilight’s less than perky attitude these past days. He had lagged behind the rest of the group, opting to plod along beside Sky instead of his usual place by Wild’s side. And that alone had arisen Warriors’ suspicions.

But he doesn’t comment about all that just yet. Even when Twilight turns away from him to cough harshly into his elbow. Wordlessly, he settles down beside him.

“You alright, Twi?”

He sets a steadying hand on his back as the coughs subside. Twilight takes a minute to catch his breath, his shudders growing more violent. But the glare he dredges up is no less severe than his usual.

“I’m not sick if-if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Warriors chuckles. “Well, now I’m thinking maybe you are. Because I alluded to no such thing.”

Twilight hums, looking completely unconvinced. Warriors doesn’t miss the way he leans into his touch, however, or the way his next exhale trembles. And he certainly can’t ignore it when, surreptitiously, he moves closer.

“I should’ve brought a blanket,” Warriors comments, mildly, when a few quiet moments have slid by. “You seem a bit cold. Too bad I left my scarf back at the camp.”

Twilight huffs a sigh. It quickly turns into another explosion of coughs.

“You should be back at the camp,” he grumbles, when he can once again drag in air, “not hanging around me. You’re gonna catch somethin’.”

A smirk lifts Warriors’ lips. “Ah, but I could’ve sworn that I just heard you claim that you weren’t sick.”

He senses more than sees Twilight’s eyes go wide. Then, the rancher lets out an annoyed groan.

“I swear y-you’re as bad as the old man.”

“Oh no, I can be worse.”

Another series of shiver races through him and Twilight ends up slumped against Warriors’ left side, teeth chattering audibly.

“S-somehow…I can believe that.”

Warriors chuckles. Carefully, he slides an arm around Twilight, holding him close. The hero practically melts into him.

“It’s a beautiful night at least,” the captain murmurs, gazing up above them.

The sky glows with the beginnings of twilight. Orange and purple and pink travel in streaks of dazzling fire across a canvas of deep blue. Upon the water, the display wavers, like paints just barely mixed upon a palette.

The air is temperate too, a warm breeze blowing through like a caress. He can’t help but be thankful for it. He’s almost certain that they all have had to endure sickness in a less than forgiving climate. In such circumstances, things seldom go well.

(He can’t help but think of Mask’s tale, told haltingly late at night after a dreadful nightmare. A tale of climbing a mountain with frostbitten feet and fingers and collapsing shivering and feverish at the door of a blacksmith’s hut.)

“Captain,” Twilight pipes up beside him, the word sounding positively painful, “do…do you ever feel a certain sadness at this time of day?”

Warriors hums, dragging himself from his thoughts. Something about that sentence sparks a memory within him, of a princess of twilight with the body of an imp and a heart of gold kept carefully concealed.

“I suppose so. Why?”

Twilight is smiling slightly when he looks at him, and there is sorrow in the expression.

“There’s another realm out there…”

“The Twilight realm.”

Twilight starts up, feverish gaze landing on Warriors. The captain laughs.

“Yes, I know of it. I knew it’s princess, as a matter of fact. We fought together during the war.”

Suddenly, Twilight looks more alert than he has all night. But then he shudders again and nearly loses his balance. Warriors pulls him close again, wrapping him in a half-hug.

“Midna? Y-you knew Midna?”

“I did.” The captain smiles, fondly. “She was a ferocious fighter…and a good friend. Though” — A teasing grin lifts his lips as he looks down at his brother “ — I always wondered why she chose to ride a wolf of all things into battle.

“But it makes a little more sense now.”

Even through his pallor, he can see Twilight’s cheeks flush. His face is a hurricane of emotion that Warriors feels he has little right to see. So, he turns back to the pond and watches as twilight overtakes the light of day.

“Did-did she mention me at all?” Twilight murmurs, finally.

Warriors cocks his head, weighing which words are best.

“No — not to me at least. But I think Midna was one who liked to keep things close to the vest. I think the wolf she rode was her way of…saying that she missed you.”

Twilight is silent for a few moments. Quiet reigns over the small clearing, save for the sounds of the rancher’s slightly congested breathing.

He should get him back to camp, Warriors thinks, get him some warm blankets and a potion and maybe some of Wild’s soup. But Twilight speaks up before he can voice any of those thoughts.

“I’m glad you got to meet her.” There is a tremulous smile in those words, a strength that the rancher always possesses, even when his energy is drained. “She…she was really somethin’ else.”

“Indeed she was.”

Twilight moves closer, resting his head on Warriors’ shoulder, and Warriors can’t help but feel that some unseen boundary has been broken from between them. Perhaps, this secret had weighed more heavily on the rancher than he had thought.

