#( her rage is very much that....blinding & bloody )

[kentopedia]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold. 

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity. 

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants. 

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards. 

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding. 

he can feel the man swallowing. 

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well. 

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand. 

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you. 

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity. 

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you. 

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them. 

limply, they fall to the floor. 

chuuya rushes over to you. 

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it. 

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing. 

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?” 

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?” 

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either. 

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.” 

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.” 

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones. 

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.” 

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.” 

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later. 

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.” 

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off. 

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him. 

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage. 

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course. 

but you… you’re different. 

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.” 

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own. 

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable. 

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you. 

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow. 

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.  

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy. 

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets. 

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found. 

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain. 

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him. 

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain. 

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding. 

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips. 

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you. 

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads. 

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.” 

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?” 

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.” 

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken. 

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word. 

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you. 

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you. 

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies. 

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest. 

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well. 

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating. 

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe. 

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend. 

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.” 

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation. 

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you. 

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation. 

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own. 

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed. 

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive. 

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them. 

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall. 

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive. 

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes. 

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats. 

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile. 

dazai hums. “you the leader?” 

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you. 

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all. 

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him. 

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become. 

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple. 

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you. 

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.” 

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.” 

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?” 

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.” 

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎

[ervotica]

this isn’t so much specifically about rafe but i’m low-key obsessed with polycule rafe x reader x barry. especially in their dominance with her, because it feels so inherently different. on the surface, barry’s is so much softer but there’s a sinister bite to it, as opposed to rafe who affronts it, but when push comes to shove and reader needs help, she’ll go to him. like the best way to describe it is, reader feels safe with barry but protected with rafe.

yes yes this is all so true! rafe & barry even each other out and i love that for miss reader </3

barry appears outwardly softer with you, all soft touches and smearing kisses along your cute features when you crinkle your nose at him. sitting you in his lap when you’re tired and holding glasses of water to your lips when you’re thirsty so that you don’t have to exert yourself in your sleepy state— generally, barry is playful with you and very soft.

that courtesy only extends so far; you rile him up, you push his buttons in any way, there will absolutely be hell to pay. you can locate the bite to his words from a mile away, the hidden violent streak that wards you off from pushing him too much despite his leniency when it comes to his baby girl.

rafe is argumentative; he pushes back when you mouth off, dishing out as many punishments as he sees fit until he’s sure you’ve learned your lesson. he’s harder to crack than barry, more guarded with his affections, and you have to push past the way his nonchalance twinges at your heart and remind yourself that’s just how he is.

then you get into trouble— real trouble. some prissy kook girl running her mouth at a kegger and suddenly you’re hitting the bitch, breaking her nose and sealing one of her eyes shut at the very least.

you call rafe in a blind panic— you only did it ‘cos she was talking smack about him and barry, you justify, the petulant whine in your cadence vanishing and being replaced with an anxious wobble that drives rafe into action as white-hot panic seizes his own heart.

“‘s okay, baby. i know you jus’ did what you had to do. i get it, okay? ‘ve been there too many times… yeah, yeah, i’ll come get ya, little firecracker.”

you plant your ass on the sidewalk, comforted in the fact that rafe will be here any second when the girl’s boyfriend decides to run up on you. you stumble back, arms out protectively, babbling about how your boyfriend’s gonna be here any minute so he’d better quit it. he grabs your arm hard enough to bruise the soft flesh, getting in your face as he sneers about how his girlfriend was right to say those things and your boyfriend isn’t going to do shit.

you spit back that she shouldn’t have run her mouth if she didn’t want someone to shut her up, and the guy’s features contort in unmistakable rage as he rears back to… hit you?

a fist collides with his jaw before he makes it even another step, and there’s an audible crunch as the guy hits the concrete face-first. rafe stands over him, chest heaving, knuckles bruised and bloodied. the guy still makes to get up, stopped short by a boot to the rib, kicking until he stays fucking down, gasping and limbs askew on the ground.

rafe has you against his chest in an instant, hooking a shoulder beneath your armpit to press his cheek to yours and curse you for being an antagonistic little shit. but he’s softened, his hard edges melting away as he fusses over you, brushing hair back from your eyes and checking you over for cuts and bruises. you get to the car and your bottom lip wobbles, knees tucking in tightly against your chest.

“you gonna tell bar?” you sniffle, cheek smushed against your knee.

“have to, baby,” he murmurs. “he’s not gonna be mad, i promise.”

“are you mad?”

he bristles. “c’mere,” he beckons, arms open in a rare display of affection as you climb over the center console of the car and into his lap. he drags slow lines across your cheekbone with swollen knuckles. “i’m not mad, baby. i’m not pleased, but this isn’t something anyone’s gonna punish you for.”

you will the tears back, fighting the onslaught as your adrenaline drops and you sag. he hooks arms around your waist to pull you closer.

“none of that,” he says gruffly, sitting up to gauge your expression at eye level. “you’re a good girl, okay? jus’ looking out for us, yeah?”

you nod tersely, pushing into his grasp, greedily seeping up every inch of affection you can pull from him. “‘m sorry.”

“let’s go home, yeah?”

barry forgoes any lecturing when you return with one curt stare from rafe and the sight of your pouting bottom lip alone. he bundles you up and murmurs lowly against your skin as you hum and close your eyes, preening sadly. wetness clings to your eyes, pooling against the smudged black caked at your waterline.

rafe makes an entire display out of the way he relents for you, his eyes softening in worry despite the way he bristles and attempts to harden his features; one sad look from you and he’s gathering you back up for a squeezing cuddle and pressing a begrudging kiss to the crown of your skull.

“jus’ go t’sleep, kid. love you, okay?”

you know he does, but hearing him say it sends adoration roiling through your chest in a wave.

“love you more,” you whisper as he kisses right between your pinched brows, pushing you back towards barry.

“you softening old country club up, angel?” the dark haired man snorts, shucking up the duvet until it’s laid over your shoulders as you tuck your face into the juncture of his neck. you roll your eyes at the nickname.

“maybe a little,” you muse, a laugh bubbling at the base of your throat despite the sorrow that sits heavy in your bones.

“there’s my girl.”

[suugarbabe]

Gotcha!! I am a sucker for how you write Enzo, and even more of a sucker for hurt/comfort or angst that ends in fluff. So to mix the two, my brain came up with this: Reader and Enzo have been together for a while, both are in love with eachother. The only thing is, R has never seen Enzo's "dark side", because the occasion never presented itself, until when Enzo beats up a guy for touching R and making her uncomfortable. R is shocked to say the least, or taken aback, but offers all the same to clean up Enzo's wounds, very lost in thought, because maybe usually violence scares her. Knowing Enzo he would realize this, and kind of spiral in a "did I scare you? Are you afraid of me? I would never hurt you" worries, while R was simply worried about Enzo's well being. So it ends with Reader comforting Enzo and vice versa, just a sweet bonding moment after a bit of a scare and angst. Feel free to change this or make it more dramatic💕💕💕💕💕

you couldn't shake the slimy feeling you had since this morning when Cormac tried to touch you. Well, he did touch you, smacked your ass really. And when you gave him the finger he called you a slag. You tried to ignore him, ignore the interaction. Enzo had tried to ask you what was wrong at lunch, but you told him you were just tired, that you'd had a tough divination class that morning. You could tell he wasn't buying it, but he also didn't push you.

when you were walking with Pansy on your way to the library, she had asked you again, and finally you told her. "What a fucking tosser! A right prick, he is," you had agreed with her words, telling her that you were going to go to the library for your free period. She said she would see you later and that you two could plan to hex him during dinner if you'd want.

You'd liked that idea, so when you saw Pansy sprinting towards you in the library, you were heavily confused. You stood up as she approached you, nearly out of breath. You urged her to tell you what was going on. She nodded, hands on her knees, "Enzo...in the court yard...Cormac...blood...s'getting real bad."

"Oh my god," you took off running, Pansy (reluctantly given that she had just sprinted to you) close behind. When you got to the court yard a small crowd had already formed. You pushed your way through until you got to the inner circle, your hand instantly going to cover your gape at the scene before you.

You always knew Enzo was a big man, he was not only tall, but broad as well. You just never realized how much broader he was than most the guys your age because from where you were standing, you couldn't even see Cormac with how Enzo was hunched over him, landing blow after blow.

You looked around the circle until you spotted the rest of Enzo's friends, storming up to them. You pointed at Blaise and Mattheo, "Stop him. You stop him right now before a professor comes out here."

Mattheo smirked, "No way, princess. This is Enzo's victim, he's not finished yet." You turned, now seeing a different angle of the fight. Cormac's face was bloody and swollen, one eye closed completely shut, the skin around it looking taught like a balloon.

You turned back to the both of them, "Mattheo Marvelo you stop this right. now. or I swear to Merlin I'll hex your dick to the size of a peanut for a month." With his middle name and the threat, Mattheo nodded at Blaise, both boys launching themselves toward Enzo, struggling slightly to pull him off.

Enzo was fighting back against them slightly, trying to swing towards Cormac again. He was so blind by rage he didn't even notice anyone around him. You couldn't stand it anymore, couldn't watch him fight anymore.

"Lorenzo, enough." Your voice was loud and stern. Enzo looked toward you, immediately catching your eyes and relaxing in the two other boys' hold. When you nodded they finally released him. You instructed the other boys to 'take care of this', motioning toward Cormac's beaten and moaning body.

You grabbed hold of Enzo's forearm, not wanting to fully grab his hand and get covered in someone else's blood. You led him down to the dungeons, down the hall of the boys dormitory and into the bathroom.

You pointed to the edge of the tub, "Sit." Enzo did so immediately, looking down at the ground like a child about to be scolded. You opened of of the cabinets, grabbing gauze and some healing potions that the boys kept on hand.

Walking back towards Enzo, you tapped the inside of one of his knees, signaling him to widen his legs so you could stand between them. You lifted his head with a finger under his chin. His had a small cut on his lower lip, "Looks like he got one good swing on you."

Enzo smirked, "Yeah, one's all he got the chance to get." You tsked at him, "You know I hate fighting, Enzo. You never fight, it's always the others."

Enzo's smirk turned to a frown, his lip splitting open slightly more, "I'm so sorry, angel, did I scare you? Are you afraid of me now? You know I would never hurt you, righ-"

You cut him off with a finger to his lips before patting the split in his lip with gauze and a healing potion.

"Why were you fighting him," you knew the answer, but you wanted to know how he knew. You grabbed one of his hands, waving your wand over the cuts that you can only assume were made from either Cormac's teeth or the harsh bridge of his nose coming into contact with Enzo's fists.

"Darling, my angel girl, he touched you, no, he smacked you, and called you names? What kind of protector would I be if I let shit like that slide. No way, that is never happening." You couldn't help but smile as you finished healing his other hand.

You cupped his cheek now, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth, "My sweet Enzo bear, my big bad protector." Enzo placed his hands on either side of your hips, one hand going round to give you ass a playful squeeze.

You squealed, swatting at his hand with a giggle. Enzo smiled at the sound, pulling you closer still, "I will always be here to protect you, no matter what. I love you angel girl."

You smiled, "I love you too, Enzo," leaning in again to give him a proper kiss.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

A cute little ‘What-If’ scenario with Eri, what if Eri met Garp instead of Luffy? (Just to take a little break before Wano because there is a LOT happening in Wano)

Garp found Eri kidnapped and tortured by a Pirate Crew/Corrupted High Ranked Marine who’s been using Eri for their selfish purposes (He beats them to a bloody pulp for harming a child)

Garp doesn’t know nor does he care why they took Eri because he immediately takes her under his wing as her Grandpa! (Instant Adoption, and the only time Garp is 1st Grandpa!)

When Garp finds out about Eri’s power he tells her she doesn’t ever need to worry anymore as he’ll always be there to take care of her from now on so she doesn’t need to use her power unless she wants too and he’ll protect her so no one can ever force her to use her powers against her will (He’ll keep her little secret to himself, after all he made a Pinkie Promise *He’s sobbing obnoxiously over how cute and sweet she is unlike his ingrate grandsons who are ‘very mean’ to his feelings!*)

Sengoku is Eri’s other Grandfather, because he knows Garp doesn’t actually know how to properly raise a child (They Co-Parent, or rather Co-Grandparent) and he will admit Eri helps him unwind and reminds him that there’s still good in this world (He even gifted her a few coloring books and crayons)

Garp encourages Eri to eat as much as she wants but always obnoxiously sobs because she always shares her food with him since it’s all so yummy! (Eri won all the Marines hearts)

Eri likes Tsuru, Smoker, Tashigi, Coby, Fujitora, Kuzan and Hina, she’s shy around the other Marines, Borsalino and Akainu

I can definitely picture Garp telling Eri that Akainu and Ryokugyo are the ‘Dark Side’ of the Marines (Resulting in Eri calling them a ‘Bad Guy’ resulting in emotional damage for these two with Garp, Kuzan and Fujitora in the background, laughing their asses off)

Fujitora is another one of Eri’s favorites and worries about him since he’s blind (He smiles that finds it very sweet but tells her he’s alright as he promises he won’t get hurt)

Eri wears cute Sailor Dresses and lives with her Grandpa Garp whenever he goes

-Garp was seething in rage, holding the fragile bundle close to his chest as he was radiating heat from how furious he was. He glanced down, his eyes softening as he saw two large eyes peering up at him, safely wrapped up in his cloak.

-He had attacked a pirate ship, taking all of them into custody, to make Sengoku happy as he had been a little cranky as of late, but when he heard the crying of a child, he was stunned to see you there, trapped in a tiny cage, scars covering almost every inch of you.

-He didn’t know what made you so special to these pirates, but you must have been as there was a lot of research notes around about a unique, natural ability you had. From what he was able to gather it was a healing ability, but not exactly.

-Your little hand was holding onto his suit, peeking out from the cloak as he was taking you to the infirmary, and not letting anyone stop him as he kept walking.

-Sengoku had heard the commotion when Garp’s ship had arrived, as he shouted at others to come and get the pirates while he seemed to be holding something. When he saw Garp he was quick to catch up to him, calling out to him, but Garp didn’t stop, “Not stopping- catch up if you need me.”

-Sengoku was surprised to see Garp so serious for once and it made him curious as to what he was holding as they made it to the infirmary.

-Garp grabbed one of the doctors he knew would keep his mouth shut and went to a private bed, pulling the curtain around the three men before he lowered his cape from around you, revealing you to them.

-Instantly the doctor panicked, reaching for you but you curled in on yourself, pressing closer to Garp who took a seat on the bed, “This nice doctor is going to help you, Y/N.”

-You looked up at him, you trusted him, as he rescued you from these bad men after you woke up in this strange world, away from Overhaul. However, after they saw you using your ability to heal a wound you had gotten, they were quick to start researching as well, treating you just like how Overhaul did, wanting to know about your ability.

-Garp explained what he could about your ability as the doctor was very gentle, looking at your scars, seeing that they were deliberately done, as he called for a nurse to get some food, seeing that you were very malnourished as well.

-Sengoku was sitting on a chair in front of you, letting you hold onto one of his fingers, as he was trying not to scare you as they listened about your ability, the ability to rewind time, more specifically, rewind wounds.

-The doctor was very patient with you, showing you each thing, “I’m looking in your eyes with this. This is to check what your heart rate is.” And many other things like that.

-You didn’t feel as scared as he was telling you each thing he was doing or showing you on Sengoku or Garp what he was going to do to you.

-When the food arrived, you were surprised to see the mound of food, as the nurse thought it was for Garp, who always ate big meals. Your eyes were huge as the doctor was looking over what notes Garp managed to collect, while Garp was helping you eat, holding the tray for you.

-You stuffed an apple slice into your mouth and your eyes were bright and sparkly, “It’s yummy!” they had to wonder what kind of life you were living until right then, if you thought just an apple slice was yummy.

-You held up another to Garp, “Here grandpa!” Garp did not take the apple, he set the tray down then passed you to Sengoku before quickly collapsing, holding on his chest as he cried obnoxiously on how sweet you were.

-Sengoku seemed exasperated with Garp’s antics as he held you, looking down at you, “Did he tell you to call him that, Y/N?” you nodded softly, “When he wrapped me up in his fancy cape, he said he was going to be my grandpa, and nobody was going to hurt me again!”

-Sengoku was the next to have heart related issues due to your cuteness as you were so precious and he agreed to allow Garp to adopt you, because from what the doctor found out, after confirming with you that you have bad fevers after using your ability too much, that you would be the safest with them.

-That’s how Garp and Sengoku adopted you, keeping you protected while they co-parented you. You became a staple in Sengoku’s office, either coloring or sitting on his lap, wearing an adorable long sleeve dress with leggings and a matching marine hat.

-Kuzan adored you, as he would always ‘kidnap’ you, stealing you away and taking you to get ice cream or cotton candy or to take naps with you. Sengoku found it exasperating, as he wasn’t doing his work, while Garp was chasing him, demanding that you be returned to him.

-You were a little shy with Kizaru and Sakazuki, usually hiding behind Garp’s leg or Sengoku’s leg, peeking out at them. Kizaru always tried to give you candy, wanting to win you over, but Sakazuki was almost shy with you, as he was afraid of scaring you.

-Fujitora was your next ‘grandpa’ after you met him, seeing his scars and when you learned he was blind, he felt your tiny hands on his cheeks, “They don’t hurt, do they?” hearing that you were about to cry, he just smiled, cupping your hands gently, “They don’t hurt Y/N. I’m okay, I pinkie promise.”

-He had to explain what a pinkie promise was to you, and when you sounded so excited, you were quickly crying as had to be admitted to the infirmary for heart related issues right after.

-Garp and Sengoku kept your abilities under wraps, telling you not to use them at all, which you did like as your ability always took a lot out of you. Only those two and the doctor knew, so everyone else just thought that you were rescued from pirates who had been torturing you for fun, and not for your ability.

-You liked not using your ability, you felt like a normal kid, running around, and playing with other children of marine officers. It felt so nice having friends.

-Garp liked seeing you happy, but he didn’t like seeing boys around you, thinking they were going to steal you away and he would always shout and get scary, with glowing red eyes, telling the boys to get away from you.

-Garp told you all about Luffy, your big brother, since you were adopted, that makes Luffy your big brother, but he didn’t want you to be a knucklehead like him, he wanted you to stay with him and be a good girl.

-You just beamed up at him with a huge smile, “I want to stay with grandpa forever! I love you grandpa!”

-Sengoku had to watch you for the rest of the day, with you helping him stamp his paperwork, as Garp was in the infirmary, still ugly crying on how precious you were while getting yelled at by the doctors for being disruptive.

-You’re so happy that Garp found you!

[mothhball]

II – VIRIDIS

viridis – marked by youthful vigor

JONATHAN CRANE X FEM!READER

summary Drinking your woes away was a temporary solution, and it ends up in tears. But even in the darkest night, there's the chance of a silver lining. Just be sure you're well-informed about your shiny spark of hope.

warnings NEEDLES, BLOOD SAMPLE, very mild medfet (a whisper for now), alcohol, reader gets drunk, some mildly foul language, unhappy relationship,

notes oooo longer chapter! and things are MOVING

! MINORS DNI !

story masterlist • main masterlist • taglist • kofi word count: 5.2k

The news themselves were already bad, but even worse was the pity from everyone you told about the rejection. Behind every sympathetic smile and half-hug was a hidden “I told you so” that no one said out loud, but was obvious enough.

