#i miss his old man eyebags

[phoenixmetaphor]

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oct 1 - aqua ring

man why does the aqua ring gotta look like… that.

… i am trying something new this october, which is to just.. focus on one au. which isn’t to say every piece will be in the same au, but just that instead of agonizing over prompts, i can just keep developing one idea.

i am also doing a new au. i’m too invested in most of the others to do rushed drawtober pieces for them 🤣

so here we goooooooooooo.

see the tags if you want to know vaguely where this is going. we’ll talk more about it later.

(btw, i am DEFINITELY not doing comics every day all month. i am not doing comics every piece nor am i doing them every day. i mean… let’s be real, it’s me, we’re doing good if you get like…. 4 pieces out of me in october.)

[verinarin]

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞

18+| smut | service top! James; oral sex fem! receiving; grinding; James cumming on his pants; sweetest dirty talk but also patethic(?) I like my man old needy and pathetic.

You’ve always thought that a man who derived pleasure from their lover’s pleasure was a myth. Men in general are selfish entities, they’re takers, not givers.

So for a man moaning and whimpering as he delves his tongue deep into your velvety walls, now that’s a new one.

His name was James. You met him at a bar. The poor guy was a bit out of place. His face bore deep, pronounced eyebags.

His lips were chapped, with the skin close to peeling off; somehow, it made you want to kiss it until it was properly moisturized.

He seemed like he needed company–well one thing led to the other and now you have his calloused hands squeezing your thighs.

Pushing the supple flesh flushed against your chest as he feasts upon you like a deranged starved man.

“Tell me you love it, honey,” he muttered against your slick-covered entrance, the tip of his nose grinding against your clit as he took a sharp exhale.

Fuck, he loves the erotic scent of your sopping wet cunt, wet by either your slick or his saliva; he can’t tell.

“James, you’re doing so well, make me feel so fucking good,” you whispered, fingers tugging on his blonde locks.

He moaned at your praise, his hips grinding against the mattresses for some sort of release.

This guy lapped your juices like it was the sweetest nectar, he kept on muttering how he needed this.

“Honey, can you hold your thighs for me, please?” he whined, looking up towards you with puppy eyes, chin glistened with your juices.

He looks pathetic, but how can you deny him?

Without a word you do what he asked, not knowing what it’ll bring you.

Not a moment wasted before he pressed down your lower stomach with one hand and spread your pussy lips with the other.

He could see your poor pussy clenching over nothing, he has to change that now huh?

“So pretty, honey,” he mumbled, parting his lips and sticking his tongue out to let a fat glob of saliva coat that cute clit of yours before it slid down to your needy hole.

His thumb dragged the little hood over your clit, lubricating it with his saliva, “Cutest little clit,” he mused, looking up towards your teary eyes.

Cute girls always have the cutest clit and the tightest pussy’ he thought to himself.

“J-james….” you whined, missing the feeling of his tongue worshiping your pussy, the way his stubble burns against your skin deliciously.

“Tell me what you need, honey,” he perked up, relishing how sweet his name sounded on your lips.

“Fingers or tongue, which one do you want, hun?” he continued, littering kisses across your stomach.

“Which one you prefer?” you asked, it was a dumb question.

But you needed to know why does this guy took his sweet time to lap you with his tongue other than just quickly rip a climax out of you and stuck his cock inside.

“My tongue so that I could taste your sweet juices, but if it’s not enough for you I could always add my fingers in,” he looked up towards you, like a cute puppy waiting for his owner’s command.

“I just want to make you feel good, honey” he blew cool air over your clit, kissing the cute pearl as he nuzzled to your soft skin.

He needed you to feel good, so he could feel good about himself.

“Use whichever you want, James. I just need you….” you whined, your hole clenching on nothing.

The feeling of being needed, it turned him on so fucking much. “Okay, honey. Just relax I’ll do the rest,”

With that he inched back down, spreading your pussy before sliding his tongue inside.

The tip of his thumb curved up, massaging your spongy walls as he pressed down on your stomach, your toes curled at the pleasure he invoked.

His nose nestled on your clit, with his fingers occupied with keeping your pussy spread for him, he used his nose to flick your slippery clit.

He needed you to come on his tongue, coating his taste receptors with the taste of you.

The air that he breathed through his nose smells like your sex; raw and erotic.

He could tell that the smell of your pussy would linger in his nostril for weeks to come, he doesn’t mind it.

He whimpered as he bucked his hips, his boxers felt sticky from the precum smeared all over as he grind on the mattress.

Hearing his needy whimper spur you on too much, you involuntary clenched on his tongue, your back arched as you grind your pussy against his face.

He took this as a sign, his hand pulled your leg to rest on his shoulder before he squeezed your rear.

Holding the soft flesh in place, his grip was firm yet gentle as he lifted you to his mouth, letting his tongue delve deeper inside.

“James, oh my fucking god–” you threw your head back, screaming in pleasure.

He moaned, the noise muffled by your pussy sending vibrations to your core.

His hand slid across your spine, supporting your back as your body shook from the pleasure of the flesh.

He kneeled on the bed with his thighs spread wide open as he squeezed your ass, his other hand holding your back, slowly letting you down on the bed.

His hand found its way to yours, he intertwined his fingers with yours, offering support to his relentless caress.

He finally pulled his head back to catch a moment’s breath, his eyes ridden with lust with a sense of accomplishment.

Gazing upon your drenched pussy, dripping with the combined liquid of your juices and his saliva.

“Pretty,” he licked his slick coated lips, two of his fingers dragging across your slit.

“So pretty,” he slurped the remaining juices, the sound of his tongue sucking your juices was downright obscene, contrasting his sickeningly gentle gaze on your face.

He used his fingers to examine your slit, spreading it open to see your wet gummy walls.

His cock twitched at the sight, so cute. He slid a digit in, curving it inside before pulling your wall slightly open to see your sticky cavern.

Pretty and pink, so cute.

He took a shaky breath in, inhaling oxygen like there was no tomorrow before he leaned back in, his finger still pulling your wall open for his tongue to slither right in.

“James….you’re so fuckk–” you mewled.

His thumb rubbed your clit in a slow circular motion, coaxing you to drench his tongue again.

He knew he made you climax at least once at this point, but not the mind-shattering type of climax that he intended to do from the beginning.

Once your sweet voice greeted him, he knew then that he needed your voice to call his name in ecstasy.

He kept on bucking his hips to the mattress as he laid flat on his stomach, his tongue stroking your walls, silently begging for you to squirt all over his face.

Fuck, he needed that.

“James I’m close soo closee,” he quickly pulled away kissing your stomach, rubbing the smooth skin with his thumb as he asked, “Fingers or tongue?”

“F-fingers…” you couldn't properly vocalise how much you loved how his finger prodded your insides earlier, you could only gasp and moan at his ministrations.

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll suck on that cute clit for you okay…then I’ll fingerfuck your tight pussy,” he cooed.

He latched his lips on your clit as he slide two of his thick digits in. “F-fuckkk Jamess,”

He could feel his cock burning against the rough fabric of his boxers, the pain edged him on to chase not his high but yours.

The mere thought of your cumming on his tongue, drenching him in your sweet release made his cock twitch.

He thrusted his fingers in and out of your sopping pussy, the squelching sound of your pussy riled him.

He needed to hear more of those erotic sounds mingling with your moans, he rubbed your g-spot. You squirmed at the sudden onslaught, how can he find it in such a short time is beyond your comprehension.

“Cum f’me please….need you to cum, honey,” he whined, alternating between sucking and licking your cute clit.

He needed you to cum, to be consumed by the pleasure he gave you. “Jamess..you’re gonna make me cummm,”

“Mhmm cum for me, honey. That’s it,” he cooed, his fingers vibrating up and down to mimic one of your favourite sex toys. Fuck, how did he do that…..

He could feel your walls clenching tighter around his fingers; your hand tugged on his soft locks, a telltale sign of your climax.

He quickly pulled his fingers out, replacing them with his needy tongue instead, the tip sucking in your sweet nectar as you bloom against his tongue.

Squirting all over his face, you swore you could hear him chuckling as he lapped all of it clean. From your mound to your folds, he sucked every crevice dry.

It took you tugging his hair and pulling off your pussy for him to stop, he looks so fucking messy.

Fucking hell, you need to ride on his cock, right now. “You’re next?” you panted.

You looked down at him licking your juices clean off his lips, his chin glistening with your slippery slick.

“Honey, I umm–already did,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Too embarrassed to confess that he creamed his pants off earlier as he licked your pussy juices clean off your skin.

“Hmm?” you crawled towards him, he quickly sat up to escape, but it was too late.

You found your way to his thighs, you could see the damp spot on his jeans. “O-ohh fuck don’t nuzzle there,” he whined, as you nuzzled your face close to his crotch.

“I’ll wait,” you hummed, resting your head on his thigh.

“Sweetie, wait for what?” he sighed, stroking your hair gently, admiring how beautifully blissed out you look.

“You could get it hard again right?” you hummed as you cupped his semi-hard cock, still confined by his jeans.

”F-fuckk,” he gasped, the night is still young after all.

“Yeah, just give this old man some time to breathe,”

[cinellieroll]

☆ random obey me headcanons!

lucifer, mammon and simeon ♡

part two (asmodeus, levi, barbatos)

part three (beelzebub, belphegor, solomon)

part four (satan and diavolo)

cw: a few spoilers ahead from the main story! also one SLIGHT nsfw on simeons part???

small note: i only started writing on tumblr now so idk much on how ppl do those line thingies on the words and then it teleports to a diff post so if anyone knows how to do it please teach me! thank you :3

☆ lucifer:

- generally has a thing for turtlenecks. if you open his closet you'll see a bunch of turtlenecks in there. lucifer is a very conservative man after all.

- speaking of closet, he definetely has a color code for his clothing. blacks, reds, navy blues, anything dark

- you'll never catch him wearing anything revealing. especially his legs. man keeps em hidden.

- has a very sensitive nose. he always scolds mammon and asmo for wearing such strong cologne. he has great sense of smell in general (the bitch can smell anything) and automatically knows when trouble is near.

- EXTREMELY petty when he doesn't get his morning coffee. if he misses a day without it an extra line will appear on his forehead.

