#look i just want someone with bloodied claws to tenderly hold me is that SO MUCH to ask in this day and age | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alcinadimitrescuwu · 3 years

Note

How about a major nsfw scene where they are walking around the castle, just talking, but end up in the dungeon, if ya know what I mean ;)

@krispytidalwavesheep This is the fic I was talking about from your ask!

Warning: NSFW

“...And you’ve contacted the florist? Will the flower arrangements be arriving by tomorrow?”

“Yes, my Lady,” you say, pushing your glasses back over your nose as you check over your checklist for the hundredth time that day. You and Lady Dimitrescu had been going over the preparations for the ball tomorrow all morning. She had followed you around as you walked the length of the Castle, making sure everything was perfect for the occasion. The parquet floor has been swept to perfection, the windows polished, the banisters a riot of flowers.

As you are walking, you turn a corner and suddenly find yourself in an unfamiliar corridor. You turn to Lady Dimitrescu, a question forming on your lips. Suddenly, you hear a guttural growl, and find one of the Moroaicǎ bearing down on you with a Claymore. A scream rips from your throat as you cover your eyes, bracing for impact. It doesn’t come; instead, you hear the slash of metal slicing flesh. You open your eyes and find Alcina standing before you with her claws extended. The Moroaicǎ’s head rolls forgotten on the floor.

Alcina immediately runs over to you, cradling your face in between her large hands, running her thumbs along your cheekbones. “Darling, did it touch you? Are you hurt?” Concern is evident in her golden eyes.

“I’m fine, my Lady,” you say, feeling your face go scarlet at Alcina’s ministrations. “Really.”

The truth was the two of you had gotten rather close over the past couple weeks after the manthings’ attack on Castle Dimitrescu. You had even shared a couple nights together. When you saw Alcina’s muscles ripple as she severed the Moroaicǎ’s head from its body, you remembered what it was like having those arms wrapped around you and you felt your core heaten with desire.

Alcina smiles and kisses the back of your hand. “Come along, pet,” she says, taking your hand in hers. “Surely there won’t be any preparations needed for the dungeon?”

She turns to go, but you suddenly find yourself rooted to the spot. She looks at you in confusion.

“My, Lady,” you say slowly. “I know that we’ve been intimate…”

Alcina chuckles. “Whatever made you think of that, dear?”

You blush further but press on. “When you make love to me, my Lady,” you continue. “You’re always so gentle with me. As if I’m a fine piece of china and you fear I might break.”

Alcina puts her hand under your chin and tilts your face up to meet hers. “And do you not like the way I touch you, ingeras?” Her tone is mild, but her aureate eyes are alert and you find yourself unable to break away from her intense gaze.

“No, my Lady,” you whisper softly, holding her hand in place to your cheek. “I rather enjoy it. But there are times when I wish you would be...rougher with me.”

Alcina’s eyes are half lidded with desire. “And is now one of those times, pet?”

You suddenly find it difficult to breathe as you whisper, “Yes.”

She moves in suddenly to kiss you but you quickly sidestep out of her reach. She chuckles low in her throat. “Feeling a bit of a tease tonight, are we?”

You dance your way back to her, taking her hand in yours and leading her to a set of manacles chained to the wall. “Now just what are you planning?” she wonders, an amused smile playing at her carmine lips.

Taking the manacles in your hands, you clasp them over your Lady’s wrists. Then you pull the chain running through them until her back is flush against the wall, her wrists chained above her head. You turn your back to her but feel her eyes upon you as you turn around in the middle of the room.

Without once breaking eye contact with Alcina, you slide your hand up your skirt and slip two fingers into your core. You know your own touch cannot possibly compare to your Lady’s but it is so worth it to see Alcina’s mouth fall open in shock, her golden eyes burning with jealousy that she is not the one touching you, that it is not her fingers buried in your core.

As you increase the pace of your thrusting, you spot the Moroaicǎ’s discarded Claymore and get an idea. You take it and slash open the front of your dress. You rest the tip of the sword over your collarbone and press in slowly until blood begins to pour down your chest, settling between the valley of your breasts.

Alcina is snarling and railing against her bonds. Her teeth are bared, fangs glinting in the torchlight as she struggles to break free. You feel your climax building as she growls in frustration, spittle flying off her lips.

You hear the sound of metal screeching as Alcina finally breaks free of the manacles with a snap. Within seconds, she has crossed the distance between the two of you. With another slash of her claws, she rips the rest of your clothes off, like they were so much tissue paper. Holding you flush to her body, she runs her tongue over your collarbone, greedily lapping up any leftover blood.

Alcina pins you to the wall, slapping your hand away before sliding her fingers into your already dripping cunt. She does not maintain the pace she usually uses. Her movements are faster, more hurried this time. You rock your hips in time to each thrust, but soon find it difficult to keep up.

The two of you have made love plenty of times before this, but this is one of the few times you’re actually getting fucked.

She leans down and intermittently darts her wicked tongue into your core, stroking your inner walls, alternating her thrusting between her fingers and her tongue. Her nails bite into the curve of your hips as she holds you in place. You wrap your legs around her waist, leaning your head against the wall as you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer.

“Is this what you had in mind, slut?” she hisses, nipping the shell of your ear with the tip of her fangs. “I hope you’re prepared for what comes next.” She gives you a manic grin as she slips another one of her fingers into your core.

You choke out a gasp as the extra digit is added and Alcina gives you a satisfied smirk. “This is what our stretching sessions have been about, dear,” she cooes. “Come now, I know you can take it.”

You’re riding three of her fingers now and she is continuing her thrusting at a relentless pace. The stone wall against your back feels cold and clammy even as you feel yourself breaking out into a sweat due to Alcina’s ministrations.

When you finally orgasm, your voice echoes along the dungeon walls as you scream out Alcina’s name. Sinking along the wall, you find yourself going limp in Alcina’s arms. You feel Alcina’s tongue rasp along your thighs as she laps up your juices. “How very sweet you are, draga mea,” she purrs. She looks up at you and you see her ruby lips are dotted with flecks of white. Holding out her hand imperiously, she proffers her fingers slick with your orgasm. “You should really sample yourself, dear.”

You take her hand in yours and gently wrap your mouth around each digit in turn, rolling your tongue around each finger, suckling at your leftover juices. You feel her golden eyes upon you as you remove your mouth from her last finger, your lips making a firm popping sound.

Alcina can see that you are happy but exhausted. She runs her dry hand through your hair, now snarled and full of tangles. “Looks like I’ve tired you out, my dear,” she says, kissing your forehead. “We should get you cleaned up. How does a bath sound?”

You smile at her and give her a chaste kiss on the lips. “That does sound lovely. Thank you.”

Alcina carries you through the castle to the Hall of Ablutions and if anyone is curious as to why the Countess is carrying you naked and bloody, they at least make sure not to ask questions. When you finally arrive at the bathroom, Alcina orders the bathroom attendant to draw you a bath and waves her off after the tub is full.

You step in and sigh as the hot water makes contact with your sweaty and clammy body. You lean your head back against the porcelain and enjoy the warmth of the water seeping into your bones.

“Is there room for one more, draga mea?” Alcina teases. You look up and see that Alcina has already discarded her clothes on the floor. You smile and scoot up a little bit to make room for her. Alcina settles herself behind you and you sit on her lap as she begins tenderly massaging your scalp with soap, getting rid of any leftover blood that may have made its way to your hair.

“Do you know why I am usually so gentle with you?” she whispers.

You turn back to look at her. “You tell me,” you return, smiling mischievously.

But Alcina is serious. She turns your face to her, rubbing a thumb along your jawline. “It is because you are precious to me. When I see that someone so kind and so pure as you would want to be with someone like me. A monster like me-”

“Don’t say that,” you say fiercely, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. “Don’t even think it.”

“Even so,” she continues and you are shocked to see her eyes are starting to pool with tears. “The fact that you know what I am, what I am capable of, and yet you still choose to be with me means more than any words I could hope to express. You are precious to me, my dearest darling. You are a treasure. And I love you.”

You can hardly breathe. Technically this is the second time she has told you that she has loved you. But you are ready for it this time. You kiss her hard, weaving your fingers through her dark locks. You pull away and look into her fathomless golden orbs as you say, “And I love you too, Alcina.”

“Well,” she says, chuckling low in her throat. “After all the the times we’ve spent with each other, it's about time you called me by my true name.” You feel another chuckle ripple through her body as she moves to kiss you again.

#re8 village #lady alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #alcina x reader #alcina x maiden #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x female reader #alcina x female reader #lady dimitrescu fanfic #re8 fanfic #re8 fanfiction

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babylooneytoonz · 3 years

Text

monster

part two of bear

Ft. Geralt of Rivia x Reader

summary: when Geralt loves the monster inside of you, you think you have nothing to worry about. But what happens when someone frames you when you are innocent and poisons your lover's mind, turning him against you?

warnings: angst

*Please reblog if you like it, do not repost, copy or claim my work as yours.

[My Masterlist]

The smouldering heat from the fire warmed your blood and bones to no extent, but what was the point of it? You looked at the blanket of the stars above you, but the brittle tears in your eyes made your vision blurry and difficult. Bringing your fingers gingerly to the side of your blood stained face, you pinched the bridge of your nose, waiting for the midnight to strike once more and your wretched curse to take over you.

He was your respite, in this cruel world of harshness. He, in his own different way, his outer shell hard and impossible to crack; used to be soft and gentle just for your eyes. He was like your little flicker of fire, that reflected in your eyes, warming up the cold in your heart. Geralt of Rivia. Fucking White Wolf. The bloody bastard that did this to you, and now you were out here, in the middle of nowhere, hunched underneath the canopy of the trees, warming yourself up by the little fire that you had lit, afraid of being caught.

The deeper you stared into the sizzling embers, your chin resting unceremoniously against your knees, that you had pulled up, and had an arm locked around, the more the thoughts and the memories plagued you, of the countless times the Witcher had shown you how he wasn't like the others.

The way he made love to you that night he found out about your curse. It was gentle, and raw. He held you close to his chest after that, the heat radiating from his body warming up your frame, as his lips tenderly explored your shoulders, and your lips. He held you to his chest, his thick, beefy fingers stroking through your course sweaty locks, his firm body pressed to you as he shared your bed, night after night, except for the days he was out on a monster hunt.

Geralt of Rivia looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. His fingers delicately traced the line of your lips, down your neck, over the valley of your breasts, and his breathing hitched, his lips pursing together, his golden orbs radiating with a warmth every time he was around you.

After midnight struck, and you turned into the bear you turned every single night into, Geralt didn't run away. Instead, you did. The first three nights of being with him, you ran away every single night the second you transformed, and it was a more a feeling of disgust on yourself, than a fear that you would end up hurting Geralt.

Then, from the fourth night, and the fifth, he began following you; his adept, athletic form running after you, jumping over the hedges and the thorns, just to make you stop running from him.

The sixth night, he finally stopped you, cornering you to a stone hill, his hands raised slightly, on either of his side, his chest heaving up and down, "It's me, my love." You knew it was him, but he was trying to make sure. You turned your animalistic front away from him, turning your back towards him. Geralt didn't go away, instead he took a step closer until you felt him place a hand on your back, the first touch barely grazing you, but it was as if he was waiting for your reaction. When you didn't flinch or try to attack him, he began stroking your fur tenderly and a growl emancipated from your snoot.

He was taming the monster in you, slowly yes but he sure was. You didn't run away from him this time.

That night, or the few nights after that, Geralt didn't leave your side even as you turned into that bear again. He stayed, nuzzling the side of your massive face with his nose, his fingers gently scratching your neck, just beneath your snout.

Your mornings with him were the best, especially when you changed back into your own human form upon the touch of the first sunlight, Geralt was with you, holding your hands in his as he watched your bear form melt away. He smiled, as though welcoming you back after a long journey, pulling your tiny, naked form against his chest to give you the warmth as he took his shirt off and let it slide over your frame. Holding you close to his side, he walked you back to the shared shack the two of you now lived in.

What had gone wrong so terribly that you were forced to hide in the thick woods, away from the humanity and away from Geralt?

Geralt didn't know what to believe. He didn't want to believe. There was blood everywhere the smell of it so strong, it was making him sick. Little children, young adults, women, no one was spared. The entire shack now lay abandoned, with bodies lined to the front door with massive claw marks that looked like that of a bear. His heart sank.

She was never like this; she was never a monster but he wasn't so sure anymore.

The stench was unbearable, the whispers of the villagers growing louder and louder into Geralt's ears. He could feel their hatred piercing through his flesh, their fingers pointing at him, blaming him for sheltering the monster they should have dealt with a long time ago. Was it a mistake saving her? Was she actually a monster hiding her true self under a blanket of kindness? For the first time, Geralt of Rivia had no answers.

Dejected, his head hung low, his mind dazed, not with the amount of ale he had had to drink, but rather the plague of his unrelentless morbid thoughts, Geralt walked back to the shack he shared with you, dreading coming face to face with you for the first time.

As he stepped into the shack, he could hear the utensils cracking against each other as you hunched over the sink, cleaning the brass vessels under the running water, your palms scrubbing the oil off them. You were humming to yourself in a low voice, and usually Geralt melted at the sight, wrapping his thick, veiny arms around your waist as he pulled you to him and kissed all the knots and the stress from his body away. But this time, things were different. You were the cause of his stress.

"You're home, love," you whispered, finally aware of his presence. Geralt wasn't specifically silent, with his heavy, burly frame and the armour that was in the least extremely noisy, "I'll get your bath. And the broth is almost on the last boil."

Geralt didn't respond, instead he began stripping down his armour until he was dressed in just his underwear. By that time, you had warmed some water in a metal tub for him, and Geralt stepped into it, hissing slightly as some old healing wounds on his feet came in contact with the warm water; as he sunk in comfortably, placing both his hands on either of the sides. He had a lot to think about.

You regarded him carefully. His shoulders were tense; his body hunched slightly and the old scars on his back were glistening under your candle that lit the room. You strolled towards him, pulling up a stool behind him and came to sit down, your fingers gently trailing over his back until you were scrubbing his back. He stiffened to your touch, and your touch suddenly felt foreign to him.

"Geralt, what's wrong?" Your lip quivered, and your heart sank, at how distant he was being. Yes, Geralt had always been a man of few to no words, but where his words fell short, his actions told you how he cared for you. But today, it was like you had been left to stand in a cold winter night, and Geralt had locked himself away, with the only source of warmth with him.

Suddenly, he stood up, splashing water all around the tub, soiling the flooring and you stood up too, frowning as to what had come over him. He leapt out of the bathtub, his naked form flashing in front of your eyes as he turned his bum towards you and began drying himself off with the cloth you had laid out for him. Once done, he pulled his tights up his toned legs and turned briefly towards you and started wearing his shirt, "Leaving."

"But Geralt, you just –"

"I need a fucking drink. I'll be at the tavern. Don't wait for me," He cut you off, brutally tearing through the soft coating of your tender heart, and you couldn't help but swallow his rudeness, and nodded. You grabbed a mop, and began cleaning the mess he had made on the floor, only to glare at him as he sat down against the side of the bed and began throwing his boots on.

"Leave, and don't even think of coming back into bed in the middle of the night, shit drunk and stinking like a pig," you snarled taking a sharp breath through your nose as you turned away from him and began mopping with your back turned towards him, your shoulders rigid and tense, your arm movements fast and angry.

"I sleep with a fucking bear, can me stinking like a pig be worse?"

You dropped the mop unceremoniously to the floor with a loud clash and turned towards him, your eyes narrowed down and you felt an unrelentless rage inside of you, and this rage was mixed with hurt.

"Get the fuck out, Witcher," your voice was low pitched and dangerous, and with one glare in your direction, the steps of the Witcher faded into nothingness.

That night, as you laid in bed, waiting for that cruel minute when you would turn into an animal, you couldn't help but let your eyes bleed with hot , salty tears, running down your cheeks, soiling your bedding. You whimpered and curled into a ball, burying your face into your hands as you began crying.

You pressed your fisted palm to your mouth, pressing it tight against it so your cries subsided, for you could suddenly hear the sounds of footsteps outside your home. Of course it wasn't Geralt, you were sure of that; the footsteps weren't of a single person, and it felt like an entire army was marching down on you.

You sat up in bed and slid to the edge, standing up as you ran to the window. The villagers were all heading your way, holding lit torches, their faces angry and most of them were yelling.

You cried in pain, looking down at your bleeding thigh were a villager's dagger had managed to cut you. They had found you hiding in the forest, and since you hadn't transitioned into your animal form yet, they had tied you up in chains and were dragging you along the muddy path, their movements fast and calculated. They had to reach the prison before midnight.

The walk to the prison didn't take more than a few minutes, and soon you were pushed face first into one of the empty prison cells. It stank of piss and blood, and you weren't sure which smell was stronger and you couldn't help but crouch into a corner as they tied you up and let your head rest against your knees.

The villagers gawked at you like you were a specimen on display as you turned into that bear, but the restrains that were holding you still were stronger than your bear form, and you couldn't break them, no matter how hard you tried to free yourself.

Geralt hated the tavern, he hated the village and the villagers that lived in it, but when he needed the ale, his hatred was forgotten. He had a lot running through his mind as he drank the last of his ale, and turned towards one of the windows in the tavern. The sky had turned a pale orange, and within the next few minutes to an hour, the sun would be gracing the world. He wondered if you were still in the shack, or you were out running in the forest somewhere. The images of the impaled and clawed out corpses came spiralling into his mind, and his grip on the pitcher almost tightened in reflex.

He was almost about to leave, when Jaskier pushed open the door, his panic stricken eyes scanning the interiors of the tavern until his eyes spotted the white haired man. He pushed a man aside, making his way towards him.

"Geralt, listen–"

"Not now, Jaskier," Geralt growled at him, his eyes glowing with anger.

Jaskier lowered himself into the chair opposite the Witcher and just looked at him, exasperated.

"Aren't you just one bit concerned on [Y/N]'s wellbeing? You're getting yourself drunk, and the villagers are planning to kill her for something she hasn't even done–" Jaskier added.

"the villagers know what they are doing," Geralt took a deep breath, shifting his gaze from Jaskier, and staring idly at the sun that was now rising.

"You what? You–" Jaskier fumbled; he couldn't believe his ears. "They poisoned you too, didn't they?"

"I saw those bodies, Jaskier," Geralt stood up, his chair noisily clattering against the cold floor of the tavern. Ignoring Jaskier, who was now sitting with his palms curled into tight fists, he made his way to the tavern owner, shelling out his pouch of coins. He pulled out the coins and placed them on the counter, and without glancing back at Jaskier, he began walking out when Jaskier came running towards him, and began following him.

"I don't want to be a part of this, Jaskier."

"Listen to yourself, Geralt. That's [Y/N]. She is being framed. I know it in my heart, she cannot do this, please Geralt. They will kill her and once you come back to your senses, it will kill you."

Geralt grunted under his breath as his palm swiped over his jaw. He stiffened as he heard a few villagers began speed walking towards the right, and Geralt frowned, grabbing one of them by their collar.

"Get your hands off me, Witcher. What the fuck–"

"Where are the villagers going?" Geralt grumbled.

"Why? To the market of course. That cursed bitch is to be publicly killed for the murders of our children–" he pulled his shirt off the Witcher's grip, and without giving him another glance, he joined the other villagers and they walked off.

"Wake the fuck up, you monster, and get your tits off the floor," someone threw you an old looking dress, and you opened your eyes to the commotion around you, only to realize that the villagers were all standing outside your cell. You sat up, hurriedly pushing yourself to the wall as you brought your knees up to cover your breasts. You hurriedly reached for that torn dress they had given you; for something was better than nothing, and your own dress was now nothing but pieces of torn fabric strewn here and there. You pulled it over your head, bringing it down to your body, when someone grabbed your arm and pulled you up.

"Can't wait to finally get rid of you, you Satan's spawn," one of them spat on the floor just next to your feet, as one of them began walking out, your chain in his hands. The other one held you by your arm, yanking you to move out and you had no choice.

"Why?" You whispered, your eyes already beginning to cloud with your tears, your eyes widened in fear as you stepped out of your cell and the men began walking out.

Outside, it felt like the entire village had gathered just to watch what was going to happen to you. The looks on their faces were far from sympathetic, there was hate in their eyes and you closed your eyes and let out a cry, as a stone hit the side of your face, just beneath your temple and blood started oozing out of the cut the stone had given you. The villagers were now chanting the words 'kill the beast' again and again, as you were being pushed through the crowds.

The realization was beginning to sink in, as blood trickled down your temple; your heart raced mercilessly. This was the end, it finally was. You couldn't help but think of Geralt as you walked with them, you wondered where he was and if he cared enough. The fight last night had been strange but even stranger was the fact that he wasn't here to save you from these people today.

Even bigger was the realization and the hurt that arose as a result of it; that Geralt too thought of you as a monster. Maybe you deserved this.

"fucking bitch," someone yelled from the crowd, and just then, a massive stone was hurled at you, right at your face, hitting you square in the jaw. Your body twisted when it hit you, your face falling to your right as the pain grew. Your face felt like it was on fire. When you looked up, you realized that you were standing alone; so hopelessly alone, and the villagers all stared at you with venom laced in their eyes. Their leader or whoever this man in the front was, had his sword drawn out as he spat, "any last wishes, you monster?"

You closed your eyes, your body giving up, when you heard the galloping of a horse. When you opened your eyes again, you saw Roach pushing her way through the crowd; though technically the people were moving out of her way , for they didn't want to get crushed under its legs. Geralt's white hair flew due to the wind, and his lips were pressed together, as Roach galloped towards you. When Geralt was close enough, he suddenly flung himself to his side, his legs still secured by the saddle as he grabbed you by your waist and flung you up onto the moving mare.

Angry cries of disdains and yells sounded from behind you, but you weren't looking. Your eyes were fixed on Geralt, as you were clinging on him for life, but he was looking straight ahead, as Roach galloped away.

The air hit your face like ice lollies, and Geralt's body felt nothing like the warmth it always gave you. Although you were now sat in front of him on the mare, the distance between you two felt like two ends of a river bank.

Finally, the mare lowered it's pace as it came to a halt and you squinted your eyes only to realise that you were now on the outskirts of the city, on the other side of the forest.

"Get down," Geralt's cold voice said.

Without a word, you got down, and following you, Geralt hopped off Roach.

"Geralt," you mumbled.

"Leave this village. Go anywhere. I won't be around to always save you from them."

You looked at the man's sublime face. The sun shone down on him, making him look even radiant than he already was. You bit your lip, your face contorted in hurt as you nodded and ran your hand across the side of your face to straighten your ruffled up hair.

Geralt turned away without saying another word ad he began climbing on Roach's back once more but your words stopped him,"Just why Geralt? What did I do wrong?"

He turned but not completely. It was like he couldn't bear the sight of you any longer.

"You're a monster, and the next time, I don't think I will be the one saving you."

You blinked, watching him ride away, his fiery white hair flowing with the wind, his shoulders tense, until he was out of sight.

Henry Cavill All Characters Taglist + Bear Taglist:

@bitchynicole @libbymouse @petitefirecracker10 @naughty-koala07 @maan24 @pterodactylterrace @shipshipshipau @lharrietg @dashingcavill @kmuir1 @weallhaveadestiny @ayamenimthiriel @thatslovelymoony @inlovewithhisblueeyes @the-soot-sprite

Let me know via ask, DM or comment if you want to be added to any of my tags.

#geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia works #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #the witcher x reader #the witcher #henry cavill x reader

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rodeoxqueen · 3 years

Note

Hi! I saw that your requests were open and I was wondering if you could do hc’s of like the dmc boys as Mafia bosses and what would it be like dating them??? Thank you! 🙏🏼

Howdy,

Only did Dante and Vergil’s. I don’t know too much about them mafia leaders, got enough work lassoing them wanted outlaws on my side of town.

If you want a good reference of mafia Dante and Vergil, I’d recommend you check out @cssmuse ‘s drawings of Dante and Vergil wearing suits.

-Rodeo

Dante

Before meeting Dante, you meet Tony Redgrave first. A charming man with a family business, a cozy Italian restaurant in the city.

However, it’s a cover for all the money-making crimes he commits heavy-handedly.

He’s a natural at reading people. He’s a walking lie detector. Good luck trying to f*ck him over a deal when making business with him in the underground.

Dante is like Reggie Kray, the twin mobster to Ronnie Kray who were notorious in England.

He decides to court you, flirting heavy-handedly and taking you on nice dates. He never lets you touch the check.

While next to you at a nice bar, he smiles off-sightedly at the in-disguise private investigator sitting a few tables away.

You get expensive flowers delivered to you every day, richly colored and freshly imported from Denmark.

Dante is a regular around bars and other dives, but he hasn’t brought another person with him ever. Not since you. You quickly become the talk of the underground, his love interest with starry eyes and clean hands.

Dante is a dangerous and careless man. He doesn’t leave evidence around because he’s an idiot, he does it because he knows no one can do anything to him anyway.