Despite what people told you, apparently no one had believed that you could make it in the first place, and that realization caused a rage to burn and fester within your guts. A rage which found no outlet since that wretched Thursday that you since then blacked out with a fat sharpie from your calendar. Reading that letter felt like repeatedly getting hit over the head with a steel pipe, beating you into a pathetic, bloody pulp right where you were standing in your kitchen. Your boyfriend tried to rub your back, but you bristled and immediately turned away from him, scowling like it was him specifically who sent the rejection. His little pout disgusted you. But what made you actually nauseous was the relief in his eyes. Never once, in 3 years of this relationship, did you resent him like you did on that Thursday afternoon. Bitter, seething resentment which almost caused you to lash out at him like a riled-up dog.

But instead, you chose to take the high road. Or rather you fled, left the apartment and drove over to your best friend Mina’s to cry and shout into one of her lovely couch pillows. The smart, admirable choice would’ve been to write an email to Potomac. To timidly ask Dr. Rabin to turn a blind eye and allow you to send in a late application. But every time your fingers hovered over the keys of your old, ratty laptop, the embarrassment was too much, and you slammed it shut once more, leaving the unfinished request behind. But your boyfriend Tristan, in his seemingly endless quest of half-heartedly trying to manage your future, urged you to send the email. So, you did. At least that’s what you told him. A little white lie to let him keep his peace of mind. 

Your mood only got worse towards the weekend, prompting a few of your friends and your boyfriend to drag you off to do the responsible thing. Get drunk and shake off the tension during a night out. And now here you are, downing shots on a Saturday night in an attempt to forget your woes at least for a little while.

The club is packed and stuffy, and the lights flicker over a mass of people that seems to have grown into one hive mind of an entity, allowing you to feel swallowed and anonymous for just a few blissful hours. Every mouthful of alcohol that you swallow works in your favor to numb the anxiety gnawing at your bones while the bass gently licks at your feverish skin, causing your heart to vibrate in your ribcage. It’s easy to lose yourself in sips of colorful shots and cocktails. At least until a firm hand on your shoulder prevents you from placing another order. Turning your head, you’re met by Tristan’s disgruntled eyes, and before you can shake off his grip, he’s already pulling you away from the bar to a relatively quiet spot in another hallway of the club. Still, he has to raise his voice when he speaks to you, already laying the foundation for a screaming match.

“What are you doing??” he asks, giving you a once over that only serves to further sour his mood.

“What do you mean? I’m just having a couple of drinks,” you slur back at him, returning that nasty look he’s sending you. Tristan scoffs, shaking his head like you’re a lost cause, even though he’s not exactly sober either.

“You’re getting wasted. Are you still sulking over that rejection? Jesus…”

That actually makes your jaw drop, and you’re speechless for a few seconds, which your boyfriend takes as his cue to continue.

“Just let it go. Some things aren’t meant to be. It’s better this way”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” you hiss back at him, curling your fingers tightly into the fabric of the little dress you’re wearing.

“I… Listen, we both know Arkham isn’t… your style. You… you’re not that kind of person –“ Tristan sighs, somehow trying to make his statement seem less insulting and vague by waving his hands around in your face.

“The kind of person to what??”

“The kind of person who’d make it there! You would’ve quit after two weeks! Let’s be real for once. And then you’d have to start over again and you would have to wait yet another semester to graduate!” Every word that leaves his mouth pisses you off even more, and a truly ugly emotion rears its head within you. Things are escalating. You still have half a mind to realize it. You should call it a night, go home and talk things out in the morning. But this is the first time that Tristan is being brutally honest about your career choices.

“Oh, I didn’t know it was a race, Tristan! How silly of me! I’ll make sure to plan every future decision around your life schedule from now on!” You get in his face, venom dripping off of every shouted syllable that slips from your tongue a little too easily.

“You’re putting words in my mouth! I never said I wanted you to plan your life around me! I’m just worried! All of my friend’s girlfriends –“

“So that’s what this is about? The girlfriends of your little business school friend group?? Am I part of some weird dick measuring contest?” You continue before he gets a word in, asking a question that’s been burning in your throat for a few months now.

“Are you ashamed of me??”

You’re met with silence. Silence that’s so obviously an answer in itself that it causes your heart to slip out of your chest and shatter on the sticky floor below. Tristan notices the devastated expression on your face, but his drunken audacity eggs him on to double down. 

“I wouldn’t have to be if you just acted like an adult! You can’t always get what you want! For fuck’s sake, just be happy with what you have for once!” You wish you had a drink you could throw in his face. But your hands are empty, shaking with anger and disappointment. You can’t look at him anymore.

“Screw you, Tristan.” And with that, you turn, leaving him standing there while you rush to find an exit as tears well up in your eyes. He doesn’t make a move to follow you, and it simultaneously calms and saddens you even more. 

Navigating the club is even more complicated with your blurred vision, and you bump into a few people, no doubt spilling a few overpriced drinks in the process. But you’re either too fast or they’re too drunk to really do anything about it.

Finally, finally, you make it outside, choking out a strangled noise that’s a pathetic mix between a sob and a whine, and you quickly duck into a nearby alley to give way to the tears. You’re drunk and overly emotional, you try to rationalize with yourself, but it doesn’t lessen the ache in any way. So, pressing a palm over your mouth, you reluctantly allow yourself to cry. The night air is icy, but fresh enough to comfort you and slowly clear up the lump in your throat, and after some cathartic five minutes, you start to calm down again. Your tears run black at this point, dragging your favorite mascara down your cheeks, and you sniffle as you into your purse to grab a compact mirror and assess the damage. 

It's in that moment when your phone display lights up, alerting you to an incoming call. Your stomach twists into knots as you fish the phone out of your purse. A call from Tristan might make things worse, and you’re not really in the mood to talk to him right now, so – 

But the call isn’t coming from your boyfriend. Your eyes widen before they narrow into slits, and annoyance bubbles up within your chest. There on the phone display, proudly displayed as the caller ID is Dr. Jonathan Crane’s name. Your thumb hovers over the glass before you decide to pick up the call. As soon as you hear his voice, annoyance gives way to a little spark of hope. It also serves to sober you up a little. You barely have time to rasp out a “Hello?” before he speaks, sounding almost relieved that you picked up.

“I know that calling at such a late hour is quite unusual, but I’m glad I could get ahold of you before it was too late. Believe me, I was just as surprised as you most likely were. To be frank, I was so certain that you'd be joining us that I didn't even check the list to confirm it.” Papers rustle on his end of the line. He must still be in his office.

“Yeah, I… I was optimistic as well. Maybe… Maybe a little too much,” you admit softly, trying to concentrate on your words to avoid slurring. Crane hums, and you can’t tell if it’s in understanding or amusement. Reading him in person was already hard enough, but it’s nigh impossible over the phone.

“Tell you what, I believe you dodged a bullet. I clarified with the other staff members what the responsibilities of those interns will be, and that wouldn’t be right for you. Sorting files and sitting in on group therapy sessions at the Low Security Wing? No, that would be a waste of your time. You’re not that kind of person. Which is why I’m offering you something else.”

You lick your dry lips, still tasting the salt of your tears and some last traces of your lipstick. For a second, you’re unsure if you heard him correctly. “Something else?”

Crane glosses over your question, and in your mind you understand. This might be sensitive information. Drunk-You feels a little like a spy, keeping a secret from Tristan who would surely be mad that you’re even talking to the director of Arkham Asylum right now.

“Are you free to come in tomorrow? I know it’s quite late already –“

“Yes. Yes, I am,” you interrupt, feeling brave. 

“Good. Then let’s meet in my office at… let’s say… 10 am? Is that alright?”

“I… uh, absolutely.” You quickly rummage through your purse, using a lip liner and an old receipt to haphazardly write down the appointment. “I’ll be there.”

“Perfect. Enjoy the rest of your night,” he says before he hangs up right after. You have no chance to say goodbye properly as the line clicks. Maybe it’s for the best. Knowing yourself, you would’ve wished him a great night as well with the addition of a plea to “get home safe”, which would’ve been a little much.

When you head back inside, you’re spotted by your worried friends and an indifferent Tristan, and dear GOD, the urge to boast and gloat has never been this strong before in your life. But you stay quiet as you put on a smile, avoiding to look at your boyfriend. You stay quiet as your group gets into a taxi, and stay quiet as you get back home and head straight for your bed. “You’re not that kind of person” was something you heard twice in one night. And only once did it feel right.

The pounding ache in your skull serves as your alarm clock the next day, tearing you out of a restless sleep only 10 minutes before you were supposed to get up anyway. A frown finds its way onto your features as you tiptoe out of the bedroom, catching a glimpse of the still sleeping Tristan on the couch in the living room. Neither of you have said a word to each other since the fight, and you'll be damned if you start the conversation about something he messed up in the first place.

You walk past him, feeling the cold surface of the floorboards beneath your feet as you head into the bathroom to try to make yourself look (and smell) presentable. The stench of alcohol leaves your tongue after brushing and rinsing with mouthwash thrice, and an overindulgence of body wash in the shower solves everything else. The final touch is a generous amount of concealer under your eyes, and you're surprised that you actually pass off as someone who doesn't have an awful hangover right now.

Getting dressed is another challenge, though. You can't exactly say that Drunk-You had the gift of foresight to pick a suitable outfit for your second meeting with Dr. Crane, so you dig through your closet to make yourself look presentable. Your fingers wander over the different fabrics, tracing cotton and polyester, wool and tweed as you grumble to yourself. Christ, this shouldn’t feel like rocket science.

This dreadful indecisiveness eats up a sizeable chunk of your time, and as you button up your blouse, you realize how late it suddenly is.

Breakfast consists of an aspirin and a large black coffee, and you make sure to let the coffee machine shriek as loudly as it wants just to spite Tristan a little more before you rush out of the apartment. 

This time around, the drive to Arkham Asylum feels a little more familiar. You still depend heavily on your GPS, but you remember some of the turns and streets, and you don’t feel as tiny and insignificant as you did a week ago. You’re here with an explicit purpose now. Crane knows who you are and asked you to come back nevertheless.

Upon entering the still intimidating building, you stop by the reception again, spotting a familiar face. The receptionist seems just as surprised to see you, sharp eyes flicking down to a visitor's list that seems to confirm the validity of your return before she points a manicured nail towards the security check. You raise your hand to wave at her as you pass. She doesn't wave back. Oh well, you can't get them all.

The maze of a third-floor feels straightforward as well today, made possible by the ever-present red lines guiding you to your destination. This time, you're able to meet Crane in his office, and his request to enter can be heard through the door after the first knock.

Everything still looks the same as you enter, save for his now orderly desk. The chaos of files from back then is now a neat stack that the doctor rests his folded hands atop. You open your mouth to greet him, but Crane speaks first, completely catching you off-guard.

"The bunny is back. I'm glad to see it."

"Excuse me?" You blink at him before you look down at yourself. No, no bunny-themed clothes or accessories anywhere that might have given him the idea to call you that. You’re drawing a blank. Unsure whether this is part of a hazing process or an inside joke you must’ve missed, you lift your gaze back up to him. There’s a fleeting look of sardonic amusement on his face before he reels himself back in to elaborate.

“That's what you reminded me of the first time you came here. Glancing around, all skittish and frightened in the hallway…” he explains, already turning his head away from you to reach into one of his desk drawers and retrieve a folder. Your folder. “Please, close the door and take a seat. We’re already running low on time.”

After following his instructions, you find yourself sitting in the same chair from a week ago, foregoing the act of presenting yourself as a confident person. It’s no use, anyway. Crane already knows you’re desperate. It’s seeping out of your every pore, giving your worries a rich and sweet taste that the director of Arkham seems to indulge in for a moment. At least, that’s what you assume based on the expression in his cold eyes. You’re no fool. It’s basically a guarantee that his offer will bite you in the ass in some way or another. 

“You must be a little put-off by this meeting. It’s not exactly orthodox to ask you to come in on a Sunday, but I read the list of this year’s interns just minutes before I called you last night. And that was purely by chance. Like I said, I was positive you’d be one of them.” Crane opens your folder, but his eyes stay on your face. “I have no idea what goes on in the heads of my staff sometimes, and now I’m fairly certain it can’t be much. But I don’t intend to waste a person like you.”

You shift in your seat, listening intently to every word that leaves his lips. It’s your lifeline. And he knows it.

“So, I am making you an offer. Just promise to listen first,” he says, and one of his eyebrows twitches upwards at the intensity in your gaze. “The position I’m offering you would be exclusive. It won’t be approved by anyone else but me and it technically didn’t exist before I made up my mind about it. I am offering you the position of intern assistant.”

Your eyes widen. Even in his darkroom of an office, it feels like the air just became lighter and the colors brighter. Crane lifts a finger, continuing his offer.

“No surface scratching – You’d be my shadow. Which means more work and responsibilities, but also more privileges, more insight, more knowledge. I’ll teach you what you need to know to get ahead in this field, and by the end of it, your fellow students will eat your dust. Your professors as well, if I’m being honest.”

Before you can even respond, he’s already reaching back into his desk, pulling out a massive stack of paperwork. And then the rushing begins. Crane checks his watch, clicking his tongue before he pushes the documents over to you, along with a fountain pen.

“How long would it take you to read this? I have to hand this in within the next 50 minutes to make sure you’re cleared in time. If you even accept my offer, that is. It’s a terrible time crunch, I know, but I’d really like to have you as a member of staff in one week.”

Tentatively, you reach out for the fountain pen, twirling it around in your fingers for a moment as you think about his offer. This hesitancy only causes him to lean forward and flip through the first pages, pointing out a handful of sections for only a few seconds each before he moves on.

“It’s the regular stuff, I guess. Everything I just told you in cumbersome wording. I really wish I could take my time and go through each page with you, but the circumstances just won’t allow it. If you have any questions, I’ll gladly answer all of them once you’ve signed.”

It’s shady as hell. A red flag that’s so glaringly obvious that it makes you wonder how Crane can keep a straight expression. But this is your one chance of getting a look behind the scenes. Your one chance of proving them wrong. Professor Campbell, Tristan, everyone who doubted you could do it. This could go horribly wrong. But it could also be your ticket into the big leagues. Shadowing the asylum’s director would be a privilege that no one else gets. A chance to make connections and grow. Not to mention that your résumé would look incredible with Crane’s recommendation attached to it.

Hell, he may be exploiting you, but who says you can’t exploit him right back? It’s your good right to milk this opportunity as much as you can.

Meanwhile, the psychiatrist continues to ramble on, rattling off half-apologies and made-up reasons why you have to sign as quickly as possible once he reaches the last page of the contract. The page where you have to place your signature on the intended line. Both of you are surprised by how quickly you sign it. 

As you place the cap back onto the fountain pen, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, creating a vacuum in which both of you seem to grapple with the reality that you’d be stuck to Dr. Crane’s side for a few months, following every step and instruction of his. You manage to break the silence first.

“There. I have questions now.”

“Of course. I already expected as much,” Crane says as he pulls the freshly signed contract back to his side of the desk, staring down at your signature as if he’s half expecting it to jump off the paper. But then he places the thick document back into the drawer it came from, letting out a quiet breath. You notice that he seems significantly more at ease now, movements once again patient and effortlessly measured, and your brows furrow a little as you speak.

“What’s my hourly rate?”

“There’s nothing of the sort, I’m afraid.” Your blood runs cold at his nonchalance, and your lips part to protest when he cuts you off. “You will be working the same hours as me. And since my overtime and schedule is a little unpredictable at times, we will just have to see. You will be paid at the end of the month, however. The amount will depend on how much we actually did.”

“I… alright.” You bite your tongue, even though your displeasure is obvious. Nevertheless, you proceed with your second question. “You mentioned more responsibilities. I guess there’s a catch, then? Or a few?”

Crane chuckles, getting up from his chair to walk over to a cabinet in search of something specific. He speaks to you from over his shoulder.

“Right to the point. Wonderful. But yes, there are a few peculiarities that come with the position. Starting with – You’re not afraid of needles, are you?”

He closes the cabinet, returning to the desk with a little tray containing various items.

“We’ll start with a mandatory blood sample. I hope this isn’t a problem. I just need to know that my assistant is in peak condition. And didn’t smoke anything on the way here.”

You want to scoff, but swallow the sound at the last second. The fact that you took offense to his unspoken accusation is written across your face, and Crane doesn’t comment any further on it as he sets the tray down on the desk and pulls his chair closer to yours.

“I’m fine with needles,” you murmur, already pulling up your sleeve.

“No trypanophobia? A shame,” Crane chuckles, sitting down again before he reaches out for your arm. Your doubts whether he’s even qualified to do this as a psychiatrist vanish the moment his hands come in contact with your skin. He’s cold. Almost uncomfortably cold as his fingers brush over the bend of your elbow in search of a suitable vein. Once he’s successful, he picks a tourniquet from the tray of equipment and fastens it around your upper arm. His movements seem too perfect to be experienced. As if he’s a green med student working with the textbook perched on his lap. As if he’d burst into flame if he did something wrong.

“So, about the catch,” he continues, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and spraying it over the spot he picked on your arm. Surprisingly, the liquid isn’t much colder than his touch. “Since you’ll be my shadow, you’re also required to accompany me to appointments outside of Arkham. Conferences, meetings… so on and so forth. I also have some upcoming court dates within the next few months. Obviously, I’m not the defendant. I’m just an advisor.”

You nod along to his words, eyes following his hands as he rubs disinfectant into his own skin before he pulls on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. Crane stretches the material over his hands until it’s taut, making it squeak before he shifts closer until his knees touch yours. At this proximity, you can smell his cologne, and the combination throws you off a little. It’s mainly sandalwood and bergamot, but there’s a hint of something else you can’t quite grasp. Something chemical, almost acidic. The psychiatrist continues to speak, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Another catch is that there’s a required dress code for you. As my assistant, you need to always look presentable. You can’t be running around looking like a hobo since your actions and appearance will reflect on me as well. And I’d rather not be associated with… any of those cheap trends that seem to be popular with the bottom of the barrel nowadays. You’ll have to give me your clothing size so I can prepare a new wardrobe for you. It’ll just save us time in the long run.”

Your brows furrow, but his request seems reasonable. “Alright. I suppose that’s fair,” you say, watching closely as he runs his thumb over the bend of your elbow. Then, he presses down to anchor the vein. It’s right in this moment when he decides to drop another bombshell.

“Which brings me to probably the biggest drawback in all of this.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. He’s already looking at your face, watching for the slightest twitch in your expression.

“You’ll have to stay at my place for the duration of your internship.”

What follows is a solid minute of deafening silence. Your pulse races, thumping softly against the pad of Crane’s thumb. He can tell you’re displeased, and he frowns a little, surprisingly empathetic.

“What?” you manage to croak out, swallowing dryly.

“Believe me, I spent all night trying to come up with a better solution. Sometimes, I get emergency calls in the middle of the night and it’s vital that you’re there with me. Those cases are the real deal. They’re raw and unfiltered, often much more than incidents that happen during the day. And as you told me during your interview, you live quite far away from here.”

You nod stiffly, gaze dropping to where he’s still pressing his thumb down on your arm. Crane can see and feel how uneasy this condition makes you, and he tries to lessen the blow.

“You’ll have your own bathroom and bedroom, of course. We will only share the kitchen and living room. And the laundry room, but I suppose that is the least of your worries. I won’t bother you.”

When he sees that you’re still not too happy, he quickly adds, “You can also tell me to be quiet whenever I mention work after hours.”

This at least gets a reaction from you. You force yourself to crack a smile, meeting his eyes once more.

