#not blind but steadily approaching blindness

[milkb0nny]

Touch Cannot Lie

Pairing: Ivar x blind!reader

Summary: You were born without sight, but it never hurt your confidence as much since you managed to navigate and live just fine. However, other people belittle and underestimate you, which builds frustration. Though, one day you would learn someone else was feeling the same way.

Note: So, I haven't been active for some time but I'm trying to get back into it. I've been a lot into vikings and supernatural again, which is why I'm feeling motivated. 💕🫶 With that, I hope you enjoy this fic!

Warnings: fluff and butterflies in your stomach

Word count: ~1200

You stepped through the snow, its cold crunch beneath your boots breaking the silence of the forest. The paths were familiar, stuck in your memory from countless adventures shared with your siblings. These woods were more than trees and trails - they were a place of cherished moments with your beloved brothers. Your siblings had always believed in your strength, your courage, even though you couldn’t see the world as they did. They saw you as you, not as blindness.

The gods had denied you sight, but in its place, they blessed you with keen senses and an ability to see the truth in others. You learned to navigate not just the world, but the depths of people, detecting their intentions with ease. Over the years, you encountered every kind of person: those who pitied you, those who patronized you with unwanted help, and those who pried with questions born of insensitivity. You rarely encountered interest in your person, only the challenges of being blind bothered others. Yet, amidst them all, one man stood apart; someone who saw you for who you truly were, treating you with respect and dignity.

As you made your way deeper into the woods, the stillness was broken by the sound of footsteps. There was something distinct about them, something you have heard before. A rhythm accompanied by a dragging noise, as if someone were pulling a heavy object. Though they weren’t heading back toward the town, but deeper into the forest, just like you did. Before you could wonder further, voices emerged, familiar and comforting.

“Y/N!” a voice called, clear and warm. It was Ubbe. A smile crept across your face, and your pace quickened toward the raspy voice.

“Ragnarssons, what brings you out on this winter’s day?” you asked softly, moving confidently toward the voices.

“Careful, don’t fall,” Hvitserk said, reaching out to guide your hand, but you declined with a slight shake of your head. You continued steadily until you reached Ubbe and Ivar.

Ubbe spoke, explaining that they were discussing family matters and strategies for their revenge against the Saxon kingdom. You listened intently, walking beside Ivar and matching his pace. Ivar‘s voice filled the breezy air as he turned his attention to you.

“What about you? It’s rare to see you alone, Y/N,” he asked gently, though his eyes - unseen to you - glued on your frosty hands which were slightly red already.

“My brothers are busy preparing for the next feast in the grand hall,” you explained with a light chuckle. “I needed a walk to clear my head. Sometimes calmness is the best companion. Though, I imagine you know a thing or two about that, with all those brothers.”

The Ragnarssons laughed, their light heartiness warming the icy air. You had grown up alongside them in a way; your paths had crossed many times in Kattegat especially the past years, forging a bond that was both familial and unique. The conversation shifted back to their plans, but soon another set of hurried steps approached.

“Ubbe! Bjorn needs us for an urgent discussion,” came Sigurd’s voice. “He hasn’t had much time for us lately, but this is important.”

Hvitserk hesitated, glancing toward you. “Then we’ll go,” he said, “but Ivar, can you stay with Y/N? Just to ensure she doesn’t lose her way back to the town.”

The words stung, though you masked it well. Once again, you were reminded of how others saw you. Not as the capable person you were, but as someone fragile and in need of protection. You knew the paths throughout, and you trusted your senses well enough to not lose track. Though you appreciated their care, it still hurt to be defined by your blindness.

“I’m sorry for being a burden,” you murmured, frustration slipping into your voice.

“That’s my brothers’ foolishness, not yours,” Ivar replied quickly, his tone firm yet kind. “Do you want to walk further? I don’t mind spending time with you. I would not find a place in their discussion anyway.” He was mad about the fact he had been left alone once again, but he didn’t mind that he had the opportunity to be with you alone.

You smiled at his sincerity, warmth spreading through you as he lingered by your side. He understood your struggles in a way few could. You liked that, the way he never asked if you were struggling because of your eyes.

Kneeling down to meet his gaze, you felt his presence. A warmth that contrasted with the chill of the snow. The scent of leather and iron lingered around him. “I wish I could see you, Ivar,” you said softly. “I imagine you look simply human, despite what others say about your legs. Maybe you look like a god. Or perhaps a beast. Or maybe something else entirely.”

Your words spilled out before you could stop them, and the blush rising to your cheeks portrayed your embarrassment. Ivar, however, found your flushed face endearing, a rare vulnerability you shared only with him. A moment which only the two of you shared, which he would take advantage of.

“I wonder the same,” he admitted with a small smile. “Would you like me to guide you? Not to help, but to let you see in your own way.”

Your hand hesitated before reaching out, and his cold fingers enveloped yours with surprising gentleness. He didn’t feel violent but you knew his temper well enough. Up to this point you rarely touched him, perhaps a few times as a kid. Though, this moment was something different - a side of Ivar you haven’t heard of yet.

He guided your hand to his face, resting it lightly against his cheek. His skin was cold, yet the moment felt electric. Your heart fluttered as your fingers traced the contours of his face - his strong jawline, the curve of his lips, the furrow of his brows, the shape of his nose. Ivar guided you, and you followed along with a racing heart.

“Are you sure?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to overstep.”

“I’m sure,” he replied, his grip firm but kind. “I’ve seen you do this with your brothers. It’s how you imagine what we look like, isn’t it?”

You nodded, a smile spreading across your lips. His understanding touched you deeply. As your hands roamed carefully over his features, you noticed yourself savoring the moment.

“So,” he asked, a teasing edge in his voice, “am I a god or a monster?”

“You’re neither,” you said with a quiet laugh, your hands cupping his face. “You’re just human. But a very unique one.”

His eyes softened, though you couldn’t see the admiration in them. In this moment, he felt truly seen, not for his weaknesses, but for his humanity. And for the first time in a long while, so did you.

[my-chemical-aromance]

i really wish i could make my prescription glasses heart shaped,,,

i think life would be so much better if i saw through hearts

[lokiiied]

autistic/sensory issues people 🤝 indigenous peoples 🤝 animals 🤝 hating light pollution

[hypnagogics]

UM HI SURPRISE. i promise im working on loreful things but this is bouncing around my brain atm i need it to leave so enjoy. fluffy? smutty brainrot meow yk the drill idk what this is. 18+ whiny & teasing subtop!ellie. "baby/babe" petnames, praise, fingering (r! receiving).

"mmmm i wanna feel you baby." laying on top of you in bed, ellie squeezes at your waist and pushes her head further into the crook of your neck. "you're so warm, so soft. need more." she mumbles, pecking at the delicate pulse point beneath her lips. she coaxes delighted giggles to burst from you, and you feel her face widen into a smile against you, her teeth grazing your neck. fast forward a few moments, and she's sitting by your knees, face flushed, rose petal mouth pursed into a needy pout, shaky hands pulling at your waistband, causing it to snap back against your skin. "lemme fuck you. just wanna make you feel good, m'kay?" the way she's asking—it's so earnest, so eager. "mhm." you nod in approval, heat already pooling in your lower abdomen.

she chuckles, then leans over you to capture your jaw with one hand, and kiss you deeply, her tongue teasing yours with a tentative flick. she knows all the tricks, every little maneuver to make you clench around nothing and crave her more. but, dear ellie being ellie, has as much fun with that as she can.

the moment she feels you buck your hips skyward to bump against her front, she pulls away. cheeky grin taunting you, although without malice behind it. "so cute when you're needy, hm?" "shut. up." you hiss, also in a lighthearted manner. another thing about her, is she never takes it too far. she doesn't irritate you genuinely, just enough to work you up perfectly. to mold you and melt you under her touch, like putty.

her elegantly tattooed hand slinks down your body, tweaking every peak and valley it passes by, finishing its journey between your legs. she palms your pussy gently over your clothes, biting her lower lip when she sees the micro expression on your face. in one swift motion she removes the fabric barrier, your legs instinctively fighting to close in order to combat the cold air. wordlessly she prevents that, greedily eyeing your already-sopping folds, like a lioness about to devour a kill.

"so fuckin' pretty, fuck babe." your heart flutters at the praise, and warmth floods your face. ellie takes her time, swiping one lazy finger through your pussy, collecting your slick to spread you open, unable to hold back a moan as she watches the sight before her. the light touch sends your spiraling. your eyes rolling, back arching, it was nearly embarrassing.

she can't help herself, and stuffs her middle two digits inside you, within no time at all locating your spongy g-spot, beginning to frantically prod at it. her other hand pushes your knee further to the side, and thumb of her working hand stretching up, circling your thumping clit with increasing urgency.

by how she was acting, you'd thing she was the one getting fucked. your breaths speed up, and fingers twisting the sheets underneath you to stay grounded, and you wish you could force your eyes open to watch intently, because the pathetic look on her face was utterly golden.

whines tumble from your lips, louder and louder, reacting to her actions. your brain getting screwed to mush, you will her to go harder, faster, deeper, and as if she's a mind reader—she does just that. "c'mon, yeah, look at thattttt. so beautiful. this all f'me baby?" her voice crackles and wavers, little whimpers cutting her off.

the metaphorical elastic band in your abdomen gets tighter, and you arch backward, and she feels the way you're sucking her in, the pulsing of your clit under her thumb getting more intense as the peak approaches. you cry out her name, and can almost hear her sound tearful as she eggs you on to cum, blinding pleasure overtaking your being, you make a mess all over her hand. she works you through it steadily until the overstimulation aches, until your body is wrung of every ecstatic shockwave. by the time it passes, you open your eyes, and it seems as if she's just as out of breath as you are. she wraps you in an embrace, murmuring praises into you, massaging your still-tense body.

insert your own ending im lazy. if you'd like to be tagged in my fics, click here! thank you for reading, asks, reblogs, and comments are appreciated more than you know. ♡

tags: @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @ashaynep @mascdom @xysbree @liddysflyer @fortune777 @brunaedn @bunnitewsilly @mimasroom2 @deliriousrn @infiniteinquiries @thekill3randthefinalgirl @kissyslut

[hydrobunny]

'cause he really knows me (so call it what you want)

tags: hurt/comfort, established relationship, argument?, happy ending! 1.1k words

a/n: slightly different style than my previous stuff but it's been a while. fic based on call it what you want.

nagi seishiro isn’t known for being a very public persona.

it’s usually reo who takes that crown; the heir isn’t afraid of posting whatever he has on his mind. his best friend, on the other hand, might as well as not exist for all the presence he has on social media.

you close out of nagi’s blank profile with a sigh.

the teen in question is barely three feet in front of you, headset glued over his ears as some fast-paced first person shooter game blazes on. as if he could hear the sigh, nagi turns around immediately.

“you good?” he asks, dark eyes flicking over your form in scrutiny.

you give him a smile. “fine.”

after a pause, he turns the chair back around, muttering some apology into the headset.

with another exhale, you roll over onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. sometimes you wondered if nagi was purposely ignoring you when you were over, or he was actually just that dense.

for god’s sake, you were in his bed. you had been in it for at least two hours, and he had been on the game for probably three.

you eye the back of his head again. all that time on his computer was going to give him a headphone dent soon enough. hell, if you squinted, you could already see it forming.

in one smooth motion, you roll over once again to step off the bed. “bathroom,” you say, not sure why you’re even bothering.

compared to his LED lit bedroom, the rest of nagi’s household is bright, with large windows littering almost every wall. the afternoon sunset peeks in through slightly closed window blinds, you breeze through the hallway, avoiding making any noise.

you’re not really sure where his parents go all the time. you saw them once, for a slightly awkward dinner, and then never again. either way, he doesn’t seem to mind, so you don’t press the issue. you’re pretty sure he’s spent more time with reo than them anyway.

(deep inside, you wonder if it bothers him. you think it might bother you.)

as you enter the bathroom, you realize that you didn’t even need to go.

so why are you here?

you stare at your reflection through the large mirror, eyes tracing the shape of your facial features slowly. is there a particular reason nagi finds better company in the form of online games? does something not fit his many likes?

you find your hand steadily approaching your mouth, and actively push it down. it’s taken you long enough to stop your anxious habit of biting your nails down to the quick, and you’re not excited to start that again.

instead, you go for something safer: turning on the sink and absolutely dousing your face. the coldness helps ground you, helps you realize that you probably should take the hint and just leave.

your phone’s in your hand before you realize, some dark emotion taking over to write a message to your boyfriend.

going home. ill text you tomorrow.

you’ve made a decision. and honestly, you think nagi’s made one too. you doubt he’ll even see this message- or even notice you’re gone- for at least an hour.

it still takes you two minutes to leave the bathroom.

the sound of your steps almost echoes in the large house. your vision blurs with every beat of your heart, and you know that you’re simply being stupid.

crying did not act as a viable solution. crying fixed none of your problems.

your fingers clasp over the door handle-

and there is a hand on your shoulder, bringing you to an abrupt stop.

“hey,” nagi’s familiar voice says. “why are you leaving?”

you turn. and you can spot the exact moment nagi realizes you are crying. his usually tired eyes widen to an extreme, then he’s stepping backward, taking you with him.

“y/n, what's wrong?” he asks. “did something happen?”

so the sobs start coming faster, for you realize he still doesn't understand- he pulls you into his embrace, and your cries become muffled by his soft hoodie. you can tell he’s trying to awkwardly console you from the rhythmic pats on the back.

when you finally manage to get out your words, he immediately freezes.

“sei- sei, it’s you.”

nagi gently pulls you away from his chest. he stares down at you with uncomprehending eyes, still so heartbreakingly concerned.

“it's me?”

those two words get your own tirade flowing.

“i don’t know if you know me anymore. i don't know if you still want me anymore,” you inhale, guttural. “i look at us and wonder if you would notice if i wasn't there. i look at us and don’t even see a couple. i- i think you might be better if i wasn’t here.”

there’s a beat of silence. he swallows.

“i would.” he says softly.

you meet his gaze.

“i would notice if you were gone.” nagi continues. you think he’s never been more ready to talk in his entire life. “y/n, i would notice- i can’t stop noticing you.”

“i don’t say it enough. i know. but i also know that you’ve changed your perfume lately. i know that you’ve been feeding the stray cat in your neighborhood. that you’ve been thinking about going to the beach. that you want another ear piercing. that you’ve started another save in my game.”

you blink rapidly.

“i know i don't sometimes act like it. but i’m listening, y/n. and i’m sorry. i’m sorry that i don’t tell you i love you. because i do. i love you.”

your mouth is hanging open, all tears stopped from sheer surprise. nagi stares at you, gaze searching.

you nod. it’s all he needs.

and so his entire body relaxes into you, and it’s just ironic enough to get you laughing. (and crying, again.)

“i love you too,” you manage out. “i love you too- and i’m sorry i made you leave your game, and i named the cat melon, and-”

nagi snorts into your shoulder.

there’s no more words to be said after that. you're both too busy laughing at each other, hands tangling in the other's hair.

it probably seemed a little strange to other people, having a boyfriend that didn't act like he was a boyfriend to the online world. one that didn't seem to mind long silences. maybe it did bother you, in the smallest sense there was.

but honestly, in moments like these, you were willing to let it go.

because in this moment, seishiro nagi was your boyfriend/lover/something. it didn't matter that he didn’t shout it from the rooptops, didn't matter that no one could put a label on it.

he was here. and he saw you. and that was all you needed.

[gor3-hound]

'TIL DEATH DO US PART // NAOYA ZENIN

ft. fox!naoya zenin x bunny!f!reader

a/n: guys i cannot for the life of me think of good fic titles... hicc... another commission for the no.1 naoya stan @nexysworld !!

cw: 18+ content, dead dove do not eat, non-con, abuse references, hot water burns, biting, claws, forced breeding, creampie, p in v, riding... not super hybrid focused, but knotting and stuff !! forced marriage/coercive marriage

word count: 1.6k words

Being the favoured whore of Naoya Zen'in is considered an honourable position to have. You would be blind to miss the envious gazes of the other servants within the clan walls as you make your way through the halls once more, towards his room.

You're sure their jealousy would dissipate if they knew how he truly was. He did not mask his attitude, his distaste for women as a whole – for prey women, no less. The extent of it was not something even you had anticipated. You had theoretically climbed the ranks to an easier job. After all, you'd gotten your own chambers. Three square meals most days. It was no wonder the other women wished they were in your position.

You'd gladly take your old station if it meant you didn't have to be a bed warmer for the Zen'in heir. He was cruel, not only in his words, but his actions. He would use you to his own satisfaction, tossing you aside without a second thought once he was done. Your body ached more each time he called on you, new scars and marks marring your once perfect skin.

You were sick of it.

Your hands shake as you stand in front of the door leading to his room, tea sloshing precariously in the mug you held in one hand. You swallow thickly, taking in a deep breath through your nose to steel your nerves. You know what your punishment will be if you get caught, but you know Naoya's pride exceeds anything else. If you succeeded, he wouldn't dare breathe a word of what happened. You would become his wife – he would have to wed you. You'd gain enough power to calm his cruelty, to reign him in even slightly. You'd take anything over the treatment you were receiving now.

You raise your free hand to knock on his door, tail twitching anxiously behind you. A lump forms in your throat as you hear footsteps approaching the door, one that you have to swallow multiple times to dislodge. You force a smile onto your face as he opens the door, floppy ears perking up as your eyes settle on him.

“The servants prepared your tea, master. I brought it with me to save them the trip.” You say as steadily as you can, attempting to mask the shaking of your voice. You only hoped the sizzling had died down, that the herbs you'd added to the liquid would not be too noticeable.

His lip curls as he gazes at you, showing a flash of a sharp canine tooth. His tail flickers with irritation which you choose to ignore. It would all be okay, as long as he wasn't suspicious of your actions.

“I don't recall asking you to speak, woman.” He huffs, taking the mug from your hand as he steps aside, walking into the room. He pauses as he nears the bed, glancing back over his shoulder. “Well? Come in, and strip. I don’t wish to waste any more time tonight. You're late.”

You nod once, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. You step into the centre of the room, stopping in front of Naoya as he sits on the bed, taking a sip of the tea. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, almost painfully as you wait to see if he notices a difference in the flavour. He says nothing.

Slowly, you shed the clothes from your body, unable to conceal the trembling of your hands as you do so. Naoya notices, of course, but his expression twists into one of amusement as he sips at the tea once more. He hasn't caught you out, not yet. The effects of the herbs would begin to show soon, you hoped. Before he realised what you had done.

“Do I scare you, girl?” He says, head tilting to the side as his gaze flicks across your body, taking in the array of bite marks and scars left by his hand. A sharp grin spreads across his features as he takes you in, pride shining on his face in a way that makes you feel sick. You shake your head, and a hand comes out to force you to your knees.

“A bunny at the mercy of a fox, putting on a brave face?” He says with a chuckle, condescension lacing his voice. “You should be scared.”

The burn settles into your skin before you see the movement of his hand, the now emptied cup being dropped at your feet as the hot water seeps into your skin, making you cry out in pain. Your arm shakes and trembles, but you do your best to silence any other cries. His hand grasps your injured arm, squeezing just so he can hear you whimper once more.

“Almost as pretty as the sounds you make under me.” He hums as he yanks you up onto the bed. His claws dig harshly into the soft flesh of your arm, droplets of blood rising to the surface of your skin before trailing downwards.