This man doesn’t need backup, but his enemies do. He likes to do the dirty work more than you think. With Ebony and Ivory, he walks into confrontation with his Beowulf brass knuckles on his hands.

He tries so hard to keep his real identity and reputation away from you until eventually, it catches up to him. He needs to tell you.

“Tony Redgrave died decades ago,” Dante says. The infamous Dante Sparda, the Twin Terror, stares at you with his true self revealed.

“But Dante Sparda has been using his name for the last forty-odd years.”

He only tells you once he knows you won’t leave in disgust, but he still has that crawling thought that you will. When you truly don’t, it’s a breath of relief.

He’s a stubborn man and he’s raised from violence. He’ll break a man’s face in and hold you tenderly with the same hands.

Dante always has an arm around you or a hand on the small of your back. He likes to show you off, dressed in his favorite red shades and shining rings.

He never wants you to get into his business, he would much rather have you “sit there and look nice” rather than participate in crime with him. It’s easier for him if you don’t get that involved.

Dante would get thrown into the slammer sometimes for a petty charge. He gets offered a phone call and he will never ever spend it well.

“You got one phone call, inmate,” Dante smirks at the guard, dialing a familiar number.

“Devil May Cry?”

“Is your refrigerator running?”

“Goddamit Dante, are you in jail again?”

“You know it, nephew.”

“(Y/N) is going to tear you a new one.”

“Oh, I know. Bail me out?”

“FINE.”

He loves you a lot, he never wants to see you behind bars because you loved him and got looped into his crimes. Even though you’re rather entwined in a relationship with him, there are times when he pulls away and you have to return him to you.

“I’m not a good man. You know that.”

“I’m not a good person for sticking around with you. But maybe that’s why we should be together. If we’re both going to Hell, I’m going down with you.” Dante’s hands wrap around your frame and he hugs your tightly.

All empires fall. When Dante takes that plight to damnation, he’s got your blessing- lipstick kisses all along his jugular.

Vergil

He’s the Ronnie Kray To Dante’s Reggie Kray; the colder twin with little trust for others.

Unlike Dante, Vergil treads quietly up the underworld’s ranks. He’s extremely difficult to approach and impossible to reason with. He will not let you get the better end of the deal without being at the sharper side of his sword.

Vergil wears the same styled suit all the time. It isn’t until he undresses when you discover he’s covered in tattoos.

He doesn’t want to see you killed or used against him as a pawn. He’s incredibly overprotective and even the slightest chance of someone endangering you ends with them being dead in the gutter.

Vergil is busy all the time but every night, he sheds his sins to be with you. He’ll be gone in the early morning, a feeling of cold lips grazing your cheek before he leaves.

Vergil works with Dante in their now-shared crime syndicate, although he is not one for fake identities. He’d much rather be known to the criminal underbelly only. Finding him and falling for him is a very very rare situation.

While people beg for their lives, he sits in his seat with his hand resting on his face, a silver band on his ring finger. Lately, anyone who dares to put their hands on you sees that new shining ring before they die, Vergil’s cold eyes watching their end.

Vergil goes shopping with you, once in a blue moon, to make you feel better. Someone made you upset and he beat them to an inch of their life before taking you to the finest establishments. He thinks you do not know what he has done, but the single fleck of red on his collar tells you enough.

He’s so stuck in his pursuit of power and sometimes it scares him that he’s attached to you. It distracts him and he hates distractions. He says this yet a single glance of you diverges his mind away from his throne, and he indulges upon it heavily.

Despite his avoidance of flashy appearances, he makes sure you are adorned with the finest clothes. He takes good care of you, and you take good care of him. He dislikes social outings but takes you with him when his brother forces him. You are his star jewel, the blue dragon clutching you gently between his claws. With this dangerous man, the crowd parts for you.

Dante and him butt heads often. Dante wants alliances but Vergil wants to monopolize. Debates end with bloody noses and disheveled suits as the twin terrors fight anytime and anywhere.

“Goodness, you should stop them.” A patron asks of you as Dante and Vergil throw gut punches and right hooks. You sip a drink.

“It’s just business.”

Dates are sparse but lavish. A simple dinner with the two of you, where you discuss everything but what Vergil does every day. With you, he’s just a dry-humored man who likes classical music and poetry.

Vergil isn’t like his brother, who deals with law enforcement all the time. Vergil has to deal with rival mafia leaders trying to one-up his empire.

“All things end. This won’t be forever, this life.”

“I’ll spend forever with you anyways.”

“You’d be a fool.”

“I’m your fool.”

“And I you.”

#rodeo has only mafia knowledge of the Kray Twins from Legend 2015 #dante x reader #gender neutral reader #dante imagine #dante sparda #dante headcanons #vergil x reader #vergil sparda #vergil imagine #vergil headcanons #devil may cry #devil may cry imagines #devil may cry headcanons #mafia au #devil may cry au

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

Note

Your majesty, may I humbly inquire if/how you would imagine a reunion of Ivan and Fedyor after the events of season 1?

Also on AO3.

Ivan wakes up on the far side of the Shadow Fold with very little memory of how he arrived there. He lies flat on his back beneath the cold white sun, which drills into his head like a blade, and at last, after a great effort, he vaguely recalls sunlight of another sort, wild and fey, bursting from Alina Starkov’s hands on the deck of the skiff as everything else went to hell. He remembers the Zemeni brat getting a lucky jump on him and shoving him over the rail, and then falling. Swirling, hungry shadows, shrieking volcra, running with his arms flung over his head, knowing only that he wasn’t dying like this, that he had to survive. In that, at least, he has succeeded. His kefta is torn and filthy, his lips are cracked and bloody, his face is striped with an ugly wound that might scar, he reeks of monstrous ichor, and he may or may not have just witnessed the entire city of Novokribirsk being scoured clean off the map, but Ivan Kaminsky is alive.

After a while he sits up, retching and forcing down the reel of dizziness. He squats on his haunches and tries to focus enough to heal his own wounds. Healers and Heartrenders can learn each other’s craft, but Ivan got complacent with Fedyor always around to do it for him, safe in the luxurious privacy of their bedroom at the Little Palace after another hard campaign. As the general’s right-hand man, he is more often on the front lines, and it became an enjoyably erotic exercise for Fedyor to tenderly patch him up, even if the Second Army Healers had already seen to most of it. I do not mend things, Ivan thinks, looking at the rough results of his efforts. I break them.

With a groan, Ivan forces himself all the way to his feet, looks down at his hand, and discovers that his amplifier is still there, the bear claw that was a valued gift from General Kirigan. No, not Kirigan – there was something else about who Aleksander really is, something Ivan needs to remember, but he can’t. But the bear claw was how he took down all those diplomats at once, something that doesn’t bother him, exactly, but what he still needs to reckon with. So, in his usual tidy, methodical fashion, he does so. They were representatives of cruel, greedy, incompetent governments who all want the Grisha dead or exploited, and while they might have been unarmed civilians, how many unarmed Ravkan children have died cowering in the dark because of their soldiers? As for Novokribirsk –

Ivan closes his eyes hard. He knows that one is harder to explain away, but at the end, he still can see the cold, merciless logic of it. West Ravka was a nest of traitors, and General Zlatan wanted every single person on that skiff dead. There is a certain sordid sense, there always has been, in inflicting one strategically planned atrocity to ensure the compliance of the rest. He knows that Fedyor will be upset. He has a soft heart, and having grown up near Kribirsk, he will have heard stories of its Western Ravkan counterpart and the separated families who lived there, dreamed of visiting when the Fold was banished. That –

Fedyor. Ivan freezes.

He doesn’t know where Fedyor is.

He doesn’t know if Fedyor is alive.

Frantically, he searches out through the network of the world, the meshed echo of heartbeats and living creatures that has always been a Heartrender’s particular soundscape, the extra dimension of humanity that he learned to experience as a child long before he had a name for it. Of course he can’t find Fedyor if he isn’t relatively nearby, but Ivan has always believed that no distance, no matter how great, could truly separate them for long. He just needs to start in one direction and work it down. He can’t stop. In all likelihood, Kirigan is dead now. Someone needs to muster the Grisha and rally them against the Fjerdans, the Shu Han, the Kerch, everyone else who will be swooping in to take advantage of Ravka’s stunning weakness. No more Black General. No one to keep them all safe.

Cold panic twists into Ivan’s heart like a railroad nail. It’s not that he didn’t know that Aleksander has – had – that deep ruthless streak, but he understood it. He just wanted to keep safe what he loved, even if it has twisted and calcified into something else, something still darker. Ivan Kaminsky loves two things: Ravka and Fedyor. He doesn’t need anything else. And he too will burn the world down if it means keeping them safe. If that makes him the new Black General, though he would not presume, so be it. Someone needs to do the dirty work.

Ivan grits his teeth, and ventures into the unknown.

It takes a few weeks, searching painfully and slowly down the coast, pelted with wild rumors of Novokribirsk’s horrifying fate and what awaits them now, trying to shut his ears to all of it, until he finally makes it to Os Kervo, on the shores of the True Sea. There is a ship with the Grisha banner in port, and as he gets closer, Ivan knows with a searing jolt that this is it, Fedyor is here somewhere, he is here. He follows heartbeats, stumbling through the streets and pushing people aside, ignoring their dirty looks and their curses. Some of them halt when they catch sight of the black embroidery still faintly visible on his filthy kefta, but others don’t look twice. Until he staggers down to the dock, and –

There he is. It drives the scanty breath out of Ivan’s lungs at a blow. He could stand here forever, looking and looking. But eventually, in a whisper, he has to speak.

“Fedya?”

Fedyor whirls around and stares. He looks like a man who can’t believe his own eyes, who has not even allowed himself to think about the worst, has shut himself down to avoid the prospect. He looks older and colder and harder than Ivan’s sweet Fedya, the man he left behind not the same as the one that greets him now, but it is still him. He doesn’t bother with words. He closes the distance between them in three strides, throws his arms around Ivan’s neck, and kisses him savagely.

Ivan doesn’t give a shit that they’re in public, that everyone can see them, that he himself is weak in the knees and can feel tears running down his unshaven cheeks, the taste of the salt mingling in their kiss. They sway on the spot, unwilling to let go of each other in case they evaporate, until Fedyor finally whispers, “Below. Now.”

They stumble onto the ship and into one of the tiny berths, barely large enough for Ivan to stand upright, but he doesn’t care. Fedyor strips him out of the tattered remains of his kefta and sets to work, as Ivan closes his battered eyes and lets himself sink into the sheer, unbelievable joy of his lover’s familiar touch, the restored wholeness of their two halves. But of course, the illusion that nothing has changed cannot last forever. As he smooths his fingers over the deepest of the volcra gashes, Fedyor says, “Vanya, what happened?”

Ivan stares at the low ceiling of the bunk. He doesn’t know if he can put it into words, doesn’t know if he wants Fedyor to know everything, even as he doesn’t think he can justly keep it from him. He does his best to provide a terse, clinical summary of the events on the skiff, and reaches out to grab Fedyor’s hand before confirming the truth about Novokribirsk. “It’ll be all right,” he says urgently. “As long as there’s you and me.”

Fedyor stares at him. His dark eyes look huge and terrified. “You think that’s all right?”

“No. Not exactly, I just – ” Ivan has never been the best with words, and they are once more cruelly failing him. He puts his other hand on Fedyor’s cheek, turning his face back to him. “I need you to understand that we’re at war. War, Fedya, in a way we never have been before. All the others, they hated us, but Kirigan kept them at bay. Now there’s nothing. They’re all coming for us. Novokribirsk is only the start.”

“And whose fault is it,” Fedyor asks flatly, “that that happened? If Kirigan hadn’t gone mad with trying to expand the Fold, with Alina Starkov – things were stable before! Not good, maybe, but predictable! Constant! Now this – ”

“It was a stalemate before!” Ivan crawls out of the bunk and kneels in front of Fedyor, looking up at him imploringly. “They were trying to smoke us out, wait for us to make a mistake, so they could pounce on us and tear Ravka to pieces! Fedya – look at me, Fedya, darling, Fedya, my heart. Look at me. I will keep us safe. I will keep you safe.”

Fedyor looks at him mutely, tears running down his own cheeks, catching on the dimples that Ivan has always found so irresistible (even if he does an excellent job of pretending otherwise). Finally, with no other option, Fedyor nods slowly, his hands still knotted tightly with Ivan’s. He lets Ivan hold him, and Ivan does so ferociously, wrapping him in his arms and resting his head on Fedyor’s mussed hair and swearing in the dark that he will slaughter the Sun Summoner himself if need be, whatever needs to be done to keep Fedyor Kaminsky alive and whole and happy. Nothing else matters now. Not really.

After that, Fedyor lets Ivan tend to him, and opens up a little, and says that he found Nina Zenik in, of all places, a port city in the company of a Fjerdan drüskelle. She wanted to insist, improbably, that this witch hunter had changed for the better in the course of a few weeks, but Fedyor didn’t believe it. Ivan is comforted to hear him say this, that not all of Fedyor’s old certainties have totally dissolved, that he still trusts their enemies are their enemies. The drüskelle has been shipped off to Kerch, after Nina accused him of slaving in what Fedyor thinks was a calculated ploy to keep the big blond bastard out of the hands of the Grisha. “I don’t understand, Vanya,” he says, his head on Ivan’s bare chest as they lie together in the narrow bunk, naked except for the furs piled on top. “He hurt her, he captured her, he would have killed her as soon as he remembered. Why would she defend him?”

We all defend the things we love, even when they hurt us. Ivan doesn’t say this aloud. He doesn’t want to believe any more than Fedyor does that Nina improbably found the one good apple of an otherwise bad lot. It is easier to think of the Fjerdans as a faceless mass of ice-cold holy warriors, especially since they will be licking their chops at the downfall of the Black General, their archenemy and the king of the Grisha demons. “We do stupid things for the people we think we care about,” he says instead. “And Nina is young. Impressionable. She will learn the truth soon enough.”

Fedyor doesn’t answer, his fingers tracing light circles around Ivan’s collarbone. Finally, he shifts on top of him, his mouth finding Ivan’s with something close to desperation. After they pull back from the kiss, he says, “Promise me that we won’t lose each other again, Vanya. Whatever comes next. We have to do it together. Please?”

Ivan looks at the face of this man he loves so much and so well, who needs to hear this sweet lie no matter whether it is true. And with his own heart, closed and guarded as he generally keeps it, he wants to believe it too. He does. He does. He does.

If only it could make it so. If only he could be sure.

“Promise,” he whispers. “Promise.”

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #fivan #the answer is i have Many Feelings evidently #many many feelings #anonymous #ask #fivan ff

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samadiw · 3 years

Text

Hogwarts Library - Part 03 😘🔥❤

True to his word, Draco left Hermione well and truly alone, except a book she had wanted for ages was waiting for her on the table in their shared dorm and on another occasion her favourite flowers greeted her when she entered after a long day of classes.

H : "I know what you're doing, Malfoy."

D : "Haven't the foggiest, Granger."

He closed the book he was reading, walked into his room and closed the door behind him.

Hermione couldn't help but smile, she plucked a long stem rose out of the bunch, inhaled deeply, took it with her and placed it on her bedside cupboard.

The man was getting under her skin, she was shocked that he knew so much about her.

But strangely after that sweet gesture, everything stopped.

Malfoy barely looked at her, he was always deep in conversation with Blaise or Theo but would light up like a bulb when the owls brought their morning post.

Hermione couldn't help but feel resentful.

Despite her overall, fuck him approach, there was a softness in his eyes that melted or rather clawed it's way into her heart.

She thought about him more often than she should.

Cheating sodding bitch, she silently berated herself.

A beautiful owl enters and lands gracefully in front of Draco.

Hermione huffs.

H : "Who the heck keeps sending him letters?"

Ron looks her way and raises a brow in question.

R : "Did you say something, darling?"

Someone was talking to her, oh, it was her boyfriend.

Hermione swallows hard and vigorously shakes her head.

H : "No, nothing, just practising a spell."

She can't help but stare at the Slytherin table, Malfoy pockets the letter after a meaningful glance at it.

2 days to 2 weeks

Professor Slughorn (PS) impatiently yells over the noise.

PS : "Yes, yes, hurry up and take your seats."

PS : "Good, is everyone settled?"

Slughorn frowns at Seamus and shakes his head disapprovingly.

PS : "Thanks to Mr Finnigan's latest dung bomb explosion, we are forced to abandon the classrooms and conduct classes in the library."

Seamus looks around him sheepishly.

Madam Pince : "Hmph.."

PS : "Granger, Malfoy, bring your cauldrons to the front."

Hermione looks up in shock and Ron's ears turn bright red.

She weakly protests.

H : "But sir, I already have a partner."

Slughorn tuts his disapproval.

PS : "Mr Weasley will survive without your assistance for the duration of the class:"

Hermione tries one last time.

Draco is already at the table in front and staring at her smugly.

H : "But..."

PS : "No buts, Miss Granger, I have a rather complex potion for you to brew with Mr Malfoy."

Hermione sighs in defeat, gathers her things and make her way to the front.

She clumsily arranges her things, avoids the ice blondes gaze and mumbles to herself.

H : "Stupid Slughorn."

Draco rolls his eyes and hisses.

D : "Stop your muttering, Granger, I have no wish to paired up with you either."

His smell was fucking with her again, what in the name of heaven was in his bloody cologne?

Hermione reels back from the insult.

H : "Oh really? Who's singing a different tune now?"

Draco raises a brow.

D : "What are on about?"

Hermione hesitates but gathers her Gryffindor bravado.

She keeps her voice low.

H : "I thought you liked me."

Draco narrows his eyes.

D : "And you made it clear that you didnt return my affections, am I supposed to wait for you to realize how incredibly thick you are?"

Hermione feels a tightness in her chest and struggles to find the words.

H : "I, umm..."

Draco loses his patience.

D : "Stop stuttering like a fool, show me the list of ingredients."

Hermione bites back a nasty retort.

H : "You are unbelievable."

Draco let's out a sarcastic laugh.

D : "Says the woman who told me to leave her the fuck alone."

Hermione pushes the list of ingredients towards him roughly.

H : "Here, take the bloody paper, I hope you choke on it."

Draco points to the jars and viles that already litter the table and muses.

D : "Make yourself useful while I fetch the ingredients."

Hermione presses her lips together and a wave of emotions wash over her and she fights the urge to not cry.

Oh, fuck no, she would not shed a tear for the incorrigible wanker.

Hermione lights a fire under the cauldron and starts to add the few ingredients they already had.

She cuts the beans with more force than necessary and sneers.

H : "Stupid fucking Slytherin, who the hell does he think he is?

Draco is highly amused by her reaction to his indifference.

D : "Granger, you need to stir anti clockwise, it's right here in the bloody book."

Hermione jumps at the voice and almost cuts herself.

H : "Can you not sneak up on me."

Draco eyes her fingers to make sure shes still in one piece and then scolds.

D : "Can you please concentrate, the faster we finish this, the faster I can send my owl to Victoria."

Hermione's mouth drops open.

Who the fuck was Victoria? Definitely not a girl in their year.

She crosses her arms over her chest.

H : "Victoria?"

Draco looks away dreamy eyed and smitten.

D : "Yeah, a woman I'm seeing, she's an old family friend."

Hermione retorts sarcastically.

H : "How bloody marvellous for you, this is exactly why I wanted nothing to do with you."

D : "And you were right, Victoria is the most intelligent woman I've ever met, she's the one, Granger."

Hermione fumes at the stupid words coming out of Draco's ridiculously luscious mouth.

Fuck no, intelligence was her thing and no bloody bint was going to take that away.

She conveniently forgot that she had never met this Victoria person.

His words hurt, they hurt bad and Hermione couldn't remember when she had come to care about Malfoy.

Hermione turns away and returns to cutting the ingredients.

H : "Well, good for you."

Draco eyes the woman next to him intently.

D : "Thanks, Granger, shit, I forgot one more vile."

Hermione quickly wipes the angry tears before he returns.

Tears? Really? You pathetic fool.

Draco watches from the small crack in the enchanted supplies room and grins, she was definitely coming around.

Playing hard to get had definitely paid off.

He walks back to their shared table confidently and adds the vile to the other complicated ingredients.

Draco starts to skin the crocodile tail.

D : "You okay, Granger?"

Hermione mumbles.

H : "Yes, I'm fine."

Draco softens his tone and decides he's messed with her enough.

D : "Hermione?"

The way her name rolls off his tongue sends shivers down her spine.

She asks in frustration.

H : "What?"

Draco moves closer and leans over her small frame.

His hand slips under the table and grabs hold of her thigh, his fingers dig into the flesh and a gasp escapes her lips.

He whispers almost reverently.

D : "You. Are. All. I. Want."

Hermione looks up at him, her breathing elevates and she bites her lip.

H : "Draco..."

Draco removes his hand off her person and stares ahead, his expression has changed from loving to murderous.

D : "Not here, not now, your boyfriend is glaring a hole in my rather handsome head."

Draco calls out over the noise of other students chatting.

D : "What the fuck are you staring at, Weasley?"

Ron looks as if he's about to explode, his ears are the shade of rip tomatoes.

R : "I'm watching you, Malfoy."

Draco smirks triumphantly.

D : "Then watch closely."

Draco tenderly caresses Hermione's cheek.

Ron flexes and makes his way over.

Hermione steps away, glares at Draco and stands inbetween the tall men.

She places a hand on Ron's chest and the other on Draco's arm and pleads for them to calm down.

Gryffindor and Slytherin stare daggers at each other and everyone has stopped what they were doing to watch the scandalous scene that was unravelling before them.

Professor Slughorn's alarmed voice cuts through the tension.

PS : "What in Merlin's name is going on? Back to your seats."

Ron balls his hands into fists and threatens.

"R : This isn't over, Malfoy."

Draco sneers and stares the redhead dead in the eye.

D : "I look forward to it, Weasley."

Hermione looks at them and dreads the walk back to the Gryffindor common room.

Fuck, her life was going to become very complicated.

#dramione #draco and hermione #draco x hermione #hermione granger #draco lucius malfoy #dramionefandom #dramionefanart #dramione smut #dramione fanfic

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

Final Hours Part 1: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: you have everything you could ever want: a loving boyfriend, a place to call home, and a son who means the world to you. But peace is easily disturbed in the world of Jujutsu sorcery, and you’re no exception.

words: 1307

tw: light gore

a/n: Hey y’all! This will most likely be the penultimate piece I write for Suguru imagines. I feel like the wrap up will be perfect as I transition to other characters and new y/n characters, so just keep an eye out! Thank you all for reading so far. I appreciate all of the notes and votes and love.

“The higher ups said you need to come to Jujutsu Tech immediately.”

The sun had not yet risen when the call came through; Gojo’s unusually stern and unwavering voice echoing on the other end of the line. Thoughts shifted around as you sat up in the empty bed, sheets tousled around your figure in the moonlight. You look to the crib by the window - still occupied by your sleeping newborn - and hesitate even further. But Satoru is impatient. “Y/n, there’s no time to--”

“Where is Suguru?” you reply cooly, sliding out of bed. The white haired man on the other line falters as you slide a drawer open slowly, stuffing your hand inside to grab a proper shirt.

“Y/n, I--”

“Where is he? Has something happened to him?” The repeated question obviously irks Satoru and he sighs deeply.

“I don’t know. Pack as light as you can,” he answers quickly, turning away to yell something at someone who is not privy to your conversation. You slide on your joggers with ease, feet landing on the soft carpet of your shared bedroom lightly. “But bring everything you can for Renji. I don’t know if you two will ever come back to the apartment. I’ll tell you everything when you get here.” Satoru hangs up, leaving you in the unlit room with the sound asleep child.

You hoist a large weekender bag from the top shelf of your closet down and begin stuffing random items into it: a pair of sunglasses, a dress, two books - one for children, and one for yourself - various undergarments, a pair of jeans, socks, and three shirts. If anyone stopped you, they might think you were going on vacation. But the sinking feeling in your stomach and your unanswered question lingers in your mind. You realize there isn’t much you can do as you lift the baby bag that always prepped (Suguru’s orders) over your left shoulder, and move to drape your sweet, sleeping child over your other shoulder.

But before you can grab your son, someone knocks on your door. Out of habit, you look at the time: 4:26 am. With a fleeting sense of hope, you wonder if maybe Satoru sent a car to pick you up and take you to Jujutsu Tech. Or perhaps… the thought that it could be Suguru sticks much more firmly in your mind. You walk to the door and lift on your tiptoes to peek through the peephole, praying it will be someone you recognize.

Sugar stands with his hands in his pockets at the door, head tilted sideways with his eyes closed.

“I left my key inside, y/n.” Suguru says from the other side of the door, and you sigh deeply, unlatching the door for him. When you open it, the first thing you see is his attire. He hadn’t left in a white button-down or black slacks. In fact, you distinctly remember him kissing you goodbye with his uniform on. But maybe he had ruined it, you think, and you step aside for him to enter the apartment.