“Okay. I’ll hold you to it.”

“Perfect.” The psychiatrist nods, wasting no time uncapping a butterfly needle and puncturing your skin with it. The sudden sting almost makes you flinch, but his grip suddenly is so tight that you don’t get any wiggle room. You watch as your blood travels down through the attached tube, filling up a small sample bottle and shortly after, a second one.

“You’re pretty brave for a bunny,” he jokes, setting your blood samples down on the tray before he releases the tourniquet and reaches for some gauze. His eyes stay on yours the entire time as he pulls out the needle and presses the gauze against your arm, soaking up your discomfort in a way that only fascinated scientists are capable of. 

“Press down.”

You mutter a “sure” as you obey his instruction, relieved when he finally turns away from you to discard the needle and his gloves. The final touch is a little band-aid over the tiny puncture wound, and you keep your hand over it as Crane pushes his chair back into its rightful place and takes a seat once more. He studies one of the full sample tubes as he speaks up again.

“You must be a little overwhelmed right now. Which is understandable, don’t get me wrong. But I’d like for you to go home and start packing your most important belongings. I’ll text you my address and will take care of the rest. You just need to show up next Sunday and get started on Monday.”

“Do I need to bring anything in specific? Like… a notebook or something?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You’ll get your stationery and other supplies here. I’ll make sure to try to organize you a separate desk. Maybe even one of the more comfortable office chairs. But I can’t really promise any luxuries.”

“I know this establishment oftentimes seems like a revolving door when it comes to staff applying and quitting. But I don't want that with you.” Crane tears his eyes away from your blood sample, giving you his undivided attention again. “There won't be an easy way out, however. Either you prove yourself and do your job until the end of your internship, or else there will be no certificate and you'll have to try your luck elsewhere. And I hate to worry you, but getting a job without one of my letters of recommendation might be a little tricky. But I assure you, that's the absolute worst-case scenario."

You let out a little breath and nod, straightening in your chair. Your mind is already racing, spinning around in a colorful variety that ranges from dread to genuine excitement. The biggest problem, however, is that you will have to break the news to your boyfriend. The thought makes you a little nauseous, but if Crane notices it, he’s generous enough not to mention it. 

Your goodbyes are brief, and you’re still holding your hand over the band aid as you leave the building and reach your car. Dark clouds are brewing overhead, announcing one of Gotham’s common rainy afternoons, and it already smells earthy with a hint of wet concrete.

The drive home doesn’t take as much time as you would’ve liked, even though you’re stopped plenty of times by red lights or passing cop cars with their sirens turned on. No, you reach the apartment much too soon, climbing the stairs with a heavy heart and sweaty palms. The band aid feels like it’s burning a hole into your flesh, hidden away underneath your sleeve. A secret hint of the meeting with Crane. Your key hovers in front of the lock on your front door as you freeze. Telling Tristan about the internship would mean telling him about your impending new living arrangements. Yes, you’d get the satisfaction of proving him wrong about your capabilities, but he’d blow up about everything else. Even worse, what if he reports the conditions of your internship? What if he ruins everything before it has even begun? 

Another big fight doesn’t fit into your schedule either. Neither does a breakup. Taking a breath, you unlock the door and step into the apartment, almost immediately meeting Tristan in the hallway. Time freezes for a moment, and then you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I need to pack. They want me back at Potomac.”

It’s okay, right? It’s no big deal. After all, it’s just another little white lie to let him keep his peace of mind.

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[bahablastplz]

All in | Chapter 15.5 (Chan)

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

chapter summary: How did Chan come to join SKZ?

chapter warnings: depictions of childhood abuse

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

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Bang Chan:

People have always said that violence is a learned trait, that your child doesn’t just come out of the womb with no sense of morality and the desire to do evil. This is something I can attest to. I remember personally the first time I ever saw my father lay a hand on my mother. 

When I was five years old, my father slapped my mother square in the face. And at the moment I wasn’t exactly sure what was happening or what I was feeling, but I knew that I loved both of my parents very much. I knew that hitting was bad, my parents told me that themselves–but then why would they engage in that very same act they told me that I should never do? I threw myself in front of my mother and told my father to stop. I had that innate desire to protect my own mother at that young age, even with a snotty nose and tear-streaked face, and though my own sense of right and wrong wasn’t completely developed yet, I knew it was wrong when my father hit me in retaliation. When I looked at my mother in awe, expecting her to say something or confirm that my father had just done a terrible thing, she had just turned a blind eye. 

So no, I didn’t come out of the womb with the desire to do evil, but if you were to ask my father, he would have sworn up and down that I was the devil reincarnate. And I sort of felt that that’s who I needed to be–I was the oldest of four. My parents continued to have children when we certainly could not afford to have them and they shouldn’t have continued to have them. There’s always that rage as an older sibling, the one when you know you’re the one who’s going to have to take care of your siblings and protect them from your parents that’s indescribable to anybody who hasn’t experienced it. 

So, whenever my father came home drunk and wanted to take out his anger on my siblings or my mother, I let him take it out on me instead. I encouraged it–and tried to become the target of his anger so that nobody else in my family would ever have to know what that feeling was like. I bore that burden all by myself when nobody asked me to and my father hated me for it. Countless nights I went to sleep beaten and bruised and likely concussed all to keep my family safe. 

If you were to ask me what my childhood felt like, I would have told you that I felt utterly powerless and alone. Although every choice I made was my own, it never really felt like it was a choice. Because how could I just sit back and let that monster lay a hand on my own younger siblings who can’t stand up for themselves or protect themselves?

To begin with, my parents didn’t bring home a lot of money. My father did some sort of hard labor and my mother was a teacher. With four children, we were just barely scraping by most days. When I turned 14 years old, I picked up a part-time job on top of school in order to help out with funds. 

When I was 15 years old, I caught my father cheating on my mother with a prostitute. I never was able to tell her what I saw. How could I? I loved my mother but she was very weak, fragile taking care of us four. She was already a shell of herself after putting up with my father’s physical abuse and drunkenness for years. I didn’t think she could handle the truth so I did not tell her. 

My father finally stopped beating me after that–but somehow I still felt like he was the one with the upperhand. 

One day when I was on my way home from work I heard some commotion in the alleyway outside of our house. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the whimpering lump of body I had come across was none other than my father who had been beaten to a pulp. 

I saw him weak and vulnerable in front of me, the life slowly starting to drain from his body. He begged me, his eldest son and his ‘pride and joy’ to help him and give him a second chance. I didn’t have to ask him to explain himself to me, but as if he knew he were on his deathbed, he admitted all of his wrongdoings to me. The large amounts of money he’s been taking out and borrowing, gambling away, how he had lost his job months ago and they had threatened to take the house if he didn’t pay for his life. 

“Oh shit, there’s a kid,” I had heard. A few men turned down the alleyway, holding bats and guns and a bag of cash. These were the men that had done this to my father. They made him look unrecognizable beyond repair. 

“He’s probably going to beg for his daddy’s life,” one of them laughed. 

“Me?” I blinked at the men, looking in between them and the form of flesh in the alleyway. “I was actually going to thank you. You’ve made this a hell of a lot easier on me.” And while my father was begging for his life, I bashed his skull in and felt good while doing it. And while the loan sharks watched, horrified but also a little bit impressed, I left my father in the alleyway as if he were just any other piece of trash. I would let the police find him and assume that all of his debts had finally caught up to him, and the crime would never be connected to me. 

I never felt any remorse. Not when my mother and siblings mourned his death. Never,

When I was approached by the same men that had beaten my father, I thought for a moment that maybe they would want me to take on his debt and I was already thinking about thirty different ways I could kill them and never get caught. On the contrary, they were hoping I could join them and become a loan shark. At the time, I didn’t really know what I wanted to do with myself at first–all I knew was that I wanted to make a lot of money. But I realized quickly that that wasn’t the only thing that I wanted to do, nor was that all I was capable of. If I played my cards correctly, I could rise the ranks quickly and gain a lot of power for myself. I knew I didn’t want to be someone at the bottom of the chain, but rather someone delegating responsibilities and handing out punishments. 

I would weed out the weak and make the organization my own, in time. It would mean leaving my family behind–and I didn’t regret it, knowing that I’d be doing better things. I dropped out of school and never saw my family again, becoming a lackey for the same people my father owed money to. I spent years beating and killing people, proving myself within our own organization that I was worthy of being trusted, gathering my own people and intel and rising up in the ranks just as I wanted–until I killed the leader and took over his position. 

It was here that I was able to reframe things the exact ways that I wanted. We became SKZ, known for our organized and violent crimes, and slowly but surely my hand dipped into almost every bar, casino, and nightclub in the city. My business handlings and financials grew exponentially, and it was as if I had everything I had ever wanted. I was at the top and I had all of the power. 

Until I had met Yang Jungwon’s girlfriend, that is. When I had met with the opposing group ENHA for the first time, something about Y/N L/N drew me in in a way that I couldn’t explain, and she was temporarily out of my reach. I wasn’t below kidnapping or lying in order to get my hands on her, but it seemed I didn’t have to. It took two weeks of thoroughly watching her before Jungwon knocked her out–and I found her unconscious outside of ENHA’s bar. I immediately swooped in and rescued her, knowing that I could have her as my own and use her to my advantage to gain the upper-hand on the ENHA situation. 

I had felt powerless a lot when I was a child, but that was because my father had made me feel that way. Now, I felt powerless around Y/N, and it was because of the way she made me feel… Like I wanted to never let her leave my sight, like I should leave her trapped where she could never get hurt and nobody could ever see her or talk to her. And everytime she talked back to me, I got chills all over my body, and I went to sleep each night dreaming about ways that I could get her to submit to me, to be loyally mine and only mine. 

I realized I was in love and I didn’t like the way it made me feel.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

A/n: tomorrow comes our last mini chapter and then at some point on Sunday we will get our main chapter!! The finale will drop shortly after. I realized it made more sense as I was writing it for our mini chapters to appear back to back <3 thanks for the patience with my break last week

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[sillyblues]

‘pecador.’

synopsis— you bring the sinner out of miguel o’hara

cw— religious themes, blood, mild nsfw, 18+

“En el nombre del Padre,”

Miguel O’Hara was a sinner. Violence has always resided in his soul, along with anger that bubbled in his veins. It was evidently clear to him and everyone, even back then when he was younger. He could barely remember his first memories of joy with his mother nor a play with his brother, but he could remember vividly when he threw a punch at somebody who told him that he and his mother and brother were dirty.

And ever since then, he has not learned of a moment filled with peace. His father berated him and punched him as well because how dare he hurt the son of his boss. Because of it, his father had been fired, and they had no money anymore. But Miguel didn’t care. How could he when that little shit insulted his mother in front of him? He let his father vent his anger and frustrations on him. 

“Y del Hijo,”

But a mother’s love was great, and his own mother couldn’t bear to see her son getting hurt, so she tried to stop him. She took her in his arms and protected him from his father. But she shouldn’t have done that. He wished his mother stayed put in place and come to him when his father was done with him. But she didn’t because her love for him was great.

His father grew furious at the sight of his wife hiding his son away from him and in wrath, he hurt Miguel’s mother as well. The slaps and the punches and the hair pulls were thrown at his mother and he knew it was painful. He tried to pull away from her as his eyes were wide and tears streamed down. He begged his father to stop and asked him to forgive him, he sobbed as he said to him to hurt him instead, just not his mom. But despite it all, his father turned a deaf ear to his pleads and his mother’s embrace was tight just so he would not get hurt.

“Y del Espíritu Santo,”

His father’s anger was a large fire that evaporated away his family’s water of tears but Miguel’s resentment was a burning fiery hell only reserved for his father. His rage was molten and flowed through like lava and it pulsed within his heart and consumed his rationality. His fury blinded him and he didn’t know what he had done until he regained his vision momentarily back to see his mother crying.

“Miguel, escúchame,” his mother whispered to him with a tremble as she took the bloodied knife that he didn’t know he was holding from his arms. He looked at his hands soaked in red and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“My baby boy, thank you for protecting Mama,” she hugged him and rocked him back and forth as she sobbed. Like instinct, he hugged her back weakly. “I love you so much, I want you to know that.”

“Be strong for me and for your little brother, okay? He has no one but you. Take care of him and yourself, alright?” her soft voice was full of sadness and he desperately wanted to look up to her and comfort her. He wanted to tell her that he also loved her very much and he will but like a lullaby, her voice sent a wave of sleepiness and his vision darkened.

But he couldn’t help it and then, he fainted. When he woke up in a hospital room with his little brother, Gabriel, snuggled beside him, nurses and the police greeted him. There, he knew his mother killed herself.

“Amen.”

He took his mother’s words to his heart and swore that he would protect his brother. He did not let anyone take him or his brother or relied on adults because he trusted nobody. He appealed to the court at 16 years old that he could take care of himself and his brother. Fortunately, he was approved and he took multiple jobs to sustain their needs. He didn’t go to school, no, he didn’t have any time but he made sure that Gabriel did. He worked tirelessly sleeping barely 5 hours a day just to bring food to the table and have a roof over their heads. But despite his busy schedule, he made sure to be there on Gabriel's important days.

Years went by and they had formed a mundane lifestyle. And he tried so hard to keep it that way. But violence resided in his soul and the sinner in him was rekindled once more when his brother was found dead one early morning. He received a call when he was about to go to work and rushed to the crime scene when he heard the news. When he saw Gabriel’s lifeless body and the blood that pooled around him, the remaining hope in his heart was crushed and rage once more visited him and burned fiercely. The police ruled it as suicide as he was found in an alleyway in between buildings. But Miguel knew that it wasn't because of his brother who was so happy and talked his ear off about graduating and becoming a billionaire so he could support him and would never give up on life like that.

“Padre nuestro,”

Miguel decided to join the underworld where mafias and gangs ran about. He took jobs there not only for quick cash but to form connections and information. He investigated more about his brother's death and found out that he was bullied for a long time by a group of kids his age. Apparently, they picked on him because he was sorry for being dirty and a son of a filthy murderer. There was evidence on the autopsy that was not reported that he was burned, with cuts and bruises littered all over his body. A camera evidence that was also not submitted and was deleted (but luckily saved by the corrupt authorities who tried to keep it as a blackmail opportunity) showed that they pushed Gabriel to his death and they all laughed about it. Not only that but he wasn't their only victim.

Miguel felt so angry at himself and guilty that he didn't know that behind his brother's insistence on being covered up from head to toe, lies numerous wounds. Knowing him, he probably didn't tell him so he wouldn't worry about him. He wished he did. He wished Gabriel was a little more selfish and made him worry about him instead because he would protect him better.

With this, he took his time to learn more about the arrogant pricks that murdered his brother. He moved to a different city, to Nueva York, so that he had an alibi. He stalked the conceited brats who did the same to numerous people and their rich parents who didn’t give a shit whether their children murdered someone. He learned their routine. Their schedule. And when the time was right, he put a bullet through their heads one by one when they least expected it. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, come on man, I’m sorry,” they begged with tears and snot dripping, crawling backwards under his shadow. “Don’t kill me, please, I’ll give you anything.”

“Money? Do you want money? I’ll give you hundreds and thousands,” they always said the same thing, thinking that money was enough for him to forgive the suffering they had caused to his remaining family that they took away, the bruises and cuts on his brother’s body, the damage they had done on him mentally. “No? Half a billion? No, no! One billion!”

His jaw clenched. Pathetic pigs. He cocked and aimed it at them.

“No, no, no! NO—!” they stuttered and screamed but were cut off by the sound of a bullet fired by a gun with a muffler.

He wondered if they at least felt some remorse or at the very least thought about how Gabriel or the other kids they tortured and killed felt as they begged them to not hurt them. But he knew people like them, he had seen them countless times including his very own father. People like them didn’t care about anything or anyone other than themselves. These kids were just the same as them.

He made sure to clean up his tracks, deleted potential shreds of evidence, and made some story that would make their case solved and closed easily. He left the city swiftly and came back to his new home. With this, he tried to leave his old past behind and began his life anew.

“Que estás en el cielo.”

Miguel hated himself. He hated the fact that he killed his father which resulted in the death of his mother so that nobody will know that he killed him. He hated the fact that he was so ignorant of his brother's suffering that he had to be pushed to his death for him to realize that his brother was in pain. He hated the monster he turned out to be, always out for blood and killing people like it was nothing.

The sea of guilt and remorse suffocated him and he drowned himself in alcohol and women. The money he saved up which was supposed to be for Gabriel’s graduation gift was used on his vices. 

Day and night, his sins weighed heavy on his mind and not once, was he given at least a moment of peace.

“Santificado sea tu nombre.”

A knock snapped Miguel out of a trance as he smoked out of the window of his apartment. The wispy grey stench wafted in the air as he raised an eyebrow, wondering without much interest who could be knocking on his door. It couldn’t be the landlord as he just paid his month’s due. His past flings? Probably.

Knock. Knock.

He took another drag and inhaled as much as he could before he exhaled and extinguished it on the ashtray full of ashes and butts of leftover cigarettes.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming.”

He opened the door and found nobody, but a baby in a basket with a letter sticking out of the blankets wrapped around it. The sight of the baby filled him with anxiety and dread. He looked sideways, hoping to at least find who put the baby on his door but only the sight of closed doors greeted him. He had an inch of what was happening and he did not like it one bit. 

With a shaky sigh, he took the baby and cradled it in his arms. God, he didn’t even know its gender. But the sight of him made the baby giggle and coo at him and he bit his lip. Fuck. He opened the letter with his other hand and the words written on it confirmed his suspicions.

“It’s your baby, Miguel. You were the last one I hooked up with before I found out I was pregnant and even then, it was too late. She was too grown and I cannot abort her anymore. I don’t have any papers of her because I have no money and I can’t raise her.”

Miguel could feel a migraine forming and he rubbed his forehead. The baby must have found his distress amusing because it giggled once more and tried to grab his fingers. 

No. She. Not it. 

Fuck.

Miguel wasn’t ready to be a dad, he doesn’t even think he was suited to be one because he was a piece of shit but he took another look at her that was so snug and comfortable in his arms as she looked at him with wonder, he thought it wouldn’t be so bad to try to take care after her.

“Venga tu reino.”

A few years passed by and Miguel accepted his role as a father. He named the baby Gabriella after his late brother. He got into therapy and went back to work so he could raise her with no financial problems and so that he wouldn’t be a bad father to her. Gabriella was a handful child. He slept countless sleepless nights, often waking up early in the morning because she was crying. Sometimes it was because she was hungry, sometimes she just needed help to digest the milk, and sometimes there wasn’t any particular reason for her cries. But still, he cradled her in his embrace and sang lullabies to her softly.

It felt like it was just yesterday Miguel opened the door and found her on his doorstep. Gabriella has grown into a bright young child. She took after his looks as she inherited almost all of her genes from him. 

Oh, she was so lovely. She was the best of him, better than him and Miguel liked that because she deserved better. She made him believe that he wasn’t the worst piece of trash and that he wasn’t useless. She made him feel loved and he made sure she felt loved as well.

She was very much into soccer and he was so proud of her. He attended all of her games without a miss, winner or not. He was there with her by her side, teaching her how to be kind enough to not hurt anybody and allow herself to be hurt. He taught her to be emotional yet to also remain logical. He taught her to tell him anything yet also let her remain her own privacy.

Miguel loved her very much and she loved him very much as well. 

“Hágase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo.”

But he was a sinner and there will be time that his sins would catch up to him. He understood this one day when he got home one afternoon as he got home after work and was greeted by his child, his precious baby, his Gabriella’s lifeless body in her blood.