- gifts you souvenirs when he enters the human world. claims he's here for business because diavolo told him but we all know that's not the only reason why he came up there.

- he doesn't like writing with modern pens and only settles with quills. he still has his old quill from the celestial realm and keeps it hidden somewhere.

- almost gave head pats to luke once.

- his nose is FUCKING BEAUTIFUL and his side profile too. he has a nose bump for sure and i will die on this hill.

- he's not a big fan of creamy foods like carbonara or anything with cream in general. if he's eating sweets he prefers the icing to be less flavorful. what do you expect? he's a black coffee lover after all.

☆ mammon:

- room is always a fucking mess, but he cleans when he procrastinates so if you ever enter his room and he's all quiet and cleaning just don't disturb him for a while.

- buys bootleg merch for levi for no reason. one time he found this cheap ruri chan stuffy on sale for like 150 grimm and decided to buy it.

- has fucking shit hand writing bro. sometimes it's small, sometimes it's big but most of the time it's ass balls. like why does your k and h look the same?

- he cracks his knuckles and joints often and can't go without a day doing it atleast once. it's kinda hot tbh lol

- when he's in a happy mood he'll sing in like a high pitched way. idk how to explain it but i just see him doing that especially when he's on cooking duty

- sleeps really late he could almost rival levi on it. surprisingly his eyebags aren't that visible though.

- has really pretty features like long eyelashes, plump lips and visible collarbones. eat your heart out asmo xoxo

- convinced himself he'll never ever like or listen to human world songs until he heard you blasting some music in your room. he was singing that song in his head for days on end but refused to ask you what the title was

- he's a very clumsy guy and often drops small things especially during class like his ballpen, eraser or that pack of bubblegum lucifer ended up confiscating

- before you arrived, he liked to vape or juul when he's stressed or felt lonely but now he only spends his time thinking of you when he feels down.

☆ simeon:

- when he turned into a human he had thoughts of becoming a teacher in christian education but realized it's better if he owned a cafe instead.

- he sometimes joins luke during his baking lessons with barbatos even though he already knows all the steps

- occasionally invites you for sleepovers and buys card / board games for you guys to play with solomon and luke! either he or solomon are always end up being the winners everytime though

- always and i mean ALWAYS willing to teach you something when he knows it. baking, writing, recent lessons, etc

- once the exchange program ended he started writing more and more, especially poetry. and mostly wrote about you and how much he misses you <3.

- started making diary entries after the aftermath of the celestial war.

- during quiet nights, simeon often thinks what it'd be like if he was really close with the brothers.

- his eyes are lowkey creepy sometimes when he looks at you for too long. it's like he's trying to detect every sin you've committed.

- idk why i thought of this but his teeth are literally so pearly and perfect but he doesn't really smile with them in view.

- unintentionally moans sometimes. like when he sits down after a long day you just start hearing a soft "ah~" out of nowhere..

[cindol]

͘ ࣭⸰ ♡ " HOW THEY WOULD DO AS CO-PARENTS WITH YOU ! ” ͘ ࣭⸰ ♡

x fem reader

characters included : manjiro sano, sanzu haruchiyo, ken ryuji, rindou haitani, mitsuya takashi,

tw — everyone is a baby father, drug usage/drug bender mentioned

﹒.ᐟ 𐚁 cw— angst, bonten!sanzu, bonten!mikey, bonten!rindou, sanzu and mikey aren’t very good fathers, fluff

MANJIRO SANO ( MIKEY ! )

He’s in his son’s life but very distant. He makes sure you and his son are always taken care of but he doesn’t have a active relationship with his son, the most he’s ever done is show up to one elementary school graduation and pat his head a few times when rarely visiting your house.

His right hand man sanzu is there though as an uncle, kinda.

SANZU HARUCHIYO

Active in his daughter’s life but the relationship isn’t so strong due to him always going on benders and disappearing. When you get into arguments with him about his disappearing act his response is always the same as he goes through your fridge.

“You disappeared for three months sanzu, with not even a call or a text of where you were.” trying to nail these words deep into his head while he rummaged through your fridge.

“three months sanzu, no call, not even a ‘hey I’ll be out for this amount of days! But I’ll see you till then” you just left me and yuna wondering when daddy was gonna be back.” You weren’t even angry for yourself, sanzu wasn’t your boyfriend so that hole was already digged and burried. What really made you pissed is how he up and left leaving your daughter wondering why he hadn’t visited in such a long time, again.

Sanzu grumbled closing the fridge.“relax relax, enough with your grouching and shit. I was on a trip with mikey, just forgot my phone.”

“You were posting on your instagram story pictures of airplane food.”

there’s silence then a cough from him till he chuckles.“ah well, got the girl a cute little bunny stuffed animal. She still likes em at that age right?”

at least his heart is in the right place, sorta.

KEN RYUJI ( DRAKEN ! )

Might take the crown as one of the best baby fathers. He loves his baby girl, never misses any dance recital or holidays or birthdays to spend with his daughter.

his sweetness with his daughter almost makes you wanna get back together with him, it doesn’t help how even after the divorce he still was the gentleman he showed you from the beginning.

Always so helpful too when you look too drowsy and tired with eyebags.“I can always take sana an extra day you know? Don’t got shit on my weekend plans anyways” he joked at the end but still rubbing your shoulders, just because of how sweet he is.

You were sure that if you told him you have a date he’d tell you to enjoy yourself, much to his dismay.

RINDOU HAITANI

gangster in business but a loving father for his princess. He’s prone to missing a school play or small holiday but makes it up with gifts and bringing over his daughter’s favorite uncle ran.

as a ex husband he doesn’t step over the line, he knows your boundary. He doesn’t have an issue with you dating other men, even when you tell him you’ve met someone new he congratulates you.

“good for you, just make sure he ain’t no problem and I don’t got a problem.” you brushed it off as a half joke but he was very serious.

He uses the excuse of taking precautions for his daughters since he didn’t just want any type of man around her but he was also just curious what type of man you were dating so he hired a private investigator for this man.

when talking about it with sanzu and ran it’s laughable to the both of them.

“Stalking? Didn’t think this old flame you had for your ex wife was this bad.” sanzu says teasingly with a laugh at the end smacking rindou on the shoulder.

rindou scoffed.“this is just for precautions, I don’t want just some jackass around rika.”

“just sounds like you’re studying him, trying to see what you need to apply huh to get her back huh?” that gets sanzu a slap to the back of the head and a chuckle from ran.

MITSUYA TAKASHI

a amazing father to his baby girl, never misses a birthday, holiday. He’s always creating things for her instead of you spending money like a cozy sweater for winter and a purple stuffed bunny with button eyes for her to snuggle when he’s not there.

He knows his place as a ex husband well, he keeps his love for you at distant but still it shows with his actions. He knows how independent you are but still he likes to help you out.

“mitsuya I’m good I promise. I’m a big girl, a cold ain’t ever stop me from getting anywhere.” you say it with a runny red nose making him do a small smile at how cute you looked with it.

That explanation didn’t stop him from walking you back into your house with him following. Originally he came to check on you since the weather forecast predicted it would be a cold windy week, he thanked his conscience for checking up so now he could stop a sick you from going to work.

“nonsense, what kinda man would I be to just let you out in the cold with a runny nose huh?” he was already looking around on your living room couch for a cover to warm you up in.

“just stay there, can’t just let the mother of my kid just be sick.” a half joke from him while he went to look for tea in your cabinet.

[xiefuyu]

overworked.

-- bonten x reader

🖤 — Tokyo Revengers

📝 — non-con drugging (its bonten, what did you expect) (its for your own safety tho...?), cursing, it's bonten timeline that's a spoiler itself, platonic relationship, not proofread

:a/n — I ain't indulging non-con behaviors everyone t___t

Being Bonten’s intern was hell.

But hey, they pay much more than your ordinary 8-5 job so it works and you’re not going to complain loudly. It’s just one of those days where you’re full of work. Like full full kind of full. You wish it was your stomach that was full of food instead.

The light coming from your computer is starting to make your eyes sting and your lower back is being a bitch from how long you’ve been in the same position for hours.

When you first started this intern thing, the work wasn’t this heavy but as the time went by, you noticed how the top executives became comfortable with you to the point that they dumped their report-making to you.

(Let’s be honest, they’re just straight up bullying you.)

(Let’s be honest, you want to kill them.)

But you’re a broke person who’s living in a penthouse given by your boss, Sano Manjiro, and living off of the pay given by Kokonoi so yes, you’re going to fucking endure this like how Takeomi is still enduring life despite being the lung cancer’s incarnate.

You sigh and decide to take a break. You start questioning the existence of time when you saw that the sun had already risen. What the actual fuck? You swear it was just nighttime! Were you taking Sanzu’s drugs without knowing it? Did Bonten decide to prank you and cover your office windows with big TVs?

You groan and curse.

“Fucking great, not a single wink of sleep again.” you tell yourself and slap your thigh for being stupid for letting yourself disassociate with reality.

You stand up, determined to put some kind of food in your stomach because goddamn, you swear you just saw a grim reaper standing beside your desk, raising an eyebrow at you because of your condition.

You flip off your hallucinated grim reaper and start walking. It’s morning, you remind yourself. It’s morning and those goddamn lazy ass executives (Ran and Sanzu) will come in any time now. The thought of dealing with their asses makes you roll your eyes, immediately regretting it because it caused a goddamn pounding in your head.

You just hope you don’t run into one of them while you’re on your journey to get food.

Who are you even kidding? Your office is literally beside Sanzu’s so it wasn’t a surprise when you bumped into him on your way to the general kitchen.

“Good morning, Sanzu-san.” you greet because you’re not an asshole and he’s literally your boss. “Aren’t you an early bird?” he teases, eyebrows wiggling. You roll your eyes in your mind, just giving him a smile and walking past him towards the kitchen.

Sanzu doesn’t miss your darkened eyebags and the fact that you’re still wearing what you were wearing yesterday.

“Oh, right, the fridge doesn’t have anything, kid.” he says and grins as he watches you close your eyes in an attempt to calm down. “Come on, I’ll treat you to the canteen below.” he beckons and you shake your head.

