#they just go ‘oh we can force our blood under each other’s skin to protect each other and leave a mark that anyone will be able to see?’ Tumblr posts

[quietwingsinthesky]

thinking about angel banishing sigil tattoos on Sam & Dean, but in order to make them effective, they have to be tattooed with their own blood. Which apparently leads to the body reabsorbing the tattoo after a few weeks, so they’d have to do it constantly to stay safe. Sam & Dean committing to this ritual every few weeks… tattooing themselves in their own blood or maybe even each other’s…

[thetalesofno-one]

Curse of Strahd, Act I: Pt. 1, Ch. IV -Deadman's Path-

D&D Campaign Retelling Part 1/6 Chapter 4/5 ~4.8k words Content Warnings: Curse of Strahd typical content, Read at own risk

Summary At the fork in the road, the Deadman's Path is chosen. The messages of tallies and arrows followed like a promise into the mists where the land drinks of their spirits. Read Previous Chapters also available on AO3

Evie stares at the empty air where Roshan and Evrrot should be. Where any sane person would still be if they hadn’t fucked off into the crazy weird fog without a thought for how sound an idea that could possibly be. The fog is exactly what started this mess and she doesn’t think getting home will be as easy as walking right back into it.

She doesn’t so much as blink, searching that creepy slithering fog for any signs of the fools. There’s nothing there. Literally fucking nothing. No little angry swirls where they passed, no blurry shadow of their silhouettes being eaten alive. Nothing. 

She hopes the bastards beyond are still alive to hear it if for no other reason than to let them know she will chew their ears off next she sees them. Who looks at a wall of churning, slithering fog that swallows all like a damn hydra and goes, ‘Let’s go this way’. 

Evie catches the giant ponce looking at her with that long suffering look that’s becoming more and more common between them. She hates that she’s wearing it too.

A string of curses creative enough it would’ve raised her father’s brows from his grave face find their way to her lips, but under her breath because she’s still a temple girl even if she’s not exactly sure where she stands with that. To his credit, the tree of an elf beside her doesn’t so much as raise one of his immaculately sharp brows. She wonders a moment if he shapes them himself or if he’s just born that way. Probably the latter. Pure blood elves and their useless handsomeness. She hopes he can swing that broken glaive as well as he fondles it. She swears his hand never leaves the busted thing. Oh he hides it well enough beneath that dark cloak of his, the worn rag draped over one shoulder to hide his blade arm. But she’s short enough to catch a glimpse here and there when he walks and sure enough, his hand hasn’t left that thing since he strolled into the barn with his lifted chin and judgy eyes, looking down on them all. 

He looks down on her now. Granted he’s about two feet taller than her, but that’s beside the point.

Evie sighs, “It’s not like we don’t both know we’re just going to follow them.”

He stares at the fog a moment, watching it writhe and swirl in strange patterns before their eyes. For a moment she thinks he’s going to turn back and abandon her—wouldn’t be the first person—but he seems to resign himself and steps into the fog without looking back at her readied glare. She expected him to put up a small resistance to walking ahead of her in his strange, quiet, if misguidedly protective way. Waste of a glare.

She follows in his shadow immediately, not taking any chances with fucky fog in weird forests. It swallows everything, even threatening to swallow each other despite their proximity. She moves closer and feels him tense as her arm brushes his gloved hand, but even right next to him, he is difficult to see through the thick haze, half gone from her sight. It is far too easy to lose each other in this mess and any sign of the others mere moments ahead of them is entirely impossible. 

The mist paws at them, crawling over their skin, and sweeping through their hair. The more they breathe it in, the more it feels like something is being stolen away. Evie forces her lungs full, but the choked air only tightens her chest leaving her feeling more empty than before. The strength seeps from her bones like blood from a wound. Even Emet seems more slouched.

The air is too thin, her head growing heavier with each laboring breath. Exhaustion floods them and Evie is reminded of her early days in the temple. The first time she put on armor, it felt like she’d drown in it. The first time she carried a weighted casket, she thought she’d be in the grave herself if she had to take one more step. They made her carry that weight daily until she could bear it. And not just physically. But in this mist she feels like she’s back on that first day, fighting for her life to get the casket on her shoulder even with the aid of another, the familiar strain burning in her lungs and filling her legs with lead.

She and Emet—the moon elf bent and slouching, suffering quietly as he tries not to look like he cannot breathe either—trudge through for what cannot possibly be longer than a handful of minutes, and yet when they finally exit the blinding and sapping fog into the normal unending mist, they feel as though they’ve both run the length of a city in full plate armor.

She pants and catches her breath shamelessly. Emet finally gives up the ruse of not suffering and sinks his back against a tree, leaning far too heavy for someone who’s not dying with her. They both spare a lungful to curse out Mr. “I think I’m so sexy” tiefling and the crazy old man for abandoning them. But their misguided leaders are nowhere to be seen.

“This was a mistake,” Emet snarls, breathing in deep, trying to fill his lungs. It is taking too long for the burn to fade, “Never trust dead men.”

“It’s taken you that long to work that one out?”

“No. There simply wasn’t much other choice.”

Evie takes one more lungful, savoring the strange bitter sweetness of this air. Cemetery air. Air of cold stone and faint rot, sharp and empty with a lingering taste of sorrow, the same air she’s breathed since Daggerford fells into the mists hours ago. The same air that told her they were far, far away from home. But at least it isn’t choking away her every breath. Her strength slowly returns.

“There’s always another choice,” she whispers.

Somewhere else beyond the vampiric mist and lost in the forest, Evrrot and Roshan fight off the same drain on their body and spirit. The fog doesn’t so much as pull away from them as simply end between one step and the next. One moment consumed and blind with the air stolen from their lungs and the next beyond the slithering snakes of fog into the slightly less slithering fog of the deadwood forest.

Roshan quickly spins behind him to check on the others, his loose white robes swishing around his ankles. Evrrot pants heavily beside him with hands on his knees looking as though he just outran the guard. That seems like a thing the devil boy would do. He acts like someone who has outrun many a guard and not just because of the horns. His personality tells a story all its own. 

Gulping in the mildly stale air like a parched man finding water in the sands of Calimshan, Roshan puts on his best grin for his next joke before realizing that Evrrot is the only one with him. He spins in a circle, searching along the fog wall’s edge.

“Where are the other two?”

“Probably lost in the mist,” Evrrot pants, gulping loudly.

He lifts his glowing staff, “But I shined a light for them to follow.”

“I don’t know.” Evrrot tosses up his hands and leaves down the path without a second thought for those missing. “I’m gonna keep going, you good to keep up?”

“I am not old,” he says by way of answer. 

Roshan’s brow furrows, looking again to the place where the others should appear any moment if they are not lost. But they do not come and Evrrot is already walking away. 

“Should we not try and find them?”

Evrrot’s steps end and he sighs. 

“If they are in the mist, surely they will come out soon,” Roshan continues.

Though he is stopped, devil boy does not turn back. It is as though he hoped Roshan would simply forget about the people who were just with them and move on. The tiefling chews his lower lip with an air irritation, tail swishing as he impatiently settles his weight from one foot to the other. Roshan wonders if Evrrot must actively force his feet from walking away. As though waiting for others goes against his very nature. Devil boy stares pointedly ahead with the longing of a starving man restraining himself from a hot meal. It is like watching someone decide between cutting off their own hand or taking a slice of honeyed pastry. The choice is no choice at all. Roshan doesn’t need to be a seer to sense Evrrot’s struggle to find a reason to care about the others is a difficult one for him. 

“Numbers are better in this sort of situation,” Roshan offers gently.

Evrrot continues to stare pointedly away from where they came. He bites his lip a bit more, devilish fangs worrying the edge before clicking his teeth together.

“Alright, fine.” 

He clenches his jaw then loosens, shaking off the tension and grabbing hold of Roshan’s words to force himself back. At least the boy’s mind is capable of seeing the practical and logical value in having a few more bodies between them. It is a start.

Roshan pats Evrrot’s shoulder like a father does a son’s head, “Good lad.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Why are you so angsty? Do you have a bad relationship with your father?”

“No, it was a pleasant one, but…” Evrrot glares, “Why are we even talking about this?” 

Devil boy storms off to go find the missing people he’s been told he’s supposed to care about and Roshan sighs. It is a start, he reminds himself.

“Can’t believe those guys went off without us!” 

Evie sets her fists on her hips and sneers as she mocks the assholes who left her with the giant ghost. If she can’t tear them a new one, then she’ll settle with complaining about them to Emet instead. 

“I thought we were supposed to be sticking together! And yet I can already hear the sound of that damned Evrrot walking away and fucking off into the mist like a twat. Probably thinks he’d do just fine without any of us. Wankers.” 

Evie chews a nail then stops herself, “We weren’t that far behind were we?”

She hates how she can hear the worry in her voice when the anger burns itself away. As if all there really is—all there’s really been—is worry. But worry is fear, so she sets it aflame and calls it rage. Because she doesn’t want to be afraid. She wants to be angry.

 Emet runs a hand across his face, the metal gauntlet getting tangled in the loose strands of his long white hair a moment. He shakes them free, “No, a few seconds at most.”

“Maybe they’re hiding or some shit.”

“I swear, if one of them jumps out of the mist, I’ll stab them.”

She doesn’t think he’s joking and some part of her respects that. Evie begins calling out for ‘old guy’, making it very clear this isn’t very funny and daggers will be involved if they jump out at them. 

She’s about to get more creative with her threats when a strange noise fills the space between her calls. Something like metal whirring and spinning wildly against glass. Evie turns to Emet first wondering if the towering bastard has gone and done something, but his eyes are cast down at her hips. She’s about to curse him out when he wordlessly points and her eyes follow the line of his finger to her pocket. The compass. 

The strange sound grows louder as Evie removes the tarnished copper thing. The needle—once erratic and stubbornly refusing to point North—now whirls in a frenzy as though caught in a storm. The sharp red needle now a blur beneath the glass. Small scrapes cut the surface from underneath.

“Well, that’s great. It’s even more useless,” she says.

Evie shoves the broken thing back in her pocket and goes back to loudly and obnoxiously calling out for ‘old guy’, not quite wanting to say her nickname for sexy tiefling out loud since he’d probably ignore the sarcastic nuance and take it as a compliment. No one replies of course, but she and Emet wander aimlessly around the border of the sapping mist in the hopes the other two haven’t actually abandoned them. 

She hopes not. 

Expects so and yet still hopes not for some stupid reason.

One stolen glance at Emet and she can tell he’s already given up on the others—if he ever expected them to come back for them at all. Abandonment issues isn’t something she wants to have in common with him. It isn’t something she wants at all and yet believing they’ve been left behind is an easier pill to swallow than thinking anyone would come looking for her…them. Come looking for them.  

“…get very irritated very quickly. Who hurt you?”

The sing-song melody of Roshan’s accent carries through the still air. Not close, but not far either. She glances up at Emet silently wondering if he hears it too, or if the mist is playing tricks again. But he’s staring off in the same direction she heard the voice. He heard it too then. They pick up their speed, Evie half trotting toward the sound of Roshan’ melodic voice, the human asking something about why Evrrot does not like authority figures as the tiefling trudges into view alongside Roshan. Evrrot wears the expression of someone deeply regretting a decision. 

Relief floods Evie like a cool drink on a hot day. Warmth poured over her heart and bones in a brief flicker at seeing them. She almost smiles. Almost. And out of the corner of her eye she catches Emet’s mouth quirk up into a faint grin as though he’s about to make some sarcastic comment before he glances over to her and the smile falls into something else. Like remembering something lost.

She senses the softness on her face before he can say anything, her expression open and unhidden behind the sharp barbs she set in her heart to keep moments like this from happening. To keep people from realizing she still has one. Evie’s eyes sharpen into knives. She’s about to cut Emet first for that look before Evrrot finally spies them, offering a fake smile and an impatient tap of his foot saying, “Alright, we got everyone? Then let’s keep going.”

That’s it? Let’s just go like you’ve been keeping us waiting. No question of what happened or are you alright? Evie wants to snarl at Evrrot and give that tapping foot of his a trim with her short sword or maybe pry out a fang or two from that fake ass smile. She wants to scream and roar and cut something—anything to get away from that moment of letting her mask of steel slip.

Roshan halts his psychological analysis of Evrrot, “Where have you been for the past three minutes?”

Evie blinks, hearing the exact words she wanted to hear but her anger has gone too far already. “Where did you go? You just fucked off!” Evie bites back, venom sharp.

Evrrot’s fake smile turns into a frown matching her own offense as though he has any right to be offended at all.

“We’ve been here!” He yells loudly, “Waiting for you two.”

Evie is about to tell him exactly where he can wait for her booted foot before Roshan starts patting the air like he can put out the flames, “No, no, no. We walked around for a bit hoping to find you.”

“We were right behind you,” Emet gestures to the mist, a little irritated himself if Evie is hearing that faint sharpness in his tone correctly. “Barely a few steps between us.”

Something like concern crosses the holy man’s face, and at least when he wears it, Evie believes it. 

“It was more than a few minutes for us,” Roshan answers, “We waited a few minutes and you were nowhere to be found.”

“Minutes?” Emet scoffs, “We were seconds behind you. How could you have had minutes to wait?”

A day and night’s weariness of travel and strangeness wears at the ends of Evie’s nerves with a faint building static. She’s tired. She’s hungry. And all of them are at the very edge of whatever hospitality they had to begin with, which wasn’t much. Roshan tries to explain how time went for them a little better, but his story and their just don’t add up and as tired as they all are, it probably never will. None of this does. 

Emet runs a hand through his hair, resigned and looking twice as tired as the rest of them. She wonders if he always looks tired, but the thought is cut short as his eyes catch on something beyond them. Evie turns and spies an eerily familiar tree, with 43 tallies and an arrow. She isn’t sure if she should be glad or furious.

“Either we continue with these endless trees or we risk the fog again and try to find our way back. So which is it,” Emet says flatly, as though he knows that whatever he chooses the tiefling will likely decide the opposite for no other reason than spite. Or perhaps it’s some weird kink for control and this is how he flirts. She doesn’t know anymore and doesn’t care. At least for now, they need to stick together and preferably that will happen someplace away from all this damned fog.

Roshan shakes his head, “The fog is a bad, bad place.”

“All of this is a bad, bad place.”

Without anyone having really decided, they all trudge through the muddy path toward the tree with their feet heavy and minds burdened by the frustrations this day has brought upon them. 

Evie’s fingers wander absently over the brooch about her neck, twisting it back and forth on its black velvet cord knowing she can never take it off. Can’t take it off. Her fingers trace the familiar shape of the smooth surface, the last time she’s seen it outside of a mirror or reflection being when her father put it on her. Before, she never cared to take it off. And the first time she tried only weeks ago, she couldn’t. No one could unlatch it or cut it. And soon after her father left, it started to tug at her. She might not know where this heirloom of her father’s is leading her, but she never would’ve guessed it would be to a barnful of strangers forced to rely on each other in some strange land. And without any kind of rest.

Tensions are high. 

Sleep and food. That’s what they need. Something hot to fill their bellies, something warm and comfortable to wrap around their shoulders, and something soft to lay their heads upon. Maybe things will make a bit more sense after that. But for now they’re still lost on this cyclical path with heavy eyes and frayed nerves, teeth bared and ready to latch onto each other’s throats. Only the old man seems to have any sort of calm about him as though this is just a casual stroll through winter woods with friends and not a bunch of tired and angry strangers thrown into some kid’s messed up bedtime story.

Sexy tiefling and old man find their way to the tree first, though this one is slightly different than the rest they have encountered. Stabbed into the gnarled and cracked bark of the tree, an old dagger of a style unfamiliar to any kind Evie has seen rests above a crude carving of a man atop a horse. The phrase ‘The horseman rides, the Seer spoke true’ carved below, and once more another 43 tallies with another arrow.

“Well, that’s not ominous,” Emet growls.

“Do you think the horseman is that man we found dead?” Roshan studies the carving a bit closer, “Or that silhouette of the man with the flaming horse? And who is this Seer?”

Evie’s eyes widen, “Oh shit, do you think it’s the same guy? His horse wasn’t on fire though.”

“No, but horses are not usually on fire.”

Fair enough.

“Which one do you think it is then, old guy?”

“I think that man is dead. He is not the problem. He is probably the one who gave this message though. I think we should find this Seer and that we should follow the arrows.”

Evie eyes him. That’s a lot of ‘I think we should’ for someone she just met hours ago. All she wants is to get to some semblance of safety, figure out what part of Faerûn the damned mist spirited them off to, and then be on her way. 

“I don’t see why any of this is any of our business.”

“We do not know where we are, any help would be grateful.” Roshan looks around the mist again, nodding to himself, “This place is bad. Bad, bad.”

“I’m with you there.”

The weariness of the day—days?—sets in. Roshan is the first to search the sky for any sign of what time it could possibly be since they entered the parasitic mist. Not like Evie expects anything. Since the air turned from the sweetness of Daggerford celebration to misty cemetery air, they’ve been wandering for what must have been five or more hours by Evie’s estimation, and yet the sky remains a stubborn endless dark grey somewhere between night and day. Only faint greyish light filtering through the tangled barren boughs of the gnarled trees indicates that it might be daylight somewhere above that low blanket of clouds.

“Surely the sun should have risen or set by now, no?” The holy man rubs the burnished metal sun hanging about his neck as though the action might summon the sun emblazoned on it. With no tangible response, he adjusts his robes and points after the next arrow. 

“Right, come along children. Let’s go.”

Children? 

Evie rolls her eyes. Being twenty-five doesn’t make her a child no matter how young she looks with her half-elven blood. And sexy tiefling has got to be in his thirties with the way he seems to still prize being an asshole. Too old to be smooth faced and full of lies and too young to have gained any maturity or wisdom, clearly. And poncy boy the seven foot giant elf? The man may look like an untouched by time young thirties, but he’s a pure blood elf. He could be 300 years old for all Evie knows and she’s only partially certain the old man doesn’t have quite so many years under his belt. Evie finds herself assessing Roshan once more, trying to determine his age.

“I thought you were 32?” Evie asks.

“Yes, but you keep calling me old one, so I might as well accept it.”

“There’s just something about you,” Emet adds, “You must have an old soul or something.”

“I have never heard that one, thank you,” Roshan says with such a deadpan expression, Evie can’t tell if that’s sarcasm.

The group, all wishing in their own way for a bed and some sort of hot meal continue along the muddy footpath with less and less motivation to bother. How many more trees with 43 tallies will they pass? How many more cryptic signs carved in bark with no sun or hint of where or when the hells any of them are? 

Evie hangs her head with a dramatic sigh, groaning loudly incase anyone has any doubt about how done she is with this endless day, when she stops in her tracks. They’ve been walking this muddy foot path since Roshan decided with his magic feather that this was the way to go, but Evie never really gave the path any kind of investigation. Why would she? A path is a path right? Unless the path is worn by only one person. 

She stares into the mud, hoping she is wrong. But whether she looks behind where they’ve walked or ahead where they’ve not yet trampled some of the tracks, it is the same.

“I’m starting to get a bad feeling, guys.”

“You are only starting?” Roshan asks.

“No, a new bad feeling.”

“Ohhh.”

“I mean I’m not the smartest but other than ours, I’m not seeing any tracks that were made by more than one person,” she points at the hoof prints, “and one horse.” 

Evie squats down on her thick platform heels, fingers tracing above the footprints that came before theirs and the ones that lead further beyond, “This path was made by one man. Look, these are the same shoes over and over.” Her finger finds hoof prints next, “And this is the same horse. The horseshoe has that knick in the metal in every track.”

Emet seems to make the connection first as she lays out the points. The deadman and horse made this path, wore it into existence with endless repetition. Forty-three times, Evie would hazard to guess. Forty-three times through that draining patch of fog before they finally had nothing left.

Evie stands up from her squat, wiping the mud off her hands, “I don’t know, this seems wrong.”

“But it means we will likely make it back then, no? If it is a circle?” Roshan asks.

“I hope. We should have followed the other path.”

“When we make it back, we will go the other way.”

“If we make it back,” Evie bites back, but a little more gently, “The dead guy didn’t.”

Evrrot slings his bow across his back and steps up to one of the taller trees, kicking his boot into the trunk to test for any softness or give. 

“I’m gonna see if I can get a better vantage point.”

Look who’s taking some initiative.

“Do not fall,” Roshan calls out as the tiefling swings himself up to the lowest dead branch and begins scaling the tree with familiarity. Evie half wishes it would break under his weight and drop his ass in the mud. It holds, to her disappointment.

It doesn’t take Evrrot long before he reaches the higher canopy, the tree full of easy branches to scale and most of them still strong enough to support his weight—unfortunately. A few close calls as weaker dead boughs snap beneath him, but always another branch not far from hand.

Balancing himself against the thinner and weaker boughs near the top of the tree, Evrrot carefully stands above the canopy. 

“Well that’s fucked,” Evrrot calls down.

“What?” Evie calls up.

“There’s nothing. It’s just fucking fog everywhere.”

Evrrot calls out his view. All around him, a sea of endless tangled branches pierce the fog like thorns. And behind, where that wall of vampiric fog tried to sap them of what little energy they have left, a massive roiling pillar of white climbing endlessly into the overcast skies still stubbornly caught somewhere between night and day. Seems there is no escape from that impenetrable fog. Even from above. 

He carefully, if a bit angrily, makes his way back to the ground. If there’s any sort of settlement in this place, the fog hides it well. They have no choice but to follow whatever damn path they can find. Roshan is quiet as Evrrot explains the situation, closing his eyes a moment as he grasps that burnished sun once more in his calloused hands and whispers something beneath his breath. Evie’s sharp ears only catch the last word, “Are you there?” Whatever he is seeking, Evie knows he did not find it. The old man’s shoulders droop almost imperceptibly.

“Does he typically answer?” Emet asks softly.

“I usually feel his warmth. Now there is only cold.”

He nods as though expecting as much, “That must be the way of gods.”

Roshan’s eyes are dawnsteel.

“Not this one.”