Well, that and the uncertainty of the princess’ feelings for him. That shattered mirror Twilight had spoken of hadn’t been the only thing broken.

“You know,” he says, as Twilight’s eyelids begin to droop, “next time you’re sick and missing your girlfriend, maybe just talk to someone instead of sitting out here all miserable and alone. I know a certain someone would call you an idiot for doing so.”

Twilight chuckles.

“She would, wouldn’t she?” He chokes out between hacking coughs. “She never held back.”

“No, she really didn’t.”

Warriors holds his trembling shoulders until the coughs are gone again. Then, he pats his shoulder.

“Alright, rancher, let’s get you back. You need your rest.”

Reluctantly, Twilight allows the captain to help him to his feet. He leans heavily against him, exhaustion dragging at his feet. And as the first star blinks itself awake, Warriors turns them toward the warmth of the campfire and their brothers’ company.

The shadows themselves seem to gather in their wake, a protection and an embrace.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

saneren >:3 (could be taken as platonic or romantic !) i luvluv them <3

Kyojuro was practically the embodiment of a fire. It could’ve come from his cheery disposition, or maybe because of his Breathing Forms. It even could simply be because he was constantly physically active and his blood flow kept him completely warm. Nevertheless, you could feel the heat radiating off of him from even a few feet away. Of course, nobody thought further than that on the topic, not even considering the advantages of this, only noting that it must be agonizing in the summer. Sanemi, however, found immediate use in the quirk.

It was winter. As most winters, snow was piling high as the temperatures dropped. Sanemi and Kyojuro were sent on a mission one night, which turned out that they had only been sent because the conditions made it difficult for other Slayers to trek through. However they found quickly that they were unable to return home when it started snowing again, obscuring their view from more than five feet around them with the white flurry layering up to their knees. For a couple minutes, they navigated blindly, trying to find shelter. After a while, they found an old shed that look fit enough to give them at least a small escape from the storm.

They clambered inside, struggling to shut the door against the raging winds. Kyojuro seemed fine as he brushed the snow from his hair, trying to set the soaked strands back. Sanemi, meanwhile, with his open uniform, was barely suppressing shivers, leaning against the wall and blowing on his hands. Kyojuro frowned, walking over to him.

“You look cold, Shinazugawa!” he remarked, tugging on his cape in hopes of being able to dry it and give Sanemi some warmth.

“No shit,” Sanemi mumbled, watching Kyojuro warily. “If you’re thinking of giving me that, don’t. Doesn’t matter if it’s supposed to look like fire, it’s wetter than water.”

“Hm! Is water wet?” Kyojuro asked, completely missing the point.

Sanemi rolled his eyes and sank to the ground, tucking his knees up to his chest and mussing his hair, which was dripping melted snow into his face. He wrapped his arms around his legs, ducking his head down and trying to capture the warmth. There was movement as Kyojuro moved to sit next to him. Sanemi figured it must be their proximity when he felt warmth hitting him once Kyojuro had settled down. But when he looked up, he found Kyojuro was sitting a couple feet away, too far to possible emit any body heat. Yet he was. Sanemi frowned, scooting closer. Yes, it was coming from Kyojuro.

“The hell are you so warm for? It’s like 0° out there, have you hidden a fire in your body?” Sanemi hissed, though he moved to be directly next to Kyojuro, feeling as if he was thawing now.

Kyojuro tilted his head. “I don’t understand! I’m naturally warm, people tell me, maybe that’s why?” he suggested. “Are you still cold? I can help!”

Before Sanemi could register what was happening, Kyojuro was sitting right in front of him, wrapped against Sanemi like a koala. The effects were immediate and Sanemi didn’t have the will to push Kyojuro away, not when he was feeling so warm now, to soothed in this strange embrace. He leaned against the Hashira, closing his eyes. They sat like this for hours until Sanemi ended up falling asleep and they sat there like a torch of fire, still persisting in a canvas of cold, white snow.

[frost-queen]

It goes down to the last second (Reader x Miguel O'Hara)

Requested by: Anon; Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

Summary: Miguel and Reader are dating, yet when he fails to keep your father (a cop) save, he is being made clear to stay away from you. At first Miguel tries to do so, but fails when his love for you is too grand. One unfortunate moment will decide if Miguel can save everyone?

Sirens were going off loud. Red and blue flashes dancing like a party against the surrounding buildings. A truck stuck in the air with spiderweb. Underneath it a cop sitting down. His hand touching his shoulder with a pained expression. Up in the air near the truck he hung on a web. Hand still out stretched as the shock underneath his mask was wide. A second he was too late. A second and he could’ve grabbed him. Now he was on the ground, groaning in pain.