He works on his own clothes as he nips at the skin of your neck, biting down harshly at the juncture of your throat when he's finally able to shimmy out of his underwear. He growls softly, pulling back to lick over his teeth with his tongue. His gaze is hazy, almost distant as he looks down at you.

“Tastes… so good, bunny.” He huffs, but the words sound strained – forced. The grin falls slowly from his face. Naoya blinks multiple times, eyelids heavy and almost sticky, like he's struggling to open them fully.

“Fuck… my head.” He grunts, raising a hand to hold it against his forehead, eyes squeezing shut. He sways on his knees, unstable. “Fetch… a servant. Call for a servant, girl.”

As soon as you hear the slurred manner of his words, you know you've succeeded. You'd planted enough of the herbs for them to be effective despite the small amount he'd drunk, relief rushing to you when you realise your plan was working.

It's easy to push him onto his back, straddling his hips. Almost too easy. You gaze down at him in suspicion, but he barely moves. Not even a twitch of annoyance crosses his face as his body goes slack against the sheets. His eyes are practically glazed over as he looks at you. It's almost unnerving – like he's looking right through you.

“Y-you…” The word comes out thick, his tongue too heavy in his mouth to properly form the words he wishes to say. He feels like he's choking on them. “Whore.”

“I'll be your wife, soon enough.” You reply sharply, lowering yourself steadily onto his half-hard cock. It's the only part of him that appears to be working fully, twitching to life inside of you until the tip kisses your cervix. You lift yourself up, hands steadying your movements as they press against his chest. You pulse around him, and his hips buck almost imperceptibly. Another choked sound leaves his lips, which curl back to reveal gritted teeth and sharp fangs.

“I would never… take a whore wife.” He grits out, the effort it takes to speak causing drool to form in his mouth, spilling past the corners of his lips. His body strains as he attempts to move, his muscles too relaxed for him to make any progress despite his best efforts.

“You have no choice.” You say simply, rolling your hips in a steady pace as you fuck yourself on his length, setting a pace you know he enjoys. “I'll bear your heirs. Do you think your father will allow his only son to sire bastards that weaken his family's claim? I doubt it.”

A growl rises in his throat, fingers twitching desperately as he attempts to raise his arms to push you off of him. All he manages is to grab the sheets beneath them with a low whine, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“Please.” He whimpers, voice weak and barely audible. You can't help but laugh, rocking your hips down once more, greedy cunt swallowing each and every inch of him with ease.

“Please?” You repeat, watching the tears that stream down his face with satisfaction. “That's never worked on you, has it? No matter how much I begged and pleaded, you never faltered.”

You watch him open his mouth once more, almost anticipating an apology. It does not come. His head tilts to the side – the best he can do to conceal the pitiful expression on his face without full control of his body. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows the sorry resting on the tip of his tongue, eyes shutting once more.

He gasps as he cums, expression becoming tense as he fills you. You press down until he's buried to the hilt inside you, his knot swelling and plugging you full of his seed. He's always been so careful as to avoid spilling inside of you – bunnies we're known for their fertility, and he could not risk siring a bastard with his already weak claim. You can almost sense how defeated he is, a surge of pride shooting through you. A shaky sigh leaves your lips as you still, head tilting down so you can look at him.

He's already looking at you, eyes sharp and narrowed. His expression is filled with resentment, hatred and anger blurring together. You meet his gaze, unwavering as he attempts to stare you down. Eventually, he concedes, allowing his head to fall to the side once more like a scolded puppy depsite the way his cock as already started to harden again, locked inside of you with his swollen knot. You lean down to speak, lips brushing his ear.

“You should consider wedding preparations. I doubt your reputation could take the scandal of this got out.”

[wlntrsldler]

college! fratboy!luke situationship

mdni; this is for my fellow ksig!luke truther @starswillow

the idea of staying on campus for the summer almost made you want to reject the research position you were offered by one of the labs in your department, but the stipend, free housing and meals were too good to turn down. you didn’t necessarily want to go back to the middle of nowhere indiana to live with your parents for three months, which was the only other option you had, so you stayed while all your friends said their goodbyes and went off to start their summer travels or internships in big cities. 

you had a plan– you were going to go to lab, go eat, and head straight home. you were going to use the summer to recharge from the stress of your first year in college. you didn’t plan to run into luke castellan, who was re-taking a class in the lab next to yours because he fucked up his final experiment so bad, even the professor couldn’t figure out what he managed to do. and you definitely didn’t plan to fall into a situationship with the newly pledged ksig brother, but here you were. 

it started out innocently enough. his class ended the same time you took your lunch hour and he’d see you walking out with the rest of the future college drop-outs like him to the dining hall. luke had never seen you around before, after all the school was huge and it seemed like you’d be in classes that he was too dumb to even attempt. for fuck’s sake, he failed chem 101 and you were working in the lab of one of the most respected, tenured professors on campus. it wasn’t fully his fault, at least that’s what he told himself. he’d been sheltered away at a k-12 school in the middle of montauk for all his life and college was his first taste of independence. maybe he went a little overboard sometimes with a party every weekend, joining a fraternity, and serial dating so much that he virtually had no time to do his assignments. 

around day four of running into you, luke decided to approach you. his opening line was a simple, hey, were you in my stats class last semester? again, he knew you weren’t in his class, but he needed an opening to talk to you. you turned around, blinking up at him in confusion because you didn’t take a single math class last year, and shook your head. he shrugged and introduced himself anyway. 

it became a routine after that. if you got out on your lunch break before he did, you’d wait by the benches next to his lab. if he got dismissed from class before you, he would lean against the outside wall of your lab and play mindless games on his phone until you emerged. lunch hours turned into dinner requests to late-night study sessions when you found out he was struggling with chem. (his assumptions were right– you were too smart for him. you’d skipped the first two introductory chem classes because the placement test all freshmen took showed that you were way ahead of the curve.)

steadily, luke’s grades got better, mostly because of you, the two of you spent more time together than apart, and your original plan of using the summer recharging was turned on its head.

it began as the typical college fling. putting hundreds of hormonal teenagers in a confined space was a recipe for disaster. your summer consisted of fooling around with luke in the quiet of your dorm, the backseat of his car, and on occasion, the bathrooms in the chem building when one of you was feeling needy during the day. you’d heard your friends' stories of their hook-up culture experiences and you’d been sexiled by your roommate one too many times for your liking, but you never saw the appeal of it back then. but luke sauntered into your room for the first time when you invited him, with thoughts of things other than understanding covalent bonds in his mind. 

you weren’t blind. you knew there were attractive people on your campus, but you’d never felt physically attracted to any of them, until luke castellan, backpack slung across one shoulder, with a backwards boston red sox cap on, gray sweatpants, and black compression shirt on. the silver chain he always wore around his neck wasn’t tucked under his shirt like usual and the diy beaded bracelet he had on his wrist was a perfect contrast to his tanned, veiny hands-- and you knew you were fucked. 

luke fucked you on the uncomfortable university, twin-xl mattress, drinking in the pretty sounds you were making while his cock deliciously pistoned inside of you. all his notes and books were long forgotten on the floor of your dorm while his hips snapped against yours, teeth nipping at the skin of your collarbone while he groaned the filthiest things in your ear that had you blushing and tightening around his cock. my brilliant girl, but so dumb around my cock. you like that, baby? you take me so well, my best girl. 

and all you could manage to do was babble out incoherent sentences that usually ended with you panting out his name, the only thing you’d remember through the fog in your mind. luke. luke. luke. 

he loved it. he loved hearing his name leave your lips, all raw and hoarse, like how he knew his back would look with all the scratches you clawed into his skin. he’d pull out, against his primal urge to plant his cum so deep inside you, and finish on your sternum. then, he’d take his two fingers, scoop up his cum, and watch your greedy tongue suck around his digits with your big, fucked-out, eyes staring at him as if you worshipped him. luke wasn’t selfish either, in fact he was giving, which came as a shock to you. 

he’d spent hours lapping at your aching pussy, eating you out until you were pulling him off with a whine from multiple orgasms, or until his dick was standing at attention again because he couldn’t imagine a hotter thing to watch besides seeing your face contort in absolute pleasure because of him. 

the pillow talk and after-care were amazing too. he wouldn’t leave immediately after your long nights together. sometimes, he’d stay in your dorm even when you left to go to the lab for the day. when you came back, your room was pristine. luke would make your bed and clean up the sticky residues from the night before, just to mess it up again a few hours later.

he never shared with you was that he was in a frat that was notorious for having situationships that never amounted to anything but that. so imagine your surprise when you decided to give into your friends’ insistence and attended the first party of the school year at the ksig house and found luke castellan at the dj booth with his ksig shirt on, surrounded by pretty girls with red cups in their hands. he had his arm thrown over the shoulder of another boy, chris rodriguez, as he screamed out the lyrics to love me by lil wayne. 

when luke's eyes spotted yours in the crowd, his face broke out into a mischievous smile as he raced down the stage to grab your hand. he led you upstairs to his bedroom, deadbolting the door, and fucked you like it was summer again.

it wasn't bad for your first situationship.

[emotionalsupport-ljh]

All Better 🩺🩹

It's okay to take a little break.

Fluff - woozi x nurse!reader (fem)

Woozi Birth Month special! One fluffy baby getting taken care of!

AO3 link

Word Count: 1.8k

CW: hospital, IV, mentions of fainting, mentions of self neglect

🤍⊹🩺♡⚕⟡˙🩹˙˙⟡⚕♡🩺⊹ 🤍

It’s too bright in the hospital room Jihoon is currently waiting in. The fluorescent light bulbs only seem to reflect the sterile white environment back in his eyes, causing him to squint slightly. He drew the blinds a long time ago, trying to avoid exactly this discomfort. He isn’t used to this. He’s used to the soft blue and violet ambiance of his studio and the LED of his computer. An IV drips steadily next to him with a tube connected in his arm. His phone died a while ago, and no one seems to have a spare charger in the hospital. He’s chosen to combat his boredom (and loneliness) by closing his eyes, breathing steadily. He knows he won’t sleep. He can’t. He has too much to think about and work to get back to. Forever the workaholic, his mind immediately starts making a list of what to catch up on once he can get out of here and back to his sanctuary. 

A small click and very light footsteps approach his side. He doesn’t mind them; it’s probably just that old nurse coming back to check on him again or lecture him about staying hydrated and getting at least nine hours of sleep because eight is actually too little and that lie was spread by blah blah blah. There’s quiet sounds of a pen on paper then a rattling of equipment and a squeak. Jihoon cracks one eye open at that new sound like a mouse had suddenly appeared to record his vitals. Not a mouse. A nurse. One wincing as he makes eye contact with her, his face emotionless.

“Sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t want to disturb your nap.”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” he replies in a sigh. He opens both eyes and blinks away some of the discomfort of the environment. The first color he sees other than hospital white is pastel pink. And pastel flowers on hairpins. You smile down at him brightly.

“Oh! Okay! Well, you are doing much better. Shouldn’t be long until you can get out of here.” Your smile is warm and your voice is cheerful. 

“Thank you, Nurse…” he trails off, waiting for an introduction.

“Y/N! Just call me Y/N.” You can’t help but notice this patient as he lightly smiles for the first time since you’ve been here. It’s only been something like two minutes, but still. It’s a soft smile that crinkles his eyes into crescents. He’s very cute.

“Why couldn’t you have been my nurse the whole time? The other one kept nagging me.” Jihoon pouts a little as he talks. He’s really very cute. 

You hold the clipboard you were writing on close to your chest and relax your stance a little to talk, “Her shift ended. I’m her replacement.” It’s, for once, not super busy this afternoon, so you have some time before someone is breathing down your neck about checking on patients. There’s something about this guy that makes you want to pause and talk. Maybe even unload. His gentle eyes are tired; it’s like he has been carrying a heavy burden on his shoulders and this is his first genuine excuse to let up a little. His voice is soft in his chest, and there’s something adding timber, something somber.

“Good, you are much easier to talk to. My phone died a long time ago, so I’m bored,” Jihoon says, letting out a deep breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. 

You glance at his chart again. He’s been put on fluids and vitamins for dehydration and poor nutrition. This guy is overworked, stressed, and isn’t sleeping much. He’s literally on record saying “I only eat white rice, really” and he doesn’t drink much water. You begin to see why the last nurse wanted to lecture him so bad. 

“You should rest. Get some extra sleep while you're still here.” You gently goad him in the right direction.

Jihoon groans indignantly, “I really don’t want to. Besides, it’s uncomfortable here: too bright with the lights on, too dark with them off. I’d much rather talk to you.” He’s being a little whiny, even for his own taste, but any excuse to not waste more time while he’s still conscious. He has work to do. Well, maybe not to do right now, but he can still think about it.

You give him a half smile and set the clipboard on one of the chairs near the bed. “Sit up,” you command and he obliges without hesitation. You move in close to fluff his pillow and then gently, and without thinking, push down on his chest to get him to lay all the way back. You bring the thin blanket up to his chest, and for the final touch, you move the bottom corner of the blanket for it to expose one leg. Jihoon’s heart has been racing since you stepped forward to fluff his pillow and you clock it on the heart monitor immediately. 

“Is that better?” There’s a chuckle in your voice.

Jihoon nods kind of mystified, just staring at you with big eyes. You grab the discarded clipboard and move to the door to shut off the lights. It is really dark in this room. “I’ll be back,” you announce and speed off into the hallway.

Jihoon is staring at the ceiling while his mind reels at the interaction. Nurse Y/N, he thinks, What a force of nature. He finds himself missing the pop of color your scrubs brought to the otherwise bleak room. When he does reluctantly close his eyes, all he can picture is your smile. The silence is killing him, and, almost on queue, the door swings open once more; this time it’s a lot less subtle. 

You walk in with an assortment of items. A small noise machine, a night light, and an extra blanket. You carefully set up each item to make the room feel a hell of a lot cozier. Jihoon is once again at a loss for words. The oppressive sterility of the space transforms before his eyes. Once the night light is plugged in, there is a softer, warmer glow about the room. When you turn around, you are backlit in a golden light.

“Do you need a lullaby for your nap, as well, Mr. Lee?” you tease your patient smiling.

“Please, just Jihoon is fine. And no, this is… perfect.” Jihoon cracks a genuine smile, feeling all his stress slowly begin to melt away. “Where did you find a nightlight?”

“Pediatrics. The noise machine is from the On-Call room. You’re lucky no one is using it right now.” 

“I really am lucky, huh?” Jihoon says more to himself than he does to you. 

“Okay then, just Jihoon. Sweet dreams,” you say, flustered. 

They sure will be, he thinks. You watch as he settles into the bed and actually plans to rest. You slip out of the door with a prideful feeling in your chest. You’re good at your job.

When Jihoon wakes up, his first instinct is to reach for his phone and check the time. It’s around 2:30 in the afternoon. He’s been in the hospital for a little over an hour. He blinks heavy a few times then looks at his phone again in surprise. It’s charged! It’s attached to a charger, and it’s fully charged! He follows the rainbow colored cord with his eyes to the outlet it’s plugged into, and sharpied onto the brick are the words “Y/N’s Do Not Touch!!”. There’s a water bottle on the nightstand and a red jello cup. He sits up and take the jello cup in one hand and his phone in the other, checking his messages.

When you ease the door open with a light knock, you find him watching a video on his phone while his tongue tries to scoop the last bit of jello out of the cup. You giggle a little which catches his attention causing him to swiftly put the now empty cup down.

“That nap was good, huh?” you say, still giggling lightly and flicking the lightswitch. You walk up to check his vitals and IV for the last time.

“Yeah, actually, thank you… for everything.” Jihoon sounds less stressed out. He’s much calmer and even a little happier. 

“It’s no biggie, honestly,” you reply. There’s a beat of silence and you sigh before starting your next sentence. “I’m going to do that thing that you hate.” You gesture to his arm, and he presents it, letting you tend to the removal of his IV. Your touch is soft and leaves him wanting more. He wants to fall into your gentle and nurturing arms and stay there forever.

“Jihoon, this incident was serious. When you fainted, you could’ve ended up with a concussion or worse. You’re lucky, but… this all could’ve been avoided.” You choose all your words carefully and talk gently. “You have to take care of yourself.” you finish up and dispose of the waste. Then, you chance to place a hand on his knee and add with a smile, “I won’t always be there to do it for you.”

Jihoon, who has been looking down while you speak, looks up into your eyes with a look of resignation on his face and a slight smirk. “You don’t, like, make house calls or anything, do you?”

You laugh and lightly hit his knee you were once holding, “Of course not! But, if you have any questions,” you produce a slip of paper from your pocket, “shoot me a text or something.”

Jihoon takes the piece of paper and sees a phone number written inside. He breaks into a genuine smile as he runs his fingers over the numbers to make sure he’s not still dreaming. He speaks up before you leave for good, “I might have a lot of questions. Can I ask them over coffee? Tomorrow, maybe?”

You raise your eyebrows, “You sure you're not too busy?”

“I’m sure. I’m gonna take my health a lot more seriously now. Starting with having a date with the cute nurse.”

You blush, but before you can come up with a cute response, your pager sounds. You manage to say through a smile, “Get out of here! Your discharge paperwork is at the desk,” before speed walking out of the door to attend to the next patient.

Jihoon takes a beat, smiling to himself before gathering his things to leave the hospital. He is serious about staying healthy and conscious for his job and fans and to impress a certain nurse with his ability to improve by himself. Though, having you around to bring him back to life sometimes is certainly a plus.

[claymoresword]

I Choose Her | Chp: 20

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the daughter of two known death eaters from one of the oldest and richest families in the wizarding world. Are you truly prepared to give up everything you know for Hermione Granger?

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 4.3k

Warnings: y/n & draco, character death, violence, general heavy themes, fluff, y/n & hermione are endgame , events follow canon (in theory)

Note: here it is.. the final chapter ! (technically it's not over yet since we still have the epilogue, which i will try my best to get out within the next week, fingers crossed)

i also want to thank you guys so much for being here. whether you just found this fic recently or you've been here since the beginning, i hope you know i appreciate your support so much. it's the reason we even got to this point! i'm truly going to miss writing this story, more than you know. especially considering it has been apart of my life for over a year now, which is crazy! but anyway, love you guys, i hope you enjoy this one :)

Taglist: @gvrsto @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @arielj @poppyflower-22 @scarleigh1989 @smut-religiously777 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @iamcapitalgbicorn8287 @lonewalker17 @karasonromanoff @httphayn @bigbadsofty07 @cherryflavoredcoke @dumpsapphic @idontwannabehereatm @js-a-writer @baylegend6 @puta1 @t-wylia @raven-ss @unexpected-character @brocoliisscared @aki-ham @theheartwants-what-itwants

Hours since the Dark Lord and his followers had officially retreated. 

The sun was now steadily taking its position in the sky, illuminating the mortal world. Heedlessly enforcing the illusion that tragedy no longer looms over Hogwarts and all wizard-kind. 

That is, of course, as further as one could possibly get from the truth.

The atmosphere amidst the Great Hall unfailingly reminds everyone of a suffocating reality. It is thick with grief. Cold, dark and devoid of life– much like the dead that lay within it.

Hermione has yet to leave your side since you found a space to sit amongst the rubble. She continues to cling to you like a lifeline. Harry has been gone for hours, and Hermione, with a bit of coaxing, has finally stopped crying.