Emet quietly assesses him, perhaps seeking a weak point to exploit. Perhaps looking for any waver in his conviction, but finds none and keeps his silence.

With nowhere left to go, they press on to follow the arrows in the hopes that they will cross the abandoned wagon trail once more. 

Several minutes and several more 43 tallied trees pass before all breathe a hesitant sigh of relief. There, ahead of them, the lonely wagon trail that started them in these misty lands cuts across the deadman’s path. But that relief is quickly overshadowed. 

The deadman—once still and rotting, nothing more than a feast for crows—is gone.

[starlitangels]

hi star! love your writing so if your still taking micro fics what about sam healing micah after they shift and roughhouse for the first time with the other pups or pack

Sure thing!

—

"Hey Shaw!" Micah called, rushing forward up the path in order to make it to the clearing. "Guess what?" She leapt into the air and shifted as she did so, landing heavily on her paws.

"Oh finally!" Natalie Shaw exclaimed with a big smile. "I've been waiting for three years for your Core to activate!" She ran at Micah—and shifted herself as she did so. Sam stiffened up next to me as we hiked the rest of the way into the clearing.

I chuckled. "Don't worry. They're gonna be fine," I said softly. "They'll roughhouse but Natalie knows what she's doing. She won't hurt Micah too bad."

"'Too bad'?" Sam quoted.

I blew a raspberry. "They're wolves, Sam. A couple tiny scars here and there from claws while roughhousing is beyond normal. Playing like that is in our instincts. It's how they orient to their new forms. Especially since Micah's so new to it."

At that moment, a playful, high-pitched from the clearing revealed Micah's neck in Natalie's jaws. Natalie's black tail was wagging and so was Micah's grey tail. Micah was squirming to free herself from Natalie's grip, but Natalie wasn't letting her go.

"What... are they doin'?"

"Natty's establishing her dominance," I joked. "She's in charge."

"Well, she's alpha's kid."

"Meh. That doesn't necessarily mean anything to wolves. Natalie's just been a wolf for three years and she's showing Micah she knows what she's doing so she's the one in charge," I said. Sam still looked a little wide-eyed. "They're playing around, cowboy. Nothing about what they're doing is serious."

At that moment, Micah broke free of Natalie's teeth and pounced on her.

They kept snarling and growling at each other—but to me they sounded like a pair of aggressive Pomeranians who couldn't actually do any damage to each other. They definitely could—but nothing like what the actual adults in the pack could do. They were still kids. They'd learn. David, Asher, Milo, and I would make sure of it.

Sam and I just lingered at the edge of the clearing while our daughter played with Natalie.

After a while, Micah yielded, panting hard, and shifted back. "I can't, I can't, I can't—" She panted. "I can't hold the form any longer."

Natalie shifted back and sat on the floor of the clearing cross-legged. "That's okay. You gotta build up to it," she said. There was a bright light in her eyes.

Then she caught sight of something and her eyes widened.

"Sam?" Natalie called.

Sam's head snapped to look over at them. "What is it?" he demanded, pushing off the tree.

"I drew blood. Micah's bleeding."

Sam swore under his breath and rushed over with a Zip!

"Daaad, I'm fiiine," Micah complained.

Natalie silently pointed to Micah's neck. "M... my tooth must have punctured her skin. I thought her fur protected her from it."

"I know you two are best friends but you need to be more careful," Sam said sharply, examining Micah's neck.

Natalie flinched and curled up on herself. "I know," she said, voice small. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"Don't you dare be sorry, Shaw," Micah said, sounding so much like me that I had to blink in surprise. "I had a great time! Don't you sound so small and scared for something I agreed to."

Sam rolled his eyes and smiled as he healed the tiny puncture in Micah's neck. "There ya go, kiddo. You're fine. Not a mark on you."

"See, Natty? No harm, no foul," Micah said. "Don't feel bad."

"We'll see if you're still so confident on that when I kick your butt again, then," Natty said, attitude coming back full force.

Micah cackled. "No we won't—because I'll be the one kicking your butt."

"You can try, Collins."

[randynova]

♡𝓜𝔂 𝓦𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓷♡

𝓖𝓾𝓷 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: 𝐴𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝐺𝑢𝑛 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑡𝑜 𝐺𝑜𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑠 ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒.

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔(𝑠):𝐹𝑒𝑚!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡(𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝)! 𝐺𝑢𝑛

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

“Why couldn’t this have waited until another day?” Gun muttered, unbuttoning his shirt, letting it slide off his taut frame, and neatly folding it, placing it onto the roof of his car. He was glad he hadn't put his jacket on, having left it in his passenger seat. “I can’t dirty my clothes again, [Name] will be mad if I get blood on it.” He rolled his broad shoulders until they released a satisfying crack, his thick muscles bulging as he stretched his arms across his scarred chest. Gun peered at a nearby store, the digital clock displaying in big white numbers, ‘7:45 PM’. He groaned, his lips curling into a scowl whilst his arms fell to his side. He didn’t have enough time to deal with this.

“Hmm, and it’s almost time for our date. Fuck.” Gun whispered to himself. He clenched his fists, narrowing his eyes at the man across from him. He removed his shades and revealed his dark gaze, placing his favorite accessory to his side as well. “I’ll make this quick, Goo. I have more important places to be.”

Goo laughed, grinning in his spot as he balanced a pole in his hands. He rolled his eyes, arching a brow at his partner. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Gun, maybe if you didn’t spend all your time by [Name]’s side, we could have dealt with this matter much earlier. That girl has you wrapped around her pretty little finger, huh?”

“Shut it,” Gun said, already racing towards the blonde and thrusting his fist, knuckles colliding with metal. Upon the cold sensation meeting his skin, he wanted to absolutely kill Goo and rip him to shreds. This would take longer than he wanted, wasting his already precious, short time. He backed off, having a considerable distance between the two, stretching his fingers a few times before clenching them again. He growled, spitting venomously,  “You just like picking fights.” 

“You did too. Before you met her, y’know,” Goo tutted, waving his finger in the air. He scoffed, voice low, “Who would’ve thought? Gun going soft for a girl. Psh, pathetic. Never thought I’d live to see the day...” The blonde trailed off, his face becoming stoic, his mind wandering. You truly had to be someone exceptional if you managed to have a guy like Gun to fall for you. He always wondered who you were, how you looked like, what you did, but Gun had kept you a secret from the world of crime. He hid almost every known trace abou you and tied every loose end that implicated you existed. No one knew who you were and no one could find you — unless Gun allowed them to. 

Goo found it so irritating how he was unable to know the girl who made such a notorious gangster go soft. 

He only met you once and that was by pure sheer luck; dropping by unexpectedly at one of Gun's apartments, only to be met with the sight of you. Seeing how Gun reacted, he knew you were supposed to be kept hush-hush. But boy, did he have a field day the next time he saw the man.

Goo had to meet you again. Or at least, know you more.

Only when Gun’s fist connected with Goo’s face did the man snap out of his thoughts, the impact of such force throwing him a few feet backwards. He dug his feet into the floor, a high-pitched screech coming from his shoes as the rubber burned against the pavement. With his sleeve, Goo wiped his cheek, seeing a speck of blood staining his clothes. Goo chuckled, standing up straight with a grin, “If I can remember right, you told me you got Eli Jang in trouble for basically the same thing. What was her name again? Heather?”

Goo blocked the upcoming attack, his pole raised and crossed above his face. He pushed Gun back with an effortless swing of the pole. He tilted his head and scratched the back of his head with his free hand. “How is [Name] any different from Heather? What does she have on you?”

Gun twisted his neck gently until he heard a crack, looking back at Goo as he hissed with venom, “Nothing.”

“Let me think, let me think….” Goo hummed, racking his mind for any possibility that someone like Gun would stay with a woman longer than one night. His face lit up and he broke out into a wide grin, pointing a finger at Gun. “Aha! You got the poor girl knocked up, right?! See, I always tell you to wear protection! Just couldn’t keep it in your pants, hm? Shaaame.” 

“Ugh, fuck no. I don’t want kids and neither does she. We made that clear at the beginning," Gun said with a sneer, annoyed beyond comprehension at Goo's antics. 

“Awe, I really thought she held something over you. How about this: I’ll stop fighting you if you tell me why you’re still with such a pretty girl like [Name]? Deal?" Goo offered, slinging the pole onto his shoulder. His eyes darkened as he spat maliciously, knowing each word would wind and rile Gun's emotions. "She deserves better than a perverted gangster, you both know that.”

Gun stayed silent, the corners of his lips tugging down into a frown. Goo’s last words struck a chord in him, sending a pang through his heart upon hearing an insecurity he’ll never admit to. Of course. Everyone told you to stay away from a man like Gun. People kept telling you you will only get hurt in the end, that a better man will come along and sweep you off your feet if you just waited, or you could always do better than him. But you never listened. You stayed by his side, even when the whole world looked down on you two. Even for months, he tried convincing himself he felt nothing for you, but after a while, he finally accepted that someone managed to tear down his walls and enter his hollow, cold heart — you. 

You were just a different kind of girl - no- a different kind of woman. A special woman he had the pleasure of meeting. One he wouldn’t dare let go of now that he has the privilege of calling you ‘mine’. And by any god out there, he won’t be a stupid fool to lose you.

Gun sighed. “I tell you and you’ll put this stupid fight behind us, right?”

Goo placed a hand over his chest, replying shortly, “You have my word.~”

“[Name] is just that special person you meet once in your life. One you know you can’t let go of because there isn’t another like her. Simple as that.”

“What?! Ugh, don’t be boring! Tell me more!”

“You asked why I  stayed with her and I told you.”

“Yeah, but I expected a story, not some sad attempt at an old man’s wise words.”

A low guttural sound rumbled in Gun’s throat, his eye twitching. “Maybe when I’m in a better mood I’ll tell you, but if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with my woman.”

Goo groaned and tossed his pole to the side, rolling his eyes and grumbling, "Fiiine, but you owe me a story. "

"Whatever—damnit," Gun looked at the clock once again and his face contorted into one of pure irate. "I'm late."

'8:12 PM'

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

Your head rested on your hand, balancing a glass of wine between your fingers, twirling the cup as the liquid swished around. Your eyes were looking down on the glory of Gangdong, the shimmering, blinding lights of the city mesmerizing you. The city always looked beautiful at this time of night. You just wished you could enjoy it with the person you cherished. A sigh leaves your lips and you look away, eyes trailing to the other tables over the balcony. 

The lingering eyes of many strange men didn't faze you anymore, the two burly boys surrounding your table always making them avert their gaze as fast as it landed. A courtesy of your boyfriend, who was at least thirteen minutes late, who insisted on you needing to be guarded at all times. You knew if he were here, no one would dare to even breathe in your direction, let alone glance. 

The cool air pricked your skin and a shiver passed through your body, reminding you of where you were. For a man as smart as him, Gun tended to neglect keeping the season in mind when planning your dates. Nonetheless, you were happy he went out of his way to take you out on such a busy schedule. 

You jumped in your seat, snapping out of your thoughts. A jacket was wrapped around your frame, warmth immediately enveloping you as the fabric made contact with your bare skin. You looked up and smiled. 

Gun stood behind you, towering over your sitting form as he made sure you were nice and covered. His coat basically swallowed you whole. A small stuffed animal was tucked under his arm, it’s fluffy fur peeking out. He walked over to take his seat, pulling the chair out, and wasting no time to slip in. He waved to the guards and they nodded, beginning to clear the scene of people.

“Sorry I’m late, [Name],” Gun started, taking the stuffie out from underneath his arm and presenting it to you. Oh, how adorable. "I brought you a gift as an apology."

A small brown otter sat in his palms, barely taking up Gun's hands. It’s beady, plastic eyes looked straight at you, a little smile stitched onto its snout. A snort left you. The sight of such a well-dressed, intimidating man carrying such an adorable toy was  amusing. "Really now? Just a cute toy, Gun?"

Gun sighed and sat up a bit from his chair, leaning over the table, and cupping your face as he planted a gentle kiss on your cheek. As quick as it started, Gun's lips left and he was seated once again. You pout. "Don't give me that look, [Name]. We can do more at home if you want but not here."

"It's not wrong to be disappointed in no kiss on the mouth after not seeing your boyfriend for such a long time. Don't you think I deserve it?"

Gun smirked, placing his shades on the table and taking your hand, intertwining your fingers together. He gave a light squeeze and you didn't miss a beat as you squeezed his coarse hand back. The way you pursed your lips and looked at him with such glossy, innocent eyes made his heart swell. With such a pretty, cute face, it was hard to say no to you. "Hmm, maybe. But Olly told me you crossed paths with Hostel A." Gun spoke, slipping his hands from yours and picking up his dinnerware, quickly cutting the savory meat into pieces. He didn't hesitate to put a piece up to your mouth, a hand underneath so as to not have the juice leak. "I was told you nearly broke the Uncles' bones and Big Daddy himself."

Your face scrunched up and you scoffed, shaking your head. You placed the stuffed animal to the side, petting it. "Figured those assholes wouldn’t tell you everything. The ‘uncles’ wouldn’t leave me alone and I thought Olly was another one of those bastards,” you snap, sitting back in your seat with a scowl. “How was I supposed to know he was trying to help when he dresses like that? I thought he was trying to assault me for God’s sake!”

Gun placed down his fork on his plate and his face twisted into one of fury, eyes turning cold and rigid as all the warmth disappeared whilst his lips curled back into a nasty frown. You almost thought his infamous scowl was directed towards you, but you knew better. You dear boyfriend wouldn't dare lay a single finger on you if it didn't bring you pleasure. "They what?" 

You smiled softly, placing your hand over his as it clenched into a fist. With your small attempt at trying to soothe him by rubbing small circles, you spoke with a bit of hesitation, "Ah, yeah. They kept trying to get my number and wouldn't let me leave the booth I was in. I had no other choice than to use the training you taught me. Since I never met Olly, I really thought he was just another one of them and I reacted before thinking, making me attack him too."

Gun scoffed, shaking his head as he listened to your explanation with disbelief, every word fueling his rage of someone daring to hit on his woman. Every fiber in Gun's body screamed, wanting to feel their skin underneath his fists as he pounded them into oblivion. But the only thing stopping him was his date with you. For now, he'll put his anger aside to be with you and keep you happy. Who knows how long he'll be gone and when he'll see you again. The man has to make every second count. 

Yet, he couldn’t let this go unpunished.

"Fuck." Gun leans closer to you and sits on the edge of his chair. Placing his hand over yours, he slips his fingers to grasp your palm, and lifts your hand to his lips, pressing tender kisses against your knuckles. His thumb grazing softly across your fingers and his eyes flutter shut. You couldn't help but stare in awe, never quite seeing him like this.

So careful with you, so gentle, you were surprised he wasn't seething in his seat and threatening to break their heads open. Gun opens his eyes and looks up at you, shaking in his seat. “I promise I’ll have those fuckers begging on their knees for your forgiveness. They should know better than to treat a woman with such rudeness and disrespect. Shit, I’ll go right now. I’ll beat them till-”

Your sweet laugh reaches his ears, cutting him off from his little speech. You lean in and pull in his hand to your lips, pressing a tender peck to his coarse knuckles. Gun felt his heart race and skip a beat at the sight, shock crossing his features. You look up, looking at your boyfriend with mirthful eyes. “As much fun as that sounds, I'd rather you stay here. Please? I want to spend as much time with you before you go back to work.”

The man stayed silent for a few seconds, taking in your words. He looked away, clicking his tongue before he broke out into a small smile, a blush blooming across his cheeks and the tip of his ears burning a bright red. “Of course, [Name]. Though, you could’ve just said you like spending time with me.”

Giggling, you lower your hands and shake your head. “Gun, of course I like spending time with you. You’re my favorite person and I love you after all.” Your voice said those three words with such fondness, it’s as if the man was in a dream. 

If your words from before didn’t send Gun over the edge, your proclamation of love surely did now. He looked down, grinning like an idiot, showing a soft, bashful side he’s never revealed to anyone before. He swore his heart would jump out of his throat from how fast it was pounding against his ribcage. Gun grasped your hand tightly and sighed blissfully, Gently, he spoke, gazing at you with loving eyes, “I love you too.”

You smiled.

The tension in the air grew to be too much and both of you found it unbearable, wanting to do what both of you have been waiting for for weeks.

Both of you sat up and leaned over the table, closing the gap between you two as your lips interlocked, slipping together like if you were made for eachother. The kiss sparked and fed the fire both of you held in your hearts, burning brighter with every moment you spent at one another’s side. Gun couldn’t help but smile against your mouth.

As much as he hated being apart from you for so long, moments like these made the long hours worth it. If working so much meant he could provide for you, then he wouldn't mind doing it for the rest of his life if you had a roof over your head and a nice, warm meal at night.

Afterall, you were his woman.

And he loved you.

✦✦✦✦✦✦

©𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚊 || 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 || 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚜, 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚎𝚝𝚌. 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 .

✦✦✦✦✦✦

[heliads]

Our Paths are One

You recently became a Ranger, traveling the North to protect the land and its people from monster attacks. When you meet Strider, you cannot help but wonder why you seem to keep finding each other in the wilderness, even by accident.

masterlist

The woods of the North are cold this time of night; cruel winds whisper between the trees, carrying with them reports of steel blades to the West and monsters to the East. There is no safe place to rest without keeping one eye open and one hand on the hilt of your sword. It’s a dangerous place, out here in the wilderness, and the threats only grow in number once darkness falls across the hills. All the same, you prowl in the dark with a smile on your face.

Your footsteps, at least, are silent. You’ve been in the forest many times before, and it knows your scent. It’s best not to let it know your footfalls too. That being said, you can still hear a dense shuffling and stomping sound coming from the trees to your right, down a ravine. Your fingers close around your sword, slipping past the pommel to wrap firmly around the grip. The air is thick with the promise of a coming fight. You can only hope to strike now, while you still have surprise on your side.

You’d heard rumors of a pack of orcs traveling somewhere in the vicinity, after a harried traveler had collapsed in a nearby pub last night, bawling stories about how his party had been attacked and had to flee for their lives. There are no doubt many boastful groups looking around for the same monsters, but the title of killing them can only go to one, and you intend it to be you. You only became a Ranger recently- it’s time you earned your stripes and cemented a place for yourself amongst their ranks.

You drop down into the ravine silently, using a patch of moss to disguise the sound of your heels landing on the packed earth. You unsheathe your sword, paying no heed to the bitter glint of moonlight along its edge before you begin your work. You’re able to stab two orcs in the eye and slash one’s throat before one of the beasts finally lets out a dying gurgle of blood and the rest discover that you’re there.

They yell gutturally at you in anger and charge, although you’re ready for them. Their lunges are strong but clumsy, and you’re able to dance around them as if you were part elf instead of fully human. You parry a fierce blow, forcing the nearest orc’s weapon down into the earth before quickly riposting to cut through its chest. Normally, you keep your sword as sharp as possible; tonight, it slices through orc flesh as if it were the thinnest of silks. You smile. It is not the gentlest of looks.

You move steadily through the pack. Trapping them in the narrow ravine had been a smart move, and they’re limited to attacking you in groups of two or three, which you can dispatch quickly before more manage to climb over their fallen brethren to reach you. In fact, you’re just readying yourself for a final swing towards the last pair before the orc in front of you lets out a startled sound, strangled by the blood knotting in its throat and the sword suddenly jutting out of its chest.

The blade is quickly removed, and seconds later, the final orc’s head is spinning off into the ground near its feet. The body falls as if kicked, and you’re face to face with your apparent savior. However, you don’t feel grateful for the rescue, only annoyed. “I had them down. Why would you interfere?” The man before you is tall and dark-haired, his eyes piercing even when lined by a splash of orc blood. His lips are slashed by a smirk. Evidently, he’s proud of himself for ruining your string of kills.

“I wanted to make sure that you would not be hurt. You are one of the newest Rangers, after all. I have yet to see you on this side of the forest before.” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you this welcoming to all new Rangers, or only me?” The corner of his lips twitch again. “You could simply thank me, you know. Let’s just leave it at that.”

You scoff, reaching forward to wipe the blood from your sword on a nearby patch of grass. “Oh, of course. I shall sing your praises to the archangels themselves, mysterious stranger. Now, if you don’t mind, I will be on my way. Or are you going to take over my later travels as well?” There’s a glint of something in the man’s eyes. It could be irritation, could be satisfaction. Perhaps a bit of both.

“Only if I was certain that you would be this upset over it. Who are you, then?” You consider him for a second longer, then nod. Whoever this man is, he’s a fellow Ranger, and committed to ridding this world of orcs, even if the kills are meant to be yours. “Y/N. Y/N L/N.” He inclines his head. “They call me Strider.” You sheath your sword, tapping the hilt once before making for the hills once more. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Strider. With all respect, I hope our paths should never cross again, or I’d fear for my other quests lest you add yourself to them as well.” You can practically hear his grin as you walk away. “The same with you, Y/N.”

You assume that your leaving will be the end of this. The forests and grasslands scattering the North are vast; canvassing them by yourself could take years. The chances of running into this Strider fellow are slim to none. 

That being said, when you find yourself crossing through a particularly dark patch of the wilderness and hear the sound of conflict carried to you by the winds, you can’t help but shake your head. You can hear the clang of steel and the snarl of what appears to be half-trolls, but every now and then, you hear a grunt of exertion coming from the swordsman taking on these monsters. It’s a familiar sound, and a familiar voice, despite the fact that you’ve only heard it once before. You grin to yourself. This is going to be fun.

You come across the scene soon enough. You have to admire Strider’s courage- he’s taking on a trio of these half-trolls without an apparent care for his own safety. Then again, you can spot the fleeing silhouettes of a family of travelers. Strider has likely taken on these monsters to save the journeyers, but he’s now left with the difficult task of saving his own skin. He’s so concerned with making it out alive that he hasn’t spotted you yet.

