#a sudden death he would not heal well with

[tropes-and-tales]

The Softest in the World

Day 15:  Fingering (Dave York x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event found here! Is it April? Yes. Am I that far behind in posting that it's April and I'm still working through Kinktober requests? Also yes.) 

CW:  Smut (Fingering; talk of masturbation; oblique talk of vague future sex acts); 18+ only.

Word Count:  4102

AN:  This is a sequel to this, and it was requested for Kinktober by an anon!

AN2: Never edited, never beta'ed. I live and die by my slopping typing.

The first Christmas without Carol goes far better for Dave than he ever thought it would.  Of course he misses his wife, nearly a year out from her sudden death.  Molly and Alice miss their mother too.  But the immediate grief—that sharp, cutting pain that left them breathless and stunned—has faded into a more mellow sorrow.  Ever-present, but it doesn’t take Dave out at the knees anymore.

He knows he owes much of his family’s collective healing to you, the nanny he hired months after Carol died.  You’re the one who stepped in and took charge of their lives.  You never tried to replace Carol, but you’ve managed their day-to-day moments and their larger healing.

This first Christmas was your idea too.  A month in Vermont, away from the family home where memories may have been too thick and pressing to allow for any joy.  It had proved out to be a great idea too:  long days sledding and snow-shoeing and building snow forts leave the girls exhausted by evening, too tired to ruminate about their missing mother.

And it allows Dave more time with you.

Usually you only live at the York home when he’s traveling.  You handle their lives at home—drive the girls to and from school, to and from activities.  You handle the maid who comes in twice a week to clean.  You keep the refrigerator full, get the girls bathed and put to bed with a story and a hug each night.  But Dave is never there to see it—when he returns home from his work trips, you leave for your own apartment.

This month in Vermont?  You sleep in the room just down the hallway from him.  You share a bathroom with him, leave behind the scent of your shampoo and soap after you shower.  He hears you each night when you, like clockwork, pad out into the kitchen for a glass of water that you gulp down until you’re breathless.

More than all of that, he has front row seats to how you care for his girls.  You’re tough but fair.  You cut them plenty of slack, grieving as they are, but you don’t allow them to run roughshod over you.  You play with them, you teach them, and you genuinely seem to love them…and they genuinely love you as well.

Him, though?  Dave can’t seem to get a bead on you when it comes to him.  Your ease with the girls disappears the moment the two of you are alone.  You can’t always meet his eye line.  You flinch away from him if he brushes against you.  Sometimes he wonders if you can sense his former double life—if you have some preternatural prey response to being so close to a predator.  But more than once, he’s caught you watching him on the sly.  He’s noticed your heavy-lidded eyes, the way you pull your lower lip between your teeth.

When he cornered you in the hallway a few days earlier, he definitely noticed how your breathing quickened.

Maybe you can sense his killer nature, but Dave would also guess that you are attracted to him.  And knowing what he does of your character, you probably feel conflicted about that.  Guilty.  Maybe even a cliché, the nanny falling for the widowed father of her charges.

If Dave has taken one lesson from Carol’s death, though, it’s this:  life is short, and life can end in a blink.  Why not live while you can?

-----

The day before Christmas is spent in a nearby town.  You plan it, of course, and you layer in fun stuff with all the errands you have to run and make it a family affair.  You take the girls ice skating at a nearby pond.  Dave stands along the rink’s edge and watches you take lazy circles on the ice, Molly’s and Alice’s mittened hands firmly in yours until they get comfortable on their own.  Then you skate over to him, and the two of you watch in silence.

Then there’s hot chocolate at a nearby café, last minute presents for the stockings, and the grocery store.  You return to the cabin laden with bags, and the evening flies by.  You and the girls make flat breads for dinner, and afterwards, you put on a Christmas movie while the girls put the finishing touches on the tree Dave bought earlier in the month.

Dave helps the girls with their evening baths.  He gets them tucked into bed, reads them a story.  He presses a kiss to each of their foreheads, and they are out like a light before he’s even quietly clicking their bedroom door shut behind him.

As he’s been tending to his daughters, you’ve tidied up in the kitchen and living room, and now you’re pulling the wrapped gifts from their hiding spot in the hallway closet to arrange them under the tree.

At the sound of his footfall, you glance up and offer him a smile.

“They out already?” you ask.

Dave chuckles.  “Before I even left the room.”

You smile, brush the back of your hand across your forehead, miming hard work.  “It’s exhausting work, trying to exhaust them.”

“And you manage to do it every time.”  He joins you near the tree, kneels down beside you.

“Sometimes I make them run laps at home,” you reply with a laugh, and maybe you don’t notice your casual use of the word home, but Dave notices.

Dave notices everything.

He noticed, for example, how you stood by him at the skating rink, perfect posture and a tension radiating off of you when Dave moved close enough for his coat to brush against yours.  He noticed the way you ducked your head at the café, how you pretended not to hear the women who sat nearby and remarked on the lovely little family that you, Dave, and the girls made.

He notices now how you lean away from him just a fraction, how you start when his fingers touch yours each time he hands you a wrapped gift to place.  He notices that you won’t look at him, that you keep your gaze carefully fixed on the presents or the tree.  He crowds you closer, plays dumb about it, and he notices when the pink tip of your tongue darts out and licks a wet line along your lower lip. 

Part of Dave—the dark part of him, the predator in him—wants to grip your face between his hand and force you to look at him.  He wants to hold your gaze until it’s too much for you; he wants to stare at you until you squirm and beg him to let you go.  And then he wants to not let you go, your begging futile—he wants to hold you tighter and lean in and draw his own tongue along that bitable lower lip of yours.

He keeps that part of him at bay.  He knows he has to go slow.  Slow movements.  You freeze around him, but if he comes on too strong or too fast, you’ll bolt.  He needs to quiet that prey instinct, make you feel safe.  Alleviate your guilt, if you have any, at being attracted to a widower.

So Dave decides to seduce you instead. 

When you reach for the next gift, he instead grasps your wrist lightly.  He can feel your pulse against his grip, and he hears the breath you draw in.  He holds you like that until you have the courage to look at him, and he smiles at you to put you at ease.

“I’ll finish up,” he tells you, his voice low.  “Why don’t you go get a bottle of wine and some glasses?  We can have a drink on the couch.”

You hesitate…then nod.  It shouldn’t be a turn-on, but Dave loves the hesitancy, then the obedient way you stand up and do exactly as he says.  It’s not hard for him to imagine other things he could order you to do, the same uncertainty before you obey him.

-----

The wine is Moscato-adjacent.  It’s one of those local vintages made with fruits other than grapes, and far too sweet for Dave’s taste, but you had picked it out at the grocery store, so he sips it carefully and hides his winces when the cloying sweetness burns against the back of his throat.

You?  You nearly gulp it down, and he realizes how nervous you are to be here:  alone on a couch beside him, the room dark except for the lit-up Christmas tree and the crackling fire in the fireplace.  It’s romantic, but you’re his employee, and he swears he can feel you flailing out of your depths to find yourself in this moment.

“Easy,” he says.  He stills your hand when you reach for the bottle.  You’ve bolted down the first glass so fast, and Dave doesn’t want you drunk.  He doesn’t even want you tipsy.  He wants just the barest bit of your nerves soothed, but he wants you fully in control of yourself. 

He wants you to be completely, stone sober when you beg him.

“Slow down,” he continues.  “You don’t want to overdo it.”

You laugh, a nervous giggle that spills out of your mouth, and you start to say, “I just…” but you trail off, don’t finish the sentence. 

What were you going to say, Dave wonders?

I just am nervous.

I just think this is too much.

I just think it’s wrong.  It’s too soon.  It’s too complicated.  It’s too unseemly.  What will people think, if anyone ever finds out?

“It’s okay.”  He says it soothingly.  He eases your empty glass out of your other hand, and he sets it down along with his own mostly-full glass, but he does it with one hand—his other, he keeps wrapped around your wrist, unwilling to break his hold on you.

“Mr. York…”  You start, and he hears the nerves in your voice.  He hears the wobble in your words, the faint tremor, but he also swears he can hear desire too—a huskiness to your voice, the slightest rough edge.  And you squirm in your seat, just a bit, but you don’t try to pull away from him.

“Mister York?  Since when did I become Mister?”  It shouldn’t be so hot, you calling him that, formal with the tremble in your words, but then you breathe out his first name—Dave—and you draw it out, and that’s even hotter.

His hand on your wrist, he pulls you to him, tugs your upper body towards him, and you let him.  You go willingly, but your eyes widen.  In shock?  Fear?  Lust?

“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs, his face inches from yours.  “If you don’t, say so now, and we’ll forget it ever happened.”

The tip of your tongue darts out, licks nervously against your lower lip.  “It’s just…”  You take a breath, try again.  “It’s just complicated.”

“That’s not a yes or a no, baby.”

You huff and offer him a tremulous smile at his use of a nickname, so he adds, “it’s a simple question.”

You hesitate, and Dave wonders if you’re really conflicted about it.  If you’re weighing how your life will change depending on how you answer…

…or if you just don’t want to seem eager, because you nod, then whisper “yes, I do want this,” and when he bridges the remaining distance between you, you’re right there, ready and eager to slot your mouth over his, to part your lips to his searching tongue, to cup his stubbled face with your free hand.

-----

Other men might take you then and there.  They might claim you right on the couch, in front of a dying fire and a Christmas tree sparkling with lights.  They might rush it, make it some sweaty, sad fumble, then parting to each slink to separate bedrooms.

Dave York has always enjoyed the long game.  If he were a game hunter, he would enjoy it better to sit in a tree stand for hours before dawn.  He would relish the cool planning, the stalking, the calculating and recalibrating as needed.

Dave York doesn’t fuck you just yet.  He wants to give you a taste, just a morsel, because he wants you slavering for it.  He wants you looking at him with those wide eyes, that lower lip caught between your teeth, as you beg him for more.

So this night, he only pushes you gently back against the couch as he kisses you.  He lowers himself onto you—lets you feel the weight and heft of his body against yours, lets you feel how he can press you into the couch with his weight.  He lets you feel the length of his growing erection where it presses against your hip, and each little whimper makes him harder.

He kisses you deeply—tastes the glass of Moscato you gulped down, tastes the sweetness of you beyond the tart, sweet wine.  He slides his tongue against yours, licks the inside of your mouth, and he smiles inwardly when you shyly try to do the same.  You are mostly led by him but there’s little movements—your tongue pressing back against his, say, or the upward press of your hips as you search for friction—where you try to lead too.

He braces himself with one hand, which allows the other to roam free.  He cups your flushed face, feels the heat of your blushing.  He draws his hand down, traces a path down your neck, circles his palm there, feels how much he can fit in the span of one palm.  Not because he likes choking—he’s never been into breathplay or anything so risky, but he does like the tame feel of his hand partially around your neck with the feel of your pulse and the ragged breaths you pull in.

Then lower.  He grasps the softness of your breast, and even through the sweater and bra, he can feel your pebbled nipple.  He brushes the pad of his thumb over it, back and forth, and it makes your hips lift up again…and then you groan when you find nothing to meet you, no friction and no touch.

“Be patient,” he whispers in your ear.  He nips at your lobe, darts his tongue against the whorl of your ear, and you whimper at the sensation of his hot breath fanning over you.

He moves his free hand lower still.  He finds the hem of your sweater, snakes his hand under it.  Then he finds the waistband of your leggings.  He sends up a silent prayer that he gets to live in a time and place where leggings are a thing—no tricky buttons or zippers, just an elastic waistband so easy to slip his hand under, and he cups your mound through the soft cotton of your panties.  Dave chuckles near your ear, then lifts his head to look at you because you’re already wet there, the damp cotton cleaving to you as he skates his fingers over you.

“Bad girl,” he whispers.  “Getting wet for your boss.”

He’s watching you as he says it, and he sees the flash of hurt that crosses your face before your pupils get wider and your lips part, as you breathe out a heavy breath.  You’re such a good girl; Dave obviously vetted you before ever letting you into his girls’ lives.  Straight A student, honors, full ride in college.  Not even a speeding ticket in your history.  He bets you’ve never been called bad, never been a bad girl, and it seems to hurt you for a beat before you embrace this tamest step outside of your erotic comfort zone.

Dave has so many more steps he wants to lead you on.  He wants to take your hand in his and lead you into darker, deeper waters.  He imagines spanking you, binding you, blindfolding you.  He imagines twisting your innate desire to please into something sensual; he imagines training you to greet him on your knees.  He imagines rewarding you, calling you a good girl instead, fucking you senseless until you are left overstimulated and weeping, ruined for any other cock but his.

“Is this just from right now?” he continues, and he strokes you through your soaked panties, feels how they are molded to your folds and cleft.  “Or have you been thinking about this?”

“I don’t—”

“Tell me.”  He pinches you lightly—not enough to hurt, but the sensation pulls a gasp from you, and your hand flies up to grasp his bicep where his bracing arm is near your head.  “Tell me why you’re so wet.”

“I’ve been thinking about this.”  It comes out a whisper, barely audible.  Tinged in shame, and that’s the first thing Dave will burn out of you.  Guilt.  Shame.  He’ll break you down and tear those useless emotions out of you.

“When?”  Another light pinch, another gasp.  Your hand grips his arm harder, and Dave will see dusty little bruises there in the morning.

“Since….ah, since a while.”  Another pinch, and you add, “over the summer.”

The summer.  When Dave was around more due to his busy period at word dying off.  When Dave ran each morning and returned home to find you cleaning up the breakfast mess, when he shed his sweaty shirt and walked through the house on his way to shower.  When he pretended not to notice the way your eyes followed him each step, and when he pretended like he needed a glass of cold water, shirtless, that he drank down in your eye line.

Bad girl indeed.

“You touch yourself to the thought of me?”  Here he moves his hand, shifts it to slip under the lacy band of your panties, and he’s delighted to feel a strip of damp curls there, happy that you haven’t shaved or waxed yourself bare.  He drags his fingers through them, then finds your clit, slick and swollen, and he touches you lightly there.  Strums you with his thumb and chuckles at the keening whine that tears out of your throat.

“Answer me.  You touch yourself, thinking about me?”

“….yes.”

“Like this?”

“S-sometimes.”

“Not every time?”

You fix him with a pleading look, but you’re barely able to hold his gaze for long.  When he brushes his lips over your cheekbone, he can feel how hot your face is.  This is a challenge to you, possibly humiliating, but also arousing because you continue to lift your hips, chasing the touch you’re desperate for.  Such a soft little thing, the softest in the world, and yet you’ve been touching yourself to the thought of him.

Dave stills his hand, and he chuckles again at the groan of disappointment you make.  “Tell me or I stop.”

You swallow, nod.  “Sometimes I…I have a vi…a vibrator.”

He can imagine it; a sad little tucked-away piece of silicone or plastic.  You probably pull it out in the darkness of your room, ashamed at pleasuring yourself.  You probably bury it under your socks and blush when your hand brushes against it when you’re putting laundry away.

He hums, considers the mental image that rises to his mind.  Your legs spread under the covers, running the toy over your clit, maybe pushing it inside you.  Imagining it was him instead.

Not that different from the times he’s gripped his own cock, stroked himself in the shower or in his room and pretended it was you instead of his hand.

Dave could demand to know your fantasies.  He could make you tell him what scenarios you’ve used to get off to him.  Him bending you over the kitchen counter?  Him fucking you in the shower?  Him sneaking into your bedroom at night, sliding under the covers and slipping his already-hard cock into your tight little pussy?  He could make you blush harder and demand to know these things, but he wants to take this slow, so he kisses you instead, murmurs his thanks, calls you a good girl for answering his questions, and when your face lights up at the praise, Dave pushes one thick finger into you and draws the sweetest, throatiest groan from you.

Other men might take you then and there, but Dave only finger-fucks you.  He goes so slow, eases it out, pushes it back in so you feel every goddamned bit of him entering you.  He keeps his thumb firm on your clit, and just the pressure makes you whimper each time he presses a little harder.

He adds a second finger and feels the delicious stretch as your pussy cedes to him.  You’re unbelievably warm, slick, and your pussy twitches and pulses around him each time he breeches the confines of your body.  It’s tight, but you’re nervous, and each bit of praise—good girl, such a good fucking girl for me, just relax and let me make you feel good, baby—makes you unclench a bit more.  You relax, and you find the rhythm that he fingers you, and you lift your hips to meet his fingers.

When he adds a third finger, you hiss at the thickness of it, the tight fit.  He stills, watches your face for any pain, and when he doesn’t see any, he continues.

Three fingers is a good start to preparing you for his cock, he thinks.  He imagines the feel of pushing into you, mounting you, and he imagines your fingers digging into his shoulders as he bottoms out in you.

In due time.  Now he fingers you, he scissors his fingers inside you and feels the answering throb in his erection each time you whine or whimper or groan, the sweetest symphony of sounds he’s able to pull from you.  When he starts circling your clit with his thumb, when he crooks his fingers inside you, pressing gently until he finds the spot that makes you gasp out his name, but you call him Mister York again, and it unlocks something inside him, the power you’re letting him have over you.  He dips his head and sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, right at the pulse point, and you gasp again.  Your other hand flies up and cradles the back of his head, and you twist your fingers through his hair, but you don’t pull him away—you hold him there, and he licks against the dimpled marks he’s left in your skin, he breathes against the wet line on your neck, and he’ll see a lurid bruise there in the morning too that will make him instantly hard.

