#not blind but steadily approaching blindness

[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.

[ryescapades]

mine all mine | kaiju no. 8

characters: narumi gen x gn!reader cw: a bit ooc maybe but overall just fluff a/n: from this req! lowkey reminds me of darling dearest lol 1k wc

it's been almost an hour, and narumi is peeved. extremely, remarkably and astronomically peeved.

the kaiju attacks this year have been increasing exponentially, and so is the number of officers being dispatched everyday for the subjugation.

as a former operations leader, the amount of knowledge you have about the monsters is close to an infinitesimal amount, as studying kaiju has always been a significant part in your life. though it was only a matter of time before you discovered that you also possess an affinity in field-work as well.

able to bring out an astoundingly high combat power from the suit without prior training, you were immediately sent to be recruited as a soldier in the first division. not to mention a lot of people considered you as someone who is quite easy on the eyes.

an eye candy... so to speak. in short, you have it all; beauty, brains and brawn.

narumi has never had his ego swell this much but with you? he's so fucking proud he almost went up the tokyo tower just to shout out how incredible you are to the entirety of japan.

much to his dismay though, even the general public could attest to the same thing, seeing as how lately they've been making every effort to separate the two of you by catching you post-mission, regardless of the destruction and gore around them. he knows that the country knows you're with him, but that still doesn't make it any less irritating (it's even worse that these fans of yours are not among his own).

and today is no different.

there is a rowdy group of reporters and fans alike crowding around you, asking this and that while you're trying your best to adhere to each one of their requests. narumi is sure none of those extras is aware of it, but there's that hint of discomfort tinging in your eyes. he can see it as clear as day. but then again, narumi always notices all the little things about you.

why wouldn't he? you're the apple of his eye, his lover, his muse. it's only right that he paints the absolute perfection that is you on the canvas of his mind.

sauntering over with light footsteps, narumi relishes the way the small horde of people parts for him as he approaches you at the center of the commotion. his lips curl upwards into a smirk then, eyeing the people who are still hungrily vying for your attention, though some of them are starting to look at him with wariness.

one or two microphones are being shoved in your face, enthusiastic voices filling the space around you as you let out a bashful chuckle. "thanks for coming to see me here, really but—" your breath catches in your throat when an arm sneaks around your waist from behind before it settles on the side of your hips.

snapping your head around, your heart picks up its pace when your eyes connected with a pair of rosy, blooming irises. "oh - gen, hi! what are you doing here?" you ask inquisitively, assuming he had already gone back to base to report.

his teeth catch on his bottom lip, slightly in a trance as he continues to gaze at you. your blinding smile oozes so much of that familiar adoration and narumi almost kissed you right then and there in front of these... NPCs.

your boyfriend tucks you close to his front, letting you lean your body against his chest. his heart steadily beats against your back, and he really hopes that you can hear it. he needs you to hear it, in fact.

call him sappy, but narumi wants you to know his heart beats for you. it is a euphony that he makes sure only you can decipher the meaning of, and one he knows can never be attuned to anybody else.

"waiting for you, duh— wha - hey! turn that flash off!" he complains at one of the closest in particular, blinking his eyes from the temporary blinding light before sending them a scowl.

deciding to let him interact with your 'admirers' too, you continue to entertain them with small talks, selfies, receiving gifts and the likes when suddenly the girl in front of you gasps in surprise and mild irritation, the phone she once held nearly tumbling out of her hands as her eyes are glued to something behind you.

confused, you turn to see what her deal is but all that meets your eyes is narumi raising his eyebrows in question, a goofy smile plastered on his handsome face. if you didn't know any better, you would've thought there was a tail wagging curiously behind him. you giggle, forehead creasing slightly. "why are you smiling like that?"

"nothing. why can't i just smile for no reason?" he pouts as his fingers gently rub at your waist, his expression exuding only that of complete innocence before you shake your head fondly and turn back to the crowd. unbeknownst to you, narumi doesn't bother taking down the middle finger he was holding up behind his back, directed towards the guys especially and hidden from most cameras.

additionally, he couldn't find it in himself to feel any shame or guilt for sticking his tongue out at every flashing lens there is. the glaring competition he's currently having with that random girl still proceeds, both not wanting to back down in order to win the biggest prize of all; your attention and recognition.

regardless, it is the compelling truth that your affection only belongs to him, and there is no way he, your very much amazing boyfriend, is going to lose to some nobodies.

narumi gen is no artist, nor is he any poet. but one thing he knows is that he is yours, just as much as you are his, and his alone.

taglist: @maruflix @pixelcafe-network @iamjellyfish @ouiouimochi @yueliie @justwinginglife @lumiambrose @minasfwoopyponytail @17020 @bgyuus @moon-cakiie

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[murdrdocs]

FORMIDABLE COOL. ethan landry

about. blinded by your attraction and romanticization of college, you don't realize that ethan landry isn't who he says he is until it's too late

includes. DARK CONTENT 18+ fem! reader, mean!ethan, ghostface!ethan, p n v, manipulation (!!),, choking/breath play

wc: 1.4k+

→ kinktober masterlist

Out of everyone else in the friend group, it’s easiest for Ethan to get close to you. 