The tears came fast and thick. He immediately cradled her into his arms and rocked her back and forth. He begged her to wake up, to open her eyes for Papa. To surprise him that this was just a prank. Or a dream. Anything.

Please, wake up. You can’t die yet. I haven’t lived the rest of my life with you yet. I haven’t seen you on your quinceañera yet or your graduation or the first time you get a job. I haven’t seen you get married or surprise me with grandchildren. 

I haven’t seen you live your life yet.

Please. Don’t do this to me.

“Danos hoy nuestro pan de cada día.”

Violence has always resided in his soul and with his daughter’s death, he committed his one last vengeance. He visited his old life once more. He got back with his connections and his trusted friends gave him whatever he needed in exchange for nothing and as their condolences.

The killers of his daughter were related to his previous crimes. They were related to the families of the people he killed and they decided to kill his daughter as their revenge.

And in return, hunted them all down. He hunted all families down and despite all the scars, all the sharp cuts, all the black and blue bruises, and all the bullets that pierced him, he never gave up and killed them all. Multiple mafia familias were down and he made sure that they couldn’t even think of getting revenge and that all they could do was bow before him.

“Hahaha, you son a bitch,” one cackled as he spat on him, “you deserve it all.”

“You heartless bitch, you’re the reason why all your family’s dead. Fucking cunt, you think you can revive them? Dream on.” he babbled his useless mouth on and wheezed.

“I know.” How could Miguel not know? For not one second that had gone by, he could never ever forget how he killed his family.

“Your death will not bring my family alive but it will make sure that any other families won’t be killed.” And with that, he pulled the trigger and let the loud sound of the gun resonate through the room. His head spat out red and some solids of his brain decorated the wall behind him. His blood dripped down and it joined the pool of the blood of the other corpses that lay dead in the room. The rays of the rising sun shone through the window and it gleamed on the pool of red. Silence filled the room and only the sound of his breaths remained.

Miguel’s eyes gave up suddenly and he fell to the ground on his knees with a harsh thud. With a tear, his shoulders loosened.

Finally. It’s over. Everything’s over.

Miguel should be glad that all of his enemies were gone and nobody would even dare to hurt him anymore but what does it all matter when everyone he held dear was gone?

“Perdona nuestras ofensas,”

Due to the rules of the underworld, the top dogs with Miguel O’Hara leading, their identities would be hidden and they would not be allowed to surrender themselves to the government as it could overthrow the black society altogether. Partly because of this, he turned to God and moved to a quaint town. He became a priest with the sole purpose of repentance and earning forgiveness for his sins. He didn't know if he was asking God to forgive him or his family who died because of him to forgive his carelessness in protecting them.

It was ironic really because he never really believed in God despite the nightly mass he, his brother, and his mother used to have. The words he uttered were redundant, merely sounds he couldn't understand nor tried to. When his mother died, he and Gabriel did the nightly mass in honour of their late mother. And when he died, he could only attend Sunday mass in the church with Gabriella because of the ache of missing his mother and brother yet still continue the tradition of being faithful to God. He wanted her to grow up good and kind so he taught her the values and morals of being a Catholic despite not fully believing in God.

A hypocrite, that's what he was and usually thought about as he led the mass during his schedule.

And he still was when a quiet mysterious woman moved into town. 

You.

“Como también nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden.”

You appeared so suddenly out of nowhere in this town. He lived in the Church but in such a small town, words tend to spread easily. In just two days of your arrival, he already heard of a young woman who had just moved in. 

Miguel was a bit wary as this town barely had any people. Most residents were grandparents or older parents who were already retired and their children who left to move to the cities for bigger opportunities and education. He didn't know what you were thinking about coming here. Were you sent here by the underworld? No, it can't be. He was protected by his friends who ruled the underworld now. Did you have a past like him? Were you running away from something? He sighed as he shook his head. Then again, it was none of his business and it was most definitely not his right to pry.

The next Sunday was the first time he saw you. You sat there at the back, ushered by your neighbours, he presumed. In rows of people, you stood out so brightly. Your back was straight, there was elegance so blatant despite the plain clothes you wore. He met your gaze one too many times and noticed the way you hung onto every word he uttered.

And when the mass had ended he stayed around longer this time and talked with the locals a bit more. And without a doubt, your new friend introduced him to you.

“Oh good morning, Father O’Hara! Wonderful mass, by the way, I loved the homily, well, as usual, it really reflected my situation now with my son in college. Do you still remember?” Mrs. Lorraine greeted him with a handshake.

“Oh for God’s sake, Lorraine, yes Father still remembers that and I’m sure he appreciated that you love it. Don’t forget you’re here to introduce [Name] to him.” Mrs. Eleanor said, cutting Miguel off before he could even reply.

“Oh! Dear me, why yes,” with widened eyes, she laughed, “Yes, forgive me.”

“Father, this is [Name]. They just moved in here and I invited them to join the church.” she moved her body to show your figure and Miguel finally had a close look upon you. Your eyes stared at him and for a second, he felt like there were just the two of you. You looked at him with wonder and curiosity and Dios mío, you looked so innocent and he was reminded of the darkness that exists from within him. He felt like one touch and he could corrupt you easily. He clenched his jaw and furrowed his brow, desperately hiding any tremor in his composure.

“[Name], this is Father Miguel O’Hara. He moved into this town a little while ago and clearly, one of our only priests.”

“Oh, good morning, Father Miguel.” Christ, your voice was soft as a wind that tickled his heart. You held out your hand to him. “It's nice to meet you.”

“Good morning.” He nodded stiffly. He took your hand and shook it.

Even your palm was smooth and he forced the thought down to hold your hand longer.

“No nos dejes caer en tentación y líbranos del mal.”

You were kind. Endlessly so. You sponsored this town’s community event alongside donations to the church anonymously but everybody knew it was you. Everyone just decided to keep their silence to respect your decision in keeping your identity. 

You preferred to listen to others and learn more about them rather than talk about yourself. You always asked how everyone was doing and gave them gifts under the excuse of it being old despite it polished brand new. Whenever children or the grandchildren of the locals visited, you always stopped by their house and gave them little gifts as well.

Miguel had seen you interact with children multiple times whenever he was doing groceries and pass by at yours, he saw you giggling along with the children. He saw you reading books to them under the shade of a tree and rays of sunlight would gently decorate your faces and the winds would play with your hair. He saw you happy and the children happy with you as well.

And his heart throbbed at the sight of you each time but he swallowed the feelings forcibly down as his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Amén.”

He hated you.

He hated the way you invoke feelings in him. He hated the way you tempt him unknowingly and he cannot blame you to take any responsibility for the way you make him feel. He hated the way you make him want to sin again, to unleash the beast inside him he had caged for so long but for another different reasons entirely which was you.

He was a priest, someone who he tried so hard not to sin but you make him falter in his beliefs so effortlessly.

So he hid himself who had become a sinner once more just at the thoughts of you.

“En el nombre del Padre,”

But he was so weak for you.

After a mass one sunday morning, you asked him if you could have a talk with him just the two of you and somewhere private. Miguel knew he should have said no. He should have turned you away and pretend he has not been watching you from afar and from the corner of his eye. But he was weak for you and before he knew it, he let you in on his office room.

“Father Miguel, why are you ignoring me?” you asked so suddenly and he knew it was coming. He has turned away from you, pretending he doesn’t see you coming and would walk the other way. But he was still caught off guard. You leaned closer to him he could smell your delicious scent. He leaned away because his patience with you was just so little he might lose his hard-earned control.

“Pardon me, but you’re getting too close.” He said with gritted teeth and tight fists. You looked hurt at that. With widened eyes that were soon filled with dejection, you slowly rubbed your arm. Guilt flooded his being and as much as he wanted to apologize, he couldn’t. Any second with you drove him insane and he could only take so much of this. He didn’t want to lose his reason, his morals, his values as a Priest. He couldn’t bear to. But any more second with you, he just might lose it all for you. You bit your lip.

“Why do you hate me so much?” you whispered with small tears welling up your eyes and Miguel hated himself more. There was nothing more he wanted to do at the moment than to hold you and wipe your tears away himself. But he can’t. It’s wrong. Priests don’t get close like that to their fellow believers. 

“I don’t hate you—” he sighed as he looked away but you cut him off.

“Then why do you look away from me? Am I so undeserving for you to not look me in the eye? Am I so disgusting for you to get close to me? Am I so inadequate and worthless for you to treat me like you treat others?” you said harshly at him while tears slipped your eyes. You took a step at him with every word you said and he took a step back in every step you took until his back was pushed to the wall behind him. “So do not tell me that you don’t hate me when all you did made me feel like you despised my entire being.”

For fuck’s sake.

He grabbed your arm and turned your body, switching positions with his. He made sure to cover the back of your head so it wouldn’t hit the wall too hard and he growled under his breath.

“I do not hate you.” he said with gritted teeth. “I want you.”

Your eyes widened at that.

“What?” you confusingly and breathlessly asked.

“Every time I see you, there is nothing more than I want than to be with you. I look at your pretty face and I want to kiss you so bad. I look at your nice figure and I want to hold and caress you. I want you.” he panted silently, the words he never dared to even utter to himself outloud was finally out of his chest. And now that they were free, he looked at your eyes to see how would you react. Would you push him away and slap his face? Would you be disgusted with him you’d never want to see him anymore?

He would understand but he didn’t know if he could bear with your hatred.

“Then take me.” your hand encircled his neck and the other gently stroked his cheek.

No.

“I’m right here.”

I can’t.

“Show me you don’t truly hate me.”

It’s wrong.

“Show me how much you want me.”

In an instant, he captured his lips with yours as his hand slid to the back of your neck. At the touch of your lips, the hidden lust for you blossomed. He pressed his face to yours and yours closer to his deeper, his kiss burning so passionately and fiercely. You opened your mouth with a moan and he invited his tongue in, and he nearly groaned at your fragrance hynotizing him and your sweet taste that ignited a new kind of hunger for him. His tongue swriled with yours and together, they danced a dance that left him breathless.

He pulled away slightly and a web of both of your saliva disappeared. He stared at you as you panted. You looked at him pleadingly and your stare sent a rush of blood down in his pants. He wanted more and he knew you wanted the same.

And with that, he plunged to the roaring sea and its waging waves of lust.

“Y del Hijo,”

For you, he threw his title as a Priest and became just Miguel.

All for you, he returned to his origins and became a sinner once more.

“Y del Espíritu Santo,”

Each day and night, you invited him into your temple and he worshipped you. What once was just thoughts that tortured him became reality that gave him a glimpse of heaven. Your aroma engulfed him and filled his never-ending greed of you and your flavor satiated his endless glutton for you.

“Amen.”

As he finished his prayer, he stood up from kneeling and bowed to the Cross of the Lord. He fixed his clothes and the sounds of his footsteps against the tiles of the Church rang as he left with thoughts of you.

He wanted to hear your melody that was akin to the trumpets of the angels again. He wanted your soft and supple skin to be against his dark and rough ones. He wanted to be pressed under you with your legs on the either side of his head and your juices spill in his mouth. He wanted your warm cavern envoloped around him and to feel you come undone by him.

With a silent chuckle, he thought about how he tried so hard to not corrupt you by with his wicked thoughts only to be corrupted by you instead.

For Miguel O’Hara was a sinner and no matter how much he tried to change that, he will always be one. Violence has resided in his soul, along with anger that bubbled in his veins but time changed him and has now become lust that occupied his being along with the infinite greed and glutton that only wanted you.

[danikamariewrites]

can i please request a feysand x reader where they’re at the high lord meeting at the dawn court and tamlin runs his mouth. When he said ”have you ever noticed that little noise she makes when she climaxes” i was so disgusted by him. Literally ew. Could i pls request a drabble where reader punches him for it. She’s not dumb, she won’t do it in the middle of the meeting. She waits until he’s in a hallway and leaps on him and punches him. reader is newly mated to them so her protective instincts are running like crazy. all the things feyre and rhys told her tamlin did to them is blinding her with rage and she almost kills him bc obviously she’s the stonger one😎 PROTECTIVE READER IS GOATEDDDDD

You

Feysand x reader

A/n: I love protective reader

Warnings: violence

After that very exciting meeting you needed to blow off some steam. Tamlin’s words kept ringing in your mind. He might as well have called Feyre a whore. Rhys had to hold you back with his magic so you wouldn’t launch yourself at Tamlin.

At least Beron got what he deserved. You were so proud of Feyre for that display of power. It showed how wrong Ianthe and Tamlin were. You smiled to yourself as you aimlessly walked around.

The smile melted off your face as the scent of spring hot your nose. Anger flooded through your body as you saw Tamlin round the corner. You both stopped and stared at each other. “You,” you growled at him.

“Now y/n let’s be rash.” “Rash! You want me to think when you insulted my mates!” You rushed over to him and before Tamlin could react you had him pinned on the ground. Your knee was digging into his chest as you screamed bloody murder at the High Lord.

Your fist kept hitting his face over and over again. “How dare you?” Tamlin’s nose cracked under your fist. As you drew back to hit him again, your teeth bared at him, Tamlin caught your fist.

He squeezed your hand in a bone crushing grip. “Get. Off.” Tamlin flung you backwards and you slid halfway down the hall. You crouch and dive down into your power. The hall rumbles around you. Tamlin looked petrified. Good, you thought.

Before you could make another move Rhys and Cassian picked you up, Rhys pulled you to his chest and ran his fingers through your hair to calm you down. Thesan came running around the other corner helping Tamlin up.

The males were yelling at each other but you couldn’t hear anything. Your ears were ringing with the echoes of your power.

You closed your eyes and the next time you opened them you were back in your quarters with your mates. Feyre was in front of you cleaning Tamlin’s blood off your hands. You blinked confusingly at them before the memories of what happened came flooding back.

“I’m-I’m so sorry. He was just there and I was so mad at him.” Rhys cups your face in his hands. “Love, it’s ok. You were just defending your mates. The bond is so new that’s what we’re blaming it on, ok.” You nod at him.

Feyre places her hand on Rhys’s chest pushing him back. She takes your face in her hands now, leaning in and placing a chaste kiss on your lips. “It’s not a big deal y/n. I love you so much.” You nod in agreement. “I love you too, both of you. I’m going to take a bath and then we’ll relax.” You kissed them both on their cheeks and headed for the bathroom.

[kckt88]

The Lost Dragon X - Longing.

Summary:

'A dragon across the sea, a bronze heart waiting to be free'

Warning(s): Angst, Fighting.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C -VAELYS TARGARYEN

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 5732.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8

Vaelys stood hidden behind the heavy tapestry, her heart pounding in her chest as she strained to hear the conversation between Jace and their mother. They were discussing her marriage to Aemond, and the tension in the air was palpable.

"Mother, think about it," Jace interjected, his tone now more persuasive. "Keeping Vaelys separated from Aemond for these two years of exile might actually be for the best. It could help weaken her feelings for him. She'll have time to see things clearly without his influence clouding her judgment."

Vaelys felt a sharp pang of hurt at his words, her grip tightening on the fabric of the tapestry.

Rhaenyra paused for a moment, considering her son's suggestion. "I understand your point, Jace," she finally responded, her voice measured. "But love doesn't simply fade with distance. If anything, it might strengthen their resolve to be together."

"But what if it doesn't?" Jace pressed, his concern evident. "What if Vaelys realizes that she's better off without him?”

"I understand your concerns, Jace," Cregan began, his voice deep and resonant. "But love, true love, is not so easily diminished by distance or time apart."

Jace furrowed his brow, clearly unconvinced. "But surely, if Vaelys is away from Aemond for so long, she might come to see things differently. It's a chance to free her from this-burden."

Cregan shook his head slowly. "During the conversation I had with Vaelys, she was adamant in her love for Aemond. Fiercely so. She defended him with a passion I have rarely seen. I do not believe she will willingly set him aside, no matter the circumstances."

Jace sighed, frustration evident in his posture. "But what if she's simply blinded by her feelings? What if she doesn't see the truth of who Aemond truly is?"

"I think," Luke began, his voice hesitant but resolute, "That Vaelys is old enough to make her own decisions. We shouldn't interfere."

"But she's our sister," Jace protested, his brow furrowing with concern. "We have a responsibility to look out for her best interests."

"Of course we do," Luke agreed, nodding slowly. "But that doesn't mean we get to choose who she loves or who she marries. That's her decision to make, not ours. Besides, if we try to force her hand, it might only push her further away. We should support her, not control her."

“Why am I the only one who see’s that vile one eyed cunt for who he really is? He kidnapped Vaelys, he took her against her will and then she was married too him in some twisted ploy by the Greens to force our surrender-Do you not remember the bloodied sheets that were sent to Dragonstone? The letter that was sent, an eye for an eye, blood for blood, the debt being repaid-” snarled Jace.

“Those were Aegon’s words, not Aemond’s-” said Luke sternly.

“What about the letter informing us that Vaelys was with child-were those Aegon’s words too because it was entirely too personal for it to be anyone other than Aemond who wrote it. He repeatedly forced himself upon our sister, got her with child and she’s under the delusion that it’s love, Aemond should have been tortured for what he’s done, not exiled-“

Unable to contain her emotions any longer, Vaelys burst forth from her hiding place with a furious roar of rage, her eyes blazing with intensity.

Jace and the other council members turned in surprise at her sudden interruption, their eyes widening as they took in her enraged expression.

Without another word, she lunged forward, her fury driving her actions as she unleashed a flurry of punches, striking every bit of Jace she could reach. Her blows were fuelled by frustration and resentment, each strike landing with a satisfying thud.

Jace stumbled backward, taken aback by the sudden assault, his attempts to defend himself futile against Vaelys' relentless onslaught.

Cregan moved swiftly to intervene, pulling Vaelys off her brother with a firm grip, his strength barely enough to restrain her as she struggled against him.

"Vaelys, stop!" Cregan urged, his voice firm but gentle. "This isn't the way."

But Vaelys was beyond reason, her anger consuming her as she fought against Cregan's hold, her chest heaving with exertion.

It took all of Cregan's strength to finally subdue her, holding her firmly in place as she continued to thrash and protest.

Vaelys' rage burned like wildfire as she struggled against Cregan's hold, her eyes locked fiercely on Jace. With each word he spoke, her anger intensified, until it threatened to consume her entirely.

"You ever say that about Aemond again, and I will kill you-I will kill you” Vaelys hissed, her voice low and menacing.  “I swear on all of the gods that I will slit your throat”.

Her words hung heavy in the air; the weight of her threat palpable as she held Jace's gaze with unflinching determination.

Jace's eyes widened in shock at the intensity of her words, his breath catching in his throat as he realized the depth of her anger.

With one final glare, Vaelys wrenched herself free from Cregan's grasp, her steps echoing with purpose as she stormed out of the room, leaving behind a stunned silence in her wake.

"Jace," said Rhaenyra, her tone firm yet tinged with disappointment, "You were out of line. Your words were unfair and unjust."

Jace lowered his gaze, unable to meet his mother's eyes as he felt the weight of her reprimand.

"But, Mother," he began to protest, but Rhaenyra held up a hand, silencing him.

"No excuses," she continued, her voice unwavering. "Vaelys has explained Aemond's motives, and we should trust her word. She loves him, and she knows him better than any of us."

"Mother-"

"Vaelys deserves our support, not our condemnation. She's made her choice, and we must respect it."

Jace nodded, chastened by his mother's words, a sense of remorse washing over him.