“It’s fine, Sanzu-san. I can pay for my own food. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Sanzu just hums, following you like a lost kid. “Kid, did you finish my report?” 

Kid.

Old ass man.

Calling you kid as if you’re not younger by 4 years only.

“Yes. I’ll bring it to you later, Sanzu-san. Will you be at your office?” He gives you a lazy smile and shrugs. “Who knows?” if he’s not your boss and the fact that he could kill you without hesitation, you would have cursed him in his face already. But you’re kind so you remain silent and patiently wait for the elevator doors to open.

The both of you walk in silence towards the canteen. The atmosphere suddenly drops when the lower members of Bonten see Sanzu behind you. It was a common occurrence but it doesn’t fail to remind you that the man walking behind you was a criminal. A big, experienced, and an unhinged one at that.

The smell and sight of food makes your stomach growl silently and you walk faster, hoping Sanzu didn’t hear it because this bitch will surely tease you for it. Fortunately, he remains silent behind you, just watching you get your food, not even getting some for him. He follows you to a table, sitting across you, still silent.

“Do you have anything to say, Sanzu-san?” you asked when he remained looking at you. It wasn’t uncomfortable for you but you sure as hell found it annoying, wanting nothing but poke his eyes with the fork you’re holding.

“You stink,” he says.

You close your eyes, breathing in and out deeply, calming yourself down. No, you don’t stink, thank you very much. Despite being holed in your office for almost 24 hours, you still smell like your perfume, vanilla extract and pastell herbs.

You don’t say anything, opting to continue eating because you’re fucking hungry and you’re sane enough to priorities yourself before this spawn of Satan himself.

The two of you sit in silence.

You don’t know why but Sanzu got you an ice cream, shrugging when you threw him a confused look. “I did say I’ll treat you,” he says.

You thank him and let yourself smile when you see that it’s your favourite flavour. Without further ado, you start eating your ice cream, unaware of Sanzu’s wicked grin.

A few minutes later, your eyelids feel heavy, making you frown. Is it a food coma? You used to feel sleepy after eating sometimes but you know that it’s not the case this time. You look up at Sanzu and curse when you see him grinning at you.

“Sanzu-san…what…”

“Not drugs.”

With that confirmation, you let yourself succumb to darkness, cursing Sanzu silently and hoping he didn’t hear you.

“Sanzu-san…you fucker…” Sanzu laughs loudly when he hears you cursing him. It’s your fault for trusting him and eating the ice cream that he gave you, honestly. (Not true, Sanzu is just an idiot).

He stands up to pick your limp body up and makes his way to his office. “The fuck? What happened?” he hears Kokonoi asking, looking at you in worry. “Nothing. Just made her fall asleep.” he says.

Kokonoi sighs loudly, “Sanzu, did you fucking put a sleeping pill in her food?” he asks, upset. “Bingo!” Sanzu exclaims, not so loudly, before grinning at Kokonoi’s tired facade at him.

“I told you not to do- whatever.” Kokonoi cuts himself off, already knowing that he won’t get across Sanzu’s thick skull and when he sees you still wearing your yesterday’s outfit. “Bring her to the private lounge, not your office.” he warns. Sanzu rolls his eyes but nods, his plan to let you nap in his office gone.

He’s more than aware that you’ll curse him in your mind when you wake up.

But hey, seeing you snuggling closer to the blanket he put over you and deeper into the pillow was enough to dull the regret he’s feeling for overworking you.

(Don’t be deceived, he’ll overwork you again by dumping his report-making to you.)

By the time you regain consciousness, it was already dark outside, making you sit up abruptly, ignoring the sudden dizziness caused by your action.

“Get some more sleep.” you jump at the voice, head whipping around the source and you curse in your head when you see that it’s just Mikey.

“Boss.” you called out. “I’m okay now, boss.” you throw the blanket aside but stops when you see that Mikey’s hand is playing with a familiar sleeping pill. “What did I tell you about overworking?” His tone was that of command, making your heart beat faster. 

You curse Sanzu for forcing you to rest. If he didn’t, you could have showered in your office so as to not cause suspicions that you stayed in for the night.

Your bosses, the top executives, are absolute menaces (except Kakucho, Mochi, and Kokonoi) but you’re aware that they care about you and your health. Including Mikey, the top boss.

Ironic how they literally hired you to do work that involves playing with Death himself.

“I apologise, sir. I lost track of time.” you answer, bowing slightly, hoping Mikey will just let this slide. 

And he will. He always does for some reason.

You hear him sigh and you look up, victory bubbling in your chest. “Just go to sleep. It’s already late.” he warns as if he won’t let some of his boys drive you home where the security is tight as hell.

“I need to shower, boss…” you say, feeling icky now that you’re hyper aware of the fact that you still haven’t cleaned your body. “Use the shower here, then. I am sure you have clothes in your office.”

You ignore how he emphasised the word office as if he can’t believe you have spare clothes, home clothes, rather, in your office.

In his defense, you’re not supposed to have those kinds of clothes in your office because they belong to your house. Because he already warned you about not overworking yourself to the point that you sleep in your office. 

“Then, please excuse me.” you sheepishly said, bowing at him again. He says and does nothing, just watching you walk away.

When you get back to the private lounge (because you’re not allowed to go home as it was already late) you see Mikey still there.

He points at the sofa bed,

“Sleep,” he commands. Maybe it’s because your exhaustion is catching up to you but you found yourself already slipping away from reality. 

Nevertheless, you were still a little bit awake when Mikey stood up and made his way towards you. You were still lucid when you feel his cold hand patting your head along with an almost familiar soft-

“Have sweet dreams.”

Letting your eyes close completely, you smile a little and mumbles a you, too, Mikey-san, before falling asleep for the second time that day.

A/N; might be a mini series again woah haahah

@bontensbabygirl

[joelmillergirl]

Ghost of My Past- Joel Miller

The one where Joel dies.

Word count: 1,136

Warnings: old man Joel, he's getting older and a little weaker, major character death, grief, sadness, angst, legit a snippet of fuff, just missing Joel Miller hours

Author's Note: Sad gurl hours

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Jackson used to be bright. A place where you could go out and just be you; never having to worry about what other people were thinking. When you had first arrived, all you could think about was what they were thinking. You were weak, years of fighting infected and humans had taken a toll on you, dirt under your nails and eyebags that didn't seem to fade.

The only person you trusted was Joel Miller.

He had approached you one day during an embarrassing anxiety attack; the sorrowful memories from your past seemingly catching you by surprise. You were hunched over, struggling to breathe when a warm hand suddenly rested on your shoulder, catching you by surprise.

"Try and take some deep breaths." He'd simply said, awkwardly looking down at the ground before meeting your eyes. Admittedly, the warmth from his hands, and the way he'd so softy spoken to you had soothed you instantly. "Are you... Okay?' He asked after a few moments, feeling your shoulders untensing from underneath his palm.

"Sorry." You whisper, shaking your head. "Don't know why that happened." It was insecurity laced between your words. Here you were in a sealed-off community with food, houses, clothes, and good people surrounding you, and you were still anxious about being raided in your sleep.

Joel stiffly took his hand back to his side, mumbling something under his breath, "S'okay. Happens to me too. 'M Joel." He greeted.

You offer up your name, thanking him before going your separate ways. The day after that, you'd knocked on his door, presenting a freshly baked pie to him; 'For helping me.' You clarified when he looked at you with a mix of amusement and confusion.

He was surprisingly very easy to love. He drove you up the walls with his teasing and his small remarks, but he was kind and he treated you better than anyone else had. It didn't take long for you two to start dating, a night together after a few drinks had changed everything, and when he saw you interacting with Ellie, teaching her and loving her- he was gone.

Your favourite time of the day was your nights with him. After a few games of Monopoly with Ellie with buttons and rocks replacing the missing pieces, you'd crawl into bed together, your head resting on his chest. You loved it when he talked, feeling the vibration through his chest when he did. He talked about anything; patrols, his worries about Ellie, Sarah. You listened to every word, asked him questions- some he didn't always answer- and in return, you'd offer your own stories, your own memories.

Joel was always there, everywhere you looked. When you step outside on the newly built porch he'd worked on because of the one time you'd complained about a loose plank, the house down the street he'd built a swing for because of the little boy who'd cried when the old one broke, the words people would speak after his name was brought up in a conversation.

"Hi, baby." He'd whisper in your ear, his chest to your back as you prepared breakfast. He'd stand behind you for a while, admittedly getting in your way but warming you up with his body heat. You held him through the nights he broke down, frustration over Ellie refusing to talk to him, anger over his own abilities slowly weakening with his old age, and sadness when memories of his daughter hit him out of the blue.

'Love you s'much. Don't know what I did to ever deserve this. Don't deserve it."

You had your moments together where he'd spend his nights on the couch whilst you slept in your bed, despite your insisting that you take the couch instead, knowing his back was getting bad. He never said anything cruel to you during these moments of frustration- never raised his voice. He talked it through with you, kissed you after and apologised.

You didn't deserve Joel Miller.

The morning of his death had started rough. After he crawled into bed next to you, breaking down in your arms after talking to you about a conversation he'd just had with Ellie, he turned his back to you and silently went to sleep, your shirt slightly damp from his tears. When you woke up and started breakfast, he was in a rush. He mumbled a goodbye as he walked past the kitchen, on his way to the front gate for his patrol.

"No kiss today, Miller?" You called after him, feeling slightly frustrated with his distant demeanour. It wasn't rare for him to dissociate after breaking down; you sensed it was embarrassment, he thought he was weak. He stopped walking instantly, coming back to the kitchen and leaning down to kiss you. At the last second, you'd moved your head slightly, his lips connecting to your cheek instead. "See you later."

You turned away from him then, listening to the sound of nothing as he stood still for a few seconds before he finally moved, the front door closing gently behind him. You sighed in frustration, knocking back the mug of coffee you'd made for him in his owl cup Ellie made for his birthday a few years back.

You kissed his cold lips later that day, saying goodbye to him one last time before turning away from him, everything aching. When you stepped up onto the porch, you broke down instantly. A plank had started to squeak, who would fix it now? You made it inside after a few minutes, averting your eyes away from the stupid owl mug, his stupid chair he always sat in.