Out of all the people he should’ve saved it was him. The cop. Your dad. A few other cops ran towards him, trying to help him up. Your dad slapped their hands away, shouting at them. He got up on his own strength, still holding his shoulder. His sunglasses had fallen to the ground. His hand went up to him. – “O’Hara!” – he called out as Miguel’s hand dropped lifeless down.

“I already told you the city doesn’t need you! Again you have proven it!” – your dad made clear. Miguel dropped down, cracking the street underneath his heavy drop. He slowly rose, enlarging the effect he had over people. Some cops ducked down, rather wanting to hide.

Your dad stood his ground when Miguel approached him. All ego and attitude in his stride. Miguel laughed loud. – “Look around! If it wasn’t for me you’d be dead.” – he replied in a hard tone. Your dad clenched his jaw. – “You are the very reason freaks like you roam the city!” – your dad insulted making Miguel clench his hand into a fist. – “You wouldn’t survive a day without me!” – he answered loudly. – “You are the problem O’Hara.” – your dad wasn’t afraid to poke Miguel in the chest. Miguel laughed again.

“Take a look around!” – your dad spoke finding that Miguel’s ego was getting to big. – “This is on you!” – Miguel was still chuckling, as he looked around. Slowly it started to sink in with him. Seeing the damage around town. Cops helping each other up. Frightened civilians looking at the damage. The truck caught in between buildings. A water hose spraying water up like a fountain as the firefighters were trying to shut it off. Here and there rubble from the fight. – “And in the end…” – your dad sighed out. – “You didn’t even catch them…” – he finished sounding disappointed.

Miguel swallowed deep at the catastrophe he had caused. It was true. In the end he hadn’t caught him. He was still roaming the city. Waiting to strike more fear wherever he went. – “People keep getting hurt around you O’Hara!” – your dad made clear making Miguel turn his head back to him. Miguel could sense it like a tingle. He knew what your father was going to say before he had even spoke it. It simultaneously made him clench his hand into a fist. Gaze lowered to the ground, awaiting the words. – “You stay away from my daughter!” – your dad made clear.

The look in his eyes deadly serious. Despite already anticipating the words, it still grabbed him by surprise. Miguel shot his head up. – “You can’t!” – Miguel answered in protest. – “If you come near her. I’ll shoot you!” – your dad threatened giving Miguel way out. Miguel’s fist trembled with rage wanting to punch something so bad. He held himself in not wanting to make things worse. So he turned around, walking off. On his way off he punched against a garbage container as it glided over the street, smacking into a wall.

Your dad shook his head, finally succumbing to the heavy pain in his shoulder. Two cops neared him, helping him stay on his feet. You shot up hearing the door finally open. – “Dad!” – you called out having waited for him up till 2 am. He slightly groaned dropping his bag on the ground. When you went to the door and saw his arm in a strap, you gasped loud. – “What happened!” – you asked as he went to sit down in his sofa with a deep sigh. You came sitting in the sofa beside him, leg pulled up with you. He took a deep breath, placing his good hand on your knee.

“Go to bed Y/n. You’ve got work tomorrow.” – he nudged you off not leaving much room for you to protest. Obeying you got up. Giving him a goodbye kiss and leaving for your room. After you had closed the door behind you, you went towards your window. Opening it to look outside. The cold breeze catching your hair. Sticking you head out, you looked curiously around. – “Miguel?” – you said softly. It remained silent. – “Miguel.” – you tried again, this time a bit louder. It was unusual for him not to show himself to you.

He would always come when you call for him. – “Miguel?” – you tried a third time already not expecting a response. Sighing loud you grabbed for your phone. You dialled his number, waiting for a response. Miguel who stuck to a building with his hand, looked down at his phone buzzing. Your name appearing on his screen. Lowering his gaze, he clicked his phone off. The screen turning black. His eyes went up, watching you from afar.

He had a good view of your room from up here. He watched as you put your phone down, staring at the screen before tugging it away. The window shut again and a few moments later the lights went out. Miguel took a deep breath. It took a lot of effort of him to tear himself away from you. His heart paining with what he was putting himself through. Tearing himself away from you. If only he had saved your dad, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He would still be able to love you the way he wanted.

You had been working for almost half a day as you decided to get a break. Get some fresh air. You were about ten steps out of the building as you heard some commotion. Some people running straight ahead, passing you by. – “Get back inside!” – one of them shouted waving their hand wildly at you. Some people around you started to bump against you, wanting to rush inside. Others just ran into the building where you worked hoping to find some shelter there.