You wait until his back is turned to you, sword holding back the blow of one of the half-trolls’ stone clubs, until you strike. You can see Strider’s eyes widen slightly as your knife buries itself in the chest of the monster in front of him, which sways back and forth before crumpling to the fallen ground. It was an excellent throw, you can admit that yourself. You drop to the ground, rolling under a looming fist before coming up on your feet behind the beast, your sword already in your hand and slashing at its back. The half-troll groans in agony, twisting around to swat at you, but by the time it’s facing you again you have relieved the monster of its arm. It cries out again before turning to run, although it doesn’t make it far before Strider’s sword lodges firmly between its ribs.

When you turn to face the battle scene, you note that the other troll has been dispatched. The clearing is empty save for you, Strider, and a few half-troll carcasses. Strider moves towards you, eyes roving over your arms to check for cuts and scrapes that aren’t there. “May I ask why you chose to intervene?” You can’t help a satisfied smile. “I wanted to make sure that you would not be hurt. You are one of the most maddening Rangers, after all. I couldn’t just leave you to die.”

You walk forward to retrieve your knife from the chest of the fallen half-troll, so you don’t see the slight incredulity washing over Strider’s face. You can hear it in his voice, though, along with the undercurrent of humor that always seems to be present within him. “I appreciate you looking out for me. That’s the sign of a good Ranger, you know. However, seeing as I wouldn’t want you to get hurt, I might advise you to not take on enemies that might be too much for you.”

You stare at him now, before roughly yanking your dagger from the dead monster’s trunk. It comes directly from its heart, and shines darkly from the blood coating it down to the hilt. You hold it up, heedless of the scarlet starting to drip down over your knuckles. “If I thought I couldn’t handle those things, I wouldn’t have gotten involved. I’d argue that I’m worth a little more than you might think, Strider.”

You step forward slowly, until you’re only a few feet away. “We are both Rangers now. It would be best for you to stop seeing me solely as a commoner who stole a weapon from a nearby blacksmith.” You say, yet Strider’s hands close quietly over your knife. You’re not sure why you let him take it, but you watch as he walks a few feet away to wipe the blood from the metal. He does not say another word until he has come back to you, pressing the weapon gently into your awaiting palms. “I would not dare, Y/N.” Something almost like a smile plays over your lips. “I should hope not.”

You see Strider again, and then again. You don’t plan it, honestly, this meeting up with him, it just happens. You’re trying to rid the forest of some thieves, he appears on the path behind you to stop you from being cut off at all sides. He’s cornered by some rogue orcs, you find yourself charging the lot to ensure that the one Ranger you know won’t find a lonely death in the forest. You’re not sure whether you would consider him a rival, a friend, or any mixture of those terms, only that it does make you smile every time you see him.

Then, in the midst of a nighttime journey, you get the sensation that something is wrong. The feeling washes over your skin, raising the hairs on your arms and chilling your bones. You dismount from your horse, walking forward to look over the edge of a nearby bluff for any signs that another conflict has come upon you. You see it then- a rocky outcropping not far from you, a single curl of smoke piercing the sky. It is quiet, and suddenly a shriek shatters through the night.

You clap a hand over your mouth to stop a gasp of shock. You’ve never heard that deathly wail before, yet you can recognize it instantly: a ringwraith. It could be nothing else. Even by hearing the sound, you can conjure up the mental picture: darkly clothed figures, rattling breaths, the stench of death even before they strike. Somehow, you know that the wraiths are approaching that mountaintop, and somehow you know that there is a Ranger there who will attempt take them on alone.

You’ve jumped onto your horse before you can muster up a second thought, lashing the reins and charging forward in a thunderous gallop. You’re not bothering with silence this time, only speed. Your steed canters forward as fast as it can, racing between low-hanging boughs and up the side of the rocky mountaintop. You can only hope that you’ll arrive fast enough. The thought alone is not enough to stop your nerves from threatening to tear you asunder.

You approach the rocky clearing soon enough, and your heart catches in your throat to see the scene. Across the space from you, you can see four of what appears to be hobbits, one of them lying painfully on the ground as if injured. Then, closer to you, one man armed with a torch and a sword, taking on five Nȃzgul as if they were no more than garden-variety thieves. You could almost laugh at his selflessness, were it not for the fact that he’s about to get himself killed.

You have a torch of your own, and hold it in the air. Your horse raises itself on its hind legs, neighing loudly in the still air. The attention of the ringwraiths is diverted to you, as is Strider’s, although you cannot tell whether or not the look in his eyes is driven by relief or regret. You charge forward, torch held at the ready. Your horse bears down upon the cloaked beings, moving forward swiftly despite their shrieks and calls. You swat at first one then the other, beating them back with the fire. 

You can feel your horse panicking beneath you, so you jump down after a second, trusting it to remain close. You and Strider fight side by side, forming a barrier of flaming torches and steel that does not allow any of the Nȃzgul to approach. At last, Strider lunges forward, forcing the last of them back. All of a sudden, you are alone once more, the air seeming to heat up again now that the soul-sucking chill of the ringwraiths has been removed.

You do not have a chance to speak with him immediately. The dark-haired hobbit, Frodo, is gravely injured from a wraith’s blade, and is rushed away with an elf who smiles at you briefly before taking off once more. Then, you have to watch over the remaining hobbits, and make sure they don’t manage to call attention to themselves once more. Only once it is far later into the night, when Strider has allowed the three hobbits to rest, do you follow his unspoken request and go with him a ways away from the meager camp to talk.

Strider waits until you’re sufficiently out of earshot of the camp before he begins. He is pacing away, away, and then he whirls back to you. There’s a fierce sort of light in his gaze that has never been there before; it becomes him, in a way. “What were you doing here? You could have been killed!” You raise an eyebrow. “You could have been killed as well. That’s why I was here, actually, making sure that you weren’t murdered when you tried to take on a swarm of Nȃzgul.”

His eyes flash in the darkness. “Do not put the blame of this on me. I will not have your death on my conscience.” You let out a surprised, bitter laugh. “You won’t, I’m still alive. How are you upset about this? This is what we do, we save each other. You want to avoid thinking that I could have died because of you? How do you think I would feel if you died when I did nothing about it? I would rather have been killed than know that you were going up against ringwraiths while I sat back and watched.”

Strider’s expression is merciless. “I would rather have your grief if it meant you were alive. There are only so many rangers in the forest. We cannot afford to lose one because you wanted to get involved in something like this.” You shake your head, disbelieving. “That’s what this is all about? You would chide me for saving your life, all because you are worried about the numbers of rangers?” 

There’s a pause, and then he speaks again. “No. It is not for that.” All of a sudden, his fierce stance is gone, replaced by a man, just a man. Out of some indescribable emotion, you reach forward and take his hand. He stares at your interlocked fingers, and so do you. “Then what is it, Strider? What would make you speak this way?” He looks at you for a second longer, then his gaze flicks away again. “Aragorn. That is my true name. I would have you use it.”

Your fire is gone now, as is his. All that remains is a few embers, catching light in the dark night of this section of the forest. “Then, Aragorn, what would make you afraid to lose me?” Your tone is light. You cannot think about the consequences of what this all means. “This is a lonely life, Y/N. All the same, I have still had you. Do you know how large the wilderness is, how great the expanse of territory that we rangers pursue? Yet, every week or two, I still see you. Somehow, our paths keep crossing. If I lost you tonight, and I had to go back into the forest without knowing that you were there somewhere with me, I would feel more lost than the first time I stepped from my doorstep.”

His voice is quiet. Yours is too. “Then you understand why I had to fight too, don’t you? It is the same for me. Your loss is mine.” Aragorn looks up at you. “The same?” You nod. His eyes have warmed again, the fire warm this time, not meant to burn but to encourage you to stay a little longer. He glances towards the camp, no doubting wondering what trouble the hobbits have managed to get themselves into. “We go to Rivendell, after Frodo. Will you go with us?” You smile at him. “Anywhere, Aragorn. My path is yours.” He kisses you before he goes, and you watch him walk back to the camp, silhouetted by the soft starlight. You will follow soon enough. For now, you sit and think to yourself, wondering how you managed to get this lucky.

lotr tag list: your compliments would lead me to swear undying allegiance to you @underc0vercryptid​

[youryanderedaddy]

I like your posts, it's always cool. May i ask a yandere concept between an innocent, protected princess and a prince who obsessed with her from the first time they met, and force against her will. Thanks so much, love your writing :3

Thanks, anon, that means a lot <3 If you haven't noticed, I am oBseSSed with royalty stuff so I rlly enjoyed writing this. It's slightly different tho, but the idea is there.

Title: We all fall down

tw: female reader, non - consensual touching, obsessive behavior, coercion, implied forced marriage, war mention, abuse of power

It was cold when you woke up, terribly so. The room was spacious enough, there was bright sunlight coming from all four windows on each wall and you were sure that your sheets were warm and puffy even without looking down at them, yet it still felt freezing. You soon realized the place wasn’t simply cold, it was different too. It looked nothing like your own room back at the Southern Palace with its countless colourful pictures, books shattered all over the ground and a fireplace just across the queen – sized bed. Before you had a chance to sigh in annoyance, a quick glance to the other side reminded you of the bigger problem. Him.

“Good morning, princess.” The man greeted you cheerfully, his voice still deep and husky from the early hour. He was laying against the wooden doorframe, the sly smirk you had grown to hate over the years once again adorning his red lips. You stared at him for a moment, then rubbed your eyes to chase the fatigue away, fruitlessly so. You were too tired and sleep – deprived to play – pretend, which of course didn’t go unnoticed by the nobleman.

“You don’t look too well, princess.” He teased with a cheeky grin and walked towards the bed, stopping just before his legs hit the edge of the frame. You puffed softly, but remained quiet just so you wouldn’t have to answer him just yet. “And look at your state, darling…” The heir continued, clicking his tongue in a mocking “tsk, tsk,tsk”. “Your nightgown is a mess, I can see all of your beautiful curves.” The heir paused to lick his lips in a disgusting, suggestive way, and you had to repress the need to vomit all over the beautiful yellow sheets. “In our kingdom such appearance counts as an invitation, did you know that?” He added, smiling sharply, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, satisfied at the way his words made you embarrassed, flustered and jumpy so early in the morning.

“Your Highness, I would like to properly remind you that it was you who forced me to drink and dance all night.” You responded heatedly, all while fixing the straps of your silky dress to at least cover your cleavage. “You wouldn’t let go of my hand for a second. It’s your fault that I look like this.” You remarked, slightly offended by the man’s jokes, despite being used to his terrible humor after all those long years of shared parties and celebrations.

“If that is really so, my lady, please let me make it up to you.” The prince replied in the same smooth, carefree voice of his, the one he used before while talking to the maids and the peasant girls he wanted to bed. It made you sick to think of yourself as just another of his conquests, even though it couldn’t be further from the truth – you couldn’t stand the dark – haired male, his arrogance and absolute ignorance. “Join me for breakfast and I shall have our best cook serve your favorite meal.” The heir announced and winked at you before turning on his heels and finally leaving the room without hearing whether you agreed to his offer or not. You didn’t even have the chance to ask him how he knew what your favorite dish was or why he entered your room without permission, such a lack of manners was unsuited for a soon-to-be king. Perhaps you could use his inconsiderate behavior as an excuse to stay in bed until lunch but deep down you knew it was pointless. The egotistic little bastard knew you had no choice since you two had a lot to discuss.

---

The breakfast, if not anything else, was rich and delicious, each bite tasty and mouth – watering. The sweet aroma of cinnamon tea, vanilla and powdered sugar filled your senses with ease and a little bit of nostalgia for your childhood. The hardest part was yet to come, you wanted to deal with it fast and go home as soon as possible. As for Arthur, it was the first time you saw him serious with his brows arched and his thoughts all over the place. The uneasiness came back with full force.

“I think you know what we want, princess.” The male declared sternly after looking at the map for a while. His eyes were blue and clear, piercing in the way they were focused on you and you alone with no one else in the hall to act as a barrier between you and the monster. You understood why it had to be only you two, but these deals were always an open secret in both kingdoms, so there weren’t many reasons to keep the tradition going. “We want our territory back. We want you to surrender.” The heir hissed eerily under his breath, his pupils fixed on your frame, burning the skin underneath the thick layer of rough fabric.

You didn’t know how to respond to this – the dynasty’s requests had always been ridiculous and far – fetched, but never as impossible as this one. Yes, your land used to belong to the East centuries ago, but after several long, bloody, sacrificial wars where many of your men lost their lives, it was won fair and square. Now all your subjects lived there happily and freely, rightfully so.

“Your Majesty, please don’t dwell on the past. It will never come back.” You responded shortly after, laughing nervously at the end, hoping that would be enough for Arthur to drop the subject. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case.

“Is that so, dearest? You have two weeks then.” The prince said coldly, narrowing his eyes like a fox. You opened your mouth to speak but quickly got cut off. “Prepare your troops, train the soldiers, announce the incoming war to your people.” The man chuckled darkly and threw the map all the way across the room. “You better get ready for a thunderstorm.” He added just to mess with you some more, just to see your face turn white from the shock and the panic.

“You can’t do that!” You shouted out suddenly and stood up from your chair, feeling cornered and suffocated. You hated the prince’s constant teasing and flirty remarks but you would have never guess him to be a cold-blooded conqueror. “This is too cruel even for you!” You screamed, the tears already blooming down your cheeks, hot and wet. Arthur spared you one condescending look before moving closer and trapping your body against the table, towering over you both physically and metaphorically, as if saying “Let’s see who has the stronger mind.”

“I will get what I want no matter the cost and there is little you can do to stop me, princess.” The heir pronounced slowly, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his hard gaze, full of intense yet unreadable emotion. There was nothing left of the sly cheerful boy standing against your doorframe, teasing you about meaningless little things, and you almost missed him now. “But what you can do is stop the needless violence and bloodshed, Y/N.” You despised the way your eyes lit up at his words, but, as always, your duty was above your comfort and happiness. “What can I do?” You uttered quietly, a part of you too scared to hear the answer, the other anticipating it.

“Marry me.” The prince stated in a deep patronizing voice. His eyes were dark and sharp, just like before, and there wasn’t a trace of his usual gleeful smile. He grabbed your wrists in a painful grip and pulled them up, holding them against his broad shoulders. “We can unite the kingdoms and live our Happily Ever After. No one has to die.” The man whispered surprisingly softly, his chest heaving with each passing breath. “I can make you happy, dearest.”

You gasped in shock as soon as the proposal left his lips. Every fiber in your body was frozen still, your whole being shaken up by the unexpected offer.

“Why do you want to marry me?” You asked frantically, squirming to loosen up his grasp on your hands just to feel it tighten up even more. This was going to bruise for sure. “Isn’t it obvious?” The noble exhaled slowly, staring at you, trying desperately to find the compassion and affection he hoped you had grown to hold for him over the years. His heart broke once he realized there wasn’t any, but it didn’t matter. Feelings could change in a matter of minutes.

“I’ve loved you since day one, my princess.” His attention drifted to your open mouth, especially your soft full lips. Oh, how much he dreamt of taking you and relishing in the whines and moans you would surely let out once he decided to claim you as his own. “All I’ve ever wanted is you.” The heir confessed, his face moving closer and closer to your own, forcing you to arch your back more and more until it hit the table. Before you knew it, he was pinning you to the hard wooden surface, caging you in, kissing you violently, furiously. You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t say no.

[imagination-of-a-thirsty-weeb]

Alluring || Hisoka x Reader

Prompt: Hisoka finds Y/N to be a very strong contender,,

Pairing: Hisoka x Reader

Word Count: 2.153k

Warning: blood!kink

Crossposted

"You see," Your unexpected visitor starts, hands stilling in their play with the deck of cards he held. "I came out to watch your match and your bloodlust," His tongue runs over his lips, a shaky moan leaving his lips. "Your bloodlust is alluring." The cards disappear from his hands, his eyes narrowing into playful slits. He watches you with a predatory gaze, almost as if he blinked or looked away you'd slip through his fingers. "I've rarely been able to meet someone who's bloodlust matches my own," His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, a sharp inhale and exhale following the action. "It's too much, oh so much."

"Hisoka, I've just fought a very formidable opponent and needless to say, I'm a little worn out so if you could," You trail off, pointing to the door. You're standing before him in nothing but a towel, having just gotten out the shower. Your hair falls in curled lockets that frame your face, droplets of water falling down your cheeks, pooling at your chin to drop on the floor. The central air flowing through the room is enough to have you shaking with little protection from the towel. "Hisoka." You say his name with little interest, turning to make your way back to your room to finish out your nightly routine. You drop your towel before disappearing into your room, Hisoka's eyes following you with more interest than you had put into him.

"No one likes a tease," He hums, standing from the couch to follow you into the room. He finds you rubbing cream into your skin, your foot placed on the bed. "Hmm, such a sight," Hisoka's appearance doesn't startle you and you do little to cover yourself, even switching legs to apply more cream. Hisoka leans against the doorframe, eyes following your hands, watching as your fingertips dig into your tense muscles. "I could help with that," Hisoka says nonchalantly, stepping into the room, his foot closing the door behind him. Your ears perk up at his offer and you think of the things his hands were capable of, the knots he'd be able to get out with those talented digits of his.

"You know, I should be kicking you out of my room, you psychotic magician." You giggle, tossing the can of cream in his direction. His fingers wrap around the can, holding it up to level with his face so he could read the label on the can. "I mean sneaking into my room, watching me lather myself in cream," You tsk, wagging a finger at him. "I can taste it," You sneak your tongue over your lips, humming when you come to your final realization. "Your arousal, you know," You turn so your back is to him, and nod him over. "It's as thick as your bloodlust, the two are almost interchangeable." Hisoka makes a noise of approval, joining you beside your bed. "I felt you watching," You sigh when his hands meet your shoulders, "Out of all the eyes on me, I could feel your gaze on me, even more so than my opponent's."

"As I said, your bloodlust was alluring, almost overwhelming." Hisoka's fingers are agile as they move over your body, fingertips digging into what tense muscles he can feel. His efforts are rewarded with soft sighs, his fingers digging deeper to hear more of those sweet sounds leave your lips. "I couldn't help myself, growing more aroused the longer you fought. I saw the way you moved, I watched you very closely." His words drip from his mouth like honey, each word wrapped in his own arousal. He tosses the cream to another area in the room, wanting to keep the bed clear. His hands pull you into him and you can feel his arousal pressed hotly against your back. "I thought about being in that ring with you." He moans, hands forming a steady grip on your hips. "I thought about fighting you. Killing you." He says his own fantasies aloud, his talk so casual as if he were complimenting the decor of the room.

"Hisoka," You turn in his arms, pushing his hands back to his sides. "The both of us know if you wanted to kill me, you would've tried already." Your hands leave your sides to run over his shoulders, one hand on the back of his neck to bring his ear down to level with your lips. "It wouldn't be easy though." Your other hand snakes down his back, pulling him impossibly close. "Not when I know all your tricks," You run your tongue along the shell of his ear, pressing a hot kiss to the skin below his lobe. "Hisoka, I think I know you better than you know yourself." Your hands find his once more, pulling them back to your sides, engulfing yourself within his arms. Your e/c orbs stare into his golden ones, noting the way his eyes grew heavier the closer you stood to him.

"Is that so?" Hisoka lets out a small chuckle, amused by your tactics. "Better than I know myself?" His hands move down your sides, lips quivering into an amused grin when you shake under his touch. "I can't say I doubt that." Hisoka's hands grope your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to expose your slickened core to the cool air of the room. "We have had our fair share of meetings." Hisoka's hands push and pull at your ass, using his grip on his ass to pull you flush against him. "It's been a long while since our last meeting." Hisoka pulls away and takes a step backward. Before you can question him he's turning you around, pushing your upper-half flatly against the mattress of the bed. "And I've got to say," Hisoka's hands are pulling at your ass once more, pulling you apart for him. "I've been dying to have another taste."

"Hisoka," You go to warn him only for your sentence to be ended by the meeting of his warm tongue between your folds. "Fuck." Your fingers grip the white sheets below you, hips involuntarily pushing back against him, begging for more. Hisoka's grip is strong, the pads of his fingers bruising the skin he held, he uses this grip to pull you closer to his mouth. His tongue explores, running from your engorged clit to your clenching hole. "Hisoka!" You cry when his lips wrap around your clit, sucking the aching bud into his mouth. Hisoka's tongue is quick, aiding in the process as it flicks messily and mercilessly over your clit. "Fuck!" Hisoka hums as your resolve slowly melts away. Your knuckles turn white as you grip the sheets harder, fucking yourself back into his mouth. One of Hisoka's hands leaves your ass and two of his fingers slide into your entrance, pushing the two digits deep enough to satiate your hunger to be filled. "I'm close, Hisoka! Fuck, I'm so close." You cry, burying your face in the sheets as he brings you to your edge.

Hisoka wants to praise you, beg for your release so he can lick every drop you have to offer him but his mouth has no will to pull away and so instead he's pushing himself closer. "Yes, oh yes," You cry, hips fucking your against his fingers, against his mouth. Your knees buckle and if it were not for Hisoka's hold on your lower-half you would've collapsed at the side of the bed. "Hisoka, enough-enough," You try to pull away from him, still feeling his tongue moving up and down your slit. Your thighs shake as he continues to lick at your heat, his tongue restless as he finds himself lost in the taste you offer. Hisoka finally finds himself satisfied and pulls away with your juices coating the bottom half of his face.

"Delicious." He flips you over with one of his hands, and the look on his face has you shuddering against the cool sheets. His eyes are hooded, tongue licking his lips. "Here." His hand grips your chin and forces your mouth open, his other hand bringing his two fingers to push past your lips. You know what he wants and so you suck your juices from his fingers, watching him with wide eyes. "Yes," He moans, "Oh yes," He repeats your earlier phrasing and smiles when you release his fingers with a loud pop. "Such a dirty girl." Hisoka chuckles, eyes refusing to leave your trembling body, basking in your orgasm as much as you were. "I know I don't usually ask but I'm feeling generous tonight so...cards or blades?" He holds up a card and nods toward the knife on your nightstand. You can't help the wanton moan that slips past your lips when you realize what he's asking.