As he sits on the couch in exhaustion, you re-latch the door and turn a small lamp on after sliding your bags off of your shoulder. “You look awfully tired.” You position yourself behind him and begin to rub his shoulders tenderly, almost forgetting Satoru’s phone call.

“Why are you up? Why do you have those bags?”

“‘Toru called me and said we need to get to Jujutsu Tech right away,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “But you’re here, so we’ll go after you get some rest.”

“We’re not going.”

“Huh?” You pause, and Suguru rests his hands on his knees. You now notice the little cuts and scrapes on his knuckles, and the dark red splotch right below his bicep. “What do you m--”

“We can’t go.” Without turning around, Suguru places a hand on yours, hanging his head a little. “It’s no longer safe for us there.”

Before you even attempt to understand or piece together his words, your phone vibrates angrily in your pocket.

Gojo Satoru is calling…

“Hello?” You watch Suguru’s head turn to eye you over his shoulder carefully.

“Do not answer the door for Suguru. Wait for one of us to come get you.” The warning and subsequent hang up leaves you speechless, and you fumble to put your phone back in your pocket. What was going on? What had happened? Gojo wouldn’t be fucking around with you, would he? If Suguru was so dangerous, wouldn’t Satoru have told you to escape much sooner?

You don’t realize you’ve dropped your phone to the floor until Suguru turns to reach over the side of the couch, grasping the device in his hand. He looks at the screen for a moment, recognizes Gojo’s name, and proceeds to stand up with it. You watch in absolute horror as he takes it into the bathroom across from the living room and drops it into the toilet, flushing once. He stares at it while it swirls around, then shuts the lid of the toilet with finality.

“That’s better.”

Something is terribly wrong.

Your eyes meet almost instantly, and without hesitation, you dash for the bedroom, praying your feet will carry you faster than Geto’s to your son. But it was futile. Suguru grabs you by your waist from behind, snatching you back out of the doorframe and clamping a hand down on your mouth. You form claws with your hands and attempt to hold on to the wooden frame as you let out a muffled scream against his rough and bloodied palm. But he drags you kicking and screaming back into the living room and against the couch.

“You need to be quiet,” he urges you, growling the last word into your ear. “Our son is sleeping.” Tears form in your eyes while you fight his restraint with balled up fists and your best kicks, but it doesn’t matter. You’re absolutely helpless against him. When you finally surrender, he doesn’t loosen his grip on you, but does nod his head repeatedly.

“That’s a good girl… that’s my girl. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You bring Renji and come with me right now. There’s no fuss, no fighting, no more death. If you stay here, I’ll have to kill every single person that comes to this door. Even Shoko and Gojo.” You inhale shakily, feeling your heart about to rip through your chest while you breathe against his palm. Tears roll down your cheeks rapidly and wet his fingers, but he doesn’t remove his hand. “Come with me. I’ll protect you.”

“Where?” you ask, your voice coming out shakier than you intended.

“Hmm?”

“Where would we go?” Suguru doesn’t answer you immediately, instead standing up with you still in his arms.

“I made a promise to protect you and Renji.” His voice is low against your ear, and you realize he’s using all of the modes of persuasion he can to get you out of this apartment and into his unshakable control. “Let me make good on that promise.”

You take the bags in your hands again once he lets you go.

I’m doing this for the safety of my son, you reason, watching Suguru lift the raven haired boy up from the crib gingerly. Surprisingly, Renji doesn’t wake, and Geto presses a tender kiss to the infant’s forehead as he walks out of the bedroom slowly.

With a finger, he motions to the door, and you unlock it obediently before allowing him to walk through. You give one last look at the furnished apartment - the home you made with Suguru - and shut the door behind you with finality, one again following your lover into the unknown.

#geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen getou #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk geto #jjk gojo #jjk #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years

Text

Treasure hunt

Pairing: dragon!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, kidnapping, death of minor characters, minor depiction of violence.

Words: 2133.

Summary: No knight would dare to save a sacrificial bride of the dragon.

______________

When he lowered your body into a little pond, a cloud of blood dissolved into the water. You whined, looking at your wounded legs. They stopped bleeding when you were in the air riding on the flying dragon's back, but it still hurt too much for you to walk across the cave on your own. You felt the man leaving a gentle kiss on the top of your head while you sobbed.

"You will be alright, my darling." He cooed in your ear in a soft voice and let the water cover half of your body, soaking your long white nightgown smeared with blood.

You shivered but stayed where you were. You were thinking of his eyes dark as the twilight sky when he came closer to you, tied to a stake and barely conscious after all the beating you took. You tried to run on the day of sacrifice, and the villagers didn't take it kindly. They tried to cover your wounds as much as they could, but the dragon only had to lift the hem of your nightgown to see the ugly shackles marks on your skin. He took away the cranberry beads from your neck and saw your chest, all black and blue, smeared with the red juice. Did they think these smashed berries could cover the bloody marks?

When the dragon in a form of a man lifted his head, you felt an unbearable heat rising in his fiery mouth.

"Fear not, my lady, it's all being dealt with."

Although you thought your bones could break if he touched you, he cleaned the cuts and bruises so carefully you barely felt anything at all. Was it his magic? Was the water in this pond charmed? You didn't want to know.

The man wiped your face tenderly and took off your earrings colored in red, scoffing at the piece of metal in his large palm. Apparently, they didn't suit his taste - you saw little, but one glance at the treasures he kept hidden in his cave was enough to see the dragon had more precious metals and gems than the King himself. You expected dozens of servants and concubines to meet their rightful owner, too, but there was not a soul around you two. Did they hide? You hoped so. Otherwise it meant the rumors were true - the dragon simply ate all those sacrificial brides given to him. Even if he cared so genuinely about your wounds, maybe it was because he didn't like to see your bruised skin.

"Ah!" You squeezed your eyes shut. The man above you was covering your cuts with an odd ointment, its smell fresh and somewhat icy.

"We are almost done." He assured you and left an airy kiss on your knee. "You are so young, my love. You will heal fast."

You timidly bowed your head at his remark. How old was the dragon? It was too bold of you to ask him that, of course, so you simply kept your mouth shut.

"I am a century older than you." The golden-haired man said to your suprise, and your eyes widened at his words. "And no, I can't look inside your mind, my lady, but I am able to read your face. Please, do not be afraid."

You nodded, too frightened to speak. You remembered villagers running away in agonizing pain, screaming and pleading and cursing; the smell of the burning flesh and wood; the mighty flame devouring everything on its way. Those people had never been kind to you from the moment they seized you a month ago, but you still did not wish to see them dying such a horrible death.

"Do you feel better?"

It took you a few moments to respond, and you shivered.

"Yes, Your... Your Highness."

You did not know how to adress someone as mighty as him, and the dragon laughed at your words, making you feel even more humiliated.

"You do not have to call me that, my love. I am Steve, Sarah's son." The dragon smiled at you and kissed your knuckles with his soft lips. You were confused and ashamed. This moment felt too intimate. "I mean no harm to you. Whatever people have said to you before, I did not bring you here to kill."

You stared at him in disbelief. What? Did his words mean the dragon did not want to eat you? Maybe you were supposed to become one of the concubines, then. In the end, if there were many of them hiding somewhere deep in the cave, it could be true. You had never wished to serve any man like that, yet it was still better than to be eaten alive.

"Steve, Sarah's son." You mumbled quietly, looking at your drenched nightgown with a sense of deep shame - the white fabric became completely see-through, and you tried to cover yourself with your hands. "T-thank you for..."

It was hard to speak as you trembled in his strong muscular arms, and the man smiled at you, caressing your head as if you were a child. Before you could finish your thought, he lifted you up in the air, caring little about your soaked clothes that got him wet right away. You shut your eyes again, afraid to see where he was taking you and trying to concentrate on your pain instead. Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as before - the ointment Steve used was magical, indeed.

Once you realized both of your were up in the air, you held on to him for dear life. You still couldn't understand how the dragon was able to transform only a part of him - his hands caressing you were still pretty much human.

You didn't utter a single word before you landed on something soft and fluffy, your nightgown oddly dry on your skin. As you finally opened your eyes, you saw Steve's large figure hovering over you and whimpered, balling up on a huge bed high above the ground.

"It pains me to see you like this, sweetheart." The dragon's voice was unexpectedly tender. "But I know how terribly those filthy brutes treated you. You are afraid I will do the same..." He became quiet for a few moments, and you gulped, suddenly feeling guilty. "Please know I am here to protect you, my love, from any danger from within. No one will ever hurt you again. You're safe here."

Your eyes glimmed with tears at his kind words, and you sobbed, covering your face with a fluffy blanket you found on the bed. He wasn't going to hurt you, he said. He took care of your wounds and brought you somewhere nice, giving you a chance to rest after all the horrors you went through. You didn't know whether he was just toying with you, but for now you felt better, laying on a huge bed covered with blankets and furs.

"I know you would like to have some time alone, but I can't leave you as of now." The dragon explained when he lowered himself on the bed. "You will heal better with me close. You can handle it, my lady, can't you?"

You wished his hot hand was not on your belly as you shivered from his touch, but you kept silent and nodded. Even if you did not want to be close to the man who could burn you to ashes within a minute, you had no right to protest. Maybe you would heal faster just as he said.

"Sleep now, my love." Steve pressed his burning lips to your forehead. "It will get better tomorrow."

You said nothing as he pulled the blanket over you and moved closer. This intimacy with a man was foreign to you, but he did nothing other than holding you in his arms. He didn't want to hurt or use you. He only kept you safe just as he said before, you tried to assure yourself.

Thinking of his gigantic scaled wings of blue and gold colors, you quickly drifted off to sleep.

____________

The next morning you woke up to the divine smell of fresh fruits and honey, the dragon placing some peculiar dishes right on the bed around you. When you gaped at him, he let out a low chuckle and gave you a wet towel to wipe your sleepy face. He insisted that you ate right after waking up, claiming that your body needed strength - most of your wounds disappeared during the night. Apparently, it was all his magic.

"Try this, my lady." He easily sliced an odd red fruit with his razor sharp claw. "This one is special."

"Why?" You asked timidly, but took a piece and saw the white pulp with little black seeds inside it.

"It is called dragon fruit." He answered, proud. "It tastes like nothing else, believe me."

You smiled back at the man and took a little bite, feeling something sweet and sour on your tongue. He was right, you had never ever tried anything like that. Snatching more pieces of the fruit from Steve, you started eating them so fast he ended up laughing and rolling over the bed.

Then he took you to the pond again and gave you your new clothes, a white nightgown embroidered with golden threads and a blue robe, soft as a cloud. Once you changed, Steve showed you around his cave, giving you an opportunity to look at his fabulous treasures - golden and silver coins, gems, jewellery, armour, statues, all those things you had never seen before. He said you could take anything you wanted except for a few magic tools that were unsafe to use. You felt like you were living in a fairytale.

However, you became frightened again once the dragon told you he had neither servants nor concubines. When you asked what had happened to all those women who were sacrificied earlier, he simply said he took them to the other kingdom far, far away as he had no need for them. But over the seven seas, where women were treated better than here, no one could take them against their will, he claimed, and all of them agreed to leave to start a new life. Did a place like that truly exist?..

"Will you bring me there too?" You whispered, afraid of your own thoughts.

You didn't like that look in his eyes. It didn't sit well with you.

"I do not think it is... wise, my love." His quiet voice alarmed you. "The women I brought over the seven seas were stronger than you... smarter than you. No one was as fragile, easily broken. Look what had happened when those peasants kidnapped you. You barely stayed alive."

"But..." Your eyes were glistening with tears again. "... You said women were not treated like posessions there... Why won't I be safe?"

"Nowhere is safe if you can't protect yourself even a little. I pray you stay mindful, my lady."

You had nothing to say, lowering your gaze to your bare feet and clutching the silk fabric of your elaborate nightgown. Although the dragon was right, it was hard to believe now he truly let all those women go. Were you that bad? That feeble he decided to leave you with him? It was unfair. You had the right to decide your own fate even if he considered you weak.

You didn't say it, though. He could still burn or eat you alive if you protested against his decisions, you thought. When his claws scraped over your gentle skin, you bit down on your lip and nodded again.

You were trapped.

"Until I get stronger, who am I here? What do I do?" You whispered, not meeting his gaze, and the man softly caressed the top of your head. "Am I a prisoner?"

"Of course not, my dear." He shook his head at your words and took your cold hands into his own, his skin so hot it was almost burning. "You are my precious sacrificial bride, my treasure. The only thing I demand from you is obeying me, love. Do what I tell you, and you will always be safe."

He wrapped his hands around your back and made you lean on him, pressing your head to his wide chest and kissing your temple. There was so much tenderness in his moves it almost made you cry. Why did it have to be like that?

"Can you make me stronger?" You moved your head to look at him and saw his bemused expression.

"Forgive me, my dear, but women like you are not made to overcome hardships of life." The dragon's fingers stroked your flushed cheek. "I cannot share my strength with you, I'm afraid. But I can protect you. It is enough, isn't it?"

You nodded once more, keeping your eyes shut and listening to him breathing slowly. You knew little of how possesive the dragons were once they spotted a treasure they wanted to keep for themselves.

#steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #steve rogers #captain america #yandere

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breaniebree · 3 years

Note

What is your favorite moment of each ship in ASC ?

Hi, nuninho2000!

What a great question! This will take some thought!

Remadora -- I really love the moment he tells her that he's a werewolf and she's like "Duh" and Remus is completely baffled. One of my favourite lines is where Tonks basically tells him she thinks he's freaking out enough for the both of them:

He shook his head, swallowing slowly. Now that he had finally begun he was determined to get the words out. “The man’s name was Fenrir Greyback and he’s a notoriously well known and dangerous werewolf. I’m not notorious, but I am dangerous and… a werewolf,” he finished, lamely.

He tugged his hands away from her, marching into the kitchen, his hands in his hair again.

Tonks watched him march away from her and she followed him, spinning him around and slipping her hands into his back pockets again and holding him against her. “I know that already. So, what?”

Remus simply stared at her. “So what? That’s all you can bloody well say! I just told you that I’m a fucking werewolf!”

Tonks nipped at his bottom lip. “And, I figured that out already. Did you think I didn’t suspect when you always left me on the moon cycle? Your scars? Your possessive nature? I like a little danger, Remus. I’m an Auror.”

“Nymphadora, I am not a little danger! Do you have any idea what a creature like me can do? I can break through doors and walls with my strength! I can track you for kilometres, I can hear anything almost ten kilometres away. Look at me!” he exploded, pushing her away angrily and slapping his hands on his bare chest. “I did this! Me! I lock myself away and if I don’t take the Wolfsbane Potion without anything to hunt or to kill, I claw at myself; scratching my own skin off, clawing at myself in desperation! That monster lives inside of me! The wolf is inside of me all of the time! I am the wolf all of the time! The mask of the man just hides my true face. Do you understand? Why the fuck are you not freaking out?”

She moved towards him carefully. His eyes were wide and amber now, his hair tousled from his hands. He looked panicked, she thought, and even more like the sexy bewildered professor that she fancied. She placed her hands on his abs, sliding her palms along his rib cage, up his chest and over his shoulders.

“I think that you’re freaking out enough for the both of us to be honest,” she said teasingly, kissing the skin below his ear. “I like your mask, but I think that it’s time for you to take it off now.”

Remus stared at her in confusion. “Nymphadora, you’re not even listening to me!”

Tonks put her hand over his mouth. “No, you’re not listening and I’m pretty sure that’s a serious flaw in your personality. Are you honestly standing there waiting for me to change my mind about you?” His eyes flickered in pain before he masked it and her own eyes narrowed. “I’m a klutz, a complete spaz, if I’m honest with myself. I had hoped that I would grow out of it, but obviously it’s something that is part of me no matter what I do. The wolf is part of you and I think that it’s time that you get off your high horse and stop being so bloody ashamed of it.” -- Chapter 95 of ASC

Zeerius - hmm... I love a lot of moments with them. But I think one of my favourites is when he comes home after a full moon with Remus worried that Harry is still annoyed with him for not letting him go and he finds Harry sleeping on the sofa with Zee in the chair. He wakes up and she's making breakfast and wearing his clothes and he's just completely swamped with love over the normalcy of it.

Sirius rubbed his tired eyes as he unlocked the front door to Black Cottage and let himself inside. He stifled a yawn, smiling when Marauder came over to greet him, rubbing the dog behind the ears. “Good boy,” he whispered, “Did you keep Prongslet company all night, good boy.”

Marauder burrowed closer to him, eager for affection and Sirius pat him gingerly on the head, kicking off his shoes as he called Kreacher to him.

“How was he?”

“Kreacher did not stay. Master Sirius’ lady said she would stay.”

“What?” Sirius asked in surprise as his gaze zeroed in on Zee, stretched out across the armchair, his duvet burrowed around her, her mess of dark caramel curls hanging over the back of the chair. “Go back to Grimmauld Place, Kreacher, thank you.”

The elf vanished and he smiled at the image of ‘his lady’ curled up and walked over to her, bending his head to kiss her forehead and then he realized that Harry was stretched out across the sofa, glasses on the table next to an empty bowl of popcorn kernels with Lady Godiva sleeping in front of the couch as if keeping watch.

Sirius stared at the two of them, his heart quite literally swamped with love. He tenderly brushed Harry’s hair out of his eyes and kissed his forehead. He stood up, pulled his jumper over his head and tugged his tee shirt down in its attempts to ride up and then he lifted his son’s legs to plop himself onto the couch, putting Harry’s legs on his lap. He pulled the duvet close to him and punched one of the throw pillows into position next to his head and was asleep in minutes. [...]

Sirius woke up less than three hours later to the smell of bacon. He rubbed a hand over his face, grinning at the sight of boy and dog snuggled on the sofa. He carefully extricated himself from the couch, wrapped Harry up a bit tighter and bent to kiss him. He was so innocent and young looking when he was asleep and his heart ached for the little boy that used to want to sit on his lap and ask for slooches. He kissed him again because Harry was asleep and he could and then he snapped his fingers at Marauder who jumped down, shaking his fur, and followed Sirius into the kitchen. Lady Godiva was still stretched out next to the couch as if keeping watch. He let Marauder outside and then grinned at the image of Zee at the counter frying up bacon and sausage and scrambling eggs in his sweatpants rolled at the ankles and his favourite worn jumper.

He slipped his arms around her waist, kissing her ear and her neck. “How do you look so fucking incredible all of the time?”

She laughed and tilted her head to the side so that he could kiss her neck some more. “With flattery like that, I’ll give you all the extra bacon you want.”

He smirked and blew a raspberry on her neck and she laughed. “When did you get back?”

“Last night. I came straight over.”

“You stayed the whole night with him?”

Zee shrugged, smiling as he held her in his arms, swaying gently too and fro while she continued to fry the meat and scramble the eggs. “Harry and I had a movie marathon and he did some of his homework. I didn’t really feel like being alone and since you had run off all mysterious like, I thought we could keep each other company.”

“Sometimes my wife needs attention, Zee and my kids… I mean, I’m a wanted man.”

She snorted and elbowed him. “I already know Remus is your wife, you prat.”

Sirius grinned and kissed her ear. “Thank you. You didn’t have to stay with him last night, but… thank you. I didn’t really want to leave him alone, but I’m trying this whole ‘he’s not a little boy anymore so I should trust him just a bit’ parenting attitude.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

Sirius blew his hair out of his eyes and grinned, his arms still wrapped tightly around her waist. “Well, I don’t have him wrapped in a bubble yet so bully for me. I mean, this school year has been pretty easy going for him, outside of the Dementors, but with these Horcruxes and trying to figure out what the next step is, I just… sometimes I want to just hold him in my arms and never let go.”

Zee carefully put the scrambled eggs onto three plates along with the bacon and sausage before she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her toes and kissed him deeply.

“You are a wonderful father, Sirius Black, and Harry is very lucky to have someone as amazing as you loving him. But you do have to let him grow up. Even when it’s scary and terrifying and the thought makes you want to throw up at not being able to protect him all of the time, you still have to do it. But, he’s thirteen, not quite a boy, but not quite a man, and right now, you can still hold him close, but you have to learn to let go as well.”

Sirius kissed her, his hands sliding up her back to play with her messy curls, his lips on hers, his tongue meeting hers. He pushed her back up against the counter, lifting her hips to hold her up as he kissed her, hard and soft, long and deep as she sighed against him happily.

“Can you two at least snog in a room where the bacon isn’t?” Harry said, snatching the plate from behind the snogging couple with a grin. “I’d like to keep my appetite, thanks.”

Sirius smirked and cuffed Harry lightly across the head making his son grin. “Brat.” -- Chapter 123 of ASC

Hinny - Like Zeerius, I have so many moments I love with them. I love when Ginny kisses him when he's five and I love when Harry's in denial of his feelings for her. But one of my favourite scenes I've written is the one where they compare scars. I think it really shows the depth of their friendship, their relationship, and I just think it's totally sweet.

Ginny gently brushed his fringe off his forehead. “I remember everything about you, Harry.”

“I thought your parents would never let me back there. I thought Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus would send me away because I did freak things… that’s what… that’s what the Dursleys had told me.”

Ginny tenderly stroked his cheek and down his jaw with her knuckles. “In that memory I saw… you said that they beat you?”

Harry nodded. “That first night when Uncle Siri tried to give me a bath, I guess my whole back was cut up from the belt, it was about a week old, but they hadn’t been taken care of properly and they’d festered a bit. I have a few tiny scars on my back from it, barely noticeable.”

Ginny lifted his tee shirt and he shifted to show her four tiny white scratches that were vertical just under his shoulder blades. She leaned in, gently brushing her lips over each scar and he shivered before he pulled his tee shirt back down and turned to hold her back in his lap.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Ginny told him.

He shrugged, his fingers playing with the tips of her hair. “I didn’t know any different. I just knew that my parents had died and that they were my only relatives. They didn’t want me and made sure to tell me almost every day. I was a burden, a freak of nature, and they didn’t want my unnaturalness under their roof. I slept in the cupboard under the stairs. They’d lock me in the dark as punishment, and they would starve me. I remember being afraid to tell my dads that I was hungry or too afraid to get up in the middle of the night to use the loo… but Uncle Rem and Uncle Siri, they gave me a home and I never looked back.”

Ginny took his hands in hers and brought them to her lips. “Only look back at the good.”

“You’re amazing, you know that, right?”

She smiled, her hand brushing over the palm of his left hand. “How did you get this scar?”

Harry glanced down at his palm to see the thin white line in the centre. “Broke a glass when I was four and it wasn’t properly treated.”

Ginny nodded and rolled up her right sleeve to show him a small crescent scar on her elbow. “From when I fell off Charlie’s broom when I was eight. I told Mum I fell out of a tree.” At his grin, she pushed her shirt aside to show him the scar on her left shoulder. “And this is where Ron pushed me off the roof of the shed when I was seven and I landed on my arm on the side, tore it open pretty bad. Percy patched me up after I made him promise not to tell Mum, and then he helped me get Ron back by pranking him into thinking there were spiders in his bed. Percy and I snuck into his room in the middle of the night and put itching powder in his sheets so he woke up all red and covered in itchy spots and Percy told him that they looked like spider bites.”

Harry laughed. “That’s pretty evil. I remember that. When I came to stay we had to check every nook and cranny of his room before he’d let me turn out the light to go to sleep.”

She grinned. “Don’t mess with me.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said on a strangled laugh. He stared at her for a moment before he lifted up his tee shirt again to show her the long thin jagged scar in the centre of his back. “Horntail.”

Ginny rolled up the left leg of her pants to show him a tiny scar the size of a sickle just behind her knee. “Gnome bite.”

Harry pointed to the small scar near the elbow of his right arm. “Rogue Bludger.”

Ginny lifted her right arm to show him a tiny half moon scar under her elbow. “Fred clipped me with his toy broomstick and the wood broke and cut my arm.”

Harry bent his head and lifted his fringe to show her a tiny thin barely noticeable red line on the top of his head. “Fell out of the treehouse.”

Ginny pulled her sock off and showed him a small cut on the bottom of her heel. “Stepped on a cactus leaf that KJ snipped off her plant.”

“That’s fresh,” Harry said. “And it’s not going to scar.” He took her foot in his hand and bent his head to press a soft kiss to the cut, making her shiver.

“I ran out of battle wounds.”

He chuckled and kissed her foot again. “We’re we competing?” He touched the lightning bolt on his forehead. “I win — Horcrux.”

Ginny smiled, her fingers slipping under his tee shirt to slide up his chest. “Emotional scars don’t leave physical marks, but I know that you can feel those scars just the same. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Harry, but if you ever do want to talk about it, you know that I’m always here for you, right?”

Harry’s hands rested on her hips. “I know that.”

Ginny’s lips curved slightly before she leaned in and kissed him softly. “We can snog now if you’d like.” -- Chapter 217 of ASC

Romione - I don't write as much Ron and Hermione as I should. But I think one of my favourite scenes with them is when Ron is trying so hard to be the perfect boyfriend and not complain to her like he usually would and Hermione is like who is this? Where is my Ron?