"And another thing," Rhaenyra added, her voice taking on a steely edge. "I forbid you from ever saying that Aemond defiled Vaelys again. Such accusations are unfounded and disrespectful."

Jace swallowed hard, understanding the gravity of his mother's command. He knew he had overstepped his bounds, and he vowed to heed her warning.

"I understand, Mother," he replied, his voice subdued.

"Jace," said Rhaenyra, her voice commanding his full attention, "You owe Vaelys an apology."

Jace's gaze shifted uncomfortably, "But Mother-she just threatened to kill me”.

"I don't care if she threatened to kill you. You will apologize to Vaelys this instant."

Jace shifted uncomfortably under his mother's intense gaze, a knot of apprehension tightening in his chest. "But Mother," he protested weakly, "she's not in the right frame of mind. Perhaps it's best to wait until she calms down."

Rhaenyra's patience wore thin, her frustration evident in the hard set of her jaw. "I will not tolerate this insubordination, Jace. You will apologize to your sister, and you will do it now."

Jace swallowed hard, realizing he had no choice but to comply with his mother's order. With a resigned nod, he rose from his seat, his steps heavy as he made his way out of the room.

As Jace approached Vaelys’ chambers, he took a deep breath and knocked on the door, when their was no answer he knocked again-as he raised his hand and knocked a third time the door opened slightly, he stook a hesitant step inside, looking around the dimly lit chambers that his sister must have shared with Aemond.

At first, he thought the chambers were empty, mayhaps his sister had gone elsewhere, but just as he turned to leave, he heard the faint sounds of muffled crying.

Quietly, he made his way across the room, his footsteps echoing softly in the silence. As he stepped onto the balcony, he saw her sitting on one of the wooden benches, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

Vaelys didn't hear him approach, too lost in her sadness to notice his presence. She sat with her face pressed into the fabric of one of Aemond's shirts.

Jace's heart clenched at the sight of his sister in such pain. Without a word, he crossed the balcony and sat down beside her, giving her the space to grieve in silence.

For a long while, they sat there together, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric and the quiet hitching of Vaelys' breath.

Eventually, Vaelys lifted her head, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying. She looked at Jace, her gaze haunted with sorrow.

"Vaelys," he began, his voice hesitant, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I spoke out of turn, and I regret my words."

"Jace," she began, her tone soft but firm, "I know you have your doubts about Aemond, but he's not the monster you think he is. He's-he's a good man, Jace. You have to trust me on this."

Jace listened, his expression guarded as he struggled to reconcile his own feelings with his sister's impassioned defence of her husband.

"But Vaelys," he started, his voice hesitant, "I didn’t even know you’d been taken until I got back from Winterfell-I had secured the support of Cregan and with it the entire North, I had done something to make mother-our Queen proud, and then I find out that Aemond had killed Archonei and you’d been kidnapped and forced into a marriage with him-I saw the sheets, your blood spilled in repayment of a debt. I kept imagining you being locked in a dark room with nothing and no one except him”.

“Jace-“ whispered Vaelys.

“Daemon tried to get you out-but Erryk failed and then we heard you were with child-I swear when that letter arrived, mother almost collapsed. T-The way it was worded, so personal and graphic, it was sick” replied Jace.

“Aegon told Aemond that he was to get me with child, otherwise he’d take me for himself and make him watch-I made a choice Jace-Believe me brother. I would rather chose to carry the child of my husband than the man who forced himself upon me. Granted I did not love Aemond at first, my heart still aches for Archonei-but he was the lesser of two evils, and I know this might be difficult for you to hear, but the more we lay together, the more I fell for him. He was generous, giving and he ignited a fire within me that I had no idea existed”.

“I want to believe you Vaelys” urged Jace.

“He stayed by my side as I birthed Sovia-lesser men would have fled, but he stayed true. His tenderness as a father made me fall in love with him even more. Even when I got with child again-it was my choice. When I was poisoned, he remained by my side even though he was regent, he never wavered in his devotion, he killed the one responsible-wrapped his hands around his throat and choked the life out of him, he imprisoned his own mother and killed his own brother” said Vaelys.

“Vaelys-“ whispered Jace.

Vaelys shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I know his heart, his soul. He would never hurt me".

She paused, her voice catching in her throat as she fought to compose herself. "I love him, Jace. And I need you to trust me."

Jace looked at his sister, "I'll try, Vaelys. I'll try to trust in your words, in your love for Aemond."

The sun cast a warm glow over the garden, bathing the lush greenery in a golden light as Vaelys sat on a blanket spread out on the grass. Her daughter, Sovia, giggled with delight as she played with a colourful toy, her bright eyes alight with curiosity.

Beside her, Helaena watched over her own children, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor, who were running around the garden with boundless energy, their laughter filling the air.

Daeron, now Vaelys' personal guard, stood watch nearby, his gaze sweeping over the surroundings with a vigilant eye.

"Isn't it a beautiful day?" Helaena remarked, a smile gracing her lips as she watched her children play.

Vaelys nodded, her heart swelling with gratitude for the simple pleasures of life. "It truly is," she agreed, her gaze lingering on Sovia as she reached out to grasp a colourful flower.

As they enjoyed their picnic together, Helaena's gaze flickered briefly to Vaelys, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She reached out and gently took Vaelys' hand in hers, her touch warm and reassuring.

"When are you going to tell your mother that you're with child again?" Helaena asked softly, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Vaelys froze, her heart skipping a beat as she stared at Helaena in stunned disbelief. "How did you know?" she stammered, her voice tinged with surprise.

Helaena chuckled, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Oh, Vaelys," she replied, her smile widening, "You have a glow about you"

Vaelys blushed, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and wonder at Helaena's perceptiveness. She had thought she had been keeping her condition a secret, but clearly, she hadn't been as successful as she'd hoped.

"I-I hadn't planned on telling her just yet," Vaelys admitted, her cheeks flushing with colour.

Helaena squeezed her hand gently, her expression filled with understanding. "You'll have to tell her eventually," she said, her voice soft and reassuring.

"I know I just-" muttered Vaelys.

Helaena noticed the furrow of Vaelys' brow and the distant look in her eyes, and she leaned in closer, concern etched on her features. "What's troubling you, Vaelys?" she asked softly, her voice filled with compassion.

Vaelys took a deep breath, her fingers absently tracing circles on the blanket beneath her. "It's Aemond," she confessed quietly. "He's in exile, and he won’t know about the babe. He won't be there for the birth. Helaena, It was hard enough for him to leave Sovia behind, but to come back and discover another babe he didn't know about-it will break his heart."

Helaena's expression softened with sympathy as she reached out to squeeze Vaelys' hand. "I understand your worries, Vaelys," she murmured, her voice gentle. "But you mustn't lose hope. Aemond loves you, and he loves his family. When the time comes, I'm sure he'll be overjoyed to meet his new child, regardless of the circumstances."

Vaelys nodded, a tear escaping down her cheek. "I know," she whispered, her voice tinged with both sadness and longing. "But it's hard not knowing where he is”.

Helaena's gaze became distant, as if lost in thought, and a faint smile played at the corners of her lips.

"Aemond is well. I can feel it."

Vaelys looked at her good sister, a flicker of hope stirring in her heart at Helaena's words. "How do you know?" she asked, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Helaena's smile faltered, her expression clouding with uncertainty. "I-saw him flying over the ruins," she admitted, her voice trailing off.

"Ruins? You mean Old Valyria" she pressed, her curiosity piqued by Helaena's cryptic words.

Helaena shook her head, her features drawn with frustration. "I think so," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of desperation. "My dreams aren’t always clear, but I’ve had fleeting glimpses of Aemond since he left-the lost dragon across the sea”.

“You said that to me on the day I wed Aemond-“ replied Vaelys.

“I did-the ancestral seat is where dragons meet, the candles lit the way, a new home for the babe to stay" she whispered, her voice tinged with an air of mystery.

Vaelys' eyes widened in realisation at Helaena's cryptic utterance.

"Dragonstone” muttered Vaelys as she placed a hand on her stomach.

"Mother," she began, her voice steady but tinged with emotion, "I need to ask for your permission to go to Dragonstone."

Rhaenyra regarded her daughter with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Dragonstone?" she echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Whatever for, Vaelys?"

Vaelys hesitated, searching for the right words to explain her request. "I-I need some time away, Mother," she admitted quietly. "The memories here are too painful, and I-I want to go home”

Rhaenyra's expression softened with understanding as she listened to her daughter's plea. She knew all too well the burden of grief and the need to seek solace in unfamiliar places.

"I understand, Vaelys," she said gently, reaching out to take her daughter's hand in hers. "You have my permission to go to Dragonstone."

Relief flooded through Vaelys at her mother's words, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you, Mother," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

But Vaelys wasn't finished yet. There was one more thing she needed to ask.

"I would like Helaena to accompany me, along with her children, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor," she continued, her gaze steady. "And Daeron, as well as my maid, Ceci"

Rhaenyra nodded in understanding, her eyes reflecting the warmth of a mother's love. "Of course, Vaelys," she replied, her voice filled with reassurance. "Take whoever you need with you. I want you to find the peace and comfort you seek."

As Vaelys thanked her mother once more, a sense of relief washed over her. With Rhaenyra's blessing and the support of her loved ones, she felt ready to embark on her journey to Dragonstone, but first there was somebody that she needed to say goodbye too.

"Cregan," she began softly, her voice tinged with sadness, "I’ve come to say goodbye-I’m going to Dragonstone for a while”.

“As I’m returning to Winterfell-my duty calls” replied Cregan.

They stood together in silence for a moment, the weight of their unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Vaelys couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for what might have been between them, had their circumstances been different.

"I’ve often wondered these last few weeks," Cregan murmured, breaking the silence, "What might have come of our almost-betrothal, had fate not intervened."

Vaelys couldn't help but smile sadly at his words, touched by the sincerity in his voice.

Cregan reached out and took her hand in his, his grip warm and comforting. "I just want you to know that I would have cared for you and been a husband worhty of you"

Vaelys squeezed his hand gently, gratitude shining in her eyes. "I know you would have, Cregan," she replied, her voice filled with warmth.

As they stood together in the fading light, their hands clasped in silent understanding.

"Probably for the best-Dragons are not meant for the snow” he mused softly, his gaze drifting to the darkening sky.

“I wish you every happiness Cregan-and take care on your journey North” said Vaelys.

Cregan nodded, his own gaze thoughtful as he prepared to depart. "Wherever your path may lead, know that you will always have a friend in me Princess."

“As you will always have a friend in me” said Vaelys.

With a final embrace and a whispered farewell, they parted ways, each carrying with them a bond of friendship that would endure, no matter the distance between them.

Vaelys stood on the deck of the ship, the salty sea breeze tousling her hair as she gazed up at the sky.

Above, the dragons soared, their massive wings beating against the air as they carved graceful arcs through the sky. Dreamfyre, Morghul, Shrykos, and Tessarion their forms dancing amidst the clouds, their scales gleaming in the sunlight.

Vaelys couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow as she thought of Archonei, her beloved dragon companion who had been her faithful companion since birth. Her absence left a hole in her heart that seemed impossible to fill, a void that echoed with the memories of their time together.

Vaelys closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to remember the feel of Archonei's scales beneath her fingertips, the rush of wind as they soared through the skies together. She had been more than just a dragon to her; she had been her confidant, her protector, her friend.

Helaena approached Vaelys on the deck, her presence a comforting reassurance amidst the vastness of the sea. As she drew near, she offered a gentle smile, her eyes filled with understanding.

"The bronze heart waits to be free” said Helaena, her voice soft and reassuring,

Vaelys smiled at Helaena and took her good sisters hand, squeezed it gently.

“I think I’ll like it on Dragonstone-plenty of shells” exclaimed Helaena happily as the ship approached the rocky shores of Dragonstone.

“Not to many spiders though” replied Vaelys thanking the gods for that fact.

“Ooh I brought them with me” said Helaena brightly.

“W-What?” asked Vaelys horrified, her hand going to her stomach.

“My spiders-I couldn’t leave them behind. Now that we can be free, they shall be too”.

Vaelys gave an involuntary shudder and the thought of Helaena unleashing an army of spiders on the shores of Dragonstone.

“J-Just don’t do it near me” muttered Vaelys.

Dragonstone loomed ahead, its imposing silhouette rising from the waves like a sentinel guarding the secrets of the past. Despite the passage of time, the island fortress still held an air of ancient majesty.

Vaelys felt a swell of emotion as memories flooded her mind. It had been two long years since she had last set foot on Dragonstone, yet as she gazed upon its familiar shores, it felt as though she had never left.

After being placed in her arms by Ceci, Sovia began squirming, her curious gaze taking in the sight of their destination. Vaelys smiled down at her daughter, a surge of maternal love filling her heart. She was grateful for the opportunity to share this moment with her, to introduce her to the place that held so much significance in their family's history.

As the ship drew closer to the harbour, Vaelys felt a sense of homecoming wash over her. Despite the challenges that lay ahead, she knew that she was where she belonged.

Stepping onto the solid ground of Dragonstone once more, Vaelys felt a sense of familiarity and comfort settle over her. The island may have remained unchanged, but she knew that she had been forever transformed by her experiences since she had last been there.

With Sovia nestled safely in her arms, Vaelys took a deep breath, ready to face whatever the future held. For as long as she was on Dragonstone, she knew that she was surrounded by the strength of her family's legacy and the enduring spirit of her ancestors. And with their guidance, she was prepared to embark on the next chapter of her journey, no matter where it might lead.

Vaelys sat on the soft sand of Dragonstone's beach, the gentle waves lapping at the shore as Sovia played happily nearby, her laughter filling the air. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the tranquil scene.

As she watched her daughter, Vaelys couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for Aemond, her beloved husband who was still far away in exile. She wondered if he was out there somewhere, beneath the same sky, gazing across the sea with thoughts of her and Sovia.

Running a hand over her growing baby bump, Vaelys sighed, feeling a mix of emotions stirring within her. Despite the distance between them, she took comfort in the knowledge that a piece of Aemond was with her, growing and thriving within her womb.

As she closed her eyes Vaelys couldn't help but smile as she thought back to the day, she had shared the news of her pregnancy with her family, when they had come to Dragonstone for a visit. The memory was etched in her mind, each reaction a reflection of the unique personalities that made up her kin.

When she had told her mother, there had been a moment of surprise, followed by a bright smile that lit up her face. "Another grandchild," she had exclaimed, her eyes shining with happiness as she enveloped Vaelys in a warm embrace.

Her father's reaction had been more reserved, muttered remarks about "more Hightower spawn" and something about Aemond “making sure he planted his seed” escaping his lips before he had offered her a nod of approval. Though his words lacked the warmth of her mother's, Vaelys knew that beneath his stoic exterior, he harboured some sense of pride in the growing legacy of their family.

Luke had beamed with excitement at the news, his joy infectious as he eagerly offered his congratulations. "I'm going to be an uncle again!" he had exclaimed, his enthusiasm lighting up the room.

Jace, had been the most conflicted of them all. For a moment, his expression had been clouded with uncertainty, his thoughts seemingly torn between conflicting emotions. But in the end, he had offered her a hesitant smile, his congratulations sincere if somewhat reserved.

As Vaelys recalled each reaction, she couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude for her family's support.

"Daddy," said Sovia softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke the word with a sense of longing.

Vaelys looked up from her thoughts, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of her daughter's voice. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she watched Sovia playing, her innocent words stirring a mix of emotions within her.

"Daddy," repeated Sovia, her voice growing stronger as she looked up at Vaelys with a bright smile.

As Vaelys spoke to Sovia, explaining about her father being far away, Sovia made a soft, thoughtful sound, a gentle "hmm" that sounded remarkably like Aemond. It was a sound Vaelys had heard countless times before, a sound that never failed to bring warmth to her heart.

Surprised, Vaelys looked down at Sovia, her eyes widening in amazement. The resemblance was uncanny. Not only did Sovia make the same sound as Aemond, but she even pouted in a way that mirrored his expressions.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Vaelys' lips as she watched her daughter. Despite the distance that separated them, Aemond's presence lived on in Sovia, in every little sound and gesture she made.

With a pang of longing and affection, Vaelys reached out to gently stroke Sovia's cheek, her touch tender and filled with love. "You're just like your daddy, aren't you?" she murmured, her voice filled with a mixture of joy and sadness.

Sovia looked up at her with bright eyes, a mischievous glint dancing in their depths. And in that moment, Vaelys felt a surge of gratitude for the precious gift that was her daughter, a reminder of the love she shared with Aemond, even in his absence.

With Sovia in her arms, Vaelys leaned in close, pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "I love you, my little dragon," she whispered, her voice soft and filled with tenderness. And as Sovia giggled in response.

In the depths of sleep, Vaelys found herself enveloped in a dreamlike haze, her consciousness drifting in the realm of dreams. Amidst the ethereal mist, she heard a voice, deep and resonant, calling out to her.

"Vaelys," the voice rumbled, echoing all around her, "Come and find me. I have been waiting for you."

Startled, Vaelys blinked in the darkness of her dream, trying to discern the source of the voice. It seemed to emanate from all directions, surrounding her with its haunting melody.

There was something oddly familiar about the voice, a sense of recognition that stirred deep within her soul. It tugged at her heartstrings, urging her to follow its call, to seek out the one who beckoned to her.

"Who are you?" Vaelys called out into the void, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

But there was no reply, only the echo of her own words fading into the ether. The voice remained elusive, its presence lingering tantalizingly just beyond her grasp.

Amidst the swirling mists and the echoing voice that called out to her, a figure materialized before her. It was Helaena, her presence ethereal and luminous, her eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.

"A lost dragon across the sea," Helaena's voice echoed, her words carrying a weight of prophecy, "a bronze heart waiting to be free."

Vaelys watched in awe as Helaena spoke. There was a knowingness in Helaena's gaze, a wisdom that transcended the boundaries of the waking world.

"The bronze heart burns brighter," Helaena continued, her voice growing stronger with each word, "he waits for his rider."

Vaelys felt a surge of emotion welling up within her, a mixture of hope and longing that threatened to overwhelm her. The words seemed to reverberate within her very being, filling her with a sense of purpose and determination.

As Helaena's form began to fade, dissipating into the dreamlike haze, Vaelys reached out, her hand stretching towards the vanishing figure. "Wait," she called out, her voice tinged with desperation.

But Helaena only smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes, before she vanished completely, leaving Vaelys alone once more in the depths of her dream.

Vaelys awoke from her dream, her heart pounding with the echoes of the voice that had called out to her. Despite the veil of sleep lifting, the memory of the haunting words lingered, refusing to fade into the recesses of her mind.

As she lay in the darkness, her breath coming in shallow gasps, Vaelys strained to listen, hoping to hear the voice once more. And then, just as she began to doubt herself, she heard it—a faint whisper in the depths of her consciousness, pleading for her to come find him.

Her pulse quickened with a mixture of fear and excitement as she listened to the voice, its words resonating with a sense of urgency that sent shivers down her spine. There was a desperation in its tone, a longing that tugged at her heartstrings, urging her to heed its call.

Gathering her resolve, Vaelys swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rose to her feet, the coolness of the stone floor grounding her in reality. With each step she took, the voice grew louder, its presence a constant presence in her mind.

As she made her way through the darkened corridors of Dragonstone, guided by the ethereal sound of the voice, Vaelys felt a sense of purpose settle over her. She knew that she could not ignore the call, no matter how uncertain the path ahead may be.

As Vaelys stood before the Dragonmont, the ancient volcano at the heart of Dragonstone. The voice grew louder and more insistent, echoing through the night with a sense of urgency.