The bed was cold when you got into it. Flashes of Joel's face. Cold. Stuffing your face into the pillow, you breathe in deeply, taking in his scent that still lingered. To think that only a few hours earlier you were in this very bed, warm and close to him. Breathing.

Gone was the presence of Joel Miller. His ghost lingered through everything you looked at, everything you smelt. As you stand amidst the echoes of memories, each corner of Jackson a haunting melody of what once was, tears blur the lines between the past and present. In the stillness and darkness of your grief, you found some solace in the fragments of his love displayed throughout your home.

And as you sit on the porch stairs with Ellie, after hours of begging her not to leave, not to go after whoever had brought such immense pain amongst Jackson's residencies, you could feel yourself embracing the ache of his absence, finding strength in the beauty of a powerful journey. Accepting that you may never be the same, but still allowing yourself to carry his memory with you.

No one deserved Joel Miller.

[perfect-bloodcovered-family]

Event: Christmas gift, future sight.{Bad ending}

(TW: suicide(mention), abuse, insanity, bullying(mention), terrorism, children being married to other children at a young age(mention), teen pregnancy(mention), murder, quick mentions of rapists and attempted drugging. You have been warned)

You woke up in a giant garden. A lot of pretty but creepy flowers decorated the garden. You landed in front of shrines. There were 12 of them with some items that were placed in front of them on a fancy velvet black pillow.

Shimizu Nijiue: Died from drowning during her execution. She tried to be the perfect mastermind to please Team Danganropa and protect her little siblings. She had a bowl of crystal clear water with a Nymphaea Caerulea on the water, and a small wooden figure of an accurate  Greek siren. Died at the age of 16.

Irofuka Nijiue: Died from being burned alive alongside his love, Yolei Aisei, during his execution. He died, leaving a baby girl behind. A Serial Killer disguised as a butler. Would have been a wonderful father if he lived past the age of 16. He had a black and red rose, a duster, and a bottle of deadly nightshade on the pillow.

Yolei Aisei: Died from being burned to death alongside her love, Irofuka Nijiue, during his execution. A spree killer who had been enslaved and raped at a young age after her parents’ death, soon took revenge on her former master and swore to kill all rapists and child abusers before she died. Would have been a wonderful mother if she had lived past the age of 16. There was a book called “A Thorough Investigation of Genocide Jack”, a black and red rose, and a crow plushie on her pillow.

Chitaki Nijiue: Died being ripped apart during her execution. Lost her mind from the abuse that was given to her by Team Danganronpa and fell for a man who just toyed with her emotions out of pure curiosity. Was a great doctor at the age of 13, a lovesick killer and mastermind who died at the age of 16. She had a bottle full of a drag she had made to speed up blood production, a needle, and a sage flower.

Kanto Nijiue: Beaten to death during his execution. Found out to be one of the masterminds and sent himself off to his execution, apologizing for putting them in a killing game against their will. He was an amazing brother and friend to many, even loved by the killing game participants who were supposed to hate him. He had coloured bandages, a bracelet with the words “Lil Bro'' on a boxing glove charm, and a gladious on the pillow

Iroryuko Nijiue: overdosed on 50 bottles of vitamins, committing suicide. Bullied at a young age due to his father’s past and actions. He committed suicide after his twin brother’s execution. There was a Gladiolus Flanaganii which is also called “Suicide Lily”, a pair of sunglasses that looks like Hajime Makunouchi’s sunglasses, and a bracelet with the words “Big Bro” on a boxing glove charm on the pillow.

Iroha Nijiue: Suicide, hanged herself to death. She was a wonderful sister, a wonderful mother, and a wonderful painter. She will be missed by so so many, and I am sorry, dear mother. I’m sorry for not saving you and for existing, please forgive me. The pillow had a purple hyacinth, a white Carnation, and an Okoden(a money offering) of 132,765,000.00 Japanese Yen(a million us dollars).

The rest were Iroha's older siblings and parents. It states that whoever made the shrines didn’t know the siblings but put money, their favourite food, and white lilies on their pillows. Iroha’s parents got only orange lilies, a message to the dead parents saying “Fuck you”, and a bloody dagger that might have been used to kill said, parents. It was clear that the meaning of the orange lilies in this situation aren’t positive.

You noticed the ground near a trash can with rotten food and dead flowers in it was wet. You looked around to see a 16-year-old girl sleeping in a bunch of flower beds of beautiful but creepy flowers. She had long, messy, orange hair; tired eyebags, Iroha’s fair skin tone, a Hope’s Peak Academy uniform jacket on her shoulders; a black dress that looks like a funeral dress and a ball gown at the same time, made from satin. She had a silver crown with a black veil covering her face, just enough for her face to be seen from up close, but covered when far away. She looks to be in distress, a nightmare instead of a dream. She kinda reminds you of Irohana Nijiue.

[kikuowo]

THE LONELY TREE

PAIRING: sanzu haruchiyo x reader

SUMMARY: comforting him <3

WARNINGS: slight manga spoliers about sanzu’s past. self deprecating thoughts . i did NOT proofread so goodluck lmfao

A/N: omg…hi hey guys im.. alive what. ive had this in my drafts for EVEEEERRRR and finally found motivation to finish it. its not long and its not great but its something. i miss tr and i miss sanzu my pookiebear…

every so often, haruchiyo would return to this state. his old self. once again he was timid and quiet, the kind boy you remembered when first meeting him.

he went from his loud teasing nature, to locking himself in the bathroom. he would stare into his reflection with dim eyes that seemed to be far off into his mind.

haru thought he was hideous. bright obnoxious pink hair, something so childish for a top ranking gang member, that paled his already ghastly skin even more. freckles dotted across his nose and cheeks, he had always hated them as a kid and now even in his late 20s he still wont acknowledge that no amount of scrubbing will wash them away.

two large jagged diamonds were etched into his skin. just thinking about them he could still feel the sharp stabbing pain from the edge of the plastic toy like it happened yesterday. he thinks this might be the ugliest aspect of him. he could tolerate the pale skin, freckles, eyebags, and wild hair. all easy fixes, he thinks, but has no motivation whatsoever to do so. however, the scarred skin on each corner of his mouth would never, could never, be fixed.

his appearance was just one thing that made him hideous. his action and, really his whole existence was hideous.

never was he good enough.

not good enough for their mother to stay. not good enough for their father to raise them. he was a terrible brother, teaching senju wrong and always disappointing takeomi.

he was a bad friend.

he killed mochi. one of the few people who he thought truly cared for his well being, even thought of him as a younger brother.

he was a bad boyfriend.

haru knew he wasn’t good to you. he knew you deserved someone normal. someone who isn’t an addict. someone who can go out freely and take you out on dates. he knew you deserved someone who didn’t lose their temper easy like him, who hurt you not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well. he’s not sure why you’ve been following him around so long, but he also isn’t sure what he would do if you stopped.

rindou had warned you through text about haruchiyo’s sudden drop in mood. you immediately dropped everything and rush home to him, wanting to stop his self loathing quickly before it turned for the worse.

when you arrived to the apartment all lights were off, drapes closed and everything was quiet. if you didn’t know any better you would think no one was home. but you knew he was home, if not for the shoes thrown haphazardly by the door, the soft sounds of crying could be heard.

you ponder on calling out your arrival, deciding on just being loud enough to let him know you are home, but not enough to startle him. you make your way to the bathroom and quietly knock three times before pausing then entering.

haru stands slouched in front of the sink. his rose colored hair messy, eyes red and puffy, and a frown set on his lips.

taking a slow breath you walk up to him, your reflections side by side. you know he knows you are there, it shows in the way he slightly tenses and his hands begin to shake. you want nothing more than to comfort him, however knowing he dislikes overbearing people holds you back for a moment. unsure and unmoving, you take this moment to really look at the broken man in front of you.

you see his pain, you see his hardships, you see his worry, you see is sadness. but you also see his pretty blue eyes that always look at you with love and hopefulness. you see pretty porcelain skin that blushes a pretty pink when he gets flustered from your words of love. you see rosy lips that you love to feel against your own and that you know he loves to use to praise you, to make you feel loved.

you also see two scars, one on each side of those lips. deep down they have always made you feel a sense of sadness. a once happy little boy scarred for something he didn’t do, insecure to the point of covering his face for years, a moment forever changing his life.

but they also made you happy. they were apart of haruchiyo, the man you loved with every atom inside of you. anytime a diamond appeared throughout the day you instantly thought of him. how happy he made you, how much you missed him, when will be the next time you can hold him? kiss him?

snapping out of your trance, you once again walk up to him. slowly, allowing him time to retract from you, you wrap your arms around his middle and lay your head against his back.

he tenses even more at first before slowly but surely relaxing into your hold. you place one, two, three kisses between his shoulder blades, payment for letting you comfort him. he places a cold hand over one of your own, a silent thanks and a green flag to comfort him.

and so you do, holding him in the cramped bathroom slowly swaying the two of you and placing kisses every so often onto him and listening to the steady thrumming of his heart, one he knows solely beats because of you.

[sprout-senior]

demon old man and his forever 12 years old ghost adoptive son he hates and is stuck with.

terror speaks all prim and proper while dressing like shit, while moon dresses all prim and proper while talking like every 12 year old boy ever. does he know the meaning of the swear words he’s using? no but that’s not gonna stop him

image descriptions under the cut

[image one: a drawing of corrupted nightmare sans, done with black ball point pen and colored with a light blue marker. he is wearing a baggy unzipped sweatshirt and sweatpants with slippers. he has one hand in his pocket, and his stance is wide. his shoulders are a little hunched. his singular eye has a heavy eyebag, and his expression is neutral, but could be seen as annoyed. he has no mouth. beside him, written in purple ballpoint pen, is the word Terror, with a capital T. this is implied to be his name. end image one]

[image two: a drawing of passive nightmare sans, done with purple ball point pen and colored with a light purple marker. he is wearing a long sleeved collared shirt, with a very simplistic belt around his waist. his pants do not have a distinct style, but they are shaded to be darker than the rest of his clothes. he is wearing boots with two rectangular buckles. he has his arms resting at his sides, and his legs are positioned together in a way that implies he is floating. his singular eye socket is empty, completely colored in. half his skull is caved in, with a few cracks spiderwebbing out from various parts of the hole. his expression is neutral, but could be seen as frightened or upset. he is frowning slightly with his mouth open, revealing that he is missing a tooth due to one of the cracks in his skull. the rest of his teeth are not defined. beside him, in black ballpoint pen, is the word Moon, with a capital M. this is implied to be his name. end image two]

please let me know if there’s any way i can improve my image descriptions! accessibility is important to me!