Hermione snuck a glance over at Ron, admiring his tall frame as he walked next to her. She loved how attentive he’d been over the last month and a half. She loved how sweet and caring he’d been and most of all, she loved snogging him senseless. But she found herself missing the less agreeable Ron more than she wanted to admit.

The friend Ron would be complaining by now. They’d been in the bookstore for almost twenty minutes and while she had a stack of four new books that she was interested in, she was browsing without any real purpose, wondering how long she could spend in here before he complained. The fact that he hadn’t complained yet, worried her a bit.

Ever since they’d made their relationship official, he’d been the perfect boyfriend. Attentive and sweet. Affectionate and kind. He still made her laugh and complained about his homework, but he didn’t pick fights with her anymore either. She was making an effort to say things that would normally set him off. His blue eyes would spark in fire before he’d grind his teeth and not respond.

She hated that he didn’t respond.

It wasn’t that she wanted to argue with him. Who wanted to fight all the time? It was exhausting. It was just that fighting with Ron was… well, foreplay. The word surprised her when she admitted it, but she knew that it was true. She liked arguing with him. She liked watching his blue eyes fire up, the way his face would flush and the muscles in his neck would contract. She’d had more fantasies of shutting him up with her lips than she was willing to admit to.

But now that she had the opportunity to snog his brains out when they fought, he never fought back. It was a contradiction she hadn’t expected.

They spent another thirty minutes in the bookstore before she bought the four books in her hand and led him outside.

“It’s so lovely in there, maybe we should browse around a bit more?”

Ron’s mouth twitched. “Or we could go for a walk, maybe hit up Zonko’s?”

“I’d rather go back to the bookstore,” she said, smiling at him. “We can look at the romance novels again.”

Ron looked like he wanted to do just about anything else. “Um, yeah, I guess, if that’s what you want.”

“Ron, stop letting me do what I want!” Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

Ron only stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“This! The bookstore! I love it there!”

“I know,” he said. “You love books. They’re like your happy place, I get it.”

“But you don’t like books!”

Ron frowned. “I have nothing against books. I just don’t see the appeal of spending hours looking at them. It’s a colossal waste of time.”

“But you just spent fifty minutes letting me do just that! And now, when I mentioned going back inside, you immediately agreed to do so!”

“Because you said you wanted to!”

“Ron, if this relationship is going to work, you can’t just do everything that I want all the time!”

Ron was looking at her as if she had two heads. “So, you don’t want me to go to the bookstore with you?”

“Of course I do! I want you to do things with me that I love!”

“That’s what I’m doing!”

“But I don’t want you to!”

Ron gave her a confused a look. “I’m not a Seer, Hermione. If you have a problem you have to bloody well say it.”

“You’re being too nice to me!”

Ron looked positively dumbfounded. “What do you want from me? I’m trying here, okay! I’m trying to be the man you deserve and doing the things that you want to do to make you happy! And now you’re telling me that I shouldn’t do that? What do you want me to do? Drag you into Zonko’s under protest? Tell you that I have no desire to spend another minute in that sodding bookstore!”

“Yes!”

Ron shoved his cold hands into the pocket of his coat. “I don’t understand you. You’re mental!”

Hermione gave him a light shove. “Don’t call me mental!”

“Don’t act mental, then!” Ron retorted. He grabbed her arm before she could shove him again.

“Why are you like this?”

“Why are you like this?” Ron repeated. “Merlin knows I don’t know how to act when you become a mental shrew!”

“Daft prat!”

“Sassy witch!”

“Absolute tosser!”

“Mental bint!”

“Wanker!”

Ron grabbed her, ignoring the way she hit his arm and pulled her up against him, his voice low. “Absolutely, when I’m thinking about you.”

Hermione’s face flushed. “Ron!”

He tilted his forehead down to hers. “Why are we screaming at each other? Aren’t we supposed to be done fighting now?”

Hermione slid her hands up his chest, linking them behind his neck. “Says who?”

She pulled his face down to hers to kiss him and he made a growling sound in his throat as he lifted her. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he held her and she lost herself in his kisses. A part of her was very aware of the fact that they were only a few metres outside of the bookstore, in the middle of the street where anyone could see them. But another part of her wanted his lips on hers more than she wanted to take another breath, let alone think about the embarrassment of their very public displays of affection. When her mouth moved down to his throat, she felt the hardness against her and she smiled, suddenly feeling more bold.

“Is fighting with me turning you on?”

“No,” he insisted, his hands sliding down to boldly cup her bum. “Absolutely not.”

Hermione slapped his hands off her bum and slid down his body. “Ron, we don’t have to agree on everything. We don’t have to always do the things that I want to do or the things that you want to do. If we’re going to make this work, we have to go back to how we were. My friend Ron would never have let me mosey around a bookstore for almost an hour. He would have cut me off at twenty minutes and made me leave to go to Zonko’s.”

Ron pulled her close again and kissed her. “I guess I’m just wondering if as your boyfriend if I do something like that, you’d stop snogging me.”

Hermione nipped at his lips, a soft smile on her face. “I have no plans of that. Do you plan to stop snogging me?”

“Hell no,” he muttered, his lips moving to her ear. -- Chapter 252 of ASC

Feo - Theo and Finn, they do have a lot of moments together, mostly smutty which we all love (or maybe just me LOL 🤔). But one of my favourite moments I wrote with them is actually one of the smutty ones. I absolutely love the scene where Finn takes him against the window of the study in Norfolk Manor.

But he also didn’t want to leave Finn.

He’d gotten used to waking up wrapped in his boyfriend’s arms. He loved the support Finn gave him; the calming way he had about him. Finn was always assuring him that everything would be okay. He’d gotten used to Finn being there day after day and the thought of going back to school and only seeing him on the weekends was more painful than he could bear.

As if he’d heard him, arms encircled his waist from behind and a warm mouth pressed against the side of his neck.

“How was the session today?”

“Good. Really good,” Theo told him. He turned his head to kiss him. “Did you just get back?”

Finn nodded and began to unbutton Theo’s shirt. “I did.”

Theo chuckled as his dress shirt was spread open and Finn began to work on his black trousers. “Let me take off my Wizengamot robe first.”

Finn’s mouth sucked on his ear so sharply that Theo felt the sensation between his legs as he pushed Theo’s trousers down, followed by his boxers. “No.”

Then his hands were all over and Theo felt a whoosh of magic as suddenly all of his clothes were gone except for the open purple robe. Finn turned him around and knelt in front of him. He started with soft kisses on his thighs, on the back of his knees, and then his mouth was wrapped around him and Theo could do nothing, but hold onto his boyfriend’s hair as he pleasured him.

Finn’s mouth brought him right to the edge before he stood up, kissing Theo’s cheek and turned him around towards the window. Theo groaned when he smelt the oil and then his boyfriend’s hands were doing the most delectable things to his arse.

“Finn...” he begged. “I want to touch you.”

Finn ignored this and Theo groaned when he felt his boyfriend’s finger rock into him. Then Finn was tugging his clothes off and Theo caught a glimpse of his boyfriend’s reflection in the window standing gloriously naked behind him before Finn pushed him up against the glass, and slid into him.

Theo cried out at the intrusion and then there was nothing but pleasure. Finn’s hands slid around to grip him, pumping him in rhythm with every thrust. His thumb stroking under the head, circling and tugging, and it wasn’t long before Theo cried out his name as he came all over the window pane. Finn rode him harder, pinning him against the glass. One hand continued to gently fondle Theo’s spent cock, the other held his hip as he thrust himself forward. Theo was panting, the pleasure building more and more as Finn’s lips brushed the back of his neck and then Finn panted his name as he emptied himself.

Theo sighed in contentment when Finn slid out of him. Finn’s arms turned to pull him into his embrace and they stumbled towards the sofa in the library, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“So, you like my robe then?”

Finn chuckled against Theo’s hair as he snuggled him closer on his chest. “Yes. More than I expected. You look incredibly sexy in it. Proud and confident and it makes me think of all of the great things I know you can accomplish. Then it makes me think of how much I want to be part of your life while you do those things. Then I just want you. All of you. I’m so proud of what you’re doing, Theo.”

“You make me want to aspire to be more,” he said.

Finn gently brushed Theo’s hair away from his face. “I love you.”

Theo smiled and kissed Finn’s chest before he froze, eyes widening as they locked onto his boyfriend’s green ones. “Finn! I think Blaise was in the bloody garden!”

Finn grinned. “He was. He disappeared rather quickly when he caught sight of us in the window.”

Theo blushed scarlet. “And I... I can’t leave that mess on the window for Kiki.”

“Mmm,” Finn said absently, running his hand down Theo’s chest and down to grip him in his hand.

Theo groaned as he felt Finn revitalize him with magic. “I only would have needed a few more minutes, you know.”

Finn shifted him so that he was under him on the sofa. “I know, but I need you in my mouth right now.”

Theo gasped as Finn did exactly that and he again wondered how he was going to survive the whole school year without seeing this perfect man every day. -- Chapter 236 of ASC

Deamus - Dean and Seamus, I did play around with them a lot. They have a lot of moments I like as well. I love how much they are friends first and lovers second which I think says a lot about their relationship. I love writing them playful and teasing the way best mates are, but to still show how passionate they are for each other. I love how they don't just say "I love you" but that it's "I really love you." I don't know, I think that sums them up really well.

“Ditto. I really love you, Seamus. How often can a bloke say that he’s in love with his best mate?”

Seamus reached for the soap to help his boyfriend wash up as he spoke. “I really love you, too.”

Dean smiled as Seamus washed his chest. “I finished Katie and Jason’s engagement portrait last night.”

“You did? Why didn’t you show it to me?”

“Well, probably because you crawled into bed, climbed on top of me, and snogged my brains out.”

“Oh? I did do that, didn’t I? Maybe if you’d tell me how good my new muscles look, I wouldn’t feel so self-conscious.”

Dean ran his hands over Seamus’ flat stomach where the beginning of abs were coming in. His constant workouts with the Gryffindor Quidditch team had really done wonders for his body over the last few months. “You don’t have a single self-conscious bone in your body.”

“Sure, I do! Now, tell me how sexy I am.” -- Chapter 262 of ASC

Bleur - They have a lot of moments too, most are with family. And I know I had a lot of lovely compliments on the last Bleur scene where she basically tells him she doesn't care how he looks because she loves him. But one of my favourites is actually their first kiss. I like the way Fleur is very into him while at the same time being like, I'm more than just a pretty face and you will know that about me and respect me.

“Did you still want to grab some dinner and discuss the new project tonight?”

Fleur smiled warmly at him. “Oui. I caught up on some reading of za history we found in Anguilla ze ozzer day and I might have come up with a new plan to open za cursed box we found in za ship.”

Bill grinned. “Great. I can’t wait to hear your idea. I want to talk to you about the new project the goblins are trusting us with as well. We’ll be heading down into the London Catacombs. Have you ever been?”

She shook her head. “Non, but I was in ze ones in Paris. Zey are very terrible, I theenk.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure going down there isn’t going to be a walk in the park. It’s definitely going to involve some cleanup as well. We’ll talk more over dinner. How does Italian sound?”

Fleur moved closer to him as more people climbed onto the train. “It sounds très bon.”

Bill’s breath hitched slightly as her body pressed into his and her pheromones assaulted him. He saw the man’s eyes change behind her and he immediately wrapped his arms around her in a possessive fashion that surprised him.

“Miss, may I —”

“— No,” Bill growled. “Run along.”

The man’s eyes met his and he seemed to come out of his trance.

Bill looked down at Fleur, who’s blue eyes were staring up at him. “Sorry, I don’t like seeing men throw themselves at you like you’re up for auction.”

“You never do.”

“I never do what?”

“Zrow yourself at me like ze ozzers.”

Bill’s eyebrow rose. “We work together. I respect you too much to allow myself to act like an imbecile.”

Fleur stood on her toes, her lips brushing his cheek. “You theenk I cannot tell ze difference?”

The feel of her lips on his cheek made his whole body tremble in response. He moved his arms away.

“Fleur…”

“I know zat you find me attractive, n’est pas?”

“Of course I find you — you’re beautiful! That’s not the… we work together.”

Fleur smiled seductively. “And zis makes you not want to kiss me?”

Bill stared at her, his fingers twitching at her waist. “No.”

Fleur moved away from him, her eyes flashing in hurt before she masked it. “Je suis désolé, my mistake.”

Bill swore under his breath. Being around her was harder than he wanted to admit. She was incredibly beautiful, that was a given. She smelt like heaven and when she laughed, her eyes danced and her lips parted in the sweetest way. She was smart and creative and her willingness to learn intrigued him. She picked up on things fast and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, was one of the best new recruits he’d ever had.

The fact that being around her made him as hard as rock was another situation all together.

They stepped off the train and Fleur started moving across the platform. He grabbed her arm, roughly pulling her back into his arms. Her lips parted in surprise and her eyes widened as he simply bent his head to hers.

The moment his lips touched hers, he knew that it had been a mistake. Now that he had kissed her, no one else was ever going to make him feel like this; no one else would ever come close. He tugged her closer, his hands moving into her hair, deepening the kiss and when she moaned against him, it was enough to pull him out of his trance.

Her cheeks were flushed and her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes.

“If you think that I don’t think about doing that a few thousand times a day along with a few naughtier things then you’re stupid.”

Fleur’s eyes flashed in anger. “‘Ow dare you call me stupid!” Her fists hit him angrily on the arm.

“I didn’t mean — fuck!” He dragged his hand over his face. “I think that you’re far from stupid, Fleur. You’re one of the most intelligent people I have ever met. One of the bravest as well and the sexiest. I just meant… of course, I’m attracted to you. You’re bloody gorgeous! I love the way that your eyes dance when you laugh. I like watching your little booty dance when you bypass the puzzle piece when we’re exploring. I like spending time with you and I spend most of my time with you trying to convince myself why I can’t touch you. You have men throwing themselves at you all the time, even some women. I don’t want you to think that what I’m saying is because of your Veela thing — because it’s not.”

Fleur stepped towards him, her eyes softening. “I can tell ze difference, Bill. I want you to touch me.”

Bill’s breath hitched. “You do?”

She nodded. “I want you to kiss me again.”

He did. Long and deeply until someone whistled at them and he broke away, smiling at her. “Will you go out with me, Fleur?”

She smiled. “Oui, but if you call me stupid again, I will make you wish you hadn’t, oui?”

Bill grinned widely. The fact that he just found her threat as incredibly sexy as the rest of her made him question his own sanity. “Oui.”

But he couldn’t wait to find out what came next. -- Chapter 189 of ASC

Georgelina - George and Angelina are fun to write because I love the idea of someone loving George for who he is and not comparing him to Fred. I love how when he takes her to the Yule Ball, she knows he's not Fred, but he's afraid to hope because as much as he loves his twin, this is the first time in his life he wants someone to really see him as separate from Fred. Angelina does that. I love her friendship with Fred as well and how she's not afraid to tease and poke at him. But one of my favourite moments with them is still when Molly shows up at the twins' flat and finds Angelina in the closet.

George woke up slowly, the early morning sunlight reflecting through the small dingy window of his bedroom. He blinked a moment before he turned to smile at the woman sleeping next to him. Her dark hair was swept up in a silk head wrap, but he was greeted by the lovely nakedness of her back. He grinned, shifting so that he could plant kisses down her spine. She stirred under his lips and when she rolled over, he merely moved his lips to her breasts.

“Good morning,” he murmured as his mouth continued to plant kisses over her skin.

“Morning,” Angelina said, her fingers moving into his hair. “What time is it?”

“Still early,” George answered, sucking the dark peak into his mouth.

“Mmm, the sun comes up late in the winter, so that’s not true.”

George chuckled and looked over at the clock. “Almost nine.”

“Nine... and you’re still here?”

“I’m closing the store tonight so Fred agreed to open. There were some early deliveries to the Ministry that needed to be shipped off. You look delectable.”

Angelina chuckled as his stubbled jaw slid down her stomach. “I doubt that. But after I shower, eat your heart out.”

George’s lips curved and her thumb reached down to trace his lips.

“I love that smile. The one that lights up your whole face. Especially when I’m the one who gives it to you.”

“You always make me smile,” George told her. “You’re still coming with me on Sunday?”

Angelina tugged his face up to hers to kiss him. “Even if I didn’t want to, your mum would insist on it.”

George chuckled. “She likes you.”

“Well, she thinks I'm a good influence on you because you wrote your NEWTs.”

“But you’re a bad influence,” George finished. “Downright naughty in fact. Seducing her son all over London without a care in the world. Tut tut tut.”

Angelina grinned. “In my defence, her son wasn’t putting up much of a fight.”

George kissed her, covering her body with his. “None whatsoever.”

Angelina’s hands slid down his back and into his pyjama bottoms. “When did you put on clothes?”

“When I got up to use the loo a few hours ago,” George said. He used her momentary distraction to kiss her breasts again.

“It’s not like you have something he hasn’t seen before,” Angelina pouted, her hand wrapping around him

George smiled. “True. But you know how Fred is, knowing that I’m the better looking twin is one thing, but seeing me in all of my naked glory is something else entirely.”

She laughed. “Prat. You’re ridiculous”

“And you’re beautiful. I love you, Ange. I love you more every day. You make me so happy.”

Angelina kissed him deeply. “Me too. My teammates say that I’m always smiling and that’s because of you. I love you.”

George deepened the kiss as her hands fondled him just as Fred’s voice interrupted them.

“Oi! You two decent? I’m coming in!”

George barely managed to cover Angelina’s tits before the door to his room burst open. “Fred, boundaries!”

Fred shrugged. “I’ve seen it all before. Right, Angelina?”

Angelina scowled at him. “Walking in on me in the bathroom hardly counts as seeing it all.”

“Which was an accident and I am truly sorry for that, but listen!”

“Who’s running the shop?” George interrupted.

“Ron, nitwit. He’s home for the holiday. Now, I received another shipment of mirrors in and I think that after this batch we’ll be able to sell them. I know with all of the supplies we were making for the Ministry, we got a little backlogged, but this is it, Georgie!”

George grinned. “Yeah?”

Fred nodded, leaning against the doorjamb. “I figure we’ll gift one to Charlie and to Mum and Dad, because that will make us Mum’s favourite, and starting in the new year, VainMuch will be a go!”

Angelina sat up, holding the sheet over her breasts. “And it was important for you to tell us this right this very second because...”

Fred wiggled his eyebrows. “That was just to help cool you off because Mum’s on her way up and I don’t know how much longer Ron can distract her.”

Fred had barely turned around before George and Angelina jumped to their feet and attempted to find clothes. Angelina had just pulled one of George’s G jumpers over her head before George urged her into the closet to hide at the sound of Mrs Weasley stepping into the boys’ flat.

“Mum!” George exclaimed loudly in front of the closet door. “What a pleasant surprise! What are you doing here?”

“Hi, George,” Molly said, standing on her toes to kiss her son’s cheek. “Ron and Fred were just showing me the new stock. The store is really looking grand!”

“We told you that we knew what we were doing amidst the explosions and general chaos.”

Molly nodded. “I should have had more faith in you boys. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Fred said as George smiled next to him.

Molly pursed her lips. “I’m sure that you’ve both heard by now what happened a few days ago in Hogsmeade. Theo is staying with us for the holiday. I don’t want that poor boy to be alone in his grief. He needs friends and he needs family.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” George said. “Want us to come by and cheer him up then?”

“This isn’t the sort of thing one cheers up, George,” Molly insisted. “We just have to be there for him as much as we can be and show him that the world will go on, no matter how much he thinks it may not!”

George nodded. “We can do that.”

“Good. Now, is Angelina still joining us for Christmas?”

“On Christmas Eve,” George corrected, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pyjama bottoms. “I’m going to have dinner on Christmas Day at her house.”

“Oh, but George that means you’ll miss Charlie.”

“We’ll pop by after dinner. Her family does Yule at tea time.”

“Good,” Molly said, her hands on her hips. “Don’t you think that it’s about time you pick up after yourself in here, George? It looks like a pigsty!”

George shrugged. “Just a place to sleep, Mum.”

“Well, this ‘just a place to sleep’ needs to be cleaned. No, not cleaned — decimated!”

George grinned. “Mum, that’s a bit extreme. It’s not like we have mice living about. It’s just some old clothes on the floor. Fred and I moved out, remember? We can take care of ourselves.”

“Hmm,” Molly murmured as she began to move around the room and pick up her son’s clothes. “At least pick your clothes up off the floor. Dirty socks and piles of unwashed clothes and this?”

George swallowed when she pointed to the black and white striped bra on the floor. “Er. I sometimes like to wear those.”

Molly rolled her eyes before they suddenly narrowed at the closed door behind her son. “George Fabian Weasley, are you making that poor girl hide in your closet?”

She pushed him aside and pulled the door open and Angelina managed a small smile.

“Er, hi, Mrs Weasley.”

Molly looked between the two of them. “Do you two think that I was born yesterday? At your age I was already pregnant with my second child. Come out of there!”

Angelina carefully extricated herself from the closet, pulling George’s jumper down a bit. It almost hung to her knees, but it was all she was wearing.

“Are you angry?” Angelina asked, hesitantly.

Molly’s eyes were kind as they looked at her. “No, of course not, dear. You two are no longer children. And considering some of the ways that Bill and Charlie concealed their overnight guests, the closet is kind of funny.”

“You knew about those?” Fred asked from the doorway.

Molly turned to stare at her son. “A mother always knows. Just like I knew about Melinda Cummings sneaking down the drain pipe under your room two years ago, Frederick.”

Fred swallowed. “Blimey!”

George gave his mother a sheepish smile. “I love her, Mum.”

“I know that, too. Angelina, dear, please don’t let him live like a slob. I’ll see you boys tonight for dinner and you too, dear. You’re always welcome.”

She kissed them all on the cheek and then was gone.

Fred stared after her in wonder. “You don’t think she knew about the time Alicia and I shagged behind Dad’s work shed, do you?”

Angelina slipped her arm around George’s waist. “I wouldn’t bet against her.” -- Chapter 254 of ASC

Nevannah - Neville and Hannah are still very much exploring their relationship, but to choose one moment between them so far... I think I rather like the scene where he helps her bake. I think it's so sweet and shows how enraptured he is with her.

Neville licked his lips and watched her get to work. It wasn’t long before the lemon fairy cakes were baking and she started to make red velvet ones. By the time the fairy cakes were cooling, they were making frosting. He watched in amazement as she waved the spatula over each cake like an artist. His own attempt in comparison looked like a small child had stomped on it.

Hannah giggled. “It’s all about the movement in the wrist, like this.”

He watched her again frost a perfect cake and when he tried, he ended up with a splotch of frosting on the table next to him. When she giggled again, he scooped it up with his finger and put it on her nose.

Hannah’s eyes widened in surprise before her own finger dug into the chocolate and spread it on his cheek. It took no time at all before both of them were spotted in frosting. Hannah was laughing as he chased her around the kitchen, his fingers full of frosting. The house-elves were busy chasing after them, mopping up the frosting that they left in their wake, but neither of them noticed. Neville cornered her against the counter by the cupboard and leaned in to steal a kiss.

“You taste like chocolate,” he whispered.

Hannah’s hands slipped up his chest, spreading frosting as she went, but neither of them noticed as her lips met his. They lost themselves in long, slow kisses that left both of them breathless and it was only when the charm rang to signify that the fairy cakes were done, did Neville pull away, licking frosting off his lips.

“I think I rather like baking.”

Hannah’s cheeks flushed as she fumbled to wipe her hands on her apron. “We have to um… the cakes.”

Neville watched her hurry off to get the red velvet cakes out and he grinned. Yeah, he definitely liked baking. -- Chapter 268 of ASC

Perdrey - As to Percy and Audrey, well, I love writing the two of them being naughty and having fun. I think they are both very good for each other, but my favourite moment with them so far is still when Arthur catches them kissing and Percy is amazed at how easily she charms his father. I think that's the moment where you can see he's falling for her.

Audrey ran her hands through her hair as Percy buried his face on her shoulder. “I’m starved, but this was a much better lunch.”

He kissed her shoulder. “You’re going to be the death of me. This is how we’re both getting fired.”

She grinned. “Worried you’ll get caught in a compromising position?” She fixed his crooked glasses. “I’ll protect you.”

“You can’t just send me your knickers in the middle of the bloody day!”

“I can,” she said. “I did. Are you going to give them back?”

“No,” he growled. “Absolutely not.”

Audrey smiled. “So, you do like it when I send you my knickers.”

“Audrey...”

She grinned. “That’s what I thought, Mr Weasley.”

Percy sighed as she kissed his chin. “Miss Mayfair, you will be appropriately punished later today for this misbehaviour.”

“Absolutely, Mr Weasley,” she murmured against his neck. “I may have borrowed a pair of handcuffs from the office.”