“You’re going to come for me,” he growls against your neck.  “You’re going to be a good girl and come when I tell you.”

And his mind boggles at the possibilities with you because you do exactly as he says.  You nod at his order, and you press your hips in time to his searching fingers, and he feels when your orgasm approaches because you lose much of your embarrassment.  You swear in a hoarse whisper against his head—oh fuck, D-Dave, fuck fuck fuck, I’m close, I’m gonna, oh, don’t stop—and you spread your legs wider to make room for his hand, and the lurid sound of his hand working against your wetness doesn’t seem to even register to you.  The entire living room smells like sex and you don’t care, and when you gasp and buck your hips up into his hand, he feels your orgasm break around you:  the pulse of your cunt gripping his fingers, the hot slick of cum that coats his hand, the way your body shakes under his.

He fingers you through it.  He draws out your pleasure until you shove at him lightly, tell him it’s too much, and he stops.  He feels the tension of your orgasm—the arching body, the trembling—leave you, and you lay underneath him, sated and heavy with your release.

Dave draws his hand out from under your clothing, and he straightens the hem of your sweater where it rode up a bit.  Then he fixes you with an unblinking stare and lifts his hand to his mouth, and he smiles at your shocked expression as he licks his fingers clean.  Then, with the taste of you on his lips, he lowers his head and kisses you again—deep and slow, so you can taste yourself too.

“Good girl,” he tells you when he breaks the kiss.  “You’re going to be such a good girl for me.”

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Prompt 7 with Malleus? And the reader as the ghost? 😳

Visions of the Past; Malleus Draconia

Content; Gender-neutral reader, hurt/comfort, pining left unresolved

Content Warning; Reader death (not heavily described)

Word Count; 700+

Please do not put my work into AI. If you would like to see more of my work check out my masterlist!

Time heals all wounds. But Malleus knew that wasn’t true. Yes, time may heal physical wounds, although not always perfectly, but it no longer weeps or festers. Whereas emotional wounds, such as trauma, grief, and anger do not fade or heal in the same manner as a cut would.

Malleus was standing outside the entrance of Ramshackle, once his nightly walking grounds turned to the home of the first person that befriended him for him. The first person who didn’t know or care, even after finding out about his identity, that he was the Malleus Draconia. A magicless human who treated him as they did with others, but with a tad bit more ease, humour, and kindness since they were friends.

Were friends.

His heart knew though that you weren’t just friends. He had felt this emotion before to some extent with his passion for gargoyles, but they paled in comparison to you.

Your brightness. Your laugh. Your little mannerisms that most wouldn’t pay attention to, but he did. 

“Do you think we’ll still be friends when we’re older,” you mused while on one of your nightly walks with Malleus. Malleus furrowed his brow and looked at you quizzically, “Why wouldn’t we be? I have no intention of not being in your life.” You had stopped moving forward and Malleus came to a stop beside you. “Well, I don’t know. You’re a prince, future king, and you might get swapped in royal business and duties…” You pursed your lips, an unpleasant taste in your mouth. “And isn’t that more important?”  “Do you not like spending time with me?” Malleus’ voice was more sharp, on edge. “NO!” You shouted, the word echoing a bit in the quiet night. “I like spending time with you. I love it!” Malleus looked at you with confusion, and if he were looking at anyone else the way he had been in the past minute, they would have been grovelling, asking for forgiveness. But not you.  “Then why did you bring it up in the first place? Should there not be time, I will simply make it,” he said quietly. A small smile and chuckle replaced the irritated look of moments prior, “I will even make it ‘royal business’ as you put it.” You cough-laughed at his statement, but you only laughed harder when you looked at him to see a baffled expression.  Malleus chuckled lightly, joining your amusement, even though he didn’t understand what was so funny that had you tearing up. You let out a long sigh, recollecting yourself. “Well, I’ll be there then, promise.”

And you had held that promise. Despite both of your hectic lives, you both met at least twice a month. If neither of you had the time? Well, Malleus would just show up outside your place, like old times, and you would both go about the property. Sometimes talking away, and other times in silence, just happy to be next to each other again.

Malleus knew he liked you, loved you even — the way he felt more like himself when he was around you, and a tinge of jealousy made that distinction clear — and he was planning on asking you if you felt the same.

But he didn’t have the chance.

He would never have the chance.

He knew that he wouldn’t have many years with you, but he had planned that it was old age that took you away from him.

Ramshackle had not changed, but Malleus could still smell the scent of soot, even after all of these years. The foyer stopped, and Malleus looked into the gloom of the burnt ruins.

“ … do you remember our promise?”

He had been coming here, once a fortnight, asking the same question and hoping for an answer. Every time all he ever received was the sound of rotting wood and the scampering of mice.

He took in a breath and was ready to leave, to go back to his duties, but he stopped.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He couldn’t see you, but you were here. And that was all that mattered to Malleus. That although you may not physically be here anymore, he had not lost you.

Time may heal all wounds, but Malleus didn’t want this wound to heal. He didn’t want to lose you, not again.

. . .

. . .