[villetela]

I forgot this dude of mine and decided to bring him alive again.

THIS WAS HIS OLD LOOKKK I MISS MY ART STYLE IN THIS.. this was also sort of a gift for a someone that who's famous and I mainly adore their art before and yet I still do. (Y'all already know who) my ver of sun has eyebags now while the old one was energetic, man my art style here was so friendly.. I miss the old times- (/srs)

[bked0n-lorazepam]

"RSV"

The cold atmosphere surrounding the two men dampened the mood plenty, and the harsh coughs of the patient in front of them made it worse.

House had taken a case of a seven year old girl who hadn’t been able to walk since she was three. Whenever pressure was put on her left leg she would get a shooting pain all the way up to her spine.

No doctor knew why, other than that it was immovable and that she would probably never use it again. She and her mom had come into the clinic due to a respiratory infection, and House found her background ‘interesting.’ 

After a plethora of examinations and not-so-legal operations, he and his team found a tumor in her calf and in the middle of her spinal cord. How all of her other doctors missed them baffled the man, truly.

But that was how he was now sitting next to the girl showing her magic tricks as Wilson discussed with her mom possible treatments. 

“We could remove them and the dead tissue that surrounds the tumors, but it’s a tough and long operation that doesn’t have the highest chance of working.” Wilson stated lowly to the crying woman.

“How high?” She choked out, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

“A good, twenty-percent chance.” He estimated and thought about the severity of the girl's illness. “Her respiratory infection also doesn’t help much in the process, but if we don’t take those tumors out now, they might not be able to come out at all.”

The mother looked over at her daughter and watched as House pulled out a card from behind her ear, and then she saw him flick the girl’s forehead when she said it was the wrong card. Her mother laughed slightly, and then looked back at Wilson.

“Where do I sign?” Wilson smiled at her words and nodded to the door, “I’ll show you the reception.”

=======

The woman came back to the room and hugged her daughter, kissing her forehead. “Are you ready to get better, sweetie?”

The girl nodded her head and grinned, a tear falling from her eye.

Wilson walked in and snorted at House, who had fallen asleep in the chair with cards spread out all over him. 

“House.” He called out to the man, repeating it louder again. House still didn’t wake up, and Wilson scoffed before looking at the girl and the woman. 

“It’s about to get a little loud.” He warned them before he stood in front of the girl and offered his hand out. She took it, and he used his other to take off a cord that connected her to her heart monitor. It beeped loudly, repetitively, and House jolted awake. 

“Huh?”

“Welcome back, we almost lost you there.” Wilson said sarcastically, and House rolled his eyes. Wilson looked back at the girl, and he and House both grimaced when she coughed on his face. 

“I am so sorry.” The girl said and covered her mouth as she finished coughing. 

Wilson smiled tightly at her and connected her back to the heart monitor, “It’s all right, it happens more than you think.”

=======

“Where’s Wilson?” House barged into Cuddy’s office, completely ignoring the man she was with.

“House!” She scolded him, gesturing to the other man. “I’m in a meeting with someone. Knock next time.” 

“Oh, really? In that shirt I thought you were trying to proposition him a little something-something, if you catch my drift.” He raised his eyebrows to punctuate his sentence and grinned.

Cuddy gritted her teeth, and excused herself from the other man before walking out of the office with House trailing behind her.

“Wilson is at home sick with RSV. I told him to leave when I saw him this morning with eyebags heavier than yours and when I heard him cough his lungs out in his office from outside his door.” 

House looked at her and hummed before taking off without a word. The woman groaned and turned around, stopping one of the assistants. “Clock Dr. House out of work, please.”

=========

House lifted his cane up to Wilson’s door and knocked to the tune of ‘Shave and a Haircut’. He didn’t get a response, so he jiggled the handle and opened the door when he noticed it was unlocked. 

“You know, I could kill and rob you right now.” He shouted out as he walked into Wilson’s living room. It was eerily quiet, and he didn’t like it. The man thudded his cane on the ground three times and heard a faint cough as three other knocks followed from Wilson’s bedroom wall.

House’s eyebrows furrowed and he went to see the sick oncologist, roughly opening the door and turning on the lights. “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.”

Wilson groaned loudly and grabbed one of his pillows to cover his head with, coughing underneath it. He groaned even louder when House poked him with his cane, right before House jabbed it into his side.

“Ow! House!” Wilson uncovered his head and looked at the other man, holding up his hand to the light above them. He coughed a bit, and House let out a quick ‘yikes’ when he saw just how bad Wilson looked. 

The man in question had eyebags darker than his own hair, and his eyes were incredibly red and puffy. His lips were dry and cracked, and he had dried drool on his chin. His cheeks were red as well, and his hair was tousled like he just got thrown off a bull. 

“Jesus Christ.” House murmured, taking in the sight of his best friend. The said man had only grunted and thrown his face back into his pillow, coughing into it. 

“If you’re gonna gawk, at least turn the lights off.” His voice was muffled, but House understood it enough to flick the light switch and leave the room.

The man stood there for a second, staring at the door before going into the kitchen and grabbing Wilson’s keys from the glass bowl, and leaving to go to his own house.

=======

Wilson’s eyes opened when he heard his front door slam shut, and he inhaled deeply and sat up. He ran his hands through his tangled hair and carefully stood up, making his way to his bathroom. Washing his hands when he was finished with his business, he turned off the water and dried his hands while trying to sniff the air.

He couldn’t smell or breathe very well, but there was a slight smell of Thai food that caught his attention. He fixed his hair and left the bathroom, and wobbled to his kitchen, where he saw House sitting down on his sofa and eating noodles while watching ‘General Hospital.’

“Save any for me?” He croaked out and cleared his throat. 

“Fridge.” Was the only thing House said through a mouthful of noodles, and Wilson made his way to his fridge.

He pulled out a box of more noodles, and noticed the grocery bag on his counter. He reached out for it, and pulled out a bottle of Nyquill, Aspirin, Tylenol, allergy medications, and Motrin.

He opened the bottle of Tylenol and grabbed two, tossing them into his mouth and fitting his head under the sink to down them with the tap water. He grabbed the Thai noodles and sat down next to House, digging into his food. 

They both sat there in enjoyable silence until Wilson noticed all of the new pillows and blankets that sat on his reclinable sofa and spoke up.

“What’s all that for?” He mumbled through his noodles. 

“Doesn’t matter.” House said simply, pushing himself off the couch with his cane and taking his trash and bowl to the kitchen. Wilson stared at the cushions and shrugged, continuing to watch the TV. 

When he was finished, he got up and also took his bowl to the kitchen, and he coughed into his elbow as he placed his bowl in the sink. “Are you going to pay rent, at least?”

“Nope.” House popped the P and typed away on Wilson’s laptop, not bothering to look at the man. Wilson deadpanned at House until he decided to walk away and go back to his room, flopping onto his bed and falling asleep there.

The other man was searching for drug cocktails that he could inject his friend with to get him better, and he grinned devilishly when he found one that he had access to all of the drugs.

He leaned over slightly to see if Wilson’s door was open or not, and stood up and quickly made way to his bag when he saw it was closed. He pulled out what should have been a med-kit, and took out the drugs in it. He chose what he needed, and made sure all of the right ingredients were put into a syringe.

He slowly limped to Wilson’s room, opting out of using his cane so that he didn’t cause too much noise and wake him up. House opened his door carefully, and his nerves eased when he heard the loudest snore he’s ever heard in his life.

 He ticked his tongue and made his way to Wilson, pulling out a sanitisation packet from his pocket. He lifted the sleeping man’s shirt and carefully rubbed it onto his back, freezing when he stirred. Pulling out the other packet, he wiped down the needle slowly and injected Wilson with the cocktail quickly. 

He froze again, expecting Wilson to wake up and yell at him, but he didn’t. He was still fast asleep, and still snoring. House smiled in success and tossed the syringe into the trashcan by Wilson’s bed, and covered it up with crinkled tissues. He then left the room and closed the door, and went back into the kitchen where the laptop was. 

House re-skimmed over the article with the side effects and he stopped when he saw something slightly alarming.

“Patient may fall unconscious for any time ranging from 16 hours to 2 days. Watch closely and monitor all the time. Any illnesses that the patient may have when the cocktail is injected will dimishness.”

“Shit.”

=======

Wilson woke up after twenty-six hours with cotton mouth, a diaper on, and no idea where he was until he saw House sitting on a chair reading a magazine. 

“House?” He grumbled, lifting himself up to look at his clock. It was late, 1:24 in the morning to be exact. He looked back at House, and the man stood up and slapped the back of his hand onto Wilson’s forehead and held it there. 

“Feels fine.” The man said, and he grabbed his cane and left the confused Wilson to his own devices. 

Wilson didn’t know what happened, or what to do, so he chose to take a shower and freshen up. When he was done, he saw a glass of water on his bedside table and downed it immediately.

He sighed and stood there, unsure of what to do once again. That was until he noticed he felt much better than when he fell asleep.

He went to find House, and saw him in the kitchen again making what he assumed was an omelet. Staring into the back of House’s head, he felt that something was wrong.

He went to sleep with RSV and the worst headache and cough of his life, and now he felt like he could run a marathon.

“What did you do?” He questioned, and locked eyes with House when he turned around.

“What, no ‘thank you?’ No, ‘Oh my goodness, House. I feel so much better, thank you for your help and kindness?’” House mocked, tossing the omelet onto a plate and holding it out for Wilson.

Wilson felt iffy taking the food, but he still did and he sat down at the table as House served him a glass of orange juice. 

“It’s two in the morning-” “I don’t care, eat your food.”

“M’kay.” Wilson didn’t argue and he grabbed his fork and ate, huffing down all of it and drinking every drop in the glass. “So, what’d you do?”