With a curious mix of apprehension and excitement, Vaelys walked through the entrance.

Soon she found herself standing in the heart of a vast and cavernous cave, shrouded in darkness so thick it seemed to suffocate the very air around her.

Suddenly the sound of earth-shaking footsteps reverberated through the cavern, each one sending tremors rippling through the ground beneath her feet.

Fear clenched at Vaelys' heart as she stood frozen in place, her senses overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the darkness that surrounded her. She could feel the weight of it pressing down upon her, threatening to consume her whole.

And then, just when it seemed as though the darkness would swallow her whole, the cavern was suddenly bathed in an intense, blaze of dragon fire, illuminating the cavern with its fierce and fiery glow.

Vaelys shielded her eyes against the brightness, squinting through the flames to see the source of the light. And there, towering above her, was Vermithor.

His scales glinting like burnished bronze in the fading light of the setting sun.

The dragon snarled and snapped at her, but Vaelys stood firm her hand outstretched.

“Lykirī” (Calm).

Now was not the time to show fear.

“Dohaerās Vermithor” (Serve).

Vermithor lumbered forward his maw opening-the flames forming in his throat.

Suddenly her father’s voice sounded in her mind ‘the song’.

“Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis” (Fire breather, winged leader, but two heads, to a third sing).

“Perzyro udrȳssi, Ezīmptos laehossi, Hārossa letagon, Aōt vāedan” (With words of flame, with clear eyes, to bind the three, to you I sing).

“Hae mērot gierūli:, Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī” (As one we gather, and with three heads, we shall fly as we were destined, beautifully, freely).

The bronze fury hesitated-the glow of fire receding.

“Dohaerās Vermithor” (Serve).

After a beat of silence, the dragon bowed his head, and Vaelys knew that she had reclaimed her destiny—that she was meant to ride upon the back of this ancient dragon, to soar through the skies, the voice had called to her, and she had answered. He has tested her, and she had succeeded.

With a sense of awe and reverence, Vaelys approached Vermithor, her heart pounding in her chest as she once again extended her hand, only this time in greeting. And to her amazement, the dragon allowed her to run her hand over the warm scales of his maw, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of curiosity and acceptance.

Then, with a rumble that shook the very earth beneath her feet, Vermithor extended his massive wing, inviting her to climb upon his back.

Vaelys took a deep breath and stepped forward, her blood thrumming with anticipation and excitement as she climbed atop of Vermithor.

The saddle that graced his back, was old and weathered but it would do for now. The dragon of old King Jaehaerys now belonged to her.

Once she was seated and fastened in as best should be, considering the was heavy with child. Vaelys took a hold of the ropes and closed her eyes, focusing on the newly formed bond.

“Sōvēs” shouted Vaelys (Fly).

Vermithor lumbered towards the exit, his heavy footsteps shaking the cavernous lair.

Vaelys squinted as she emerged from the Dragonmont atop Vermithor, who hesitated as he sniffed the air.

Then, with a single graceful movement, Vermithor spread his wings and lifted into the air, his powerful muscles rippling beneath his shimmering scales as dragon and rider soared high above the island.

Helaena smiled as she watched Vaelys and Vermithor gliding through the sky, her good sister was a dragon rider once more, just as she was always meant to be.

“The bronze heart is free, the lost dragon will cross the sea, three babes there will be”

[pasukiyo]

— addiction | smut, angst

you’re like poison to him. you’re dangerous, yet, he can’t seem to tear himself away..

— easy | smut, angst

tom looked at her now and saw everything that he wasn’t. she was happy, she was light, she was gullible, she was naive. she was in love. 

— call me by my name | smut, angst

tom cannot let this feeling he has for you, this weakness to stray him away from his ultimate goal. but when you come up with a plan to grab his attention, he knows he’s done for…

— can never get enough | smut, angst

why couldn’t you just forget about tom? you had the perfect boy in warren collins, he adored you, he was popular, and good at quidditch. tom never so much as cared to ask how your day was. so why can’t you get enough of him?

— wrapped around your finger | smut

every year, the lestranges will hold a christmas party for only the oldest of pure-blood wizarding families. every year you are locked in your room while the party rages downstairs, but everything will change when tom riddle is invited to this year’s party. everything…

— my heart burns for you | smut

wrapped around your finger 2

it’s been a few months since the lestranges famed christmas party. a month before graduation, tom riddle comes to a realization that you are what he wants. he doesn’t care about anything else, all he cares about is having you and how powerful you make him feel.

— call it what you want | fluff

professor riddle was notoriously blunt and took everything very seriously. he couldn’t think of one single time when he was nervous or insecure— until now.

— marked me like a bloodstain | smut, angst

there has always been darkness in tom riddle. perhaps you were too blind to see it before. or maybe you’ve known all along, but never acknowledged it until it was too late.

— as if it never happened | smut, collab

it was clear that you were playing games. but tom would make certain that he’d get the last laugh.

— could never be you | angst

you should be happy tom riddle wants you. that he’s kissing you and that he wants more with you. but you can’t be. you can’t bring yourself to be happy.

— spiraling | smut

when you learn that hogwarts’ very own head boy is a parselmouth, you wonder what else his tongue can do…

— let it be real | fluff, hints of angst

tom riddle wasn’t one for quidditch. or love. but everything he thought would be questioned the moment you convince him to come to a quidditch match, and he nearly loses you. it all feels like a dream.

— he was long gone | smut and angst

tom riddle was trouble. you knew it, at least, deep down. but when he touched you like this, how could you possibly let him go?

— bloody waters | smut

lord voldemort was in need of an heir, so how could she refuse to do the honors for her most generous lord?

— the displeasure is all mine | make-out sesh?

in all your years at hogwarts, you'd been competing against tom riddle. you were always at one another's throats, and today wasn't any different...

— this carnal tether | smut

you should've been over this crush years ago. but it's hard when tom riddle plagues your every thought and your boyfriend falls flat in the places you just knew tom wouldn't...

[battlemaiden13]

(I've read the majority of your most, from Master list 1 to 6. And I'm really invested and impressed. It's also really nice to see that this fandom is still active and alive. And you're genuinely doing a fantastic job with your asks. I like who intricate each one is. Last night on the 31st of August I spent until 5am reading your lists. I'm getting back into Undertale again, and I'm re-playing all the games, from the OG, to underfell and the UT!Underswap game that still in development. So it's all very wonderful! ) Though I did have an ask, if that is alright with you. Could I get Gory Yandere House UT, UF, US, And SF reactions to there S/O being being kidnapped. The kidnappers are on the phone, demanding a price. S/O fed up with being kidnapped, that when they make her speak into the phone, she looks them dead in their eyes and says, "They're going to kick your ass." Before she is audibly hit across the face and the line goes dead.

13: gore is something I haven’t practiced in a while so sorry if I’m a bit rusty but I hope you enjoy. These are also Longer so I only did 4 , sorry! I might do the other four another time but I got a tad carried away

WARNING: Yandere, Blood, gore, toxic Relations

Sans -Well their big mistake was calling. Sans could track them down by a vague description if needed but the kidnappers called making his job a lot easier considering he was already honing in. 

Sans would normally simply systematically ruin peoples lives but these assholes pissed him off enough to take a much quicker approach. Violence really isn’t his thing though, but why would it need to be when he has dirt on every single psychopathic skeleton he lives with and they are always more than happy to get their hands dirty.

The screams echo through the facility long before everything goes eerily quiet. Sans walks into the room you are being held in, adjusting his gloves as he smiles widely at the last remaining captor. His hood is up but the only signs of blood are on his shoes as the thick red liquid begins to pool through the door as if the rooms outside had been flooded with it. 

Your capture points his gun at Sans with a shaking hand but the skeleton doesn’t react. His smile is still uncomfortably pleasant as he begins to talk to you, apologizing for being late and the uncomfortable screaming but promising the two of you can go home, cuddle up in his room with comfort food and your favorite movie. 

As he talks your other roommates enter behind him, each painted more red than the last. Orange is lighting a cigarette as he leans against the wall, Edge whipping blood off his skull as if someone had coughed it up on him. Red and Blue both come in laughing. Berry is cleaning his knife with his tongue as Papyrus fiddles with a device, dislodging a finger from it with an unpleasant crunching sound. 

Your captor says something before you hear an upsetting gaggle and he falls to the floor. Syrup appeared behind you, slitting his throat. Blue squeals in delight as Sans gives his nod, the skeleton descending upon the man as Sans takes your hand and leads shortcuts you home with a kiss to your forehead. 

Red -His phone shatters in his hands as the call disconnects. He was pissed before but hearing the unmistakable sound of you getting hit has him blinded with rage. He stalks to Blue, demanding the skeleton assist him with a new ‘job’. Blue is more than happy too of course and your new friends are about to find out why these two are called the bloody twins despite no blood relations.

It takes a while for Red and Blue to find you. Neither are great at subtle tracking but Red bides his time and bites his tongue, knowing that this is going to be perfect, although a few people lose some fingers in this endeavor. It takes at most three days for them to put everything together, Red hating knowing you are not being treated like the royalty you are and prepared to die in order to right that particular wrong. 

The twins do not go in quietly. It’s loud, it’s obvious and there is plenty of death or worse. While Red is normally content to kill on sight he takes a leaf out of Blues book and begins to take his time, playing with his victims in brutal ways. Breaking limbs, cutting off appendages and forcing them down throats, revealing in the screams and when you are brought out looking roughed up and being held by someone Red sees black.

You are suddenly freed when Red slams your captors head into the hard concrete below. He had shortcutted across the room in silence and grabbed their face, cutting them off mid sentence. Slamming the back of their head down Again, and again and again before lifting them up by his grip on their face and growling. Red snaps their arms, their legs then drops them from the rafters so they hit the ground with a sickening squelching sound. 

Red is by your side a second later, checking you over for marks and bruises and cursing that he didn’t let “that filthy fucked up human” suffer more. You have to assure him several times that you are ok as Blue continues to brutally massacre whoever's left right behind him. 

Edge -He is uncomfortably calm as the phone cuts out and he gets to work. He’s called in a favor with Sans to track you down while he prepares his concoctions. Mindless bloodbaths were never really his style but he can do something far worse. 

There were only three idiots who dared to take you, figuring you lived in a mansion and have the dark prince doting after you like a love sick puppy, so you must be worth something. 

When he gets to the apartment you are being held at he simply knocks, the scum open the door only to get sprayed in the face by a nasty little poison that has him coughing and will liquify his insides painfully within the next few minutes. As he sputters and coughs Edge walks right into the room as if he owns the place. The other two turn to him as he greets them in a formal manner before he asks you if you are ok. 

He is fuming on the inside and although he seems put together you can tell he is pissed off. His hands are clenched by his side and his jaw is tight. 

There’s a silence in the air as Edge tells the men he unfortunately cannot let them live and this will be a painful experience. As he monologues he lets a vial shatter to the ground and the air is soon filled with a thick poison that burns and scratches just beneath the skin. The men are screaming in pain long before you are thanks to the little doses that Edge has been exposing you to ever since you met. It still itches like bugs are crawling under your skin though and you can see how it is going to escalate as one of the men tears through his own flesh with his teeth to stop the sensation. 

Edge has strided over to you, pulls you to your feet and smashes his teeth against your lips. You feel the thick liquid trickle down your throat with an unpleasant bitter taste as the skeleton pulls you closer, shaking ever so slightly. He pulls back from the kiss as you feel dazed, running his hand down the side of your bruised face and he swears nothing like this will ever happen again. 

Your kidnappers falling to the floor with gaggle screams as he picks you up to carrying you out of the still smog filled room. 

Orange -These idiots fucked up so badly and they don’t even know how until it’s to late. Within an hour Orange knows where you are, two hours and his plan has been set in motion, a day later is when they find out they messed with a true psychopath. 

Some small, not so accidental, issues caused your kidnappers to change locations to a warehouse. There was a surprising amount of them for what appeared to be a simple job but with the amount the skeletons could apparently pay for you it wasn’t overly such a surprise. 

The screaming was horrible, the set up precise and the results quick. The whole horrid event probably only took 10 minutes but could leave you scarred for the rest of your life. 

Orange had set up multiple gruesome traps to brutally take out your assalants before swooping in and getting you out. 

It was like you were living in a saw movie. One room trapped a small horde inside before compacting and crushing all inside, the floor opened up to a spike trap impaling others and then there were the few who were burnt alive in a walk-in furnace, acid fell from the sprinklers and you had to watch in horror as the floor was coated in a thick layer of blood that pooled around your feet. 

The screaming was horrible but the silence that followed was so much worse. You had no idea how you just ‘happened’ to be situated away from all the dangerous traps but your exact location was the only place that was unaffected. 

After a minute you heard the footsteps of someone calmly approaching only to see Orange come around the corner. He has a panicked expression as he quickly changes stride to approach you quickly. Asking you a million questions about if you're hurt as he unties you before pulling you into a hug and declaring you must have been so scared and he’s sorry he couldn’t be there sooner. 

He set the whole nightmare scenario up to seem like one big accident going off one after another in the hopes that you wouldn’t get suspicious but if you are smart and paying close attention to the skeleton you would be able to tell just how please he is that his plan went off, prehapes don’t point this out to him though. 

[icycoldninja]

Okay so I have an idea so hear me out:

Do you know Casper the dog who faced off 11 coyotes and killed 8 of them. He went missing for 2 days because he set out to find the rest, and finish the job. He was obviously injured, with one eye turned white after said confrontation but he was alive and well

Can you write something like this with the DMC men with a reader whose family member (let’s say her sister or mom) gets killed/heavily injured by the Devils. She herself is pretty chill but the moment she found out, she’s seething and brewing with rage so she grabbed her sword and started slashing them down (imo characters who are the angry quiet type are scarier than the average loud kind of angry)

Afterwards, she’s on the hunt for the rest of them and went missing for days, just when the boys are slowly losing hope of finding her again, she returned back, with more injuries, bruised lips, claw marks and a blind eye covered in blood with a mysterious bag in her hand. Only when they ask her did she open the bag, revealing a bunch of the Devils’ heads

Basically the epitome of: “Idc whatever you do to me, touch the people I love and I’ll reign hell upon your existence”

P/S: I’m a sucker for women in binder wearing only Hakama pants so if you can have the reader wearing that, It’ll be delightful. Have a nice day

Even though I have no idea who Casper is, you've given me plenty of information to work with. Hope I did it well enough. Enjoy!

Sparda boys + V x Casper the dog-like!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante was used to you being calm, quiet, and generally relaxed with everything, going with the flow and hardly ever getting angry.

-When you and Dante were visiting one day, a bunch of demons showed up out of literally nowhere and seriously injured her before either of you could even react. This was the first time Dante got to see your silent rage.

-In the blink of an eye, you reduced one of the demons to bloody ribbons, your entire body trembling with cold anger. Dante reached out to grab your hands but you pulled away and took off into the woods, chasing after the demons that had run off.

-Dante tried to follow you, but he lost you amongst the trees. The poor man was so worried for your safety, he searched for 24 straight hours but couldn't find a trace of you. It was like you'd vanished off the face of the earth, which wasn't good. What if you had been kidnapped by the very demons you were trying to eliminate? Worse, what if they'd killed you?

-Dante was forced to return to Devil May Cry after an additional 5 hours of searching because his weary body just couldn't go on. He sank into his favorite chair and sat there, staring tiredly at the floor, too exhausted to do much of anything.

-The next few weeks were hell for him. He couldn't sleep, could hardly eat, but didn't want to be awake. Not having you around made him worry, and worry kept him from functioning properly.

-Then all of a sudden, you arrive on the doorstep wearing nothing but your chest binder and hakama, injuries marring nearly every visible square inch of your skin, a gouged out eye and a strange bloody bag in your hands.

-Dante couldn't believe what he was seeing, and though his instincts instincts were telling him to get you to a hospital ASAP, he was also curious about the bag you had there.

-After he asked you, you graciously opened the bag to reveal the heads of all the devils that had hurt you and your mom, perfectly mutilated and rotting in their own blood.

-Dante would have whooped and congratulated you on your victory, but he was way too concerned about your injuries. Getting you patched up came first, celebrations could wait.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil was accustomed to you being as calm and aloof as he was. It was comforting to him, in a way; it showed he wasn't alone in the world, as there was someone almost just like him in terms of personality right next to him.

-When you brought him with you to visit your mom, he never expected you'd be ambushed by a group of powerful demons. They must have anticipated your arrival, somehow, and set out to destroy you while your guards were down.

-Thankfully and unfortunately at the same time, the only person they succeeded in injuring was your mother. This action understandably pissed you off beyond belief. Vergil had never seen you like this, but truth be told, he rather admired this side of you.

-What he didn't admire was the recklessness you displayed in mindlessly chasing after the other demons after you'd already tore apart the one who actually inflicted the injuries.

-Vergil would have gone after you, but he was a practical man and focused on the important things, such as getting your mother to safety. Once she was in the hospital, he set out to look for you, but try as he might, you were nowhere to be found.

-He was worried sick, his stressed, exhausted mind overcome with emotions and crazy theories about what could possibly be happening to you. He was terrified, and this fear fueled him to continue his search until he nearly collapsed of exhaustion.

-He couldn't sleep, though, his concern for you acted like a boost to his insomnia, keeping him up all through the night. The next few weeks were all like this, a seemingly endless cycle of searching throughout the daylight and crawling back home at night.

-Then, completely out of nowhere, you showed up on the doorstep wearing naught but your binder, hakama, innumerable injuries, a blind, bloody eye, and a bag of something that seemed to be dripping blood, just like the rest of you.

-Vergil immediately pulled you into the bathroom to clean you up, scolding you about how foolish you were for running off like that and how he was so worried about you. He continued lecturing you like a frustrated mom as he cleaned and bound your wounds.

-After you were somewhat patched up, he questioned you about the bag in your hand. You gladly showed him the severed heads of all the demons you had taken in revenge. It is safe to say that Vergil had never been prouder of you.

□ Nero □

-Nero always thought your reserved nature made you awesome. He thought you were the kind of person who never got mad.

-Then, as you and him were visiting your mother, a group of demons appeared out of nowhere and attacked your mother, critically injuring her.

-Your silent rage was something Nero never thought he'd see. He'd never had the displeasure of witnessing your rage, and now that he had, he was terrified.

-He watched in horror as you tore apart one of the demons like paper, scattering bits of it all over the grass. Before he could say a word, you'd charged after the others, your expression that of cold stone.

-Nero panicked at first, but quickly gathered himself and took your mother to the hospital. He wanted to go after you, but he knew that you were undergoing some serious emotional trauma and he knew better than to interfere.

-He was sure you'd come back at some point, but was still tense and on edge. A couple times he set out to look for you, with no luck. He repeated this cycle for a few months, his hopes slowly draining more and more with every day that passed.

-Right at the apex of his misery, he heard a knock on the door. He rushed to answer it, and to his surprise, there you were. Sure, you were bloodied, injured, missing an eye, and only wearing your pants and chest binder, but you were there, and that's all he needed.

-He ignored the fact that you were dripping with your own blood and hugged you, mumbling frantically about how much he missed you.

-Then he asked what was the lumpy sack you were holding was, and why it seemed to be bleeding as well.

-You eagerly showed him all the lovely heads you'd ripped off, and though it was an admirable feat, Nero was now a little bit scared of you.

● V ●

-V knows that behind every stoic, expressionless face, there lies an inner heat; an inner darkness that burns brighter than the sun, should it ever be set free.