A/N; Hope you enjoyed what I came up with for this combination! And *hands you an emotional dragon fae that misses you*

~~~~

Tags; @afunkyfreshblog @bloomstruck @eynnwwyjth @keii-starz @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @syrenkitsune @the-v-lociraptor @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii

[maraxp]

                       ⚓  ♰     .     ࣪  🪨 ♡‌  ㅤ۪ㅤ    ⏖     ꒪       𓉼    

⟣ character : live action!roronoa zoro // fem!reader

⟣ synopsis : after witnessing the fight with zoro and dracule mihawk with the rest of the strawhats, you were by zoro’s side as he healed, comforting him and so on, not knowing that he was secretly listening to you.

⟣ word count : 672 words.

⟣ tags : not proofread (i’ll fix that later), strawhat!reader, female / afab reader, mentions of injury, praise, pet names “dear” and “jerk”, no use of “(y/n)”, fluff, swearing, mentions of alcohol, semi-soft! reader, comfort, eventual smut (not in this post / slow burn), will add more as the series progresses

⟣ note : yes, it is the live action zoro we all know and love. this is my first fanfiction here but it’s not my very first fic ever. english is not my first language so if i made any mistake, please let me know !

it scared you. the fight between roronoa and that mihawk guy scared you, and you didnt know why.

was it because of the fear eating your mind when you saw roronoa’s huge gash on his chest? was it remembering zoro asking to duel mihawk to “fight to the death” while you secretly doubted that he was going to lose? probably both.

when luffy rushed to search for help, you stared at zoro laid out on the ground. you weren’t disappointed, you weren’t disgusted either. you were afraid that he was going to die from how deep the wound was.

when he was brought in, your heart was racing. you didn’t know that zoro being severely injured would actually make you have a heart attack. then again, you saw that he was a skilled swordsman, you knew it was a rare chance for him to get cut up like that.

everyone took turns visiting zoro as he slept with his wounds treated, telling him stories and what not to keep him closer to life than death. when it was your turn, your heart raced. you didn’t know what to say, so you nervously walked in the room, playing with your fingers.

you sat by zoro’s side as he laid, staring at his features. what made your heart slow was the soft rise and fall of his chest, and the sound of his relaxed breathing. time flew by as you sat by his side, humming a soft tune to let zoro know that you were there with him. your hand rested on top of his, rubbing your thumb against the top of his hand.

what you didn’t know was that you were the best comforter for him. you didn’t even realize it until now and it made you smile. you sighed as you gave zoro a soft, reassuring squeeze to his hand. all it took was a small ‘i miss you’ for your thoughts to actually cooperate and think about a genuine thing to talk about.

“you didn’t even have time to think about your actions, you jerk.” you smirked, scoffing at the memory. “nami, usopp, and i worry for you, dear. why did you want to fight that mihawk guy all of a sudden? was it the drinks? were you drunk? i don’t mind about that but still, you scared me back there, roronoa. please don’t do that again, my dear.” you whispered, it truly did frighten you but at least you’re glad that he’s alive now.

you gave his hand another soft squeeze as you raised it to your lips, giving it a small peck. “but you did very well back there, i can give you that. great job, roronoa. i’d love to see more of you in action.” you mumbled, scooting a bit closer to zoro. “we miss you, roronoa. i hope you realize that, dear.” you continued as you brought your hand up to stroke his hair.

what spooked you was when you looked at zoro’s face, you could’ve sworn you saw a tiny smirk displayed on his lips. did he hear all of that? it made you shudder a little, now feeling embarrassed.

you stumbled over your words, clearing your throat while you felt the heat rush to your face. “i’ll– uhm.. i’ll– go get—” you cleared your throat again. “uh.. i’ll go get luffy.”

when you scooted away, you gave his warm hand one more soft squeeze before gently hopping off to leave the room. that sleeping swordsman in the center of the room took your breath away, you could admit that. but you didn’t admit the sudden burn in your chest whenever he would talk to you, especially when you sat next to him back at the baratie.

was it what you thought it was? or was it just a regular heartburn without any other reason behind it? it confused you, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel at home. he made you feel at home. and you liked him for that.

if you want me to add you to my taglist, click on this link [ 🥋 ] and you’re all set !

© maraxp 2023. banner made by me. please do not copy, repost or translate any of my work without permission.

[ellecdc]

Come Back, Be Here

Sirius Black x fem!reader - First Wizarding War Order of the Phoenix - 8k words

p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7 // p8

CW: mentions of past abuse/torture, amnesia, healing/blood and injury (no one is injured during this story), mention of Bellatrix's cursed knife (same injury Hermione received, sorry), angst, hurt/comfort, use of Y/N

Synopsis: After sacrificing yourself to save your friend and Order partner James months before, you're found on the brink of death. How will Sirius react when he finally gets his love back, but you don't seem to recognize any of them? (concept inspired by Recognition by aeaean__bliss on ao3)

James hated this – he hated the paranoia, he hated worrying, he hated the idea that taking one step outside of the threshold may be the last time he ever sees his wife and son. He had taken ‘one last look’ at too many people in his life, and he was exhausted.

         But he was also trained for this.

Pads had been growing more and more paranoid as the war waged on – with all the loss, the targeted attacks of Order members and the growing speculation of a spy amongst them; he begged Lily and James to change Peter to the secret keeper. “I’ll be the Death Eaters first thought, Prongs - he’s the less obvious choice.” It had been months since James had seen Sirius so desperate and passionate, so he agreed. Peter’s schedule with the Ministry had been taking up a lot of his time, but he said that the next Order meeting they would do the trade.

Until then, Sirius made sure Lily and James had a contingency plan.

“If anything fuckey happens, you have to promise me you’ll leave, no questions asked. Okay?” Sirius begged. “Have a go-bag packed for you both and Harry at the ready. If you feel any weakening of the wards – you leave.”

So, something fuckey happened. Lily got herself and Harry dressed for the rain, their bags by the back door ready to make a run for it, and James stood at the front door with his invisibility cloak pulled over him and wand at the ready.

The wards had chimed – signifying someone was here – but they were still standing; this meant Sirius was fine. Wards wobbled all the time – sometimes muggles wandered too closely to them without realizing – but the concerning part was the snap of apparition they heard before the wards had alerted them.

“It could be Moony, or Wormtail.” Lily said, mostly trying to convince herself that everything was fine.

James smiled at his wife like this might be the last time he ever did so. “Very true. I’ll be back in a mo’, okay? If anything happens, you guys go. I’ll find you.” He said.

Lily gave him a watery smile.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

James stepped out into the torrential downpour. Britain wasn’t always known for its reliable weather, but even James was baffled by the sudden late-October thunderstorm. As tempted as he was to cast a weather repelling charm around him, he didn’t want to give away his location by having water bouncing away from his invisible figure, so he allowed himself to get increasingly soaked as he squinted into the night, looking for any signs of who alerted their wards.

He made it to the front gate – where he could see the end of the wards and cast a quick revelio.

Nothing.

“Moony?” He whispered, knowing the lycanthrope would hear him over the heavy rain.

“Pete?” He asked a little louder after receiving no answer.

He waited for a few more moments, cast one more revelio, and moved to the back of the house when he picked up nothing.

Godric’s Hollow is a wizarding community as well, he reminded himself, maybe someone just unknowingly apparated too close to the property.

He cast another revelio in the backyard and his heart leapt into his throat when he saw movement in the woods. “Buggering fuck!” He whisper-shouted, but embarrassingly realized he was watching the figure of a cat running away into the forest.

“Well, that’s not what I heard apparating here, now is it?” He muttered under his breath. He was beginning to suspect they heard some ignorant witch or wizard who miscalculated their apparation as he finished surveying the backyard.

Suddenly, he spotted a figure; it appeared unmoving, and was in a heap on the ground directly outside the ward line. James looked around, casting another revelio – nothing. The only thing he’s found is the slumped figure at the ward line.

James was torn – does he check what it is? What if it’s a person? Should he see if they are okay? Should he go inside and tell Lily that it’s fine before he checks on the figure? Would they still be waiting outside when he came back out? Is this a trap?

His musings were interrupted as the figure started choking.

“Merlin, I’m going to die of a bleeding heart.” James muttered as he made his way to the figure. He cast one more revelio on his way to confirm no one else was around waiting to ambush him.

Against his better judgment - knowing Sirius would have him by the bollocks for this later - he stepped outside of the wards, grabbed the figure and hauled the body back over the ward line. At least now I only have to be worried about dying at the hands of this individual half dead wix.

The body was small – James would assume it was a student from Hogwarts if it weren’t for the fact that they clearly apparated here and all students would be in school. Their cloak appeared far too large for their body and was completely soaked through due to the rain.

The figure began coughing again, and James heard gurgling sounds.

He ripped the hood off the figure and gasped.

Pale – so sickly pale – bruised black and blue and currently coughing up blood was you. Vixen! The witch, friend, fellow animagus and therefore honorary Marauder and his personal mission partner whom James last saw dying in the rubble of your last stake-out location.

“Oh Merlin, OH MERLIN.” James shouted as he whipped off the invisibility cloak and threw it over his shoulder.

He turned his attention back to you as you continued to sputter. He carefully turned you onto your side so you could spit the blood out of your mouth, which caused you to throw up.

“Okay, alright, come on Vix. Let’s get you inside. You’re okay, come on.” James muttered, mostly as a mantra to himself. He felt the adrenaline rushing through his body and tried to ignore the ringing in his ears.

He lifted you up into his arms; one arm supporting your knees whilst the other supported your shoulders. You hung from his grasp like a corpse.

“Stay with me, Vix. Stay with me. You’re going to be okay.” He continued as he got to the door.

He kicked the back door with his foot before cursing and remembering their code. He paused; three quick kicks, one kick, two quick kicks. “Lily! It’s clear, open up!”

Lily set Harry in his playpen and was quick to unlock the door. “Thank Merlin, I - oh!” She quickly moved out of way to avoid being barreled over by her husband with a body in his arms. “What did you find?”

“Not what, Lil’s. Who.”

He ran to the guest bedroom on the first floor, gently laying you onto the bed.

“No...” Lily whispered from the door, her face falling so pale that her freckles stood out in stark contrast.

“Help me. Help her. She’s hurt, she’s-” he started, but he could hardly breathe.

James’ stuttering seemed to snap Lily out of it, and she began barking orders.

“Go get towels, as many as we can. Put a few throw blankets into the dryer for about twenty minutes to warm them up.” She said as she moved to the bed. James didn’t need to be told twice.

Lily set the soaking cloak that James had unceremoniously plopped onto the bed onto the chesterfield. She vanished the black turtleneck and black trousers from your body hoping you wouldn’t miss them terribly. Her breath was taken away, but she couldn’t stare in horror for long as you began coughing up more blood.

She noticed bleeding from your left side – you had what looked like a stab wound in your ribs, which had punctured your lung. Okay Lily, you know this.

Lily sometimes hated magic - it had caused so much pain in her life. She had been called slurs and faced prejudice, she was left without a relationship with her sister, she lost friends and many she considered family to this magical war, and her husband and family were currently facing death by the hands of an evil wizard. Right at this very moment, however, Lily thanked all the deities possible for her use of magic.

She quickly syphoned the fluids and blood quickly flooding your lung before casting a quick sawdering charm to it. Lily heard the telltale snap of your ribs back into place before she closed the wound. It wasn’t as pretty as what could have been done by a real Healer or even Madam Pomfrey, but it would do.

Lily cleared your mouth and throat of blood and conjured a glass of water, forcing some into your mouth before encouraging you to spit it back out.

Once you were no longer at risk of immediately dying, Lily took in the rest of your body.

Your collarbone appeared to protrude from its rightful place, and you had severe bruising around your neck. Lily corrected your collar bone with a flick of her wand which elicited a painful grunt from your lips. You seemed quite a bit thinner than the last time she had seen you, and wondered when your last good meal was. She levitated you gently off the bed and noted that the majority of the bruising appeared around your torso and back. You had a large, healed scar on your right thigh and a small puncture shaped scar on your lower left abdomen. But none of this made Lily feel nearly as sick as when she noticed the word mudblood carved into the skin of your left arm; the wound appeared brand new, as if it had just happened, but it was dry and not bleeding.

The bedroom door slammed open as James threw a pile of at least twenty towels onto the other side of the bed as your form. “I’ve got blankets in the drying machine thingy.” He muttered out of breath as he straightened his glasses.

“Merlin’s tits. What-” he started before Lily cut him off.

“Out, out. Give us some privacy, I’m going to run her a warm bath. Can you bring me some clothes for her?”

James jumped and took off out of the room again.

You had been coming in and out of consciousness as Lily gently washed your body. Every time your eyes met Lily’s green ones, Lily felt her breath leave her body. It’s like looking at a ghost. She wanted to throw up, she wanted to cry, she wanted to sing and dance, my friend, who we had a funeral for, was back from the dead. But she had a job to do, dammit she had a job to do. She’s not your friend right now Lily, she’s your patient. Help her. She needs a healer. You’re as good as one. Help your patient.

Neither of you spoke – Lily didn’t want to overwhelm you, and she also had no idea what to say. There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you since you’ve been gone; now I have no words.

Lily helped you dry off and supported your weight as she walked you back into the bedroom. James had brought down a tracksuit of Lily’s, which was too big for you, but it was dry and warm, and it would have to do.

After you were dressed, Lily had you sit on the edge of the bed as she brushed and braided your hair.

“There you go, Y/N.” Lily said as she gently tapped your shoulder, cautious of any pain you may be feeling from your collarbone injury.

“You know my name.” you asked quietly, but it wasn’t a question.

Lily paled. Know your name? Try: know your entire life story up until about a year ago.

“I do.” Lily answered cautiously, moving to stand in front of her friend. “Do you know mine?”

Lily watched as your eyes scanned her face. “No,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Lily said dumbly. “Well, that’s okay. Nothing to be sorry for. I’m Lily. We were friends, before.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and Lily instantly regretted saying anything. “Here, why don’t we get you into bed, hm?” She offered as a distraction to the both of you.

You grimaced as you shuffled to the head of the bed where Lily pulled the warm blankets James had left for you to climb under.

“I’ll go make a pot of tea and get you some pain potion, okay?”

You seemed to consider Lily for some time before finally nodding your head at her.

“I’ll be right back.”

Lily closed the door behind her and rushed to the kitchen. “James” She sobbed.

Her husband immediately stood from the kitchen table and enveloped her in his arms.

“What happened? Is she okay?” He asked into her hair.

“She doesn’t know who I am.” She muttered miserably.

James froze and pulled his wife away from him to look into her eyes. “She what?”

“She doesn’t recognize me, James. She asked how I knew her name.”

“Oh, Godric.” James muttered, falling back into the chair. “Do you think she’ll recognize me? Or anyone else?”

Lily sighed as she made her way into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s shock, or amnesia, or a brain injury, or if it’s just me. There are too many variables. I think we should probably wait before we tell the other’s she’s here – I don’t know how they’ll handle not being recognized.”

“Fuck” James whispered.

“Potter.” Lily deadpanned. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

The only response she got was a guilty look from James before the front door flew open.

“Where is she?” Sirius demanded, staring at his friends as if they had personally victimized him, Remus following closely behind, face white as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Would you quiet down.” Lily seethed as she threw up a hasty mufliato.

“I am not fucking around, Red. Where. Is. She.” He repeated angrily, shaking off James’ hand that had been placed on his shoulder.

“If you think I’m letting you anywhere near her when you’re like this, you are out of your sodding mind.” Lily seethed, walking over, and shoving her face into Sirius’. 

“Mate, please. Sit down, let us fill you in. The second we do; you can go see her.” James said, trying to appease his friend. Sirius’ chest heaved as his burning eyes met Remus’ glassy ones which were already on him; a silent question of “Are we going to comply or are we going to cause a scene?” passed between them. Sirius moved his eyes back to Lily; he knew Lily wasn’t messing around - she was the mother of the group; she always had been. And she had always been the absolute best of friends with you and Remus, which made her all the more protective over you two in particular. He knew he should trust her when it came to you, but after the last mission - the mission you never fucking returned from, he doubted he would ever trust anyone with you ever again.

Lily watched his face as he seemed to come to some sort of decision.

“You have exactly five minutes starting the second my arse hits that seat, and then I will see her. Got it?” He stated bluntly, before shoving past her and James and sitting at the kitchen table.

Lily and James shared a look before they joined him at the table, Remus sitting down last.

James and Lily just stared at each other; each silently begging the other to start. Sirius grew more and more agitated the longer no one said anything, his knee bouncing under the table. 4 minutes and 17 seconds before I break every door down in this fucking house to find her.

“So,” James started, “She’s here.”

Lily grimaced. “We heard the snap of apparition and then there was a wobble in the wards.” Sirius’ eyes widened.

“We were ready to run,” Lily input at Sirius’ face, “but since the wards were still up and unaffected, James went to investigate.”

“She was soaked to the bone and just lying there. Honestly, I...I thought there was just a dead body until she started to choke.” James admitted. “I got her inside and brought her to the room where Lily healed her.”

“And?” Remus asked quietly.

“And it’s not good.” Lily admitted.

“She’s alive.” James amended, giving Lily a pointed look as if saying do you know who you’re talking to right now?

“Right, erm,” Lily started, “She had a stab wound in her ribs which had punctured her lung – that’s what was causing her to choke. I emptied the lung of blood and fluids and closed it up, re-set the broken ribs and closed the wound – her collar bone was also dislocated. She’s badly bruised and beaten. She has a few healed scars...” she trailed off awkwardly.

“Merlin’s tits.” Sirius muttered into his hands which were covering his face. “Is that all?” He asked sarcastically.

“No, there are two more things, but I need you to stay quiet and calm and listen to me. Do not speak until I say so, okay?”

She gave Sirius a pointed look and the man begrudgingly nodded.

“It appears that someone carved the word mudblood into her left arm – the wound looked brand new, but it wasn’t bleeding or red, so I’m not sure why it looks the way it does. I’ll need an actual healer to look it over.” She sighed greatly before continuing. “And she doesn’t know who I am.”

The room fell painfully silent, all eyes on her.

“Someone carved...?” Remus finally began whispering before he was cut off by Sirius.

“What do you mean she doesn’t know who you are?” Sirius asked.

“I mean I’m a stranger to her Sirius.” She muttered miserably. “She asked me how I knew her name, and when I told her we were friends, she looked like she was going to cry.”

Sirius’ already alabaster skin appeared to grow a sickly paler shade as he looked incredulously at Lily.

He watched as James rubbed Lily’s shoulder. Beaten. Stabbed. Bruised. Tortured. Someone hurt her. Someone touched her – violated her. My girl.

But she’s here. He reminded himself.

“Okay.” He whispered.

The table grew quiet again, everyone turning their attention to the dark-haired man.

“Okay?” Lily asked between sniffles.

“Okay.” He repeated before making eye contact with her again. “She’s likely been through hell, I hardly expect much of her right now. Fuck, I hardly ever expected to get her back at all so, let’s just...” He stopped, looking down at the woodgrain on the table. “We’ll make sure she’s okay to start and then, maybe eventually, we can help her get her memories back or something.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

Lily gave him a sad smile as more tears fell.