"Actually," You reach forward and pluck the card from his fingers, tossing it to the side. "I was thinking of claws." Hisoka makes a small noise as if questioning your proposition but the look in his eyes tells you all you need to know. Hisoka reaches forward and wraps his hand around your throat, nails digging into the soft flesh, breaking the skin. Your eyes shake at the pain, beads of crimson rolling down your neck and pooling in the dip of your collarbone. "Thank you," Your lips curl into a delirious smirk, begging for more. Hisoka can feel his cock twitching in his pants as he watches the beads of blood roll over his fingers. "Hisoka I need you, I need you to fuck me." Hisoka wastes no time in disregarding his clothing, his hand briefly leaving your throat to grab at your hips.

"You're such a good little plaything." Hisoka pushes into you with a quick snap of his hips. "So tight," He's big, his simple thrust nearly splitting you in half. "So eager and greedy." Hisoka watches the way you take him, the way you swallow every inch he has to offer and it's too much for him to handle. "I've never had a plaything so eager to be hurt." His claws dig into your hips, breaking the skin once more. He can't help himself as he's digging his nails further into the skin of your hips, the blood that pours out has his eyes rolling to the back of his head. His hips a blur as they begin a relentless onslaught of pushing into you. Your juices spill over his thick shaft, coating the heated skin as he continues to split you in two for him.

"How's it feel?" His eyes flicker to yours and much to his surprise you're a mess. The blood from your wounds seep into the white sheets, your juices seeping into the sheets. "Hisoka?" You cry, pulling him so he's flush against your bare chest. "How's it feel? How does my pussy feel wrapped around your cock?" Your words are spoken in a soft manner and he knows if you speak any louder it'll break you. Hisoka hums in response, hands leaving your hips to plant themselves beside your head. Your hands grab the sides of his face and your lips plant themselves firmly against his. You needed to taste him, feel him, every inch of him you could get your hands on. Hisoka's tongue slips past yours, circling yours when you meet his in a rush. Hisoka brings a hand between your legs, fingers expertly moving over your clit.

"Y/N," Hisoka whispers your name and it's the only thing you need to finish around him. Your walls are greedy as you tighten around him, juices hushing out against his thick member. "Hmm," He moans, pressing his forehead against yours. "You feel so good. So tight. So wet." Hisoka buries himself deep inside you until he's finishing inside you. His cum shoots out in thick ropes, filling your needy hole with every drop he had to offer. Hisoka's moans fill the room, creating a sweet melody with your heavy breathing. His voice is soft, beautiful as he pushes his hips flush against yours. "Hmm." He whimpers and pulls out, his seed gushing out around him as he leaves your empty. "Y/N," He rolls over to your side, eyes closing as he basks in his post-orgasmic state. "That was amazing indeed." He rolls to his side and slings an arm over your mid-section. "I'm afraid I won't be able to wait another two years until we meet again." You hum in response and turn over so you're face to face.

"Well, if you keep showing up unannounced like this, we won't have to wait another two years." Hisoka seems intrigued by your offer. "I mean, wouldn't want your plaything to slip into the wrong hands. Hisoka can only chuckle at this. "Yeah, yeah, I already know what you're going to say...don't bother."

"I'm sorry my darling, I'm afraid no one can please you as I can."

[inhuman-obey-me]

Melody of Revenge

Word Count: 2.4k Description: Everyone knows not to mess with Lucifer Morningstar. Some, however, make the mistake of going after his family instead. Part of the A Demon's Nature series. Lucifer was next, and this ended up getting really long, so uh ... yeah. Can be found on AO3 here. content warning: torture, so much torture, blood, body horror/mutilation

Fear and intimidation. Lucifer knew how to use both effectively, striking terror into any and all who looked upon him. The Avatar of Pride rarely had to remind others of just who he was, but every now and then, someone decided to step out of line. It couldn’t be helped -- imbeciles could be found wherever beating hearts or souls resided.

Tonight, however, he was dealing with a very particular kind of imbecile. One that had crossed a line so gravely that he had planned an entire torture routine in his mind as he made his way through the halls of the Demon Lord’s Castle. Flames of anger licked his insides as he made his way to the dungeons, but he had to keep his rage under control. Lucifer always had to be in control, every action and word deliberate and planned. He didn’t have a choice to be anything less.

“Barbatos.” He greeted the loyal butler and friend, who stood at the entrance of a particular hall of cells.

“Greetings, Lucifer.” The usual polite smile alighted his lips, though a knowing look gleamed in his eyes. “Are you sure you want to handle this one?”

“Absolutely.” He responds firmly, immediately. Barbatos usually had the pleasure of torturing those who crossed the Devildom, and he took great delight in it -- far more than even Lucifer would. After all, Lucifer found torture and punishment as a means to an end, a form of discipline.

Barbatos simply did it for fun.

“Then by all means,” the royal servant bowed slightly, gesturing with one arm towards the dark hall. “She’s all yours.” With that, he left the dungeons, having a great many other tasks to attend to for the day -- though couldn’t help leaving with a melodic, “Have fun.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Lucifer’s lips. Oh, he planned to make this a very enjoyable time indeed. Taking a deep breath -- making sure that he was in control -- he dropped his glamour to reveal more of his demon form and walked forward to unlock one of the metal cell doors. It creaked open, allowing for the sounds of muffled screams to leave the dark room.

“Hello, Abyzou.”

The protests suddenly stopped, a chill seeming to settle in the air. Lucifer slowly lit the torches along the dungeon’s walls, bathing the room in a hellish orange light. There, in the middle of the cell, sat the traitor, bound and gagged. Her serpentine eyes looked up at Lucifer with a mix of fear and anger, but she otherwise remained silent and still.

“What’s wrong? Suddenly decided it was a good time to be quiet?” His voice is calm. Too calm. He eases his long coat off of his shoulders, hanging it on a hook by the door. Gloved hands begin to roll up his sleeves as he turns to look at the other demon again, a sigh leaving him. He stepped forward, and with a yank removed the gag from her mouth. “Is that better?”

Abyzou coughed, spitting to the side as she flexed her jaw after it being bound for so long. He allowed her to adjust -- he was a demon of patience, after all.

“Lucifer … “ She begins with his name, spoken with a certain kind of reverence. “I didn’t realize you would be visiting me here.”

“You didn’t?” The surprise in his voice is almost genuine. “Strange, I figured you would have been expecting me any day now, considering the reason you’re here in the first place.”

Her eyes widened for a moment before she directed her gaze elsewhere, not wanting to look upon the greater demon. There was a hint of shame in her expression, but it gave way to a twisted smile as she shook her head. “I see . . .”

“Do you?” He speaks sharply, his hatred for her beginning to show. He grabbed her jaw with one hand, forcing her to look up at him. “Do you see, Abyzou? Or are you still trying to play innocent?”

She hissed as his fingertips pressed into her skin, the red leather of his gloves saving her from the wrath of his claws -- for now. She stared into those magnetic ruby eyes and all the power they held, all of the destruction they could unleash, all of the pain they could bring.

“But was I wrong?” Abyzou knew her end was imminent, especially if the Avatar of Pride himself had requested to punish her personally. So what was the use in being anything but honest? “Was I truly wrong, Lord Lucifer?” The reverence once held in her voice was gone, replaced with mockery. She shifted in her bonds, leaning into the hand that held her jaw. “You know that the Devildom is stronger and better than the other realms, and yet we’re forced to grovel to the likes of angels!” Stretching out her neck, she continued with a jeer. “Or do you and your brothers miss having those white wings and halos for yourselves that much?”

Lucifer roughly pushed her face away from him, hand releasing her jaw. He took a step back, eyes full of cold fury still focused on the other demon. His gaze then swept the cell, taking note of the various torture instruments on display -- but grinned when he saw that Barbatos made sure to include the absolute essential. A vinyl player, the perfect record already in place to set the mood. He set it up to play, allowing the first notes to spill into the air before resuming his interrogation.

“So, you thought yourself better than the others who had agreed to His Royal Highness’ vision?” Lucifer begins to tug at the seam of one of his gloves, steadily peeling it off his hand. “Of course, we knew that plenty of the nobles had their concerns, and many voiced them, yourself included.” He sets the removed glove to the side, now beginning to take off the other. “And yet, you still decided that you would try and work against us behind the scenes,” The second glove joins its pair. “And, what I’m really trying to understand -- truly, I am -- is why you thought it would be a good idea to try and undermine the Seven Lords?”

Abyzou shifted in place, her earlier burst of bravado dwindling, and goosebumps rose along her skin as she listened to the music he decided to play. It was common knowledge to never get on Lucifer’s bad side, but she had taken the risk -- and now she would be answering for it. She lowered her head, staring at the cold stone floor, suddenly finding the way the orange light from the flames bounced and shimmered of great interest. “I . . . “ She started, trying to choose her next words carefully. “I wasn’t trying to undermine you or your brothers. I was doing what I thought would be best … including for you all! Can’t you see that I was trying to protect you, protect us?”

A piercing, incredulous laugh left Lucifer’s lips, his deep voice sending chills down Abyzou’s spine. He picked up the spool of twisted rope and approached her once more, the steady clack clack from his shoes’ heels echoing throughout the cell, mingling with the slowly increasing crescendo.

“Aby, Aby, Aby . . .” Lucifer clicked his tongue before he roughly collected a fistful of her long raven locks, eliciting a sharp cry as her head was wrenched back to look up at him. “That was your first mistake.”

The Avatar of Pride was nothing short of an expert when it came to stringing others up from the ceiling, though in this particular case, he wanted to make sure it hurt. The imprisoned demon thrashed and squirmed, but he was able to lift and tie her up with ease, making sure that the rough jute cut into her scaly skin just short of making her bleed -- for now. He tied the rope up to her waist, then put each wrist in a metal clasp that was chained to the floor, stretching out her arms to either side.

“You thought you needed to protect us? A sweet gesture,” He derided her, a claw coming up to slowly trace from her chin down through her cheek, drawing blood as it broke skin. “And an absolute lie. Your little act had every intention to put my brothers at risk, in harm’s way … “ A second claw followed the first, creating a ribbon of shredded skin. Abyzou hissed at the pain, biting back anything else in an effort to save some sense of dignity. “ … and you had the audacity to think you’d get away with it. Truly incredible.” The faux amazement in his tone felt like thorns in her ears, and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to look into his face.

“What’s the matter, Abyzou? Shouldn’t you be used to being in this kind of position, or at least … something not too far from it?” Lucifer smirked, delighted to see her eyes shoot back open, bright yellow irises staring at him in disbelief. “If I remember correctly … Solomon had you tied up in front of his temple, and by your hair, at that.”

That riled her up. Forked tongue lashed out to flick at his face, a series of curses leaving her lips soon after. Fangs bared, she hissed, “Don’t you dare bring up that bastard! To think that I wasn’t allowed to lay a hand on him the moment he stepped into our realm. He deserves to have his neck twisted, but you … !”

“But I . . ?” Lucifer took out a handkerchief from his back pocket, nonchalantly wiping away at where her tongue and spit landed on his visage. “Please, do go on.”

“You … you, all of you, let him in with open arms! Even after knowing everything he’s done, how he’s treated our own kind! I don’t care if you say he’s changed, HE NEEDS TO BE TORN LIMB FROM LIMB!” She screamed, thrashing about in her binds, chains rattling as she struggled.

“Temper, temper, Aby.” Oh, that sadistic, pointed grin. A wave of euphoria washed over him, seeing her like this. “You have no room to talk, considering what you’ve done.” He watched as the blood from her face dropped and dripped to the floor, a hum leaving his lips.

“Perhaps you need some more reminding of just how badly you fucked up this time.” He raised a hand, chanting a curse that caused a swirl of glowing energy to encircle both of her hands. It weaved through her clenched fists, forcing them open, and wrapped like binding around each finger. She cried out in pain as she felt the magical binding began to gradually crush her fingers, cutting off circulation knuckle by knuckle.

“You tried to have some of my brothers poisoned,” All five claws of one hand pierced the skin of her upper arm, retracted, pierced again a bit lower, and repeated -- gradually making way down her entire arm. More and more blood began to drip, the usual greenish hue of her scaly skin now awash in dark red. “You tried to gather enough support to attack them, because you were too much of a coward to come face any of us yourself. Though, it’s laughable that you thought you could do damage to us in the first place.”

“I … I’m sorry!” She knew any apologies here were useless, but the pain that she now felt at every point in her body was becoming too agonizing to ignore. “I felt like I was left with no choice!” She felt her vision get hazy, the smell of her blood and the sharp strikes of pain -- from the rope, from his claws, from the curse -- overwhelming her senses. And that damned music, it was driving her insane.

“No choice?” Lucifer scoffed, his claws now repeating the treatment on her other arm. “Abyzou, you did have a choice.” His brows furrowed, wings stretching out as he brought his face close to her upside-down one. “You just chose the wrong one.”

Tears stung her eyes, the magic binding on her hands crushing her fingers until there would be nothing left. She could hear her blood drip in puddles on the floor, and yet the bleeding wasn’t enough for her life to end anytime soon.

“Please … please, Lord Lucifer … just finish me already.” She begged, though deep down she knew her cries for mercy would be futile.

Lucifer’s usual stoic expression settled on his features. He watched her for a moment, then turned around and walked to the table by the door where he had laid his gloves. A cloth was folded neatly next to them, which he took to wipe the blood off of his hands, murmuring a spell to help fully rid his skin of any that remained. Then, he pulled his gloves back on, tugging on the seams to make sure that they were on properly, fingers flexing in the red leather.

“I’m sure that’s what you would like, Abyzou.” His voice is eerily low, his back still turned to the demoness. She could hear him setting something up, but was unable to make out what it was.

Then he started humming, a haunting sound added to the sharp strings and bellowing percussion.

He dragged the table closer to her suspended body, stepping aside to show what was left on it.

She nearly choked. There, next to the record player, was another similar device -- but this one wasn’t for playing.

“However, I have no intention of giving you a quick end. You’ll remain here, like this, until every last drop of blood leaves your body, and your hands are thoroughly crushed, and those ropes cut through you. But, you won’t be completely alone.”

He gingerly raises the needle, setting it onto the record at the correct position. Resuming his humming, he hit the Record button, and the disc began to spin, the needle etching everything it heard into the vinyl. “We’ll have a lovely keepsake to remember you by. Ah, and don’t worry … this is all using magic, so it will document everything up until your last breath.”

Abyzou tried to thrash about with what strength she had left, but in the end only caused herself pain, the chains shackled to her wrists ringing and clanging.

“Farewell, Abyzou.”

With that, Lucifer left the cell, the large metal door shutting to a close behind him. He made his way back through the dungeon halls, a smirk on his lips as he heard a loud, wailing shriek in the distance.

[shurisneakers]

shut in [7]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, implied abuse, death, implied ptsd, injuries, broken bone, origami and paper planes

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: ONE MORE WEEK !!!!!!!!! ONE MORE WEEK !!!!!!!! also gif is somewhat related except steve isn’t there sorry to crush any hopes

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Is there a reason you’re back so early?”

Both of the men nervously glanced at each other, silently urging the other to talk. A quiet form of encouragement.

“We chec- we checked all the neighbouring towns. All your safehouses,” one of them finally sputtered up after his partner elbowed him in the ribs.

“And?”

“We coordinated with all our guys across the country to look for them-”

“All I’m hearing are a bunch of excuses,” they twirled the gun on its barrel like it was a plaything. “Get to the point.”

“No one knows where they’re hiding,” he finished, swallowing thickly. “We’re still looking though. We just thought-”

“What?” their voice was surprisingly calm. “That your little status update would impress me? That I’d feel sorry for you for working so hard?”

“N-no boss,” his partner finally pitched in, saving face for his companion who opened and shut his mouth wordlessly. “Just keeping you in the loop. We’re close, I can feel-”

“Do you remember what I told you the last time you were here?”

Both of them shut their mouths immediately. Knuckles white, nails digging into their skin as they clenched their fists shut.

“That you wanted them dead,” the first one said with faux confidence. A waver in his voice gave it away.

“Yes, but you’re forgetting the important part,” they tsk’ed, shaking their head, eyes downcast.

They didn’t give anyone a chance to react. They slammed the gun down, swiftly picking it up before taking aim at his partner’s face.

“I said I’d blow your brains out.” They pulled the trigger.

Bits of bone fragment and blood splattered across the first agent’s face. He inhaled sharply, chest rising and falling haphazardly. He had his eyes shut tightly, face away from the carcass slumped over next to him..

“I want every fucking part of this country searched,” they roared, throwing the gun to the side carelessly, leaving someone else to scurry after it. “And since it’s so fucking hard for you to finish two tasks, just get me their location.”

The agent barely nodded, looking like he was about to throw up. His partner’s blood trailed down the side of his face like sweat.

“I’ll kill them myself.”

Hugh Grant was starting to look less appealing on your 6th rewatch of Notting Hill. In fact, he was starting to blend together with the characters from Die Hard and it was becoming difficult to differentiate which part belonged to which movie.

Sam sat opposite to you at the dining table, a set of papers assigned in front of him. The TV was left on, serving as background noise and occasional fillers to substitute the lack of conversation.

“That movie is not making sense anymore,” he stated objectively.

“It stopped after the third time for me.” Your words were hushed, your focus remaining on the swan you were trying to create from scratch.

“If I hear her say ‘I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy’ one more time, I actually think I’ll projectile vomit.” You could tell that his eyes didn’t shift from the screen though. “I can feel the bile. It’s going to happen.”

You only hummed in agreement, more interested in his lamenting than the actual movie.

Although origami wasn’t one of the skills you picked up in the fucking mafia, you still knew a few basic things. The rest you just folded with confidence and prayed it would work.

What other options did you have when you were stuck together in a house with no WiFi?

Sam had made a paper bowl to hold the car keys and the few dollars you picked up from Pierce’s place. It looked like it would fall apart at any given moment, its structural integrity questionable at best.

You had made a small flower that rested on the table in front of you. You were sure it would go missing the minute a draft entered the room.

He had given up after his contribution of the bowl. Apparently his creative expertise extended only towards that and paper airplanes, not that that stopped him. He was folding and manufacturing them with a vengeance.

“How is this supposed to help, Wilson?” you questioned, unable to contain the smile that grew on your face at the sheer number of planes he was making.

“Just because it’s not a decorative marvel-” he shot back in its defence, “-doesn’t mean it’s useless.”

“Oh, yeah? What else can it do other than not fly?” You watched as he launched one of them. It did a loop before falling miserably to the floor.

“Hey, you can put a message in it. Maybe one of those button trackers, a microphone. The possibilities are endless.” He laughed, folding another one out of the limited supply of paper he had left. “Besides, your thing won’t even lift off the ground.”

“Yeah, but this one can float.” You held up the swan that you had created. That about concluded your knowledge of origami.

“That’s actually… pretty cool,” he admitted. “Teach me how to make one.”

“A true master never reveals their secrets,” you eluded, placing it on the table.

“I dare you to make another.” Sneaky bastard. He knew you wouldn’t be able to replicate it. He saw you struggle the first time.

“Why, so you can just copy off of me?” you dodged, and Sam narrowed his eyes at you. You followed the same.

Neither of you blinked for a while.

“I’m out of paper,” he finally relented, gesturing to the fleet of planes that littered the table.

“I’m out of ideas.” You paused, looking down at how you’d spent the last hour. “Do you wanna go test these outside later?”

Sam looked up eagerly and you could just tell he was intending on getting competitive. “Hell yeah.”

“I’m going for a run in some time.” You got up to stretch your limbs, shrug off the fatigue that was setting in. Along the way you left the swan and one of the paper planes on top of the mini fridge alongside the car keys. It was cute. “We could do it then?”

“Sure,” he affirmed. “What time?”

“At around 6-” your eyes landed on the clock on the wall before widening, “-shit, shit, shit, I didn't realise it was five thirty. We have a call with Ransone.”

“Phone’s on the couch,” he mentioned to the living room, sitting up straight. “Why are you freaking out? We still got a few minutes to go.”

You pushed yourself away from the table, forcing yourself to shakie off the drowsiness that had begun to set in.

“You wouldn’t get it,” you mumbled, “He gets pissy if I don’t do things his way.”

You grabbed the phone, punching in the buttons and having it at the ready.

You noticed Sam focused on you with knitted eyebrows but not voicing whatever he had on his mind.

“Ready?” you questioned, but more as a formality. You had to do it regardless.

He simply nodded, looking on as you let the phone ring. If he had noticed your antsiness towards the call, he didn’t bring it up.

Ransone picked up on the last ring, not skipping a beat in answering, “Y/N.”

“Hey Ransone.” You switched the call to speakerphone.

“Are you alone?”

You glanced at Sam. He shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, edging you to continue with the arrangement you had planned the day prior.

Ransone trusted you more. He was more likely to communicate openly if Sam wasn’t around.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Where’s the other one?”

Sam silently scoffed.

“He’s taking a nap.”

“Ah,” Ransone’s tone was condescending. “How have things been?”

“It’s fine.” You press your lips into a straight line, not elucidating. “What’s the update out there?”

“Everything is a mess. We’re trying to figure out who attacked you but since there wasn’t anything left behind or any kind of trace, it’s proving to be... inconvenient.”

“Is it safe to travel?”

“What, with your face on national television?” he laughed. “Nah, I’d say it’s a little too early to be thinkin’ of a road trip. Just stay where you are, I’ll tell you when you can come out.”

Your fingers were thrumming at the table rhythmically, peeking at Sam every now and then for anything he found suspicious or wanted you to ask about.

“Listen, we’ve paid off every big guy to keep this under wraps as much as possible but Pierce was an important person. All the higher ups want this to be solved as quickly as possible. They don’t care about sacrificing a player here or there.”

Pinning the blame on you was easy enough. The faster you were put away, the faster they could stage an “accident” in prison so that none of their secrets were exposed. Wasn’t like they hadn’t done it before.

“Others in the business aren’t likin’ us accusing them of attacking one of our own. Our best bet right now is Serpentine but we haven’t gotten anything to prove it.”