Ginny however remained hysterical– till her father was forced to subdue her with a Laxo charm. Still its effects wear off too quickly, and Ginny is far too vulnerable to justify repeated use. So her parents have settled with putting her to sleep instead.

She rests her head on Ron’s shoulder, blind and deaf to the destruction around her, even if only for a short while.

“Are you alright?” A foolish question, but Hermione, ever sweet and gentle, doesn't berate you for it. She nods, wordlessly slipping her arm around you before nestling her face into the crook of your neck. 

Hermione desperately seeks an escape through you and there is nothing more you wish to do than to give her just that. You want to be her helm in a sea of catastrophe, as much as she is yours.

Nothing matters anymore, only her. 

As you slip a comforting arm around your girlfriend, you take a scan of the hall, quickly regretting your decision to do so as you divert your eyes away from the row of corpses laid across the floor. 

It is then you spot a familiar face that causes your stomach twists even more, you are overcome with the sudden urge to wretch.

Draco appears just as pale and miserable as he approaches you. Gingerly taking a seat, cautious not to interrupt your embrace with Hermione. For what feels like an eternity, neither of you speak.

“I thought you left the castle with the rest of them.” You find yourself muttering, surprising Draco and especially yourself.

Hermione lifts her head, once she realizes you were not speaking to her. 

She takes notice of the platinum haired man next to you, and you feel her tense within your hold. Hermione’s expression visibly hardens, and you recognize that it would be smart to continue putting yourself in between her and Draco for the time being. 

“No, I– I couldn’t. My parents.. they were looking for me, but I– I hid.” Your best friend remarks, he is unable to keep eye contact with you. 

Guilt is ever corrosive, and it was consuming him alive. You see it in the very way Draco carries himself– so far removed from the person he once was.

Much like yourself.

It seems as though Draco is entirely expecting you to push some blame onto him. As if the destruction here today was caused solely by him. Though things are hardly as simple as that– besides, there is little reward in kicking a man when he is already down.

“At least you refused them. I know it isn’t easy.” You state. A feeble attempt to uplift him.

“Doing the right thing rarely ever is.” Hermione chimes in, as she puts her head on your shoulder once more. Her demeanor has softened, and in any regular instance, this might even fill you with joy.

“Does it even matter now? It’s too late.” Draco wallows, and a part of you wants to contend his statement, but that would also mean lying to him.

“And my mother and father– I’ve disappointed them.” He adds and now you let out a humorless chuckle. 

“We have that in common. Mine certainly aren’t going to acknowledge me as their daughter now.” You say, and your best friend almost seems comforted by the notion.

“Mine either.” Hermione quips plainly, her attempt at lighthearted banter only shatters you. 

You turn to place a lingering kiss against her forehead. Hermione accepts it as a faint smile plays on her lips, one reserved only for you.

‘As long as we stay together it'll be fine.’ You remind yourself for the dozenth time.

Draco sighs.

“There was no point to any of this.. it's all gone to shit.” He utters, exasperated, and Hermione nods in agreement.

Another chuckle slips out of you, this time from true amusement. Possibly from exhaustion or simply just a reaction to the ludicrous position you have all found yourselves in. You are sitting in what was once the Great Hall; the safest and warmest place in all of Hogwarts is now reduced to nothing but dust, piles of stone and death. 

You ought to be studying for your end of year exams, yet instead, you have been battling Death Eaters. 

People you considered friends have attempted to harm you more than once, and now it is not even certain if you would survive long enough to see nightfall.

Despite herself, Hermione begins to laugh with you. Draco only scoffs at this, he averts his gaze but you manage to catch the smile threatening to form on his face.

The moment does not last much longer as a noise in the distance abruptly steals your attention. The air in Hogwarts is no longer desolate, it has been awoken once more, and you quickly find out why.

Neville is first to rise off the floor, swiftly walking out into the courtyard. Students and teachers, reluctant but curious, follow suit. 

You leave Draco behind as you move through the crowd, Hermione quickly falls in next to you and Ron settles a few paces behind. 

Your worst fear is realized. 

They have returned, to finish what they started. 

A large army of Death Eaters approaches Hogwarts, the Dark Lord leads them at the front of the brigade. As they get closer, you notice Hagrid towering over the rest, he walks with something large in his arms.

Your face falls in horror once you make out exactly what it was he was carrying. Harry Potter, limp and lifeless. 

Hagrid held him as though he weighed no more than a feather. It is a devastating sight, but you can’t seem to look away. 

You feel the sudden urge to pinch yourself, to force yourself awake.

You are trapped in a grim nightmare, Harry cannot be dead. 

“No.” Ron utters your thoughts out loud.

Hermione is reduced to soft sobs as she turns away in distress, you feel compelled to pull her in for an embrace once more.

“Who is that, Hagrid’s carrying?” Ginny’s voice echoes through the courtyard. She is awake, only to be struck in the face with atrocity.

“Neville, who is that?” She calls, much louder and desperate.

“Harry Potter is dead!” The Dark Lord responds to her question with glee.

“No– no!” Ginny cries, but she is quickly silenced with a wave of Voldermort’s hand, he forces her to the ground.

“Silence! You stupid girl.” He bellows as Arthur frantically helps his daughter back on her feet, dragging her as far from the enemy as possible.

“Harry Potter is dead, from this day forth, you put your faith in me.” Voldermort claims and he is only met with a stunned silence.

"Harry Potter is dead!” The Dark Lord declares again in celebration turning to his followers. He laughs, maniacal and bone chilling. Death eaters soon join in, a roar of erroneous joy.

Blind rage gives Hermione the strength to finally look upon Voldermort, you release her from your grip, but maintain close proximity.

“And now is the time to declare yourself. Come forward and join us, or die.” Voldermort states, his arms outstretched– a forced gesture of welcome.

Once again, you can all only afford to stare at him in disbelief.

“Draco!” Lucius calls for his son angrily, and you only realize then that you’ve entirely lost sight of your best friend.

The crowd parts slightly, and you finally spot him at the other side of the courtyard, standing amongst Seamus, George and Dean.

“Draco.” Narcissa coaxes her son in a far gentler manner, but the distress and worry within her gaze is plain for you to see.

Draco stares at his parents for a prolonged moment and then turns to look towards you. Your breath hitches in your throat, the weight of the world is on his shoulders and he means to share the burden with you.

You manage to shake your head at him, signifying disapproval, but it seems he was not looking for advice, it was merely a look of remorse. He was just apologizing for something he was about to do.

Your shoulders slump in disappointment when Draco tears his gaze away from your own, he limps towards his parents, slowly, as if in a trance. 

“Well done, Draco, well done.” The Dark Lord embraces him stiffly for all to see, your jaw tightens when his stare lands on you.

Any fear you felt in that moment has been overshadowed by plain hot resentment.

“Y/n!” Your own father calls for you the same way, you can still feel the weight of everyone’s stare upon you as you refuse to budge.

“Y/n, come here, now.” Your mother warns, but it does nothing to convince you, if anything it has the opposite effect.

You feel Hermione’s hand slip into your own, motivating a streak of confidence.

“I am fine right where I am, mother.” You remark plainly, and you catch the way Voldermort clenches his pale gray hand into a fist for an instant before composing himself.

“Well, I must admit, y/n, I am very disappointed in you. I have no doubt your parents feel the same.” He states, and it works to gain a rise out of you.

However before you can retaliate with something reckless, Voldermort raises his wand to point it at you. “Crucio.”

The next thing you recall is the ground coming up to meet you, and trying to break your fall. A blinding pain that travels from your arm to the rest of your body.

Hermione is crouched over you as you continue to seize on the ground in sheer agony. 

“Stop it! Please, stop!” Your girlfriend's pleas fall on deaf ears.

You faintly hear Voldermort’s mocking laughter amidst your own gripes of pain. Certain you are about to faint, you clench your eyes tightly, but then, it all stops. 

Air violently floods your lungs, you feel the ground again, this time you recognize that you are laying firmly on top of it. You feel Hermione’s desperate hands clutching your body.

The Dark Lord looks upon horrified faces– he is using you as a warning. “I will say it again. Join us, else you will suffer a worse fate that y/n. So I invite you to step forward now.”

Hermione begins to help you back on your feet, but not before kissing your temple. She smoothes out your disheveled hair, a frantic effort to soothe you, or perhaps herself.

“Please tell me you're alright.” She pleads, an anguished whisper. You ignore the sharp pain still pulsating throughout your body to give Hermione some peace of mind.

“I am, I'll be fine.” You reply, taking her arm to resume your place.

Neville slips past you then, this sudden gesture is followed by a wave of gasps. 

You observed as he limped through the crowd and towards Voldermort, your brows furrowed in confusion.

Not Neville. Not him of all people. 

“I must say, I hoped for better.” Voldermort hurls the jibe, brusque and overconfident. The roar of laughter that comes from his followers only causes your scowl to deepen, it is a jarring noise, deeply unsettling.

“And who might you be, young man?” The Dark Lord asks, feigned geniality.

“Neville Longbottom.” Neville admits only for the laughter to come again. 

You shift your weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Hermione mistakes it for a sign you may collapse again so she moves closer, allowing you to lean on her; this only makes you want to weep. 

This isn't right. It was never supposed to happen like this.

“Well, Neville I am sure we can find you a place in our ranks–”

“–I'd like to say something!” Neville's voice bullies over Voldermort’s.

From the looks of it, this would nearly cost him his life, as Voldermort lifts his wand, almost like a reflex but he lowers it just as quickly.

With an air of composure, he responds, but his pretense is waning.

“Well, Neville, I am sure we are all fascinated to hear what you have to say.” Voldermort’s smile only makes him appear even more displeasing to the eye.

“It doesn't matter that Harry's gone.” Neville announces, and you instinctively look to the man in Hagrid’s arms.

This can't be the end.

Only half a heartbeat until you avert your gaze again.

“Stand down, Neville!” Seamus possesses enough gumption to warn his friend, but Neville brushes him off.

“People die everyday!” He insists.

“Friends, family..” Neville trails off.

Again, you feel compelled to keep Hermione close as you notice the way she has been pursing her lips to fight back more tears.

Ron can't seem to pull his eyes away from Hagrid, and his dead best friend.

“Yeah, we lost Harry tonight, but he's still with us, in here.” Neville continues, gesturing loosely to his chest, just above where his heart is.“So is Fred, Remus, and Tonks, all of them.”

“They didn't die in vain!” Neville shouts with a newfound confidence.

“But you will, because you're wrong!”

He challenges the Dark Lord, bold and open, and it makes you wince.

“Harry's heart did beat for us, for all of us!” He continues.

“So it's not over!” Neville exclaims, and the old hat he had been holding droops to the floor. Within it is revealed an unmistakable relic: the sword of Gryffindor.

He unsheathes the steel for all to see.

Then just as suddenly, the unthinkable happens. 

Harry slips out of Hagrid's hold, his body collapses to the ground, but he is not dead, he braces his hands on the ground before rising.

Harry Potter, alive.

“Merlin's beard..” You gape, and Hermione grasps your shoulder, then she laughs, shock and pure relief.

Harry sprints past the Dark Lord, quick, like a cat. He attempts to fish out Draco’s wand from his pocket but it slides past his fingers.

Harry isn't given the opportunity to retrieve it as he is forced to dodge the mania of curses being hurled his way. 

There is only chaos in the courtyard now as Death Eaters begin to disapparate by the dozen, abandoning their leader. 

Everyone else, desperately seeking shelter, out of the courtyard, back into the castle or elsewhere, anywhere away from harm. 

“Come on, we have to go.” Hermione drags you with her, but you turn back for a moment to watch as Draco bravely pushes past the chaos, picking up his wand, unbelievably, he tosses it back to Harry. 

“Potter!” Your best friend shouts just before you lose sight of him in the crowd. Although Harry catches the wand just in time.

“Confringo!” The Chosen One exclaims, Nagini writhes violently as the curse injures her.

The snake. You have to kill the snake.

Harry shares the sentiment as you get to the castle's doors, he falls in next to you, Ron and Hermione. “We need to kill the snake, I'll lure him into the castle.”

You merely nod in response, Harry continues to deflect the curses being hurled at the four of you.

“You'll need this.” Hermione says, retrieving the Basilisk fang from her bag.

The Dark Lord is rapidly inching closer now, fury has become him– yet he has never seemed so meek, utterly powerless.

He is losing, if he has not lost already.

Nagini is all he has left.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You anticipate it, but Hermione shoves you out of the way just in time as a mass of rubble comes crashing down from above.

You stumble, before coughing out a lung full of dust, squinting as it obstructs your vision. Hermione’s grip on your arm is the only thing tethering you to the present.

Harry bumps into you, just as disoriented. He has lost sight of Ron and worst of all, he can't see Voldermort. 

Another large crash causes you all to flinch, it didn't take long at all for the Dark Lord to find you once again.

Harry throws another curse, powerful enough that he loses his balance, the Basilisk fang unluckily slips out of his pocket, bouncing off the stairs and to the flat ground in front of you.

You reach for it, but before you can retrieve the object, the tooth disintegrates right before your eyes. 

“What–” You aren't given the chance to despair as Harry reminds you of an alternative.

“I’ll keep distracting him. Find Neville, he has the sword. Kill that snake.” He states, the sound of curses violently clashing masks his words, the Dark Lord remains oblivious to your plan, for now.

 “Let's try the Great Hall.” Hermione suggests.

“If we can even get there.” You quip, actively trying to work out a way through the rubble.

You follow after Hermione, and soon, Harry disappears through the thick wall of smoke and dust, purposefully luring Voldermort towards the Astronomy Tower.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

“Here, this way.” Hermione says as she steps through an opening and further down a flight of stairs.

Just when you both think you are out of danger, a noise stops you dead in your tracks.

You spot the large snake coiling around the bannister before slithering across a pile of bricks towards you.

Its hiss sends a shiver down your spine as you reach for your wand.

Hermione on the other hand, acts on pure instinct. Grabbing a piece of stone, she aims it at the snake.

It successfully clips Nagini on the side of her head, but this only succeeds in agitating the beast.

“Oh.” Hermione utters as the snake recoils, ready to attack.

You both lift your wands in preparation but the snake is hit again, this time by a larger curse that disorients it.

“Go on, I'm right behind you.” Ron emerges, 

pushing the both of you to continue on your search for the sword.

You only manage to get to the bottom of the stairs before Ron can be heard groaning in pain.

The snake had managed to trap him in its grasp, it was coiled around his body, an unsettling sight as it attempted to strangle the life out of him.

“Ron!” Hermione exclaims, chasing back up the stairs without a moment's thought.

“Stupefy!” She exclaimed, and the snake loosens its grip on Ron just enough for him to wretch free.

Hermione drags him to his feet and you can only watch in horror as the snake attempts to come at the both of them now.

“Incendio!” She tries again but the fire fizzles out as soon as it touches the beast, as if the snake was made of ice.

It is your turn to sprint up the stairs but the snake whips its head around, baring its fangs at you as warning. You halt abruptly, forced to keep a distance, grasping your wand tightly. 

Hermione shares a pleading look.

It is useless. There are three of you against Nagini, and yet you were helpless without the sword.

This is not going to work. The snake won't die. Distracting it will only mean seriously harming or even killing one of you.

Your mind reels, you frantically scan your surroundings, looking for a solution. 

Then, you are graced with a miracle. Neville appears behind you, barrelling up the stairs, panting, his face caked in dirt and dried blood. He has the sword of Gryffindor in hand.

Hermione let's out another scream that snatches your attention, the snake has attempted to come at them again, and again, Ron has now resulted in shielding your girlfriend with his own body.

You have to kill it now.

As you take another step, Nagini shifts her point of attack, now preparing to lunge towards you.

“Y/n– here!” With only seconds to spare, Neville tosses the steel in your direction. You quickly drop your wand before you manage to catch the sword by the hilt, still unaccustomed to its weight, you grasp it with two hands.

Just like handling a beater's bat, you swing it, firm and hard, slicing the beast across its body mid-air.

There is no blood, instead the snake explodes into a rain of thin black ash, it is unlike anything you have ever seen before. It is all you can look at as you let the point of the sword fall by your feet.

For a while all you can hear is the clang of metal hitting the ground and a faint ringing in your ears, muffled by the sound of your own heavy breathing. 

Neville's touch on your shoulder snaps you out of a trance. “It's over, it's done.” 

Enough sense returns to you as you shift your gaze towards Hermione. Her expression mirrors your own.

The four of you are miraculously alive, and the snake is dead.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

In the aftermath, it did not take much convincing for you to agree to join Hermione, Harry and Ron for a walk along the bridge.

Thankful for fresh air, the afternoon sun was also a welcomed feeling upon your skin, for the first time in days, it felt like you could breathe.

As Hermione struts ahead, you manage to grab ahold of her arm, forcibly tugging her closer to your own body. 

She then lets out a noise in surprise once you capture her lips with your own, but she melts into the kiss just as quickly, your hand slips to the small of her back as she opens her mouth wider to welcome your tongue.

You continue like that without care for a while, until Ron deliberately interrupts your moment by verbalizing his thoughts.

“Bloody hell, give it a rest, you two.” He remarks, but his tone lacks its usual malice as he clears a path by kicking away pieces of rubble. 

You grimace as you feel Hermione pull away from embarrassment.

“Fuck off, Weasley.” You retaliate, and for reasons unbeknownst to you, the sound of Ron's laughter makes you smile.

You part Hermione’s hair away from her neck, tilting your head slightly to leave a trail of open mouthed kisses along her neck.

She smells like sweat– but, in truth, it has never been an unpleasant scent to you. Nothing about Hermione was ever unpleasant.

Even now, sleep deprived and unwashed, she was perfect.

You notice the way Hermione trembles at the sensation of your warm mouth upon her flesh.

It only works to entice you further, but before you can kiss her again, Hermione displays some semblance of self control. 

She braces her hands on your chest, shoving you lightly. “Not here.”

With a pout you meet her gaze and she only rolls her eyes at that, before rewarding you with a quick peck on the lips. 

“We both could use a bath later.” Hermione mutters suggestively, running her fingers through your hair.

A smirk tugs on your lips at that, but before you can retort with something clever, Hermione's gaze shifts to Harry.

The Chosen One stood at the edge of the bridge, where there was once a bannister, now just a stump of concrete and marble.

Harry is observing the wand in his hand as Hermione addresses him. “How come it didn't work for him, The Elder Wand?”

“It answered to somebody else.” Harry replies, turning to look at the three of you.

“When he killed Snape, he thought the wand would become his. but the thing is, the wand never belonged to Snape.”

“It was Draco, who disarmed Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower, from that moment on, the wand answered him.” Harry explains, looking down to inspect it once more.

“Until, the other night, when I disarmed Draco at Malfoy Manor.” He continues and your eyes widen at the realization.

“So that means–” You gape, and Hermione turns to you in disbelief.

Harry nods. “It's mine.” He states, nonchalant as ever.

“What should we do with it?” Ron inquires, and Hermione merely grimaces.

“We?” She scolds.

“Ron's right, I mean, that's the Elder Wand. Most powerful in the world, with that, you'd be invisible.” You remark in support, now Hermione directs her scowl towards you, and you shrug innocently.

Although your expression twists once your gaze flits to Harry once again, he grunts as he struggles to break the wood in half.