“Okay Pads.” She said, reaching to take his hand. “Let’s go see our girl.”

“Y/N? It’s me,” Lily started as she leaned into the bedroom door. “Erm, Lily.” She clarified awkwardly. “I’ve got your tea and something to eat, may I come in?”

She waited for a few beats before she poked her head in. “You okay?” She asked gently. She spotted her friend sitting exactly where she had left you; propped up in the bed on a tower of pillows and wrapped in the numerous blankets that James had warmed up for you. Lily plastered on what she hoped was her most calming smile.

“When was the last time you’ve eaten?” She asked gently, moving into the room.

 “I’m not sure.” You admitted in a whisper, warily eying the grapes, cheese, and crackers Lily had prepared that sat beside the tea and vial of pain potion which Lily placed on the bed before you.

“I can get you something else if you’d like, but I figured it might be good to have a little something in your stomach on account of the pain potion.” She grimaced as she motioned toward the offending vial.

The sound of a throat clearing interrupted the women and brought your attention to the door where James and Sirius both stood, waiting for... well, Lily wasn’t sure.

You just stared blankly at the men. Your eyes seemed to dart between James and Sirius, questions flying behind your eyes.

“Mind if we join you?” James asked quietly, holding his hands open as if a universal way to say, see? Friendly. We mean you no harm.

You turned your gaze back to Lily who was silently encouraging you. Lily wore a soft smile, and her eyes were full of compassion and understanding.

“Sure.” You finally said, your voice thick. The boys let out a breath and moved into the room slowly. Lily stared at them both, hoping they got her silent plea: you are great big giant oafs; please be as un-intimidating as possible.

It wasn’t easy; Sirius with his thick, rock-star style black hair and covered in various tattoos which stood out in stark contrast against his alabaster skin. His combat boots which were never tied properly were not the stealthiest footwear, and his various pieces of silver jewelry littering his body added to the intimidating aura that was Sirius Black.

And big, bumbling James; built like the Quidditch chaser he is. He stood slightly taller than Sirius, and between his ADHD and constant need for movement, he was in perfect shape for a soldier. He could appear intimidating when he needed to be, and when he was actually angry: watch out. But those who knew him would laugh and laugh to know you ever feared him if you hadn’t a reason. He smiled warmly at you and sat on the floor near the fireplace.

Sirius sat behind Lily in a wingback chair that he turned to face the bed you were sat on. He monitored your face looking for any signs of recognition as you surveyed the newcomers. He tried not to feel disappointed when he didn’t see any. He failed anyways.

“Our friend’s showed up while the tea was on, we never could keep them away for long.” Lily offered when you still hadn’t said anything.

“Rem will be back later; he ran out to grab some things.” Sirius explained.

James, never being one for sublties asked “do you recognize either of us?” as if the question had been lodged behind his teeth since he first found you.

Lily and Sirius sucked in a breath as they turned to analyze you. Your gaze moved over the two men before looking down at your hands in your lap and shook your head.

“Well, that’s alright; we always liked making new friends.” James offered. “I’m James – I found you outside. And this here is Sirius.” He said, motioning to his friend.

Sirius heard you let out a shakey breath at the end of James' sentence, and Lily noticed tears springing into her friend’s eyes.

“What’s the matter, love?” Sirius asked her gently.

You shook your head miserably and looked between the two men again. Sirius thought he would throw up while Lily’s eyes widened in horror.

“No, no. Y/N, it’s alright, you’re safe, no one’s going to hurt you.” she clarified.

“We’re your friends,” James offered quietly, “we only wanted to know you were okay.”

You didn’t seem able to make eye contact with any of them anymore and stared at the tea tray set out in front of you.

“It’s chamomile,” Lily offered, “it was one of your favourites.”

Sirius and James exchanged a glance before the former slowly stood and made his way over to you; you didn’t look up at Sirius, but he noticed your body tense. Keeping his distance, he picked up the cup of tea and gave it a sniff before taking a sip, making a show of swishing it in his mouth before swallowing. 

“Hm, yep. Chamomile, two sugars and a splash of milk.” He said before he cast a quick revelio over the cup and pot. “And nothing else added.”

He placed the cup back onto the tray. “You can never be too careful these days, hm?” He offered you with a smile before returning to his seat.

You looked at Lily before you carefully picked up the tea with shaking hands. The warmth of the cup brought tears to your eyes as you held it tightly in your hands, enjoying the aroma before taking your own cautious sip.

Seemingly satisfied you weren’t being poisoned, you grimaced at the smell of the pain poition before downing it with nothing more than a cough. Sirius thought you were a much better sport about it than he was.

“Why don’t we light the fire, hm?” Lily asked, beginning to stand.

“I’ve got it.” Sirius mumbled, standing, and placing a few logs into the hearth before casting an incendio.

Sirius could feel your eyes following him; he knew because they burned into his skin like they always had before. He always had a sixth sense when it came to you. He missed this familiar feeling, even though it was currently painful; he never thought he’d feel the burn of your stare again.

“Thank you.” He heard whispered, and looked to see you looking at him from under your lashes as you brought the tea to your lips again.

“You’re very welcome.” He smiled at you.

“Do you know me?” You suddenly whispered. If it wasn’t for the fact that the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire, the rest of the room’s occupants would have missed it completely.

“Yes.” James said with a soft smile.

“Were we...” you started, before clearing your throat and returning your gaze to your hands. “Were we friends? Before?” You finished, not returning your gaze.

“The best of.” James replied.

You seemed to think on this for a while before you looked up and met Sirius’ eyes.

“And you?” You queried.

Sirius was sure he just heard his heart break. He wondered how much he should tell you. She doesn’t remember me. She doesn’t remember the nights shared, or the fights had, or the days spent. How much does he tell you?

He recognized that everyone is looking at him now; you inquisitively, James appeared distraught, and Lily was looking at him with the saddest smile he’d ever seen. He had very little time to answer this question.

“You couldn’t shake me off, love. I followed you around everywhere.” He settled for, trying to smile at you but it felt more like a grimace.

You sighed and returned to fiddling with your teacup.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. The two present marauders and Lily exchanged glances before turning back towards their friend.

“What for?” Lily asked gently, moving to place a hand on your shoulder. Nobody in the room missed the full body flinch that took place when you spotted a hand coming towards you, which caused Lily’s hand to retreat to her lap.

You sighed heavily again before continuing. “For not recognizing you all.”

“None of that now, gorgeous.” Sirius stated. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ll be just fine.”

“Where have you been all this time?” James asked, which was met with a low rumble from Sirius’ throat; a warning that no one in the room missed.

“Prongs, she’s been through hell. Leave her be for now.”

Your eyes flicked between the two men who seemed to be having a silent conversation with their eyes. You looked back to Lily who gave you a crooked smile and a shrug of her shoulders.

“Was your hair shorter when I knew you?” You asked. Sirius tore his eyes away from his best mate and looked into your warm gaze. You looked so inquisitive, and he instantly thought back to the nights that the two of you spent on the astronomy tower where he would point out every constellation and star you could see with your naked eye and tell you their stories; you’d always ask follow-up questions, which he loved because none of your other friends found astronomy to be at all interesting, and he could show off his wealth of knowledge on the topic.

Sirius subconsciously brought his hand up and ran his fingers through his hair. No, he thought, in fact, I’ve cut it quite a bit shorter since the last time I saw you. His hair had always been quite long, especially since he and you became friends back in 4th year. After you passed away - or, disappeared, Sirius supposed – he found it harder and harder to deal with especially when in battle, between needing it to be up elsewise it was in his face, or being easy to grab by enemies. He kept some length, but now the longest pieces came just below his chin.

“I don’t think so, darlin’. Must be thinking of someone else.” He tried to tease, but it came out pained.

Your eyes stayed on Sirius as you analysed him. “My mistake.” You whispered.

It grew incredibly awkward from there. No one knew what to say; you wouldn’t eat or make eye contact with anyone anymore and continued fiddling with your teacup.

“Well, why don’t we leave you to eat up, and you can rest some, hm?” Lily offered, looking around the room at the others. James immediately nodded his head in agreement, whilst you looked indifferent, and Sirius looked anything but pleased at the prospect of leaving the room you were currently situated in.

“Pads, why don’t you help me make something to eat for the rest of us, and we can come check back on Y/N a little later.” She offered.

Sirius kept his gaze on you; you seemed concerned, though he didn’t know what about – were you worried they’d stay? That they’d leave? Were you worried that they wouldn’t come back?

“Alright,” He offered Lily, “I’ll be back shortly, okay?” He added for your benefit. You looked up at that, appearing to analyze him as he moved to the door whilst keeping eye contact.

“Okay.” You whispered, and everyone shuffled out of the room.

“Fuck.” He breathed as the door clicked shut behind him.

The three friends moved back to the kitchen where Sirius did indeed help Lily make more sandwiches while James began to pace the kitchen behind them.

“Spit it out Prongs, we’ve not got all day.” He muttered, tired of his friend’s nervous ticks.

“Listen, mate,” James started awkwardly, “I just want you to be careful.”

Sirius looked at him incredulously. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, with Y/N.” He clarified, which for Sirius clarified absolutely nothing.

“What are you on about?”

“Okay.” James breathed. “Listen, I’m just worried - about all of us, okay? Vix included. I mean, she was as on deaths door the last I saw her and-”

“Yeah, and you fucking left her there.” Sirius spat quietly. James’s face pained considerably, the guilt and memories clear on his face. It wasn’t fair of Sirius, he knew that. You made that choice for the both of them; he saw James’ memory of that moment with his own eyes - hell, he was there when a distraught James dropped into the safe house via portkey without you.

“I know, I...” James started but was interrupted this time by Lily.

“Sirius, we both know how stubborn our girl is. Nothing would have changed that outcome.” She offered him quietly.

“I shouldn’t have interrupted James.” Sirius bit out, knowing he was out of line but not willing to apologize for his words.

“We believed her to be dead for months, and then all of a sudden, she quite literally drops out of the fucking sky and remembers nothing. I’m not saying she’s chosen a side or anything, but I cannot help but be worried. This feels like a trap.”

James’ words hung in the air, Sirius never breaking eye contact with him. Sirius’ stares could be intense which was extremely intimidating. While James was undoubtedly uncomfortable, he needed Sirius to understand his concerns. You were a potential threat whether you were aware of it or not, and you were currently living in his house alongside his family.

“So, what? You think she’s been turned a spy? That she’s been sent to destroy us from the inside out? After all this time?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“I don’t know what to think, Pads. All I’m saying is that I’m scared and for all our sakes, I need you to be careful.”

“You want her out.” Sirius spat.

“No.” Lily and James chorused.

“Sirius no, I want my best friend here, with me where I can help her.." Lily started. "That’s not what this is about. Maybe I’m being naïve, but I don’t think she’s a danger to us. I want her here, Sirius. I need her here.”

James looked at his wife, disagreement written all over his face, but it was joined with acceptance and understanding. You were his friend too; he spent summers and full moons and missions with you, and he wouldn’t trade any of it. Well, he’d leave the missions happily behind but hoped one day that you could spend the first two together again. But he had a war to win and a family to protect, and right now, that had to come first.

The three friends were interrupted by a silvery whisp of a phoenix travelling into the room. The Phoenix whistled three times, waited four seconds and let out one long whistle before adding five short whistles and then disappeared.

“Dumbledore wants a meeting.” James translated.

“I bet it’s all about how your ex-partner is a big fat spy, Prongs.” Sirius muttered.

“Enough.” Lily remarked. “None of this right now, let’s just get her through tonight.”

Lily sat a few sandwiches onto the table.

“I just wish we could get her to a healer; see what could be causing the amnesia.” She murmured miserably.

“What do you think it could be?” James prodded.

 “I’m not sure. Many things can cause amnesia - malevolence or injury, perhaps. If it’s due to a malevolent curse or she’s been obliviated or imperio’d or something, maybe we can reverse it. If it’s an injury... well I’m not sure. Brains are tricky but maybe it can be healed, or I don’t know...” She trailed off frustrated. In her mind, it was either that her friend had been being cursed, or she sustained a brain injury that may not be able to be fixed.

“Maybe it’s something else, Red. We’ll find a way to fix this.” Sirius offered quietly, reaching for her hand across the table which she met. She smiled at him for a few moments.

“She really is the better part of you, isn’t she?” James interrupted.

“How do you mean?” He asked, moving his eyes and soft smile to James who he regarded a little cooler.

“Being all reasonable and optimistic. You’re giving Haz a run for his money being the most optimistic in the family, and he’s ignorant to anything that doesn’t fit in his mouth.” James clarified.

“Classy Prongs,” Sirius muttered. “Jokes at the expense of your own sprog when he’s not even awake to defend himself.”

The three friends chuckled, allowing some of the tension to dissipate from the room. Sirius would let it go for now, but he was less than pleased with his friend’s accusation. But James just wanted to protect his family, and that included Sirius and you, whether Sirius understood that or not.

Sirius rapped at the door gently. “It’s just me, erm, Sirius.” The door opened a crack, and he poked his head in. “Mind if I join you?”

You shook your head which he took as an invitation. He closed the door gently behind himself before he returned to the wingback chair he had settled in earlier. He had his own cup of tea and half a sandwich on a plate.

“Lily’s going to bring us some more tea later, maybe with some sleeping draught. Do you think you’ll need help sleeping tonight?” He said.

“You’re asking my permission?” You asked, which caused Sirius to nearly choke on his tea.

He looked at you incredulously for a moment. “Of course, I am. It’s your choice”

You seemed to think about that for a moment.  “Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea, to have an aid.” You admitted finally.

He considered this. “Very well, we’ll get that brewed for you.”

Sirius continued to watch you. You fiddled with the hem of the sweatshirt you were wearing, which he recognized to be one of Lily’s. Lily, the beautiful Amazonian woman she was, meant the outfit was far too big for your smaller frame, especially with how much you had seemed to hollow out since Sirius last saw you. That’s okay, he reminded himself, we’ll get her all fixed up. He made a mental note to try to find what clothes of yours he still had at his and Moony’s flat. He suddenly felt simultaneously embarrassed and grateful he kept most of your old things, only donating what you hadn’t used in the past year and a half before you went missing. Remus had suggested placing some of his and Sirus’ favourites of yours in what muggles called Ziploc baggies which basically cast a stasis charm on it to keep it fresh. It may sound weird, but for Padfoot and Moony, both of them understood how comforting someone’s scent could be, and he was willing to look ‘weird’ for the sake of keeping what little of you that he could. He’d go shopping as well, to replace what he had given away. Maybe even get you a whole new wardrobe - when you were feeling better, you could come with him, pick out your own things.

Thinking about you feeling better, he looked up at you and noticed how not better you were. Your eyebrows were furrowed as if you were in pain, your knee was bouncing underneath you, and you kept looking at the doors.

“What is it, love? What’s wrong?” He asked, pushing his plate and cup aside and rising to kneel in front of you.

You looked at him, startled at first, before tears welled up in your eyes.

He remembered your flinch at Lily’s hand, so once he was on his knees, he slowly raised his hands and motioned for yours all while maintaining eye contact. You looked between his hands and his eyes for a moment before you lifted your hands into his. He wondered if you could hear his heartbeat as it bounced around in his chest. Your skin still felt cold – though he remembered that you always seemed to run colder than he did.

“What’s wrong love?” He asked again.

You began to cry in earnest. “I...” you choked out.

“You can tell me, it’s alright.” He offered.

“I have to pee!” You whispered through a sob. “I’m sorry.” You added. Sirius scrunched his eyebrows at you. Had this been anyone else, he would have started to laugh. But you seemed thoroughly distraught right now; your knee was still bouncing, and you looked so pained.

“Okay, that’s okay. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He offered. You made a disgruntled sound.

“Have you been waiting this whole time?” He asked. You cried some more and nodded.

“Oh love, okay. Come on.” He began to stand and used your hands that were still in his to pull you up. You stumbled a bit, but he steadied you.

You made your way to the bathroom, and he sat you on the toilet. “Do you, erm, are you okay to do...what you need to do, by yourself?” He asked awkwardly. You nodded quickly.

“Okay.” He smiled at you. “I’ll be just outside this door, okay?” He said as he backed out of the washroom. He closed the door, and he could hear you shuffling as you pulled down your trousers.

Merlin. She was nearly in a fit over asking to use the loo. Why would she wait to ask to go?

Sirius aggressively wiped his face, feeling tears burn his eyes. He heard the click of a door and moved his hands, expecting to see you but was surprised as Lily entered the bedroom.

“Hey. How’s she doing?” She asks as she peered around the room trying to spot her friend.

Sirius sighed. “She almost let her bladder burst waiting to be told she could use the loo.” He stated plainly.

“Oh Vix...” Lily tutted as she leaned against the back of the couch which faced the bathroom door. Sirius moved to join her.

“She’s open to a sleeping draught for tonight.” He offered. Lily just hummed.

“What are we doing to do, Pads?” She asked after some time.

“Be patient as hell, I guess.” He answered.

Lily chuckled and nudged Sirius with her shoulder. “Patience. A Sirius Black special.”

Lily watched as Sirius smirked and looked back at the bathroom door. Lily was right, of course; he was never very patient. He wasn’t the kind one of the group, he wasn’t always very understanding, and he surely wasn’t the patient one. He was loud, he was angry, he was crass, and he never slowed down, not for anyone. Except for her she remembered.

(Five summers ago)

The group of them had been getting ready to head to the Potter’s for a few weeks in the summer between 6th and 7th year; you had asked to be picked up last so that you didn’t hold everyone up. Sirius and James picked Lily up first, ever the timely one. They stopped at Remus’ next, who was mostly ready, but ran back inside four times as the others listed off things he may have forgotten. “Toothbrush?” Lily asked. “Fuck.” Remus muttered as he ran back inside the Lupin cottage. He emerged victorious with his toothbrush in hand.

“First thing we’re doing when we get to the manor is jumping in the lake. It’s too bloody hot today.” James muttered, which caused Remus to groan as he went back inside.

“Moooooonnyyyyyyy.” Sirius whined as his friend disappeared.

This happened two more times for his sandals a a pair of sunglasses which was met with a lot of whining from Sirius before they were ready to go.

Next stop was Peter’s house; they were met by Peter’s mother who showed them to his room which was nothing short of a disaster.

“Peter Pettigrew!” She shrilled at him from the door. “You are not to leave this room like this, do you hear me young man?!” She demanded as she started down the hallway.

“Great, now we have to wait for him to finish packing and clean his bloody room.” Sirius muttered as he kicked Peter’s school bag aside to sit on his desk chair.

“Wormy, you knew we were coming and what time. In fact, we’re late. How are you not ready?” Remus asked incredulously, trying to help Peter fold his clothes and put it in his bag as the kid continued running around his room throwing things on his bed which was deemed to be the ‘pack’ pile.

“’Cause he’s a wanker, that’s why.” Sirius muttered none-too-quietly from his moping spot in the desk chair which earned him a flick in the head from James.

“Now, now, Pads. We’ll make it home eventually.” He chuckled.

“Listen, I’m sweaty, I’ve been travelling around all of the UK picking up you knob heads and we still have one stop. I wanna gooooooooo.” He whined petulantly.

“Okay well you can whine all you want to Vixen since she’s our last stop then. Maybe she’ll feel bad for you.” Lily offered, zipping up Peter’s first of three bags he ended up leaving with.

Entirely too long later, they travelled to a spot close to your house and began the trek, the sun still high in the sky and accosting Sirius.