You doubted they ever would. Even if they did do it, Serpentine was notorious for being cunning and stealthy in their operations. They made sure there would be no tracks leading back to them.

“So, we’re at a dead-end,” you verified. There was no telling when this would end, your exit looking further and further away. “We’re fucked.”

“No. We’ll just- Y/N, listen to me,” Ransone called out, drawing your attention back to the call.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve always protected you,” his voice was noticeably softer. “Don’t you trust me?”

You felt the temperature in the room drop.

“You said there would be no one there!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ransone scoffed. “I never said that.”

“I walk in there and there’s four people, completely armed.” Forcing yourself to recall it was making your head spin. Maybe you could ask the nurse for a painkiller. “It was supposed to be empty.”

“I think the blood loss is making you delirious,” he chided, looking at the bag of drips hanging above your bed. “It wasn’t even that bad-”

“You’re lying.” The words slipped out before you had the chance to think it over.

“Excuse me?” he tilted his head, tone suddenly sifting to that of warning.

You knew he was. You had agreed to this mission because it was supposed to be easy. It was a break.

“Ivan was there when you briefed me.” You lifted your good arm to point at him shakily. “He knows you’re lying.”

“Does he now?” Ransone quirked an eyebrow, studying his aid who stood in the corner of the dingy hospital room.

A beat of silence passed where Ransone stared at Ivan, waiting for a reply of confirmation.

Ivan only lifted his shoulders in unawareness. “I don’t remember you sayin’ that.”

Your mouth fell agape but you quickly rushed to shut it. Fucking liars. You shouldn’t have expected anything better.

“Told you.” Ransone shrugged. “You’re a smart one, Y/N, so I’m going to let that slide this time. But next time you accuse me of something I didn’t say…”

He trailed off, resting a hand on your broken shoulder. You flinched, jaw clenched so tightly you thought your teeth might break. You tried to imagine yourself somewhere else, desperate to reduce the quivering of your body when he squeezed it lightly.

“You know I’ve always tried to protect you.” He put a finger under your chin, tilting your head to meet his eye. “Don’t you trust me?”

A beat passed before you responded.

“I do,” you said through gritted teeth, pulling your face away from him.

“I’ll ask them to up your dosage.” Ransone took a step away from you, dropping his hand. “I’m going to need my best player on the field as soon as possible.”

You didn’t acknowledge his statement. Every part of your body felt like it was going to combust.

Did he really say that no one was going to be there or was it just the injuries playing with you?

“Get well soon,” he offered, one step out the door. “Buttercup.”

“You trust me, don’t you Y/N?” he repeated when you didn’t respond.

“Yes.” You swallowed, gaze falling to the floor.

“And I trust you. You wouldn’t do anything to break that, would you?”

Sam raised his one hand questioningly as if to ask what the hell he was talking about. An intimidation tactic. He had been using it for several years to reinforce your loyalty.

“I wouldn’t.”

There were things you weren’t telling him, of course. Details about that day or where you and Sam were hiding right off the top of your head. More if you thought about it deeply.

“Good,” came his response. “So if there’s anything you need, let me know. I’m always a call away.”

“Thank you.”

“Talk to you soon.” He ended the call there.

You stood there blankly for a while before dropping the phone to the ground and crushing it. Usually you wouldn’t have to do that; removing the battery would be enough. This time you wanted to.

Your chest rose and fell heavily. You loathed him. Yet, you couldn’t fucking leave. 

“Hey.” Your eyes snapped back to Sam. “We still going on that run?”

__

The wind felt good.

Your muscles were burning and you could feel the constriction of your lungs but you liked it. The endorphins were working their charm.

Sam was right beside you, not questioning why there was so much aggression in your movement. You had lost track of how long you had been running. You couldn’t bring yourself to focus on that.

The path was paved with fallen branches and roots sticking out, forcing you to hop over some of them to avoid falling. It only annoyed you further.

You wanted to punch something. Or someone. The tension was rolling off your back in waves, and if someone saw you the’d probably believe you were going to commit an act of violence.

It was a while before you felt your steps begin to falter, the need for a proper breath taking precedence over the want to run more.

“Timeout?” you asked Sam breathlessly, slowing your pace to a jog.

“Sure about that, Usain Bolt?” he huffed, slowing his pace to match yours.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he dismissed it. “T’was fun.”

Now that you had slowed down, it forced you to come to terms with how much energy you had just burnt out.

“You wanna talk about what’s on your mind or ignore it?”

“Rather not talk about it for now.” The more you thought about him, the angrier you got. And as of late, you had realised that your method of dealing with that anger wasn’t the best.

The air was getting colder. It was getting harder to see what was in front of you, relying on the few rays of sunlight that shone through the treetops. You took a roundabout at your self declared checkpoint, changing course back to the house.

Sam followed wordlessly, but his presence was strangely comforting. Warm.

“Thank you.”

“For...” he trailed off, prodding you on.

“I don’t know. This.” You gestured to the path ahead of you. “I didn’t think you’d agree to it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” His eyebrows knit together in puzzlement.

You didn’t have an answer to that. Probably because you weren’t used to people just doing nice things for no apparent reason.

“How are you so calm all the time? I’ve never seen him get under your skin,” you asked quietly. “How do you do it?”

He didn’t answer straight away. He mulled over it as he dodged broken sticks and upended roots on the ground. You would be fine if he didn’t answer either; as long as he knew that you appreciated it.

“I just realised that everything he put into me was destructive. Actively worked on unlearning it,” he replied after a while. “It took me years to even begin.”

You expected to hear that but it didn’t make it easier.

“I don’t even know how to start,” you mumbled. It was so tiring, even thinking of where and how it began. It was all you knew. All you were taught.

“If I could add something?”

You looked at him questioningly.

“You had a different relationship with him than all of us, Y/N. A deeper one. It’s not easy to forget that,” he pointed out. “But… you’re not him. That takes strength.”

These weren’t new revelations. It was things you had told yourself earlier to rationalise all your actions. You knew it on a surface level but it was difficult to convince yourself sincerely.

You didn’t say anything, just continued jogging with an eye on the ground. 

It felt better to hear it from someone else. A starting point to maybe get to where he was, too.

“I just can’t believe anyone took him seriously enough for him to get this far,” Sam added, a tick of annoyance in his voice. “I don’t condone bullying but someone should have just punched him in the face as a child.”

It wasn’t even the funniest thing you had heard him say but for some reason it elicited a snort from you, soon giving way to a laugh.

His face snapped to yours at the sound of your laughter, a small smile growing on his face.

His brief moment of distraction was all it took for him to not notice the tree root sticking out in front of him. His ankle got caught in the wood, sending him stumbling to the ground face forward.

“Oh shit,” you cursed, halting in your place immediately, dropping to your knees to where he was.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he groaned, turning onto his back. “I think I broke my face.”

“That may be a bit excessive but your nose is definitely bleeding,” you knew this was serious but you were finding it difficult to control your laughter once you realised it wasn’t a life threatening injury.

“Just leave me here to die.” He covered his eyes with his elbow, refusing to look at you.

“C’mon, Wilson. Let’s get you fixed up.” You stood up, offering your hand. He grabbed onto it, hoisting himself up.  “Can you stand up straight? Do you think you have a concussion?”

“World class assassin,” he grumbled, shaking his head to imply he was fine other than a possible broken nose.

“Promise I won’t tell. Your reputation is safe,” you said it humorously but with conviction, hoping to make it less embarrassing for him. Not that you’d let him forget it any time soon.

It took longer to walk back considering how far you had ventured out, along with the fact that you had to guide him as he held his nose in the air to try and control the bleeding.

You pushed open the door to the house, holding it open as he walked in. Sam made his way to the dining room after you told him you’d get the first aid kit for the second time during your stay there.

By the time you returned from the bathroom, grabbing an old t-shirt along the way, he had a single ice cube pressed to the bridge of his nose.

“That’s not going to be enough.” You dropped the kit onto the table, opening the mini fridge. You emptied the ice cubes from the tray onto the t-shirt, twisting it into a small ice pack.

“These are my battle scars.” You could tell that he was trying not to use his nose. He sounded ridiculous. 

“Whatever makes you feel better, Sam,” you chortled. His mouth eased into a half smile and you didn’t get why until you realised it was the first time you had called him by his name. You didn’t acknowledge it, surprised by how easily it slipped out from your mouth when you weren’t actively stopping it.

You gave him a bit of cotton to wipe off the blood that had dried on his face.

“Look up,” you instructed, standing over him so you could assess the damage. He complied, letting you cradle his jaw softly, tilting his head to see if there were any signs of a fracture or anything worse.

It was a bad fall, but nothing he hadn’t been through before in terms of severeness. It wasn’t going to leave a mark.

“Definitely going to bruise but it’s not broken,” you concluded, going over it once more to make sure.

“Thanks, doc,” his voice came softly from below you. Only then did you realise how close you were standing to him. You could feel his breath on your wrist that was still caressing his face.

It felt like eternity, but he didn’t make an effort to move or shove you away. Your eyes flitted down to his lips for a second. If you just leaned dow-

“Right,” you cleared your throat, taking a step back. “Just hold this to your face for a while to reduce any swelling.”

You handed him the makeshift ice pack, feeling the heat creep up your neck.

“Your turn to use the bed tonight, right?” His voice was significantly lower than what it had been a few minutes ago, something you weren’t acclimated to hearing. It only made your face feel hotter.

“Yeah.” You avoided meeting his eyes, using the time to close the first aid kid. “Unless you want it.”

“No, go ahead.”

It was too early to retire for the evening but suddenly you weren’t all that hungry anymore. Apparently neither was he.

“See you tomorrow, then?” you inquired, turning away before he could see you cringe.

“See you tomorrow,” he confirmed, “Good night.”

You just gave him a short wave over your shoulder and physically restrained from walking to the room, shutting the door and never looking at him again. You hoped he didn’t notice or at least never bring it up if he did.

You couldn’t do this. Not again.

Not when you knew the consequences.

Next part

[hollyhomburg]

Alpha Goes First  (KSJ)

(Seokjin x Reader) (Omegaverse au!) (werewolf au!) 

Summary: Each pack has its own set of traditions and standards and as the newest omega in bangtan’s pack- you have more than a few things to learn. things come to a head when the youngest alpha tries to bed you before your pack alpha does and he doesn't like that one bit. 

Tags: Pack Alpha! Seokjin x Omega! Reader, Implied OT7 x Reader, Brief alpha! Jungkook x Reader, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! yoongi, Beta! hoseok, Omega! Taehyung, Pack Omega! Jimin

Smut tags: Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Jin shows the others how to “breed” the reader, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, knotting, very rough sex, Biting, (Maybe) cockslapping, dacryphilia, Kinda yandere behavior from Seokjin, dom/sub undertones, oral (m. receiving), Punishments, lowkey feral sex, mentions of omega mistreatment. 

W/c: 12k (aprox)

Sneak peak: 

“Fuck- I can’t wait- I want you so bad baby” Jungkook is warm and welcoming, surprisingly hard when your hands hit his chest. Making a little happy noise in the back of his throat as he kisses you with an easy seductive rhythm. He steps forward, further pinning you against the brick wall. Growling a little when you shift- even to move an inch away from him. 

You giggle at his possessive behavior. but it makes you flush all the way down to your toes when you hear him say that- words of the like you’ve never heard coming from his mouth- never heard any indication that he wanted to bed you at all. 

He’s more riled up then you though, Though you should have guessed as much with the miles of his chest bare, muscles all coiled like they are ready to spring and snatch you up again. His hands run down your sides to feel the contrast of the silk and gauzy chiffon, and snatch you up he does. Lifting you by your thighs to pin you in mid air. 

You let out a little oomf- but Jungkook doesn't take notice, fully preoccupied with kissing you like this is the last chance he might have. his hands are Hot and needy where they touch your skin. Hands roaming your thighs and digging into your supple swells there. groaning when he feels your ass in his hands. Sweat beads on the back of his neck when you bring your hands up to hold around your neck. 

You wonder if Jungkook can feel you trembling as he kisses you, his mouth so hot on yours. Maybe he’s in rut? his desperate little whines certainly foretell that as a possibility. But it’s more than that. Almost like his ability to resist has been broke. Like now that he’s got you where he wants you- he can’t even think of letting you go. 

if he can feel the whimpers building in your chest, the way that that you’re almost purring with every needy nip of his mouth under your jaw it doesn't stop him. The need for him shoots straight through to his mating bite, and maybe- just maybe- to the 6 other bites on your body. He’s not holding back at all, not like all the other times when he seemed almost too shy to want you. Kissing you just as harsh and as deep as you need it. He bites your lip and you bite back- even though it has you both wincing. Its hungry and its hard- and not at all gentle. 

The back of your neck burns before you see him. Eyes widening just a moment before it happens and the scent of your pack alpha is upon you. seokjin's feral snarl punctures the heady moment, so different from the usual delicate and protective behavior of your pack alpha. jungkook lifts his head from where he’d been peppering kisses down your chest, a firm ‘oh shit’ expression on his face before he’s upon both of you. 

The second Seokjin’s hand falls on Jungkook’s neck, right over his own mating bite; the other alpha in your arms goes completely limp. You know what that feels like- to have your mating bite pulled at by the very person who left it there- how utterly disarming it is. As pleasurable as it is painful. Jin Scuffs him, Pulling him off of you like a ragdoll dangling in his hold. 

“A-alpha” he stutters out, looking as wrecked as you feel. His strong body falling pliant and limp underneath Seokjin’s will  exerted in full force making the other alpha nearly keen. “I wasn’t- we weren’t-” 

Seokjin runs a nose along jungkook’s cheek, his growl menacing cautioning Jungkook against his lie. Jungkook knows better than to continue his sentence. 

“No I think I know exactly what you were doing” Seokjin spits. it's only then that his eyes meet yours where you’re shivering without the weight and heat of Jungkook’s body. His eyes are lust blown, pupils black seas that you could ride for ages. his mouth is angry, lips pulled up to show his canines- a little longer than they should be.

 And you think this time you aren’t actually imagining in when his eyes flash blood red, if its blood lust or just plain lust- you don’t know. Maybe for wolves like you the difference between those two things matters less then it should. 

“It looks like you were about to have a taste of our sweetest thing without letting me have one first.” 

Coming November 30th @ 4pm EST (9pm GMT) (6am KST)

[americancowgirl19]

Yours Forever

Summary: You and Riley get to know each other on a more... personal level.

Warnings: smut, fluff

Reader: Human Female Plus Sized Cullen Reader

Pairings: Riley Biers x Female Plus Sized Reader

Word Count: 2,310

A/n: This was requested by @fyeahtaylorp -  Hi so I was the one Who requested the Riley biers plus size human Cullen imagine. I loved it like it was amazing ❤️. I was wondering if you could do a part two with more flirting and protective dominate Riley and there is smut if you do smut and the reader could be female by chance. If not that’s ok but thank you I love your writing. 😊 - I’m glad you enjoyed the first part! I’m sorry if it wouldn’t let me tag you. If anybody want me to rewrite this as a male reader, let me know! I hope you enjoy this one! I love writing for Riley.

Masterlist - Part One (So Much More) - Part Three (Our Little Family - Female Reader)

“If you’re not amazed by the stars on a clear night, we won’t work.” You tease Riley. The pair of you were laying on a blanket looking up at the stars. Well, you were star gazing while Riley seemed distracted. 

You can see him watching you in your peripheral vision. You’ve noticed that he likes to do that a lot. More often than not you find him staring at you. Sometimes he has a curious expression or that coy little smirk of his.

You turn your head to meet his look. He doesn’t seem curious nor flirtatious. He has a small content smile on his face. His eyes hold a softness that you’re not used too but slowly coming accustomed too. You’ve never had a man look at you like Riley. Hell, you’ve never been around a man like Riley. 

“Is that so?” Riley muses. You grin as his amorous smirk returns to his face. Your heart flutters when he uses his speed to move from beside you to above you. His hands rest on either side of your face, trapping you below him “And what if I said that I’ve found something far more stunning than any star in the sky to be amazed by?” He hums.

“Oh, really?” You whisper, trying not to show him how effected you are by his words. Of course, he sees right through you as your heart betrays your ‘collectiveness’. 

Riley hums again and lowers his head. You wait for his lips to meet yours but he dodges them and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. Your eyes go back to the stars as you instinctively move your head to the side. Riley growls in approval at your willingness to expose your neck to him.

Your hands reach up to grip his shirt when his lips leave light sporadic kisses along your skin. You pull on him, wanting to close the little gap between you. He smirks resting between your legs. You shiver at the coolness of his body but hook your legs around his in an attempt to keep him from leaving you.

“You are more dazzling than the stars in the night and more radiant than the sun,” He whispers, lifting his head. His sparkling eyes with a mixture of red an bronze stare down at you. You found the color beautiful just like the rest of him.

Your family had made sure that he understood that if he wished to live in Forks he would have to adapt to their diet. He hated it but would endure it for you. The pair of you had been together for not even a year and Riley has yet to find a single thing he wouldn’t do for you. It excited him, this feeling. It was so much more than he ever felt toward Victoria.

“Gaze at the stars all you want, baby girl. I’d much rather look at you.” He whispers.

“For a man who is as beautiful as diamonds, I’m sure you can find something more-” You don’t get to finish. His lips press to yours. Your head spins as he kisses you deeply, pushing you further into the blanket covered grass.

“What did I tell you about talking bad about yourself?” Riley mutters against your lips. Your only answer is a release of a shaky breath. “You’re everything to me, baby girl. I don’t like it when you talk like that,”

“I’m sorry,” You whisper to him.

“I know,” Riley purrs. His arrogant grin spreads across his face. He slowly moves down your body. His nose trailing along your neck and over your bare chest to your clothed breasts. “It’s alright, baby girl, we’ll make you see how beautiful you are soon enough,” He promises, kissing your stomach.

“Riley,” You whine, wiggling under him. He inhales deeply. His eyes rolling back at your sweet scent. He could smell your arousal and it only made you more mouthwatering.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, lifting his head to look into your eyes. You stare into the eyes of the man, of the vampire you’re irrecoverably in love with and nod. He continues to stare at you as he travels back up your body. “Maybe if I love you under the stars you find so beautiful you’ll finally see that you’re worth more than anything in the world,”

“You want to... Out here?” You whisper, your eyes widening.

“There’s no one around,” He whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. “It’s just us,” He mutters, nipping at your neck. “And I want you so badly,” He growls grinding his hips down into yours. Moaning, you push your hips up to his needing more friction. 

“What if someone...” Your voice fades into a whine when he suckles harshly on a spot of skin behind your ear.

“Do you think I’d ever let someone see what is mine?” He asks you. “Anyone who sees you like this will have to answer to me and I will not be merciful,” He growls. “You’re mine and I’ll be the only one to see you like this. To hear those noises you make when I pleasure you in a way only I can,” You moan, your pussy clenching around nothing as he growls the words into your ear. “Do you want me, baby girl?” You whine, gripping his shirt even tighter. “Is that a yes or no?” He smirks.

“Yes, Riley!” You snap, grabbing his head. His eyes return to yours. “I want you.” You tell him, lifting your lips up to his. “Please,” You whine. He finally allows the kiss to connect. His hand reaching for his shirt. You pull away just long enough for him to strip his shirt off. You hum, reaching out to touch his chest.

“All for you, baby” Riley winks. You blush. Your hands grab his shoulders. He lets you pull him back down to you. He kisses you slowly, his hand brushing hair strands out of your face. “I love you,” He whispers.

“I love you, too” You whisper back to him. His eyes stare at your face before traveling down. He sits up on his knees and grabs the end of your shirt. His knuckles graze along you soft warm skin as he lifts it. You sit up long enough for him to pull the shirt over your head.

You struggle against your instinct to hide from him. You’re exposed to his wondering eyes. All you want to do is roll up in the blanket under you but you don’t. You do, however, avoid looking at him. You look up at the stars and wonder how someone like him could even compare you to their beauty.

“You’re so gorgeous,” He whispers to himself but loud enough for your ears to hear. He lowers down and kisses your stomach. Your breathing escalates as he massages your sides and nips at your skin. You whine as he grows rougher.

He couldn’t get enough of you. He loved every inch of you. He loved how your skin reddened with every squeeze and bite. He loved the breathless noises you made when you became more sensitive to his touch. 

You gasp when your bra is ripped off of your body and your pants are torn down your legs. Your eyes lock with his. Your not intimidated by the blackness of his irises. You trusted him with your life and knew he wouldn’t take things too far.

“Do you understand what you do to me?” Riley wonders. He falls back on top of you, he hands stopping him from completely collapsing on you. “I wonder who between us has that vampiric allure when every single thing about you draws me in like a moth to a flame.”

“I-” Whatever words you were going to say die in your throat as he shuffles down your body. You breath hitches as he drags your panties down your body with his teeth leaving you completely exposed. A cool breeze sends goosebumps across your body. Riley growls, his eyes soaking up the sight of your painfully erect nipples.

“Absolutely perfect,” Riley growls lowering between your legs. Your legs try to close but Riley effortlessly forces them to part. He smirks, his face nearing your sweet piece of heaven.

Your jaw drops and your back arches as he licks and suckles your cut like a man dying of thirst. You writhe on the blanket. Your hips attempt to grind against his face but his hands hold you down.

His lips circle around you clit giving it special attention. You try to stay quiet but it was beginning to become impossible. Riley mercilessly eats you out, his hands bruising your hips. He doesn’t stop until your convulsing through your orgasm.

“Good girl,” He whispers, against your skin. He laps at your cunt before kissing up your body. “You taste better than blood... A man could become addicted to your delicious pussy,” He growls against your skin.

“It’s all yours... Only yours,” You breathe, recovering slowly.

“Your damn right,” He growls. Grinding his clothed cock against your sensitive clit. Your cry turns into a moan. “You belong to me. Every delicious curve, every beautiful moan, and every mouthwatering orgasm is mine.” You whimper as his hips grind even harder against yours.