You were unclear to what was happening. Then you heard loud laughter as a villain was flying through the streets on his hoverboard. It made you gasp loud as he dropped objects to the ground. The moment it hit the ground a smoke sizzled out of it. It made you cough loud, covering up your mouth with your arm. Not a moment later swung O’Hara in view. Miguel sensed you around, dropping to the ground.

“O’Hara.” – you said as he came in your direction. You expected a soft approach, but got greeted instead with a brusque one. Miguel knocked you out of the way with a rather harsh push. You nearly got smacked against the building you worked at. – “Are you stupid? Inside!” – he ordered brutally.

It caught you off guard at how rude he was. Miguel shot some webs at the villain up in the air. – “Don’t make me come and save you!” – he said over his shoulder. Although you couldn’t see his expression through the mask, the intentions were clear. He was angry. Feeling hurt, you ran inside trying not to cry about it. Miguel tore his head away not wanting to stand too still with his own feelings. It would only cloud his judgement now. He shot out a web, going after the villain.

By the toilets, you couldn’t hold it anymore, crying quietly. A co-worker came up to you, comforting you, telling you it was nothing to be scared off. How ignorant she was. You weren’t crying for the threat. Rather crying because the one you loved was treating you coldly. Having no idea what made him act this ruthless towards you all of the sudden.

When you were cried out, you returned to your desk. Simply continuing your work while everyone was busy gossiping about the latest attack. They were chattering about all the evil they had done and how O’Hara still hadn’t caught him. You had no ears for it, being the only to work further. Needing to set your mind off his rudeness.

Miguel sighed loud standing in front of your work building. Ever since yesterday, he had hated himself for being so rude and cold towards you. It wasn’t in his nature to be this cruel towards you. Your dad’s warning having overtaken him. He couldn’t remain this cruel to you. It would eat him alive. His love for you was just too much. This was the reason he found himself at your work place as himself. Miguel.

No suit or mask to hide himself behind. His true self where you could easily read his expressions. He made his way into the building, taking the elevator up to your floor. He received a few stares as he wasn’t easily to be overlooked. His presence always noticeable. He smiled sheepishly at some of your co-workers. How humble he stood. Fingers entangled as he looked around for you. There he saw you. Sitting behind your desk clustered with a few other desks on the office island.

Someone nudged you when Miguel came walking over. It made you look up, eyes widening at his presence. Before he could reach you, you got up. Talking a walk around the desk island. – “Y/n?” – Miguel spoke with furrowed brows. He went around the desk island going after you. You darted between other desks wanting to stay a good few feet away from him. – “Y/n!” – Miguel called out noticing you were increasing the distance between the two of you.

 “Y/n! stand still!” – he made clear trying not to yell at your office. The two of you were already the main attraction at the office, no need to add some extra drama. – “Y/n!” – he shout-whispered speeding up his pace. You yelped zigzagging around the office to say away from him. Miguel went another way trying to out-smart you. Looking over your shoulder, you couldn’t see him at first. Continuing to head on, you bumped against someone who immediately moved an arm around you. It was Miguel as it made you gasp soft.

He slightly pushed you out of sight around the corner to where the toilets would be. Away from prying eyes. You got cornered against the wall. – “What do you want?” – you shout-whispered to not cause a scene at work. – “Why were you avoiding me?” – he asked in a hushed tone. – “Oh I don’t know spiderboy take a guess.” – you answered keeping your voice low, arms crossed. Miguel moved his arm up against the wall over your head. – “So you are mad.” – he said leaning down. That intriguing stare of you making your knew weak.

It made you scoff at how unaware he was sounding. Miguel took a deep breath. – “Look about yesterday I was an ass.” – he said. – “You think?” – you answered with sarcasm. Miguel took you by the chin, wanting you to look at him. – “I am sorry.” – he breathed out. – “I…I…it was a mistake to act this cold to you. I wanted to distance myself from you, but I can’t.” – he confessed.

“Why would you distance yourself from me?” – you asked him. Miguel shook his head lightly. – “Just know I can’t do it. I love you Y/n and no one can take me away from you.” – he replied taking you by your arms. – “I can’t give us up. I love you too much for that. Please Y/n know I never intended to deliberately push you away.“ – he went on, his expression begging for forgiveness. You took a soft breath. – “I love you too Miguel. More than anything.” – you told him, moving your arms around his neck. Miguel leaned down kissing your lips tenderly.

*

Evil laughter filled the air. Screams followed as the villain zoomed past on his hoverboard. He dropped bombs down as they exploded on the streets. Causing chaos and panic. A bomb came close as it shook the ground. You screamed loud as the building you were on seemed to shift. A new set of bombs were released as it made the side of the building gave in. It started to shake and tremble, slowly shifting a bit forwards as it made everyone inside lose their balance.