“Too bloody hot for this.” He muttered to himself as he knocked a little impolitely on your door. A few moments later, a frazzled looking you swung the door open and looked at your five friends.

“Oh God, here we go.” Lily muttered as she was sure Sirius’ whining was going to continue at the lack of a packed bag in your hand. She was completely astounded however when he rushed inside and shut the door behind him, leaving his four other friends outside. The said friends shared a bemused look before leaning their ears against the door.

“What’s the matter?” Sirius asked the girl gently. They heard a small sniffle.

“I’m sorry Siri. I’m not ready. I slept through my alarms and then I had to do laundry and the washing machine is giving me problems and my dad is away for work so I had to make sure everything was set up because the cats will be alone for the rest of the week and I’m not ready and I’m sorry.” You finished taking a long breath which sounded like it was close to becoming a sob.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Not a problem at all love, come on. Let’s get you packed up. We’ve got time.” Sirius could be heard saying before your sets of footsteps moved further into the house.

“‘We’ve got time’ he says.” Peter muttered, mimicking his friend as he kicked a pebble.

“There’s always time for Vix, Wormy. You know this.” James said as he winked at Peter and slung his arm over Lily.

(Present)

Lily and Sirius heard water running and knew you were finished. They waited for a few moments but when you never exited the bathroom, they shared a quick glance.

Sirius moved up to the door and gently knocked. “You okay?” As he waited for a response, he made eye contact with Lily.

“Yeah.” You answered through the door.

“Are you done?”

You were silent for a moment before you answered, “yes.”

Lily and Sirius looked at each other again for a moment. “I’m gonna open the door then, alright?” He didn’t receive an answer, so opened the door slowly.

You were leaning your weight against the bathroom sink and had your arms wrapped around yourself protectively.

“Feel better?” Sirius asked gently, offering you his hand.

You looked from his hand to his eyes. “Yes. Thank you.” You said as gently took his hand. He placed your arm in his and helped you towards the bed on the other side of the room.

“No need to thank me, love.” He offered as he helped you up onto the bed. It seemed to be a little too high for you, and Sirius made a note to put a step stool here for you tomorrow.

“Y/N, the bathroom is there for you whenever. No one else will use it. If you ever need help, you can let me know, okay?” Lily offered.

“Anything,” Sirius added solemnly, lifting the duvet for you to climb in under. “You can ask for anything, okay?”

You fiddled with the duvet and quilt after it was set on top of your lap.

“Is there anything you can think of now that you want or need?” He asked, ducking his head to try to look into your eyes.

You searched his eyes, the silver gaze so familiar against his black hair.

Sirius was about to give up and look to Lily when you finally answered. “I don’t think so.”

He smiled gently at you. “That’s alright. I’ll think of lots of things for you.”

“I’m sure Pads already has a list compiled.” Lily snorted from the end of the bed.

“As a matter of fact, my dear Red, I do.” He smirked at her as he began tidying up the room.

“She’ll need some clothes...” Lily started.

“Already on it. And we’re gonna get a stool so she doesn’t have to haul herself up into that tall ass bed. We’ll get her the shampoo she likes; we can’t let those locks suffer.” He added with a wink in your direction.

Lily took the dishes Sirius had collected and brought them to the kitchen where she began the tea just as Remus came back in through the front door with a box in his hands.

“This is about two weeks of dreamless sleep if she needs one every night. I can get more if she needs it.” He said as he placed the box on the kitchen table.

“Thank you, Rem, I’m sure this will be a great help.” She smiled at her friend before kissing his cheek.

“How’s he holding up?” He asked. She knew he was worried about his roommate.

Sirius’ feelings for you have never been quiet nor simple. In fairness to her friend, he had always lived with his heart on his sleeve; his feelings written all over his face. His love for you had always been palpable. They thought they were going to lose him when they lost you, and in some ways, they did. They lost the slightly gentler side of Sirius, the side that would give pause when his friends needed it, who tried to see the good in everybody first. 

His better half was back, but not really. Sirius wasn’t usually able to live by halves and they wondered how this would play out while they waited for you to remember something, anything.

“He’s hanging in there. He’s been really strong for her.” She answered gently as the tea pot started to whistle. Remus hummed in acknowledgment.

“She always was the strong one for us, when it mattered most. Seems fitting he returns the favour.” He admitted.

The sleeping draught tea made, Lily re-entered the bedroom with Remus where they found Sirius setting up the couch with a pillow and some blankets.

“Having yourself a slumber party here, Pads?” Remus asked lightly.

“Yeah, I think I’ll stay here for tonight, keep our guest company. Try not to miss me too much, alright Moony?” He offered cajolingly, but Remus and Lily knew; he wouldn’t be leaving your side any time soon, not unless you asked him to.

Continue to part 2 here.

[imfinereallyy]

Spooky Spouse🕸️𓆩♡𓆪🕸️

happy spooky season :) this is for my mutuals @cranberrymoons @penny00dreadful @theheadlessphilosopher @vthx who when I asked about when we think steddie bday's was, it derailed into well...this. And it was too hard to resist.

v brief mention of nsfw

"You want to what?"

Eddie stares at Steve excitedly, practically vibrating in his spot across from Steve in the kitchen.

"We should get married on Halloween!" Eddie shouts.

Steve lets his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose as he looks at his very manic, albeit very cute, fiance. "Babe, I love you, and for that, I am going to hear you out—"

"Love you too." Eddie interrupts softly.

Steve's mouth curves at the edges; he's sure he has what Robin has claimed as his 'lovesick' smile on his face. "—but why would you want to get married on your birthday?"

Suddenly, Eddie's excitement switches into an embarrassed blush. Hiding behind a finger spun around a soft curl, he mumbles, "...about that..."

Steve sighs and leans back in his chair. He feels the familiar ache in the bottom of his back, scarred road rash that never quite healed right in 86'. If he sits too long in one spot, Steve finds himself fidgety and unsettled.

He wonders briefly if he can convince Eddie to give him a massage later.

Eddie's embarrassment shifts for a moment to concern, eyes wondering where Steve's back meets the base of the old wooden chair they found on 74th Street two years ago. Steve knows Eddie had liked the way the chair creaked like Steve's knee, and that was reason enough to bring it home. Now, though, with the way Eddie holds his breath to see if the familiar creak of the chair will mix with the sounds of Steve's young bones aging, Steve knows he won't have to do any convincing at all.

"I'm okay, Eds. You were saying."

Eddie's face blooms red again. "Okay, only if you promise not to be mad."

"That is never a good sign."

Eddie bites his lip, "What if I told you that my birthday isn't really on Halloween?"

Steve stares blankly, "I know I've had a few knocks on the head, Eds, but I'm pretty sure you can change your name, not your birthday. Having a wedding doesn't mean you get to move your birthday."

"Well!" Eddie jumps, this time with more anxious energy, "You see, that's what I mean; we wouldn't have to move my birthday if we got married on Halloween."

"Okay, you lost me. Am I concussed again? Did we go too hard last night? I know you said you were 'gonna fuck me so good I would forget my name,' but I'm pretty sure this isn't what you meant."

Eddie takes a deep breath before getting on his knees in front of Steve, taking his hand into his own. "Stevie, I mean that I lied. My birthday isn't Halloween. It's actually in February."

"What."

"You said you wouldn't be mad!"

Steve snorts but gives Eddie's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm pretty sure I actually said that 'wasn't a good sign'. I never agreed not to be mad."

"We both know it means the same thing to you." Eddie huffs.

Steve's lovesick smile is back again, despite knowing he should be mad. "You're telling me you've convinced everyone your birthday is on Halloween?"

"...well, everyone but Wayne." Eddie's smile turns sheepish.

"Jesus Christ Eds."

Eddie jumps up from his knees back to his feet. Steve can hear Eddie's ankle crack at the sudden change. He keeps a hold on Steve's hand. "Listen, I had good reason. I love Halloween; I should be a Halloween baby. My death was almost by bats; I mean, by that logic, it's almost full circle."

"I feel like you're D&D'ing me into logic that doesn't make sense. Eddie, are you trying to make it worse?"

Eddie throws his head back and groans, "No. I'm just—I love Halloween. It feels wrong not to have something important on that day."

"So you decided to change your birthday? Ed's that's not legal."

Eddie's excitement comes back tenfold, giving Steve whiplash. "Well, neither is our wedding! So it's perfect! Honestly, very metal of us to be fighting the law on such an amazing day." Eddie's arms flap around in excitement, making their conjoined hands move messily throughout the air.

Steve wants to be mad; he really does. But he can't help it; he just loves this idiot too much. "Fine, we can get married on Halloween."

"Really?!"

Steve stands, bringing his lips to Eddie's hand, then gently to his lips. He murmurs against his mouth, "On two conditions."

Eddie nips Steve's lip, "Anything, baby."

"One." Steve starts, sliding his tongue into Eddie's mouth, just to be a brat, before pulling back. Eddie groans but doesn't protest. He knows that this is the rare occasion it's his turn to be punished. "You have to tell everyone the truth about your birthday."

"Yep, fine. You got it." Eddie grabs Steve by the back of his neck and pulls him back. Consuming him greedily, Steve gives in to the distraction for a moment. Loving the feeling of Eddie's heat pressed against his own.

Steve pulls back reluctantly, a trail of spit connecting the two of them. Eddie whines and paws at Steve's hips, trying to draw him back. "Two, you have to tell me when your actual birthday is."

The heat clears from Eddie's eyes and the sheepish look returns. "Uh..."

Steve starts to remove himself from Eddie, but Eddie scrambles to bring him back against his chest. "Fine. Fine, I'll tell you."

Steve leans his forehead against Eddie's, patiently waiting for him to spill.

"It's February 14th."

Steve's eyes go wide, "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ."

**

this spiraled form all of us being convinced eddie would lie and say his bday is on Halloween. to my mutals, sorry I didn't tag you all it got to long, but this was for you guys ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[iloveyouinred]

Looks Like A Vampire: Danfeng x Reader

𓇬♡ | Warning: NSFW, noncon, blood, vampire concept, dumbification, bitting, masochist, cold dragon young(I'm not sry), etc.

You know The High Elder of the Luofu Vidyadhara is one you should not mess with. You always thought his lifeless eyes and pale skin remind you so much of a dead person. But one night, when the moon is up, he shows his fang before your terrified eyes.

You inhale sharply when he sinks his fangs into your shoulder. Licking the blood that comes dripping down your skin, while fucking himself deep inside of you. Tears welling up your eyes from the sudden pain mixed with pleasure. Panting heavily on top of him. Your seated body squirm away, but his hold is firm. When the pain slowly overcome with the sweet taste of his cock pounding your inside, your sinful moans filled up his hearing.

You caught a glimpse of his smile from the corner of your teary eyes. His fair lips smeared with dark red blood, one that still seeping out your skin. That sends chills down your back. As he continues to thrust his length up your gummy walls, you see stars while his cold eyes trained on your expression. Sweats addorn your skin like pearls under the moonlight, your pretty eyes closed with a frown. Face distorted with pain and pleasure, while your mind focused on both of your body movements that is connected through his relentless thrusts. You were sure his fangs grazed your skin a few times before they sank into you once more. If you did not die by his quick pace of thrust, you would have died by blood loss from how many times he bites and consumes your blood. Like a vampire.

Though he will certainly keep you alive, healing your wounds every once in a while. His power is flowing through your body like cold waves. Easily reviving any part of you that is almost dead. But could you deny death if it's given to you with these sweet almost heavenly feelings? You choked on his fingers when he thrust up harshly, hitting your deepest spot. You felt his hand on the back of your neck slowly clasping on it. Forcing your limp body to stay seated on his lap as he moves in and out of your sloppy cunt. Your body pressed on his board chest, while you whined out, babbling incoherent words. He simply smiles, placing chaste kisses along the line of your jaw. Soon you come all over him, melting around his length like a warm candle.

"Good girl." He purrs softly beside your ear. You are trying to deny whatever he claims you as, but all you can do is sob and whine. He places his hand on your waist, caressing your sides softly as you feel his thrust slowing down yet still steadily pounding the inside of your gummy walls. Giving you time to come down from your high. You clung on him with hand around his neck, face pressed down on his shoulder.

"Don't fall asleep. We are not over yet." His breath is warm against your skin, yet his tone holds no expression, as if giving you a warning by the ice cold tone. You shake your head weakly as if trying to refuse. But his grip on your hips tightens. As he thrust up your cunt, your body arch. His palm supports the middle of your back. The tip of his cock continuously hits your sweet spots, you feel your eyes roll back. In the midst of it, you mind wonders, eyes pestered at the sight on top of you. The moon is serene. Shining gently in the pitch black sky, outlined both of your body's curves. Its calm nature reminds you of Danfeng's beautiful eyes. Though you found him to be distant and unapproachable.

He grabs your jaws. Forcing you to look at him when his cold eyes staring you down, searching for thoughts behind the glassy eyes. Which he might not find at the moment. Still thrusting deep inside of you, he kisses you. Gently. You didn't dare to kiss back. This time you felt his cold fang graze your lips. You flinch. Not ready for another of his painfull bites.

But he didn't bite you. Instead you feel his warm tongue licks your lower lips gently. Slipping in through your half opened mouth. Tears dripped down your cheek and you wondered if it's because of his warm kiss after all the biting or was it because of the way he rolled his hips against your own. You will never know. And couldn't think more when he pulled up your thighs, grabbing the back of it to push himself deeper. Your back lay flat against the table's cold marble surface. Cunt greedily sucking in his length. You feel his breath against your chest, licking the tender flesh and swirling around the bud. Drools cover the shiny skin of your hills, no bite mark this time. Danfeng will hate to see blood flowing out of your pretty breasts. Buds perked up nicely after he licked them wholeheartedly. Teasing both tops with the end of his split tongue.

Your senses overwhelmed with all the teasing, half of him being gentle with you while the other half ramming your insides in a way that is numbing your mind. You moaned out his name in the middle of your orgasm and the man shivered. He grunts when you pull his hair, hands on his head that was on top of your chest. His pace quickening, your half lidded eyes glassy from the tears. And when he snaps his hips a little bit deeper than last, you were already anticipating his incoming climax. Your body trembled when waves of pleasure washed over you again, before you collapsed.

Body lay limp against his hold. You watch as your cum mixed with his own dripping down, pooling under the table foot. Moon reflected on the mirror in front of you. And you feel ashamed from how messy you have become. The Elder of the Luofu Vidyadhara, what has he done, defiling one of Luofu citizens? You might wish for him to be gone now. Leaving you drowning in your own shame. But dragons mate for life. That one, you didn't know.

End of 2023 Spooktober Series.

[lemonwrap]

Imagine: werewolf Ghost turning Soap to save his life.

The mission to find Makarov goes to shit. Ghost isn’t there in time to prevent Soap from being shot. He is there in time to see Makarov fire a bullet straight through Soap’s skull, to see his beloved sergeant crumple to the ground like a sack of bricks.

He’s over to Soap’s side in a flash, clutching him close and calling his name frantically as the blood pours out. Soap is quickly dying, and there’s nothing he can do.

No, there’s one thing.

He shifts faster than he ever has in his life, in less than thirty seconds. A werewolf’s bite does nothing unless they’re in their wolf form. His clothes and gear are torn to shreds, and he pays no mind to Gaz and Price nearby as he grabs Soap’s arm, and, in a fit of desperation, sinks his teeth in.

It was the one thing he vowed he would never do. He would never turn a human. But he can’t let Soap go, he can’t just not do the one thing that could save his life. With a werewolf’s superior healing, Soap might have a chance.

Soap doesn’t die, but it’s a damn near thing. They take him to a nearby hospital, get him admitted and under the care of multiple doctors.

That was three days ago. It’s common knowledge that a human bitten by a shifted werewolf would turn within three days, and Ghost hopes that Soap is still unconscious when it happens, because the first time is a terrifying, painful process. He had been turned by Roba in his twenties. All day, he watches Soap carefully, but the man shows no signs of waking up from his medically induced coma.

Soap doesn’t wake up for another two weeks. When he does, he’s confused and utterly disoriented, and doesn’t recognize Ghost or the rest of the 141. Ghost pretends it doesn’t hurt. Even so, Ghost tells him that he had bitten Soap to save him, and Soap understands, is grateful even, thanking Ghost.

Despite his initial condition, Soap’s healing is remarkable. After a week, he recognizes his comrades again, and seems to be relieved of some of the confusion he had experienced. The wound near his temple begins to close up.

Ghost spends most of his days in Soap’s room. That room is where Soap and Ghost share their first kiss, Soap’s shaking hands grasping at Ghost’s jacket as their lips meet, Ghost whispering a soft Johnny against his lips.

Soap healed extraordinarily well, but even the healing powers of a werewolf can’t fully diminish the off and on numbness in his limbs, tremors, mood swings, and brain fog.

They medically discharge him.

Soap goes home to Scotland, and Ghost follows. For a week, they settle in, but Soap shows no signs of transforming, despite his apparent possession of a werewolf’s regenerative abilities.

It’s a good day when Soap shifts for the first time. He’s bright and happy, like the sergeant Ghost knew before, and his confusion is almost entirely gone. His tremors lessen, and Soap hasn’t complained of the numbness that sometimes annoyed him.

What he does complain about is the sudden onset of a full-body ache, as if his bones themselves are throbbing. He becomes suddenly irritable, clawing at his skin and hair and pacing, snapping at Ghost and groaning in pain.

These are signs he knows. Soap’s going to transform, and he’s going to transform quick now that it’s set in.

“Ghost, w-what do I do?!” Soap stammers, looking like he’s trying not to panic, his eyes wide and filled with fear. He’s never seen Soap panic before.

“Just relax, Johnny,” Ghost says soothingly, because he knows there’s nothing he can do other than support him. Nothing can stop lycanthropy except death. “It’ll be alright.”

“It hurts!” Soap cries out sharply, and then his cry becomes a choked sound not unlike a growl. He drops to his knees and hunches over, putting his hands on his head and gripping his hair between his fingers.

And then he starts to shift.

His mouth elongates into a snarling muzzle, baring sharp white canines, his ears lengthen and migrate to the top of his head, and the hair he’s holding between his fingers turns into fur. Soap sobs and says something that sounds like Ghost’s name, but then his vocal chords change, too, and it turns into a throaty bark. His spine and bones lengthen and grow denser, his fingernails morph into sharp claws, and a tail grows out of his spine as patches of fur grow over his skin.

It’s a few harrowing moments filled with Soap’s agonized cries and whines that make up Soap’s first shift. Ghost knows the feeling, and his stomach knots with sympathy. His own first shift had been one of the most painful things he had ever experienced.

Now fully shifted, Soap is huge, easily eight feet tall when standing upright, with a brown pelt just like his hair, a stripe along his back, long limbs, sharp claws, and a fluffy tail. His wild blue eyes, alight with fear, fixate on Ghost. Ghost tenses, nearly expecting Soap to try to attack him. He knows Soap could rip him apart before he’d have the chance to shift and fight back. That’s what he did to Roba, after all.

Soap does no such thing.

Instead, Soap lets out a whimper and curls in on himself, his tail going between his legs and his claws digging scratches into the floor. He doesn’t look like an eight foot tall killing machine, he looks like a kicked puppy.

“Johnny?” Ghost says quietly.

Soap’s blue eyes glance over to him, and he lets out another pleading whimper. His eyes hold a look of betrayal, of sorrow, of why me? His jaws open and something strangled comes out, like Soap’s trying to speak, but Ghost knows that they can’t, not in this form.

“Oh, Johnny,” he murmurs, and cautiously steps forward. He knows it’s dangerous to get in another werewolf’s space like this, but it’s Soap. When it comes to Soap, all rational thoughts fly out the window.

He reaches forward and gently touches Soap’s arm. Soap stiffens, and Ghost thinks he’s fucked up big time until Soap stumbles onto his hind legs, nuzzles into the crook of Ghost’s neck, and wraps his arms around Ghost. His claws catch on Ghost’s clothing and dig in as he grips Ghost tightly, and Ghost is momentarily stunned. He had acted in no such manner the first time he had shifted.