“I drugged you with seven different drugs.” House told him, grabbing Wilson’s plate and putting it in the sink before filling his glass back up with more juice. Wilson sat there and stared at him in disbelief, no words could come out of his mouth. 

“Right.” Was the only word he could say, and he downed the drink in his glass. His mind was racing with many things he wanted to tell his friend.

He was in awe that he would put him so close to death, and that he would even think of doing such a thing that could one again, put him so close to death. It was insane of him to do, and he was flabbergasted. But what came out instead of yelling was, 

“You cared that much?” House turned on the water to the sink and grabbed a sponge and soap and started doing the dishes, ignoring Wilson’s question. 

That was the only answer Wilson needed, though, and he smiled at the back of House’s head. 

“I’m telling your team when I go into work.”

“No the hell you aren’t!”

“Oh, yes the hell I am!”

[thehistoriangirl]

The Tides Have Veiled [Eleven]

This chapter was cut in half for being too long (like 7K long type thing). I hope to upload the other half before next Saturday :D

Viktor x Fem!Reader----3.3K---SFW

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis:  Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: The consequences of last night's storm hadn't stopped yet, proving that the sea is as rutheless as she's hungry. Maybe you can trade some of your secrets for her own?

Tags: Strangers to Lovers | Ghosts | Mermaids/Sirens | Slow Burn | Bonding Time | Forced Proximity | Mystery | Spooky Imaginery | Verbal Violence against Reader| Dysfunctional Family Dynamics |

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @blissfulip @bittercyder

Eleven: The tears run down toward the sea;

When the sun poured inside the lighthouse, the storm had gone away as if it had never existed.

Like any other morning, you rolled over the cold cot, the old springs grumbling beneath your weight.

There was a foreign smell coming from the other half of the cot, like oranges and black coffee. Your eyes opened wide, hands scrambling around as if to search for the full-grown man that had vanished from the cot.

Was it all a dream?

“Good morning, Miss,” Viktor greeted, his back toward you as he was cooking above the hearth, the pan sizzling in contact with the flames. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Then no, it hadn’t been a dream.

“Um.. hi, hi, Viktor. Good morning,” you said, covering your mouth when a yawn escaped your lips. “What time is it?”

He hummed, looking at the old clock hung in the west wall, tucked beneath the stairs. “Barely six in the morning. You can sleep some more if you want."

You sat, rubbing your eyes. Upon the greyish morning light, you could see Viktor's eyebags surrounding his gold pools for eyes.

"What about you?" You had to say. "You look tired. You can take the cot, I'll go nap on the couch upstairs." Now that it was plein day, you didn't have any fear of staying in the beacon room. Not that Viktor needed to know about the twisted machinations of your mind.

Viktor put the pan over a wooden board in the middle of the table, the smell of scrambled eggs filling the little ground floor. He gestured for you to sit, politely ignoring your attempts at trying to brush your hair with your hands; with the humidity of the past storm, it was impossible to tame.

“You didn’t sleep well last night,” you told him. Of course he couldn’t, you thought, comparing the soft mattress and plush blankets against the bare, old cot and rough blankets that had seen better days.

Viktor didn’t try to hide it. “The storm woke me up,” he told you, gesturing with his fork. “The window upstairs broke. I think it was the wind.”

Your run ran cold, and you felt yourself getting shivers. The bloated face of the woman with its hollow eyes haunted you, and suddenly the plate of scrambled eggs didn’t seem as appetizing.

“Did you check it?”

“Eh… no, I didn’t,” Viktor said between bites. “I can’t climb the stairs holding the lamp. I just heard the glass breaking. I apologize. I should’ve checked it.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you answered, almost automatically. You didn’t want to discover if the ghostly woman was only trying to harm you, or if she was trying to hunt him down, too. “It’s fine, Viktor. We’ll fix it soon enough.”

"I'm going to ask a glassmaker to come and take the dimensions of the window to change the whole panel. It’s dangerous to have a weak glass against such winds. You could end up hurt.”

You paused for a moment. “Oh. Today is your evaluation test?” Time had gone flying, with almost a month since you got married, with him coming to the lighthouse to pass every night under the same roof as you.

Viktor nodded. “Yes. But worry not. I’m planning to return here as soon as I’m done with it.” He squirmed around on the chair, putting his coat on as the windows of the living room started to stain with mist from the lightened hearth.

“You don’t have to,” you said, though probably he did it because you had seen what a journey of the city made to his body, and yours, for that matter. "I can imagine it’s very taxing to come and go in one day.”

Viktor dismissed your concern with his hand. “It’s alright, Miss. I can rest once I’ve returned here. Oh, that’s right, the power hasn’t come back yet.” He told you, standing to turn on the lonely bulb above your heads. “I suppose I’ll pass to ask the electric company about it.”

“Don’t the mayor of the town have to do that?” You asked.

Viktor smirked. "The mayor of this town lives in the city, so I don't think he had noticed about the power outage, no."

Not that you blamed him, even if you wanted to—if you had the opportunity to leave, you would also never put a foot on this beach again.

As you finished breakfast, feeling as if you had eaten bricks instead of food, you decided to check the beacon room as Viktor washed the dishes. You didn’t want him to exhaust himself climbing all those stairs when he had to go up the hill for his luggage and then walking around the city later that day.

As you took the first steps up, you noticed something amiss midway to the top.

Footstep marks were still wet against the wooden floorboards, amorph drips of a dragged long cloth that left behind a trail of saltpeter, water, and sand.

Your stomach turned, and you prayed your food wouldn’t come out as you overstepped the marks with your shoes, keeping up the rhythm of your steps to deter Viktor from any suspicion that something was wrong.

The beacon room's floor was sprinkled with glass shards shining like diamonds against the sun shyly peeking through the horizon; a cold wind moving your hair to convince you that you weren’t dreaming there where the window frame was supposed to be, now laying broken against the wall.

Water was splattered everywhere, and it was a miracle that it hadn’t started to leak toward the ground floor. Your boots created ripples with each step you took, the sand collected at the bottom of the shallow pond muddying the clear view of the still water. Just like another tidepool, and this time, you were the creature trapped in it.

You saw some blobs of a black substance floating away, like rotten blood that couldn’t mix in with the water. Unbeknown to you, you had been clutching your sweater close against your chest at the sight.

Because then everything had been real.

And if that woman was real…

You pictured last night, her sadistic grin against the window as she held a rusty knife, the glass starting to break under her smashing attempts. You couldn’t figure out how much did it take her to break it, and how you didn’t hear it.

Viktor did—he had told you that the glass broke, but you didn’t? How was that possible?

Your thoughts flew apart as you scanned the scene, grateful that the control room was blocked by an uneven threshold that kept any water away from the hermetic door.

“Miss?” Viktor called. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes! Yes, of course! I only have to mop the floor.”

After some minutes, you heard Viktor’s pace entering the beacon room, his golden eyes widened as he took in the flooding scene. As he walked further toward the window, you noticed how the blobs of black blood clung onto his clothes, and into your ankles.

“What is this?” Viktor said, holding the rusty knife between his fingers, the touch of the metal leaving behind a trail of black ink against his fingers.

“Must have flown inside due to the storm,” you replied barely seconds before he answered. The ghostly lady may have let it here to finish the job the next night, you thought, feeling shivering traveling along your spine. “Do you think the wood will root now that it’s humid?”

“With some luck, it won't. The wood will get dry with the sunlight, and we can schedule a varnish session for the floor later this week." Viktor hummed, keeping the knife in his pocket absentmindedly.

“Let’s put some wood boards covering the broken window,” he started, gesturing toward the control room. “Ah, yes, yes! The floor first,” Viktor said, observing his cane starting to get dirty with the rest of the sand, saltpeter, and black goop with a curious yet intense frown.

You nodded, going toward the locker to retrieve a couple of buckets and all the cloth you could use to dry and mop.  

“Eh… Miss—” he started, his eyes seeking something inside of yours. However, the rest of his words were drowned by the growing cacophony of an angry mob outside.

You tilted your head, turning toward the stairs. “What is that? Is that outside the lighthouse?”

Viktor sighed, his lips glued in a thin line. “That’s for me,” he said, crossing the room and starting to walk down the stairs with a muffled groan of effort as he was descending as fast as he could.

“Wait!” you said, feeling the heavy ambiance of the beacon room now that he was gone.

As you descended the stairs behind his heels, you caught the glimmer of something pink and orange against the thin sunlight that had started to enter through the ground floor.

As Viktor opened the door, you knelt above the step, hands carefully tapping away until your fingers prickled with the now familiar outline of a shell—the shell Viktor had given you for good luck.

Looking back at the wet trail of that ghostly, ragged dress, you noticed that the marks stopped just where you were, a step over the shell tucked between the wall and the step.

“YOU’RE A KILLER! A MONSTER!” Someone screamed outside, and by instinct, you bolted down the steps until you crossed the entrance threshold.

Viktor caught a vision of you from his side view, using his left arm to stop you from coming in front of him.

“I must remind you that the malfunction of the whole electric suppliance to the town doesn't fall in my jurisdiction," he said, his voice cold and stern. “I have my emergency generator to keep the beacon going, but alas, said device is also connected to the only electric installment in town.”

“Don’t come here to give us a sermon!” You heard the voice of a woman scream, her tone uneven and raw. When you peeked over Viktor’s shoulder, you saw her blue eyes puffy from crying, her lips dry and bitten. “The storm came here because of you! Because of your cursed bloodline!”

"The only good thing your family has ever done was to build the lighthouse," other townsfolk said, the man that owned a small thrift store where you had bought your clothes. "And that charm has long gone. You should consider relocating, Mister."

Your mind traveled to the living room of Viktor’s apartment back in the city, to his health diminishing and the burning sensation of your lungs filled with saltwater.

He couldn’t leave, just like you couldn’t, either.

“I believe you’re the one that should relocate if you don’t wish to keep experiencing such storms,” you heard yourself saying to Mr. Edmund. “You know what it takes to leave one step away from the sea. How unruly she is.”

The man recognized you, of course, he did. Probably all the people gathered there had carved your face into their minds, the living child of the woman who drowned herself after returning from the city with a fatherless baby. The one who died from shame. From heartbreak, maybe. Feeding you the same hopelessness that had been oozing from you since the womb.