You advanced forward to intervene, but it was too late. The wand snaps in two, like a twig. 

Harry turns around, chucking pieces of the most powerful wand in existence off the edge of the bridge.

You chase after it as far as your eyes can see before it disappears, forever.

“What the fuck–” Ron mutters under his breath in shared disbelief, yet Hermione only watches the both of you with amusement.

Then she grabs you by the collar, dragging you away from the ledge.

You are forced to follow as she falls in next to Harry, strolling back to the castle. 

Resisting the urge to confront Harry about what he had just done, you drape an arm across Hermione's shoulder, she welcomes it, intertwining your hands as you walked.

“I'm starving.” Ron remarks, trailing behind you. An effort to shift to a different, much simpler topic of conversation. 

“So am I.” Hermione replies.

“Yeah.. reckon The Three Broomsticks are still open?” You joke, and Harry is first to laugh, followed by your girlfriend and eventually, Ron.

You allow yourself a smile, it is one of relief. You relish in a careless joy you once thought you'd never get to experience again.

[yuesya]

Yuji squints through the blinding explosion of light, feeling something inside his chest finally loosen.

It'll be fine now. Gojo-sensei is back. Gojo-sensei is back, and he'll be able to set everything right again.

.... Ever since the catastrophe in Shibuya, things had gotten steadily even worse. The chaos of the Culling Games, Kenjaku's manipulations, and then... then, Fushiguro. Fushiguro's sister, the one they'd been trying to save, had turned out to be the host of an incarnated sorcerer, and then Fushiguro had-

Fushiguro had-!

(Enchain. That single word haunts Yuji's nightmares, the low rasp of the voice that can only belong to a devil-

A curse-

"Ha! What a thoroughly foolish brat. A binding vow 'not to hurt anyone,' and yet he didn't even include himself in the terms!"

"Let's see something interesting now, shall we?")

... Fushiguro had been possessed by Sukuna. And because Yuji was weak, far too weak, he'd been unable to get Fushiguro back-

But Gojo-sensei would be able to.

("You'll be the first one I kill, sorcerer."

"What an honor it is to be targeted by Ryomen Sukuna, then.")

"Sensei!" The pillar of light from Angel's cursed technique disappears, leaving a thick cloud of dust obscuring everything in the air. "Sensei, is it safe to come closer?"

A faint silhouette can be seen through the smoke; relief floods through his veins.

Yuji steps forward, "Sensei-"

An arm is suddenly thrown in front of him; Yuji glances over, startled, as Okkotsu-senpai holds him back from approaching. Rather than looking happy or relieved, Okkotsu-senpai is frowning, and Yuji feels his heart drop down into his stomach.

He swallows roughly. Did something happen to Gojo-sensei?

"Who are you?" Okkotsu-senpai asks, voice cold, his eyes unerringly focused on the figure that emerges from the Prison Realm-

It's not Gojo-sensei.

It's not Gojo-sensei.

Startled gasps and sharp intakes of breath sweep across the other students and teachers present.

"What the hell?!"

White hair, blue eyes, and that's where all the similarities end. The person who waves aside the lingering smoke around them is a small slip of a girl, maybe a few centimeters taller than Nishimiya at most.

Yuji's first wild, insane thought is that somehow, the Prison Realm turned Gojo-sensei into a tiny girl.

"How rude," the strange girl remarks, seemingly unconcerned by the wariness and confusion from everyone surrounding her. She raises her arms and stretches, "How long have I been sealed?"

There's a beat of silence, where no one responds. The girl lowers her arms and surveys everyone surrounding her impassively.

Yuji inches closer to Okkotsu-senpai. "... Just making sure, Prison Realm is only supposed to hold one occupant, right? What happened to Gojo-sensei?!"

"That's what I'd also like to know," Okkotsu-senpai grimaces. "Because that is not Gojo-sensei."

"Satoru-niichan? Why would he be sealed? He was not the one who..." the girl trails off as a slight frown flickers over her lips. Niichan? Did she just call Gojo-sensei 'niichan?' Gojo-sensei has a sister?! Wait, no, that still doesn't explain where Gojo-sensei went?

Without Gojo-sensei... oh gods. Without Gojo-sensei, they're all doomed.

[piplup335]

Subspace and reader who got yeeted into Phighting!

This took too long…second fic, requested by @subspacekisser1! Enjoy, and thanks for taking a week’s worth of my time! :D

-

It was supposed to be a generic bug in your favourite game. One that you wanted to check out. A small portion of Crossroads bugged out, and you wanted to check it out.

Just for laughs, you joined a small group of players by Crossroads' edge and jumped into the water. Like the good times, of course, when life and death didn’t matter and everything was just a game.

As you watched the other players jump off the border of Crossroads and into the sea, phasing through the floor, you followed suit.

One jump and you were falling…falling towards the water, through the ground and into the endless void…

All of a sudden, your eyes started to ache.

Perhaps the beautiful sight of the void was getting too much for you to handle? The eternal blue was quite saturated, after all...

You watched as your main, Subspace, fell into the void, with no end point in sight, falling…wondering when it would end…

Your eyes grew tired, and they started aching. You closed your eyes to let them rest…and the relief from that washed over you like a gentle breeze.

Only now, that gentle breeze felt like an entire hurricane.

Opening your eyes again to see the source of the strong winds, you see the blue void again…but it’s much closer up than you remember.

Deciding to turn your head away from the screen and rest your eyes, you turn left.

The sight of the endless void greets you, almost as if sneering in your face.

The winds that rushed past you? That’s because you were falling into the void.

It’s almost as if the void was trying to convey a message…

“Welcome to the void, (Y/n),” the winds seemed to whisper to you, “this is where your journey starts, and also where it’ll end.”

How pathetic, having your new life in an unfamiliar universe end minutes after it started? All because of a video game…

A cyan frame of radiant light surrounded you. Abruptly, the winds stopped, the void was silenced and, for the first time in the entire incident…you felt alone. No one was there to whisper condescending words in your ear…nothing was there to give you the sense that you weren’t alone in this final journey.

“This is where it all ends, huh? This is where I’ll die…”

The light pulsed slowly like the faint heartbeat of a dying soul calling out for help.

It gradually sped up, and you felt light...as if you were ascending.

You glanced up.

Oh. You were ascending.

The base of Crossroads seemed to get closer and closer, and you realised that you were about to crash headfirst into the bottom of the concrete pavement in Crossroads.

"Wait, stop, stop! I'm gonna get hit!"

Momentary panic set in as you steadily approached the only plane of ground present seen in the void, protesting to whoever or whatever would respond to your helpless pleas. Just as you came into contact with the undersurface of the concrete, however, the frame pulsed one final time, illuminating the surface above you. A blinding flash of light- and you were gone, like the endless whispers in the void.

All you saw was a bright flash of light. One moment you saw the endless void looming ominously below you, promising an eternity of solitude and suffering...and the next, you feel a rush of wind against your face. It wasn't the eternal cold of the void- instead, it felt like a cooling breeze. A temporary rush of adrenaline coursed through your veins- you felt...energised.

Taking a glance at the new, unfamiliar environment, the adrenaline quickly died down as you took in the now-familiar sight.

Individuals in monochromatic shirts strolled around aimlessly...monochromatic horns protruding from both sides of their heads.

Another glance to your right. You saw a familiar grey van with a familiar one-armed individual...wait, where was half the sunlight? Why's it filtered?

Looking up, a dizzying sight met you. The Crossroads tower...where a certain individual would regularly jump from the top, blaring out a particular tune from a boombox...

Your suspicions were confirmed. You were definitely in Crossroads...

Deciding to explore your surroundings further, you paced on...but didn't expect to crash into someone after just a few steps.

"Ouch!! Watch it!!" the individual screeched.

Rubbing your head, you hissed in pain. You were swiftly silenced, however, as you glanced up at the person you crashed into.

It was Blackrock's greatest scientist.

Subspace.

His pink irises glinted in what little light filtered through Crossroads’ tower.

“Hey, watch your step, will ya- what the hell?? Where’s your horns??”

Reaching up to feel the top of your head, you came into contact with nothing but thin air.

It was then you realised that you may have had some basic knowledge of this world but you came here, but you wouldn’t be provided with one thing.

The traits of the Inpherno’s residents.

"Uhhhhh..."

You trailed off. What were you gonna tell him, you got thrown into the void from some other dimension where the Inpherno was nothing but the starting point for a video game.

Subspace didn't even bother listening to whatever you had to say if you even had anything at all. he immediately began inspecting you, brushing apart strands of your hair to check for whatever stumps of horns may be there, but of course- there was nothing.

"The hell- even Hyperlaser has more signs of horns than you, and all he has left are little stumps beneath his helmet!!"

At that point, you were fairly annoyed, perplexed and stunned. One moment you were playing a video game, and five seconds later you ended up in the game's world itself, as well as the very character you always played as having a most one-sided conversation with you

Feeling annoyed by the lack of information, you groaned to get his attention.

"Dude- the reason I don't have any horns wasn't because they got pulled out or something- I just wasn't born with them."

Finally stopping his endless inspections, Subspace finally paused to stare you in the eye, his gaze boring a hole deep into your soul.

"WHAT?! How could you not have been born with horns?? Every resident in the Inpherno has them, I- what?? HOW?!"

Guess it was time to come clean already...

"Well, uhhhh...I'm not from this world. This dimension, specifically."

At your words, Subspace froze. Not from this world? Wasn't the Inpherno one of the only habitable places for demons? Then how did you get here? What even were you?

"Then...where are you from??" he asked, with a panicked expression. "Are you immortal, since you don't have horns that can be pulled out??"

"Hornless demon- or whatever you are..."

"...you aren't gonna hurt me, are you??"

You were quite shocked by what he said. This was Subspace- him not being his high-and-mighty was something new, contrary to his in-game dialogue.

"I...literally cannot," you say, exasperated, "because I don't have a gear, like you guys."

"WHAT?? You don't have horns to pull out, and yet- you're calling yourself weaker than us?!"

"Yeah, but it's not like-"

"I must get back to the lab to analyse you at once!!"

You stood there, shocked. Follow Subspace back to his lab? You weren't even sure if you would survive his experiments- they were either typical experiments and tests a generic scientist would carry out, or grotesque and unorthodox like a mad scientist. But then again...you were quite interested in the life of your video game main. This was something you had always been curious about- what was Subspace's life like? Weighing your options, you made a decision. You would probably be stuck in the Inpherno for a long time, and this was your only shot at shelter, openly presenting itself to you as if the universe, regardless of how much it wanted to screw you over, still wanted to make your life slightly more bearable in some way.

"Fine...I guess."

"Excellent!! This research will prove useful for my inventions!! Ah, I got too caught up, I forgot to ask!! What's your name??"

At this point, you had nothing to lose."

"...(Y/n)."

"...so yeah, that's how I ended up here..."

You were talking to Subspace on the way back to his lab in Blackrock. The eternal winter from that region was already lingering in the atmosphere- you hadn't even reached Blackrock but were already starting to feel cold.

"So...you're saying that your survival does not primarily depend on a set of horns, but depends on your health condition and age?? Interesting...I do hope that-“

He was cut off by a sneeze from you.

“Sorry, Subspace…too cold.”

Without saying a word, Subspace took off his coat and passed it to you.

“Here, take this…I’m not sure what I need to take into consideration when researching your species…but I hope I can assist with your needs!!”

You held the coat in your arms. The fabric felt soft...and smelt of lavender. Putting on the coat, it felt very comfortable and warm...

You had a feeling that your new life probably wouldn't be so bad after all.

-

and that’s it! sorry if it’s out of character, I’m still new to this ;-;

reqs are open, just go to the pinned msg!

thanks for reading! :D

[cinewhore]

The Wrath of a Mother

Pairing: Thomas "Tommy" Shelby x fem!reader word count: 3k warnings: violence, heavy angst, kidnappings, blood, gore, guns, fighting. summary: Thomas Shelby discovers his wife's past. A/N: more peaky blinders brain rot for you all. not much else to say. no beta cause I say so! Enjoy. Credits to the gif artist.

The chaotic melody of jazz was cut off by the sound of screams.

Tommy didn’t like jazz which is why you waited for him to leave before putting the record on. It had been a tiresome day, dealing with the children, being the lady of the house. You sent the majority of the staff away, with the exception of a few maids to help with your children. The girls were young and foolish, always giggling behind their hands. 

You pay the shouts no mind, until they grow louder, the high pitched squeals of the girls being intertwined with the yelling of men. 

Suddenly, a shot rings out. You instantly cut the record, dashing into the children’s room. Oliver wakes up with ease while Alice fusses. You hated disrupting them but had no choice, telling them they were going to have a special sleepover in the guest room. 

“Now, mommy is going to go and grab some snacks. I’m going to lock the door, to keep the pesky monsters away! Mommy or daddy will come back to get you, ok?” 

Your oldest nods, the best big brother to his sister. You press a quick kiss to both their heads, not daring to look back at them before shutting the door. 

The world seemed to slow down after that. You weren’t aware of how much time had passed, couldn’t ignore the ringing in your ears, the exhilaration of shock and adrenaline coursing through your bloodstream. 

It was enough to blind a man. 

Someone was hollering your name but you couldn’t make out whose voice it belonged to. 

Hands abruptly clasp your shoulders and you shriek, twisting your body in a way to fend off whoever dared to attack you next. You try to ram the knife into the arm of your assailant but another pair of hands snatch your weapon away, leaving you defenseless. 

Tommy crawls on his knees in front of you, grasping the side of your face tightly. You squirm and squirm but stop as he shakes you. 

“It’s alright! It’s me! It’s just me!” He could tell that you were trying to comprehend what was happening and that your body was moving on its own accord, still engaged in fight or flight mode. 

“Arthur, let her go.” 

The oldest brother shoots Tommy a look. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes!” 

Arthur drops his hold on you and you sag forward, arms wobbling against the wooden floors, hands drenched with blood. 

“It’s alright, love. You’re ok, it's finished now.” 

It was over. You had won, however, the thin veil between this life and the old one had been hastily torn down. 

“Where are the children, hm?”

You shake your head, his words unclear to you. 

“Our children, where are they?! Alice and Oliver, where are they?” 

You raise a weakened arm and point towards the end of the corridor. “Guest room closet…I locked it-” 

“Michael, go check!” Thomas shouts. His cousin takes off without another word.

It was all too much. The noise, the lights, the commotion. Pushing yourself up on your knees, you combat Tommy and the grip he held on you, dead set on getting into a place where you could shut it all out. 

You stumble down the hallway and the flight of stairs, only tripping a few times before making it out the front door. You make it just past the hedges and collapse, stomach churning while you vomit.  

Arthur was close by, tentative of his approach. He didn’t want to scare you off further. He advances steadily, arms outstretched to show that he meant no harm. 

“It's ok, love. It’s just, Arthur. I’m not gonna hurt ya.” 

You nod, wiping at your mouth. “There were so many-" 

“Yeah. Yeah, there were. You fought them all.” 

“I didn’t- didn’t mean to kill anyone-” 

You let Arthur close enough so that he could hold your hands, uncaring of the blood smeared across yours. 

“Listen to me, eh? You’re gonna have the shakes. Your hands are gonna feel like they’re made of fucking lead. S’all normal. I just need you to breathe cause it looks like you’re gonna faint.” 

You mimic Arthur as he breathes in and out, slowing down your beating heart. You surge forward and hug your brother in law, catching him by surprise. He panics for a moment before hugging you back, rocking the two of you. 

“You did good, sister. You did good.” 

You didn’t speak about it for two weeks. 

You knew that he wanted an explanation, you felt it every time the two of you were in the same room. There was a lingering stare he would give you that he gave to each of his enemies. It was menacing, calculating and ominous. You knew the longer it took for you to offer up clarification for your actions, the more he began to suspect that you were placed in his house, in his bed, based off of an ulterior motive. If that were the case, you would’ve killed him by now but Tommy was no fool nor was he new to this type of life. He knew when people played with their food before eating and he refused to be swallowed by you. 

His lovely, little wife. 

It was a pleasant Sunday morning. You figured after breakfast you’d take the children into the gardens, perhaps have them splash around in the pond to tire them out before lunch. Tommy’s side of the bed was empty and cold by the time you woke up, which didn’t surprise you. 

The lack of boisterous noise coming from the children is what tipped you off. 

You remain calm as your lady’s maid helps you dress for the day, swapping out your gowns for a nice riding outfit. 

“Lily, where are the children?” you query the young girl. 

“Mr. Shelby arranged for them to spend the day with Ada, madam. She collected them this morning.” 

You rock your jaw, vexation settling into your features. He secluded you, tapered off the one distraction you wouldn’t be able to use against him. 

“Thank you, Lily. Where is Mr. Shelby?”

“He’s awaiting you in the dining hall for breakfast.” 

Nodding, you finish your last little bit of preparations before seeking out your husband. 

Thomas was a sight to behold. He sat in the chair facing away from the window, the morning glow casting a hazy aura around him. He held the newspaper in front of him with rigidness, eyes covered with his spectacles, long eyelashes gracing his cheeks whenever he looked down or blinked. 

You don’t bother clearing your throat, knowing your husband was programmed with an innate capability of being able to detect when he was no longer alone. He huffs out an exhale, flipping the pages of the paper. 

Frances pulls your seat out for you and you thank her, watching as she pours you a cup of coffee. 

“Shall I crack your egg for you?” 

You shake your head. “No, thank you. I actually find that I don’t have much of an appetite this morning.” 

“Shall I ask the cook to prepare something different for you? Perhaps you’d like some fresh fruit? We just received some apples.” Frances tries again. 

You give a sympathetic smile to the older woman, always grateful for her thoughtfulness and warmth. “I’ll just have some water.” 

Frances pours you a hefty glass, bowing slightly as she exits the room. 

You take a quaint sip from the glass as Tommy folds the paper, tucking it underneath his plate. 

“Are you sure you’re not hungry? The toast was quite delicious.” 

“You sent the children away without telling me.” You place the glass carefully on the table, using the condensation to wet your neck. 

“I am their father, I can make decisions about where they go.” Tommy hums, rolling his neck to finally get a look at you. Even on low hours of sleep and no makeup, you were a natural beauty. You fixed your hair up in a way that he especially liked, the pins keeping it held firmly in an ornate fashion. 

“You don’t send my children anywhere without me knowing about it.” You bite back coolly. 

“Well,” He claps his hands together. “I figured we could use a day to ourselves. Frances has made us a nice picnic near the edge of the garden, our horses have been saddled and for the ultimate surprise, we’ll be shooting pheasants for dinner.” 

You force out a grin, swallowing down the lump that was squirming its way up your throat. “What a perfect day.” 

The picnic was gorgeous and you hated the way you tore into your food after skipping breakfast. Tommy made little conversation and you obliged him for the time being, willing yourself not to disassociate. 

He was setting you up. While you remained neutral about the usage of guns and their place in the house, you always refused to shoot one if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Tommy had given you one for protection and you kept it locked in a box, stored in the back of your wardrobe. The last thing you wanted was for the kids to find it. 

Maurice, a stablehand, was already stationed near the edge of the forestline, a trap full of pheasants at his disposal. Tommy hands you a shotgun and the both of you prepare them for the task. He’s the first one to shoot and achieves a few hits, your duo of foxhounds sprinting to capture them. 

You check over your gun once more, ensuring that it wouldn’t backfire and injure your shoulder. 