“Please,” You beg. “Riley, I need you,”

“Oh, do you?” He asks, looking into your eyes. His head bumps against your lightly. He nips at your bottom lip. “I don’t believe you,”

“Please, please, please,” You scrounge. “I need it, I need you”

“And what do you need from me, my beautiful girl?” He asks, tilting his head. “A kiss? More friction? Ooorr... Something else?” He wonders. You whine, squirming when his hips still. “I’m not a mind reader, babe-”

“Your cock!” You exclaim. “I want your cock, please give it to me”

“Alright, alright, no need to panic. I’ve got what you need,” He grins. He shimmies out of his pants. You shyly look down at it. “Do you think you’re wet enough for me?” He ask, teasing your slit with the tip. “Don’t want to hurt you too badly,” He mutters, shoving two of his fingers inside of you without a warning.

“Ah, Riley,” You moan, grinding into his hand. His eyes remain glued to your face, watching as your expression shifts and twists. His thumb reaches up to brush along your clit while his fingers massage your special spot within your pussy. “Please, please, please,” You whisper like a prayer.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Riley mutters, pulling his hand. You whine. “No, not yet, baby girl.” He coats his cock with your juices before pushing his fingers into your mouth. Your eyes connect with his as you suckle on them like a lollypop. 

Your mouth opens with a gasp when he pushes inside of you. His fingers leave your mouth and wrap around your neck. Your hand grips his wrist as he squeezes your throat just enough to make breathing difficult but not impossible.

“God, I could spend every day buried deep inside of you,” He growls bottoming out inside of you. Your legs hook around him as your pussy milks his cock. “You were made just for me. Mine.” He growls in your ear. Pulling in and out of you in short thrusts.

“So good... You feel so good,” You whisper. Riley kisses your shoulder before rolling onto his back, pulling you onto his chest.

“Sit up. Nice and tall, gorgeous.” Riley whispers to you, releasing your throat. You look at him anxiously. “Go on... I want to see you, beautiful girl.” Hesitantly, you sit up and sink down onto him further. Your head rolls back as you moan deeply. “There you are,” He whispers, his hands gripping you love handles. “Look at me,” Your eyes look from the stars to him.

He lifts your hips forcing you to move up and down. After a moment, you don’t need his help and begin to move on your own. You grab his hands, your fingers intertwining with his. You use them as leverage and begin to move faster. 

You gasp, moaning as his hips thrust up to meet your pace. You become more desperate the closer your climax comes. Riley flips the two of you quickly and drills into you like a mad man. You cry out and clench around him as your release harder than before. Riley’s release follow seconds after you.

“You are beyond compare,” Riley whispers in your ear. He tenderly presses kisses along your jaw.

“I love you, Riley” You whisper, threading your fingers through his hair. He smiles against your neck.

“I love you more, baby girl” He whispers, pulling back. You wince as he pulls out of you. He uses the blanket to clean up before pulling his clothes on and helping you into yours.

“You owe me a new bra,” You say holding up your torn one. He gives you a sheepish smile and helps you stand.

“I’ll get you anything you want,” He promises, holding you against his chest. “As long as you promise to be mine forever,”

“Give me a ring, your last name and I will be,” You wink at him. Riley grins connecting his lips with yours.

“Would a ring like this do the trick?” Riley wonders, pulling out a ring from his pocket, glad it hadn’t fallen out. He gently grabs your hand and slips it onto your finger.

“It’s perfect,” You whisper to him.

“So... Is that a yes?” Riley asks, caressing your cheek while holding your hand.

“Of course, I’ll marry you,” You whispers, pressing your lips against his. He grins deepening the kiss. He picks you up and spins you around. “Looks like I’m yours forever,”

“Finally,” Riley whispers, staring into your eyes with that coy yet awestruck look on his face.

[lottiebagley]

Pumpkin- Fred Weasley

We're heavy liftin' but we're feelin' fine We think it's funny when we look at the time I know co-dependency has dragged me out But I really don't think that's what this is about

The group of sixth year Gryffindor students sit around under a tree by the black lake waiting for the arrival of their friend. Y/N Malfoy was quite similar to her family in most ways, ambitious, cunning, loyal and scheming, admittedly also a little bitchy with a flare for the dramatic. The difference being important though, she used all of these skills for good. Surrounding herself in a group of Gryffindor's despite being Slytherin simply because they made her laugh, she had never cared over blood or house supremacy and it drove her father mad, her mother to worry constantly and her younger brother to quietly admire her, although he'd be caught dead before saying it.

"Here she is," Lee grins widely watching the girl approach

"You're late," Fred comments, a smirk on his face and teasing lilt to his voice

"Can it Pumpkin,"

"Okay that joke has never and will never be funny," He groans as she drops to the ground next to her friends, fanning her face from the summer heat as she lays in the warmth, her shorts and top showing more skin than her family would approve of.

"Whatever you say Pumpkin," She grins, reaching her hand up to pat Fred's cheek as he leans his back against the tree.

"Why are you late?" Angelina questions, her head in her boyfriends lap. She laughs loudly when the girl says nothing simply smirks.

"Seriously? Again?" Alicia questions, laughter in her voice

"Wait! What don't we know?" Fred pouts dramatically, pushing himself up from the tree. His feelings for the girl glaring brightly. He may as well have a bright flashing sign pointing to him that says he's head over heels for his best friend who doesn't believe in love.

"There's no we. Just you I'm afraid," Lee smirks, Fred's heart sinks a little when he notices his twin brother sympathetic smile.

"Our little golden child-" Angelina starts

"She has never been a golden child," Lee interrupts

"Shut up. Our little golden child has been sleeping with Adrian Pucey," Angelina grins.

Fred feels his heart drop to his feet. Splintering into 1000 pieces.

"Merlin, your parents would approve," he comments, feeling the eyes on him waiting for a response

"They won't need to. It's just casual sex," she shrugs. She isn't sure why she feels such an urgency to make sure Fred knows it's not serious. Sure, he flirts with her but she always kind of assumed it was a joke, so of course it wasn't the guilt making her want to scream at him that she was still single. It wasn't feelings either. There's no point in feelings.

"I wish I could do that," Alicia sighs wistfully, Fred glad the attention is off him "Just have casual sex, flings that mean nothing. I get so attached so quickly," she rambles before turning her head to face her friend, who is eyeing Fred with suspicion, trying to work out if he's just tired or if he's upset.  "How d'you do it?"

"It's simple Li, there's no point in catching feelings. Love is treated like some inevitable thing that happens to everyone but it's not. I won't ever fall in love. Most people don't. Boys are going to hurt you time and time again so there's no point investing your happiness in them. The new relationship glow dies and you end up alone. Embrace the fact you've only got you to count on and life becomes easier," She explains

"How can you know someone isn't going to just come in and sweep you off your feet?" George questions, eyes flickering between the girl talking and his brother who is staring into space almost like he's trying to block out whatever the girl is saying.

"Life just doesn't work like that,"

I wanna give it all, I know I will 'Cause blueberry eyes seem to make time still We can boogie in the sunshine with some Burt's Bees And I know you like to pull the leaves off trees

"Thought love was stupid and pointless and made up," Fred quips, his voice in her ear making her jump in the otherwise empty corridor, taken by surprise at his presence.

"Shit!" she shrieks, hand swatting him away from her "You know most people say hello Pumpkin," she adds

"Hi darling," He grins

"Hi," she responds with a smile, not sure why she's blushing a little

"Back to my point about love,"

"You never actually made it," She retorts, eyes shining in the moonlit corridor

"Are you not on your way back from a secret meeting with one Adrian Pucey?" He questions, beginning to walk in the direction of the Slytherin common room, making sure to slow his steps down a little on regards of her much shorter legs.

"And if I am?"

"You've been spending an awful lot of time with him recently is all," Fred comments. Eyes focused on her as she quiets for a moment thinking.

"He's not the worst person to be around," She shrugs, he hums in response. He isn't sure what to say. He expected her to shoot down his accusation but instead she had admitted to liking Adrian.

"Why are you up so late and lurking near the Slytherin commons?" she questions, expecting an elaborate prank to be explained.

"Someone had to make sure you made it to bed safely," He shrugs, she hopes in the dark he won't see her blush, although he can and it makes his heart skip a beat.

"Pumpkin, anyone would think you care," She teases gently

"I do. In fact I care more about you than anyone else I know," He admits, his sincerity and vulnerability a change to their usual playful tone.

"I feel the same for you," She admits as they come to a stop outside the Slytherin common room.

"You sure do know how to make a guy feel special," He smirks, leaning against the wall next to the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

"I think love is stupid and fake and I don't believe in the whole one true love, soulmate bullshit," She announces, a look in her eyes that Fred has never seen before as she stares up at him.

"I know that," He smiles gently, enjoying the way she's standing a little too close for just friends.

"I'm difficult and tricky and emotionally unavailable and I'm a stupid person to have feelings for,"

"I know that," He smirks widely

"I'm sensitive and if this is all some joke-"

"What's this?" He questions, a cocky grin on his face and an eyebrow raises. She sighs

"This!" She exclaims, gesturing between them "You treating me special and flirting and walking me to all my classes and back to my common room every night and carrying my bag and-" She begins to ramble

"No joke," He assures, hands held up in surrender

"I don't believe in love and I think feelings are stupid,"

"You've mentioned,"

"But, you should know that if anyone were going to change that it would not be Adrian Pucey,"

"Are you saying it would be me, sweetheart?"

"Don't get too cocky pumpkin," She smirks, before turning away from him and slipping into her common room, leaving Fred stood in the corridor with a lovestruck grin on his face.

I used to think that Romeo was full of shit And the Notebook was just my favourite chick flick But now I get why Sarah was so hard to forget It's this feeling that I'm feeling like Nemo in a net

She sits next to Alicia in the Room of Requirement, patiently awaiting the boys as they mingle with the other party goers.  Sipping on their drinks and talking over the loud music.

"Are you staring at Fred?" Alicia questions, eyes following where she's staring off into the distance. Fred is standing with a cup in each hand. One that he regularly raises to his mouth as he laughs with a few Hufflepuff boys. The other that he holds from the top, hand easily large enough to cover the whole top, although he continuously glances down to check there's no opening. He looks good, his height meaning he's a head taller than the other boys, his white shirt slightly too tight meaning his muscles bulge in it.

"Hmm?" She questions, forcing her eyes away from the boy, glad he hadn't caught onto her staring

"Oh my god! You were!" Alicia cheers

"I was?"

"Staring at Fred all gooey eyed and lovestruck. Can't say I'm surprised there's been way too much sexual tension between you two for like ever,"

"I wasn't. I was simply looking at him cause he said he'd bring me another drink and I'm nearly out," She retaliates, Alicia looks at her questioningly for a second, but after glancing at her nearly empty cup seems to believe it. She'd probably have questioned it more if Angelina hadn't arrived, taking the empty seat next to the girl.

"How's Adrian?" Angelina smirks widely from behind her cup

"Uh, I wouldn't know," She admits, adjusting her short black dress a little

"What? You had one of the best looking boys in school for casual, steamy sex and you ended it?" Alicia gasps, looking at the girl in front of her like she's insane

"There was nothing to end," The girls shrugs, taking a chug of her drink, emptying the glass and placing it down.

"Why the fuck would you stop sleeping with him? He's fit," Angelina  pesters, she's saved from having to come up with a lie when Fred arrives in front of the girls, offering the drink he's been protecting with his hand to her.

"Chug that and come dance with me," He demands, she raises her eyebrow at him

"Friends can dance together y'know?" He smirks widely, the line between friends and more seeming to fade and darken back and forth constantly between them.

"To friends then Pumpkin," She smirks, accepting the cup and chugging the alcohol despite the slight burn in her throat.

"M'Lady," He grins, offering a hand that she takes whilst rolling her eyes, allowing him to pull her away from the girls.

"That is why you stop sleeping with a boy as fit as Adrian Pucey," Alicia smirks to Angelina who laughs at the comment.

"Spoilt for choice," Angelina chimes

Pumpkin, pumpkin You're gonna kill me Pumpkin, pumpkin La, la la la la, la Pumpkin, pumpkin I need you to feel me Pumpkin, pumpkin La, la la la la, la

"You know darling, people might think you like me," He whispers into her ear, hot breath sending a small shiver down her spine that makes smirk grow wider.

"People should keep their noses out," She responds, spinning to face him.

Her chest flush to his, her hands finding place on his shoulders as she moves her hips against him. Practically grinding to the music playing through the party.

"I like this dress," He compliments, eyes raking her up and down with dark eyes, hands trailing up and down her body

"Take your hand of my arse Pumpkin," She smirks, although she says nothing else when he doesn't, the warning more a habit than her actually caring

"You brother is watching us," Fred comments, focusing on not letting his eyes drop to the curve of her breasts that are pushed up, practically spilling from the little black dress

"Father will be happy to hear all about this," She smirks, earning a chuckle from Fred

"You not worried about it?" He questions, ignoring the weird need in his chest to place kisses to her neck, wanting more than a little to mark her up.

"I've been disappointing him long enough," She shrugs, one hand dropping from around his shoulder to trail down his chest, unable to stop herself from wanting to feel the toned muscles under the shirt

"Ever the bad girl," He smirks, a feeling of pride in his chest when he notices her eyes darken a little.

"That's low," She comments with a smirk "Besides father knows we are friends and this is a friendly dance," She adds, turning back around to press her back to his chest, rolling her hips to push her arse into him.

"I certainly hope you don't dance with all your friends like this," He smirks, leaning down a little, a tight grip on her hips, dictating the speed of her teasing movements.

"Only my favourites," She grins.

Fred is glad she's not facing him or he's pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from kissing her.

We're cruisin' slowly but we're movin' fast We both decided to thank our past We've got a hundred lists of things we wanna do But I'm also cool just doin' nothin' with you

When Fred had bid her goodbye for the summer his heart and stung a little. He hated not being able to see her over the holidays. He hated that Adrian Pucey would be around all the time due to their families friendship. He hated that although she acted like it didn't her father's constant criticism hurt her.

It was because of the very last reason that when they were in third year George had scribbled their address onto a piece of parchment and given it to her with a smile and a whisper of 'if you need us we would love to see you'.  She'd never used the paper before. Writing to the twins and their friends, and holding out through the summer. She'd kept the paper though, tucked in between an old fairytale book in her bedroom.

Standing at 7:30 in the morning on the doorstep to the burrow, school trunk in tow and eyes sore from crying she wondered if the offer had long since expired.

Molly Weasley knew of her. She knew that the Malfoy's had a daughter and assumed she'd be as stuck up and rude as the best. Then her boys came home after their first term talking with bright smile and enthusiasm of their new friend and she was shocked when over and over again the name Y/N Malfoy was in the stories. By the end of their first year, with their letters and excited chatter she'd grown to know the girl was nothing like her family, instead she was a friend of her twins and by default Molly loved the girl, happy to see her boys happy. By Christmas of third years she realised that George loved the girl like a sister and Fred loved her as a lot more.

Despite all of this she'd never spoken to the girl. The Malfoy's whisking her away from her friends at the train station before she could even say 'goodbye' with cold eyes and snarls. Therefore she was more than surprised to pull the door open and see her with blotchy tear stained skin and silk pj shorts, a sweater she knit herself with a large 'F' on the front almost drowning her.

"Hi deary," Molly smiles gently

"I'm so sorry to intrude-I-it- I couldn't be there any longer. The boys said years ago I could come here if I ever needed and-I- I'm sorry that was years ago and the offer is way past expired- Sorry to bother you, this was stupid. I'll just be going," She rambles, cutting herself off and hiccuping the words out.

"You'll do no such thing. Come in," Molly instructs, pulling the door wider to allow her to come in. She smiles gratefully, grabbing her trunk and tugging it behind her into the house.

She looks around and can't help the small smile. The house is more of a home then any she'd ever been in before. Lived in and warm and bright and she could feel the love radiating through it. It made perfect sense that the twins grew up here.

"Leave your bag by the door. One of the twins can carry it up later. Take a seat while I make breakfast and let's, you and I, have a chat. I'm afraid the twins won't be up for hours," Molly offers. The girl nods, shooting her a smile and sitting down.

"Tea?" Molly questions

"Please," She responds almost timidly, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her jumper trying to dry the dampness. Molly nods, sending the girl a gentle smile and flicking her wand, the pots jumping into action making the tea.

"Now, dear, do you want to talk about it?" Molly asks gently

"No. Sorry. I just need to process," She admits

"It's no worry, you just make sure not to keep it all bottled up. Whenever you are ready we are all here for you, you can stay as long as you like, alright?"

"Thank you Mrs Weasley,"

"Please dear, call me Molly,"

"Molly," The girl nods, taking the tea she is offered with a thanks.

"Now, do your parents know you're here?"

"No, I left late last night. Father and I argued and I went up stairs and packed and just kinda," she trails off

"Left in the middle of the night with no explanation," it's Ginny's voice that speaks from behind her.

"Hey Ginny," The girl grins, jumping up to hug the younger girl who happily returns it. The Weasley kid's all liked her having had her company forced on them by the twins at school.

"Hey, Fred's going to be so happy to see you," Ginny smirks, laughing when the girl blushes, eyes staring down to not look at Molly who is smiling widely.

"You need to let your parents know you are safe," Molly instructs as the two girls sit down.

"They won't care," She shrugs, Molly's motherly glare quickly shot at her "but I'll let them know," She assures

"How'd you even get here?" Ginny questions

"The knight bus,"

By the time the girls have had breakfast and caught up it's 9AM and the both Harry and Ron arrive in the kitchen, greeting the newest addition to the home with a hug and teases of Fred's excitement. By 10AM George has arrived downstairs, elated to see one of his best friends, pulling her into a tight bear hug before ruffling her hair.

George and her are sprawled out in the garden, backs in the grass, both clad in pjs, easy conversation flowing and her feeling 1000 times happier than she did that morning by 11AM

"Merlin, Georgie, we are supposed to be working on puking pastilles and you're lounging about in the garden," Fred's voice shouts, leaning out of his window, to see his twin, not yet seeing the girl who is leaning against the wall, out of his eye line.

"I'm entertaining our guest!" George quips

"Guest? Is this you weird way of saying we have to de-gnome the garden again?"

"No. But we do need to," George responds

"Hey Pumpkin," The girl calls out, shuffling to be next to George and in Fred's eye sight.

Fred's face is overtaken by a wide grin, almost instantly he's out of the window, sprinting down the stairs and hurtling into the garden.

She jogs to meet him, laughing when he lifts her into the air spins her around, her legs wrapping around his waist as she grins down at him.

"Merlin, I missed you,"

"I missed you too. A lot," She admits, hating the way her heart is hammering in her chest.

"What're you doing here?" He asks, concern over taking his features, his hands still gripping her tightly as he holds her up

"I really don't want to talk about it yet," She admits

"But you're okay?"

"I am now," She assures, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek and smirking when he blushes.

"Merlin, it was two weeks not two years," George comments, breaking the moment up now he feels he's given them enough time.

Fred sighs, wishing he'd had the nerve to just kiss her like he so badly wanted to but nervous how she'd react, the though of ruining their friendship striking fear in his heart.

He places her down delicately and insists on giving her a tour of the house, Molly watches with a fond smile at the way her son can't stop grinning all day.

I ran in circles on a Monday night You had to go so you could make your flight I looked at my mom and said, "What do I do?" She said, "This look is somethin' and it's new and true"

"You seem to really like her," Molly pesters, a week and a half into her stay. She's washing the breakfast dishes as Fred dries them. She knows immediately he wants to talk about it, her son only ever helps with house work when he wants his mother's advice and is too shy to ask.

"I do," Fred confirms, watching through the window.

The group were heading to a nearby lake and she's standing in the garden with Ginny, clad in a bikini she'd borrowed from the younger girl and a pair of shorts and carrying a towel. Sunglasses pushing her hair back and laughing at something the younger girl said, the two seemingly closer by the day.

The sight of her in just a bikini had made Fred's heart stop. She had barged into the twin's bedroom in the search for suncream Ginny had leant them and Fred had struggled to put words together as George smirked watching the interaction.

"She likes you too, I can tell," Molly prompts, wondering what the problem was.

"I know, well I kinda figured. She's just complicated. None of us know why but she's an utter cynic. She doesn't believe in love, she doesn't have any interest in dating or marriage or any of that. She has is in her head every guy she lets herself like will end up hurting her," Fred explains

"That kind of thing is normally past hurt,"

"She's never been in a relationship," Fred counters

"Okay, well in that case it's highly likely it's a childhood thing,"

"You mean?"

"Her family is very traditional. She might not have grown up seeing healthy, loving relationships," Molly explains gently

"So, what do I do?"

"You prove you're different. You prove you are worth the risk," Molly explains. Fred nods, setting his tea towel down despite being no where near done with the dishes.

"Thanks mum," He grins, Molly smiles, watching her son head towards the door

"Take a shirt so your shoulders don't burn!" She calls but Fred is out the door before she can finish the sentence.

"Took your time!" Ron calls, standing up from where he, George and Harry had all been sat waiting

"Just cause some of actually help mum," Fred quips, ignoring his brothers as they all begin the 10 minute walk to the lake. George challenging Ron to a race. Ginny talking awkwardly to Harry, her crush evident.

Fred is no better than his younger sister, falling into step next to her.

"Surprised you aren't racing," She comments

"Bored of beating them," he smirks cockily "Besides, talking with a beautiful girl such as yourself is much more fun," He adds, proud when she giggles.

"You're in good shape," She comments, eyes flickering over his body, clad in only swim shorts, his toned chest and muscular arms on full show. She laughs a little when he blushes bright red. "Not so slick now are we Pumpkin?" She smirks

"Pumpkin still isn't funny," He attempts, the bright red flush still on his cheeks doing little to help his case.

He tries desperately to recover on the walk but every time he starts talking she makes a show of looking at him, eyes lingering, something she enjoys greatly, making him blush even more.

The day by the lake passes beautifully. Games of chicken, sunbathing, forcing Ron to go back and pick up sandwiches at lunch time.

It's mid afternoon, Ron and Ginny playing a game of exploding snap on the jetty over the lake, Harry reading 'Quidditch through the ages', George writing a letter to Angelina.