“See, Johnny? I told you it’d be alright,” Ghost says softly when he gets over his brief moment of surprise.

Soap stays shifted for the rest of the day, and shifts back as soon as his body is able.

It’s from there that Ghost teaches Soap how to handle his werewolf form. He transforms with Soap often, and they travel through the fields near Soap’s cabin, wrestle, play, and bond.

Ghost has never felt as understood or happy in his entire life. It’s a good life, what they’ve made for themselves.

[6mmad]

they sit on you on accident: obey me brothers

it's been a long week and what better way to re-energize then to take a nap on the couch amongst all the pillows. that is, until you're rudely woken up by the sensation of being squished to death

lucifer

"AGH- OUCH!!"

Lucifer shoots up right away when he hears and feels you under him

"For heavens sake, are you trying to pull a prank or something? Why are you tucked away so quietly?"

He makes sure to give you a once over, squeezing ur legs and waist to make sure you don't flinch in pain

Once he's reassured that nothing is broken or bruised he picks you up, walking down the hall with you tucked in his arms

"Where are we going? Well if you insist on napping mid-day I'd prefer you do it in my room where it's safest"

"....and I apologize, I didn't see you"

Makes sure to give you an extra sweet kiss goodnight, because in truth he feels quite guilty (not that he'd ever tell you)

mammon

"MY LEGS"

Screams and scrambles away from the couch immediately, only stopping when he realizes that the couch didn't scream, it was you

"What the-?! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?! ............Huh? I sat on you? Seriously?"

Asks if anything hurts and pulls up your skirt/pants leg to double check

Even if you're fine he feels awful, clearly he startled you and who would like being sat in mid-nap

"C'mon..."

"What do you mean 'huh?' You're coming to my room, be grateful"

Decided to cuddle with you since, after all, his arms are the safest place you can be, right?

"Hey.... uh.. bye the way.... i'msorry.. now sleep"

Levi

"OOF!-"

Screamer #2, makes sure to run all the way down the hall for good measure

Peeks over to find out it's just you!...and hey why are you glaring at him?

Feels guilty after you tell him that he sat on your stomach, he almost killed off his Player 2, what kind of best friend is he??

"I'm sorry...I swear I didn't see you there!"

"Um..you should probably move somewhere else though, what if Beel ends up sitting on you?"

Follows you to your room like a lost puppy and swears he's just there for a change in scenery (even his room can get stuffy sometimes)

Despite that, as you drift off in dreamland, you can feel him tucking you further in your blanket with shaky hands, his Deviltendo Switch long forgotten

Satan

"WHAT THE-"

Sits up immediately and looks down at you, eyes wide and book thrown on the other side of the couch

"I sat on you, didn't I? I'm sorry, are you okay?"

Makes you sit up so he can do a checkup, asking you to move your legs up and down and hitting your knees to check for reflexes (he saw it in a human movie)

"Ahh, you scared me, I'm glad you're not hurt. Come on, my room is lot safer than the living room, you can take the bed "

Reads to you quietly until you fall asleep, only then opting to tuck himself right next to you

Not before pressing a kiss to your head, adding a little healing spell to it for safe measure

Asmo

"OW OW OW!!"

Screamer #3, the absolute drama queen even holds his hands to his heart like an anguished victorian woman

Figures out pretty quickly that he sat on you, considering that you're still directly under his ass

Sits up and pats you down, quickly massaging the areas that he sat on

"MC! I'm so sorry, darling! Are you hurt? You scared me so much!!!"

Once you reassure him that you're fine he huffs and grabs you close

"Don't scare me like that! You're such a fragile little human that even little old me can hurt you! We're going to my room this instant!! It's WAY safer there"

Lays down with you and presses kisses to your head, hoping that this time you'll be able to nap peacefully without interruption

Beel

"AHHH!"

Jumps off the couch quickly, recognizing your voice immediately

He's pretty freaked out considering the fact that he's the biggest brother, he could hurt you easily and that's something he'd hate to do

"MC? MC, I'm so sorry, please get up"

Visibly relaxes when you gather your bearings and sit up, unharmed (and just disheveled from the sudden awakening)

"You're okay?.. You're sure?.. Ok, don't scare me like that, you could've gotten hurt "

Picks you up and takes you to his bed, where he holds your hand until he's assured that you're sleeping comfortably

Belphie

"UWAHH-!!"

Rolls off of you immediately, landing on the other side of the couch before sitting up to look at you

"Eh? What are you doing there? I thought you were a pile of throw pillows..."

Proceeds to take off any camouflage from you, tucking the pillows underneath you instead

"Sleeping quietly in the living room is dangerous, even I know that... C'mere"

Lays on top of you, reaching his arms down to massage your sides which he so rudely crushed a minute earlier

"There, now if anyone sits here I'll take the brunt of it..... You're welcome, you can give me a kiss as a reward"

[zer0pm]

Imagine Luis surviving his knife wound and you patch him up.

“¡Joder! That hurts, you know?”

“Don’t have anesthesia, I told you. Stop moving.”

“Right, sorry- ¡Ay, Dios! Are you stitching with a knitting needle or something?”

You had to hide your laugh under a scoff, thankful he couldn’t see your amused smile at his attitude.

Luis was leaning against a crate when you finally caught up to him and Leon. The latter informed you of their encounter with Krauser, the Spaniard’s injuries confirmed by pain-filled groans. Not wanting to waste anymore time, you had Luis moved to one of the metal tables near the mine’s exit and stripped him of his shirt and jacket. He weakly made a teasing comment about you using his injury to get him out of his clothes, but you ceased his attempts at jest by gently making him lay on his stomach and dove right into the task of treating the gushing wound.

Thanks to your meticulous efforts and the medicinal herbs that Leon keeps around in his case, Luis was stable in no time. Able to breathe a little easier, he instructed Leon to fetch the key from his jacket pocket, saying that the agent will need it to gain access to his laboratory on the island where he and Ashley will then use the surgical equipment to remove the parasites from their bodies. After assuring him that the both of you will be fine and will catch up after Luis is completely patched up and ready to go, Leon made his swift exit, leaving the both of you alone. Which brings you to this point in time- you suturing him.

“Should consider yourself lucky. Any deeper and the blade would have struck your heart. Then… well, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“You call it “luck”, my friend, but I like to look at it as divine blessing.” Here we go, this you have to hear.

Curiously you ask, “Oh, yeah? And how do you figure that?”

“Es obvio, ¿no?” he gestures with a wave of one of his hands that he was using to rest his head on. “An angel is healing me.”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling, but there was no denying the warm flutter in your heart at his suave words. “Sweet talker.”

Luis doesn’t respond, but you can tell the man was grinning ear to ear from your remark. Aside from a few more Spanish curses and colorful complaints about the pain, the rest of the procedure went smoothly. Once the final stitch was made, you gently applied antibiotics over the freshly closed wound before covering it with a clean bandage. You notice the man shiver under your touch when you placed a hand upon his broad back to keep him steady.

“There. Now try to sit up. Slowly,” you sternly advised. “Don’t want you opening that up doing something insane.”

Luis mutters under his breath, “Supongo que no debería saltar sobre más gigantes…”

“What was that?”

“¡Nada!” He jolts upright into a seated position, wincing at the sudden move that surely aggravated his injury. You would have been incensed if you weren’t so concerned for his wellbeing. After a careful reassessment to ensure that the stitches didn’t tear under the cloth, you proceeded to secure them by rolling more bandages around his torso. Your hands glided against the firm muscles of his defined chest and back as you did this.

You stood within the cage of his legs as you worked and can feel the heavy weight of his eyes on you. There was a concentrated look you tried to maintain to quell the nervous energy beating inside at your close proximity to him, but it was a losing battle. Luis’ body was radiating with an inviting warmth and a musky spice that delightfully filled your senses. You want nothing more than to drown in him, but willed yourself to keep your distance, internally conceding to give him space to recover from his near-death experience.

“This is nice,” Luis comments, breaking the comfortable silence.

You meet his eyes with an inquisitive look. “You find receiving treatment from an almost fatal stab wound to be pleasant?”

“I was not stabbed, the knife was thrown. There is a difference.” the man corrected with snark grin and you would have returned the witty remark had he not continued with his line of thought aloud. “Just thinking that it’s been awhile since it was only the two of us. Leon is good company, mind you. Pero, uh, he lacks your appeal.”

A snort escapes you, secretly giddy from his praise. “Think you’re so charming, huh?”

Mild amusement glints his grey eyes. “Have I not been this entire time?”

You shrug playfully, “Your game could use a little work.”

He returns your jest with an exaggerated pout, “¡Ay, mi orgullo! Your words cut deeper than the knife that struck me.”

Your chest heaves in hearty laughter. You shouldn’t have found it hilarious, but Luis had this innate ability to make a grave situation something to poke fun about. It’s what makes him so endearing. While you try to catch your breath, you missed the look of pure adoration he wore as he took in the sight of your smiling face. His usual coy smirk gently curving into something softer. Eventually you finish patching him up and help him back into his shirt and jacket. The man grumbles that the fine leather was now ruined, earning you another heartfelt chuckle.

Once he was presentable, he beholds you , “Gracias. Guess, uh, I owe you one, ¿si?”

“Your life, I’d say.” you nod, tone cheeky and good-natured.

It was his turn to laugh under his breath. He takes your hand in his, relishing in the feeling of touching you again. Soft determination flashes in his gaze as he mentally mulled over your words with newfound hope.

“Take it then,” Luis says. “It’s yours.”

[flametrashiraarchive]

I'm impatient...

Here is the prologue of In Another Life. I may just wait to post the other chapters once the whole story is done.

Muzan x Reader- prologue revolves around sick human Muzan.

F!reader, some swearing, SFW (for now)

CW for reader's death (off page).

Prologue- 

Heian Era- a thousand years ago. 

One of the servants was sobbing in the kitchen again. You didn't need to ask why. Lately it had become a daily occurrence.

Your husband's doctor had been experimenting with new treatments, and each one only seemed to excel in providing a little more hope to be shattered. 

Making your way through your house, your senses became cloyed with the overpowering perfume of incense. It promised healing and protection from evil, but in a more practical way, it covered the scent of sickness. 

"Get out!" Muzan snarled from his futon as you stepped into his room. His long black hair was spilling down his back and shoulders like streaks of ink, his face pallid and covered in a sheen of sweat. "I don't want pity."

"Well, good, because I'm not here to give it to you," you said, stepping between the shattered pieces of a priceless vase littered across the floor. You'd loved that vase. It was a wedding gift. 

"Then why are you here?"

"Do I need an excuse to see my husband?"

He said nothing, but averted his eyes as you crouched at the end of his futon.

Your brow knitted when you saw the blood on the sheets. "Your hands…" 

Curling his fingers to try to cover the bleeding wounds, he made a disdainful "tch" sound and shook his head. "It's nothing."

You got up and went to fetch his wash basin and two rolls of bandages. "Well, that 'nothing' is staining the sheets–"

"To hell with the sheets." He glared at you as if daring you to challenge him. "Curse these fucking sheets. Curse this bed. Curse those good for nothing servants who tiptoe around me like their steps will shatter my body. Curse the fucking doctor and curse you too." 

It took him a moment to catch his breath; a moment where you simply looked back at him and let him get his anger out. In his position you would be angry too. Hell, you were angry. 

Finally, Muzan took a deeper breath and held out his bleeding hands, permitting you to tend to them.

Thankfully the wounds were not too severe. In fact, as you cleaned them it seemed absurd that such shallow cuts could bleed as much as they had.

Your eyes met his briefly as you bandaged his palms. "What did the vase do to anger you this time?" 

His frown lessened. "I'm just… tired of this."

"I know."

There was nothing more you could say that Muzan hadn't heard a thousand times throughout his life. Everyone was sorry. Everyone said they would pray for him. Everyone knew someone who had been cured of similar illnesses by putting a little extra ginger in their tea, or meditating daily, or taking walks, or sleeping with an onion beside their bed, or a thousand other absurd and pointless "cures."

He had never admitted it, and likely never would, but you suspected that the only reason Muzan tolerated your company was because you spoke to him like a person, instead of some delicate and unpredictable thing. 

Muzan looked down at his hands as you tied off the bandage. "Alright, your wifely fussing is done for the day. Leave me in peace."

"Absolutely not. You haven't performed a single husbandly duty in return." Brushing your thumbs across the backs of his wrists, you bowed your head and gently kissed the peaks of his knuckles.

A quiet chuckle finally emerged from him as he caresses the curvature of your cheek with his fingertips. "You only married me because you want my money."

"No, I was forced to marry you because my parents want your money."

His lips tilted into a faint smirk. "Is that so? Well, they probably won't have to wait long."

A sudden ache rose in your chest. Though the day you would have to be without him loomed ever closer, it wasn't something you were ready to confront yet. "Don't say that."

"Why not? It's the truth. Nothing that fraudulent doctor tries is working. I'm getting worse." He lowered his gaze to the sheets, and when he spoke again his voice was quiet. "Send the servants in to change these."

"The servants are cowering in the kitchen," you said, pulling the sheets from his futon and bundling them in your arms. "I'll go and wash them–"

"No." His hand on your arm halted you, his grip weak and unsteady. "Don't go. Don't… just stay a moment." 

There was a side to Muzan that he only permitted you to see. Behind the snarls and the bad temper there was a frustrated and frightened man, desperate for an end to his pain.

Before your marriage, your parents had prepared you, telling you that Muzan had no redeeming qualities besides wealth. He was rude, cruel, humorless, and he was sick. The doctors did not expect he would make it past twenty, and then you would be a wealthy young widow with enough riches to give her parents a comfortable life. You were assured you wouldn't care about his passing; Muzan was a monster and the world was better off without him.

But as you lay on the futon beside him, wrapping your arms around his fragile frame, there was only one thing you would change about your husband.

"I wish I could take this pain from you," you whispered, stroking his hair back from his brow. "I wish I could endure it for you."

He closed his eyes and relaxed into your caress. "I wouldn't want that."

While his eyes were closed, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on the crease between his eyebrows, and then another on the bridge of his nose. There was nothing monstrous about him. 

"Do you want to try to sit in the garden with me tomorrow? The flowers are all in bloom and the sunlight might do you some good– at least for your soul."

"I want to. I don't know if I'll have the strength–" 

"Then I'll carry you on my back," you smiled as the corner of his lip curled ever so slightly. 

"You would, wouldn't you? You damned stubborn headed woman." He chuckled softly, raising his hand to rest his fingers on your cheek. "When I finally face the gods and demand to know what the fuck they were thinking when they cursed me with this life, you will be their rebuttal. They'll say ah, yes Muzan, we gave you a weak body and a shit heart, but we also gave you that insane woman who refused to leave you and loved you more than you deserve to be loved."

You laughed and Muzan smiled fully for the first time that day. Lying there on the futon, surrounded by shattered porcelain, you held each other; your adoration like an island of calm amid a sea of pain.

The love between you was patient, quiet, and always whispered like a secret. Your husband's delicate fingers wrapped around yours, bringing your hand to his lips.

His breaths were gentle and warm against your skin as he kissed your fingertips. "I'm sorry I can't love you the way you deserve to be–"

"Don't. You love me in your way and I love you in mine. One day we'll be reborn and find each other again, and we'll do all the things we can't do in this life."

He hummed softly. "I doubt I'll be reborn. I'm probably going to hell."

"Then I'll go to hell with you and we'll perform unspeakable acts of passion in the flames."

He opened his eyes just enough for you to see the look of mock disdain in them. "Such a vulgar wife."

"Oh please, the filth that drips from your vicious tongue."

A smirk titled his lips. "You once said my tongue was my only redeeming feature."

"Hah, I did?"

"You did." He closed his eyes and let his lips linger on the pulse point of your wrist. "The next good day I have, I'll remind you of just how redeeming my tongue can be. You can be the one lying here helpless while your husband devours you."

This man. This terrible, wonderful man. You could love him for eons if the world would only let you. 

▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎

The cicadas fell suddenly silent, snapping you from your sleep. It took you a moment to remember where you were, that you had fallen asleep in Muzan's arms on his futon. He had been nestled against your breast, your fingers gliding through the dark waves of his hair.

But now night pressed against the windows. You had slept through the entire evening and Muzan was no longer beside you. 

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, the fear that something was watching you from the bottom of the bed.

And then you saw him.

Muzan stood tall, straight-backed and firm, as if illness had never curved his posture. His smile was a sickle, his once deep, dark eyes now crimson. As crimson as the blood staining his nightshirt. 

"Muzan?" 

The air pulsed with danger. Every muscle and sinew in your body tensed as your nerves fired off warnings. This was not your husband. This was something else, neither human nor beast, wearing the visage of the man you loved.

"What are you?"

Those were the last words you ever spoke.

[scekrex]

Ask and I shall, deliver! Since you've asked for some prompts, I've had this one in my mind :D

How about a male reader being married to Adam, the whole last extermination day happens, battle at the Hotel and Adam dying. The reader couldn't save his husband, goes back to Heaven depressed as shit and not even for one day believes that Adam is actually dead (reborn sinner!Adam is my jam, can you notice?), so in secret from Heaven he goes to hell under disguise to search for his husband. When he finally finds him, he runs at him full speed at squeezes him as tightly as he can. Adam thinking that reader forgot about him and wouldn't want to be with him even if he was alive since he was now a sinner and the reader just saying: When I was marrying you, I vowed to you "Through thick and thin, through sickness and health, till death do us part", you don't look very dead to me.

Basically just sweet ol' hurt/comfort with a happy ending :V Btw, love your work! Genuinely keeps me awake at night making up scenarios in my head, damn 💀

Also, you've just been squished Adam'd 😎

squished Adam my beloved whoooooo

Till death do us part, but we're already past that phase

pairing: Adam x male!angel!reader

warnings: language, temporary character death

note: not beta read bc idc

Lucifer was punching Adam, again and again. You couldn't see but you heard. You heard his groans and yelps filled with pain and then there was silence.

You stood up as well as possible. Your leg was badly injured, some fuck up had almost cut it off entirely, your shoulder was shattered because that fucking porn demon had managed to hit your wing with two bullets which had caused you to crash down onto the ground due to the sudden pain.

“Adam,” you groaned as you slowly made your way over to where your husband was. You were worried, fuck that, you were frightened. While the demons hurting Adam's soldiers was one thing, them actually hurting Adam was something different entirely.

Adam crawled out of the pit, blood smeared across his face, a blue eye and several other facial injuries. Fuck it would take a long time for all of that bullshit to heal. “No, you don't get to end this,” you heard the voice of the first man speaking to the sinners that had gathered up around the pit Lucifer had created when he and his hell spawn of daughter had slammed the taller man onto the ground. “I’m fucking Adam, I’m the fucking man,” he stood up, finally facing the sinners he had been battling the entire time and you wanted to rush to him, to simply grab him and fly off before worse things could happen. Adam was already hurt, there was no need to stay longer and make things worse. However, the cannibal that suddenly grabbed your food and yanked it off the ground caught you off guard, made you crash onto the ground yet a second time as a loud scream of pain erupted from your chest. That motherfucker had torn your leg off even more. It was still attached to your body but the wound was huge and the blood had already managed to get through the fabric you had wrapped around it in panic, covering the once black fabric in shiny golden blood.