“I’ll take four.” You tell Maruice and he gawks at you before straightening his posture. 

“Are you sure, ma’am?” 

Raising a single eyebrow was enough to get the young man to hush, nodding his head that he understood. “Be quick when handing me the other gun.” 

“On your signal.” 

You raise your weapon upwards, relaxing in your stance and emitting a low release of breath. 

“Pull.” 

The flapping of wings alerts your senses. Watching them disperse into the sky, you aim your gun a few paces ahead, striking two birds instantly. Rapidly swapping out guns, you anchor yourself a bit before plucking off the remaining two. The dogs are happy as they trot to gather the rest of the birds. 

Maurice seeks to hide his amusement but fails. “Great fucking shot, Mrs. Shelby!” 

“Thank you, Maurice. Hang two of them for dinner, please.” 

You don’t say another word as you set off for the stream nearby, Tommy close behind. 

You strip off your shoes and socks, placing your slightly blistered feet into the running waters. Tommy takes a seat beside you, lighting a cigarette. 

“Are we going to talk or keep playing the silent game?” 

“You’re the one who makes speeches.” 

Tommy chuckles. “You’re a great shot.” 

“I know.” 

“I just want to understand how a woman such as yourself swore of guns but managed to take on six armed men with the precision and execution of someone who enlisted.” 

You snap your head over. “What, so you think I’m a spy now, huh? Is that it? A Soviet spy sent to crush Thomas Shelby and his empire from within? Give me a fucking break.”

“I’m not picking a fight with you-” 

“But you are! That’s what this is, isn’t it? A fight that has gone on for far too long.” 

Tommy goes silent, like he always does. At this point the both of you realize that you were no longer referring to the conversation at hand but what was left unsaid in between the lines. You let yourself wallow in the anger for just a few more moments before exhaling deeply.  

Absent-mindedly, you pick at the tiny blades of grass, ripping and ripping until they scatter out of your hands like confetti. 

“I was framed,” you start. Tommy perks up at the sound, lighting a cigarette. He attempts to pass it to you but you refuse it. “I was young, barely a teen. An orphan.” 

“The New Prospects Orphanage in the Netherlands.” Tommy comments and you nod your head. 

“On Wednesdays, we would take walks around the city so we could be shown what proper ladies were like. There was a girl, Claire, who would sometimes sneak in our group and walk with us. We were friends. The older girls were vile and teased her. Pushed her down a flight of stairs. She cracked her skull.” 

You stop at the mention of your old friend, rushed memories of that fateful day speeding through your mind at the speed of light. You remember the blood slowly leaking out from behind her head, staining the white hair bow she wore. 

“I reached out to try and grab her, if anything we would’ve fallen together but she slipped right through my grasp. I was blamed and whilst they were discussing what to do with the police, I took off.” 

You look at Tommy, who was already eyeing you with precision. “I apparently made some very bad fucking enemies that day.” 

He began putting pieces together mentally, filling in the gaps of his research. From what he had gathered, you were at an orphanage until you were twelve, moved to the States until you were eighteen before making your way back to London. You remained lowkey, worked jobs mostly as a secretary and lived a bland existence until he met you a few years after being back from France. 

You steal his cigarette, sucking on the stick like it was the last one on earth. 

“Claire came from a notable family within the Netherlands. Her brother wouldn’t stop until he saw my head on a stick. They sent people after me.” 

Tommy sticks his tongue out to wet his lips briefly. “Eli Delbeke.” 

“Eli Delbeke.” you repeat. 

He was one of the six bodies Tommy discovered after the carnage. He knew who you were, the woman you tried to hide behind. He hunted you until he cornered you in your own house, threatened to feed your children to his dogs. Eli had sent nearly every thug, gangsta, and man for hire after you. You managed to defeat them all.

You didn't like how easy it was for you to snap someones neck, hated the way blood circled the drain during a shower.

“He knew you were going to be alone.” Tommy concludes. “He knew about the rally.” 

“As far as I’m concerned, there shouldn’t be any more of them alive. I survived the onslaught. And you want to know what lesson he could’ve learned?” 

You put out the cigarette beside you, coughing. “Grief isn’t good for business.” 

It happened so fast that you didn’t have time to blink. The foundation was in full swing at its grand opening, members of high society swarming all around you. You wouldn’t lie and say you were thrilled to be there but this was Tommy’s moment and as his wife, you had to play your part. 

Photographs were taken and you smiled politely, Alice in your arms and Oliver hiding behind your leg. The boy was utterly shy and you hated placing him in situations like this. Balancing Alice on your hip, you shoot an apologetic look at Tommy and the others, awaiting a photo op. 

You brush back Oliver’s hair, trying to coax him forward. “Come on, Oli. It’s ok! We’ll smile very quickly for a photo and then we can go wait outside for daddy.” 

Tommy grows impatient and grabs Oliver, taking him by surprise. He begins to sob and thrashes around in Tommy’s hold. 

“Shelby family, look this way!” The photographer instructs and you all oblige. The flash goes off and the crowd around begins to disperse.  A woman in a maid outfit reaches for Oliver and Tommy hands him off willingly, eager to get away from the clamoring of chatty women. You were busy adjusting Alice’s dress, setting her back down on the ground.

You look around for Oliver, noticing you couldn’t hear his cries anymore. 

“Oliver?” you call out to no avail. “Oli?” 

Clutching Alice’s hand, you ask around the room if anyone has seen a little boy. All people shake their heads, your panic grows more by the minute. 

Polly senses your agitation. “What’s wrong, dear?” 

“It’s Oliver. We just took a photo, I sat Alice down but when I looked up, he was gone.”

Polly gives you a look you know too well and your face drops. “Oh, Poll-” 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.” 

Polly alerts other members of the family, sending them in different directions. She then escorts you out into a more secluded area of the building. 

Ada and John join you, all with forlorn expressions. 

“Nobody has seen ‘em.” John reports, Ada backing his claim. She places a protective hand on your back, guiding you to sit on a bench. 

“Let me hold her.” she says calmly and you reluctantly let go of Alice. 

Arthur and Tommy march up to the family, fists balled and faces set like stones. 

“He was seen being taken in a car by some woman.” Arthur shares, eyes downcast. You stand up abruptly, stepping a few paces away from everyone else. Breathing becomes a difficult task and you clutch at your chest. 

The familiar sensation of rage and anguish sneaks upon you, digging its sharp claws deep into the fiber of your being. 

Tommy folds himself over you in an endeavor to console you. “This is all my fault. I will fix it. Don’t you fucking worry, I will fix this. Those fucking Italian bastards will not get away with this. It’s going to be ok, I promise.” 

You cock your head to look at your husband, the only thing visible from beneath your hat was your red brimmed eyes. A lone tear escapes and you refuse to let any others do the same. 

It was if you were possessed by the devil himself.  

You straighten yourself up, sniffling quietly. “Ada, give me my child.” 

Ada does as she is told and if you were being more observant, you might say that Ada feared you in that moment. 

You were going to see to it that whoever took your child would die by your hands. 

They weren’t going to fear you as Tommy’s wife nor as a Shelby but as a fucking mother. 

[wrathofrats]

Seeing Blind (you’re too good to be all mine)

Chapter 6, 4.3k , mature, read under cut or on ao3

(Part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)

A thank you to the ever wonderful @divine-misfortune for being my cowriter

“Swiss, I,” Dew opened his mouth with the partial intent of coming clean but Swiss fixed him with those big brown eyes and his heart cracked. “He seems to get all weak in the knees when you’re bold,” he offered instead and resisted the urge to cringe at his own cowardice with a feigned nonchalance, tossing the crust of his sandwich to a sparrow, “so why don’t you go be bold and tell him how you feel before he’s gone for good. Win him back or get yourself an answer then and there. Get yourself out of this limbo.”

Rain doesn’t leave the house for several days after his talk with Dew. Can’t bring himself to - doesn’t want to face any of them, let alone Swiss.

Hardly manages to leave his room. The dark circles under his eyes are not lost on any of them.

His dad reluctantly knocks on the door periodically through the days, gruff voice gone surprisingly gentle asking if he needs anything. He brings him dinner when Rain is absent from the table. His mother sweeps into his room and opens the drawn curtains in the mornings despite the fact she knows Rain will close them again not long after, always asking hopefully if he’d like to help her in town or baking or something else benign. It’s hard to see her smile falter when he makes up an excuse about needing to read a few chapters of some book or some essay to stay on track with his classes for when he returns to school.

School came more into focus as he wallowed, it was something he could blindly throw himself into. The upcoming semester was steadily approaching and coming to terms with leaving his home, and everyone, behind again was no easy task. Maybe getting away from the mess he’d made was best for him, and everyone else. He was never meant for farm life anyways - his mom always joked that he was born to be a city boy all his life, there seemed to be some truth to that now.

And as his sudden and abrupt absence dragged on, Swiss only grew more confused. It was almost like the few days Rain had avoided him after their first kiss but worse. The farmer’s son had plucked out his heart and ran off with it for real this time, and he wasn’t coming back.

Swiss had gotten a small glimpse of him one afternoon as he was washing the tractor, elbow deep in soapy water with half his shirt soaked. He hadn’t taken his lunch. He hadn’t been taking them for a while, too worried to eat and too guilty to continue the routine he and Rain had fallen into; splitting two lunches between them in the shade of the grain silo, Rain bringing him a cold drink daily and a sliver of whatever his mother might’ve baked on Fridays. The silo was out on the far side of the front yard, far enough from the house Swiss feared he might just miss catching a glimpse of him.

Judging by the slow creak of the back screen door two things were evident; Dew hadn’t oiled the hinges like he’d been asked to last week, and Rain had been counting on Swiss’ absence.

He looked worse for wear. Uncomfortable having to simply exist, but most of all, Rain looked tired. Dead on his feet. Like he’d simultaneously just woken up and skipped sleeping the last few nights. Practically dragged himself across the gravel driveway to the barn where he fought with the heavy wood doors.

Swiss wasn’t sure if Rain was pointedly avoiding looking at him or simply hadn’t noticed the farmhand peeking at him from beside the tire but either way he couldn’t take his eyes off Rain if he tried. Even as he continued to wipe the body down, mindlessly scrubbing the sponge over the same scuffed bit of paint. Seeing Rain hurt but looking away might’ve just killed him.

But Rain did eventually grow wise to the hopelessly yearning gaze cast in his direction. He froze like a deer in headlight, the color draining from his face - Swiss had never seen him paled like that, that soft pink flush had never left his cheeks when they were together. Neither of them spoke. Swiss didn’t call his name, as badly as he wanted to, and Rain didn’t say his in turn. No apology, no explanation, not even offering Swiss rejection. A range of emotions flitted across his face instead, the most prominent being grief and guilt, before he was retreating back to the cage he’d made for himself in that house. Going where Swiss could not follow.

The entire situation plays on repeat in Swiss’ mind. Over and over. He should have just gotten over his nerves, the stupid gentleman complex he had, and fucked him. It wasn’t like he didn’t want Rain, he did. He really did, bad. After all the weeks of constant teasing only to be pushed away and outright denied it only made sense that Rain was avoiding him now - in Rain’s mind, Swiss was either leading him on and playing with his innocent emotions or he didn’t want him at all.

It begins to eat away at him. Wearing guilt like a uniform as he drags himself through the overly long and unfulfilling days. He swallows it down for as long as he can until he simply can’t. Mountain unknowingly puts the crack in the dam, his concern hitting right at the weakest spot. It spills out of him before he even comprehends the words. For the first time, out loud, Swiss admits to his feelings. He’s more honest to him than he’d been ever since he and Rain first kissed. Confesses to just how much time they’ve spent together, and reluctantly tells them about the night that hadn’t left his mind.

”And I kissed him, and it just…We got carried away,” Swiss fidgets with a loose thread on his flannel, one of the buttons barely hanging on. Only when he glances down to the offending button does he realize it’s the dark green flannel he’d draped around Rain’s shoulders to keep him warm once upon a time. It felt like months ago. “Went pretty far and I knew he wanted to take it further but I stopped him.”

”You…Stopped him?” Dew paused, having been fiddling with the tab of his empty coke can as Swiss practically word-vomited on them. ”Why?”

”I don’t really know.” He laughed nervously, an involuntary sound that came out hollow. “He looked like a kicked puppy when I told him I didn’t think we were ready, that I didn’t think he was ready. Fucking hell, I’m pretty sure it sounded like I was handling him with kid gloves or some shit. Probably sounded like I didn’t want him.”

Mountain frowned. ‘The worried mom look’ as they all called it. He glanced sideways at Dew who’d popped the tab off his can finally, and Dew’s stomach sank. He knew exactly what Mountain was thinking - that he’d been right about Rain from the beginning. Nothing but a priss who barely tolerated the lot of them. Someone they should have protected Swiss from more proactively. It made his skin start to itch. Dew needed Mountain to stop looking at him. He needed Swiss to stop looking absolutely devastated.

He’d assumed the worst of Rain and his intentions. That Rain was using Swiss but how could he be using him if they’d never gotten that far? It’s not like he knew at the time - at least, that’s how Dew attempts to justify everything he said but it really doesn’t help. Fuck. Would Swiss understand if he told him? No, no Swiss wouldn’t forgive him for ruining something that affected him this deeply.

Jaw aching, he could feel his anxiety driven heartbeat in his clenched teeth. His molars might just crack, or he would. Something had to give.

Dew stared into his lap and shifted the food packed in his lunchbox like he was looking for something in particular despite the way his appetite had curled up and died. Swiss and Mountain continued to discuss, trying to find the root of the problem unknowingly sat uncharacteristically quiet three feet away. Every heartbroken word from Swiss was another nail in the coffin Dew dug for himself. The path to hell was always paved with good intention.

“You did what you thought was best, maybe you weren’t ready either.” Mountain flicked Swiss’ hand away from his flannel before he could actually tear the button off. “If he’s truly that upset then he needs to talk to you about it, not lock himself away. He will realize what he’s lost at some point.”

A chip fell out of the bag Dew was holding before he finally sighed and threw the rest to the birds. Salt and grease wouldn’t help him swallow this any easier, truth be told, everything was just helping to turn his stomach further. The truth sat like a lump in his throat, begging to be released. He just couldn’t decide if it was better to come forward and confess or pray Rain never divulged the things he’d said to him. Neither would play out well for him, he was more than aware. Dew was also aware of the fact Mountain wouldn’t save him from the consequences of these particular actions, might even turn a blind eye when Swiss inevitably jumps him with every ounce of bottled up hurt behind his closed fist.

“Swiss, I,” Dew opened his mouth with the partial intent of coming clean but Swiss fixed him with those big brown eyes and his heart cracked. “He seems to get all weak in the knees when you’re bold,” he offered instead and resisted the urge to cringe at his own cowardice with a feigned nonchalance, tossing the crust of his sandwich to a sparrow, “so why don’t you go be bold and tell him how you feel before he’s gone for good. Win him back or get yourself an answer then and there. Get yourself out of this limbo.”

He was trying to be a good friend now, he had been trying to be a good friend when he confronted Rain. Seems like he’s not very good at it. Swiss deserved better friends than him and that fact goes down just about as smooth as cough syrup. Dew couldn’t stand that sad expression much longer, and as much as it might just kill him to have Swiss learn the truth, maybe he could at least get Rain back in the process. Sugar to help Swiss swallow the bitter medicine of Dew’s indiscretion.

“But I don’t want to overwhelm him. You should have seen how he turned tail when he saw me the other day, I don’t want to chase him away.” Swiss sighed and rubbed both hands over his face.

Dew handed his now crustless, semi flattened sandwich to Mountain instead of tossing it to the birds. Chicken salad was bad for birds. ‘Borderline cannibalism’ Mountain had stressed to him in the middle of a lecture when he was caught throwing pieces of a different sandwich to some ducks one time. He’d had his fair share of guilt for the day.

“You really like him that much?”

“So much, Dew…More than I’ve ever liked anyone or anything.”

A pit opened in Dew’s stomach but he fought to grin. The smile Dew typically fixed him with before doing something mischievous.

“Go tell him that then.”

With a shallow breath Swiss nodded and hopped to his feet, Mountain following behind as he made his way to the barn leaving Dew to sit in contemplation.

Bold.

One of two things would come of this; Rain slips away and he walks away looking like a fool with wounded pride or Rain returns his affections. What did he have to lose? Either way, Rain would leave for college by the end of the summer and he couldn’t let him go without being truly honest with him, Rain deserved that much.

Fate was on his side, the stars had aligned. Wednesday was the one day of the week where he could count on Rain’s father being gone, restock day. He and the other farmhands dreaded it, usually left with aching backs and knees by the end of it after having to carry in countless bags of feed before they were allowed to clock off for the day. A routine they all knew well. Mountain went with. Big, strong, known favorite employee Mountain. It gave him a few hours to work with.

Like always, Mountain waved goodbye from the passenger side window and Swiss watched the truck disappear down the winding driveway with held breath. He counted to ten before turning and mumbling something to Dew about covering his ass. If the work wasn’t done by the time they got back they’d all get chewed out but Swiss needed to do this.

The house sat quiet aside from the buzz of the television as Rain sits on the edge of the couch folding towels, one of the few chores his parents could talk him into without much pushback as it didn’t involve stepping foot outside. The knock on the door came suddenly and urgently, and Rain nearly sent his neat stack of linen to the floor when he flinched. He fumbled over himself to get to his feet and hurry to the door. More often than not, if someone came to the door after his father left something was wrong, and fearing an emergency Rain swung the door open without so much as checking who was out there.

His heart swelled and sunk all at once. Gripping the doorknob Rain was frozen. He can’t retreat. Can’t bring himself to close the door in Swiss’ face even if he wanted to. Only with him standing there in front of him did Rain truly realize just how much he missed him. He fucking missed Swiss. It had been the loneliest he’d felt in years without him around. His eyes stung, the threat of tears barely kept at bay by a few rapid blinks.

”Hey…” Swiss started and Rain seemed to jolt out of his stupor, he put his hand on the door to stop him from closing it before he’d even made any move to do so. He knew it was a desperate, pushy thing to do. “Can I come in?”

“M-My dad will be back soon,” Rain tried to keep his voice level and his face neutral but the words came out whispered and wobbled. He swallowed thickly.

“No he won’t, he and Mountain just left. Please, I need to talk to you.” His gaze flicked away, catching Phantom and Cirrus both blatantly staring the two of them down from across the yard. He quickly tacked on a softer, “privately.”

Hesitantly, Rain stepped to the side and allowed Swiss in. Swiss’ shoulders sagged with a breath of relief as he crossed the threshold. Standing in his kitchen felt familiar but wrong at the same time, like he didn’t belong there. Rain quietly shut the door and retreated further into the kitchen to sit at the table, the plates from breakfast still laid out. He sits stiffly, hands folded in his lap. The tears collecting in his lashes betray his neutrality.

Neither of them spoke for a stretch of time that lasted far too long, both too stubborn and guilt ridden to break the palpable silence until it was too heavy to bear a moment longer.

“I’m sorry Rain, it wasn’t you I just was so wrapped up in-“

”I’m sorry, I never meant to make it feel like I thought poorly of you-“

The two blurted out in unison and ultimately trailed off into another widening gap between them. Swiss’ frown settled deeper and Rain bit his lower lip in some vain attempt to stop himself from crying but the tears spilled despite his efforts. All the lonely nights with only a growing numbness as his company had done well enough to bottle up everything, but with Swiss there in front of him, he couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“What…?” Swiss’ brow furrowed, moving from the chair across the table from him to the one directly beside him when he began to cry. “Rain, what are you talking about?” He pulled his hands from his lap, squeezing them gently.