The pair are in the lake, Fred pushing her in when she was sunbathing earlier and jumping in after her. They'd had a race which landed them a distance away from the others.

"You won because I let you," Fred announces

"I won because I took swimming lessons until I was 11 and was on a summer swim team until I was 14," She shrugs

"What else don't I know about you?" He teases

"I speak Latin, I can play the piano and flute, this is the first school break I haven't spent nearly ever waking minute at my ballet studio and I know greek mythology like the back of my hand,"

"Why?"

"Private tutors," She shrugs, he laughs loudly, shocked he knew so little about aspects of her life.  She shivers a little

"You wanna get out?" He questions

"Quite like the water," She shrugs, he nods, opening his arms

"I'm not cuddling you in the water Fred,"

"It's that or hypothermia," He shrugs, she sighs, secretly happy, and allows him to pull her into his hold, resting her head on his shoulder as he subconsciously strokes a hand up and down her back.

"You really are full of surprises," He comments

"As are you, I've been learning an awful lot about you from your parents,"

"If it made me sound uncool it was a lie,"

"You were already uncool to me," She smirks,

"Harsh," He grins, eyes focused on the way she bites her bottom lip as she stares up at him "You look really beautiful," he comments

"So do you pumpkin," She returns.

Neither of them know what's overtaking their system as they lean in slowly, her lips just grazing his when suddenly his shoulder's are pulled down and he's held under water. Ron laughing happily when his brother pushes his way up to the surface a scowl on his face.

"What the fuck, Ron!" Fred shouts

"We need to leave or we'll be late back," The younger boy announces, swimming away before his brother can splash him.

Fred shoots her a sorry smile before they both swim back, climbing the ladder onto the pier. Fred makes sure to wait until Ron's holding his towel and wearing his t-shirt before he shoves him off the pier and back into the lake for ruining the moment.

I used to think that Romeo was full of shit And The Notebook was just my favourite chick flick But now I get why Sarah was so hard to forget It's this feeling that I'm feeling, like Nemo in a net

It's been two weeks since she arrived by the time she is ready to open up about the fight with her parents. It's only her and Fred. They sit cross legged on a sofa, the warm night breeze pushing through the open windows.

The kids had all occupied the living room, watching movies and eating snack but as the night got later one by one they'd all gone up to bed, leaving the pair who had been cuddled up way too close for just friends all night.  

"I told you Ginny had foul choice in films," Fred comments

"I quite enjoyed it," the girl shrugs in response

"You. You who has previously said 'Love is a commercial lie' enjoyed Titanic," He smirks

"I guess maybe I'm starting to accept I could have been a little wrong," She admits, refusing to look at Fred.

It was true, being with Fred all summer had made her realise that the love she felt for him wasn't just some stupid passing thing. She loved Fred Weasley. Loved him to her very core. She thinks a part of why she was finally letting herself feel the admittedly scary emotions was seeing how happy Molly and Arthur were.

"Why do you hate love?" He questions, it was a thought that had been on his mind a lot as of late.

"I guess I just never saw it before," She shrugs

"Aren't your parents married?"

"Yeah but they don't love each other. They were an arranged marriage, father had the prettiest girl and mother married into a fortune. They barely speak unless they are in public. They sleep on opposite sides of the house," She speaks and her voice is void of emotion, Fred isn't sure what to say.

"So you just assumed no one was happily married?" He questions gently, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"No. I knew love was real, it was just that it was easier to not fall in love and it the best way to stop it was to convince myself no one had it," She admits

"Why wouldn't you want to fall in love though?" He prompts, eyes fixed on her as she fiddles with the hem of the large t-shirt she's wearing.

"It would end in heart break. I have to marry whoever my parents pick. If I fall in love when I get married I live my whole life knowing what I could have had. But now, I'm halfway in love and my whole world feels, I don't know how to describe it, brighter I guess, and all that self preservation was meaningless,"

Fred feels his heart break a little. He wasn't sure if it was because she had been dealing with all this for so long or if because deep down he knew he would marry her tomorrow and he didn't doubt for a second that he wanted her forever.

"I'm so sorry," He hums out

"Not your fault. It's what we argued about, they had a suitor coming to stay for the summer. That's why I ran," She admits

"Oh, sweetheart," He sighs, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close to him.

"Would be great if you could do something repulsive so I like you less," She jokes, he laughs loudly

"Sorry, darling, but I really don't plan on letting you slip through my fingers and no matter what I'll make sure you don't have to marry some pretentious pure blood," He promises and she feels more at ease than she has in years, she knows Fred has got her, Fred'll stop at nothing to make sure she is happy.

Pumpkin, pumpkin You're gonna kill me Pumpkin, pumpkin La-la-la-la-la-la Pumpkin, pumpkin Need you to feel me Pumpkin, pumpkin La-la-la-la-la-la

"Where are we going?" She questions, eyes squeezed shut as Fred tugs her hand pulling her along behind him.

"My favourite place," he responds, although she had no clue what that meant.

"Well, are we nearly there?"

"Shut up and be patient, jeez woman,"

It's a further three minutes when Fred stops, laughing when she walks right into him, eyes still closed.

"Okay, open," She can hear his smile

She opens her eyes, they're standing in front of a meadow full of wildflowers, the pink sun set making everything glow, a picnic blanket full of goodies that were clearly prepared by Molly in the centre.

"You're right. It's beautiful," She smiles brightly, turning from the view to look up at Fred who is beaming down at her.

"Not as beautiful as you," He grins cheekily

"That was awful," She smirks, his loud laughter ringing out through the meadow. She grabs his hand in hers again, pulling him along to the picnic blanket.

"So, how did you enjoy your summer?" He questions

"We have three days left," She argues

"That excited to go back to school?" He teases

"It's our last year, guess I'm just not ready for it to be over," She explains, he smiles gently

"I get that," He agrees, shooting her a smile "Don't want to fall out of touch with people," He adds. She nods. Extending her hand pointing her pinky finger at him

"I don't make pinky promises if I don't know what they are,"

"That no matter how far apart we end up, you and I are always going to have each other, always going to be friends,"

"Who knew the Slytherin was so sappy," He teases, his finger immediately wrapping around hers and squeezing.

"Tell anyone and I'll kill you," She smirks, Fred chuckles, passing her a chocolate covered strawberry.

"I can catch that in my mouth,"He speaks confidently.

20 minutes and a 30% success rate between the two of them, Fred leaps to his feet pulling her with him.

"Where are we going?"

"We are dancing,"

"There's no music,"

"I can sing if you want," He offers

"I'd rather not go deaf," She smirks, he laughs loudly

"I'm a great singer," He defends, she raises her eyebrows at him,

"Whatever you say pumpkin." she laughs when he rolls his eyes.

"Fine, we don't need music,"

He pulls her into him, arms around her waist as hers wrap around his neck, her head on his shoulder and Fred Weasley could die happy. He has no idea that she could too.

I used to think that Romeo was full of shit But when I look at you, I think this must be it, oh

It's the last night before school starts when she knocks at Fred's bedroom door. Hands shaking a little in nervousness and pacing the hallway.

It's pulled open by the boy who's brows furrow in concern at the sight of her.

"Can I come in? we need to talk,"

"George is asleep, we can talk out here," He smiles softly at her, stepping into the hallway and tugging the door closed behind him.

"You ruined me," She states

"What?" He questions, eyes wide and a sense of nervousness about him

"I had everything together. Everything was perfect, it was glass and could break any second but it as mine and it made me good, it protected me,"

"I'm confused,"

"I didn't let boys matter. It didn't matter if they laughed at my joke, if they were looking at me when I looked at them, if they thought I looked good, if they found me too bitchy or too loud or too anything. It didn't feel like if I wasn't near them I couldn't breathe,"

"If it makes you feel better I always think you look good,"

"Fred, I'm being serious,"

"So am I, darling,"

"I'm scared,"

"I won't hurt you,"

"I think that's the problem," she admits.

"I'm gonna kiss you now cause I've waited forever and you make it fucking impossible sometimes and by sometimes I mean every fucking day cause you-"

"Just kiss me pumpkin,"

"That's still not-"

His protest ends when her lips crash to his, he grins into the kiss, arms snaking around her to pull her in as her's tangle in his hair. A grunt leaving his lips and falling into hers making her smirk against him.

Everything falls into place.  

"About time," They jump apart at the sound of George's voice, leaning in the hallway

"What the fuck George?" Fred complains, although his arms stay wrapped around her, effectively holding her flush to his chest, unable to leave his grip.

"Maybe don't have private discussions in the middle of the hall if you don't want us all listening," at the sound of Ginny's voice the couple look upwards.

Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione who arrived two days before are leaning over the banister on the floor above them to watch.

Fred sighs, before deciding fuck it and crashing his lips back to hers, a little less innocent, smirking when he hears fake gags and his siblings all running back to their rooms.

Pumpkin, pumpkin You're gonna kill me Pumpkin, pumpkin La-la-la-la-la-la Pumpkin, pumpkin I need you to feel me Pumpkin, pumpkin La-la-la-la-la-la, oh Oh-oh, pumpkin, pumpkin Oh, la-la-la-la-la-la La-la, ooh, ooh-ooh

**

Masterlist

[itsivyberry]

after the war

Draco Malfoy x f!Hufflepuff!Reader

A blurb, continuing the Tri Wizard Champion series.

request: I'd really like to see another fanfic with Draco showing what happened to them after the triwizard tournament! That would be a great idea! [via @booksmione ]

a/n: HI! Here’s a request! I loved writing this, I usually am not a fan of after-war fics and prefer fics where the characters are still attending Hogwarts, but this makes my heart SOAR I love it. I hope you enjoyed, thank you for requesting this and keeping my favorite (and only) series alive <3

word count: 1160

warnings: mentions of blood loss, crucio, scars, death, war, etc. also fluff LMAOOO

summary: Y/N and Draco managed to find their way back to each other after three years of healing from the well-known Tri Wizard Tournament.

taglist: @drawlfoy @fanficflaneuse @babyhoneystvles @ccelinewritess @nekee-lilac02 @dracofeltonmalfoy

masterlist

read the series if you haven’t already!⬇️

{ 1 } { 2 } { 3 } { 3.5 } { 4 } { 5 } { 6 }

gif credit: @popartism

The war was a massive devastation for the Wizarding world.

Y/N was still grieving the loss of her best friend three years prior. Her school, her home had turned into a place she didn’t even recognize. A prison.

Just as quickly as Hogwarts had changed, she had watched family and friends die within its walls, protecting the students within.

Every single night in her dorm before the Battle of Hogwarts, Y/N would listen to the radio in search of any names listed off that she knew.

Although she claimed she was listening for loved ones, she was really listening for one particular name. Malfoy.

Y/N knew that there was no possible way the Malfoys would be put on the casualties list that grows every day, but she still listened with quiet breathing and a rapid heartbeat to hear the name of the boy she still loved.

From what she could remember, the battle was a blur. A blip in time. Faces that she knew, lifeless on the ground around her. Faces she has grown up with for almost the past decade.

Y/N couldn’t count how many people she loved and held dearly that she had seen dead. Fred Weasley, leaving his other half George. Nymphadora Tonks, a beloved Hufflepuff alumni, and Remus Lupin, Harry Potter’s last standing familial figure and spouse to Tonks. Lavender Brown, the Gryffindor that Y/N had grown quite close to while Hogwarts was under the direction of multiple death eaters. Colin Creevey, the young muggle-born Gryffindor who stood incredibly brave, and another close friend of Y/N’s.

~•.*✰

While attempting to save another young student, Y/N was hit with the Cruciatus Curse, and was severely attacked by multiple Death-Eaters. She could barely feel the pain, when her eyes focused on a head full of white hair that was speeding to wear she lay in a puddle of her own blood in the Forbidden Forest.

“How did you get out here? Why are you out here, Y/N?” Draco’s voice was deeper, aged, yet frantic and shaking. “Oh Merlin, you’re bleeding so much. We need to get you to the Great Hall.”

“Draco?” Y/N’s quiet voice asked. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was trembling, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She touched his face, leaving a bloody handprint behind. She tried to convince herself that he really was here, that he really was trying to get her help, and he wasn’t just a hallucination from the blood loss.

“Close your eyes.” Draco instructed.

A moment passed, and Y/N felt her stomach drop as if she were on a fast roller coaster.

“I need help! Help!” She soon heard Draco screaming, his voice cracking with every syllable. Bustling voices around her had forced her to open her eyes, and she soon realized he had apparated both of them into the Great Hall. Molly Weasley, a dear friend of Y/N’s mother, rushed over as two students behind her carried a cot.

They transferred her onto the cot, working as quickly as they could to heal the wounds without any more blood loss. Y/N was walking the thin line of unconsciousness, but refused to let herself pass out while Draco was still near her.

She knew he worried too much. The creases permanently etched into his forehead told her enough.

With the remaining strength Y/N had, she reached towards him to grab his hand. His eyes snapped down to her the second she made contact with his hand, and he clasped it in both and immediately started planting tear-filled kisses along every inch of her exposed skin.

“You’re gonna be alright. Everything is going to be fine. Please, stay awake. Stay awake for me, Y/N/N. Please.”

~•.*✰

“Wow, so Dad was a softie!” Y/N’s and Draco’s eldest daughter, Lyra, exclaimed.

“Yes, he really was.” Y/N smiled warmly, laying her hand atop Draco’s as they sat on the couch.

“So, that’s how you got that scar? It’s cool!” Scorpius piped in, pointing to Y/N’s stomach, where a prominent white scar lead up to her shoulder, meeting the three scars on her back from her fourth year.

“Mom, you have had some crazy accidents. How did Dad never have heart attacks?” Cassi asked, leaning forward in complete and utter amusement.

“Oh, I can promise you, Dad did have heart attacks. I enjoy keeping him on his toes.” Y/N winked, leaning back into Draco, who had an arm over her shoulder.

“Can you tell us about the tournament again, Mom? Please?” Scorpius begged, pouting.

“I think it’s about time for you three to go to bed, hm? Mom’s had enough revisiting her very, very dangerous experiences throughout her years at school. Let’s get you all to bed, shall we? Big day tomorrow.” Draco piped in, pushing himself off the couch and helping his children stand from the carpet.

“I’m nervous for tomorrow! First day of fourth year. I wonder if mine will be as adventurous as Moms.” Lyra said, walking slowly to her room.

“And first day of third for me. I hope I get to meet a Hippogriff like you did your third year, Dad.” Scorpius followed his sister through the hallway to their bedrooms.

“And first day of Hogwarts for our darling little Cassiopeia, isn’t that right?” Y/N appeared behind them, scooping her youngest up and planting kisses everywhere on her face. Cassi squealed, giggling loudly as Y/N continued walking to their separate rooms.

“Goodnight, my darling lovebugs.” Y/N said, blowing kisses through each of the open doorways to her children.

“Goodnight, my favorite troublemakers. Get some sleep, or I’ll have the boggarts come scare you!” Draco laughed mischievously, just before getting whacked lightly upside the head by his wife. She quietly scolded him, and he put his hands up in mock surrender.

“Goodnight! Love you the mostest.” Cassi peeped up, flicking her tiny wrist to turn off her lamp.

“Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Dad. Thank you for telling us the story again.” Scorpius yawned, turning on his side and doing just as his sister had done to turn off his lamp.

“Thank you, for reminding us again how cool our parents are. Love you guys.” Lyra said, snapping lightly to turn out her lamp. She always was a bit more advanced than her brother and sister.

Y/N quietly closed all three doors, before heading to her and Draco’s room to finally get some sleep. It wasn’t long before they were both dozing off, Y/N in Draco’s arms.

“Goodnight, my love.” Draco whispered, planting a kiss into Y/N’s hair.

“Goodnight, Dray. I love you.” She whispered back, her eyes closing and letting sleep finally take over.

Even though she struggled to get the happy ending she wanted after fourth year, she could now proudly say she was a part of a loving family with the boy she had loved since she was 14. She was has happy, healthy, and healed as she could be.

And that was her perfect happy ending.

~•.*✰

final a/n: as you can guess, Cassi is named after the constellation Cassiopeia and Lyra is also named after a constellation! I didn’t want Scorp to be an only child, so I gave him an older and a younger sister. I hope you all enjoyed, I really love this and now I’m mad at the lack of storyline after the war for Draco >:( anyways I just like smacked this out in 20 minutes because I’ve been in a Draco loving mood recently?????? Ok lol but I hope y’all enjoyed!!

[hermannsthumb]

nsfw prompt: hermann in lacy boxers. newt is verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry into it

Anonymous said: Follow up to the hermann's lacy briefs ask: newt wears tacky neon briefs and Hermann is Just As Into It

loosely inspired by a conversation I had with @k-sci-janitor the other night 👀 second part isn't AS incorporated, but, I did try. not sfw below cut! (but it's more of an M)

------------

“Well, shit,” Newt says.

As far as lab accidents go, it’s not as bad as it could be. Neither of them are bleeding, for one thing. All their limbs are still intact. And only a very small portion of the lab is on fire, not even anywhere near Hermann’s shit, and Newt manages to deal with it before it spreads by deploying the emergency fire extinguisher in record time. True, their clothing is splattered with a very mild (non-lethal!) amount of kaiju blood, and true, it does sizzle worryingly at first (kaiju blood will apparently eat through cotton like nothing), but Newt’s grown very adept with dealing with these sorts of things. (He kind of has to—they happen every other day.) “In ya go,” he says to a stunned Hermann cheerfully, tugging him along to the decontamination shower by his elbow. “Don’t be shy.”

It takes Hermann a few seconds of pleasant silence to get over his initial shock, and then he begins bitching. “This is the final straw!” he declares, along with stuff like “I can’t take your incompetence much longer!” and “I will be submitting several complaints to the Marshal about this!”, and even smacks Newt’s ankles with his cane a few times. Once he realizes that there’s now a neat little hole burned into the front of his sweater, though, and an even larger one spreading by the shoulder, his complaints fade away into weak sputters, and he doesn’t make as much as a peep when Newt shoves him under the freezing spray.

“Sorry, dude,” Newt says. “How was I supposed to know kaiju blood was combustible?”

Hermann growls at Newt.

As per lab containment protocol, once the shower is turned on, the lock is engaged, and they’ll only be allowed to exit once they’re deemed sufficiently toxin-free by the...toxin-censors, or something. Newt's still not really sure how it all works. That, or, you know, if one of them punches in the override code. But that kind of takes a while, and Newt kind of did need a shower anyway, so he decides to just roll with it and let himself be sanitized. Better safe than sorry. Even though he’s pretty sure that blood was neutralized. Probably. It is a little worrisome that it was dissolving the fabric that fast, since Newt hasn’t had that happen to him before. “Okay, warning,” Newt says, “I’m gonna take off my clothes. You might want to, too. I’m not sure why that had the reaction it did but we probbbbably don’t want to get it on our skin.”

“No,” Hermann says.

“Tough luck, I’m gonna get naked,” Newt says. “It’s happening. You need to, too.”

“Absolutely not,” Hermann says.

“Safety protocol!” Newt shouts.

It’s hard enough to shimmy out of his skinny jeans bone-dry, but in the shower it may as well be impossible, especially since he forgot to take off his boots first. Also, it’s hard to move even a foot without bumping his ass against Hermann, and Hermann growls (like, seriously, what?) again each time he does. Newt finally succeeds in stripping down to just his undershirt and neon-green boxers, and since a quick once-over confirms his skin seems to be totally burn-free, and he can't feel any sort of excruciating pain that would suggest otherwise, he decides he’s fine to just stop there. No reason to needlessly flash Hermann his junk. When Newt turns around, he’s almost surprised to see Hermann in the exact same position as before: clutching the shower railing for dear life, his eyes fixed directly at the ceiling.

Oh—Newt’s dumb. Hermann left his cane outside. A wet shower is already potentially treacherous, but a wet shower without anything but a crappy railing to properly stabilize himself definitely is. “Okay, look, don’t take this the wrong way,” Newt says, “but can I help you undress? I just mean—it’ll probably be hard for you to do it like that.”

He points to Hermann’s iron grip on the railing. Hermann shakes his head.

“I would rather you not,” he says. He looks down at Newt's briefs, goes red in the face, and looks back up.

“Hermann, seriously.” Newt steps forward with a sigh and tugs on Hermann’s blazer. “It’s a safety thing. I promise I won’t look at your old man bloomers or long johns or whatever, you just seriously need to take this all off so I can make sure you’re not hurt.”

“Stop it, Newton,” Hermann grumbles, and then, when Newt gets the top few buttons undone, full-on snaps “Newton!” and pushes Newt away. "Get off of me."

Newt is not dealing with this shit right now. It's one thing for Hermann to be pissed at him when they have a whole lab between them and plenty of space to cool off, but crammed in to a tiny shower together where he's within arm's distance of a grumpy Hermann, who would probably joyfully throttle him at any moment, is just not how Newt wants to spend the next twenty or so minutes. Especially not when all he wanted to do was make sure Hermann wasn't getting literal acidic burns. It's a completely un-cool way to repay a kindness. “Fine!” he says, and throws up his hands. “Whatever! I don’t care. You always have to make everything weird."

Hermann glowers at him, which looks pretty silly, because it's hard to take him seriously with his hair plastered to his head like that. Then, (to Newt's surprise) he reaches a trembling hand up to his top button. “I will do it myself,” he says. “But please look away. I need—privacy.”

"Privacy," Newt echoes with a snort, but obliges. Anything to get Hermann to cooperate is a-okay with him. Once he's got his back to Hermann, he hears Hermann's clothing hitting the ground with a series of small wet splats against the tile. Blazer, sweater, button-down, pants. His belt jingles when it drops. Despite the chill of the water, Newt feels the back of his neck grow warm. Hermann is practically naked behind him. Newt doesn't think he's seen Hermann any nakeder than his pajamas before, once when they dragged themselves to LOCCENT at three in the morning for a kaiju alert system test run and he got an eyeful of Hermann in a dressing gown and slippers. Even that was almost too much for Newt. "Any burns?" he says over his shoulder.