-When you took him to visit your mother, he never thought he'd find himself in the middle of a sudden and unexpected demon ambush.

-He fought hard, he really did, but the demons got to your mother before he could. They critically injured her, which caused your inner hatred to finally be released.

-You tore into those beasts with more enthusiasm than you ever had in your life. It honestly scared V to see how powerful you really were--he never thought he'd witness something like this.

-After dealing with one, you raced off to kill the others, and V, of course, tried to follow you.

-Sadly, he couldn't keep up. His weak bones gave out and he crumpled to the ground, feeling more useless than ever. He tried so hard to go after you, but he just couldn't.

-He was then taken back to Devil May Cry by the others who had found him, and remained there, feeling more depressed and lifeless than usual for several weeks.

-He was about to set out to search for you one more time, when you suddenly appeared on the doorstep, bloodied, bruised, missing an eye, and only wearing your undergarments plus your hakama.

-V was beyond shocked, he was absolutely flabbergasted, and also overcome with joy. So overcome in fact, that he started crying tears of joy. He first dragged you into the house and started cleaning your wounds, then he hugged you so tight, a few bones popped, and begged you not to do that again.

-Next, he asked about the strange bag you were holding that had gone largely unnoticed until now, and in response, you showed him the heads you'd literally torn off the demons' bodies. It was shocking, stunning, and also extremely frightening. V decided you two could talk about it after he got you to a hospital so you could get your eye treated.

[yuesya]

Shiki might not be in the same weight class, so to speak, as Toji, but in the same age au I feel like she would probably make up for that in sheer unadulterated rage, would this be a scenario she'd be able to do a black flash or two, would she be able to win, I know she might just be able to unwittingly stall but I can't stop thinking about Satoru assuming Shiki hates them and him coming to seeing her whailing on the guy who killed him, alternatively seeing her enter a fight they both know she probably won't win for him

His body feels light, when he wakes up again. Cursed energy thrums through his core, reversed and tingling in his limbs. The blood on his clothes makes the fabric stick disgustingly to his skin, but he's not bleeding anymore. He won't bleed again, not anymore.

Throughout the heavens and the earth, I alone am the Honored One.

Satoru opens his eyes.

The first thing that he sees is a dark blur -the unmistakable form of the man who'd cleaved him open with that strange cursed tool, then stuck a knife into his head. Good, he hasn't gone far. He's not going to have a chance to get the drop on Satoru again.

The second thing that he notices-

A white whirlwind, tumbling into a messy roll and skidding across the ground. Dainty feet plant firmly into the stone steps before the momentum is even fully bled off, and a white-haired girl promptly launches herself back in the Zenin man's direction-

Crimson splatters dot the ground liberally in her wake.

Blood.

That's... Shiki's blood.

... Shiki. Wait, what in the world is she doing here?? Isn't she still supposed to be in Kyoto? Why is she-?

The man roars. A powerful blow connects against the girl's side, and she's sent flying once more. Idiot, idiot. Someone with physical capabilities like that is a terrible matchup for Shiki, who requires close-range physical combat for her technique to be effective. Can't she see that? Is she blind? Doesn't she know that she can't-

The Zenin turns, and Satoru's thoughts stutter to a halt. There's blood dripping down the man's side, his entire right arm severed at the shoulder. And, on his torso... there's also a long slash that looks suspiciously similar to the injury that Satoru himself had sustained.

He... doesn't know what to think about it. Shiki holds no fondness for him, and the feeling is very much mutual. But even so, it's...

...

Across on the other side of the field, his cousin lands in a crouch, and her head snaps up. He's never seen her with that sort of expression before -usually, Shiki is either impassive like a porcelain doll, or wearing a look of faint irritation. But in this moment, there's a fierce snarl on her lips as she glares-

With only one eye.

... There's nothing but a bloody, gaping hole on her face, in the place where her left eye used to be.

Before his mind has even caught up with what he's doing, Satoru finds himself surging to his feet, Blue and Red building in his cursed energy.

[romione-trope-fest]

Magic Matches

Fic title: Magic Matches

Author: KateNotEight

Selected trope: Muggle AU, soulmates

Brief summary: An innocent lunch turns into a night to remember - follow how Harry and Ginny take Ron’s love life into their own hands and turn it upside-down. It’s some speedy business hosted by the most charming douche in existence. Ladies and gents, are you ready to find your Magic Match?

Word count: 3979

Rating: M (language)

PART 1 - Humbugs, glitter, tosser… what?!

The cobblestone street was bathed in a kaleidoscope of warm hues as the setting sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow upon the facades of quaint shops and inviting cafes. The sound of muffled laughter and clinking glasses mingled in the air, creating a lively atmosphere as patrons celebrated the end of the workweek. Two redheads engaged in enthusiastic banter descended the stairs of one such charming cafe. They were momentarily interrupted by the abrupt closing of the door behind them, prompting a sheepish wave from the black-haired man who held the doorknob. He sighed in frustration, but as soon as the taller redhead tousled his hair, his smile resurfaced and they stepped onto the pavement together.

Harry threw one arm around Ginny’s shoulders, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose, catching the fading sunlight with a glint. He then extended his other arm around Ron, his other favorite redhead.

“Need some love, Potter?” Ron chuckled, stumbling slightly at the odd angle his much shorter mate forced upon him, playfully jabbing him in the ribs.

“Always,” Harry winced, then bobbed his head against Ron’s before releasing him to envelop Ginny in a tight hug.

“Oi!” Ginny intervened, her eyes darting between the two.

“You know I love him better,” Ron jabbed, wiggling his eyebrows at his irked sister.

“Idiot,” Ginny laughed, shaking her head, and pulling her sleeve up to check the time.

“So, where to next?” Ron clapped his hands with enthusiasm, surveying the buzzing street in search of a suitable pub. “Lunch was fantastic. Drinks on me?”

Ginny and Harry exchanged glances. Harry opened his mouth to respond but let out a sigh instead, scratching his head. The trio stopped at the red lights of the pedestrian crossing, cars rushing past them, mirroring the vibrant pace of the weekend. 

“Since you brought up the topic of love -” Harry’s eyes sought Ginny’s for help, but she only pursed her lips in reply, urging him to continue. 

“The topic of what now?” Momentarily confused, Ron narrowed his eyes at Harry just as the lights turned green and Harry attempted to divert attention by nodding towards the other side, but Ron crossed his arms defiantly. People brushed past them, but Ron was rooted into the sidewalk like a lamp post, glaring at his best mate and sister.

“Not this again,” He hissed knowingly, unfazed by the crowd elbowing him in passing, “You two… I swear, if this another lame attempt to set me up on a blind date - ”

“It’s not a blind date!” Harry defended, nearly spilling an old lady’s shopping bag when he raised his hands in defense.

“A-ha!” Ron exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at him, while Harry mumbled his apologies.

“You two are impossible,” Ginny interrupted, throwing her head back in exasperation. She then pulled both of them by the sleeves towards a nearby bus stop, away from the chaotic street crossing.

“Here is the thing, dear brother,” Ginny began, pushing her long hair back, a clear sign that she meant business, “The wedding is in a month - just one bloody month and -”

“Ginny, come on - ” Ron drawled, rolling his eyes, but Ginny lifted a hushing finger at him and Ron let out an exasperated sigh.

“Don’t interrupt me, because behind this carefree facade,” she gestured at her face, “is a raging bride-to-be who almost murdered the florist yesterday,” Ginny chirped, tapping her foot nervously. 

“Very true,” Harry mumbled, staring at the most interesting patch of chewing gum on the sidewalk. 

“Guys, I don’t know why this is such a big deal?! Why can’t I just bring some rando or even better - come as I am - single?” Ron shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, his long fringe falling into his eyes, and Ginny readily pushed it aside, cupping her brother’s face.

“Because you are the best man and you need a decent date, but most importantly - I refuse to endure Mum’s rant during my fucking wedding - don’t think she didn’t see you disappear with Fleur’s bridesmaid during the speeches, you randy git,” She pinched his cheek and Ron swatted her hand away.

“She did, huh?” Ron chuckled, exchanging a cheeky look with Harry.

Snapping her fingers in front of his face, Ginny redirected Ron’s attention back to her, “Listen here you big prat - be a good brother and do this for me. Do this for us,” Ginny elbowed Harry who cleared his throat and put on a serious face, “It’s not such a big ask, mate.”

“Fine,” Ron grunted with a shrug.

“Promise?” Ginny extended her hand and Ron took it, “Yeah, yeah, promise.”

“So, where are we going?”

“Oh, Ron… I don’t want to spoil all the fun,” Ginny grinned, turning on her heel, and walking back to the street crossing. Harry quickly pulled Ron to follow.

“Just so you know,” Harry whispered with an apologetic smile, “This was all her. I had nothing to do with it.”

“And yet, I have a peculiar feeling you didn’t put up a fight for me, mate.”

“I just want to survive this wedding.”

“Harry Potter - did I or did I not try to warn you that fateful night at college?” Ron poked.

“You did,” Harry elbowed him, recalling the party when he first met the baby sister. 

Ron glanced at his best mate’s infatuated expression and chuckled. Despite the copious amounts of liquor they had consumed, with Ron’s most basic judgment totally clouded - he couldn’t shake the certainty that Harry was smitten right away.

“Well, let me return the favor - just do as she asks. Just… Play along and we’ll both get out in one piece,” Harry pleaded.

“Bloody hell, what did I just sign up for?” Ron laughed as they scanned for Ginny. She was waiting for them on the other side of the street, tapping her golden wristwatch impatiently, eyebrows raised at Harry. 

“Oh, you’ll see,” Harry replied and they hurried across to join Ginny.

“I’m not sure if you’re being cryptic for dramatic purposes or think I might still bail,” Ron lowered his head so only Harry could hear as they approached his sister.

“Nearly there!” Ginny said in a sing-song voice, looping her arms around both men, particularly tight around her brother’s waist. They strolled down the street, passing closed shops and several pubs, and Ron glanced at them almost longingly. 

“What if the love of my life is waiting for me in one of these pubs?”

“She can wait a tad longer - right now you just need a respectable wedding date.”  

“And the women I usually date aren’t respectable?”

Harry and Ginny raised their brows at him simultaneously and Ron feigned shock, clutching his chest.

“Adding insult to my injured heart,” Ron sighed dramatically. 

Ginny snort-laughed, “No, no, no, the insult is to our intelligence when we need to engage with your shady bar bimbos.” 

“Oi! They’re not - “ Ron stopped mid-thought, looking up at the gray night sky, trying to recall the name and image of his last bar hookup.

“Honestly, mate, which one did you see more than once? Or in broad daylight for that matter?”

“Hold on, Harry, I’m thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Ginny interjected, eyeing the building numbers on her right, then stopping abruptly, pulling the men with her.

“We’re here.”

“The Horace Slughorn Gathering Hall?” Ron read aloud, a surprised frown creasing his freckled forehead. Nestled between a second-hand furniture store and a shabby magic shop, the gathering hall commanded attention with its imposing exterior. Adorned with classic Victorian and Gothic elements, it exuded a timeless elegance that stood in stark contrast with its neighbors. It felt completely out of place, as did Ron.  

“You’ve been here before,” Ginny rolled her eyes at Ron’s befuddled expression.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have! That Christmas party thing…Ugh, Harry, help me out here! We just started dating.”

“Ron, surely you must remember? The college event? When we started our apprenticeship at Whisp’s?!”

“Oh, yeah, right - that party. The Christmas shindig for the scholarship holders, the crème de la crème, the pick of the litter… No, Harry. I wasn’t invited to that exclusive soiree,” Ron scoffed, a wry smile playing on his lips.

“Let’s go inside, shall we?” Ginny’s voice went up a notch as she gestured toward the grand entrance of the building, silently signaling to Harry that it was time to coax Ron through the doors. 

“I was sure you - “ Harry started, ascending the flight of marble stairs alongside a hesitant Ron, but Ginny shot him a cautionary glare, causing Harry to awkwardly clear his throat instead of completing the sentence.

“Yeah, let’s get this over with,” Ron sighed.

Passing the heavy oak doors, the trio entered the lobby of the gathering hall where a vibrant poster, prominently displayed near the hall’s entrance, announced just what Ron had signed up for. Harry and Ginny stood beside him, barely suppressing amused giggles.

“Magic Matches -  Find Your Twin Flame Tonight…?!” Ron read aloud as he stopped in front of the poster, his expression a mixture of skepticism and mild disgust. He eyed the flashy design, complete with lit matches, burning hearts, chubby cherubs, and the promise of “a tasty love potion to set that spark into motion”. 

“You two have got to be kidding me,” Ron turned his head to the tickled pair who were clearly having way too much fun on his account. 

“All paid for. Your name tag is on the drinks table,” Ginny chirped, biting back a grin.

“I hate you both so much,” Ron laughed, scanning the rest of the event’s details, “Wait, what?! Gilderoy Lockhart? Gilderoy Lockhart?! That over-inflated, self-proclaimed “Romance Wizard” mum yaps about with Audrey and Fleur?”

“The one and only,” Ginny nodded.

“This is by far the worst you’ve come up with,” Ron shook his head with raised eyebrows, then combed his long locks back with his fingers. The idea of attending a speed dating event orchestrated by the sleaziest of sleazebags in the self-help section, with its promises of sparks flying and love potions, seemed utterly preposterous to Ron.

“Desperate times, dear brother, desperate times,” Ginny tittered, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. 

“I could’ve used at least one shot of tequila, you bastards.”

“In you go,” Harry pushed Ron’s back as Ginny opened the hall’s door, “You’re going to miss the introduction.”

“Oh no, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Ron quipped, rolling his eyes as he practically glided into the hall. His sneakers squeaked across the polished stone, his steps betraying a determined effort to resist the surroundings.

Stepping across the threshold felt like entering an alternate reality - a scene straight out of a cheesy romance film where the set designers just said “fuck it” and threw in every leftover item from the discount store’s Valentine’s Day clearance. The entire hall was an assault to the senses - from the gaudy heart-shaped streamers dangling from the ceiling in garish shades of pink and red to the twinkling fairy lights, strung haphazardly along the walls, flickering erratically, casting an uneven glow across the room.��

Tables, arranged in neat rows at the center of the hall, were adorned with an eclectic mix of centerpieces, ranging from glitter-drenched roses to plastic cupids poised for action. And just when one thought it couldn’t get any tackier, there it was - a life-size cutout of the “Romance Wizard” himself, standing proudly in front of a small podium where a microphone, adorned with heart-shaped balloons, awaited the evening’s host.

“This is surreal,” Harry sniggered, his eyes roaming the room while Ginny’s hands flew up to stifle her laughter. 

“Yes,” Ron nodded solemnly, hands on his hips, “This is the place where I shall meet my future wife.”

As if on cue, all three burst into a fit of giggles, only calming down when they began attracting the attention of the crowd.

“It’s not that bad,” Harry attempted, but Ron’s head tilt and offended expression made him retract his statement immediately.

“It’ll be the most confusing story for the kids,” Ginny laughed, interlacing her fingers with Harry’s.

“It will all be indefinitely better once I find the… Aha - drinks table!” Ron sighed with relief as his gaze finally fell upon the refuge spot of the numerous participants already sipping on plastic champagne glasses amidst the chaos of the tacky event. Clutching their flutes, they huddled together in small groups, engaging in awkward small talk and covertly scanning the room for potential matches.

“Well, I can take it from here, guys. Thanks for dropping me off at this pink inferno of pure desperation. I will text you when I’m done,” Ron said, turning and shoving Ginny and Harry towards the exit. 

“Decent, Ron! Find a decent lady! We beg of you!” Ginny tittered, pressed against Harry who tripped over his own feet from the force of Ron’s push.

“The worst I can find Gin, I promise,” Ron taunted, closing the heavy door into their faces.

“Fuck me,” Ron grunted, turning on his heel, making a beeline towards the drinks table, avoiding the other attendees effortlessly. 

He managed to gulp down one drink before the spotlight illuminated the center of the podium, announcing Lockhart’s arrival. The crowd erupted in enthusiastic applause, and Ron swiftly polished off another glass of strawberry-infused champagne, blinking away the tickling surge of bubbles in his nose. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” The announcer’s squeaky voice brought silence upon the room along with a dash of nervous anticipation, “Prepare to be dazzled by the one, the only, the Wizard of Romance himself -  Gilderoy Lockhart!”

Decked out in a tailored suit that glimmered under the bright lights, Lockhart sauntered onto the stage with the confidence of a peacock strutting into a henhouse. His jacket, a shimmering spectacle of sequin and satin, practically screamed the title of his autobiography. A bright pink tie adorned with sparkling jewels completed the ensemble and Ron reached for another glass, cursing under his breath.

“Welcome to the most spectacular speed dating event you’ve ever witnessed! Welcome to Magic Matches! Prepare to embark on a journey of romance and enchantment, guided by none other than yours truly,” Lockhart spread out his arms, his voice dripping with saccharine charm. His golden tan, resembling an uneven coat of orange paint, seemed to gleam even brighter under the spotlights. As he bowed deeply, flashing his trademark smile, which could have lit up a room even in a power outage, he dazzled the front row with its brilliance. “So gather ‘round, my lovelies, and let the potent magic of love light up the hall!”

Stopping briefly for dramatic effect, Lockhart paraded across the podium, eyeing his adoring fans before he continued, “All of you who’ve read my book certainly know this is a patented method with a staggering success rate, and tonight you shall all be a part of it! As for the rules… Gents, this will be your night in the seats, but ladies, do not fret,” Lockhart drawled, winking at the women in front of him, “Because you will be holding the reins.”

“So, gents, Candy and Misty here,” Lockhart continued, gesturing at two nearly identical blondes in vibrant red bodycon dresses, “will provide you a list with the names of five ladies you’ll meet in the first round. Your mission is to circle two ladies you’d like to reconnect with in round three. Ladies, you’ll receive a list of corresponding gents and cue cards, each with a question tailored for every gentleman. Your task is to assign one question per gentleman. Their responses will decide which two gentlemen you’ll have the pleasure of getting to know better in round three. During the break, we shall determine the Magic Matches for every one of you love-seeking voyagers, navigating the treacherous seas of romance with our trusty compasses of compatibility.”

“Magic and pirates. Now, that’s a porn plot if I’ve ever seen one,” Ron mumbled into the rim of his glass, eliciting a snort of laughter from a nearby brunette with wild, curly hair. Before he could steal a proper glance, a scented slip was thrust into Ron’s hand, guiding him to a designated table. Amidst a whirlwind of instructions and a shower of pink confetti signaling the start of the event, Ron found himself face to face with a poised blond, her vacant gaze framed by arched brows. 

“Lavender. But friends call me Lav,” She snapped, “And my eyes are up here.”

“I - I was looking at your name tag - uhm - sorry, when the hell did we start?” Ron stammered, turning around in his chair, the brunette’s image still lingering in his mind.

The bodacious blond ignored him, eyes fixed on her card, “Can you improvise a little love poem to ent - entra - ”

“Enthrall?” Ron sighed, turning back to the blond, already annoyed. 

“Yeah that, to enthrall your beloved?”

“Sure,” Ron said with a forced smile, brushing confetti off his sleeves, “Roses are red, violets are blue, … blond is blond, and there’s nothing you can do…”

Lavender gasped and narrowed her eyes at Ron, her glossy lips pursed with contempt.

“..in terms of color or hue,” Ron finished, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Tosser!” Lavender exclaimed, striking an emphatic “x” across Ron’s name before storming off, her cheap black purse swinging indignantly.