Adam's head snapped in your direction at that though and he was quick to react and rush over to you. Not that you needed help however, once you had noticed the danger you were quick to shatter the cannibal’s skull and shove him off of you. “Adam,” you called out for your husband again, you stretched your arms out, ready to pull him into a tight, warm hug. A few steps in front of you he stopped though. It took you too long to register what had just happened and your brain only seemed to catch on when Adam's body hit the ground. He had fallen face forward, revealing the little demon girl that was now sitting on his back and that was happily holding onto the dagger that had just been rammed through Adam's chest. “NO,” you screamed, crawling over to the man you loved most. The grip on your halberd was far from steady and the pain fogged up your mind so much that you weren't able concentrate and use it properly, so instead of slicing that fucking whore in half, all you were able to accomplish was to poke her, maybe leave a scratch on her cheek.

However, it did the job and she got up, the little bastard happily walked over to where Charlie stood. “Adam, c’mon you fucking idiot,” you cried out once you had reached his body. Your physical pain was easy to ignore compared to the emotional pain you were feeling, so you sat down and pulled the brunette's head on your lap to steady him. “Please babe, you can fucking do this,” you ripped a huge piece of fabric from your robe and pressed it onto his still bleeding wound, panic filled your body.

What if…

“Don’t fucking leave me bitch, talk to me,” you were yelling and the sinners were watching, a thing you really couldn't care less about. “Fuck, babe, don't you dare and die on me,” you gently cupped his face with one hand, the other continued to press the fabric to Adam's chest in order to hopefully stop the bleeding. The sinners started to mumble, they were obviously talking about the both of you.

Adam turned his face slightly to look you in the eyes and all that he was able to manage was a smile. Fuck. “You’re not allowed to fucking die, you hear me? I-” you flinched when a hand came to rest on your shoulder in order to ground you. It was Lute who was standing behind you. She wasn't providing comfort, that much you knew. She was here to force you to leave. You shrugged her hand off of you forcefully, “Don’t fucking touch me, I'm not leaving him-” Lucifer interrupted you. “Yes you fucking are. You'll gather your fucking soldiers and you'll lead them back to heaven, right fucking now.”

You glanced down at Adam, who's eyes had fallen shut in the meantime and you couldn't help the tear that fell from your eye and rolled across your cheek. You were quick to wipe it away though. As gently as possible you moved Adam to lay on the ground. Lute reached for your arm in order to help you to get up and once she was sure you stood somewhat safely she bent down to grab Adam's halo.

You ripped that out of her hand faster than she was able to react. Usually she had a sharp tongue, this time she remained quiet though. Apparently she knew not to mess with you now.

You moved you wing a little to test the waters, the physical pain was numbed by the emotional pain you were going through and so you flew off, followed by all the angels that were still alive - compared to the amount of angels that had followed you from heaven to hell it was nothing though, so many soldiers had lost their lives.

Adam had lost his life.

-

Life in heaven without Adam was clearly not the same. Sera had seemed more grateful that the first man was finally gone than sad, fuck that stupid bitch.

It didn't take them long to heal your wounds once you were back in heaven, your leg sure had been a complicated case but only two weeks later it had been back to normal, well if you ignored the scar that was now wrapped around your thigh. But you didn't mind, how could you mind about something so small as a scar when you were dying inside more and more by every day that passed. There was no reason to care about the little things anymore. The only reason that had made you care before was gone for good now and the voices that kept telling you to visit hell weren't helping.

It had started one week after the extermination, one week after Adam had died. At first it had been subtle, just a tiny whisper every now and then, but as time passed they grew louder and louder until you weren't able to tune them out anymore.

You were sitting on the edge of the highest building in heaven and watched. You watched the lights and the angels, how everyone seemed so happy, how most of them didn't know. It seemed like everyone had just forgotten about your husband, that it was nothing, they acted like losing Adam for good was just a thing that they weren't gonna talk about because of him unimportant it was.

Fuck that.

-

The Hell Embassy was empty when you entered it, no angel ever went there because they wanted to - to be fair most of the time it had been Adam who had set foot in the building. You had accompanied him often enough to know about the elevator that went down there, it was used for Adam to travel down to hell safely when the yearly meeting with Lucifer popped up on his agenda.

You weren't sure why, you weren't sure what it was either but something was calling you, tempting you to use the elevator and go down to hell. Maybe it was so that you could say a proper goodbye to Adam? That had to be it. It probably wouldn't help much, why would it? But it was worth a shot. And you needed the voices compelling you to visit hell to shut up, it was unbearable being reminded about Adam's death daily.

The only angel in heaven that had offered to listen to you was Emily, the little girl had been quick to notice that something wasn't right, that something must've had happened. So you told her since Sera had decided that Emily's only task was to keep the people of heaven happy.

Another bullshit move from heaven, the kid was capable of more.

Once the elevator stopped and its doors opened in front of you, you stepped outside. You thought the voices would quiet down now that you were in hell, but the opposite was the case. The voices and whispers were louder than ever, they were almost screaming, yelling, crying out for you to step outside the Heaven Embassy.

You wanted to scratch your eyes out, rip your ears off, anything that would stop the voices from being so fucking loud. So you listened to them. You stepped outside the church-like building and your eyes roamed over the full streets of hell. There were people everywhere and none of them seemed to pay any mind to you.

Slowly you started to walk away from the building and once your foot stepped on the sidewalk the voices were gone. They didn't quiet down to a whisper, they straight up died, they were gone.

And then you saw him. A gigantic demon with fluffy brown hair, two huge, black horns were attached to his head and you were sure you noticed subtil golden highlights on them too. His face hadn't changed the slightest, he was still pale, maybe even a little paler than he had been as an angel. His eyes were still golden.

Your brain couldn't comprehend what was happening, what you were seeing.

You were seeing Adam.

You rushed over to him, flying faster than ever before. You tackled him to the ground, made sure you'd be the one hitting the ground in order not to hurt him. “Adam,” you whispered happily as you held the taller man tightly. The demon had tensed up at first but the second he had heard his name being spoken so softly, so lovingly, he eased up. “The fuck are you doing here, you crazy bitch,” he mumbled as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. You didn't respond though, it would be too complicated to explain everything to him and you just got him back.

So instead you wrapped your wings around the both of you and kissed him softly, your hands in his soft, brown hair. The taller man groaned against your lips with pure delight, kissing you back just as passionate. “Dear God, I thought I'd have to die in order to kiss you like that again,” you mumbled against his lips. A soft chuckle rumbled through Adam at that and he pulled you even closer, “Knew it, you can't get enough of me.” You simply placed yet another kiss to his lips, “Correct, that's why I'm gonna stay here. With you.”

Adam froze at that, his arms around your body tightened a little, “You still wanna be with me?” The question seemed stupid to you, what was the man you had married thinking? Of course you still wanted to be with him. “When I was marrying you,” you began, a small kiss placed on his lips, “I vowed to you ‘Through thick and thin',” a quick kiss was pressed to Adam's cheek. “‘Through sickness and health, till death do us part’ and let me tell you babes,” you leaned in close, your lips softly brushed against his ear as you whispered, “We were already past that stage when we got married, I'm not giving you up because God decided to be a motherfucking bitch, that fucker can suck my dick, he won't take you away from me.”

At first Adam didn't respond, he just looked you in the eyes for a couple of seconds. Then he grabbed you by your collar, pulled you closer, closer, closer and hissed, “The only one allowed to suck your fucking dick am I, is that clear?”

[rustedhearts]

the old house (boxer!steve harrington x librarian fem!reader)

summary: steve's world is shaken when his father unexpectedly dies.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1995) ✶ record store

✶ the library

tags: death; mention of childhood abuse/trauma; daddy issues; manhandling; grumpy (for good reason) steve; ansgst; hurt/comfort; not edited so ignore any mistakes.

“i would rather not go back to the old house. there’s too many bad memories.”

— back to the old house, the smiths

california, september 1995

LOCAL ATTORNEY FOUND DECEASED IN OFFICE

Sept. 12, 1995

HAWKINS, INIDANA — Local attorney Richard “Rich” Harrington was found dead in his office Thursday evening.

Police dispatched to the office on Main St when his assistant called with concern for his well-being after the phone went unanswered for over 12 hours. When the door to the office was unlocked on arrival, his assistant, Ms. Betty Nesbourne, knew something was wrong.

Emergency services found Mr. Harrington at his desk. Police have confirmed the cause of death was a heart attack.

A well-respected attorney, Richard Harrington had a practice on Main St for 20 years before his death, and won countless cases for those in need in Hawkins. Friends and family recall him as a “kind and loving man.”

Mr. Harrington is survived by his wife, Catherine Harrington and son Steve.

Steve dropped the newspaper on the kitchen table with a sharp slap. His hand came to his eyes to soothe the ache that gathered there, knee bouncing against his chair. His fist rattled where it sat on the placemat next to a vitamin you set out for him. You handed him The Hawkin’s Post—still folded and in its sleeve from delivery—with a kiss on his cheek and a beautiful grin.

He never expected to find this when he opened it.

“Honey, have you seen my Nike hat? I don’t want the sun in my face today,” you called from the top of the stairs, readying yourself for the day.

Steve lifted his head, inhaling sharply. He cleared his throat and pushed his fist against his knee to stop it from jostling.

“Uh…closet probably, baby.”

Your feet scampered away to search, and Steve sighed. His eyes glazed over the letters that made up his father’s name on the inked paper before him. He knew nobody was eternal, that death was inevitable.

For some reason, he never prepared himself for this. For his useless father’s death.

And right now, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

He wanted to be angry. Hell, he should have been angry. He had every right after they had the balls to call someone like Richard Harrington “kind and loving.” Anyone that ever came into contact with him knew he was nothing of the sort.

Angry, too, that Steve never had the chance to tell his father how he truly felt about him. That he never had the opportunity to dole out his own form of punishment; the punishment Steve had to endure growing up. Because he was bigger, stronger, grown. He could’ve put his father on his ass in five minutes flat.

But every time he drove past his childhood house, all Steve wanted to do was get sick.

“Honey?”

Steve’s head snapped over toward you peeking around the doorway, donning his favorite jeans that sat a little low on the hips and a tight half shirt You found your Nike hat, and it now sat atop your head. Even how gorgeous you looked couldn’t quell Steve’s sudden confusions.

“Yeah.” Steve cleared his throat again, folding the newspaper again.

“You ready to go? We’re gonna be late if you still wanna stop for smoothies.”

“Comin’,” Steve mumbled, standing from the table.

He took the newspaper with him, staggering toward the bedroom with apparent soreness from a healing bruise. You glanced at the vitamin next to his coffee and rolled your eyes.

Upstairs, Steve shoved the newspaper into one of his shirt drawers and slammed it closed.

✶ ✶

"Everything okay?"

You smoothed your hand over the back of Steve's hair in the Cadillac, top down to let in the beating sun. The wind ruffled his long locks, tickling at his eyes covered with a pair of Ray Bans. He had one hand on the wheel and the other dangling over the door—normally, one parked itself in your lap to roam and massage. It wasn't like him to opt out of touching, even on event days.

"Yeah," Steve replied shortly, pumping the gas to send the car jolting through a barely-green light.

You let your hand rest on his back, skin hot through a thin t-shirt. "Okay...you sure?"

"Yep."

You took your hand away, diamond ring catching a glint of sun on its journey to your lap. You fingered the stone absentmindedly, your next "okay" small and quiet.

The low hum of tires over the road and the occasional click of the turn signal filled what was otherwise an empty car. Sirens, car horns, the whoosh of a gentle, morning breeze.

A convertible of women driving alongside in the opposite lane recognized Steve, and passed him a carful of ecstatic waves. He didn't even acknowledge them. You offered them a smile, but it wouldn't soothe the sting. You knew that disappointment all too well.

Steve zoomed the car up to the curb of your local smoothie bar, slamming the door hard when he got out. He yanked your door open and stepped aside, winding an arm around your shoulders as you stepped onto the street—but it all felt mechanical. You peered up at his expression, and it was entirely vacant. He was pressed up right against you, but he felt lightyears away.

Something was wrong—why didn't he just say so?

He ordered your smoothies and leaned back against an empty table near the wall. You tucked your hands into your back pockets, eyes on the tops of your white tennis shoes. The urge to ask once more what was wrong gnawed at you with need, but you were fearful of his eyes cutting down too hard again. You hadn't been afraid of Steve and his moods in quite a while.

Not since he put this ring on your finger last year.

Attention directed downwards, you were oblivious to the bustling crowds strolling in after morning workouts and vigorous runs—until an elbow swung a little too close to your face, a body knocked backwards by an unsuspecting and friendly shove.

A young boy, no more than eighteen, spun around with pink cheeks and a sheepish grin. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry."

You all but looked away, soaked in shame from what you knew was coming next. Steve pushed off the table behind you, a heavy paw shoved against the younger boy's chest. He teetered off balance, eyes wide on his attacker and the glare marking him victim.

Keeping a sharp eye on the boy, Steve grabbed at you by the bicep and tugged you into him. More mechanical pushes and pulls, more hardwired roughness he worked hard to outgrow. But whatever grieved him, whatever he sat and stewed on, sent him spiraling back into a troubled boy.

Worse than the roughness was the absence of words that accompanied it. The lack of commands or reassurances. Just silent glares and hard-set jaws that said all they needed to say.

Strawberry-banana smoothie freezing cold in your hand, you trailed after Steve with a lump in your throat.

At the arena, he plowed past Big bidding him good morning and stomped straight for the dressing room. The coach's eyes slid over to you, throwing up his hands.

"What crawled up his ass?"

You gave a tiny shrug. "Been like this all morning."

Big huffed, returning to his task of wiping down the ring for morning training. Steve had until two o'clock, then would return home to rest until the fight at eight. You hoped at some point he'd calm down.

"Better get it out of his system before tonight," Big grumbled, shaking his head.

Your silence was agreement, and you hurried to the dressing room to tell Steve just that. When you pushed the door open, you found him seated on the leather bench with his back to the door, staring at his poster on the wall.

Clamping the door closed, you tossed your smoothie into the trash bin and huffed. “What the hell is your problem today?”

He shed his shirt sometime before you came, and the bare muscles of his broad back constricted and flexed as he wound a roll of black tape slowly around his fist. His eyes were steadily fixed on the wall, boring into his own face printed in red. More mechanical movements. More empty thoughts.

“Steve.”

He stopped rolling, a ribbon of unfurled tape dangling over his thigh. In the attached bathroom, an echoed water drip plopped. People were arriving outside, filing in and out of the hall. Conversation hummed through the door.

“Dad died.”

When you drop on a roller coaster, all the adrenaline in your body festers in one spot. It all squirms and sizzles behind your navel, bringing the rest of your body to a cold chill. That very feeling overwhelmed your body now.

“W-what?”

Steve tore his eyes away from the wall and placed them on his hand. “Thursday. Heart attack...found 'im in his office."

Your feet moved on their own accord, taking you to Steve where you knew you needed to be. Your arms collapsed around him, face buried in his neck with a hiccuped sigh. His hands remained limply in his lap, eyes casting a ghostly glance upon the tops of his shoes.

"Oh, Steve," you whispered, mouth squished against his shoulder.

Steve had one photograph of his family in the house. Hidden in a photo album behind a page of high school memories: his father in a grey suit, his mother in a turquoise dress with shoulder pads, fourteen year old Steve wearing a sweater to hide the bruises on his arms. It was his father's birthday, and the only time, Steve said, he pretended to love Steve.

But still, scrawled in a fourteen year old boy's chicken scratch across the back:

Mom, Dad + Me

For a moment, you stood there breathing into him. Feeling the size of his own inhales and exhales expand your arms and close them in. Lips pressed to his warm flesh through crisp cotton, thinned a little with sweat. Feeling him pause every few moments, as though to check that he were still, in fact, breathing.

"Saw it..." Steve paused again, and then deflated with a humorless scoff. "...in the newspaper this morning."

You lifted your mouth from his shoulder, chin pressing down in its place. Your adjusted your arms to tighten around him, cheek leaning into his. He was so warm, so suddenly small.

It suddenly occurred to both of you in this moment that his mother had no way to contact him. Even if she wanted to call, she hadn't had his phone number since he turned eighteen.

He scribbled it on a torn piece of paper the day he moved out and tucked it in her drawer. For months, he waited for her call. It never came.

"Isn't that fuckin' ridiculous?" Steve shook his head, a sigh shot through his nose.

You rubbed you hand over his chest, eyes sinking shut. "Jesus, Steve."

Are you okay? was the obvious next line of questioning, but it seemed silly in this moment. Of course he wasn’t. Steve might not have loved his father, might not have known the person he’d become (or stayed) the past ten years, but that didn’t make this any less painful. In fact, it likely made it more painful. To have your father die without truly knowing the man.

"Should I talk to Mikey? See if they can push—"

"What? No," Steve huffed, head craning closer to yours. "M' gonna fight."

You recoiled enough to meet his eye, brows furrowed at the determination in his gaze. "Are you sure?”

Steve clasped a big, warm hand over your own. A gentle pat, a barely-pressed squeeze. His eyes turned away, and he stood to his feet.

“Gonna head out. Stay close, ‘kay?”

He staggered toward the door, and you whirled around. “Wait, Steve—“

The door clamped shut, and the buzz of florescent light was all that filled the quiet.

✶ ✶

He fought, just like he said he would. You sat erectly in your front row position, every breath inhaled held too long in your chest. Your nails pierced divots into your palm from tightly clenched fists. Your legs hadn’t stopped bouncing against the seat.

Every bloody blow had you wincing, each narrowly-dodged swing pulling a gasp. By the fourth round, Steve was staggering to his corner and spitting an alarming amount of blood into his bucket. His left brow split open again. It took the gentlest of taps to rip the skin that never healed correctly. He’d probably need stitches, like he always did.

Under Big’s words screaming at him and a cloth firmly pressed into his wound, Steve’s eyes were empty. Glazed over, mouth lolled open, shoulders slumped forward. It wasn’t his usual huffing, brutish, bull-like performance. It was instinctual, but free of thought.

Right now, you knew Steve wasn’t there. He was in his head, far away in a mess of thoughts. The blinding lights, the frenzied crowd, your own worried face watching him—none of it even registered to him.

The bell dinged, and back in he went. His punches held half the weight, half the power and drive. His dodges and sweeping side steps were stuttered and skipped. It was a dangerous game to play, and sickening to watch. You had every urge to run in front of his opponent and block the next swing, knowing Steve would let it hit him where it hurt.

But you sat where you were, nibbling on the skin around your nails, stamping your heel vigorously on the arena floor. It felt like waiting a lifetime just for that victory bell to ring.

It came out narrowly in Steve's favor. Sculpted arm a limp, weak thing in the referee's hold, drooling blood down his chest. His eyes found a spot on the floor and never left it.

Not until he trudged his way to the dressing room, and he found you seated on the bench. His eyes lifted from the ground and peered into you: blown-wide and still bleary, but alarmed in a harrowing way. A breath shuddered through his cheeks, escaping him with bloodied spittle that rolled down his chin.

They hadn't stitched him up yet. Boils of blood beaded along his cheek and temple, splattered across his chest. His gloves were looped together and strung around his neck. They were the first thing you removed when you stepped forward.