"Er," Hermann says. "I think—"

"Well?"

Hermann is silent. "I'm not quite sure," he finally says.

Newt sighs. "Okay, just let me—"

Newt's scientist mode kicks in over his holy shit Hermann is semi-naked next to me mode (and, okay, maybe his protective over Hermann mode kicks in just a little too), and he turns to Hermann unthinkingly to assess any possible damage. And then freezes in place. Because, well. He's not sure what he expected—maybe Hermann scowling and shivering in some dorky little striped boxers and an undershirt, or maybe that he layers up on undergarments just like he does sweaters.

He is absolutely, one-hundred percent not expecting to see Hermann in a lacy blue pair of underwear and a matching bralette.

And, well. At least the water is cold. Newt doesn't like to think about what sort of physiological response his body might have otherwise.

As it is, Newt just sort of stares at Hermann. And his sexy underwear. Or maybe he gapes. He definitely does when he realizes that it's not just plain sexy underwear—both pieces have little gold stars embroidered across them—and it's simultaneously so cute and so much sexier that his knees begin to wobble, and he's worried he might pass out. Hermann stares back, chin raised almost defiantly, his jaw set hard. Neither of them speak.

Then Newt clears his throat and makes an attempt at it, because he's not sure what else to do if not play it cool. "Um," he squeaks. "Um. I don't—I don't see any burns." Newt does not look anywhere else on Hermann's body, so there's a good chance that's a lie. It's kind of hard to pull his eyes away. "Are you—do you—" He takes a deep breath. "Do you always...?"

"No," Hermann says. He works his jaw back and forth. "Well, go on, then."

"Go on what?" Newt says. Is Hermann sensing the (frankly) pornographic thoughts racing through Newt's head at a mile a minute and giving him permission to act on them? Because Newt doesn't have a problem with that. He 100% does not have a problem with dropping to his knees and begging Hermann to let him put his tongue on him through the lace, or groping Hermann's chest through the top...

"Tease me," Hermann says. In a sexy way? Newt wonders, because he can do that, and he's all set to start grabbing Hermann's ass or something when Hermann clarifies "I know you want to tell me how silly I look."

Oh. That's dumb. "Why would I do that?" Newt says. Before he can help himself, he blurts out, "Dude, you look fucking hot."

"What?" Hermann says.

The shower shuts off, and an alarm beeps twice as the door swings open. The emergency protocol seems to have ended. Neither Newt nor Hermann make a move to leave. "What?" Hermann repeats again, a little quieter. He's looking at Newt like he's grown a second head.

"It looks," Newt says, "um, hot. I like—" He feels himself blushing furiously. He's not sure where to stare—still at Hermann? Or does he force himself to turn his gaze to the floor or over Hermann's shoulder or something? He can see one of Hermann's nipples through the lace top. Oh, my God. "I like how it looks on you." (Insane understatement.)

Hermann falls silent again. "You do?" he says.

"Yeah," Newt says. "Do you—like, every day? Or?"

Hermann shakes his head. He's watching Newt with a carefully guarded expression, like he's still skeptical that Newt is telling the truth and isn't about to just start laughing at him or something. "Not at all," he says. "Er. This was rather unfortunate timing. It's—well, it's a way to feel more confident, I suppose, when I've had a rotten week."

Newt doesn't start laughing, of course. Newt inches closer. He likes the contrast of the dark blue against Hermann's skin, and he wonders how soft it is. He wonders if it would feel soft to him, too, if he touched it, or dragged his palms up and down Hermann's chest. He wonders if Hermann would like that. "I often," Hermann says, and then his voice trails off.

"Huh?" Newt says, somewhere to the vicinity of Hermann's belly button.

Hermann clears his throat. "I often think of you. What you would do, if you saw me this way, and..."

Newt finally snaps. "Can I touch you?" he says.

Hermann nods, the smallest, shyest little smile on his face. "If you'd like," he says.

[spxllcxstxr]

Bumps and Bruises • M.M

(GIF is not mine)

Request: Hi! Sorry, May I ask for a Marlene McKinnon x fem!/gn! reader fic, Soulmate AU where they feel each other's pain. — anon

Summary: Two Quidditch rivals finding out they’re something...more (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: Mentions of food/eating, injury description, brief mention of blood

Word Count: ~2k

A.N: NonGryffindor!Reader, this is my first time doing a Soulmate AU so I hope this is ok! It’s hard to find a balance between Soulmate AU and normal AU, but I’m sure I’ll get better with it in practice! The ending is kinda iffy imo, but it’s not terrible. Hope you enjoy!

****

The first thing you feel when you wake up on Friday morning is a flare up of painful throbbing blossoming across the outer part of your right thigh.

You groan, prying your eyes open and pull back your blanket.

The pale light filtering through your curtains is enough to see the grotesque purpling of swollen skin. You poke and prod at your thigh, occasionally hissing out in agony.

The bruise is both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

Its circular shape is something you see all the time. As a Beater on your Quidditch team, Bludger bruises were commonplace. The issue is, and this is where the mark becomes unfamiliar to you, when you went to sleep last night, there was no evidence of any such mark.

This was peculiar because you never had a history of sleep Quidditch, and you’re sure that if you got up in the middle of the night in a trance, at least one of your dorm mates would’ve told you.

And this certainly wasn’t some accidental hitting your bed frame sort of injury. This was ten inches in diameter, black and blue like a ball of pure iron slammed into you. As a self proclaimed Quidditch expert, you’re fully aware of what caused this.

But this conclusion brings up more questions than answers. Sure, you had practice after classes yesterday, but you would remember being hit full force—and you don’t.

But you have no time to sit and ponder over this mystery, you have to make it down for breakfast and then endure hours of classes. If only you could skip ahead to tomorrow’s match against Gryffindor.

You limp your way through the dorm, unable to put the usual amount of weight on your right leg. The room is empty, save for Bedelia, who, as usual, is still snoring underneath her blanket. On your way out, you make sure to wake her up by slamming the door shut as hard as you can.

Hobbling down to the Great Hall with a bag of heavy books slung over your shoulder is no easy feat even when it’s something that constantly happens.

The Great Hall is buzzing, though most of the noise is coming from the Gryffindor table.

The ceiling reflects the morning, bright blue and not a cloud in sight.

By the looks of it, the Gryffindor Quidditch team just got back from their morning practice, still panting and sweaty. For the entire week leading up to a match, James Potter, their captain, makes them practice and go through relentless drills in preparation. When they’re not on the pitch, he’s quizzing them on maneuvers. You’re lucky that your captain and fellow Beater, Morgana Sharpe, gives you the day before a match off, mostly to rest and review. If Potter was your captain he would’ve ended up in St. Mungo’s by now.

Your eyes wander over to Marlene McKinnon, her blonde hair up in a bun, face red and splotchy from practice, bare arms showing off muscle. Her chest heaves under her scarlet top.

“Practicing getting your arses handed to you?” You joke, leaning against their table.

Marlene scoffs. “Oh, you wish.”

Her deep brown eyes find yours, a troublesome twinkle shining through.

“Focus, Marlene, can’t have you fraternizing with the enemy!” James laughs out between mouthfuls of eggs.

“More like flirting with the enemy.” Sirius snorts, leaning closer to Remus, who chuckles into his glass.

“Oi! Piss off, Black!” Marlene snaps, the red on her face spreading.

Dorcas squeezes in next to her, dittany in hand. “How’s the leg, Marls?”

“Aw.” You pout. “Did McKinnon get a boo boo during practice?”

She scowls at you. “Don’t you have a potion to blow up?”

You clench your jaw and ball your hand into a fist. She’s got a point.

“Alright, enough trash talk, you two, leave it for the pitch.” James rolls his eyes.

Instantly, a weight lifts from your shoulders.

“I gotta go eat, anyway.” You smile warmly at your sort of friends. “So I’ll see you guys in class.” You wave before turning to your own table.

You join the rest of your team the table, squeezing through the tight huddle. Parchment is scattered all over the surface, some with crude drawings of maneuvers, some with written stats.

“Right, now that we’re all here,” Sharpe grunts our in her thick Irish accent, shooting you a disgruntled look. “We have a change of plans.”

“Change of plans?” Webb, one of your Chasers, asks. He looks up from his diagram, eyebrows raised.

“Greene’s soulmate took a tumble and landed him in the hospital wing. Can’t play tomorrow’s match.” She scowls, drawing clenched tightly on her hand.

“Again?” Your team groans.

Rupert Greene spends more time in the hospital wing due to his soulmate’s clumsiness than from playing a dangerous magical sport. That’s the way it’s been for the four years you’ve known him, and you have a hunch that it’ll never change.

“So we’re gonna have to put in Knight? Against Gryffindor?” Webb cries out, eyes wide. “No offense, but he isn’t ready to take on those pricks!”

Sharpe runs a hand through her dark brown hair. “Well, I guess we all just need to pray to Merlin some Gryffindor gets knocked off their broom.” She sighs.

The news of Knight replacing Greene for the match against Gryffindor puts you in a sour mood, making the bruise on your thigh throb more painfully.

You march through the corridors, face contorted in a permanent frown, barely paying attention to your lessons. You do, however, manage to keep your potion from exploding, which Slughorn is thrilled about. Match notes and plays take over your free time, pushing all your homework to Sunday, quickly deciding that this match is far too important. Marlene sticks her tongue out at you whenever she gets the chance as she hobbles through the corridors or looks away from Flitwick in your shared Charms class.

Sharpe drags you and the rest of the team up to bed at nine, lecturing you all about a good night’s rest. You roll your eyes, but you do only spend half an hour studying moves before heading to bed.

You wake up jittery.

You’re always nervous the morning of normal Quidditch matches, but this isn’t a normal Quidditch match. Gryffindor has gone undefeated for the entire season so far, and you just need to beat them. You crave to watch the smug look fall from James’ face and the cocky attitude that Sirius is infamous for crumble. You want to win. At the same time, though, you’re hesitant to see the frown on Marlene’s face. Those perfect lips deserve to shaped in a perfect smile.

Your bruise isn’t as irritated as yesterday. It’s still black and blue, but you really need to dig your thumb into it for it to hurt.

You stretch, listening to your joints pop before strutting down to the Great Hall to join the rest of your team.

Taking a deep breath before making your way through the threshold, you try your best to calm down and radiate confidence. You crack your knuckles and make your way to your table.

Marlene throws you a playful glare across the room, which you teasingly reciprocate.

Breakfast is a quiet affair for your group. Feet tap impatiently against the stone, nervous habits running wild.

The weather is perfect for Quidditch. There’s a slight breeze and a couple fluffy white clouds drifting through the blue sky, providing the occasional blotch of shade. It reassures you and calms you down on your walk down.

Sharpe gives her usual pep talk in the locker rooms. It’s all about blood, guts, and glory, and how we better not mess this up for her or else “she’ll haunt us from the great beyond.” Knight is white as a sheet, trembling underneath his robes.

The crowd roars out from the stands just above, your cue to make your grand entrance. Brooms are taken off their positions in the wall and in a single filed line, you all follow Sharpe out onto the pitch.

“And here it is, everybody,” Remus’ voice calls out over the chaos. “Captain Sharpe, (Y/Ln), Webb, Byrne, Spade, Opal, and their reserve, Knight!”

Your house cheers louder at your introduction, your eardrums pounding. You smile and nod at the crowd, excitement bubbling up inside of you.

“While the two captains are taking positions and shaking hands,” You hear as you mount your broom, Potter and Sharpe facing each other. “I have been paid quite a significant amount to say that according to James Potter, Lily Evans looks absolutely gorgeous today—“

“That has nothing to do with the match, Lupin!” McGonagall cries.

“Godric, Minnie. I’m just doing some adverts, it’s all good. No need to—“

A large thwack echos throughout the pitch, but you’re too wrapped up in Hooch blowing the whistle.

Quickly, you soar up in the air, Beater’s bat in one hand, chasing after your teammates to defend them.

You barely hear Remus over the whistling of the wind and your own grunts.

You watch Marlene laugh after she bats a Bludger away from James, the bat giving off a wicked crack. You’re momentarily mesmerized by her figure. How her tongue peeks out in concentration and her ponytail bounces wildly in the wind.

A moment passes and your arm erupts in pain, and to add onto that, you’re hurtling towards the grass.

You clutch your arm and brace for impact, breath being forcibly ripped from your lungs. Tears well in your eyes from both the pain and the air lashing against your body. Your Quidditch robes flap wildly behind you.

The landing, however, isn’t that bad. You end up in the grass, your bad arm protected. You assume Dumbledore is the one to thank.

You let out strangled pants, sky spinning around you, a piercing whistle sharp against your ears. Your arm screams in agony.

“(Y/Ln)!” Sharpe calls out, broom clutched in one hand. “You alright?” Her face shines with sweat.

“Bloody hell, she’s got quite the swing.” You groan, face contorting in anguish.

In the corner of your rotating vision, you watch red and gold blurs crowding around someone else.

Madam Hooch and the rest of your teammates are talking, but you can’t understand a word they’re saying.

Tendrils of black fog enter your vision and suddenly you’re out cold.

You recognize the hospital wing bed immediately. It’s firm, but not unbearable, the white cotton sheets rubbing against any exposed skin.

“So (Y/Ln) and McKinnon, eh?”

It’s garbled and you’re unable to place the voice, but it’s understandable.

“What’s this ‘bout me and McKinnon?” You manage to slur out, eyes blinking open, the figures above you blurry.

The world gradually clears itself up, your teammates surrounding your bed. Your left arm is wrapped tightly to your chest with a white cotton sling. The pain is dull, but it’s the most noticeable feeling present.

“Ah, well...” Webb scratches the back of his neck, averting his eyes.

“They’re talking about how I finally felt my own strength.”

Slowly, you turn your head to see Marlene sitting up on her bed, carefully watching over you. Her friends surround her, knowing smirks gracing their faces.

Her blonde hair is a bit of a tangled mess from the wind, but her smile is blinding in the light.

“You mean...” Your eyes widen in shock.

Marlene nods her head. “Soulmates.”

You bite your lip in response.

“I mean, it was pretty obvious, wasn’t it?” Sirius asks, looking between his friends for approval. “They literally wake up covered in bruises after like every Quidditch match!”

“Shut up, Pads!” Remus hisses, smacking him on the leg. “They’re having a moment.”

Sirius rolls his eyes and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

Your eyes drift to your thigh where the mysterious bruise was.

“I’m guessing you got hit by a Bludger during practice?” You ask.

“And you’re the one that gave me that broken bloody nose during detention!” Marlene exclaims.

You nod shyly, remembering when Knight accidentally threw the Quaffle at your face during a late night practice.

“Are we really that bloody stupid?” You laugh.

“You want a real answer or...?” James starts, repositioning his glasses.

Marlene shoves James off her bed, and he yelps before ungracefully tumbling to the floor with a crash.

“Guess this is our cue to leave the two stupid lovebirds alone.” Lily giggles before patting her friend on the back and leaving, the Marauders and your own team trailing close behind her.

Because the bones in your arm are practically shattered, you’re confined to the hospital wing for at least another day, but with Marlene at your bedside, it’s been made bearable. You talk about all those mysterious injuries you’ve acquired over the many years and learn the extent of your idiocy.

With various bumps and bruises to match, at the end of the day, the two of you are much more than Quidditch rivals.

[sugarandspice-games]

Mammon Patches up a Protective MC

Hoo boy, this one is almost proper fic length! Sugar and I collabed on this one, so it’s going in both our tags! We have a somewhat difficult time writing for Mammon due to lack of experience (even if I love him), but here you go!

[TW: Bullying, mild description of wounds]

“If you think I look bad, you should see the other guy,” you said, puffing up your chest as Mammon looked you over, first aid kit in hand. 

You had a few scrapes and scratches along with the multiple violet bruises that mottled your skin, and since the band-aids had already been used, he had to swipe some of Levi’s limited edition TSL bandages.

He’d be mad later, but Mammon would pay him back... maybe.

“Still! What were ya thinkin’, getting into a fight with a demon?! If I hadn’t gotten there, he could’ve killed you, or eaten you, or--”

“Well, he didn’t!” you huffed, crossing your arms and then wincing as you accidentally pressed a nasty bruise, “So there!”

Mammon sighed, stooping to your level as you sat on your bed, nursing your bruised legs.

“Lemme see what I can do.”

You blushed as he inched closer to you, but you turned your face away, trying to hide your burning cheeks from his view. He was too tied up in treating his human’s wounds to notice, but it still made you shy.

The truth was, you were just as crazy for Mammon as he was for you. You’d had a crush on him ever since Lucifer introduced you to him, and fell harder for him after seeing him stumble to show his affection for those he cared about... you could tell he cared a lot. And you remember how you felt, your boiling blood pulsing through your clenched veins when you heard the lesser demons gossipping about him behind his back.

“Yeah, I can’t come over, I got roped into playing poker with Mammon tonight... Can you believe my rotten luck?”

“Ugh, I have no idea how you can stand that guy! He’s just such a lazy scumbag and a troublemaker.”

“I know, right? He’s going nowhere fast, a real good-for-nothing. But I can’t say I hate being with him, it’s always hilarious when he screws something up!”

“Hahaha! Yeah, ain’t that the truth!”

“The funniest bit is... I think he’s actually trying. It’s sad.”

You couldn’t remember the exact moment when you launched yourself at the lesser demon, but you remembered his surprised gasp the moment he hit the floor with a raging, wildly-swinging human on top of him.

“TAKE IT BACK!” you roared, “TAKE IT BACK NOW!”

You remembered the face of this particular demon-- Mammon talked to him sometimes, introduced him to you as a friend of his, and earnestly thought of him as such. But the fact that he was standing there, laughing and insulting someone who was never anything but kind to him, even if Mammon could be rough and difficult sometimes...

It really pissed you off.

One of the other demons pried you away from him after you had gotten some good hits in, and pain shot through you as his foot collided with your unprotected stomach. Fury searing your nerves, you wrenched yourself from the offending grip and rushed toward the demon, clawing and punching and even biting with no real strategy. You were made of pure, enraged feral energy.

In the end, Mammon had to separate the both of you two. You and the demon barked insults at each other before you were carted away.

And here you were, sitting on your bed and staring into Mammon’s concerned face.

The alcohol stung against your scratches as he cleaned each one clumsily with a swab, and you shivered from the cold ice packs against your bruises and your wounded stomach.

“Jeeze,” Mammon scoffed, leaning back. “What’s got ya so riled anyway? Did he insult your outfit? I’ll have a talk with him...” He swiped his hand through his hair, still clutching the tweezers that held the bloodied cotton ball. “I can’t have my human gettin’ eaten before the Solstice. You haven’t seen everythin’ yet, so just don’t get into anymore fights and let the Great Mammon take care of it from now on, okay?”

You can’t help but tilt your chin, squeezing your teeth together. 

“He deserved it!”

You could barely stomach the insults the brothers tossed at Mammon, and how he would grumble, and hiss, but ultimately shake it off. Even when he couldn’t, in those rare moments his lips would fall and his eyes would water behind his glasses, he kept going-- he kept trying to be himself.

You loved him for that, and under it all, so did his brothers... so you could let it go...

But not from some... stupid, inconsiderate little...

“C’mon,” Mammon sighed softly, dropping his tool to rest his hand on top of your head. “I know this li’l guy and he probably didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Your eyes stung now and you ground your teeth. 

You’d be damned if you’d cry but your throat was closing, flames licking at the side of it from the fury simmering in your ribcage. 

“MC?”

You sniffed, trying to fight back the sob clawing its way through your chest.

“Y...You don’t get it...”

“What? Are ya sayin’ I’m stupid?” Mammon chuckled dryly.

With his insult toward himself, you finally bawled, cheeks darkening with the force, as you flung yourself onto his shoulder.

“I don’t think you’re stupid!” you sobbed, “Y-You’re protective, and good with numbers, and honest, a-and.. and...”

...and so, so kind, you want to add.

Kind enough to take you under his wing, kind enough to protect a sick little girl from the human world at the cost of being bullied by those witches, kind enough to put up with the constant slew of insults from his brothers...

Kind enough to offer his friendship to some lesser demon who doesn’t even appreciate it.

“And I won’t let some dumbass little punk talk about the demon I love like that!”

Oh.

If Mammon wasn’t already flustered when you threw yourself against him, he definitely was now.

Yes, he’d just learned that his ‘friend’ was talking about him behind his back, apparently... Though that wasn’t anything new to him. He was fairly used to being disrespected, even if he was an esteemed member of RAD’s student council. He wouldn’t lie (not to himself, anyway) and say it didn’t hurt, but...

You just said you loved him, and he’d be damned if he let his anger at his former friend overshadow that.

“Hey... can you say that again?”

“He’s... a-a dumbass punk...?” You hiccuped, swallowing down some of the snot clogging your nose.

Mammon couldn’t help but laugh, pressing you tighter against him. 

Maybe... Maybe he could live with just one person respecting him.

“Not that,” He shook his head, resting his head against yours. “The other part..”

“The... other...?” You blinked before feeling more heat flood your cheeks. “Oh, shit.”

“C’mon... Just one more time?”

His voice softened, dropping to a low rumble, and you could hear the quiet desperation there. The longing, the desire, and... The hesitation, uncertainty.

You wanted to wipe it away.

“I love you, Mammon.” You spoke honestly, clearing your throat so the words would be clear. “I love you, I love you, I love you... and I won’t stand for anyone talking about you like that. Ever. Not when you are so wonderful.”

He only held you tighter, somehow wishing he could get closer, closer, closer. You were so warm, and even though your cheeks were blotchy and there were tears and snot staining your skin, you were so... beautiful.

“I love ya too... I’m so lucky to have such an amazing, fiery, cute little human by my side,” he paused, pressing his forehead to yours, “But don’t get in any more fights, okay? I don’t wanna lose you because of somethin’ some little pipsqueak said. You’re my human, all mine, and maybe that’s selfish, but... I wanna keep ya around as long as possible.”

You laugh through the tears, nuzzling him and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“No promises.”