Percy grabbed a fistful of her hair and tugged her mouth back to his for a long, deep kiss that left both of them breathless. They stumbled out of the unused restroom like drunks, giggling and laughing. Audrey had just kissed him once more when he heard a familiar voice clearing their throat behind him. Percy rested his forehead against Audrey’s before he slowly turned his head and grinned sheepishly at his father.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Percy,” Arthur said, his ears reddening. “This must be the lovely Audrey.”

Audrey extended her hand. “Good afternoon, Mr Weasley. Audrey Mayfair, it’s lovely to meet you.”

“And you,” Arthur said, shaking her hand. “I’ve wondered about the woman who has made my son smile constantly over the last few months.”

“I’ve been keeping him to myself, I’m afraid,” she said, smiling up at Percy.

“We’ve noticed that as well,” Arthur said.

“How did you get roped into working on a Saturday?” Percy asked.

Arthur sighed. “I’m woefully behind in my paperwork. I came down here to log in some evidence in the Department of Files and Records. What are you two doing down here?”

“I was working on something for Mr Scrimgeour in courtroom ten. Percy came to steal me for lunch,” Audrey said, smiling up at her boyfriend.

Arthur smiled. “There’s a new deli that opened down the block. I had a corned beef sandwich on rye yesterday. It was almost as good as your mother’s. Speaking of, Ginny and Ron are coming home for the holiday today, Percy. Charlie and Aydin are coming in tonight as well. Why don’t you bring Audrey round for dinner tomorrow? We’d love to have you join us. Molly’s quite the cook.”

“I’d love that,” Audrey admitted, smiling at Percy.

Percy nodded. “Yes, Dad. That sounds… great.”

Arthur chuckled. “Good. We’ll see you then.”

When Arthur turned to head off, Audrey kissed Percy smartly on the lips before she hurried forward and linked her arm through Arthur’s.

“Actually, Mr Weasley, we’re going up to the same floor and I need to grab my bag. Perhaps I could accompany you back to work?”

Arthur’s eyes crinkled. “I’d love that.” He patted her arm gently before Audrey turned to smile back at Percy over her shoulder.

“I’ll meet you in the atrium in a bit and we’ll grab something from that deli, yes?”

Then the two of them marched off ahead.

Audrey smiled warmly at Arthur. “Percy tells me that you run the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. That must be terribly fascinating?”

“It has its moments,” Arthur assured her as the two of them marched off leaving Percy staring after them.

Percy shoved his hands into his pockets, the feel of her knickers there making him smile, and he thought so much for careful planning. Audrey was about to be shoved into the lion’s den.

He was surprised by how much he was suddenly looking forward to it. -- Chapter 266 of ASC

Lavenmae - I think my favourite scene with these two is when they tell Parvati that they are a couple.

“There you two are!” Parvati exclaimed. “Our parents barely said goodbye and you were running off towards the train, Mae. Hi, Lav!”

“Hi, Vati,” Lavender said.

“I just wanted to find a good compartment,” Padma told her sister. She started to get up to move, but Lavender grabbed her arm.

“No, she wanted to come and snog her girlfriend.”

Parvati laughed. “You finally found someone to fall for your charms, Mae? That’s great news! Unless you tell me it’s Li or Bones then we’re going to have words after how those two treated you.”

Lavender slipped her hand back into Padma’s and smiled. “No, it’s… Padma and I are together, Parvati. I’m her girlfriend and she’s… mine.”

Parvati’s eyes widened in surprise as she looked between her best friend and her twin. “You two! When did… Anthony’s party! Of course! I knew something had changed between the two of you.”

“We didn’t mean to keep it from you,” Lavender began. “It’s just that it was new and… it’s still new, but… Parvati, you’re my best friend and I know that this is weird, me dating your identical twin sister, but —”

“— I didn’t say that it was weird,” Parvati interrupted. “Padma, have anything to add?”

Lavender snuck a glance over at Padma and the girl’s dark eyes were smiling at her and then she grinned widely when Padma leaned in and kissed her softly before she answered.

“Kissing her makes me feel like I could be floating without a levitation charm.”

Parvati grinned. “Good. Now budge over and try to keep the enthusiastic snogging to a minimum when I’m around, yeah?”

Lavender blushed, but couldn’t stop smiling. Padma Patil was her girlfriend and suddenly, nothing else really seemed to matter. As she listened to her best friend start talking about her plans for the year, she knew that she still had a big goofy grin on her face and there was nothing that she liked better. -- Chapter 238 of ASC

Gransy - This is a couple I adore writing! I thought it would be so fun to add in two people we don't usually get to see much of, two people who you would never imagine getting together, and I love how many people have grown to love them as much as me. I think my favourite moment with them so far hasn't actually been published yet but it will be in chapter 284. I think it really shows a turning point in their relationship. Otherwise, I love the scene where he finds her the door.

The sound of movement in the doorway made her look up at her husband.

“How was the meeting?”

“Okay,” he said. “Did you remember to eat?”

“Yes. Mitzy brought me a sandwich and a salad.”

Greg nodded, clearing his throat. “Good. Um… I think I found a door for the shop.”

Pansy’s eyes widened. “You did? Where?”

“An antique place in Muggle London.”

Pansy wrinkled her nose. “Why were you in Muggle London?”

“I was doing something for the Dark Lord,” he said. “But I found the door. It’s wood and painted a deep turquoise green with gold inlets carved into it. I thought it looked… sophisticated.”

Pansy’s smile widened. “Can I see it?”

Greg offered his hand to help her up and led her into the entrance hall where he had the set of double doors propped up against the wall.

“Greg! It’s perfect!” she shrieked.

It was sophisticated looking and it would make her shop stand out among the vast assortment of places in Apricity Lane.

“Good. I’ll get it installed in a few days." -- Chapter 270 of ASC

Thanks so much for this ask! It was fun to take a trip down memory lane!

#a second chance by breanie #harry potter fanfiction.#ask me anything

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malereader-inserts · 4 years

Text

broken crown | xi.

Jumping over some fallen tree as you landed, the ground beneath you started to spontaneously grow roots, latching onto the feet of some snatchers - the roots growing quickly and ultimately wrapping around their necks, you were glad you did not have to watch how the life drained from their eyes.

Word Count: 2,691 ((it’s a long one))

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“I don’t blame him,” You mumbled, barely escaping the attack at Lovegood’s house, “We can’t out him and his action, he’s just desperate.”

Ron was annoyed though, but, he had reconsidered only because everyone had seemed to silently agree to you. There was no lead to the next horcrux which left Harry frustrated. As Ron went to do enchantments and Hermione the tent, you pat Harry on the shoulder.

“It’ll be a new year soon, H,” You hummed, throwing your arm over his shoulder, “We’ll be facing new beginnings, I can already tell.”

Harry looked at you, and clashed his shoulder to your chest as you pretended to be wounded with his actions. Hermione, finishing putting the tent up, watches her two best friend just being them. She smiled to herself, noticing how Harry reaches out for you, holding your hand and squeezing it.

She watches how your other hand rest upon Harry’s cheek, your thumb rubbing against his skin. Hermione’s shoulder deflate as she sees both her best friend madly in love with each other, melting in each other’s touch. She, then, looks at Ron, who was slowly finishing with the enchantments.

She adored the love you and Harry shared between each other. It was natural, soft yet fiery. It seem to be a love that was sublet but yet so powerful. Often times, many cannot believe that Harry could snag such a charming man like you. You had boy and girls fawning over your smirks and the twinkle in your eyes. Whilst you were similar to your dad, often at times, your friends see a Lupin who is wilder than your dad. But, behind your mysterious personality, your friends truly saw you for what you were.

Mad, in a sense, curious about everything and most definitely ambitious. Hermione smiles to herself as words you often uttered had escaped into her mind: “You need a little bit of insanity to do great things.”

“What’s got you smiling there, Hermione Granger?” You asked, sitting by her, “Thinking about a certain someone?” You had teased, bumping shoulders.

“Shut up!”

You laughed, throwing your head back. Harry, sometimes loses faith and hope, but when he sees you - there’s just that little hope you give him to hang on a little bit more.

“You’re an IDIOT!”

You have had a quiet few months, with dead ends to where the next Horcrux could be. You had time to evaluate yourself and you were at the final stretch, in fact you’ve been doing extra magic around camp. Even started to make a healing spell but the only downside was the fact that some cuts would turn into scars instantly.

Harry had been wondering what offensive magic you had under your arsenal, after all, he had heard tales that Merlin was vicious in battle, fury within him whenever harm had touched his friends and it was no different to you.

But, currently, the four of you were running because your idiotic boyfriend had accidentally said Voldemort name, triggering the taboo. So, you were running from the snatcher and Fenrir Greyback, who had it in for you.

“Oh, you’ve got to teach me that!” Ron says, very impressed as you were unimpressed with his comment.

“Absolutely not!”

Truth be told, Fenrir wanted you, the moment he had noticed you were there he wanted blood. After Lyall Lupin, your grandfather had insulted werewolves it seemed like Fenrir had a grudge against your family. He didn’t even want to sink his teeth in you, in fact, he wanted to scar you - to remind you that you were forever be on his list to torment.

As you get cornered in the forest, Fenrir was quick to incapacitate you, two of his claws scratches your face, making your fall to the floor, stomach against the floor. You could hear voices around you, drowned out as you try to heal yourself. Cringing as you touch the scratch, which you were thankful it wasn’t deep as Bill’s or your dad. There was one scratch from your eyebrow over your left eye to your nose, the second scratch was just your upper lip. Then another scratch had come out of nowhere, three cuts down the back of your neck.

You were lucky, Fenrir had terrible aim.

“This one’s a Lupin-” You heard over the muzziness, “I get to keep this one.”

“SHUT HIM UP!” Bellatrix voice had echoed through the manor.

Draco gulping as he watched Hermione get tortured by his aunt and the werewolf having fun with you. Hermione was screaming, but you were begging. Draco couldn’t look at you because you were just bloody. Both your arms full with long cuts wrapping around your forearm, Draco was convinced the werewolf was trying to make his torture like a work of art.

But, Draco could see the frustration in the werewolf, as your wounds would start to heal by itself. Draco couldn’t believe his eyes, no one had ever pulled magic like that. Fenrir was smart enough not to bite you, he didn’t want you to have the cravings of a werewolf, he wanted to damage you, with scars that barely fade to remind you that you were the grandson who insulted the werewolves.

“Expellliarmus!” You heard Harry’s voice, you could see from the bright lights over you there was a battle going on.

You had mustered as much magic as you can to knock Fenrir off you, as you slowly sat up. Feeling weak in yourself as you see Bellatrix pick Hermione off the floor whilst holding a knife to her neck.

“Stop! Drop your wands,” Bellatrix had commanded, looking over to them, “I said, drop them!” There were thuds of Ron and Harry dropping their wands, as Bellatrix looked at her nephew, “Pick them up, Draco, now.”

Draco slowly picks up Harry’s and Ron’s wand, standing off to the side. She smirked as the stinging jinx had started to fade from Harry’s face, revealing him. There was a triumph in her that her family could impress the dark lord in bringing Harry to him

“Well, well, well, look what we have here. It's Harry Potter! He's all bright and shiny and new again, just in time for the Dark Lord,” There was a sinister glee to her tone as you lean against a table to pick yourself up, “Call him.”

Her order was directed to Draco, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. These were people in his year, people who did good. When Draco hesitated, his father stepped up, flashing his mark to the group, as he was to call the dark lord, everyone stopped as they heard squeaking.

Everyone looked up to see Dobby unscrewing the chandelier, as it drops. Bellatrix lets go of Hermione, who lunges forward to Ron’s arms. Harry quickly grabs the wands from Draco’s hand.

“Stupefy!” Harry cast the spell, aiming to Lucius, before grabbing you in his arms.

He allowed you to lean over him as he groups you up with Dobby, Hermione, Ron and Griphook.

“Stupid elf,” Bellatrix hisses before exclaiming loudly, “You could've killed me.”

“Dobby never meant to kill,” Dobby proclaimed, “Dobby only meant to maim or seriously injure.”

As Narcissa waves her wand to cast a spell, Dobby snaps his fingers. The wand flying straight into his hands as his old master looked dumbfounded.

“How dare you take a witch's wand?” Bellatrix screamed in fury, “How dare you defy your masters?”

Dobby straightens his back and looked at Bellatrix’s in the eye with no fear, “Dobby has no master. Dobby is a free elf. And Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends.”

You all grip onto Dobby, who starts to apparate out of the Malfoy Manor. Landing on a beach. Landing on your knees as Hermione had held onto you, who was being held by Ron.

“(Y/n)!” Harry exclaimed as he got up from lying down, “Hermione!”

He had approached the two of you, clearly shaken. He placed a comforting arm around you, his eyes flickering to the closed cuts on your arms, noticing they were line vines, wrapping around your arms. You had swallowed as you gripped your boyfriend.

“You're all right. We're safe,” Harry reassured you, then looking at Hermione and Ron, “We're all safe.”

“Harry Potter...” A little voice had spoken, everyone had turned to see Dobby, impaled with Bellatrix’s knife.

In a hurry, Harry quickly goes to Dobby’s aid and Ron took noticed of Bill and Luna coming down towards the hill. As Bill ushered everyone, you see Luna and Harry talking and seeing Dobby, limp in his arms. Harry buries him with Ron and Hermione, but you stayed indoors with Bill who was examining your scars.

“Scars from Fenrir don’t heal that quickly or easily,” He says, tenderly holding your arm as you sat down in the kitchen as Fleur comes downstairs and takes over from her husband, they weren’t scars but closed wounds slowly healing. But, Fleur took initiation to clean the blood from your arms.

“It’s beautiful here,” Luna compliments

“It was our Aunt’s. We used to come here as kids. The Order uses it now as a safe house -- what’s left of us, at least...”

Bill and Fleur allowed everyone to stay, you had healed over quite nicely and you got out lucky with werewolf scratches to fade. They still were very prominent but your friends, especially Harry had noticed that you kept your sleeves down mostly. Harry mustered up a plan for once, breaking into Gringotts whilst Hermione transformed into Bellatrix from plucking her hair back at the manor.

“You think it’ll work?” Hermione asked, everyone had often found you sitting outside, just close to the back door, Bill and Fleur hadn’t understood why.

But, your best friends had understood that during that night at Malfoy Manor, it was the first time you had used a lot of powerful magic beyond your years. You were recharging, but you were stubborn, believing if you continue to use it, you’ll get used to it.

“I like to believe so,” You say as Hermione sits by you, watching you grow flowers in the sand before promptly killing them, “Can you believe it’s Easter now?”

“Time flies, it seemed like yesterday we were in Xenophilius house asking about the deathly hallows.”

“I do wonder if I could pull off his dress sense, you think I could, Hermione?”

She cracks a smile, “Absolutely, I think you’ll be in your truest form, Merlin.”

You give her a narrowed look, rolling your eyes promptly, “I’m not Merlin.”

Hermione sighs, “No,” watching you play with your magic, seeing how you’ve gathered a lot of strength with your magic. Not even her could believe that you show such great power with ease, “But you’re (Y/n) Lupin. And that’s even better.”

By mid-April, with preparation half-way to being done for the heist, everyone was eating in the Cottage. You had lost appetite, going out to the garden, leaning against the fencing.

“What’s wrong with (Y/n)?” Bill has asked looking at the three.

“He’s preoccupied that’s all.”

Your back to the cottage, you got caught up messing about with your compass. Mumbling Latin words under your breath, trying to think what purpose it should hold to you. Not hearing the commotion inside the cottage.

“It is I, Remus John Lupin!” called a voice over the howling wind. “I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, the Secret Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me come in an emergency!”

“Lupin,” muttered Bill, and he ran to the door and wrenched it open.

Remus fell over the threshold. He was white-faced, wrapped in a travelling cloak, his greying hair windswept. He straightened up, looked around the room, making sure of who was there, then cried aloud, “It’s a boy! We’ve named him Ted, after Dora’s father!”

Hermione shrieked. “Wha—? Tonks – Tonks has had the baby?”

“Yes, yes, she’s had the baby!” shouted Remus.

All around the table came cries of delight, sighs of relief: Hermione and Fleur both squealed, "Congratulations!” and Ron said, “Blimey, a baby!” as if he had never heard of such a thing before.

“Yes – yes – a boy,” said Remus again, who seemed dazed by his own happiness. He strode around the table and hugged Harry.

He had let go of Harry, once again examining everyone indoors. His eyes flicker to Hermione then Ron then to Harry. His happiness seemed to wear off for a second as Harry looked confused.

“Remus-?” He question.

“Where’s my boy, Harry?” Remus asked, trying to conceal the urge of hurry within his voice, desperately wanting a hug from you.

Harry’s eyes flicker to the back door, “He’s outside.”

Remus looks at the others, “Go, we’ll celebrate in a bit, go see him,” Bill shoos him off as he exited through the back door.

He hears you humming and looking down. Noticing your eyebrows furrowed and you watch the pointer spin rapidly.

“What is your heart desiring?” You jumped at his voice, “Still Harry?”

You pointer had stopped in the direction of your dad’s voice, you slam it shut. Turning around to look at him, he takes a good look at you, hoping to burn it in his mind. He hopes that you have forgiven him, he doesn’t know if you remember what happened months ago.

“Dad!” You exclaimed, a smile beaming upon your face, lunging to hug him as he catches you effortlessly, “What are you doing here? How’s Dora? How’s Sirius?”

Remus chuckles, “And to think, you missed me,” He leans you out of the hug, “Sirius is alright, Dora is great, she’s given birth to a baby boy.”

“A baby?” You responded dumbfounded as Remus’ smile reaches his ears.

“You’re a big brother, (Y/n), you have a little brother!”

As you snap out of your shock, “What’s his name?”

“Named after Dora’s dad, after-” You nodded, knowing he didn’t need to vocalise the death of Ted Tonks, “Teddy Remus Lupin.”

“Seems fitting,” You chuckled, as Remus’ smile drop as he noticed something.

You looked at him with knitted eyebrows as he placed a gentle hand on your cheek, delicately tilting your head to see the scar from the snake attack. He felt you shift uncomfortably as his eyes flickered down to your arms.

“What happened-?”

“Freak accident,” You responded almost immediately that you cringed as Remus raised an eyebrow, “Well, this one,” pointing to the front of your neck, “Was a snake attack and these,” motioning to your arms, “Fenrir Greyback.”

“Who?” Venom had dripped from your father’s words, as you stiffen.

“Never mind that, that’s a story for another time, but for now we have to celebrate, Teddy!” You changed the subject tugging your dad to the indoors, “Come along.”

“Wait, (Y/n),” He stops, as you looked at him with a tilted head, “I’m sorry about the-”

“Don’t apologise, it’s worth it,” You responded, shrugging your shoulders, “You went back to Dora and that’s the forgiveness you needed the most.”

“You took your time, Moony!” Sirius greeted his best friend’s arrival.

Tonks came downstairs, “How’s Bill and Fleur?”

“They’re doing well,” Remus answered, removing his cloak, the Black relatives noticed there was a spring in Remus’ step and was a little bit more overjoyed than usual, “Of course, as well as Harry, Hermione, Ron and (Y/n).”

Sirius and Tonks’ got excited with the mention of Harry’s and your’s name, beckoning Remus to the living room to talk about the interaction. Sirius shoulders relaxing upon hearing the state of Harry, he was alive. Tonks, caring for Harry obviously was more concerned with you. But, by the looks of Remus, Tonks could relax thinking you were alright.

“I’ve had a few drinks so bear with me-”

Tagged

@carefulthatsharassment-sir @lanlanlan020202 @hanniejji @dumbssbtch @lea-the-foxe @stan-joonies @littertortilla @purpleshusbandd

#Remus Lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus x reader #remus lupin x male reader #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter x male reader #x male reader #broken crown

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silence-burns · 4 years

Text

Please Hate Me //part 37

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers

The vast sitting area of the rooms was where Loki and you spent the rest of the night. It was a comfortable place, clad in silks and velvets, but there was a certain tension in the air that prevented you from enjoying it fully.

The sounds coming from outside, mostly from the wilderness of gardens beyond the balcony. They were nothing of what you might've experienced on Earth. The wild shrieks followed by soft cooing and voices unnervingly similar to child's laughter sent shivers down your spine whenever you tried to imagine what sort of creature might make them.

And how close it was.

There was fruit left on the table in a large bowl polished to the point of mirroring whatever came close to it. Some of them resembled in shape what you knew from Earth, but there were many that didn't.

You reached for a yellow roundish one and peeled the skin off. It had a sour taste of overripe mush.

Loki munched on small blue berries while he sat by the fire. He did his best to remain calm, but his foot kept twitching nervously every now and then.

"How many assassinations have you been through?" you asked when you sat next to him. He turned to let you put your head on his knees.

"Two for political reasons, back on Asgard. Some idiots thought they could wipe out the ruling dynasty and take over. There was one more when Thor and I have been sent as ambassadors to a place newly conquered and visibly unhappy about it. And one when I just didn't get along with some noble. To this day I have no idea why," he stated with a smile that said otherwise.

His finger followed the plane of your brow tenderly.

"Sounds like you were a dick to the wrong person. You have that effect on people."

"...could be."

A soft knock at the door ended the moment. You looked through the balcony. The colors began to shift.

A man you'd never seen before waited for you in the corridor. You weren't sure if he was a guard, but the thin, needle-like sword by his side suggested so. Or maybe no one there felt safe anymore.

Loki took your hand as you followed the silent man. He was as tall as the High Prince and the Queen, but of a slender build, almost as if he would break should any pressure be applied to his bones. What startled you the most was that you were finally able to see him clearly. The shadows still seemed to cling to him as a second skin, but there was no blurriness that made your head hurt like yesterday.

His sharp and cold eyes noticed you watching him. There was no softness to his features. The untamed darkness of his skin shifted wildly as a storm front would swallow the sky in endless hunger.

He guided you through winding paths between the pillars in shades of off-gray, partially hidden under the climbing ropes of tiny flowers. The breeze snuck between them, careful as to not make a sound.

The man led you to a terrace bathed in shadow from overhanging roses. Their thick thorns and sturdy branches intertwined savagely, forming a close-packed, unbreakable surface.

"High Prince." Loki bowed his head toward the lord waiting underneath the roses. You quickly followed suit. .

The guard left you without a word, walking away on silent, bare feet.

The High Prince wore a tunic of deep blues and intricate patterns of interlaced branches, or maybe animals, or maybe spiders with their long, thin legs creeping from behind whatever tried to run. The design shifted whenever you thought you finally grasped it. You turned your eyes away before it became impossible.

"Despite the outrage among my people," he said in a tone rich with shimmering starlight, "I still hope this mess can be solved bloodlessly. And quickly."

His head was close to the concentrated woven wall of thorns and roses above him. The Prince didn't seem to bother staying careful. His horns, painted with a silver dye, glinted sharply.

"We'll do our best," Loki promised. "What happened on the day of the murder?"

"Nothing beyond the usual. Asgard's ambassador had taken a liking to our library, and spent most of his days there, along with one of the librarian's assistants. And then one day, they were found right there, bloodied and cold." His hand moved. The long, spindly fingers were tipped with claws.

He motioned towards a niche under the overhanging roses. When you first entered the balcony, you thought it was bathed in dense shadow. But shadows could never be red.

"The lord had of course faded by the time his remains were found, and not much was left of him. We have moved the Asgardian’s… body to the rooms he used to occupy, and spelled it to remain intact had you any need to investigate it."

"We are terribly sorry for the loss," Loki said, watching the dark splotches of dried blood. Judging by their expanse, no one bothered to clean them.

You wondered if, in a world where its inhabitants simply faded, and their life energy was returned to the core of their world, they were surprised to see such a mess left. You looked up at the roses in full bloom, their flowers meaty and wide open to the endless light of the sky without sun.

The Prince followed your gaze.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" For the first time since arriving, he addressed you. "I have never seen them bloom. The assistant's link to the core wasn't strong, but even it was enough to revive a part of it."

Despite the warmth of the castle, you shivered. There was nothing human in the eyes regarding you with calculated care.

"We'll do our best to bring this matter to a swift end," Loki said, taking a casual step ahead, cutting through that stare. "And investigate everything thoroughly."

The smile he wore like an armor was edged and unpleasant. In a place where thoughts shaped reality, words could be knives, used carefully and meticulously.

"I hope so."

The High Prince left the balcony, his horns scratching the unyielding surface of roses. One of them was cut, and rained down in tears of red petals. The spiraling patterns of the lord's tunic seemed to look at you as he walked into the bright corridors with his hands clasped behind his back. There was something wrong with the shadows circling beneath his feet.

You let out a breath you hadn’t noticed you were holding. "I try really hard, but the longer we stay here, the harder it gets to find at least one normal thing in this place."

"I promise that once we're done here, I'll show you a world less… corrupted."

"I honestly can't wait."

You walked over to the place where two people you'd never get to know had their lives ended. There was nothing special about the crumbling stone, corroded by the passing of time and the shifting currents of energy in the air.