“I’m not like that, I never thought I was, was,” he hiccuped and dropped his head to stare at how Swiss held him instead of meeting his eyes “I never thought I was better than any of you, I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m so sorry, Swiss. Never wanted you to think that, or that this was some little fling. This wasn’t just a play for attention or anything, I swear.”

Every word felt like another knife in his ribs, urging him to curl in on himself like a sobbing child. He just couldn’t stop the words from pouring out, a proverbial waterfall of admission. He could see just how bad it must have looked - Swiss didn’t fuck him so he turns his nose up at him and the other farmhands after the princess didn’t get what he wanted. It could have only served to cement the idea of all of this being for his own gain and entertainment.

“Tadpole, what are you talking about?”

”Dew, he, he-“ Another hitch in his voice, “talked to me…Told me to stop messing around with you, and that you all thought I was uptight and snobby and that I was using you.” His head snapped up and he’s suddenly holding Swiss that much tighter, like he might pull away. “Swiss, I’m not. I promise I’m not, would never. I love you more than the attention or sex or-“ Rain was beyond the point of babbling, probably didn’t even realize he’d dropped the L-word.

If not for the sentence it was set in, his heart might’ve stuttered in his chest, but something hot and sharp began creeping up his throat instead. Anger and betrayal tasted sour in his mouth. Barely tempered.

“Dew told you what?”

The silence was beyond damning. More than enough confirmation. If not for how tight Rain held him or the tears pouring freely down his face he might have gotten up and stalked out to the fields to wring the truth from his skinny little neck. But Rain had been out of reach for so long, he wouldn’t dream of leaving him. Dew was what pulled them apart, he wouldn’t let it happen again. Rain was his priority.

“I- oh darling. I never thought that about you. Not even for a second. Figured you were sticking around for more than just my good looks when you willingly subjected yourself to sleeping in hay on more than one occasion.”

Rain gave a small laugh, grabbing a napkin from the center of the table to wipe his eyes. It was something at least.

“Dew is just, er…He’s suspicious of people he doesn’t know, and over protective of the ones he does. Doesn’t know you like I do though, none of them do. Couldn’t hope to understand how I feel about you.” The anger becomes easier to shove down with every soft stroke of his thumb over the back of Rain’s hands.

He has Rain again. He has Rain and there was nothing wrong between them anymore and he has Rain.

The tension leaves both of their postures, the quiet was easier to sit in without so much pressing down on them.

“Swiss…” Rain started somewhat shyly. “How do you feel about me?

It’s a question that should have a simple answer, ‘I love you’, but it didn’t quite answer it fully. Conceptually, yes. He loved Rain. But it didn’t feel like enough. Words didn’t feel like enough. Swiss had meant it, he’d never liked anyone the way he liked Rain.

“Askin’ the hard hitting questions there, Rainy.” He chuckled, meeting Rain’s expectant gaze. If only he could just lay his heart out there for Rain to see, it’d be easier. “…Do you remember the night we laid in the bed of my truck instead of the loft?”

“When we watched the stars?”

”Yeah, yeah. Remember how absolutely fascinated you were by them? Just in awe of how the constellations told stories, how you could tell the time, the season, the direction, all just by looking at them?”

”Of course I do, it was beautiful out there.”

“You couldn’t stop staring at them all night, watched you struggle not to fall asleep so you could savor them a little bit longer. Wonderstruck by each and every little dot in the sky, really seeing them for the first time.”

He tipped his head, “what does this have to do with how you feel about me?”

“Well, raindrop,” Swiss brought one of his hands up and kissed his knuckles. “That’s how you make me feel…Hopelessly in awe of you.”

His mouth opened but all he managed was a weak laugh while shaking his head, looking anywhere but Swiss’ face. Bashful. Beautiful. “You don’t mean that.”

Swiss turned him back towards him, cheek heating up underneath his palm. There it was. The only way he could possibly describe the way Swiss looked at him - nothing short of adoration.

“Barely looked at the sky that night, I couldn’t stop looking at you. Every night, every time I had you in my arms all I wanted was to look at you.” He chuckled nervously. Nobody warned him of how nerve wracking this would be. The movies made it look so easy. “You drive me fucking crazy Rainy. Got me feeling like a lovestruck fool when you’re around and a lost puppy when you’re not.”

Rain was a new shade of red. Nothing like the pinks he’d seen before, even when he had his mouth latched onto his throat and Rain was singing like a canary.

“C’mon…Say something.” His confidence wavered without any sort of response. “Tell me I’m not stupid.” It felt like he was begging for confirmation he wasn’t positively delusional. ”Tell me you feel something for me.”

”I do,” he rested his hand over Swiss’, leaning his cheek into his palm. “I never knew I could like someone so much.”

Air rushed back into his lungs as Swiss remembered to breathe, that he even knew he could breathe to begin with. A real lovestruck fucking fool.

“Fuck - you just, you make me feel alive. Swiss, all I’ve done during every break since I started college is come home and read. Stay in my room and study, wait to be told what to do, do the bare minimum to help out around the farm, and wait. I wait to go back to my dorm where I sit and I study and I wait to be told what I need to do before I drive hours home to do it all over again.” His face had almost become a grimace, recounting the routine he’d repeated for years out loud, but it softened out again when he refocused on Swiss. “Don’t think I’ve had fun like this in…I don’t know, like, forever. Haven’t felt hopeful about anything in even longer.”

Somehow, he managed to sit still despite the giddy excitement blooming and bursting inside him. He was pretty sure he could pass out. For the last two summers Swiss had been making heart eyes at Rain from afar, hoping for a chance he never thought would come. Before this summer, they’d had their small interactions. Not a whole lot of anything but it was something - a little banter here, a snide comment from either of them there, brief run ins that he’d been certain Rain brushed off and forgotten directly after parting. Swiss had loved every second of it, it always got his heart beating a little faster, he just didn’t know how deep his love for Rain really ran at the time.

“You were my first kiss y’know…” Rain admitted quietly like it was some shameful secret but the nervous, near bumbling reaction had given Rain’s innocence away within the first three seconds. Swiss decided not to tell him that, focusing instead on the little rush of pride that came with it.

“Yeah..? Was I memorable?” His grin is dopey, he knows it is. Can’t help it.

Flushing all the way to the tips of his ears, Rain made a little annoyed sound that turned into a laugh as he shoved Swiss’ hands away. He got up and Swiss did the same. His hands don’t stay away long, not when Swiss had every reason to possibly touch him.

“Maybe. Could have been, dunno. It’s been a while.”

”Need me to jog your memory then, darling?”

“Mm…Might have to.”

Whatever impossibly heavy and strange fog had drifted over them was finally dissipating. Waved away. He felt lighter, they felt lighter. More at ease, more so with each other. Rain hands don’t even shake as they slide up Swiss’s chest to wrap his arms around his neck, only letting out a surprised little ‘oh!’ as Swiss drew him to his chest. Eager to be close to him. He’d quietly yearned to feel him again from the second he’d slipped out of bed that morning, not entirely in a physical sense, aching for the pure intimacy of it.

Kissing him felt like dreaming. Slow, sweet, like they had all the time in the world even though the clock was steadily ticking on from its place above the stove. It didn’t matter. Their lips had always seemed to fit together so easily. Even easier was the way Rain’s fingers started to sneak into his locs. A silent plea for more, to be closer, to never let him go.

But they had to come up for air sometime. Swiss was the one to break apart, allowing him to catch Rain with his eyes still closed, bliss woven in his face. He wanted to keep him like that forever. His eyes flutter open and his delicate expression turns into the cutest pout that manages to tug on his heartstrings ever so slightly.

“Heeey…” He whined, rocking up onto his toes to steal another. All he gets is a peck.

”Gotta go before your dad gets back, lover boy.” Swiss grinned down at him, tapping him on the nose as he slipped from his arms. “You still remember where you can find me, princess?”

For that, Swiss earned a little shove against his chest and a proper fitting laugh. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling if he tried.

[demonvampire180writes]

Groundhog Day Chapter 1

BuckTommy Fix-it Fic Rated: T

3,008 words

No editor/editing, Angst with a happy ending (Hopefully)

TW: Broken body parts, head injuries, major vehicle crashes, minor descriptions of blood

My Original Word Vomit Inspo Post

Chapter 2 on Tumblr

On Ao3

The sun is already high in the sky by the time Tommy pulls into the gas station, driving up the right side to a pump so he can fill his tank. He’s been driving since before dawn, already dreading the next week. He’s struggling to understand why his captain decided that he needs a break. He’s been fine. His work-life balance is just fine.

He’s definitely not picking up as many extra shifts as he possibly can just so he doesn’t have time to think. To contemplate. To regret.

Hopping from the truck, he stretches his arms above his head, exposing just a little sliver of his tanned stomach as he moves from one side to the other. Letting out a soft groan he taps his card to the reader and pushes the nozzle into his tank. As it fills, he absently observes the environment around him. There’s a lot of desert; soft brown sand and hard packed earth as far as the eye can see. A copse of trees a few hundred meters out from him blows steadily in the arid breeze, and he tastes the dryness on his tongue. It tastes like a southern evening sitting out on the porch in the dead of summer, a beer in one hand and nothing but the chirping of cicadas as white noise. Small tumbleweeds lazily crawl across the ground, being pushed this way and that.

Almost every car that approaches pulls off; it’s the first gas station he’d seen in going on a hundred plus miles. His truck still has nearly a full tank of gas, but he was itching for some form of caffeine, and it’s not like he has a destination in mind. Tommy’s plan is to drive until he feels like he can’t, and then hole up in some roadside roach motel and hope he doesn’t get eaten alive by bedbugs. It’s not been a full day and he already feels the way the thoughts are creeping in; the urge, the desire, to pull out his phone and dial a number he knows he should have deleted months ago but can’t.

The pump finally clicks and he drags himself back to reality. Without so much as a wayward thought, he returns the nozzle to its holder and heads into the small convenience store that’s attached, praying that it has more than black sludge to slake his thirst.

While the station did in fact have coffee, it wasn’t much better than the sludge found at the bottom of an ashtray, but he was drinking it for the energy boost and not so much the taste. Ever since he ended things with E… with Buck… he’s found himself drinking his coffee black. Is it punishment for finally finding happiness and throwing it away? He doesn’t know. What he does know is that he has to force it down his throat as it constricts because the stuff is so foul.

He’s probably only another thirty-five or so miles out from civilization when he manages to choke down the rest of it, tempted to throw the empty in the passenger side footwell but deciding to not be the sulky adult he is and placing it in the front cupholder. All the windows of his four-door are rolled down, scenery whipping by as old-school country blares from the speakers. Tommy installed it a few months after they’d gotten together, dreaming of one day taking a trip just like this with him. They would hold hands across the center console, Tommy bringing those rough knuckles to his lips to kiss as the younger man regaled him with fun facts about any and everything. Tommy’s plan had been to spoil the hell out of him. He wanted to show E… Buck… just what it means to be loved for everything you are.

A sob works its way up his throat and he can’t fight it back. The tears follow soon after and it doesn’t take long for him to feel like he’s driving blind because his vision is blurring. The sun sinks beyond the horizon as well and his headlights can only pierce the darkness so far.

Tommy grips the steering wheel, hard, as thoughts he buried deep resurface. Barbed wire made of steel snakes around his heart, leaving carnage in its wake as it tears the fleshy organ to shreds. His chest aches and he can’t draw in a breath. Is he hyperventilating? His thoughts are a jumbled mess and his body is on fire.

That’s the only logical reason he doesn’t see the semi with its brights on, careening towards him around a curve, its cargo tilted on two wheels trying desperately to right itself. He doesn’t even feel the impact at first. One second he’s driving along half blind and the next he’s strapped in his seat while the ceiling of the truck is now the floor. Pieces of the windshield crunch under his hand as he groans, groping for… Anything. His head throbs and he smells gas.

“Fuck.” He swears, fingers finding the release on the seatbelt. It clicks and he drops unceremoniously to the ground, hissing as pain he doesn’t have words to describe rips across his left arm. Vision bleary, he’s definitely got a concussion, he glances down and moans. The arm lays limply next to him, the index finger barely twitching when he tries to get it to move. Broken - shattered more like - but the nerves are still intact.

His head throbs and makes his vision swim, but he has to get out of here and call for help. If his phone still works that is. He looks to the driver side window and is thankful to see that, while the frame is bent, he can still probably wiggle his way out. It wasn’t going to be comfortable, but that doesn’t matter right now. Grabbing a sweatshirt that was nearby, he wraps his hand in it, tilts his face away, and breaks out the rest of the glass, attempting to sweep it out and away from the truck so he doesn’t have to drag his already battered body over it.

Once as clear as it’s going to get, Tommy lays on his back for what could’ve been hours, trying to will away the no longer dull ache in his head. His vision is a kaleidoscope of color and seems to be getting worse. He’s fighting to keep his insides where they belong, despite wanting to desperately throw them all up. There’s a high pitched ringing in his ears that he hasn’t had since his combat days overseas. Brief flashes of his time in Afghanistan flicker behind his closed lids but he manages to bat them away. They’re trying to lure him into sleep but no. Sleep is bad. He can’t. Not yet. He’s still in danger.

Grunting, he unglues his eyelids and peels them open, chest hitching as he forces back the nausea. Giving himself just thirty more seconds, he turns onto his stomach and begins the arduous task of dragging his 6'2 frame through a window not designed to be exited from. He cries out unbidden when his broken left arm catches on something, and he has to lay there for an eternity, sucking in deep breaths through his nose as he fights through the pain. “Get it together, Kinard. You’re a soldier.” He hisses through clenched teeth. Who cares if he sounds crazy? There’s no one around to hear him.

Finally, finally, he’s on familiar black asphalt. Heaving, he gets into a sitting position and leans against the cab. His arm is no longer in pain which isn’t a great sign. Neither is the fact that he can’t feel the pain in his temples. He’s likely going into shock, his body shaking from blood loss due to the innumerable cuts all across his body. One of his ankles is swollen all to hell as well. “Fuck.” He reiterates. What a shitty end to what was going to be a shitty week. At least now he doesn’t have to find a shitty motel to bed down in. With their current location he may not ever need to worry about laying down to sleep again.

That’s when he hears it. The silence of the night makes it echo. A voice, calling for help. Swiveling his head this way and that, Tommy tilts his head ever so slightly, trying to locate the sound. “H-help. P-please. Someone please. Hel-p me.” Following the plea is a whimper that shoots straight to Tommy’s firefighter heart.

The other driver he realizes. Instincts kicking in, Tommy hauls himself to his feet. Testing his one ankle he decides he can hoof it as long as he doesn’t put too much weight down on it. If you can call it lucky, it’s thankfully also on the left side so his damaged arm won’t be forced to dangle away from his body as he limps to the semi.

The cargo container is flipped fully on its side, having skidded ten feet from the bed. The chain holding it to the cab is clearly snapped. Tommy notes the much stronger gasoline smell. Then he spots what he can immediately tell is a fuel line, or something similar. Fluid trickles from the hose, making the puddle it’s in bigger by the second.

“Hang on tight, I’m coming.” He yells, hoping the driver is still conscious to hear him. He stopped calling out, or making any noise at all, as Tommy limped his fastest. The snub nose of the cab is totaled, looking like a poorly made white accordion. The driver’s door is more distorted than Tommy’s had been, showing him exactly why the driver hasn’t gotten out. The area near the handle is shoved so far back it’s making a triangle. There’s no way one person, an injured person no less, could push it open.

Finally he’s within reach. He’s not sure what he’ll be able to do, being injured himself, but he knows he’s going to damn well do everything he can. That’s when he notices the embers. Embers growing steadily bigger as they crawl their way along the mystery liquid. Tommy’s eyes widen comically. It doesn’t matter how injured he currently is, he’s suddenly on a very strict timer. The clock has been ticking, but for how long? The steel cargo hold must have sparked as it skidded. Tommy doesn’t know just how long he was out of it before he woke up and got himself to safety.

As he starts to yank on the distorted door, fingers digging into whatever open space he can find, he yells, “Hey, can you hear me? Is anyone there?” It’s hard to focus between his useless left arm, the concussion, and using his one good limb to yank at the door. “Hey, I’m firefighter Kinard. Say something if you can hear me!” The door gives just a little and he gets excited for a split second before realizing that it refuses to budge anymore. The embers are now an actual flame, and they’re gaining ground fast. “Dammit.” It doesn’t matter if the driver is dead or alive, he’s getting him out of there. No one deserves to burn to a crisp in the cab of their vehicle, dead or alive.

Hobbling around the semi he searches the surrounding area for anything he can use as leverage to get the door open. Unfortunately he left his own jaws of life at home, he can’t just carry them around in his back pocket you know, so he has to improvise. That’s when he sees it, a fallen tree branch as thick as his forearm and as long as his femur. Hopefully it will do. It has to. He pleads to a God he doesn’t even believe in. God forsook him years ago.

Gritting his teeth, he grabs the branch and drags it behind him back to the wreckage. With more difficulty than even the most uncoordinated person, Tommy manages to wedge the branch between the door and the frame. It groans under the pressure but doesn’t break. Sweat beading along his brow and under his pits, the back of his shirt soaked with it or who knows what else, he braces one end of the branch between his bicep and his chest, wrapping his arm around it like a cobra. Planting his foot, he wrenches his make-shift lever towards the truck. He leans against the cab as his muscles screen out in agony and the metal screeches as it rubs against itself. The branch begins to crack and Tommy is on the verge of passing out.

Please. Just a little bit more. He can feel the heat of the flames at his back, licking up his calves.

The door gives and Tommy lets out a surprised laugh sob. Dropping the branch he peers into the truck and sees the driver slumped over the steering wheel. Not even bothering to check for his pulse, Chimney and Hen would absolutely murder him for not doing his ABC’s before moving a patient, Tommy cradles the man’s head as best he can against his shoulder before wrapping an arm around his middle and tugging.

Thankfully the driver is light, a very slight Asian man, probably in his very late fifties to early sixties, likely just a few years from retirement, making it that much easier to pull him to safety. And he couldn't have gotten away even a second later because the next moment the entirety of the rig went up in a fiery explosion of flames, shrapnel like bullets flying everywhere. The ringing in his ears increases tenfold and he has to cover one with his hand and the other against his shoulder.

Once he’s certain there’s no shrapnel left to injure them further, Tommy begins the search for his phone. He finds it inside his own truck but his heart sinks upon seeing the cracked screen. Fingers shaking as the adrenaline high starts to wear off, he presses the power button and nothing. On the verge of a breakdown, he bites his lip and presses and holds the power button, sending out another prayer. At first nothing happens, no response. But the screen flickers, distorted and hardly legible, but that’s fine. As long as he can dial for help.