You lost your balance and fell, rolling down to the balcony with a few others. The balcony cracked as it hung lower then it used to be. A man rolled hard against the railing hitting his chest. The stone cracked as it gave way behind him. The man’s dying scream being the last you heard of him. You rolled against the railing, grabbing a hold of one of the thick stone pillars.

The balcony shifted again, descending a few shocks closer to the ground it hovered upon. Another lady screamed loud as the villain came flying above her head. You held onto the pillar waiting for Miguel to step in. It wouldn’t take him long. You gasped loud when a piece of the balcony cracked and crumbled to the ground.

The girl who was with you on the balcony screamed her lungs out. She tried to get up, wanting to run inside the building again thinking it was saver there. Her balance was shaky and unsteady as she tried to hurry inside. The ground underneath her feet shook, sending her diving to her stomach with a loud scream. Not a moment later shot a web out to her. She got lifted up in the air, caught by Miguel moments later. With his arm around her, he swung around guiding her down safely to the ground. Meanwhile the balcony kept shaking and shifting as it wasn’t going to hold for much longer.

Hearing a web shot, it made you turn your head. Miguel landing onto the balcony. – “What are you doing here!” – he shouted upon seeing you. – “You aren’t supposed to be here!” – he was angry at you. You couldn’t answer, frozen with fear that the slightest action would make the balcony crumble to the ground with you on it. You were very up high. At least ten stories high. – “I…” – Miguel started being cut off by the villain giving him a kick. Miguel got pushed away, smacking against the building next to it. The villain turned his metallic mask to you. 

An eternal smirk plastered on it. It’s eyes dark and alluring. It laughed behind it’s mask to you. Miguel clenched his jaw, pushing himself off against the building. He flung himself at the villain, wrapping his arms around him. The villain’s hoverboard started to spin around. Miguel and the villain spinning around mindlessly. You called it out feeling the balcony shift. Lowering more till it would reach it’s breaking point. Miguel widened his eyes giving the villain a kick. He dropped onto the balcony wanting to approach you but felt the stone crack underneath his weight. – “Just… just stay there Y/n.” – he said with calm gestures. You nodded as if you had anywhere else you could go to.

The villain attacked Miguel again, wrestling with him on the balcony. The stone pillars behind you began to give in as you felt it. A sudden loss of vast structure made you fall backwards. Miguel gasped loud, shooting a web at you. It stuck to your chest, keeping you in place with a firm tug. Hanging over the railing by just his web. You held onto the web for security. Hearing the sirens and the commotion underneath you. You shouldn’t look, but still you looked. How small the people looked from up here. It made you shut your eyes closed. – “Miguel!” – you cried out as the breeze made your body swing gently.

Up on the balcony was Miguel grunting. Fighting off the villain with one hand as his other was stretched out, holding on to you. Giving out punches with one hand wasn’t nearly as effective as he wanted. The villain kept bugging him. Miguel fell forwards as you gasped loud, feeling yourself drop a few inches. – “Miguel!” – you called out again in a panic. The villain heard you call out his name, turning his head to where he saw the web go over the railing.

Knowing down below you were hanging onto it. The villain chuckled as he kicked Miguel. Miguel fell to the ground again trying his best to keep a hold of you. The villain kept taunting him as Miguel punched and kicked him off. The villain’s hoverboard was to no attention to him as it suddenly flew across on his command. Cutting the web as it was in a straight line. The web snapped as your breath caught in your throat.

“Nooooo!” – Miguel shouted running up to the edge and jumping off. You were falling. Gravity taking you down as you could do nothing. Not a scream leaving your lungs. Miguel stuck his hand out, shooting a web your way. The web made it’s way down trying to reach you as you kept falling. Eyes vastly upon him. In your eyes the sign of tears. Feeling the wind shift underneath you, you slowly closed your eyes. Miguel’s web sticking to your chest as he tried to pull it up.

The impact made your body bounce off the floor as your head had hit it hard. Miguel’s eyes widened when he saw you lay down on the ground. He dropped down beside you. – “Y/n?” – he said getting on his knees. There was no reaction. – “Y/n!” – he cried out putting his hand underneath your head. He pulled away feeling the wetness on his suit. Blood. Miguel let his head fall back, screaming out a cry of agony and pain.

The people around him whispering and pointing as the police tried to keep them at a distance. Miguel lowered his head, letting it rest against yours. – “I’m sorry…” – he said as his voice cracked. – “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” – the tears rolled down his cheek underneath his mask. If only he had reacted a few seconds sooner. He might have saved you. If only…

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