Loki reached into the depths of his magic in hope of finding any trace of whoever was behind it. But the Edge's magic was wild and tangled, and whoever paid a visit there, left no magical footprint.

Loki came closer and reached over your shoulder. The curtain of roses lifted a little, showing a hole where the balcony's railing should've been. Beneath it, the castle's wall was in a rough state, with pieces missing. You both looked down through it, toward the ground.

"I may not be an expert climber," you said, "but I have a feeling getting on this balcony through there wouldn't really be a problem."

"I am an expert climber, especially when it comes to castles," Loki judged the distance and crumbled stone, "and it definitely wouldn't. The only question is, why not actually use the stairs?"

"If I was a 7 foot tall High Prince with murderous intent, I'd prefer to stay out of people's sight too. And if I knew the whereabouts of the most hated person in my kingdom, I don't think it'd be hard to sneak into the place he passes on his way from the library every day."

"That sounds oddly specific, darling, and almost as if you suggest that the most important lord on the Edge wanted to murder that ambassador, but not in a way that would immediately start a war. Why do it sneakily and request an investigation? That sounds like extra steps leading nowhere."

"That is a hole in my theory," you admitted, walking away from the dried swaths of blood. "But you have to admit he acts a little off. Literally everything is suspicious about him. And it would actually make sense if he started murdering people in order to keep himself from fading. You've seen what it already did to some roses. If he used more people..."

You leaned on the railing and Loki followed. The gardens the balcony overlooked were a tangled chaos of branches, flowers, and trees leaning heavily to the sides, as if in the middle of moving. Huge statues of people you had no knowledge about rose through them, staring with blind eyes. If anyone wanted to use them as cover to get to the wall, it wouldn't be a problem. But what for?

You put your head on Loki's shoulder and felt his arm wrap around your waist.

"My theory makes no sense," you said into the leather of his armor.

"We don't have enough clues yet to make a sound one. Don't worry about it, we just got here."

He sent you a soft smile, one he rarely let anyone see. It often caught you off-guard with how much tenderness could be found in his smallest gestures. It was a relief to have someone by your side, wherever you went and whatever you had to deal with. There was something reassuring with knowing that even in the vast expanse of the universe, you weren't alone.

"Thank you," you muttered into his lips softly.

Standing so close, you felt the moment his surprise shifted into something else.

Loki pulled you closer into the kiss, with need and joy digging his fingers into the nape of your neck. He didn't force you, though, and when for the briefest moment something else caught your eye, he didn't stop you moving away.

His lips were pink and the breath they caught, ragged. With heavy lids, Loki followed your gaze towards the gardens behind you.

The Queen stood as still as if she already were one of the statues overlooking the gardens and the narrow, gravel paths winding between them. Her gown was made out of silk as ethereal and delicate as moonlight, and on anyone else, it would look regal and grand. But the fading was a cruel destiny, and one that paid no favor to those afflicted. The Queen clad in silks and jewelry like falling stars was barely there, gray despite the light bathing the world. Despite the remnants of life still dwelling deep inside her.

Her eyes were empty to the home around her, no recognition or emotion showing on her face. She looked at a patch of flowers climbing over one of the statues, but it was uncertain if she actually saw them.

An appropriate distance away, another figure stood. It was a woman with a headpiece covering her squat, stunted horns like morning mist on a spiderweb. A scar ran down her right cheek, old and badly healed. Her eyes were trained on the Queen, but her pose was stooped and bored. She must've been a guard delegated to ensure the well-being of the fading ghost of the Queen.

"I might've just shifted into detective mode, because something is telling me that maybe we should think of looking for witnesses," you whispered.

Loki shivered, feeling your breath brush his neck in a gentle caress.

"Talking to her would be considered a great offense," he said with a slight rasp to his voice. "The ones who are fading are supposed to be left alone to reconcile with the core as their essence fades. It's a tradition, and an important rule."

"When do we break it?"

Loki eyed the guard.

"...once she's alone. It shouldn't be difficult to find her, even though everyone seems to overlook her."

"And that's why she could be a witness to so many things," you said with newfound hope. Something clenched in Loki's chest as he watched your face lit up. It was a beautiful sight.

"Looks like we have a plan." He offered you his arm. "But before we spit on tradition, how about we pay a little visit to our lovely corpse?"

"Of course." You took it. "I can't wait to see what he has to offer."

#please hate me #loki x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #Loki Laufeyson #loki laufeyson reader insert #loki imagine #loki marvel #loki mcu

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bloodypapercut · 3 years

Text

something missing (g.w. x reader)

request from @lilyydfg : Hey! Can you please write about reader trying to make george (her boyfriend) feel better and get out of depression after Fred's death? :)

tw: this is heavily centred around feelings of being numb, dejected and hopeless.there are mentions of death and slight mentions of the battle (blood and injuries but not much). please don’t read this if it’ll dampen your mood and if you do read please do so with caution. <3 stay safe lovebugs

(requests are open)

word count : 2.1k

It had been months, but the initial shock never seemed to fade away. It plagued both of them horrifically, but George never fully recovered. The memories repeated themselves in his head, while he slept, worked, ate, laughed, cried, drank, and walked. They were intrusive, relentless, vivid, and unforgiving, they consumed every second of his life, so much so that guilt clawed at the back of his throat. The thought that he got to experience all the things they had promised to do together without his other half left him overwhelmed with grief. Why was it that he got to see the business they had worked so hard for thrive, why did he get to be in a relationship with plans for the future, why did he get to hug his mother and father at the burrow, why did he get to laugh alongside his siblings while Fred was gone, buried in the ground? It didn’t sit right with him, it wasn’t fair.

-----

After the hours of screaming, crumbling walls, peril, the bodies of those they loved limp and battered on the stone floors, bloody hands, and frantic running they returned home. The silence smothered them, it was inevitable. They were shattered. They couldn’t process what had really happened, surely none of it was real. Fred was just missing, it was the wrong body they saw laying there with a lazy smile still etched on his face, Fred was just playing a cruel prank. They told themselves anything but the truth because deluding yourself feels better than facing what’s really in front of you. It wasn’t until they had finished getting ready for bed that it struck them. They followed the routine that they’d had for years on instinct, brush their teeth, wash their faces, get changed, rush to Fred’s room to say goodnight, but when they found his room empty and undisturbed it became clear that he was really gone. Fred, the loving, goofy, sometimes obnoxious but always kind redhead, the reliable older brother, the loyal best friend, the free-spirited stranger was gone, forever. There would be no more shared birthdays, family photos with his cheerful grin, knitted jumpers with a large golden F laying around, ear-piercing singing, and raucous laughter followed by rushed footsteps. It was all gone, in a matter of a few hours. It was there where George broke the silence, more like shattered it. His sobs were violent and agonizing, his pain was palpable. As he sunk to his knees he hugged Y/N’s legs, clinging onto anything that would ground him. His body shook against her calves and his tears were pooling on the hardwood floor, leaving a puddle where his reflection stared back at him. He aguishly looked back at himself, he hated what he saw, it was just a reminder of what was missing.

“I’m sorry, I need to be alone right now.” He made haste to rush to his office and lock the door. She rushed after him, trailing behind his footsteps but as the door shut in her face and the smashing of frames, ripping of paper, and choked sobs resonated through the door it was clear that that’s what he really needed.

-----

For months George kept to himself, he seldom spoke of anything that he didn’t need to. He was reserved and feeble, avoiding interacting with people and finishing what he needed to do before heading straight to bed. It was unusual, to say the least, in his mind, there was no George without Fred. A part of him died that day, and it will never come back. He was numb, devoid of any genuine emotions. At any mention of Fred, he’d freeze up and immediately leave the room, if he saw something that reminded him of his older brother he’d snatch it and throw it into a box that he kept hidden under the bed. It was heartbreaking to see someone so vivid and bright suddenly solemn and burnt out. It was shattering to see George force himself to forget about the existence of his best friend to avoid the harsh sting of reality.

He dealt with all of the pain alone. Whenever he’d wake up in a cold sweat he’d rush out of the room, refusing to look Y/N in the eye. Every nightmare was kept to himself, only to fester in his subconscious. At any offer of consolation or guidance he’d simply shake his head and walk away or offer a hopeless “no,” “I don’t care,” “what difference does it make,” or “I don’t want your help” as he kept his head down. No one knew what he was thinking, no one knew how he was. He remained stoic, afraid that once he confronts his fears that it will all become too real.

It wasn’t until one night when one of his nightmares felt a little too hostile. It was the kind that plucked at any sense of security you thought you had and left you bare and vulnerable. His chest was weighed down and his breathing was labored. The erratic rise and fall sent the bed into light vibrations.

“Georgie, are you okay?” He remained silent and stared vacantly at the illuminated lamp resting on the vanity across the room. The tears in his eyes and remnants from where they rolled off his cheeks glimmered in the dull glow. She took his silence as a sign that he needed to be alone like he always wanted to be. An ache grew in her chest but she knew he wanted to be alone. She shrugged the blanket off of her legs and kissed his cheek lightly while stroking rogue tendrils of hair off his forehead.

“Do you wanna be alone, love?” She smiled warmly and wrapped her robe around her shoulders, preparing herself to leave the room.

“Stay, please, I can’t do this alone anymore.” The grip on her wrist was relieving and her heart swelled at the thought that George was taking the next step, ready to face what had been haunting him for so long. He continued to cry leaning into her embrace and letting his arms wrap around her waist. His head was against her chest, and she felt his tears soaking through her jumper. Her hand danced up and down the expanse of his back, reminding him that he wasn’t alone, that she was there and always will be.

“Let it out Georgie, it’s okay, you’re so strong. Just let it out.” The hold around her waist got tighter and he released all the emotions he had been holding in for so long. His sobs were haunting and lingered in the air. After a couple of minutes, his weeping decrescendoed but didn’t seize. He looked up into her eyes, worried that he was unloading too much onto her by divulging all the feelings he tried to keep so secure.

“Tell me whatever you’re comfortable telling me, it’s okay. I’m here George, you’re not alone.”

“Before the battle, we were sitting in the garden. The gnomes were running around, they didn’t bother nipping at our ankles like they always do, even they knew how horrible things had become. We were against the fence and he told me,” George paused abruptly and swallowed forcefully, “he told me that it was unlikely that both of us would make it out. I remember laughing and throwing grass at him, but Y/N he knew, we both knew, I was just too scared to admit it. We promised each other that no matter what, we’d seize the days that followed, even if one of us didn’t survive, but how could I go on without him? He died that day for me, he saved me. And even though he made me promise, I just couldn't. I felt so guilty. Every time I find myself smiling or laughing or even being happy in the smallest ways it always reminds me that Fred would never experience it with me. He will never see his first gray hair, or see his children run around the yard, or see how many people loved the things he invented. It’s so crazy to think that when we drank that aging potion in year 6, that that was the only time I’d ever get to see him all old and wrinkly.”

He became silent as she traced shapes on the expanse of his back and dragged her fingertips along his forearms. Tears slowly welled in his eyes once more with the same urgency streamed down his face. Gently Y/N lifted his head and held it tenderly in her hands, his tears were kissed away by her cushiony lips.

“I really miss him. Not a day goes by where I’m not tortured by his absence. I feel horrible that I’m doing the very thing I swore I wouldn't do, but memories of him haunt me...and I’m letting them. Every time I hear his name or see anything that reminds me of him, it makes me so,” he paused, his hands rubbing at his red eyes in a frantic state, “so fucking angry, so mad and scared and confused and hurt and sick. I feel everything that he always managed to rid me of, but now that he’s gone it’s just so different. I just wish that he’d barge in like he always used to, but he’s gone, and I can’t accept that, I don’t want to.” His sobs echoed throughout the room once again, the unabating raw emotion seeping through every cough and gasp for air. His grip on the ends of Y/N’s jumper was fervent and desperate.

“You don’t have to forget about him.”

“I don’t want to, but it hurts so much because all I’m reminded of is what’s missing when he isn’t around,” he paused and as he did an ignominious expression painted over his face, “Merlin, Y/N I’m so sorry for dragging you into all of this, I’m being so selfish. I must be such a burden.”

“What? Angel, no no please don’t think that. I’m here because I love you, and I care for you. Never apologize for having feelings, you’re allowed to and it’s not something to be ashamed of. I’m not here because I have to be, I’m here because I want to, and because you deserve every ounce of love this world has to offer. Okay? Look, I know it’s easier said than done but you truly don’t have to forget him if you don’t want to, you just have to learn to understand what you’re feeling and to act accordingly. I’m here to help you with whatever you think is best. That’s all I want for you, that’s what Fred would want too. So tell me what you want help with, and I’ll be there every single step of the way. Anything to help you, you’re not alone.”

The room seemed a little less daunting from George’s point of view. Upon hearing the words she uttered so softly and so passionately he felt at ease, and for the first time in a long time without guilt. A new cloak of warmth draped over his shoulders, he didn’t know what to make of it but as he looked up at Y/N and around the cozy room he realized it was acceptance and relief. He quickly summoned the box he kept as his contemptible secret for months. It sat comfortably in front of him on the duvet, it’s presence was overt and consuming, but for once George was okay with that. For once he let the box serve as a reminder of his brother’s presence, not as something to smother it.

They spent the next hours slowly inspecting each piece in the box, smiling and reminiscing on the memories. It felt like Fred’s presence was flooding back, bringing more color and liveliness to their seemingly dull world. After hours of sitting close together, George let out a yawn and ruffled his hair.

“I’ll run a bath and then we can sleep, okay?” He nodded and Y/N headed to the bathroom, and within minutes she beckoned George to come in. Gingerly he rid himself of his clothes and sat down in the bath, leaning his head against Y/N’s warm chest. She soaked a sponge in the water and slowly dragged it across his tense shoulders, the water cascading down his ridged and freckled back. The sound of the water falling back into the bath and their steady breathing created a peaceful symphony in the room.

“I love you, angel, thank you.”

“I love you too Georgie, I know you’d do the same for me.”

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #george wealsey x reader #george weasley headcanon #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fic #weasley twins #fred weasley #harry potter #george weasley one shot

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lu-undy · 3 years

Text

Chapter 76 - SBT

Here it is!

"What?!"

"Welcome home, mon amour." Lucien went to hug the Aussie, whose jaw had dropped to the floor.

"Y-what?!" Mundy asked, flabber-gasted.

"I know, it is quite empty for now but we can buy the furniture, little by little. Come, I will show you…" Lucien took him by the hand and pulled his lover to follow him. "This here is the entrance." He spun around with open arms.

"Let me shut the door, voilà. Now this is a spacious room, it could be the living-room and dining room. As you can see, there is an old sofa that I got from Maurice as well as a carpet. Over this door here, we have the kitchen. I particularly like the light blue walls, the kitchen when I was a child was painted this way too. All the kitchenware also comes from Maurice, it isn't much but it is a good start. Now, come here…" Lucien pulled his lover. "This is the downstairs bathroom."

"Downstairs? Is there an upstairs to this place?"

"Oui, come here!" Lucien pulled Mundy to the stairs, they went up excitedly, the wooden stairs creaking below their eager feet. "This is obviously a corridor but on our right here is the upstairs bathroom and next to it is our bedroom. On the opposite side is a guest room."

"Woah…"

Lucien took Mundy to their bedroom.

"There is only a bed for us in our bedroom, and the fireplace. But in time, we will find the furniture we need. It could do with a newer layer of paint too, but it shall do."

The herd of fluff was following them everywhere, discovering their immense new territory as much as Mundy was. The Aussie was in awe and completely taken aback. Lucien and him went down the stairs again and they sat down on their sofa, in the spacious and empty living-room. The walls were painted in a beautiful shade of red, like roses.

"What do you think?" Lucien asked.

"W-how did you do all this?"

"A few chats with the right people. Your van is getting smaller while the cats are growing up. It was high time both you and I found somewhere that we can call home."

"Home?" Mundy repeated.

"Oui, our home, yours and mine."

Mundy lowered his head and covered his face with his hands.

"Are you alright, mon loup?" Lucien scooted over, closer to him on the sofa.

"I… I don't know… Thank you, Lu', thank you so much!" He latched onto Lucien like a desperate man and hugged him hard. The Frenchman softened into a smile.

"I presume you haven't set foot in a house you can call home since your parents passed?"

Mundy silently nodded against his lover's shoulder.

"I never thought I…" He sniffed against Lucien and fell silent for an instant. "I never thought I'd live in a house again…" He clawed his fingers in Lucien's sides. "Lu', I… Thank you, thank you so much..!"

Mundy's voice was tainted by the sobs he was trying to contain.

"Mon amour… Did you really believe you would live in your van till the end of time? Did you really think no one would see the wonderful man you are? Non, even if you hide in the desert, someone will find you, I will find you." Lucien hugged him through his cries and kissed his head repeatedly. "There is a parking slot nearby for the van. That is the van's new home and this here, all around us, this can be our home if you want. Of course, if for any reason you don't like it, we can still find somewhere else."

"Lucien…"

"Oui, mon chéri?"

[My darling]

"I… I love you, thank you so much…"

Lucien gently rocked his lover left and right as he held him tight, with one hand behind his head, through his hair.

"I love you too, Mundy, immensely. You know, it is fairly similar for me. The flat I have been renting in Paris since Marie and Jérémy passed never felt like home." He brushed Mundy's hair as the Aussie still cried silently. Only his syncopated breath and his sniffs betrayed his emotion. "I thought I would live forever in that flat. Why? Because how much more cruel could life make it for me? The worst that could happen after losing them, was living forever with that pain and not know the sweet liberation that death would bring. But non. I was wrong. I was wrong and blind. I had no idea that my lust for revenge would lead me into the arms of a formidable sharpshooter."

Lucien smiled and felt Mundy take a deep breath against him.

"A wild man but so soft at heart. Someone who not only would understand me, but would also trust me, and even love me. Although this last one is the easiest. A lot of people have loved me in the past, but none of them did like you do. None of them trusted me blindly like you have been since the day we met. You kept on following me blindly through all my lies, my half-truths, my manipulations. Well, I did get knocked out for it, do you remember?"

Mundy nodded again, hiding his face and still hugging Lucien as if he was the air he needed to breathe.

"I remember it too. I know you clung to cooperating with me because you wanted revenge for your parents above all. But I like to think that maybe you felt something for me too?"

Mundy nodded again and sniffed.

"I did. Do you also remember the day that you came backstage after a concert in your beige suit, the one made by Richard?"

The Aussie nodded.

"I was the one who ordered it for you. Do you know why?"

Mundy shook his head gently on Lucien's shoulder.

"Because I saw how distraught you were when Richard told you off because of your clothing style. And I wanted to help you, or at least try."

Lucien lay down on the sofa and pulled Mundy to lie on top of him. The Aussie buried and hid his face against Lucien's upper chest.

"And what a sight you graced me with, that night, in my backstage room…" Lucien scratched his lover's head. "You looked like a model from a magazine, your tall silhouette; tall, yes, but oh so gentle. I saw the jacket, well fitted to your shoulders, your vest, half-hiding a white shirt and beautiful tie. As my eyes went down to take the full view, your trousers were a delight… God gifted you with long and, may I say, sexy legs. Mon Dieu…"

Mundy left a quick peck on Lucien's neck. The Frenchman smiled and went on, staring at the ceiling as he felt Mundy's head rise and fall in rhythm with his breathing.

"You looked ravishing, handsome as a God, all dressed in white and light beige, your long hair beautifully tied with a ribbon that I dreamt of untying more times than you can imagine; sometimes slowly, watching your long brown locks fly free, other times, tearing that thin, black ribbon away with my very teeth and drowning in your beautiful maine…"

"Mmmh…" Mundy moaned low, his eyes closed and taking a deep breath. He smiled when Lucien's perfume filled his lungs.

"Oui, I couldn't even admit it to myself but you made such a deep impression on me…"

"Mmmh?"

"Oui, it is the truth, Mundy. J'en pinçais pour toi déjà quand tu venais me voir chanter."

"Have no clue what that means but bloody hell… Love you, love you so bloody much!" Mundy kissed Lucien in his neck and pushed his body harder against the Frenchman.

"I said, approximately, that I fell for you when you came to see me sing already."

"What did I do to deserve you?" Mundy asked, kissing him again, but on his cheek this time.

"I don't know what you did but I can tell you what you will do."

"Oh?" Mundy raised his head and looked at Lucien in the eye.

The Frenchman chuckled and took a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his lover's face from the tears that he had shed.

"First, you will kiss me here, on our sofa, in our house."

Mundy smiled, his red eyes teared up again.

"Then, we will go outside, there is one errand that we need to run together."

"What's that?"

"The kiss first…" Lucien wiggled his eyebrows and Mundy slid up to his lips. The Frenchman slid his arms around the Aussie's neck and his legs behind his back. "Je t'aime." He whispered and shivers ran down Mundy's spine.

[I love you.]

"Love you too, gorgeous."

Their lips parted and they took a second to look into each other's eyes. Their cheeks were pink and their eyes, half-lidded and dreamy.

"Shall we?"

"Sure, let's go."

They headed back to the front door.

"Before we go…" Lucien turned to Mundy.

"Yeah?"

"Do you… like this house?"

Mundy smiled. He grabbed Lucien by his waist and pulled him closer to himself. The Frenchman looked up to him with his feline, light blue eyes.

"I love it. I want it to be yours and mine. I… I'm not good with furniture and decoratin' and stuff but… We'll make it work… together?"

"Oui, together." Lucien cupped Mundy’s cheeks and brushed them tenderly.

"Gosh… I don't know what to say… I mean… D-d'you need me to do anythin' for this? How will we pay for it?"

"You have our money and it is more than enough. I will deal with the papers and you will just have to sign a few things."

"I love you."

"So do I."

"Hold on…" Mundy frowned. "With all the money you left me when you… well… died…?"

Lucien smiled.

"I'm sure we could get something more… Uh… More posh, fancy and stuff… More like you in a way." Mundy said. "You sure you like this one?"

Lucien nodded.

"I don't want fancy, I don't want posh. I am tired of all those things. Those belonged to L. Now, I am your Lu', and as such, I want to lead a simple life with you. Oui, this house needs a bit of work and a lot of love. But I think this is precisely why it suits us. We both need to work hard to build this new life together, but we will make it ours with the sweat of our brow and maybe of other places…"

"Gosh… You really thought this through, eh?"

"I tried my best. Besides, if modern houses are pleasant to the eye, they lack the feeling of a warm and welcome home. I much prefer this to the suite I was living in at the Grand Palace."

"Seriously? I thought it suited your style well…."

"It suited L's style well, not mine. And I am doing what you asked me to do, Mundy."

"What?"

"Do you remember when you asked me to love you 'like I'm your Lu'?"

Mundy smiled.

"Course I do."

"Well, here he is, the true me, a version of me so honest that even I don't know it." Lucien leaned forward and let his head rest on Mundy's chest. "I don't know myself. I am… I am lost, especially without you."

"Don't worry. We'll build you up, bit by bit, like this house and like the rest." Mundy pushed his lips against Lucien's forehead and stayed there for a while. The Frenchman took a deep breath and exhaled. His shoulders sank and he closed his eyes under the soft proof of love. "But yeah, let's go and do what you wanted. You ready?"

Lucien took Mundy's hand in his.

"One last thing. Here, this is yours."

Mundy felt something cold in his palm. He looked and saw a silver shining key.

"Oh…"

"I have a copy of it. Oh and to not lose it, look at what I will add…" Lucien fished something out of his pocket. It was a key ring. He slowly put Mundy's house key in. "Voilà. That is for you."

"Hold on…" Mundy squinted to observe the keyring better. "What's that…? Oh…" on the ring was a short chain and a silver capital M pendant.

"I have mine too." Lucien showed his copy of the key and the capital L.

"Bugger, I'm… I'm all outta words… Thanks."

"You're welcome, mon loup. But yes, now we may go."

Mundy took Lucien's hand in his and they exited the house. They walked through the streets, Lucien leading the way. But soon, he stopped.

"May I have the credit card, please?"

"Sure, there you go, luv'." Mundy fished it out of his wallet.

"Wait for me here, please."

"Alright." Mundy watched as Lucien entered a florist's shop. It lasted a few minutes and he exited with a bouquet in his hand. "What's that for?"

"You shall see, follow me."

Mundy was intrigued and curious, a little excited too. The walk was much longer this time.

"Lu', where are you takin' me?"

"You shall see. It is something that I had wanted to do for a long, long time. And we had discussed this. I think now is the time." Lucien stopped walking and Mundy turned his head from his lover to what stood in front of him.

"Oh…"

The tall man's jaw dropped when his eyes met with the even taller, dark wrought-iron fence.

"Now, you should lead the way." Lucien extended his hand, like an invitation.

Mundy gulped down hard.

"Unless you don't want to?" Lucien tilted his head.

Mundy frowned.

"Mundy, take a deep breath." Lucien put his hand flat on Mundy's chest and felt it rise and fall. "Bien. You decide. If this is too much, we can go back home, it is fine."

"Why… Why do this now?" Mundy asked.