It takes an inordinately long time for his phone to boot up, especially considering it’s one of the more recent models because Ev… Buck… was tired of his phone always taking so long to load. His lock screen flickers into view, though it flashes in and out of focus, colors bleeding across the cracks. When he attempts to enter his pin to unlock it, the screen doesn't respond. He curses yet again when he remembers that most smartphones have a feature that can dial 911 without using the screen. His brain more scrambled than eggs on a Sunday morning, he wracks it trying to remember. Eventually it comes to him. It wasn’t a feature all phones have, but it’s one a lot of first responders used because they knew calling wasn’t always feasible. Fingers unsteady, he uses his thumb to hit the power button three times in rapid succession. He whimpers in relief as it begins to ring despite there being no more than one bar of service.

Setting his phone aside, he begins his cursory checks of the other driver. Placing two fingers at his throat, he finds a pulse. While slow, it’s beating steadily. The man has a nasty cut across his forehead in a diagonal line, bleeding sluggishly. He most likely has a concussion as well. All of his limbs seem to be okay, though they were likely going to be heavily bruised for a very long time. Tommy is counting respirations when the line clicks.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“My name is Tommy Kinard, firefighter pilot at Harbor station in LA. I was in a head-on collision with a semi in my personal vehicle.”

“Thank you, firefighter Kinard. Can you tell me your location?”

Tommy blinks. His vision is narrowing in, the edges turning black. His awareness is going. It takes her asking a second time for him to find his voice. “I’m not sure.”

“That’s okay, stay on the line with me while we find your location. Is anyone injured?”

“Yes. Myself and the semi driver. There was a gas spill or something so I was forced to extract him before it went up.” He breathes deeply and leans back against his totaled truck. “We’re both showing signs of concussions. He unfortunately passed out before I could get to him so I’m not sure how serious it is. My left arm is completely broken and my left ankle is swollen. Not sure of its status. He’s got a diagonal gash along his forehead that’s still bleeding and we’ve both got plenty of cuts.”

“Head wounds tend to bleed a lot. Is it still bleeding a concerning amount?”

Tommy assesses the driver before answering. “No. It’s almost stopped.”

“Okay, that’s good.” He hears her fingers dancing over the keyboard. “We’ve located you and I’ve sent emergency vehicles to your location. While you wait for them to arrive, I need you to stay awake. Do you have anything you can use to splint your left arm?”

Her words fade and his head lilts to the side. When he speaks he knows he’s slurring but he can’t stop it. “N-noo. No s’lin’t.”

“Firefighter Kinard, please keep talking. I need you to stay awake, can you do that for me? The ambulance is less than twenty minutes out. You’re in quite a rural area.”

No. No he can’t. His vision darkens until it’s just pinpricks of light. The last thing he hears before his body collapses to the side is the dispatcher frantically screaming out his name. His world goes dark and he’s dragged under, into the unknown.

He wishes that he could have seen his Evan just one more time, even if it was only to apologize.

[st-dorothy-minority]

RadioApple one-shot

I both really don't want to post this and kind of do. So probably only have it up for 48 hours like I did the last one before deleting it and wondering why I post my dumb work.🤦‍♀️

I like comments, so if you want to feed me one, that's cool.

Duck, Duck, No

****

Alastor knew the exact buttons to push to cut someone down to the core. It was a talent he excelled at. Studying and learning what he could about a person in order to have the upper hand when it came to making a deal or making them wish they’d never challenged him was his specialty. He thrived on sniffing out a weakness and capitalizing on it for devastating effects.

In the heat of arguing, Lucifer was no different than anyone else. He was just another poor soul who dared to rattle the beast inside of him, leading him to exploit one of the devil’s biggest soft spots –

His beloved duckies.

“Honestly, it’s laughable! You’re the king of Hell, ruler of all sinners, and you care for these things as if they had any actual significance for existing. It’s pathetic how many you’ve accumulated over the centuries. And of all animals, a duck?! A pitiful creature that can easily be torn apart and has no real value. Seriously, Lucifer – you should be embarrassed. If these are the kind of animals you favor, then it’s no wonder you let yourself be a doormat to everyone. At this point, anyone would be a better fit for a king than you.”

While he spewed his vitriol, Alastor failed to notice how Lucifer’s posture began to slouch and his shoulders slumped. His rage blinded him to the shift in Lucifer’s eyes that were now filled with unbelievable shame and welling with tears. His antlers and tentacles were at full span, and his menacing aura suffocated whatever remained of Lucifer’s. The flames, horns, and tail that had manifested on Lucifer’s body disappeared; he clutched his arm, bowed his head, and closed his eyes as Alastor laid into him and destroyed him where it hurt most.

“Well? Nothing more to say, hm?” Alastor taunted, oblivious to how severely he had already defeated someone he claimed to love. “Don’t tell me you can’t even defend yourself now. This was just getting good.”

Lucifer was clearly shaking, and he did his best to quiet his sniffling. Without a word, he disappeared in a swirl of red and gold.

****

It had always been his private sanctuary. Lilith knew to keep disturbances to a minimum while he was in here; even Charlie wasn’t allowed inside except for special occasions or for a goodnight hug and kiss. There were times when he felt self-conscious and even ashamed by the amount of ducks he’d crafted and surrounded himself with, but they’d been the only constant in his life. They didn’t expect anything from him. They didn’t betray him.

He'd been persecuted, made fun of, and lost everything because he decided to love - to love ducks rather than majestic birds; to love Lilith rather than another angel; to love mankind enough to want them to experience what he thought was a gift: free will.

How foolish….

Still a fool after all these years.

As Lucifer’s eyes surveyed the room, the humiliation brought on by Alastor’s words was beginning to transform into deep-seeded rage. His true devilish appearance re-surfaced as he succumbed to the intense fury that now yearned to be expelled.

With his hands engulfed in flames and eyes pure red to match, Lucifer set fire to his safe space. His haven.

His cherished and adored duckie creations.

He shouted. He cursed. He took handfuls of his flock and crushed them, letting their remains slip from his grasp like sand.

When it was all over, there was nothing left but piles of ash and dust.

One slow step at a time, he walked around the room amid the ruin. As the air gradually cleared, it was then he saw a lone duck that remained. Hands poised to set it ablaze, he suddenly paused, and pupils returned to his glowing red eyes as he stared at it quizzically. He steadily approached, picked it up, dusted it off, and all at once, he was transported back to the memory of receiving it.

It was a stuffed animal, not one that he'd made, but rather that Lilith had sewn and crafted together just for him while she was pregnant with Charlie. It was one of her first attempts and very good, in Lucifer’s opinion. She’d wanted to perfect her skills in order to make simple and cute toys for Charlie before she was born.

Falling to his knees, Lucifer clutched the homemade duckie to his chest, buried his face against it, and began to sob uncontrollably.

“Look at little Lucifer – mesmerized by the ducks again. Hey Lucifer! Why don’t you spend your time obsessing over something actually impressive and worthy of admiration, like an eagle or an owl? Those ducks are worthless. Quit wasting your time with them.”

“Are you crazy, Lucifer?! You’re an archangel! God has even called you His most beautiful servant! What are you thinking, falling in love with the human woman?! Don’t be stupid and drop it!”

“You’re such an idiot!” “Traitor!” “How could you sin against your own Father?!” “You’ve ruined everything!” “Because of you, the world is going to be filled with darkness!” “How could you be so disobedient and selfish?!” “Your ideas are poison.” “You’re dangerous.” “You will never be welcome here again.”

It was an hour before he laid down in a bed of ash, still clinging to the stuffed animal duckie, and quietly cried himself to sleep.

****

The air felt heavy and smelled strongly of smoke. With every step Alastor took towards Lucifer’s workroom, the symptoms of fire grew stronger. He assumed Lucifer had erupted in a fit of rage, but he never suspected Lucifer to do what he’d done until he opened the doors and witnessed for himself.

Shock kept Alastor rooted to the spot, eyes wide and stunned as he looked about the room. He took it in, took all of it in. There was no more vibrant color, no more piles of yellow – the significance of what had been burned, it ate away at his heart.

Near the middle of the area, he spotted the familiar white garb and carefully began to stroll towards the prone form resting on the floor. Lucifer’s cheeks were dirtied from the ash, but it was visibly apparent how much he’d cried from the thin, clean lines the tears had left on his face. The way in which he was curled up and hugging the only duckie left gave him the appearance of a child, causing the sight to tug even more at Alastor’s heartstrings.

“Oh Luci,” he whispered regretfully and knelt beside him. He brushed back the strands of hair ghosting over the devil’s visage before conjuring a blanket and covering the other demon with it as if tucking him into bed.

“I’m deeply sorry, my dear….”

****

----Several Hours Later----

Lucifer blearily opened his eyes, sat up slowly, rubbed his face, and abruptly froze when his gaze landed on Alastor, who was sitting upright against the nearest wall and seemingly asleep. It took everything within Lucifer to not come undone all over again just from seeing him.

As if he had an acute sense of minimal movement, Alastor opened an eye to confirm he was right.

“You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to move you,” he offered gently.

Lucifer stared at the floor and kept his head lowered, saying nothing.

“About last night-”

“Don’t,” Lucifer murmured in a trembling voice. “Just don’t. Not now.”

“Luci-”

“I SAID ‘DON’T’,” Lucifer snapped irately as he stood up, flames briefly materializing around him. He started for the doors, dropping the duckie plushie along the way, and grumbled, “You know where the door is. See your way out.”

Unbeknownst to Lucifer, Alastor trailed behind him in shadow to observe and make sure he didn’t do anything else drastic. The remorse for what he’d said returned exponentially while he watched Lucifer standing in the shower with the water cascading down his petite body, his face buried in his hands, shoulders slumped and shaking as he wept.

Alastor knew how draining Lucifer’s explosive and emotional episodes could be, was pleased to see his lover was going to try and get more rest when he slid under the covers of the large bed after a lengthy hot shower and ultimately closed his eyes. It was only then that Alastor finally obeyed the request and took his leave.

****

A few days passed without any communication between the two of them. Alastor wasn’t worried; they’d gone a week without talking in the past. He was giving Lucifer his space, and in the meantime, he was contemplating how best to apologize to him.

When several more days passed and he learned Lucifer had declined multiple requests from Charlie to spend time with him and proceeded to stop responding altogether, that was when he began to worry.

There was no way Lucifer would want to see him if he wasn’t even capable of seeing his own daughter, and there was no way he could begin to replace all that Lucifer had lost.

But he had an idea of where to start.

****

Another week passed, and still, Lucifer could barely get out of bed most days. Today proved the most productive by the simple fact he made it as far as the couch in the main living room. With TV remote in one hand and a half-consumed bottle of whiskey in the other, he disinterestedly channel surfed despite his mind not being able to focus on anything but how shattered he still felt.

At first, he thought he imagined the doorbell and knocking noise, yet when it repeated for a second and third time (each being louder than the last), he decided to get up and sauntered to the front door. He really didn’t want guests, but apparently whoever it was was persistent.

When he opened the door, his expression became utterly confused; there was no one.

“Hello?” he called weakly.

No answer.

He was about to close the door; however, he glanced downward and paused. Slowly, he crouched down and studied the objects left on the porch. There were seven duckies lined up, each one painted to look like Charlie and her original hotel companions. Dumbfounded, he picked up the one that resembled Charlie, inspected it from all angles, and noticed writing on the bottom.

“You QUACK me up, dad! Love, Charlie.”

Tears instantly flooded his eyes, and he continued to pick them up individually to admire and read the kind words underneath. Once he got to Alastor’s, he greatly hesitated, pulled his hand away numerous times before taking a deep breath and welcoming it into his hands. The message was the shortest out of all of them, though it had the deepest impact:

“I love you.”

He fell apart entirely at this and held the duckie to his chest. Seconds later, he felt someone’s presence, yet he kept his eyes shut tightly as he cried and soon melted in the embrace of his lover.

“I’m so very sorry, Luci,” Alastor whispered. “I was terribly wrong. I’d like to beg for your forgiveness….And I thought it could be fun if we started a new collection….together.”

Lucifer buried his face against Alastor’s chest and nodded, reveling in the touch of familiar hands petting his hair and rubbing his back.

“Perhaps I should begin calling you my ‘precious little duckling’,” Alastor teased. He was delighted when he heard a tiny, muffled laugh from Lucifer. “Like it?”

Lucifer nodded.

“Alright then, my precious little duckling. Let’s go take care of you and find a temporary home for these ducklings inside.”

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Taken (Ghost/Reader)

CW: knife wounds, hostage situations, sharing clothes/bed, alcohol, vaginal sex, oral (giving & receiving), fingering

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader, They/Them Briefly Used

WC: 5.9k

The city's outskirts were draped in a blinding sheet of sand and dust. Gunfire rang out from the concrete buildings. Between an alleyway ducked a masked figure, finger on the trigger as he cleared out the buildings. He pushed through abandoned room after abandoned room, only ever coming across discarded cans and abandoned supplies. The radio clipped onto his vest hummed with static. He glanced back over his shoulder as he traversed the sector alone. Gunfire erupted from the east, earning a quick glance out the window as he advanced. Aching hands held his rifle steady. His chest steadily rose and fell as he evened out his breathing. Even after years of experience, the nerves still got to him.

“West end secured,” a voice said over the radio. He brought the device to his covered lips, pushing down with his index finger. 

“Copy, almost done here,” he said, clipping the radio back to his vest. Muffled cries drew his attention. He pushed himself against the wall. He aimed the barrel of his rifle toward the doorway as he quickly moved through—another empty room. More soft cries came from down the hallway. He thought as he cleared out a closet. The voice was far too high to be a man. Maybe a woman, maybe a child. Giving another glance to his rear, he entered the hallway. His boots clicked against the concrete. As he approached the end of the corridor, his eyes locked onto a single door cracked open just a hair. He swiftly pushed the door open, checking every corner of the room, and then behind the door. Everything was clear, except for the person chained to the wall. 

Cloaked in just a single oversized tee stained with blood and dirt, was what looked to be an adult female. The cuffs were placed just high enough that they couldn’t even rest on their heels. They stood in a puddle of urine, skin covered in deep purple bruises. He looked up at their terrified eyes. 

“Please, I'm an American soldier,” they said in a hoarse voice. “My partner and I were captured.”

His brows furrowed as he looked the alleged soldier up and down. Stepping forward, he did a quick pat down of the hostage. He tugged their shirt up after palpating a soft mass. The skin of their abdomen was littered with more scars and bruises. Sitting above their right hip was a messy pile of bloodied gauze taped to their skin. That was the only other thing they were wearing. Quickly pulling the shirt down and turning away, he spoke. 

“Any ID on you?” He asked. 

“My, my unit number was 492. Headed by Captain Davis. They took everything from me,” they explained, tugging against their cuffs. 

Quickly scanning the captive over, he grabbed onto his radio. 

“Got a hostage here in the north sector. Said they’re an American, unit 492, under the order of a captain Davis. Gonna need medical here too.” He said, reaching out to grab the battered arm of the soldier. They winced, gritting their teeth and shifting on their toes. 

“Got it. We don’t have a way to get medical. Get them back to the copter and we’ll deal with it at base,”

He glanced at the soldier, scanning over all of their battered limbs. 

“I’ll make it there as soon as possible. Still haven’t cleared it out, but the way they’re looking, I can’t stick around to finish it up.” Putting his radio back, he brought his hands up to the cuffs. They were solid, unable to be broken by hand.

“You seen anyone put a key anywhere?” He asked, peering down at the soldier. 

“The desk. Check the drawers,” they said, nodding toward a ramshackle desk in the corner of the room. He approached, ripping open each drawer and digging through the rubbage. His eyes caught onto a glint of silver. He pushed past the clutter, revealing two sets of dog tags. 

“Name?” He asked, looking over the information on the tags. 

“Last name is Whiteford. My partner is Barr.” They explained. The names matched up on the tags. He held the tags up for them to see before quickly turning back toward the drawers. There was no key in sight, however there was a pair of wire cutters. Not bothering to close the drawers, he quickly made his way over to the captive. He placed the cutters on one of the chains and began pushing with all his strength. A subtle click sounded as the steel gave way beneath the force of the pliers, and another, before the link broke altogether. With a thud the captive fell, only to be caught in the arms of the masked man. He slung the captive over his shoulder, all too aware of the pair of bare legs in his peripherals. 

“I can’t feel my arms or my legs,” they said as their breathing staggered. 

“You’re okay. We’re getting out of here,” he said, returning to the hallway. “We’re getting out of here. They can’t walk, we’re gonna need to find a place for the heli to land.” He spoke forcefully into the radio. 

“Uh, southwest, past that gate. We’ll have them land.” A voice said with a stutter. The man ran out of the building, pistol in hand as he turned down another alley. He could see the decrepit gate up ahead, more of a mess of chicken wire than a gate. Glancing up into the sky, he moved toward the landmark. The loud whirring propellers quickly came into earshot. He tugged at the back of the Americans shirt, pulling it down as far as it could go. A plume of sand erupted as the helicopter landed. He quickly approached and ducked as he handed the American over to his comrade. He watched as the man set their limp body on one of the seats. He hoisted himself up inside the chopper with a small grunt and moved to sit next to the American. His fingers fished through his pockets, pulling out a chain with the soldier's tags. He slipped them over their head, reading the engraved letters again. 

“You’re in good hands, sergeant,” he yelled over the deafening roar of the propellers. The battered sergeant whimpered, laying their head in the lap of the lieutenant. They tucked their knees into their chest and closed their eyes.

-

I felt, disjointed, to say the least. As if I was some sort of spectator, watching myself as I stepped away from the convoy of cars. I don’t remember where it went wrong. It might’ve been a misstep. Something loud blew our cover. I remember seeing the look on my partner's face. His eyes went wide. The grip on his gun tightened until his knuckles went white. The scene erupted into bedlam. Screaming voices sounded from the roofs. My ears rang as a bullet zipped past my head. I followed him into one of the buildings, quickly firing shots into an enemy. Sharp pain bloomed in my abdomen. I doubled over, looking at the blood seeping through my uniform. OCP never did hide stains too well. Handcuffs tightened around my wrists as the enemy took us captive. 

I can’t remember how long it had been. Eventually, they took my partner. The constant ringing in my ears overwhelmed my ability to audibly track. At one point a single shot rang out, then back to the deafening silence. With each day of only being given stale bread and enough water to only wet my lips, I grew more disoriented. Or maybe it was the blood loss. Either way, that British flag was a welcome one. 

I woke up with a stinging pain in my stomach. The first thing that stole my attention was the olive green shirt put over my body. I lifted it and peered at the boxers that loosely fit on my hips. My gaze shifted to the neatly placed bandages and the faint orange tinge of iodine. 

I was in a dorm of sorts. Standard issue bedding, scattered clothes, and a skull balaclava resting on the nightstand. An IV was placed in my arm, leading to a stand placed by the bed. The bag of fluids perched atop the pole had been long empty, along with the Keflex infusion next to it. I had a suspicion I was in the room of the man from earlier. I decided to lay back down, clutching at my tags as I rested my head on the pillow. The door clicked open, drawing my attention. It was the man from before, maybe. His mask wasn’t on. He had a strong nose, slightly crooked. His lips, plump and pink, were turned down into a permanent frown. Frown lines decorated his forehead along with a myriad of scars in various states of healing. His stubble was graying, a contrast against his short blonde curls. His deep brown eyes flicked across my body. 

“Whiteford,” he spoke, stepping closer to the bed, “your small intestine was eviscerated. They repaired it in surgery. You’re not going anywhere in your current condition, so it looks like you’ll be staying with us for a while.”

“Why am I in your room?” I asked. He looked away, running his fingers through his blonde locks. 