Viktor called your name in an almost nagging tone.

“What are you doing here, child? Do you fancy to keep attracting curses upon your family?” Edmund said, before being distracted by a pointy elbow softly poking his side.

Another woman, this one dressed all in grey, tiptoed to his ear and whispered something.

You tugged Viktor’s sleeve in the meantime. “What happened?” you muttered.

"A boat of three fishermen went fishing yesterday night. All of them are dead," Viktor answered just when the old man mumbled:

“…Oh, is that so? Then I guess she has embraced her curses just fine,” the old man said to the lady, who took a step aside when you fixated your view into her brown eyes.

“Who can be so stupid to go fishing in the middle of a storm?” you said. A lonely figure started to separate the crowd of people with their elbows, mumbling to step aside.

You recognized her despite her makeshift black veil covering her face; the ragged clothes were the same, and that look of rage and disappointment in her eyes had only increased from the last time she berated you in the foyer of Viktor’s house.

Your aunt strode toward you, her hands made into fists. She didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon, if it weren’t for Viktor’s cane pressing into the middle of her chest, stopping her from taking another step.

It was then that your aunt broke, pushing Viktor's cane away as she tried to desperately have her hands on you.

“YOU KILLED HIM! IT WAS YOU! YOU SENT THEM! YOU SENT THE MONSTERS TO KILL HIM!” Your aunt screamed, thrashing against Viktor’s body as he tried to push her away. “DAMNED WILL BE THE DAY OF YOUR BIRTH! A THOUSAND TIMES YOUR NAME BE DAMNED! YOU AND YOUR WHORE OF A MOTHER!”

“That’s enough,” Viktor said, finally grabbing her arms and tossing her aside, quickly putting his cane in the hollow of her throat. "I would advise you to calm down unless you wish me not to be so kind."

Your aunt fumbled her black skirt against the muddy entrance of the lighthouse, looking up at you with icy blue eyes injected with blood.

“You killed him…” she sobbed. “He who only treated you as a daughter, you killed my love,” she said, the words stealing the air from your lungs, the blood from your veins. "You had killed everything I've ever loved. And if that isn't proof enough of how cursed you are child, I don't know what will."

Your jaw started trembling. Your uncle was dead? But why had he gone fishing in the middle of a storm? "Wh—what?"

“You sent that monster to kill him,” your aunt said, looking at the townsfolk as her bitten nails pointed toward Viktor and you. “She’s a witch! Just as her damned husband! They’re the ones summoning such monstrous creatures from the depths to attack the town! They’re the ones that should die at the cruelty of the sea, not us!”

Viktor thumped his cane against the metallic threshold on the floor. CLINK. CLINK. CLINK. With his free hand, he took yours, cold fingers rubbing slow circles on your knuckles.

“I saidthat’s enough,” he said very slowly, his golden eyes darkening in the slightest shade of dusk, where the rainy clouds start to cover the sun. “Unless you wish for a curse to befall all of you, you will leave. Now.”

The townsfolk looked at each other, their faces pale and clearly scared. They turned their back toward the both of you and quickly descended the cliff, all together like a group of sheep.

“I’m going to make you pay,” your aunt snarled at seeing the people behind her starting to vanish, with Viktor’s eyes still impassible glued on her. “To the both of you.”

As soon as your aunt had turned around, Viktor slammed the door of the lighthouse's entrance closed.

Looking at you, he reclined his cane against the wall to rub your arms up and down, trying to keep you from shivering.

Gently, he called your name, trying to follow your evasive gaze as you felt the burning tears start to crawl their way out of your eyes.

“You didn’t kill them,” Viktor told you, his face mere inches away from yours. “This isn’t your fault. Look at me. Yes… there it is,” he said, his index finger curled against your chin. “This isn’t your fault. Repeat after me…”

“…This isn’t… my fault…” he muttered, and you followed with a quivering voice.

“T-th-this is-isn-isn’t m-my fa-fa-fault,” you sobbed, your aunt’s words cutting deep within yourself.

"Come here." Viktor surrounded your waist in a soft, slow hug, allowing you to bury your head against the crook of his neck, taking in his soothing essence. His hands rubbed circles up and down your back, cooing soft soothing words against your hair.

Time seemed to freeze in your newly discovered sanctuary, there where you felt his heartbeat soothing yours, and his breath guiding you until you had calmed down enough to feel embarrassed for his proximity.

You gently pushed his chest away, and his hand gently ran down your arm, taking your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on, I’ll make you some tea,” he said, entering the ground floor he guided you with a hand in your wrist.

Although your eyes were glassy from all the tears, you saw the suitcase then, tucked in a corner of the room.

“No, Viktor. You… you have to leave now or you’ll miss your examination test.”

He gestured away. “That’s not the crucial matter at the moment.”

You tugged at his hand, stopping him from pouring water inside a kettle. “You can’t lose your evaluation because of nothing.”

His golden eyes glued you in your place, his gaze quickly detouring from your face to where your hands were still intertwined. “It’s not nothing,” he said, his golden eyes piercing as they got framed under his frowned eyebrows. “It’s about you.”

Viktor put his hands over your shoulders in a gesture midway between a hug and a simple pat. After your heart skipped a couple of beats, he leaned in closer, enveloping you against his chest. “… I care about you,” he mumbled as the hug ended, with his fingers resting on the soft curve of your cheek.

“I care about you, too,” you admitted, though it was hard to look him in the eye. “That’s why I’m telling you to go and chase your dream—you’ve worked so hard for it, too.” So many sleepless nights studying to keep his projects balanced. He even married you to be able to participate. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

It wouldn't be the first time you faced a familiar death alone, although, of course, you didn't tell him that.

Viktor looked as he was about to retort, but you wished to be left alone for a while, to process your emotions and let things go.

"Please, Viktor," you muttered, and he closed his eyes with an almost imperceptible nod.

“I’ll be here before midnight,” Viktor assured you. “Please take care, alright?”

You nodded, and he squeezed your free hand before letting it go.

“Then… eh, I’m leaving now.” Viktor took his light suitcase, the edges of his coat flapping away with the wind. “Wait for me, Miss.”

He looked at your waving hand one last time before turning around, the soft clicks of his cane against the rock muffled by each blow of air until he wasn’t there at all.

Once again, you were all alone with the roar of the ocean that had been pacified by the recent killings, the waves lazily lapping at the shore. And further away, in one corner of the beach, near the swamp area, you saw them, all moving in groups like little black ants.

The funerals. You could smell the burned incense from up here, and for a moment you thought—would somebody be looking at my lonely figure from down there? And if so, what would I look like, for them? Like another ghost? Or a monster, perhaps?

You took a deep breath, letting the marine smell enter your nostrils, owning you, mixing you with it.

The lighthouse could wait because you knew that you couldn't leave in peace if you didn't say your goodbyes. Not when, this time, you could.

Perhaps then you could give said memories to the sea, hoping that she will be pleased with both blood and tears.

[robintherobiner]

Bruce Wayne, for some unknown reason, has just made his seventeen year old son the new acting CEO of Wayne Enterprises and all of his employees are annoyed beyond belief. 

They have dealt with the man’s ridiculous behavior for decades, always holding back the urge to slap him across the face and scream ‘stop being such an idiot’ so as not to get fired. They have put up with his drinking habits, his need to flirt with every woman he meets, and his lack of professional knowledge. They have never complained when he missed meeting after meeting, or when he called last minute to say that he had forgotten to fill out the reports on his desk despite having been reminded of them over and over and over again.

And this is how he repays them.

By making a child their boss.

Most employees are already drafting their resignation letters and searching for job offers because they have only just gotten comfortable with the system they’ve created, where everyone pretends that Lucius Fox is in charge and Wayne never comes into work to disagree, but now the system is ruined. 

They watch the boy arrive at work, by skateboarding up to the doors. They look at his messy hair half hidden by his beanie, his baggy shirt that says ‘I got my lobotomy done at Claire’s for 50% off’, and his ridiculously large eyebags. They take note of the can of Monster Energy in his hand, and his bulging tote bag that is almost definitely full of more, they prepare themselves for an inappropriately loud introduction full of sex jokes and insults as they sit down. 

The seventeen year old walks into the conference room and gives them all a wide, feral grin and says,

“Hello. My name is Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.”

[alittledoseofchaos]

Marvelous Miracles (Please Disregard the Ghosts)

Note: bold and italic means that it is said in french.

First, Prev,

'In. Out.' Marinette thinks to herself as she clambers out of the van.

"Here you go, Miss Marinette." She feels her nose crinkle in displeasure as she turns to accept her suitcase.

"Just Marinette, please." She feels her eyebrows furrow as Alfred chuckles quietly. Bewilderment spreads through her as he just keeps walking up the steps. Realizing she's being left behind, she rushes forward. She's just in time for him to reach the door. She turns to him to repeat herself when she hears a crash.

Spinning around to face the oak door, she finally takes in the sight around her. A vast, stone building looms infront of her. The manor's windows are small, but plentiful and built with stone mullions. The manor is clearly old with all the chips she could see in the stone. Gray skies threaten rain and pale vines blanket the walls.

'Goth and elegant, just like Juleka.' As soon as the thought forms, a rush of inspiration and aching loneliness fills her. Pushing aside both, she pulls out her phone to take a picture.

Her thumb hovers over the button as the feeling of being watched overcomes her again. Her grip tightens. She finally understands how people can feel like they're suffocating even when they're outside. The overwhelming sense of walls closing in, inch by inch. A pressure presses against her neck and cuts off her air flow.

Another abrupt crash brings her back to reality. She takes in a large, greedy breath. Feeling the air fill her lungs grounds her slightly. She opens her eyes, and shudders when everything appears to be tinted green.

"Miss Marinette, are you alright?" She turns towards the voice hesitantly. Meeting Alfred's eyes, she goes to answer when the front door slams open. A young man rushes out, his black hair being the only distinguishable thing as he runs through.

"I'm going to kill you Drake!" Another blur yells. The limited sunlight glints off the sheen of metal. The second blur tackles the first and their both sent tumbling down the remaining steps.