Before Ron could properly revel in his wit, another blond took Lav’s place, prompting him to groan as he looked up at the excited woman in front of him. She was about to open her mouth when Ron noticed her Celine Dion-themed T-shirt and wrinkled his nose in disdain.

“Nope. My heart will not go on, sorry. Hard pass.”

The woman - Penelope according to her tag - echoed Lav’s sentiment, branding him a tosser as well, and Ron briefly considered adding the moniker to his name tag. 

“Decent women, my ass,” He mumbled, casting a critical eye over the other tables where hopeless men and women were engaged in animated conversation with potential matches. However, as far as he could tell, the same women that he usually picked up in bars were now trying their hand at speed dating.

“Hello,” A nasal voice interrupted Ron’s thoughts and he shifted his attention to the raven-haired woman dressed in a very revealing zebra-striped blouse taking a seat across from him. 

“Hi there,” He smiled, eyes roaming past the name tag, lingering there for a moment. 

“Pansy,” She said simply and Ron pointed at his tag, “Ron.”

Pansy cleared her throat and turned the card in hand, “Finish the sentence - the ultimate first date must-watch is … ?”

“Magic pirate porn?” Ron gibed, biting his lips, barely suppressing laughter.

“Men,” Pansy rolled her eyes and began to push her chair back, evidently ready to leave.

“Oh, come on Pansy, don’t give up on me yet! I can change!” Ron called after her but his plea fell on deaf ears.

“Seems like I’m pants at this… Oh, hello,” Ron mumbled, sitting up straight as the fourth lady walked up to him.

“You seem to be driving them away on purpose,” she remarked, a coy smile playing on her lips.

“Just testing their sense of humor, I assure you,” Ron chuckled, “Parvati, is it?”

“Yes, indeed,” Parvati confirmed, adjusting her long silky hair over her exposed shoulder, “And? Any luck… Ron?”

“Not really, no. But, hope remains,” Ron winked and Parvati chuckled before she leaned over the table, beckoning him to come closer.

“Listen, you seem like a decent enough guy, so I’ll tell you the truth - I’m very much gay and only here to appease my mother,” Parvati whispered, gesturing discreetly toward an older lady lingering at the back of the room.

“Shame. We could’ve had the cutest kids,” Ron joked, then glanced at her mother again, ”It’s none of my business, but I strongly suggest you ditch the mother after this and go snog a beautiful girl.”

“Same goes for you, I guess,” Parvati giggled, squeezing his hand as she took her leave, “Good luck.”

With a resigned sigh, Ron slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “One more to go,” Ron muttered, running a hand through his hair, and inhaling deeply. The chair scraped over the marble and Ron slowly lifted his head.

“Time to shine,” He mumbled to himself.

And there she was. The curly brunette.

“Magic and pirates porn!” She exclaimed and Ron detected a hint of sarcasm. 

“Hey there again,” Ron waved, giving her a quick once-over as she settled into her seat. 

“Nice to meet you”, The woman glanced at his name tag, then quickly sought his eyes again, “… Ron.”

Ron stared at her tag, frowning, eyes darting between the tag and her hazel eyes. His fingers tapped nervously against the table as he tried to process her name, “Nice to meet you too, Her - uhm - …”

“Hermione. It’s from Shakespeare,” She replied in a slightly annoyed tone. 

“Ah, right, that would’ve been my second guess.”

“Really? And your first?”

“A fierce feminist made-up name conjured to ward off pompous twats and ax murderers.”

“Huh,” She sighed, crossing her arms and leaning on the table, conveying a sense of mild exasperation.

“You’ve definitely got the flannel vibe going,” She observed. 

Ron looked down at his blue and green plaid shirt, “That’s a bit stereotypical, don’t you think, Hermione?” Ron tutted, mirroring her stance, “Who’s to say I’m not a flannel-loving pompous twat?”

“I’d prefer the ax murderer. Anything to end my suffering here,” Hermione huffed, her fingers deftly undoing the top button of her prim and proper blouse.  

“Well then, let’s make it quick. You’re the last on my list for this round. If you get on with the question, we can both get hammered before round two?”

“Solid plan. Here goes: Ron,” She looked up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes and Ron shifted in his seat, giving her his full attention. 

“Oh, this is like a super important one… Maybe the most important question in one’s love life,” Hermione began in a mock-serious tone.

“I hope you got my ring size right,” Ron fanned his face, feigning excitement, “Won’t you get down on one knee?”

“Hey, do you want to get those drinks or not?” Hermione asked, barely suppressing laughter, tapping the table with the question card.

“Ok, ok, I’m - “ Ron pulled his fingers across his lips, pretending to zip them shut, allowing her to continue. 

“Alright… Ron…Do you… believe … in… soul mates?”

Ron arched a brow at her and they held each other’s gaze for a moment before bursting into boisterous laughter.

“I’ve got to say,” Hermione began when their laughter subsided, “You’re actually the only one who managed to make me laugh tonight,” Hermione admitted, a genuine smile softening her features. “And pique my interest ever so slightly.”

“Were the other guys pompous twats?” Ron nodded knowingly.

“Pompous twats barely covers it,” Hermione quipped, scanning the other tables.

“Say… Hermione,” Ron tilted his head, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. He hesitated for a moment, eyes set on hers - appreciating not only her sharp wit but also the subtle curve of her lips as they formed each clever remark. His pulse racing, Ron found himself marveling at her slightly frizzy curls, framing features that were as captivating as they were inexplicably familiar. 

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Hermione’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise dancing across her face, but she met his gaze with a small, knowing smile. For a moment, neither of them spoke - the question hanging in the air between them.

Hermione’s finger traced the chipped line along the plastic cherub’s wing as she pondered her response. The air seemed to crackle with tension, each passing second loaded with possibility and uncertainty.

Then, with a confident smirk that elicited goosebumps on Ron’s arms, Hermione finally replied.

“Your place or mine?”

[changbinsboiledegg]

Can I request Enha reactions to their non-confrontational gf getting in a fight? Like fist fighting/hair pulling/etc. whether the reader wins or not is up to you [=

LMAOOOOOOOO I'm sorry this is very unhinged to me. But I love it soooo let's go. Thank you for the request! 🫶

Fem! Reader x Enhypen.

Warnings: Fighting, violence ofc, blood mentions, bruises & cuts mentions, pent up anger? A bit of angst? Hurt/comfort. lmk if I missed any!

Note: I didn't know if you wanted this to be full of crack or written seriously so I chose seriously.... Kinda. Lmao. I hope you like it and that this is what you meant! ily and if there are any typos, ignore them 🫶

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Heeseung

You were pissed off, to say the least. Being a non-confrontational person, you always knew other ways to manage your anger.

Until this girl insulted Heeseung, who didn’t do anything to provoke her. You and Heeseung were on a date, enjoying breakfast.

That was until you stuck out your leg and tripped her as she fell, causing her to fall face down, stunned.

This gave you enough time to grab a fistful of her hair and yank her up onto her knees before swinging your fists into the side of her face repeatedly as bystanders— and Heeseung, watched in shock and horror.

“Hey man, get your girl!” A bystander hissed at Heeseung. Heeseung immediately shook his head. He has never seen you this pissed off before and the last thing he was going to do was get in the middle of all of your pent up anger.

“Nope. This is between them. I’m fine where I’m standing.”

You won the fight, unscathed, and with a boyfriend who secretly felt honored that you defended him, even if he does wish the situation turned out differently.

Jay

“Ow!” You seethed as Jay dabbed the wet rag as gently as he could over the cut on your cheek. As much as your bruises and cuts hurt, you were still slightly embarrassed for losing the fight against your enemy.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want you to get any infections. Please hold still.” Jay’s tone was gentle and soothing. But he was there to witness the fight, and you could tell he wasn’t very happy about it.

You held still and kept quiet for the majority of the time that he helped you. That was until the silence felt too deafening.

“Are you mad at me?” You sheepishly asked. Jay let out a soft sigh as he applied the last bandage to your busted lip. Your face was a mess after the fight, but now it was a mess covered in bandages.

“Why did you get so angry? You’re never that angry.” Jay’s voice was still gentle as he refused to raise his voice at you.

“I don’t know. I just remember her saying something and-and it set me off.” You replied with as much honesty as you could muster. “I hated it— the anger. Not because I lost, but because it just felt very…”

“Not you?” Jay finished, cleaning up all of the bandage wrappers and bloodied rags.

You nodded, still thinking of words you meant to say, but felt Jay’s response was close enough.

Jay looked at you and put a hand on your shoulder as gentle as ever, “please tell me next time you feel yourself about to snap again.”

You nodded again, vowing to not snap like that again. At least not in front of him.

He leaned down to kiss your forehead on the part that didn’t have a bandage.

“Let’s eat something. We can talk more about this later.”

Jake

“Hey! Babe! Stop!” Jake held his hands up in surprise. You were too blind in rage, pounding your fists against your enemies face repeatedly that Jake’s voice didn’t register.

Jake looked at your enemies boyfriend, who was just as shocked as he was.

“Do something!” He yelled towards Jake. Jake tried to think of a way to get you to stop— to listen, without accidentally getting hurt in the crossfire.

Suddenly, your enemy pushed you off by jabbing her knuckle into your sternum, causing you to fall beside her, breathlessly and feeling as if your lungs had collapsed.

Now you were the one with fists being pounded into your face repeatedly.

You were on the verge of passing out when she abruptly stopped, leaving your face bloodied and sore.

“Let me go!” She screamed. Jake watched briefly in relief as her boyfriend managed to drag her off of you and away from the scene entirely. Then he rushed to your side, collapsing to his knees.

Putting his hands on either side of your face with care, he felt worried that you stopped breathing.

But then you gasped as air started to flow through your lungs regularly.

“Babe! Are you okay?! Can you speak?” Jake was close to dialing for emergency services when you forced yourself to sit up, using your sleeve to wipe some of the blood off of your face, only to wince.

“Jake?” Your voice was weak and raspy. Jake put his arm around you to assist you.

“Yes, love?”

“Did I win?”

Sunghoon

Sunghoon was surprised to see how aggressively you fought back when a group of girls tried to jump you. He was even more surprised to see that his non-confrontational girlfriend had won against all three of them.

You clenched your bloodied knuckles, feeling the soreness taking over. Quickly, you marched over to Sunghoon, grabbed his hand, and pulled him after you as you fled the area.

Sunghoon didn’t say a word, not knowing what to say.

He wasn’t sure if you were still angry or if you were in pain, but he kept quiet until you both got to your place. You quickly locked the doors and went to the bathroom, leaving him standing in your living room.

Sunghoon knew he should ask about what happened eventually. He made his way to the bathroom, hearing the sink running and the door was open ajar.

You hissed, wincing as the water washed off the blood from your bruised knuckles.

Sunghoon opened the door and took your hands in his to examine the damage done.

“I didn’t know you could fight like that.” He commented and reached for the first aid kit under the sink. You lightheartedly chuckled.

“I never had the opportunity before.”

Sunghoon raised his eyebrows in surprise but kept quiet and wrapped two bandage wraps around your knuckles, trying to be helpful. You watched, feeling the anger fading away as you watched your boyfriend helping you.

Sunoo

You managed to get one swing in before the other girl ran away in fear. You huffed, shaking your sore fist to try and alleviate it.

“Um.” Sunoo cleared his throat, hesitantly walking close to you after previously standing back far enough to avoid getting hit during the short-lived fight.

“Yeah?” You turned to him, speaking in a soft tone. You felt a bit of guilt that he had to witness your rage like that. Even if it was for a minute.

Sunoo never thought he would see you punch someone. He didn’t think he’d see you do as little as yell at someone, you were always non-confrontational.

“What… was that about?” He asked, glancing from you and to the direction the girl ran off to. You took a deep breath, rubbing your knuckles.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that.” You apologized, seeing the shock on his face. If you overanalyzed it, you could see a bit of disappointment.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Sunoo slightly frowned. You gently nodded, “she was my enemy back in school. I just didn’t think she’d hold onto our rivalry for this long.”

Sunoo was still confused but then again, he heard what your enemy said to you before you swung your fist into her cheek.

“Just… Please, don’t fight again. Please?”

You felt bad. You never wanted to disappoint him like this. So you agreed.

“I promise. Never again.”

Jungwon

“Hey, it’s okay to cry. You did get hurt.” Jungwon tried to soothe you as you sat in your bed, crying.

But not because the bruises and cuts you received hurt. You were crying because you lost.

In front of Jungwon. And the small crowd that surrounded when the fight broke out.

You were crying from embarrassment and you’ve ultimately decided you could never show your face in that area again.

“Let’s have a movie night. You can pick the movie. I will buy snacks. Okay? Let it all out first.” Jungwon suggested, a caring— yet concerned smile on his face. You felt better knowing he wasn’t entirely mad at you.

Not anymore, at least. He hated seeing you fight. You never fight. Not even with words. He hated it more that you got hurt.

“Okay…” You sniffled, wiping your eyes, careful not to touch the bandages that stuck to your face.

Jungwon seemed relieved when you stopped crying.

“Good. Now please, never fight again. You could’ve gotten even more hurt.” Jungwon gently took your hand in his.

“You also can’t fight.”

“Hey!” You widened your eyes, feeling the embarrassment seep in again.

“Sorry! But your timing was all off.” Jungwon sheepishly chuckled.

And you let it slide, knowing he was right.

Niki

When the fight broke out, Niki stepped back immediately, confused and surprised, not wanting to get in the middle.

He watched, wide eyed and a bit in awe seeing you fight. With how heavy you landed your punches, he wasn’t worried about whether you’d be the one needing a ton of bandages and possible medical help.

But he was worried about you getting into trouble for this and even though he was in awe, he didn’t like the sight of you being angry and aggressive like this.

Even if the other girl started it and technically, it would be self defense on your part.

After a few long second, Niki swallowed back a gulp, “okay, enough—”

He stopped speaking when he saw the girl’s boyfriend angrily stomping towards you, his fist clenched. Her boyfriend was planning to stop you himself.

Even if that meant needing to hit you to get you off.

Niki knew you could take this guy too. But you weren’t aware of your surroundings, only of your target.

Niki scoffed, picking up a decently sized rock nearby and raising it in the air as if he were about to throw it.

“Try it.” Niki projected his voice, causing the boyfriend— And you, to stop.

You saw what Niki was about to do— throw the rock at the guy. You quickly got up and ran to Niki, taking the rock out of his hand and fleeing the area with him.

Note 2: I'm sorry, Niki's was lowkey based off of a dream where it was on sight for everyone because someone ate the leftovers he saved.

[nunezs-stuff]

Maku komori(kamo)rewrite post

He is a child born between a human and a curse with a man's blood mixed in he was the first child that was successfully born without dying in the womb he like his other brothers that were

younger than him had to hear their father toy with their mother forcing her to yet again have another child and some lick of hope they

managed to escape as stated He is the older brother of choso and their other brothers as he was close with them but mostly with choso but while on a mission he was knocked out but suddenly he woke up in a cave as

He never knew who knocked him out but he didn't care as he was upset that he couldn't find his brothers and didn't know where they were but he eventually rebuilding his life and became a bounty hunter and married a nice woman but he had to divorce her and leave her because there was a bounty on him because someone found out he was a cursed hybrid and cursed hybrids are seen as very valuable even a simple limb cost around 35,000 dollars and so he killed the one that put a bounty on his head after he tortured someone that tried to kidnap him and to telling him who gave him the information and the reason he also left his wife was

for her safety as he left her the house and money and after 2 years he ended up having a one-night stand which resulted in kianna's existence but he was never aware of the child's existence and was never contacted but after a couple of years he was

suddenly given a commission to investigate a church he didn't know why but he had to since the money was good but the thing about caught him off guard and made his blood run cold was when he was mailed a letter containing the

documents of his two daughters existence and how they were raised in the church he couldn't put his finger on it but he wanted to be in their

lives they were probably a bit older now but they were still time so when he went to go investigate the church he noticed how jumpy they were and how some of them lied

He didn't call them out on it because he had a commission to complete but he soon met a man that he almost wanted to have as a friend but he quickly learn to hate as much as he hated his

father because because he asked about Yui and kianna he not only lied but he also said he didn't know them which was a lie that he couldn't ignore so

with some threatening and Brute Force he spilled the truth on how girls were in this church to be sent off as sacrificial Brides to vampires for exchange for wealth and

prosperity which filled him with rage because his own children were sent off to that hell hole and

taught him a lesson because death it's too easy and he he left the church in fear because if he was able to find out the truth behind the church and break a man with

his own bare hands then who knows what he was capable of he did actually did Force One of the nuns to tell him where the Mansion was and that information he did get he left quickly but when he was at the Mansion he saw a side he would

never forget his daughter the little one he was looking for the one he wished he knew about so sooner but he saw her covered and bloody clothes and dirt holding a albino vampire's hand as the house was set on fire he soon learned that his oldest

daughter Yui was murdered by those vampires and in a fit of blind rage his daughter killed them because she knew they wouldn't learn

if she left them alive and she wasn't going to let this happen again but she knew she couldn't do it alone as Subaru as her so-called Big Brother helped her kill them he took in both children and raised them as his own he didn't care of Subaru with a Vampire he knew he had a heart because if he didn't wouldn't he just leave her for dead

Now his life was going to be a bit hectic dealing with not only one child but two especially the death of his second and a goal and a wish was to be reunited with his brothers again and hope

they're even alive or even some he hopes but right now he's focused on his children even if one of them isn't related to him blood isn't always thicker than water after all

Personality

He's actually quite calm and mostly keeps his emotions to himself he's not really want to express them unless really needed and he's usually quiet he won't speak unless he really

needs to which is something that makes him terrifying because with that blank face of his you'll never truly know what he truly feels unless you're his brother or his child

But when push comes to shove he is not afraid to put someone in their place or scare the lights out of someone he can show how nasty and violent he can truly be

Likes

The rain

Sleeping

steak

Hunting/ fighting

Spending time with his kids

Reading when he's bored

Comfortable places

Cherry blossoms

Putting and sweets

Cooking when he has the motivation

Dislikes

Religion he doesn't believe in it but he respects people that do

His father

Bad days

Abusive/narcissistic people

When people start a fight they can't finish

Bugs and rodents

Creepy men / women

Hot days

When people talk trash about his kids

When his hair gets in the way that's why he wears it most of the time in a ponytail

Facts

He's actually very handsome but he has a serious face that comes off as very intimidating

His eyes are cold blue with no life in them because after he lost his brothers he felt so

empty he didn't know where they were and they didn't know where he was either which he wasn't aware of but it made him very sad

But he pushes those feelings away because an assassin and a bounty hunter have to push down their feelings in order to kill and work

He actually has a long silky soft hair he likes to take care of it

His abilities

Blood intoxication he can make people go crazy for a single drop of his blood and if they swallow

it he can also make his blood poisonous and he can control blood using his opponent's blood

against them making it rip from their skin but like father like daughter he often ends up getting nosebleeds or passing out and sometimes coughing up blood

He's actually not very picky about his commissions just as long as he gets paid first

He's not just going to complete a commission just to be left on red and to never be paid if they ever did that they would not last very long he's going to take his money that he is owed no matter how many bones he has to break and

As stated he does have a somewhat rocky relationship with his daughter but he still sees her as his treasure and he wants to try his best to be a good father for her and Subaru

He is also not afraid to throw hands with someone and put them in their place he's forgotten the feeling of fear anyway fear cannot control everybody especially those that have forgotten the feeling or just simply can't feel it