“Multiple reasons,” He stated plainly. He glanced back at me and rummaged through his pocket. He held out a cup of lemon jello and a plastic spoon. “You’re on a clear diet since they had to mess with your intestines.” I took the food from him and sat up, crossing my legs. The ache of my muscles had died down significantly. 

“They must’ve given me some good painkillers. Felt the best I’ve felt in years,” I said, opening the container. The man slowly moved toward the foot of the bed. The mattress dipped under the weight. 

“You know about your partner, right?” He asked. My nostrils flared as I sniffed, sinking the spoon into the jello. 

“I heard the shot,” I explained, bringing the jello to my mouth. I silently chewed, looking up at him. His brows furrowed as he stuck his hand into his pocket. He held out the tags to me. They lightly clanked as they dangled in the air. I grabbed them, setting them down by my Jello cup. “Kid joined the army for an education. Knew him since day one,” I mumbled as I dug around in the jello with my spoon. “He was good, just an easy scare.”

We sat in silence. The man reached out toward my IV and unscrewed the tubing. The rubber stopper popped into place. I glanced at my IV, and back up to him. 

“These yours?” I asked, tugging at the collar of the shirt. 

“There’s a lot of men here. It’s better than an open gown.”

“M’ used to it,” I mumbled. “Thanks.” 

He nodded as he stood up. He pulled open his closet door and dragged out a comforter. With a thump, it landed on the ground along with a single pillow. 

“What are you doing,” I asked, watching as he pulled off his shirt. 

“Sleeping,” he replied. 

“There’s enough space. It’s your bed anyway,” I pulled back the covers for him and set the empty jello on the nightstand. His brown eyes glanced at me, the bed, and then the floor before he stepped forward. He slipped into bed behind me, pulling the covers over his shoulder and turning away from me. The sound of his steady breath pulled me back into sleep. 

His shuffling body woke me. When I opened my eyes I was met with a beam of sunlight drifting through the window. I glanced down at my waist. His arms had wrapped around me in my sleep. The palm of his hand gently rested over my bandages under my shirt. I felt his chest rise as he took a deep inhale, groaning as he exhaled. His hands quickly jolted from my body. 

“Sorry.” He blurted out as he sat up and moved off of the bed. 

“It’s okay. You warmed me up at least.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I watched as he pulled open his closet door and began grabbing various items. He turned around and tossed me a pair of sweatpants. 

“I’ve got things to do. I’ll show you where the kitchen is, clear foods only,” he said before slipping into the bathroom. I pulled the sweats up over my ankles and eased onto my unsteady feet. I pulled the pants over my hips, practically swimming in the material as I pulled the drawstring tight. The cotton had bunched up around my ankles, but there wasn’t much I could do about that. He stepped out of the bathroom just as he finished lacing up his shoes. His brown eyes scanned up and down my legs. I could see the way his brows furrowed through the balaclava. He turned to the door, pulling it open and gesturing to the hall with a nod of his head. I followed along beside him. I read the embroidered letters on the back of his vest. 

“Riley, huh?” I mumbled. He looked over his shoulder at me as I said his name. 

“It’s Simon,” He stated as he faced forward again. I followed him past a turn and into the kitchen. A group of men sat at a table, their conversation halting as the two of us walked in. 

“This the Yankee?” A man with a Scottish accent asked, crossing his arms. Simon nodded as he pulled open the pantry doors. 

“Glad we pulled you out of there, yank. Was a bloody mess.” A man with a thin mustache said. 

“You’re not gonna make me eat beans on toast, are you?” I asked, slipping my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants. 

“Fuck no,” the Scotsman added. Simon held out a box of chicken broth. I took it in my hands, sighing as I turned it over to read the cooking instructions. 

“Right then, we should probably get goin’,” Simon said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“Make yourself at home,” the mustached man said. The two followed behind him, turning a corner and continuing down the hall. 

“Aye, bet you like havin’ a hen like that in your clothes LT,” a Scottish voice said, followed by a yelp of pain and muffled whispers. I turned toward the microwave and set the carton of broth on the spinning disc, dialing up a minute and thirty on the controls. As the humming of the microwave filled my ears, I turned toward the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water from one of the shelves. 

I sat silently at the table and ate my meal. It wasn’t the most appetizing, but it filled my empty stomach nicely. After finishing, I set the bowl down in the sink and wandered down the corridor. It was door after door of what I could only assume were private dormitories. I glanced out the window, watching as a group of soldiers traversed through a maze of equipment and obstacles. 

“Oh, let me take your IV out,” a voice said. I looked up at the person in front of me. It was some medic I hadn’t seen before. I held out my arm, looking away as he slipped the tubing out of my arm. He placed a cotton ball at the junction of my arm, holding it firmly to stop the bleeding and applying tape to hold the cotton in place. I muttered a ‘thank you’ and dipped into Simon's room. Determined to wash the grime from my body, I stepped into his bathroom. A small array of soaps were placed in a small shower caddy. I turned the faucet, stepping out of his baggy clothes. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I couldn’t help the frown that took over my face as I looked at the extent of my injuries. The deep purple that had blossomed on my skin faded to yellow and green. My limbs looked as if they were mangled, and the giant bandage over my abdomen only added to it. I stepped under the hot water, the ache in my bones melting away with the soothing warmth. I sighed as I popped open the cap of his body wash. It smelt earthy and fresh, just like him. I clenched my jaw at the thoughts that overtook me as I bathed in his scent. I felt an instant relief as I began scrubbing at the layers of dirt and sweat that coated me. Frankly, I didn’t know how he let me in his bed with how disgusting I was. The water that ran off of my body was tinged brown. I frowned, scrubbing underneath my arms until the water eventually ran clear. Hesitant to use the bottle of 2 in 1, I brought my product-tinged hands to my knotted hair, easing the suds into my scalp. I worked my fingers through the knots that had tugged at my locks, the dull headache behind my eyes easing with every strand undone. 

I felt clean, the cleanest I’d been in months. I grabbed a folded towel from under the sink and wrapped it around my body. Stepping back into his room, I pulled open his closet door, looking for another set of clean clothes. The door clambered open. A pair of heavy boots thudded onto the carpet. The masked man looked me up and down as I pulled out a pair of his boxers. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” I said, placing the pair back. He reached past me. The smell of sweat overwhelmed my nose, his soaked chest just inches from me. 

“There,” He Said, handing me a Set of neatly folded clothes. “I’ll be in the shower.” He closed the closet door and pulled off his drenched shirt as he stepped into the bathroom. I dropped my towel and quickly changed into his clothes. The feeling of clean linen against clean skin was intoxicating. I smiled, tossing the towel into his hamper and sitting down on his mattress. After a few minutes, he stepped outside, a cloud of steam following him. He wore a pair of sweats that hung low on his hips and a tank top, mask now forgotten in the bathroom. He scrubbed at his hair with his towel, dropping it to the floor as he came closer to the bed. 

“I don’t have anything else to do today. Figured I’d just hang around here.” He pulled on a navy blue hoodie. In white letters on the back was “ghost”.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask, kicking my legs back and forth. 

“Long as you don’t tell anyone about where we’re goin',” he said, tossing me a jacket. I quickly pulled it over my head and followed him out the door. He turned down the hallway, past the kitchen, winding through tight turns in the dormitories.

He glanced over his shoulder at me every so often, watching my hobbling paces. Eventually, we approached a stairwell at the far end of the base. He leaned into the door with his hip, pushing it open and letting me step past him. 

“Just up at the top,” he mumbled, boots clanking against the stairs as he ascended. I followed behind, gritting my teeth at the strain each step put on my sore quads. His brown eyes noticed my distress, grunting softly as he picked me up, carrying me the rest of the way up the stairs. He smelled like his soap. Woody, with a hit of something sweet. I wonder if he wore cologne. We approached the landing. His arms shifted to set me down on my feet. He fiddled with the knob, pulling the door open to reveal a rooftop. A single chair, a battery-operated lamp, and a radio sat next to a pillar. I followed him toward the little camp. He flicked on the radio, turning it to a low volume. Soft classic rock broke the silence that had grown between us. He disappeared behind the pillar, grabbing two cans of beer and a pack of smokes. He held one out to me. With a small smile on my face, I accepted the drink. 

“Set this up my second year on this base. Sometimes you just need a bit of quiet,” he explained as he sat down on the ground. He glanced up at me as he cracked the tab of his can. I took a seat next to him, opening my own beer. The long stretches of empty field in the distance caught my attention. Just over the horizon was the sun, tinting the sky a rose color. I silently sipped my drink, watching groups of soldiers jog by in formation. 

His lighter flicked. Looking over at the man, I watched as he held a cigarette between his lips, holding a flame to the end of it. Orange embers sparked to life, a plume of smoke rising from the end of the stick. He took a drag, closing his eyes as the smoke filled his mouth. He pulled back, holding the cigarette between two fingers. Glancing at me, he offered me a hit. I reached forward and took it from his hand, taking a drag of my own. A rush of static ran up my spine as the musky taste sank into my tongue. I exhaled, feeling a steady tinge of vertigo wrack my brain. Handing the cigarette back to him, I let the head rush envelop my senses. Eventually, after the feeling subsided, I opened my eyes, met with the cotton candy sky above. I hummed, picking up my can and taking a sip. 

“Why  the military?” He asked, exhaling a plume of smoke. I huffed a breath of air through my nose, laughing at the question internally. 

“Poverty,” I stated plainly, “the kind of poverty where you’re squatting in an old farmhouse, the kind that should be condemned,” I explained. He looked at me as if expecting me to continue. Sighing and setting my can down on the ground, I did just that. “We didn’t have grocery stores. Our schools were infested with mold. Everyone was hooked on meth,” I swallowed as visions of my old town sprung up in my head. “I’m trying to make the best of it here because I know as soon as I’m discharged, I’m ending up on the streets.”

He solemnly nodded, giving nothing but a grunt as he took another drag off his cigarette. Silently, he put his hand on my shoulder, gently sliding it across to the other until his arm was behind my back. I leaned into his touch. His hot breath blew against the top of my head as I rested my head on his collarbone. We sat in silence, the rise and fall of his chest threatening to lure me to sleep.

By the time I’d awoken, it was nightfall. His hand gently shook me, soft voice coaxing me awake. I grunted, breaking free of his hold and sighing. He stood, holding out his hand for me. I reached out. He gripped my wrist and pulled me to my feet. I stretched my arms over my head, yawning and shaking the sleep off of me. I followed behind Simon as we descended from the rooftop and quietly made our way back to his room. The nighttime air had a nip in it, I was thankful to be wearing his hoodie, thankful my hair was mostly dry. I followed him into his room, yawning again as I walked toward the bed. I pulled his hoodie off of my body, letting it drop to the ground. I pulled back the covers, slipping underneath and watching as Simon joined me. His eyes flicked up and down my face, from my eyes to my lips. He silently held his arms out, inviting me into the warm expanse of his chest. I accepted his invitation, leaning forward and swinging one of my legs over his hip. His hand went to my hip, rubbing soothing circles into my aching muscles with his thumb. His fingertips slowly slid up over the bandages on my stomach, to my shoulders. His brown eyes stared deeply into mine, flicking down to my lips. With his fingers placed under my chin, he tilted my head up. He pressed a soft kiss to my lips. I brought my hand to the back of his head, leaning into his touch. His hand slid back down to my hip, over the small of my back, pulling my body closer to his. His tongue swiped against my bottom lip. I parted my lips for him, breathing heavily as his tongue slid into my mouth. Heat enveloped my body as my insides began to churn. His fingers began slowly inching toward my ass, pulling me flush against his hips. He slowly rocked his body against my core, earning a moan from my lips. He flipped me onto my back and pushed my legs apart so he could sit between them. I hooked my ankles around the back of his hips, keeping him in place. With his hands on either side of my head, he leaned down, harshly sucking on my neck. With a roll of his hips, he drew a whine from my throat. My head felt like it was spinning. A dull throbbing spiked between my thighs only alleviated with every movement of his hips. 

I could feel him, even through the sweatpants. He was hard. A deep blush settled over his cheeks. His skin felt hot, and his brown eyes darkened as his pupils dilated. I probably looked the same. It was hard to contain the noises growing in my chest, hard to conceal how much of an effect his touch had on me. He pulled his lips away from my neck, reaching down to tug at the hem of my shirt. His brown eyes scanned my face for any hesitance. I nodded, helping him ease the fabric over my head. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he stared at my bare chest. Deciding it was his turn to strip, I reached for his hoodie, pulling it off of his head. He pulled his undershirt off. I couldn’t help but visually trace along all the scars that adorned his pale skin. Reaching out, I stroked my thumb along vast patches of scar tissue. He pushed my hand away, gaze dropping to my pants. 

With a small huff, I sat up, pushing him to lay against the foot of the bed. I kneeled between his legs, gently kissing over his scars as my hands fiddled with the band of his pants. My lips traveled lower, past his navel, kissing every new inch I exposed as I tugged down his pants. He lifted his hips just enough that I could tug the material down his thighs. My eyes widened as his cock sprang up, thwaping his stomach. He was long, Long enough that I wouldn’t be able to take him in my mouth. Thick too. The head of his cock was flushed with a rosh tint and a string of precum leaked from the top. I kissed along his thighs, gently sinking my teeth into his skin. His breathing intensified as I drew closer to his aching cock. Darting my tongue out, I licked along the tip. Salt overwhelmed my tastebuds as I licked a thick stripe up his shaft, stopping at his head. His fingers roughly gripped the sheets. He choked back a moan, watching as I wrapped my lips around his cock. I gripped the base with my hand, holding him steady as I slowly took more of him into my mouth. I watched as he threw his head back, chest rising erratically as his breath grew labored. While pressing my tongue against his shaft, I began to slowly bob my head up and down on his length, pushing forward until the intrusion in my throat threatened my gag reflex. I moved my hands in sync with my mouth, gently twisting my wrist. His hand went quickly to the back of my head, not pressing, but gently encouraging me. Pulling off, keeping the pace of my stokes up, I moved lower. I brought one of his balls into my mouth. His grip on my hair tightened. He moaned, sending a pang of need straight to my core. Pulling off with a loud pop, I ran my tongue up the underside of his shaft, sinking his length back into my mouth. His hips jutted forwards, sending the tip of his cock toward the back of my throat. Tears pricked at my eyes. 

“Fuck, fuck you’re so good,” he moaned, tugging me further down his shaft. I obliged, ignoring the tickle in my throat as I took more of his length into my mouth. 

“Wait-” he said through heavy breaths, tugging me off of his length. “I was close, just, give me a minute,” he said, tilting his head back. 

“Then let me finish you off,” I said, inching closer to his length. 

“No, not until you cum.” With a swift swing of his leg, I was on my back again. This time he was straddling my knees, tugging at my pants, his pants. My body jolted as he tugged them down my hips, along with his boxers. He shifted back as he eased the material down past my ankles. He gripped my knee, pushing my leg up and to the side. He swept two of his fingers up my cunt. I moaned and reached out for him. I hooked my arms around the back of his neck and pulled his chest against mine. He quickly shifted to lay next to me, fingers tracing up to find my clit. He pressed sloppy kisses to my cheek and jaw as he slowly circled my clit with two of his fingers. I gripped his bicep with a whine. He raised his fingers to his mouth, slipping the soaked digits past his lips. He moaned as he pulled the digits out. He spat onto his fingers and brought them back to my cunt. My breath hitched as he pushed one of his fingers inside me. His digits were thick and calloused, and the gentle stretch they added had my head spinning. 

“You’re tight. Gotta work you open before you take my cock,” he mumbled against my neck. He slowly thrust the digit into me. His thumb brushed against my clit, circling lightly as he stretched me out. 

“Simon!” I whined, bucking my hips into his hand. 

“Ya like that?” He said, sucking roughly on my neck. Pulling off with a loud pop, he spoke next to my ear. “Want another? I know you can take it.” I nodded. He gripped my chin, turning my head to face him. “Use your words.”

“Please, Simon,” I said weakly. He slipped a second finger inside me. I threw my head back with a moan as he stretched me out. The pace of his fingers sped up, matching the circles he rubbed into my clit. I leaned over, burying my face in the crook of his neck. With a huff, he gripped my hair in his fist and tugged my head back. 

“Look at me,” he said with a gruff voice. My cunt clenched around his fingers. He smirked, pumping them faster. My breathing grew ragged as the muscles in my stomach tensed. I could feel my toes tingle with pins and needles. I was close. 

“Simon i'm gonna cum,” I whimpered as I let my leg drop to the mattress, spreading myself even wider for him. The feeling of static washed over my body in waves. My toes curled and dug into the sheets. My brows furrowed, eyelids squeezing shut as he worked me through my orgasm. My body went limp as he pulled out. My thighs gently quivered. He moved to sit between my legs. He shifted his weight onto one of his knees and pulled his sweats down the rest of the way, letting them drop to the floor. I crossed my ankles behind his back, pulling him closer to my core. He guided the head of his cock towards my entrance with his fingers. His lips parted as he slowly inched inside me. I threw my head back against the pillows and tightened my hold on his hips. He moaned as I pushed his cock further inside me. 

The stretch burned. I couldn’t help the tears that welled up in my eyes, but with every movement, the pain bled together with the pleasure he sparked in my core. With a nudge against my cervix, he bottomed out. I felt undeniably full. I could feel the head of his cock in my stomach, just above my belly button. He pulled out, only to push his length back inside of me at a rough pace. He gripped my waist, keeping me still as he roughly fucked into me. I grasped onto his blonde hair and pulled him down into a kiss. He moaned against my lips. He rested an elbow at either side of my head, leaning in closer. Sweat began to roll down his forehead as he continued his rough thrusts. He huffed, breaking away from my lips. He buried his face in the crook of my neck with a groan. 

“Fuck you feel so good,” he moaned, rutting his hips into me. His lips latched onto my neck.

“Yeah? Fuck me harder, Simon,” I spoke through heavy, heaving breaths. He pulled back, pupils blown wide. He gripped onto the back of my thigh and began to push my knee toward my chest, angling even deeper into me. My hands flew to the sheets, gripping tight. The mattress began to creak beneath us, loud enough to bleed through the walls and into the adjacent rooms. His thighs began to roughly smack against my ass, filling the room with the disgusting sounds. My toes curled as the pleasure rose in my stomach. I reached up with one hand to lightly stroke his face with my fingers. 

“I’m close,” was all I could manage to whimper out. He kept up his pace, not faltering for a second as he drew me into my second orgasm. My mouth opened in a silent scream of sorts. With a painful stretch, my back arched off of the bed, limbs contorting as I came. His hips stuttered and then stilled as he reached his own orgasm. With a shaky sigh, he fell onto his side and pulled me into his arms. His breath fanned against my sweaty chest, cooling my heated skin off. 

Glancing down at my stomach, I noticed blood seeping through my dressings. 

“Simon, you popped one of my stitches,” I mumbled. 

He quickly sat up, looking down at the soiled dressings on my abdomen. He reached toward the pile of clothes on the ground and pulled out a hoodie. 

“Wait, can we just lay here for a bit before we go to medical?” I asked, gently tracing my fingers over his hip bones. He stared at me with furrowed brows before sighing. 

“Fine,” he relented. With silent gratitude, I snuggled up against his warm chest, throwing my leg over his hip with ease. He lightly chuckled as he wrapped his arms around me.

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