"Because we are about to buy a house and live together in it. I feel this is the right moment for me to meet your parents." Lucien answered. "Only if you agree to it."

Mundy looked in the direction of the tombstones.

"That's why you got the flowers?" He asked.

"You told me your mother liked daisies best."

Mundy realised the bouquet was full of them. He felt moved by the fact that Lucien remembered that tiny detail. However, he was terrified.

"I… I don't know if I can do this." He lowered his head.

"Hey… Mon loup?" Lucien went in front of him and looked around. There wasn't a living soul, so he put a hand on his cheek. "It is fine, let us go back home." Lucien took Mundy's hand and spun on his heels.

"N-No."

Lucien stopped sharp.

"Sorry?" He asked with wide innocent eyes.

"We're doin' this." Mundy tightened his grip on Lucien's hand and pulled him deeper in the cemetery. They walked through the paved alleys with tombstones standing at attention left and right, judging them in their deafening silence.

Soon enough, Mundy stopped and held Lucien's hand behind his back with both hands.

"M-mum? Dad…?" He was frowning and his jaw was clenched hard. Lucien observed him keenly. The Aussie's eyes were riveted on his mother's grave. "I… This is Lucien, uh… H-He… He's my… My…"

You're holding his hand, Micky, I know who he is.

Mundy's eyes snapped wide and he blushed. His mother had talked to him.

"I-I… He came to… Y'know… Meet you."

He brought some flowers?

"Lu', you can give Mum the flowers."

Lucien took a step forward and went down on one knee to place the flowers on Mundy's mother's grave.

"I am delighted to meet you, Madame."

Oh, he's got good manners, eh? He can call me Caroline.

"You can call her Caroline."

"Thank you very much." Lucien bowed and backed off. "The bouquet is both for you, Madame, and for you, Monsieur." Lucien looked at Mundy's father.

Come on, Mike, say something.

Lucien looked at Mundy and the Aussie lowered his head. His cheeks were red with shame.

"I… He… I mean…"

Mundy heard it. Mike's disappointed sigh.

"I'm sorry." Mundy said. "I'm sorry I'm not bringin' someone you'd expect to see. I-I… But if you give him a chance, I'm sure you'll see, he's really-"

Son.

Mundy stopped sharp and gulped down audibly. He felt his knees wobble below him.

All this for that? First, the gun, now this? What next?

"Dad, please…?" His voice trembled.

Mike sighed and looked away.

"Mum…?"

Caroline looked at Mundy with those same eyes Mundy had seen billions of times. She wished it could all go differently. She wished Mike and Mundy could get along. She had always stood in the middle, without really taking a side. For her, there was no side to take. The problem was obviously not for her to lean one way or another. The problem was that her husband and her son never seemed to agree on anything.

"I… Please, Dad, I've stopped huntin', I help the poor like you and Mum used to, I… Yeah, yeah, I ditched my rifles and all the other weapons in a hole in the desert… What? No, I didn't destroy them…! Well, how the hell d'you destroy guns?! You can't just throw them in the bin, can ya?!"

Mundy's tone of voice escalated and Lucien now managed to hear the complete dialogue too.

"Yeah! I know where they are but I won't touch them ever again!"

Son, you already said that and it changed nothing.

"But Dad, this time, it's different! We got him! We got the bloke who killed you!"

Ah, and what did you to him, eh? You aimed through that bloody gun of yours and shot him cold and dead?

"No! I tortured him! Huh?!" Mundy slammed his hands on his mouth and screwed his eyes shut. His knees couldn't carry him anymore and he fell down on the floor, on his knees. He lowered his head and frowned. "Why d'you never understand…?" He asked softly.

You tortured a bloke…? Mike shook his head. You never listen.

"I do…! I listen!" Mundy's eyes were glistening. "I… Dad… I gave up huntin', I go and do normal stuff now, I-I got cats, I rescued a male, Lu' rescued a female, they have kittens now and we take care of them, they're lovely, y-you should see them, they help Maurice, hunting the mice down while I repair stuff and sometimes prepare the soup for the poor. Dad, please, you've gotta give us a chance, y-you've gotta try, please?"

I gave you so many chances, Micky. I really did. But that day that your mother and I died, you were busy playin' with yer gun miles away. If you weren't so obsessed with it, you'd have been home with us, helpin' around the farm and playing the sax' to get yourself some clean money. But no…! You were at the other end of Oz, hunting God knows who for God knows what beasts again…!

"I know! Dad!" Mundy's tears were blurring his vision. "Please! It's taken me ten years to go over that and do something of my days, please don't push me back there, I'm tryin' to do the right thing!"

Yeah, as always.

"What?"

You're tryin' but you're not listenin'.

Mundy exhaled and his arms fell left and right, his shoulders sank. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

"We… With Lu', we're gonna buy a house." Mundy said, his voice calm again.

Lucien's eyes snapped wide. He had been standing a step away from it all. This was Mundy's fight to win, he couldn't interfere, however hard he craved to.

"We're gonna buy a house and uh… We wanted to tell you about it, and about us. Lu's a bit older than me and he wanted to do things in the right order. And me…? Well… I… Remember when I used to disappear sometimes for days on end with the van in the desert? You thought I was huntin' beasts left and right. It was wrong." He raised his eyes to his mother. "I was off because I couldn't bear it."

Bear what?

"The solitude… Even when I had you, you used to spend your days tellin' me that I should go find a sheila to settle with. It always made me sick… Not because I didn't want to or I didn't like sheilas, no, because I felt like you were behind my back pushin' me all the time. I felt like each day you'd tell me about it, it would pile up with the million other things you'd tell me. Micky, you should go find a proper job. Micky, you should go in the city. Micky you should have your own place. Micky this, Micky that…" He sighed. "Nothin' I ever did was good, or good enough. Everythin' I've ever done was wrong, useless and sometimes even stupid to you. That's why I used to go in the middle of the desert, sun scorchin' and all. No one told me I was doin' things wrong there. No one looked at me like I was a… a…"

Well, be a man, get it out.

Mundy's eyes flashed to his father.

"Like a mistake! A failure…! The sun burnt me everyday, some days I refused to eat because I felt so bad. I couldn't sleep at night because I was terrified of how you saw me…"

But?

Mundy's eyes went to his mother and he sat down, crossing his legs.

"But then I met Lu'. He… I eat everyday. He cooks super good food. I sleep like a baby cause I'm not scared or anythin'... I know he likes me and he… He helps me do things I never thought I would on my own."

Like what, Micky?

"Like the house, Mum. I never thought I'd live in a house again, look…" He took the key out of his pocket. "That's the key! I wanted to get a camera, take pictures and show you guys. It-it's not a palace, it needs a bit of work, but it feels like home. It feels like… Like…"

Say it, Micky, don't be scared.

"Like I'm finally settlin' down, like I'm finally doin' what you wanted me to do for bloody forever…! And now I get it, I get why!"

Why, eh? Livin' with a bloke doesn't make sense.

Mundy's eyes moved to his father.

"I don't care that he's a bloke, Dad, he saved me and I… I…"

Well, c'mon, spit it out…

"I love him."

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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whitecatindisguise · 4 years

Text

So this is a request from PeaceandLove375 on AO3. Basic summary: The Stabbington brothers decide the best way to get revenge on Eugene is kidnapping someone he cares about. The Princess is too well-protected, so they go after... more available target.

Hop along, fasten your seatbelts and let’s go!

------

“What do you mean, escaped?” Eugene shrieked, his voice trembling with both terror and anger. He wasn’t sure which one was stronger at the moment, as he stared at the wide-open door to the empty cell.

“I am terribly sorry, Captain.” The guard stationed in this particular part of the dungeons, Eugene faintly remembered his name being Dave, shrunk and dropped his head in embarrassment. “I heard screaming, it seemed to be some kind of emergency. One of them knocked me out the moment I stepped in to see what’s going on.”

Eugene let out a deep sigh and run a hand through his hair. He cast one more look at the empty room and faced his subordinate.

“Let it be a lesson for you to always be on guard around the prisoners.” He said with a grim face. “Especially as dangerous as those two.”

He quickly turned on his heel and left the guilty guard alone on his post. He had more important things to take care of. Only few minutes later, most of the guards were put on high alert, searching the city for the escapees.

Eugene leaned over the map, his eyes jumping from one place to the other.

“Come on. If I were an escapee from the royal dungeons, where would I go?” He muttered, gripping his chin thoughtfully.

“Eugene?” A female voice called from the doorway and he froze. He spun around, meeting concerned green eyes of his wife. Rapunzel reluctantly stepped inside, closing the distance between them. “What’s going on? The guards are all over the place. Did something happen?”

The Captain sighed and pushed away from the map. He turned his gaze away, not wanting for her to see his fear.

“Two of the prisoners escaped.” He replied vaguely. “We’re looking for them now. No need to worry.”

“Escaped? Who?” Rapunzel sounded more concerned than she was a moment before. “You wouldn’t alert the whole guard if they weren’t too dangerous.”

Eugene still refused to meet her eyes, afraid of what she would say if he told her the truth. He felt her grabbing his hands and giving them a light squeeze.

“Eugene, please.” She pleaded and he dared to spare a glance in her direction. She was concerned, but it was for him. He sighed and turned to face her.

“It’s the Stabbingtones.” He finally revealed. He noticed her flinch slightly at the name but she didn’t release her hold on his hands. “They.... Sunshine, what if they go for you? What if they do something to you and I can’t protect you?”

“Shh, it’s okay. I‘m here.” She reached out one hand and brushed his cheek tenderly. “Besides, I don’t think they would try to kidnap the Princess.” She pointed out. “They are bound to know I am almost always surrounded by guards. No need to worry.”

“You... you’re right.” Eugene nodded and smiled. “I guess I am being overprotective.”

Just then, the door to the room blasted open and two guards rushed inside.

“Captain, we believe we have something!” Pete called out, Stan nodding in agreement.

“Someone saw the Stabbingtons stealing horses and riding off in the direction of Old Corona.” Stan added. Eugene’s blood ran cold. Old Corona. This was where-

“Ready the horses! We’re moving out now!” He barked the order, already moving to the stables.

Please, please let me be wrong. He pleaded, as he jumped onto Max and led his men the same direction the prisoners were seen going.

~~~~~~

Varian, for once, wasn’t in his lab. After several days of constant work his dad had finally put his foot down and demanded he go out and get some fresh air. Although with some reluctance, the teen finally gave in. He scooped up Ruddiger and decided to take a stroll through the nearby forest.

He had to agree, there was something about it, as he passed the trees. The weather was just right, and there was no one in sight. Perfect for clearing one’s mind and relaxing.

He was so enthralled by the nature, he didn’t realise he wasn’t alone, until Ruddiger tensed and started hissing from his spot on his shoulders. He turned around confused, and almost immediately ducked, as a large fist swooped where moments ago his head was.

He stumbled away, fearfully looking at the two large man standing in front of him. They looked very similar, like brother or even twins. They both had red hair and scars, one of them wearing an eye patch over his left eye.

“Wh-Who are you? What do you want?” He asked, taking another step back as they approached. Ruddiger’s claws were digging into his skin, the raccoon hissing angrily.

“Rider cares about you, doesn’t he?” One of them asked, as they continued their approach, Varian backing away fearfully.

“Rid- Do you mean Eugene? But who-?” His eyes suddenly widened in realisation, as something clicked in his mind. “You’re Stabbington brothers...” He breathed out, shaking. His back suddenly hit something and he turned to see a bark of tree.

He didn’t have time to move away, as the men closed the distance and towered over the trembling boy.

“Oh, so you know who we are.” One of the brothers mused and grinned, leaning over the teen.

“As for your second question...” The other reached out and grabbed Varian’s shirt, lifting him effortlessly. The alchemist yelped in surprise and tried to squirm away. “We want revenge. And what better way to get revenge than going after someone Rider cares about?”

Varian froze, his blood running cold. They were... they wanted to hurt, maybe even kill him just to get revenge on Eugene.

Before he could manage any kind of response, Ruddiger jumped from his shoulders with a cry, angrily clawing at the man who held the teen. Surprised, the Stabbington let go of the alchemist’s shirt and Varian fell down, barely managing to stay on his feet. He stumbled away quickly, calling for the raccoon.

“Ruddiger!” He cried, as he dug his pockets for something he could use. His fingers closed on the circular object and he took it out, noticing what it was.

Without further thought, he threw the bomb at the criminals, smoke covering the area almost instantly.

“Ruddiger, we have to-!” He stopped mid-sentence as he saw the animal flying out of the smoke and hitting the bark of the nearby tree. He let out a shriek and ran up to the fallen raccoon, eyes watering. ‘R-Ruddiger!” His hands trembled over the animal, afraid to touch it. He wasn’t moving, Varian noticed with terror.

He was about to call out again, when he felt someone grabbing him by the collar and lifting in the air.

“No, let go! Ruddiger!” He trashed in the hold, as one of the brothers managed to grab him more securely, pinning his hands to his sides. “Let me go!”

“Oh, shut up, brat.” Was the response he got before he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head, causing him to cry out. His vision blacked out almost immediately and he fell limp in the captor’s hold.

“And now... to send the message to Rider.” One of the brothers laughed.

~~~~~~

It took an hour to get to Old Corona. A long hour Eugene spent on imagining the darkest scenarios of what they would find, when they finally get there. They varied from the bloodied corpse of Varian, to the whole village slaughtered and left out to bleed.

He was as tense as he could be, when the first houses finally came into view. The village looked as calm as always, but he knew better. He quickly ordered the guards to split up and look for the Stabbingtones, motioning Max in the direction of Varian’s house.

He shifted his feet nervously, as he waited for someone to open the door. The more time passed, the more dark thoughts occupied him. He was just about to knock again, when the door opened to reveal a large man.

“Quirin.” Eugene breathed out a sigh of relief as he saw the man. “Is Varian home?”

Please, say yes. Please, say yes. Please, say-

“No. I told him to get some air. He’s been scooped in his lab for days now.” The reply made the younger man froze. He wasn’t home... He wasn’t.

“Do you... do you know where he might be?” He tried to sound nonchalant but the older man seemed to understand something is off and gave him a quizzical look.

“He usually goes to the forest near the village. Is something-?” He didn’t manage to finish the question, as the Captain already spun on his heel and marched towards the trees. Quirin scratched his head in confusion as he observed the other man quickly disappearing between the trees, Max following close after.

Eugene came to an abrupt stop, as his ears picked on the familiar sound. He turned around a few times, before finally determining the direction it came from and almost running.

He came out to the clearing and his eyes almost immediately noticed a small grey figure slowly rising under one of the trees. He ran up and fell to his knees, scooping the hurt raccoon in his arms.

“Ruddiger. What happened? Where is Varian?” He questioned, noticing a trail of dried blood at the back of the animal’s head. He must have been thrown and hit the tree to gain such an injury.

Ruddiger chittered weakly, seeming sad. Eugene stood up and that was when he noticed a note pinned to the tree with a dagger. A very familiar dagger.

He tore the paper down, his eyes sliding over the words, feeling colder and colder with each sentence he read.

“Varian...” He breathed out, letting the note fall to the ground, his heart dropping. Ruddiger chittered sadly in his arms and Eugene hugged the raccoon closer. “Don‘t worry, buddy. We’re going to get him back. I promise.”

~~~~~~

Varian came to the sound of rushing water and wind howling in his ears. He groaned and tried to use his hands to push himself up, only to find them unable to move from his sides.

His eyes widened and he shot up, suddenly aware of the situation. He was abducted by the Stabbington brothers in the forest and knocked out, which meant he was now-

“Oh, look who finally decided to wake up, brother.” He heard a menacing voice and turned around to see the brothers sitting on a nearby rock, their lips turned into grins.

“What- What are you going to do with me?” He asked, his voice trembling in fear. He heard enough of the two from both Eugene and Rapunzel, to know they were extremely dangerous.

“We were thinking of throwing you off the cliff once Rider gets here.” One of them answered and Varian was both baffled by the truthful response and terrified by the idea. “I think it’s a good idea, don’t you, brother?”

“I have a better one.” Suddenly a familiar voice called out and Varian looked up to see Eugene standing few feet away, sword raised and brows furrowed. “Let Varian go and you will only be accused of escape and kidnapping, instead of adding murder to the list.”

For a mere moment, Varian dared to hope the Stabbingtons will give in. Everyone in Corona knew what was the fate that awaited murderers. At the least, they would be sentenced to lifetime in Royal Mines. At the worst....

A deep laugh cut the silence and the alchemist saw the Stabbington brothers shaking as they laughed loudly.

“Good one, Rider.” The one with the eyepatch said, the grin never leaving his face.

“Name’s Eugene.” The Captain replied through grit teeth, correcting the grip on his sword. “And I mean every word I said. Let the kid go.”

“You want us to let him go?” The other brother cocked his head and reached his large hand to grab Varian by his shirt. The teen yelped as he was yanked up and moved back, suddenly very aware of the lack of ground underneath and the wind tugging at his clothes.

“NO!” Eugene cried, one hand reaching out to the boy, taking a step in his direction.

“Well, undecided, are you?” The man laughed, releasing his grip slightly, enough for Varian to feel it.

The alchemist’s eyes widened in horror and he tried to squirm away, the rope tying his arms not helping in the slightest. He shot a terrified glance to Eugene, his eyes pleading.

“So, what will it be, Rider?” The large man asked, grinning. “Do you want me to let him go?”

Eugene grit his teeth in frustration and dropped his head, shaking it. The man’s grin widened and he pulled the boy away from the ridge.

“Thought so.” He said.

“What do you want?” Eugene asked, his eyes glancing between the brothers and Varian, still held in their grip.

“Revenge, Rider.” Came the reply, malicious as ever. “We want you to see how powerless you are, captain title or not.”

“Look, you’re angry with me, I get it.” The Captain tried to reason. “But it’s me you have business with, not Varian. He has nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, he has everything to do with it.” The eyepatch brother seethed. “You see, it’s not enough for us to kill you. We want you to look as we kill someone you care about, knowing you were powerless to stop us!”

There was shouting behind him, and Eugene knew the other guards were coming. He was running out of time. There was no way, the Stabbingtons were going to sit and wait until the rest of the guards get here, before trying anything. This would cut out their escape route, and they weren’t going to risk it.

Sparing a glance towards Max, he nodded his head slightly, hoping the horse would understand the message. The shouting was getting louder, signalling his men were close by. He hoped Max can hold the brothers long enough for them to arrive.

“Say goodbye to your friend, Rider.” The one holding Varian laughed before throwing his hand out and pushing the boy from the cliff.

Eugene reacted on instinct. He shot past the Stabbingtons, jumping after the falling teen, hoping to catch him before it will be too late. Varian’s screams filled his ears, as they were getting closer and closer to the end of the fall. Eugene pushed more, reaching out and managing to grab the alchemist moments before water closed around them.

~~~~~~

Eugene coughed as he broke the surface, wet hair covering his vision. He paddled over to the shore, dragging the, hopefully, unconscious body behind him. He them out, sparing only a second to cut the ropes before starting to push the boy’s chest.

Varian was deathly pale, his lips blue and skin cold. But Eugene refused to let any of dark thought overwhelm him.

One. Two. Three. Four.

He silently counted as he pushed on the chest, observing the boy for any signs of waking up. His eyes are getting misty but he still pushed, praying to whatever gods were up there to help him.

Then, after minutes of trying, Varian suddenly gasped and coughed, water spilling from his mouth. Eugene helped him turn over, gently patting his back as the boy spasmed with fits.

He finally stopped coughing and fell back to the ground, breathing heavily. But he was breathing. God, he was breathing.

The blue eyes slowly fluttered open, slowly focusing on the face in front of him.

“Eugene...?” Varian cracked out and the man felt the tears falling down his cheeks as he embraced the boy. “What-?”

“I thought I lost you, kid.” He whispered, pulling him closer to his chest. “Oh, god, I thought.”

“I... we... what...” Varian’s mind swirled to make sense of the situation. Why was he wet? Where were they? Why Eugene was so terri-

His eye widened as he suddenly remembered being pushed over the ridge, the feeling of falling, wind in his ears. Eugene reaching out to him, barely managing to catch him before his back hit the cold water. And then, darkness.

His breath hitched and he gripped the man’s shirt, as the realisation came. He almost died. He almost didn’t make it. He almost-

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Eugene gently whispered to his ear, as he drew circles on his back. Varian trembled, crying into the man’s shirt.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like this. At some point he stopped crying, but didn’t let go of the man, snuggling close to his chest. He heard the other guards coming, the Stabbingtons’ angered shouts and threats in Eugene’s direction. He heard Eugene ordering to take the prisoners to the capital for the trial, felt him gently unhooking his hands from the shirt.

“Varian. Kid.” Eugene called out, the boy still too out of it to react. “Hey, look at me.”

He slowly raised his head, meeting the man’s gaze.

“Do you... do you want me to take you home?” He gently asked. Varian flinched and quickly shook his head.

“Not home.” He whispered, eyes downcast. “I don’t...” He trailed off, unsure how he wanted to continue.

“Okay, not home, got it.” The man nodded, going silent for a moment. “To the castle then? You can sleep in my room today, if you want.”

Varian slowly nodded. Eugene understood. He understood too well.

Without more words, he stood up and led the shaken boy to Max. He helped him up, before jumping to sit behind, securing his arms around him.

He would have to let Quirin know what happened, and that Varian was spending the night at the castle. He’ll send one of the guards with the message, he decided as they rode back towards the capital, the boy silent.

He almost lost him, he remembered as the trees gave way to the houses of Old Corona and then bare road leading to Corona. And this won’t be something either of them is to forget in a long while.

-------

Erm.... I wanted to finish on a slightly more positive note but... The story basically wrote itself and refused to go the way I wanted. And, gosh, it’s probably the longest oneshot I ever wrote! But I regret nothing!

#tts #varian #oneshot #angst #kidnapping #near-death experience #whump (I think)#some fluff

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vesuviannights · 4 years

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Devil x Reader 🍋🍋

After a deal to save the city of Vesuvia leaves you the Devil’s unwilling captive, the main 6 summon him to try and steal you back. Tired of their tricks and games, the Devil decides to teach them a lesson via the only thing they all seem to care about: you.

In this fic: **rape/non-con**, humiliation, public sex, forced orgasms, cum stuffing, virgin!MC, monsterfucking, surprisingly no knotting, gender neutral reader, first person

My knees slam into cold stone, a rattle that takes every nerve in my body and my breath along with it. The faint scent of sage and blood presses in on me, lingering in the back of my throat as I struggle to retake the rest of my senses.

The blindfold is still in place. It always is when he takes me out of his realm. Faint voices come to my ears, screaming, but so quiet. My name, as though through a fog, and even when I turn my head it becomes no clearer.

I try to swallow my heart back into my chest. Try to stop the shake that wraps itself around every bone in my body. The terror of not knowing where he is, what he’s doing, what he has planned…it has never dulled in the time I’ve been his prisoner, and he has taken every measure to ensure that.

It is never about the act when it comes to the Devil. Never about touching, or sighing, or fucking, or doing anything to take physical power. It’s the control. The knowledge that he could. The hours spent watching me shake as he leans in closer and murmurs in my ear about every way he would have me. The unspoken threat as the tip of his claw follows the curve of my shoulder.

Wherever I am now, whatever he’s about to do, none of it is any different, and it perhaps the one strong thought I have to grasp onto.

And then he removes the blindfold.

“As you can see, magician,” he croons, his voice projecting out to an unseen audience. “Perfectly alive.”

There is an almost bored edge to his voice, one he only ever has when he’s about to have me dance or spread myself out for him with no intention of every paying attention to me. It would have made me freeze, would have made me try to curl in on myself and grit my teeth in one motion—had it not been for what my clearing vision revealed a moment later.

Six figures. Six faces, so familiar it made my heart leap again and catch in my throat, a pain that took hold of my entire body. A single line stood before me, too far to touch, but close enough to see the way each of their faces contorted. Fury. Anguish. Horror. Guilt. Regret. Each of them had it, hidden somewhere in the turn of their lips, the darting of their eyes, the slump of their shoulders.

And why wouldn’t they? After all—it was their decision that had landed me here. Their thoughtless deal. I was only a prisoner because no one had thought that I would be the cost the Devil would demand for saving our world.

Tendrils of magic wrap themselves around my wrists and waist, pulling me to my feet. They remain as my eyes flicker over those six faces, as the figure of my very own nightmare comes to a stop behind me, his shadow blocking out what little sunlight the world has to offer.

“Don’t—!”

Asra’s growl does nothing to stop what comes. The Devil’s claws, one wrapped so tenderly around each wrist. The sharpened tips press into each of my pulse points, and he hums quietly in my ear when he senses it begin to kick and flutter in protest.

Asra calls again. Lucio moves with his hand to his sword. My eyes shift to each of them as the pressure increases, as the threat of spilling blood becomes almost as close to reality as the one where the warmth pressed into my lower back will find somewhere else to nestle.