"I do hope you both decided to wash your own clothes, since you've clearly decided to ruin them." Alfred cuts in. The blurs freeze before scrambling apart. There before her stands two boys.

One appears to be nineteen, with incredibly pale skin and calculating blue eyes. The other boy has forest green eyes and looks to be about twelve. She watches as the older boy takes a knife out of the other boy's hands and throws it to the side. Why does he have a knife? The boys stand straight and tall. The youngest's face scrunches into a scowl.

"Really, another one?" The boys say in sync. Seeing that the boys were close to murdering each other, Alfred steps in.

"Master Tim, Master Damian, if you would please refrain from attempted murder infront of our guest, that would be wonderful."

"So successful murder is still on the table, then?" The shorter boy says dryly. Marinette watches in awe as Alfred raises his eyebrow and the boys reluctantly shuffle inside. Following them into the foyer of the mansion, Marinette eyes everything around her with bug eyes. Alfred clears his throat, staring at the boys pointedly.

"Oh, right, I'm Tim and you are?" The older boy greets. Taking a closer look, Marinette sees that eyebags as dark as an abyss weigh down his eyes.

"Uh, Marinette, Marinette Dupain-Cheng." He nods solemnly.

"Cool. Bye." She flounders as he walks off. She hears Alfred sigh behind her.

"I guess that means you're Da-" She stops as she realizes that Damian is no longer with them. "What in camembert cheese is happening?"

She ignores Alfred's quiet "pardon?" and turns to a man descending the stairs. His black hair falls into a careless look, but his dark blue eyes are full of careful consideration. He appears very relaxed, which should've been her first clue that things were only going to get worse.

"Hello! I'm Dick! You must be Marinette."

"I- yeah?...Isn't that a cuss word?" She mumbles.

"It's an old nickname for Richard." He replies breezily. Marinette nods her head.

"Yeeeaaahhh, Alfred may you please take me to my room now? Or back to Paris, atleast I'm used to the crazy there."

Alfred smiles at her warmly and Dick laughs. Heat blooms across her face. She crosses her arms as she tries not to throw her arms up in exasperation.

"Tired of us already? And here I was, hoping you'd enjoy your stay here." A man in a suit says from her left. Another person with black hair and blue eyes She feels her eyes widen as she realizes who he is.

"Th- that's not what I m- meant Mr. Wayne! I'm really grateful for you helping me out and-" Bruce Wayne smiles and cuts off her rambling with a wave.

"I'm just joking, Ms. Dupain-Cheng."

The next hour is a blur for Marinette as she goes through a brief tour and Bruce lists off the ground rules. When she finally gets to her very large guest room, her mind is whirling. Her phone lights up as a shrill ringing fills the room. She reaches for the phone and answers it absent-mindedly.

"Hey Nathaniel..."

[marvol0]

OUTSIDER (7) || Rabastan Lestrange WTM

Series Synopsis: When the truth comes out about the future inside the walls of Hogwarts, on the first night back in 1977, what will happen for those involved with the chaos that ensued?

Secrets outed, Lies revealed and true intentions determined.

Pairing: Rabastan Lestrange x Fem!Regulus Black

Notes: Short chapter :)

Everybody had once again settled down in their seats, Regulus was back between her boyfriend and son, her best friends sat at her feet. Some people had brought snacks and drinks back to where they were sitting to enjoy while watching the movies.

The screen once again filled the hall with light.

6th January 1980.

A group of three men were shown, black eyebags beneath their eye sockets. The men were older versions of Rabastan, Evan and Barty, they were stood, heads bowed slightly, at the back of a group of people.

The same people from when Regulus was given her mission.

Regulus burrowed into her boyfriends side, hands carding through the hair of the two boys sat at her feet.

"We have been betrayed by one closest to us." The voice of the Dark Lord Voldemort started, he somehow looked even less human than one week before. The skin on his face hugged his cheek bones, lips now flushed with a periwinkle tone, eyes a grotesque red colour that reflected the blood he had spilled.

"Regulus Black not only failed her mission to assassinate the Potter and Longbottom families, no, she also informed them of said mission and as result the two blood traitorous families have gone into hiding." He informed the group, earning some silent sounds of outrage in response.

The three men looked down, the people around them thinking it was an act of shame for their association with the youngest Black, only Rab, Evan and Barty would know it was a show of pain, after three days of their beloved friend and partner in crime had been missing they knew she would not be returning.

The, hardly-human, male continued. "I have seen to her punishment myself, as of the thirty-first of December Regulus Black is dead." He said maliciously.

"Lier!"

"No you didn't!"

Were some of the reactions from the halls mass, the followers of said Dark Lord were in outrage that the man they followed, looked up to even, had blatantly lied to their faces.

The scene changed once again.

A beautiful manor was shown, white brick walls graying with age had vines of ivy covering them, pointy turrets made up of black slates sat proudly upon the mansion looking out on the surrounding gardens, which housed a dozen regal, roaming, platinum peacocks. The breathtaking house had fences of bushes, shaped to perfection, lining the wide walkway which led to a tall, polished gate.

Those from the Malloy family sat up straighter than before, proud of all the awed faces of those around them.

"You really do have a wonderful home Abraxas" Commented Delilah Selwyn to her old classmate.

"Thank you Delilah but I must give the praise to my wife, Lysistrata is the one who takes the most care of the grounds." Lord Malfoy replied, Lys smiling before pecking her husband on the cheek.

The scene followed a beautiful owl to one of the many black framed windows, it perched on the window ledge before tapping its beak lightly on the glass. A house elf unlocked it before taking the mail from the owls clawed foot, feeding it an owl treat.

"Pip is thanking you, Axl." Pip, the elf, said before the bird shook its feathers and took off once more, Pippa left with a pop landing in the sitting room in front of a three month pregnant Narcissa Malfoy.

Squeeling, Clarity Selwyn (soon to be Greengrass) turned to her best friend, squeezing her tightly, gushing over how beautiful she looked and how she 'must be the godmother of your son!'

Narcissa nodded hugging her back, happy to see her best friend so exited for her.

"Mistress Narcissa, Pip has the Daily Prophet  for you as well as some letters." The young elf handed them to the woman who was sat on one of the green leather couches, cup and saucer placed on the wooden end table.

"Thank you, Pip." She replied, the elf leaving the room with a quiet pop, the woman looked down at the days headline, brows furrowing and alarm swirling in her grey eyes.

The scene moved to show the newspaper.

[cloverhasnobrain]

Something we dont talk nearly enough about:

Touchstarved Revivebur.

Think about it, this man spent 13 years all by himself, he is so touchstarved it almost physically hurts. Humans are social creatures, after all, the body has its needs!

You are helping Wilbur in his burger van, as Ranboo asked you to since he wanted to take the day off with his family.

As Wilbur cleans the cabinets, you reach out for a spice bottle that is in the wrong place, and your hands accidentally brush.

It was only for a split second really, but such a simple touch shifted something in Wilbur, something he had repressed for far too long. His entire arm seemed to have caught fire, and a lump started to form in his throat.

You and Wilbur weren't very intimate now. He used to be your best friend, even your lover for some time, but he distanced himself from you, and when he died, your heart broke in a million pieces. There was an unspoken peace treaty between you now, but the elephant remained in the room.

You finished rearranging the various seasonings when you noticed Wilbur had stopped. You assumed he had just dozed off, but you could hear his soft shaky breaths, and knew something was wrong. "Wilbur?"

No response.

"Wilbur... Will? Are you ok?"

You reached out to touch his shoulder, fingers slightly grazing his greasy trench coat, when he inhaled sharply, his fists clenching at his side.

As you carefully peaked at his face, you saw a glimpse of the old Wilbur. His eyes were widened and glassy with emotion, fear? Longing? You had no idea.

It was like a punch to the gut, seeing him so shaky and vulnerable.

"Oh Wilbur..." Your hands glided up to his shoulders, thumbs caressing the nape of his neck.

That was it for Wilbur. He tipped over the small amount of control over his emotions he had left. Pearly tears stained his face, making his already proeminent eyebags stand out even more, and your heart broke as his lip trembled and he averted your gaze.

"Wilbur, what happened?" You whispered softly as you huged him and he melted into your touch, almost taking both of you down. He clinged onto the back of your button up with all his might, nuzzling softly onto the side of your neck.

He let out a sob as you lovingly stroked his back, your soothing contact being all too much for him, yet not enough.

He couldn't find the words, he couldn't verbalize anything, his comprehension of reality twisted, but you were there. You were grounding him.

"You... so soft- Y/N, I'm sorry. M' so sorry" he babbled as you stroked his back and lightly scratching his scalp, and he could ask for nothing more. "It's ok, Will... It's ok..."

Neither of you knew exactly what he was applogizing for, but primes, you forgave him. You slid onto the floor with him still clinging onto you, climbing onto your neck, shaking and engaging in a string of apologies, as you kept repeating he was ok.

You kissed his temple, squeezing him lightly as he played with the collar of your shirt, he layed on you, his stubble grazing against your clothed chest. He blushed, curled into a ball, before burying his face onto your collarbone, pressing light kissed onto it, as you tangled your fingers in his chocolate curls, some white threads of hair beggining to grow as he aged.

You swayed lightly, pressing several kisses on his face, and he looked up with those tired, doe eyes, a faint smile starting to brew, as he sniffed lightly and once again buried his face on your chest, squeezing you tenderly.

"This is nice. I missed this."

"What happened Will?"

"I- " he swallowed tightly, blinking away tears. "When I was in the limbo... I had no one- no one to talk to, no one to touch- for 13 years" he sighed sadly.

"Oh, Will..." It broke your heart to see him like this. You peppered his face with kisses once more, making him giggle. You could only imagine how sexually frustrated he must be, but pushed thought away quickly.

You both stayed like this for hours, you could watch how the Sun painted his hair gold, and gave his chocolate eyes an amber glimmer. You caught a very rare glimpse of Wilbur. He, for the first time since he died, felt like he was resting in peace.

As the Sun went down, you noticed him nodding off, and decided to let him sleep. You would be so sore, but he really needed it, you figured, brushing your thumb over his slitghly swollen eyebags and kissing his forehead as he nuzzled into you.

Yeah, you would have to take care of him more often.