"Hey," you greeted softly. Steve followed your movements silently, blinks slow and staggered. "You did good, baby."

He swallowed, and it came with winced difficulty. A little wheezed, a little struggled where his nose bent from crushing force. He'd need it set again. It sat in a bulging, crimson aggravation in the center of his face. Everything about him was puffed up, bleeding, and pulsing with pain.

But he was the smallest he'd ever been.

"You gotta get stitched up, baby," you whispered, manicured thumb wiping through a smudge of blood on his cheek.

His hands smoothed over your hips, tongue darting out to lick over the split in his lip. "In a minute," he mumbled.

His steps forward sent you backward, guided blindly toward the bench again. You sat instantly, hands braced on his arms still buzzing with heat and adrenaline. You had only a moment to glaze over the state of him before his head fell forward against your chest.

"Oh," you gasped, warmed immediately by the damp heat of his head and the weight of him pressing into you. "Oh, hey, baby, it's okay."

Arms looped around his shoulders, you let your cheek fall atop his head, pushing past the salty, musky scent wafting from the heat of him. Comforting him was the only thing that mattered right now.

Steve's fists pressed into the bench, bookended on either side of your body. His cheek squished against the cotton of your dress, staining the fabric with the blood weeping from his severed flesh.

On the other side of the door, shoes squeaked over polished floors in a bustle to get somewhere. There was an order of things after a fight, necessities and niceties that needed to be carried out. Right now, as you smoothed your fingers through his dripping hair and massaged the knots in his back, you knew Steve wouldn't be doing any of them.

"He'll never know me," Steve mumbled into your skin.

You sighed, eyes sinking closed. The ache that festered in your chest, you knew, was no match for his.

"He didn't deserve to."

On the other side of the door, cameras waited to click Steve's photograph. Fans waited for autographs, his coach waited for a celebration, his manager waited to plead for another endorsement. It was a money-hungry, vain soulless scheme.

In this room, pressed against your familiar frame, Steve knew the only real thing in this world was right here under him.

[hanafubukki]

What if Malleus isn’t the reason Silver succumbs to his sleeping curse?

I keep thinking this but I find the whole Malleus somehow causing Silver to fall into a deep sleep (either by his own hand or indirectly as a result of his actions) too predictable. 🤔

I feel it is something that we all kind of expect because of the animated and live action movies. The more I think about it the more I wonder if Yana will go this route that everyone kind of expects her too.

And if we know Yana, she’s full of surprises if the previous books have anything to say about it. So I can’t help but wonder who or what can cause Silver to fall asleep.

Yes, Malleus has the spindle as his staff, but his main symbol isn’t a spindle/spinning wheel is it? No, he’s a dragon.

So I can’t help but wonder who else can cause Silver to fall asleep?

One name stuck out:

Maleficia Draconia

Despite the fact she’s being mentioned more often, she has been MIA and she also has more than enough reason to curse/cause Silver to fall asleep.

She, as far as we know, might not know Silver’s birth origins. She also has more than enough reason to hate humans. Yes, there is a truce. But you can’t tell me that she won’t harbor some ill will towards the murderers of her daughter or their kin.

And you know what suddenly came to mind? Mama Shroud was able to hack into those who fell asleep and see their dreams.

Who’s to say Maleficia Draconia can’t do the same? Since she’s stronger than Malleus in terms of power?

What if she has already been watching? What if this opened old wounds again? Her daughter’s death and also seeing her grandchild suffering. And now? Finding out the kid of her daughter’s murderer lives.

What if she causes Silver’s cursed sleep? It would certainly explain the silence on her end.

It might seem sudden, but the shock factor is there and the emphasis of her being mentioned constantly justified.

What if, during that moment, it is Lilia’s and Malleus’ love that wakes up Silver?

And she’s shocked, the two who should hate humans and especially Silver, woke him up with their love.

And she can’t help but wonder, has she been stuck in the past this entire time?

I know this is based on conjecture, but the possibility is there.

In this way, we can combine the true love of both live action movies as well depending how they go about it too. 🤔

What if I add “What if Malleus ends up taking a hit for Silver and dies?” The dragon whose death is supposed to end the spell? The spell his grandmother sent towards Silver to kill him or put him to sleep.

What if that’s how the spell breaks? Because she tried to curse Silver and then tried to kill him?”Both then would need to be brought back.

Malleus either has to be talked down or killed. Imagine him almost getting talked down but then Silver gets cursed by his grandmother and Malleus tries to save him when his grandmother tries to do a killing blow. And it’s the tears of true love that brings Malleus and Silver back.

Malleus and Lilia who should hate humans and hate Silver love him and Malleus defending Silver and dying would be a shock to both Lilia and Granny.

Or what if Lilia blocks the killing blow and dies? And it is the true love tears of Malleus and Silver that brings him back? What if this also gives Lilia some extra time and magic? And he ends up living longer now because of it? Like how Maleficent was reborn stronger and with more powers.

I feel either scenarios would fit, but in terms of stopping Malleus, it would fit even more for him to die and be brought back. Possibly with the power to also heal Lilia or give back the power that Lilia gave him.

I just find the idea of Malleus being the cause of Silvers sleep too predictable, even though lore wise, it would make sense. But there’s so many ways they can go about it, so many twists and turns, I’m excited to see which route they end up going ☺️🥳🌺

[themotherofhorses]

masterlist | part two

Aemond Targaryen, who was ten when his right eye was stolen by his little niece. It was an accident, she had cried out, with fat tears swelling in her violet eyes. She had never meant to harm him, but to defend her brothers and sisters from his attack that night. Only a little girl of nine full summers, she clung closely to Lord Corlys Velaryon’s side the entire time they gathered within the Hall of the Nine.

And when his father chose not to seek justice for him, it was then that Aemond swore that he would resent her for the rest of their days.

It was made easier when Rhaenyra whisked her daughter away to Dragonstone with the rest of her family, and he no longer had to see the damned girl. Six years and his eye healed nicely, leaving behind a thick and pinkish scar and a missing socket where, when he turned five and ten, he stuffed a pretty sapphire in. But the bitterness and thirst for vengeance were never actually satiated, and he felt it every day.

Alicent Hightower would sometimes lay his silver crown across her lap and vow her own revenge, and it made him feel loved.

Aemond Targaryen, who is betrothed to his niece at sixteen. It was his father's wish for their house to unite in shared peace and love before his passing. And while he despises his niece, he loves his parents, and he prides himself in being the dutiful second son. He agrees to the engagement, but promises his mother that nothing will change.

His mother smiles, and presses a soft kiss on his cheek.

“I know, son,” she whispers. “An eye for an eye.”

Aemond Targaryen, who now lies beside his little niece, though she is no more a child but a young woman of eighteen, and his wife as well. He studies her face, and how she seems at peace while fast asleep. She is absolutely beautiful, he thinks, as his eye follows her brow bone, down to both cheekbones and then her lips. His arm is tossed over her waist, and she soon tucks her face into his neck as she cuddles closer. She feels safe around him, and she loves him forever, she tells him, every day.

And since he is awake, he sneaks a hand underneath the bedsheets and lays a gentle palm against her belly, where he can feel a sudden kick from his son. At that, he smiles.

Aemond Targaryen, who eventually learns that his wife holds the sun and moon and stars in her eyes, and at her feet lay the heavens. She is sweet on him, and is always doting and peppering kisses across his scar until her lips find his.

“I am sorry, husband,” she murmurs, as her forehead rests against his. “I never meant to maim you, my love. And I shall spend the rest of my life paying off that debt. Such is my promise to you.”

And he can only smile as he tugs her closer, trailing a hand up her back to rest on her neck. He tilts her face up and kisses her, with a passion that leaves her quivering.

“All is forgiven, my sweet girl. All I ask is that you remain by my side until death do us part.”

Aemond Targaryen, who shares his constant excitement of fatherhood with his mother. "You shall soon receive another grandchild, mother. Are you not thrilled? According to the maesters, the babe is growing strong. It will not be long until he is here with us." And Alicent nods and smiles when her son's face twists in utter happiness.

He is just too caught in the bliss to notice that it does not reach her eyes.

Aemond Targaryen, who is asked by his mother to care for some business in the North. The Starks will receive you warmly, she told him. Enjoy some time away, my dear, as I know how upsetting a pregnant woman might be.

But he shakes his head, because the thought of being away from his wife and child is unbearable. His sweet girl, he mutters against her lips, one last time before he mounts Vhagar.

Aemond Targaryen, who flees to his chambers after his older sister Helaena pulls him aside and swears that she overheard his wife screaming and crying in their room, about two nights ago. But their mother refused to allow her to check on their niece, and she is worried.

There is relief when he finds her lying on her side, facing away from him, clearly asleep. It is understandable, as the babe steals away most of her energy nowadays. "My sweet girl," he hums while making his way to her. "My love, I am home."

But she does not stir.

And when he presses a hand against her pregnant belly, it feels flat. His face pales as he jerks the sheets off of her, only to see dried bloodstains around her nightgown and on the bed. And her face, her beautiful face, the left eye is hidden beneath thick bandages.

"No," he whispers, before sinking to his feet and gently unwrapping them.

Her left eye socket is empty now, all that is left behind is a long and swollen gash. He feels tears as he begs his wife to wake up, to tell him what dared happen while he was away.

The babe is gone, he knows, and he fears she might be as well.

Finally, after several minutes, she lifts her head up, and her remaining violet eye opens to gaze into his. "Aemond?" Her voice is so weak, so sad and miserable, but it remains the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. He nods and cradles her face in his hands.

"Who did this, my love?" He asks her through broken sobs and pleas. "Please, my sweet girl. My darling wife, my love. Who did this to you?”

Alicent Hightower, who stands regal beneath the door's golden arch, with her hands clasped tightly together. When her son, Aemond Targaryen, glances at her, all she says is, "An eye for an eye, my love. I promised you that."

notes: sad tuesday night tingz amirite?

[maidragoste]

Sick

Aegon II Targaryen x Reader (Daughter of Rhaenyra)

Summary: Daeron is sick and neither you nor Aegon is taking it well.

This is part of the universe of the queen and her husbands but I think it can be read independently.

Thanks for all the support, it always makes me happy to answer your questions and comments. REBLOGS and likes are always appreciated 🥰🥰💕💕💕

Warnings: Infant Death, Angst.

Daeron groaned again in his sleep. Instantly Aegon dipped another handkerchief back into the water while you removed the one on the boy's forehead so that your husband could place the new handkerchief. The groans subsided making a small part of Aegon feel relieved but he would rather hear Daeron's groans than silence. Daenera had died quietly, without making a single sound.

"He'll be fine," you said in an attempt to reassure Aegon but also yourself. Neither of them had slept since Daeron got sick. Two days had already passed since the Master interrupted your chambers to inform you that his son had fallen asleep in the middle of his lessons and that when he wanted to wake him up he realized that he was flying with fever. Since then Aegon had not left Daeron's side while you only left the room to see how the rest of your children were and to make sure that Aemond had everything under control. "His fever is already going down," you announced as you stroked Daeron's face.

"I won't rest until he's fully healed," Aegon admitted. He knew it was a simple disease but still, he was afraid. Something could always happen. Life taught him that when he lost Jaehaerys, Maelor, and Daenera. The deaths of his children were sudden. He hadn't had the chance to say goodbye to them, he couldn't tell them that he loved them or be by his side during his last breath… At least now he could accompany Daeron. He hadn't been there for Jaehaerys or Maelor. If he had been there no one would have dared to touch them. Now he was with Daeron but he couldn't do anything because this time it wasn't about criminals or a violent servitude wanting to harm him but the enemy was a disease. He couldn't threaten or force the disease to leave his son's body. He felt helpless. It made him want to scream at the thought of another of his children dying and he again did nothing to help. He wasn't going to be able to take it. He couldn't go through this again.

Your hand brought him back to reality. He clung to your touch in an attempt to keep himself from dwelling on the possible death of another of his children.

"I know. I'm scared too” you said and kissed his knuckles “But he's not Daenera” you reminded him with a soft voice imagining where your husband's mind was going. “She is dead but Daeron is still alive. You have to stop mourning our son as if he were already dead" you asked, squeezing his hand "Daeron is strong, trust him"

Your words were like a slap to Aegon. I knew you were right. But he couldn't control his head. His mind tormented him with images of Daeron dying, with the silent sisters wrapping around his little body as they once did Jaehaerys and Daenera's, with you again standing before the pyre trying to gather strength to order your dragons to burn. the body of another of his sons…At least this time it wouldn't be a violent death. It wouldn't be like Jaehaerys and Maelor. He felt like vomiting when he remembered the body of his firstborn without his head, his discomfort increased at the memory of the murmurs of how little Maelor's mutilated body had been left. He had never seen it. He couldn't be at his funeral.

"Aegon" Now your hands were on his cheeks and you looked at him with pure concern. And he hates himself for doing this to you. You were already worried about Daeron, you didn't need any more worries. He had to be strong, he needed to be strong for you but he couldn't.” “You should sleep. You're just torturing yourself by staying awake. I'll call the maestre to give you something to help you sleep."

"No!" Aegon exclaimed and grabbed your wrists before you could get away from him "Please don't take me away from him" your heart broke at the despair in your husband's eyes "I need to be by his side. I can not leave it. What if the same thing happens as with Daenera?” He said with a broken voice.

Daenera Targaryen died while everyone was sleeping. You woke up in the middle of the morning to Daeron's cries asking to be fed, you were surprised not to hear a single moan from his twin because when one of the two cried it didn't take long for the other to join in the lamentations so you went to see her at her cradle. You started to scream when you realized that your daughter's small chest was not moving. Your husbands were not long in appearing at your side. The guards entered with raised swords ready to fight any threat only to find you weeping in Aemond's arms, who stood between you and Daenera's cradle to prevent you from seeing your dead daughter's body any further. As soon as he saw the guards, Aegon began to yell at them to bring all the maesters quickly, although you knew that it was already too late and that it would be useless. They confirmed what you already knew: that your baby was dead.

"It won't happen"

The moment you saw the tears running down your husband's cheeks you hugged him. The king hid his face in your neck and clung to you as he continued to cry, hating himself for being weak. He should be the one holding you, he should be your rock, he should be the one stroking your hair while he whispered soothing words to you. Not vice versa. He could see that you were trying to be strong for both of you but he noticed that your voice was getting more and more shaky and he wasn't surprised when he heard you sob. You had told him that you were also afraid and instead of calming you down, he only made everything worse. He was a terrible husband.

Taglist: @hannaeditzs @multi-fandoms-stuff @zverea @m1tzifa1ry

@solacestyles @lilithskywalker @satish @justsumtuffstuff @crispmarshmallow @inmyowndefender @afro-hispwriter @green-lxght @roroswhiterose @libdarkheart @chevelledahuman @versaillesdrmngs @helloitsshitzulover @ladybug0095 @ietss

@serendippindots @ultraviollett @akinatrix @papery-maniac @merovingianprincess @hnybitches @m1ndbrand @giulia2372 @blubird592 @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @bajadotcom @woodandwaxwings @yor72 @mendes-bae @lj127 @sustisama @imjustboredso @remuslupinwifee @sarcasticking9 @melllinaa @tswiftsthings @404slayer404  @letsloveimagines @zillahvathek @alexandra-001 @stitchattacks @scarlettish @damienmorton @minttea07 @shanias-world @esposadomd @msmarvelknight @littlebatsimagines @chiyausu @stargaryenx @rainerax @hydrationqueensworld @champomiel @tempt-res @papichulo120627 @bxdbxtxh15 @nzygftoji  @Thanya-Targaryen  @lauufeysonnn

@fluffiy @partypoison00 @bugheadskid @jasminecosmic99

If you want to be part of my taglist

hotd masterlist

[llamagoddessofficial]

how would the normal boyo's react to mc's death?

no murder, nothing crazy, just old age taking away the love of their lives.

and for bonus points lets say they had been happily married for decades as to add on the memories and the sudden shock of losing someone that had become such a key factor in your life.

I think I've mentioned this before, but it doesn't hurt to bring it up again. Aggre Mc is going to live a lot longer than she expected. Even with absolutely no intervention, thanks to her connection with the guys, her Soul has three major sources of magic nearby that instinctively constantly share their power with hers. It will probably expand her lifetime by a century, minimum. Her big issue isn't going to be dying; it's going to be dealing with the implications of living so much longer than she thought she would.

There's also the topic of a Soul bond. If she Soul bonds with any of the three of them, and doesn't have kids, she's pretty much going to live as a monster does (forever, unless interrupted). In Aggre, they definitely discuss the subject of her possible death eventually- and my personal canon post-Aggre is that after settling into a rhythm and spending a few decades together, when Mc decides she wants to Soul bond, the boys elect Sans to be the one she bonds with. She'd then live with them like that.

But... in a hypothetical scenario, where Mc resists everything and dies... I think this is how it would go. Obviously, angst and death under the cut.

Sans: Honestly, Sans takes her approaching death the best. Which should really worry you about how the other two would react. Does he fall apart? Absolutely, the last time he felt this kind of agony was when he lost his mother. But Sans has always been good at disguising his emotions, hiding tremendous pain under an easygoing exterior. He keeps up with the dishes, organises her end of life care, keeps contact with his friends. Papyrus would be the only one to see even a fraction of the true extent of Sans' grief. Sans is about to lose the love of his life, and has completely frozen over to avoid crumbling.

Red: He definitely takes it better than you'd expect, considering he'd have a mended relationship with his brother. But it still hits. It's cruel that the universe sent him someone who taught him how to let himself feel, then took that person away and delivered the worst pain he's ever felt.

Mc would be proud of him, though. Despite the pain, he avoids falling back into the worst of his old addictions, because he knows its not what she would want and it won't actually make the pain go away. It will just numb him to everything; including those who are trying to help. He picks up smoking again in the days leading up to her death, but he avoids the bottle.

Skull: It's hard, for him. It's really hard.

All of them knew it would be particularly difficult for Skull. They had a long time to discuss it- a long time to talk the subject over. Mc prepared stuff for him, for after she's gone... people to talk to, things of hers to hold when it hurts, exercises for him to hopefully learn to deal with it. For a while, everyone was convinced Skull was ready. Even Skull.

... But he just... he just can't do it. He can't do it. He can't let her go. It doesn't matter how many hours she spent holding his hands, how hard they all believed he'd be fine without her- it doesn't matter how much he healed by her side and how well adjusted he seems now. The moment he realises she's really genuinely dying, the journey ahead of him looks so impossibly dark, so frightening. He holds her as she's dying and he feels so small. He cries like a baby and begs her not to leave him behind.

The moment she dies, he catches her Soul. He holds it in his hands, hushing it like a scared bird and tucking it away into his chest, where he can keep her alive. Honestly, they'd have to cut him open if they wanted to let her pass on.

... But I think at that point, Red and Sans aren't exactly fighting to make him let go. In fact... something unspoken passes between the three of them. Skull just did what all of them wanted to do.

Skull gives her to Sans, who keeps her hidden away, within his own Soul. Her Soul knows his best, and will feel most comfortable there long-term.

They'll figure out something. They have all the time in the world.