But he has me well trained. I don’t move, I don’t utter a sound, as he presses into my back and begins to move my arms. Like a puppet on fate’s unbreakable strings they rise, their movements a soft flutter as they arc and stretch above my head. He pauses there for a moment before bringing one down, and then the other, and then repeating the process all over again.

A puppet. A dancer. A performer.

“As you can see,” he repeats, and this time he speaks into the side of my head, barely above a murmur. “Perfectly alive. Moving. Breathing. And I assure you—” He pauses to bring my arms in, one of my own hands to my throat, the other pressing down my stomach and down, down, down. “—very well taken care of.”

As he speaks, my eyes are dragged upward and locked once more onto the people before me. The horrified widening of Portia’s eyes. The tremble of Muriel’s lips. When my eyes find Asra, he is almost unnaturally still, and he gives me a near unperceivable nod before the flurry of movement begins.

A flash of light from Asra’s hand. The shing of polished steel as Lucio and Nadia draw their swords. Julian’s shift on his feet, just a little closer to where my feet are locked in place, his hand twitching toward me.

And then—blackness. Suffocating shadows pressing in on every inch of the world, and when they clear it’s to a tangle of bodies where my six saviours once stood. Now they were on their knees, or pressed into the floor, or frozen in place with weapons drawn. But all with a perfect view of us.

The Devil, in all this time, has not flinched. He gives a soft sigh in my ear, edged with impatience.

“Perhaps,” he purrs. One claw releases the hand settled between my legs, but the pressure still remains, bringing a flush to my cheeks. He brings it to my lips, tilting the hand at my neck until I’m looking up at him, suckling just like he had trained me to. “We could…show them, how well you are taken care of. It seems your magician is incapable of listening, and we know your Count cannot read—” Lucio gives a snarl that is immediately cut off by his own choked gargles. “—so it appears a physical demonstration is in order.”

I am already shaking before his words are over. I always shake. I always swallow. My eyes always sting, just like now as my head gives a single, jerking nod. Because there is nothing for it, nothing I can do. He will tease, and taunt, and make me shake and cry. And then he will be done, and I will be fine, and…and somehow, I will make it out of this.

He pushes me with a claw to my shoulder, until I drop to my knees. Next, the familiar swipe of fabric as it is brushed from my shoulder, baring my skin for his teeth to graze against. I count the moments to still my heart, to even my breathing, but it doesn’t stop the shaking.

I will always shake.

A pressure under my chin turns my head, forcing me to look into his crimson eyes as his claws—both magical and non—ghost over my body, leaving me with no chance to watch, only to wait and see where they will end.

One brushes along my upper abdomen. Another along my collarbone. A third ghosts the inside of my thigh with sharp-tipped talons, and my hips jerk at the threat. His lips curl into a smirk. The pressure at my chin releases, and he steps out of my line of vision, settling somewhere behind me.

And then he begins to push me down, chest to the floor. A claw at my back smooths down between my legs, making direct contact with my skin as the last scraps of my clothes fall away, such a direct intimacy he has never shown me before now.

It isn’t until the tip of a single unsharpened talon presses against my hole, circling and teasing, that something inside of me snaps, and the world roars to life around me.

Instantly I push back against him, not to seek more, but to stop him in wild, panicked movements that match my racing heart. My foot jerks out to kick him, my nails scramble against the cobble to pull myself forward. He swats it all away with an irritated sigh, claws digging into my hips deep enough to draw blood.

“NO!” I gasp out. My eyes sting; I can’t bring myself to look up from the ground. “No—please—you can’t—I’ve never—”

“Ssshhh… ” His murmur wraps around me like a caress, holding me in place as he drags the head of his cock between my legs. Wherever it touches, a slick is left along my skin, one that seeps its way into my body and wets everywhere I don’t want him to be.

The sound of ripping clothes, almost drowned out by my own yelp, my own plea to let me keep something.

Someone screams my name, and it’s cut off half through with a choked noise that makes my own bubble forth. The Devil’s claw returns to my hair, dragging his claws through with a tenderness that makes my body shake in a new, terrifying way.

“Hush, now,” he murmurs, to them. To me. “I would hate for you to ruin our time together with those…ungrateful noises.”

A single digit, somehow without the talon, pushes its way into me, curling in on every sensitive spot with such finesse and precision that I cannot stop the low moan that immediately tumbles from my lips. My elbows shake as he probes and stretches, a second digit quickly joining the first, the two scissoring and moving inside of me.

My cheeks are already damp and streaked when a third slips in, tears dripping from my chin as he works me into the pliable little puppet he needs. He could have done worse. Could have shoved his cock inside of me with no preparation or preamble and had me screaming in pain and begging for it to stop as he fucked me in front of them all. Could have left me a bloodied, bruised mess at their feet as a show for what mistaking a Major Arcana’s help for mercy would bring. But my pain, the screams, weren’t the objective here.

I feel his fingers slip from me, hear the soft squelch of the magical lubricant he has left inside. Another soft whimper tumbles from me. I can’t stop them. I can’t stop him.

And then comes the unfamiliar sensation of something much thicker, much hotter, beginning to press into me. It’s a dull ache that spreads the further in he moves, filling and warming and causing tiny little gasps to bubble in my throat.

He doesn’t even give me the chance to breathe once he’s fully inside, just a moment where he murmurs praise I can’t hear, that I don’t let myself hear, while he strokes a claw down my haunches, like a pet he is training for his own pleasure.

And that’s all I am, aren’t I?

The thought slams into me as he begins moving, the deep and slow thrusts I had always imagined a lover to have. Careful, tender, adoring. I am nothing but a pet to him, or perhaps something worse. A pet implies companionship, loyalty, a bond. I have no true purpose except to exist when he wants me to.

The claw at my side tightens and pushes, and my hips tilt up while my chest presses down to accommodate the change. The new angle has him deeper, hitting places that cause quiet little whimpers to bubble in my throat every other thrust while a strange warmth builds in my abdomen.

The Devil strokes my haunches once more, and along with it gives a low chuckle, a condescending tut. “That feels good, does it not? Are you enjoying my cock? Aren’t you so glad you saved yourself for me?”

I try to turn my face into the stone, to muffle the sob I know is bubbling up and nearly too late to stop. His claws wrap around the back of my neck and yank me up, returning me to my hands, chin tilted up for all to see.

“Look at each of them,” he commands me. My gaze is unfocused, fluttering around their bodies but never their faces. I can’t bring myself to. “Show them how much you are enjoying this. How well they have done in their carelessness.”

Without choice, my vision clears, and my eyes are steered to each of them in turn. Nothing about them has moved, each body still posed exactly how he had frozen them, with the exception of their eyes. Asra. Nadia. Lucio. Julian. Portia. Muriel. All watching, all unable to tear their eyes away as I pay the price for the one mistake we never considered. Each and every one forced to gaze upon me, the blotching mess of my face, the heave of my aching chest, the way my body rocks as the Devil’s cock thrusts into me and stretches me to the hilt.

The sound of it is something I can’t tune out. The wet squelching, the sounds of my body squeezing and tightening around him as it seeks more even as my mind screams at it not to. The heat in my abdomen has begun to spread out, little tendrils whispering at every nerve in my body, threatening something I’m terrified to discover.

But I do. The tether inside of me snaps, the warmth lashes out to every nerve, and I scream. Scream as he continues to fuck me. Scream as my hole convulses and twitches around him, as the evidence of my arousal marks everything it can. Scream as he forces my head to stay up, forces me to look each and every one of them in the eye, crying and sobbing from the humiliation of coming like a whore all over his cock while pleading not to.

The Devil gives a hum, distant in the fog of my mind, as he continues to thrust into me without change.

“Very good,” he commends. “What better proof that you are taken care of than having you scream while taking my cock in your greedy little hole? Now say ‘thank you’.”

When the tether snapped, something else had gone, too. I feel the words forming on my lips with almost no resistance, so quiet and cracked that I can’t recognise my own voice.

“Thank you.”

He gives another hum, but this time it comes with something else: the feel of his cock thickening inside of me, adding a little more pressure as his pace increases with it. I swallow down the cracked plea in my throat, just as his claw curls around it and pulls me up to rest back against his chest.

“Oh, that will not do at all,” he projects for everyone to hear. With a jerk of my head, he has my gaze locked with Julian’s, and I feel more tears begin to sting at my eyes. “How are your saviours meant to know you are truly happy with a pathetic murmur like that? Are you trying to convince them that I am not doing a good job? That I am not treating you well?”

My head gives a shaking jerk, as much as it can in his hold, to try to tell him no. A panic bubbles in my chest when the heat begins to wrap itself around my body once more, a promise to keep going, to have them watch, until I please him.

I choke down a sob, gasp out my denial, but he ignores it all to keep thrusting into me, the head of his cock dragging along my insides as he croons.

“You can speak louder, I know you can. Scream it for them.” And then he leans in, right against my ear, a single talon pressing to my jugular. “And mean it this time.”

“THANK YOU!”

The words fly from my lips, near cut off by the sob that finally manages to escape, and the ones that teem out after. He holds me to him like a lover, like someone trying to fix my cries rather than cause them.

Only a few moments pass before I feel his cock twitching inside, and there is no energy or resistance left inside of me to fight when I feel him spill, his hot seed swelling my insides, marking me, staking its last claim on my now-gone innocence. It drips down my inner thighs when he pulls out, my knees giving as soon as he releases my waist and throat.

I barely notice them crack against the stone, or the way my palms scrape when my hands do the same. I shake as he walks around me, hooves clicking. My vision swims until he crouches before me and tilts my chin, forcing my gaze onto his.

There, he looks me over. There, he pushes my hair from my face with care. Presses a talon to my bottom lip to expose my teeth and shaking breaths.

And there, without thinking, I turn my head and wrap my tongue around it, my body a perfectly tuned instrument to his careful strums.

At the sight of my suckling, of my hooded eyes, at my shaking body, he gives a single hum of approval and then rises once more.

With a sweeping claw he turns to the group, eyeing them each in turn with a sneer.

“Proof enough?” He asks. “As you can see, your beloved fool is quite alive and capable of speaking, and feeling, and screaming."

As he speaks, my clothes begin to rearrange themselves, the tatters stitching themselves back together, pulling themselves back over my exposed body to cover me once more. The tears on my face dry. A sensation like a warm, damp cloth presses against my inner thighs, against my abused hole, wherever the evidence has settled itself.

I barely manage to swallow back my bile at the idea of him being so careful, so considerate, attempting to restore me to what I once was.

"And they are mine,” he continues. He turns to me and beckons with his claw, and my body rises of its own accord, setting itself back on two feet. “So the next time you think to set traps for me or waste your pathetic words on me to beg for their life, maybe consider this: they would not be here if you had been powerful enough to save this world yourselves. This is on you."

And then we vanish.

🍑 Requesting | Masterlist | My Ao3

#the arcana #devil x reader #lemon #writing #warning: non-con #warning: rape #gender neutral reader #gn reader #the devil

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langdxn · 4 years

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salvation part iii: bloody angel | outpost!michael x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Michael’s pregnant wife meets a familiar face in the Outpost. Is she in danger?

WARNINGS: SMUT. Breeding kink, vaginal sex, fingering, pregnancy, childbirth, blood play, blood ritual, dom!Michael, daddy!Michael, some soft!Michael, angst, messing with the original plot. Basically it’s filthy.

WORD COUNT: 2.9k

A/N: I promised serious smut in this chapter and I delivered like HELL. Heavily influenced by Avatar’s Bloody Angel I’ve had stuck in my head for days.

part i // part ii // part iv // part v

Every corridor in the underground Hawthorne Outpost looked identical to the last. You’d been half-running down so many twists and turns, you’d surely escaped the perimeter where that authoritative female voice had come from.

Find our sisters. What was that supposed to mean? Were there witches in the Outpost already? Everybody was dead, or at least you’d seen enough bodies to assume that was everybody this Outpost once housed.

That means someone’s coming to search the Outpost.

Time to pick a door in these endless alleyways and hide out until you hear the signal Michael warned you about.

Noticing the door at the far end of the corridor ahead of you had been left slightly ajar, warm yellow light pouring through the portal, it seemed as good a hiding place as any. Pacing nervously toward the light, you creaked the door open as softly as possible and clicked it shut behind you. Allowing your eyes to adjust to the gentle candlelight in the room, your eyes laid upon a large pentagram scrawled on the tiled floor in blood encircled by shallow, spent candles seconds away from extinguishing.

Leaning back against the door behind you, you slid your spine down its rough surface to drop to the floor, landing a curious finger into the pool of maroon scribbles. As your fingertip made contact with the blood, your eyes rolled into the back of your head and a surreal vision appeared before you.

“May you rise from the void, Father,” Michael’s voice beckoned in your mind as the overbearing scent of copper stung your senses. “May your darkness guide me.”

Your vision painted a clear picture of Michael kneeling dead centre of the bloody diagram, completely naked but for fresh streams of crimson trailing down his pale skin, dipping into the curves of his muscles and scoring rough lines down his biceps. Desperation dappled across his countenance as his brows furrowed with confusion, staring up at the ceiling as if seeking a point to focus on.

“Power in Satan to overcome my weaknesses, power in your name to be strong within,” he chanted with purpose, with fervour, with determination as he coursed the blade down his arteries. A harsh groan died on his lips as the knife deftly split open the delicate flesh on his forearm, pouring a cascade of blood onto the tiles beneath him.

“I thought I destroyed them all. One survives. I found her, she’s here.” Your eyes widened in horror.

“I beg for your wisdom. Please, Father, open my eyes!” your husband cried helplessly into the void, scouring the sky for a sign, any sign that his calls were being answered.

Your vision darted around the room as you wracked your brains for answers. How did he know you were a witch? You had spent all your years by his side blocking every single one of your powers from him.

When a woman named Cordelia Goode knocked on your door to offer you salvation in the form of Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies well over a decade ago, you slammed the door in her face. You resented your ‘gift’ of sight, your ‘talent’ for conjuring spells, your ‘flair’ for the supernatural. You were a stubborn adolescent who saw no attraction in spending your teenage years among other witches, helping each other identify their powers, harness their abilities. High school was traumatic enough without your enemies having the ability to snap your neck with a flick of their obnoxious teenage bangs.

Had your husband really worked out who you were, or was he talking about another witch? If he suspected you, why was he so kind to you earlier? You’d pushed every thought of your powers back into the dark recesses of your mind, how could he possibly find them if he couldn’t even predict your arrival in the Outpost? His powers were pointless around you, your own talents so guarded that even the Antichrist felt disarmed by you.

Your vision snapped back into the delicately lit room, the pentagram empty of Michael’s naked form. Instinctively grasping at your bump at the morbid thought of how much blood your love had lost in this ritual, you traced the raised pattern of scars scored across your unborn baby’s home.

———

“Fuck, Michael I’m gonna—“ your walls constricted around Michael’s length, plunged so deep inside you that you swore you could feel his cock all the way up in your throat. You snaked your legs around his waist and trailed both arms around his neck, begging him to embrace you as you give in to your climax.

“No you’re not, Mrs Langdon,” Michael slowed his thrusts inside you to an agonisingly glacial pace as your arms dropped from his shoulders, a wanting cry dripping off your tongue as you lost contact. “Daddy’s not finished with you yet.”

Michael reached across you to the bedside cabinet for his elegantly carved ceremonial knife, a determined grin dancing across his lips. He pointed its glistening blade toward your stomach and gazed down at you from beneath his menacing eyebrows, searching for your approval for his next move. You strained to nod between frantic, anticipating pants and dropped your head back to the sheets beneath you, grabbing fistfuls of the blood red silk pooling around your entwined forms.

A sharp, cool sensation traced across your bare abdomen, replaced swiftly by a searing heat as your flesh ripped tenderly beneath the blade. Michael’s cock twitched inside you as your insides tightened around his length, bucking your hips up into him and scratching down his thighs between your legs as the knife tickled and turned you on at the same time.

Chuckling under his breath at your desperate search for friction, Michael drew skilful straight lines connecting to each other over your bare skin, his tongue darting across his full lips as he concentrated.

“Now what does that greedy little cunt of yours want daddy to do now?” He hissed down over you, leaning his head as he inspected each angle of the angry wounds adorning your abdomen. His work had to be perfect or the ritual wouldn’t succeed.

“Please daddy,” was all you could muster as the metallic scent of fresh blood flooded your senses and dried out your mouth. Apparently that wasn’t enough communication for your husband, as he dug the knife deeper into your abdomen making you hiss against your clenched teeth.

“I didn’t quite hear you darling, what was that?”

“Please breed me, daddy,” your back arched as you finally said the words out loud. Those intimate words had danced around your mind ever since the first time you made love, when Michael placed a flat, expectant palm across your abdomen and a smile spread along his expressive lips. It was an unspoken engagement between you that he would one day ask you — or rather demand you — to help him rebuild the world in his father’s design. That being said, you never thought past the act of conception, never prepared yourself for a pregnancy or childbirth, you simply assumed that would come naturally to you when the time came.

“Good girl,” he praised in his typical pseudo-demeaning manner he reserved for the bedroom. After engraving a final circular motion, he wiped away the emerging crimson beads to follow the pattern scored into your stomach, leaning back to admire his work. Carelessly casting the knife across the room, he let out a pornographic growl as he took in the sight of you - his beautiful wife, legs spread wide open beneath him, his cock buried balls deep inside you, your stomach bleeding feverishly and your walls jolting with pleasure around him.

You lifted your head to look down to his scrawls, discovering a shallow pentagram scored into your abdomen, coursing veiny trails of crimson across your skin. Your eyes blazed a trail of pure ecstasy up his body to meet his pitch black irises, wanting and demonic. He leaned down to tower over you, bracing himself with both fists on the bed, allowing him the freedom to slowly drive his cock into you again.

“Now, where were we?” He seethed as he carefully increased the tempo of his length slithering into your folds. “Oh yes, you were about to cum, weren’t you angel?”

The tip of Michael’s cock grazed your sensitive spot with intent, as if he could instinctively aim for it whenever he needed you to climax all over him. The g spot was no thing of wonder to the Antichrist, simply a button he knew he could push whenever the occasion called for it. Rolling his hips effortlessly into you, pounding your pussy so hard the filthy sounds of slapping, sweaty skin echoed through your bed, the floorboards and even the chandelier above you.

Noticing your back arching involuntarily towards him and your arms snaking around his back to claw your nails down his spine, Michael knew you were close but he couldn’t hold his own orgasm much longer.

“Cum for me baby, cum for me like a good little whore.”

With a fervent twitch, his cock pulsed deep inside you and spilled his release against your walls. Meeting his pitch black gaze, the sight of your husband convulsing as he came and the sensation of your walls fluttering against his twitching length set the fire inside you ablaze as your nails scratched deeper into his back.

“Just like that baby, let daddy fill up your pretty little cunt.”

With a final thrust of his load deep inside you, you unleashed an animalistic moan signalling your own climax, your eyes retreating to the back of your head and your legs constricting tightly and shaking uncontrollably around him. Riding out your orgasms together, he slipped both arms under your back and raised you up to meet him in a tight, loving embrace.

“I’ve got you baby, daddy’s got you,” he reassured you in his effortlessly seductive tone that could have easily set you into orgasm all over again. Peppering delicate kisses around your collarbone and tracing up to your ear, his breath burning against your skin, Michael sighed gently and swung his head back to look you deep in the eyes. His effortless transition from dominant demon to sympathetic lover never ceased to surprise you, blinking his piercing black eyes closed for them to return to his dreamy azure irises once again. In the blink of an eye, he morphed into the tender human being you fell in love with, the romantic man you married and for whom you sold your soul.

“Did I hurt you baby?” He placed a gentle hand down to your wounds, the congealing blood sticking to his palm as you shook your head weakly. You tried to lose yourself in the tender moment between you but you couldn’t ignore the seeping feeling between your folds, the obscene mixture of both of your releases slowly flowing out onto your legs.

“Lie back down for me,” he cooed as he gestured you down onto the crimson sheets. Crawling on top of you once more, he leaned down to plant a searing kiss on your abdomen: defiled, marked, owned. Working his way down between your legs, Michael dipped two ringed fingers into the fluids dripping down your thighs and slipped them back inside your folds.

“Can’t have any of this going to waste when we’re building the new world, can we angel?”

———

Fingertips following the twists and turns of the scar tissue across your bump, you heard heavy footsteps approaching the door you were pressed up against. Decidedly male, you convinced yourself those footsteps were Michael’s, coming to look for you, to help you. You scrambled to your feet and yanked the heavy door open, searching the corridor ahead for any sign of your husband’s golden curls. As you turned to look down another corridor, your breath was knocked out of your chest as you bumped into a torso, getting a face full of a dark, torn raincoat.

Placing your palms on the body in front of you to steady yourself, your gaze darted up to see the face of the person who just knocked into you. A boil-ravaged man’s face framed by a dark beard and straggly brown hair with a drastically receded hairline. His eyebrows were singed, his eyes exhausted and world-weary. You’d seen faces just like his while making the treacherous journey to Outpost 3 - cancer from the blast, lesions, hair damage that looked like that of a chemotherapy patient. This man was lucky to be alive at all.

Stunned and apologetic, he seemed to look right through you, as if you weren’t who he expected.

“Are — are you okay?” He queried, looking down your figure until he noticed your unmistakable bump filling the space between you.

“I’m fine, thank you,” you replied meekly. “Are you?” You raised your hand to touch a deep, angry wound on his cheek, but he quickly swatted your hand away.

“Please, don’t touch me, you’ll harm that one,” he pointed down to your bump. Your kind heart hadn’t thought twice about the harm this man’s radiation could do to you and your unborn child, but that still didn’t drive you to step away from him.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I promise,” he defended as if he had spent his whole life apologising for his actions. “I’m looking for someone.”

Your gaze searched down his person for any giveaway signs that could help you identify him or who he was looking for. He didn’t look like a Cooperative member or an Outpost resident that found his way outside, but the glint of a blood-stained knife in his left hand suggested he wasn’t wandering the Hawthorne corridors for peaceful purposes.

“They’re all dead, everybody is dead.” You surprised yourself with your bluntness, your vision and concerns for your husband somehow outweighing your concern for the bodies you’d just left in the Hawthorne common room.

Suddenly, you felt a warm, uncomfortable sensation seep between your legs. Grasping at your bump, both you and the man looked down to see a flow of clear water burst from beneath your dress. Your eyes met each other’s again, this time in sheer panic.

“Oh fuck, it’s coming, the baby’s coming!” You wailed, bracing yourself against the cold wall as your mind went hazy. You’d been preparing for this moment for nine months but no amount of parenting books read by the warm glow of Michael’s office fireplace could prepare you for this.

The tall, dark stranger placed a sympathetic arm lightly on your shoulders, resting safely on the cape draping over your form.

“Come on, we need to get you somewhere comfortable,” he leaned down to you, guiding you toward the door behind you but you held your ground with all the strength you had left.

“No, no, not in there, let’s try here,” you desperately pointed across the hall.

Throwing your weight through an adjacent door with a stumble, you nearly tripped over a tin bathtub in the centre of the room. Filled half full with still, crystal clear water, the circular tub reminded you of Michael’s promise to keep a birthing pool in the Outpost for you.

How on earth had you landed upon the one door that led to Michael’s quarters? The coincidence would’ve seemed uncanny if you hadn’t been shocked out of your thoughts by a strong muscular spasm in your bump.

“Oh fuck!” You cried out, causing the man propping you up to jolt and look down at your bump, concern washing over his face, barely noticing that he’d dropped the blade in his other hand while trying to grasp at your dress to help you.

“C—contractions, they’re sta—starting already,” you panted, clutching at your belly in a desperate bid to tell the baby inside to slow down. Leaning your weight onto the stranger’s broad shoulders, you heaved yourself over the rim of the tin bath and eased yourself down to lay in the lukewarm water. Your cape floated either side of you while you positioned yourself comfortably, legs spread wide and your heavy waterlogged skirt hitched up to your hips. In looking up to thank him for his assistance, you clocked the fear in the man’s eyes and the shake in his hands as he bent over you beside the pool.

“Look, before I give birth in front of a total stranger, my name’s Y/N. What’s yours?” You panted through strained breaths, determined to know the identity of the mysterious male who would soon become your (decidedly unwilling) birthing partner.

“Brock, my name’s Brock,” he replied shakily, his terrified gaze fixed on you and gasping for breath whenever you jolted with a contraction. His face suggested he was in more pain than you were through your labour. Despite your predicament, you realised in that moment that you’d have to be the voice of reason for you both.

“Nice to meet you, Brock. Now listen, I can’t guarantee your safety in here. It’s up to you if you want to stay with me, but it won’t be long before I start screaming the place down and the witches find us.”

“Wha—is this the labour talking? Did you just say fucking witches?”

As you muttered an incantation under your laboured breath, a heavy armchair hovered across the room and landed behind the door, propping it shut from the inside.

“Yes, Brock, fucking witches.”

——————————————————————

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#michael langdon #michael langdon fanfiction #ahs apocalypse #cody fern #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon x reader

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