Unsuspecting you, wide eyes and hopeful glances at anyone who looks your way, the desperation to live out your ‘college fantasy’ leaking from every single pore in your body. The stench of your sheer desire pulls him in, it urges Ethan to switch from that shy and dorky facade he’s put up around Chad and his friends to a more confident flair, the ego he uses while he’s behind screens on forums online. 

It’s frighteningly easy to get you to give in. All he has to do is smile and look at you twice, and suddenly you’re spreading your legs for him in a movie theater, some new film you originally seemed thrilled to see entering the third act without either of you knowing any of the key plot points. 

It’s after the first time that you cum on his fingers that you’re infected. His own personal love fool. 

Truthfully, after you meet him for the first time, taking part in an insufferable ice breaker in a group of five other people, your name has inched its way up the Bailey dead pool, sitting pretty right below the other five of the friend group Ethan is steadily infiltrating. 

You have the urge to eat, breathe and sleep Ethan Landry, your awe filled eyes glazing over any possible red flags in his behavior. You’re too busy forcing yourself into his lap and curling your hands into his hair to realize that he’s been blowing you off more often recently. You’re too busy bouncing yourself on his cock to notice the bruises he has along his back and shoulders, inflicted from someone other than you. You’re too busy grinding your face up into his mouth to take in his constant lies, times, dates, and actions that don’t line up well enough. 

It takes you impossibly long to even start to notice his act, to start to take in the inconsistencies of his character depending on who you’re around. It’s Mindy who brings it to your attention first, coming to you as a caring friend, voice softer and rash opinions heavily watered down as she approaches you like she would a wounded animal. And when you flip out on her, denial heavy on your tongue which seems drier than usual, she only smiles at you sadly and watches as you run back to Ethan, another lie inevitably fed into your welcoming ears. 

It all comes to a head on your floor. 

Worn down hardwood creaks with each shuffle. The material is rough against your bare legs. The playlist you had going has ended, leaving nothing but the soft breaths from you and Ethan to fill the silence of the bedroom. 

Your questions are spoken into the air, answered by Ethan like he’s your savior. Like he can control you. And he can. 

He has. 

His hand around your neck, his cock entering your walls over and over, the pace steady and slow, each thrust harder than the last, sending you up the wood, the rough scratch of it against your back. The words he has spoken to you – his confession – reverberate through your body, bouncing around your mind all the way down to your lungs which scream for the need of constant airflow. 

Sensing your state, his hand loosens just enough to allow air in, the rough palm still circling around your neck as he refuses to let you go completely. You fear he’ll never let you go. But even more, you fear that you don’t want him to.

You don’t realize it, but hot tears are sliding down your cheeks at this point. It’s not until he points them out that you start feeling the emotions connected to them, shame and embarrassment and guilt planting itself in your brain, manifesting throughout your body. 

“Why’re you crying, sweetheart?” His voice wobbles just enough to show you that he’s affected, too, but definitely not in the same way. He has a smile on his face, borderline villainous, opposite from the sweet and charming smile you’re used to seeing from him. Sweat beads above his eyebrow, a testament to the chase he’d led you on, followed by the slow fucking he’s been giving you for God knows how long. 

Your eyes pinch shut, a pitiful attempt to dry your tears up without the use of your hands, rendered useless and bound between your bodies. It doesn't work well, and you flinch when you feel a drop of Ethan’s sweat land on your cheek, mixing with your self-created fluid. 

You’d assumed the question was rhetorical, a taunt to remind you of your inferior status in this fucked up relationship. It’s not until he hums questioningly that you realize you’re expected to respond. 

Your eyes pinch together tighter and you shake your head, only making Ethan chuckle. 

“No? You don’t know why you’re crying?” Nothing from you. You refuse to give him more, especially when you’re already letting him abuse your cunt. Because that’s what you’re doing. 

You let him lay you back. You let him peel your legs open. You lifted your hips and moaned approvingly when he slid your panties off and inserted two fingers into your entrance. 

“Open your eyes. Look at me.” The authoritative tone is more attractive than it should’ve been, and it has you instantly doing as told, eyes opening to look into those same dark brown ones you used to love so much. 

“Why’re you crying, baby?” he asks you again. “You knew it – this – was all an act, didn’t you?” 

And when you think back, you think you did know. You deluded yourself enough to think that this was sincere, genuine, your college dream. The thought heats up your neck, it stirs something unpleasant in your chest, it has you letting out a desperate cry that quickly slips into a pleading moan. 

His hand squeezes at the sides of your throat, thumb sticking under your jaw to lift your head. “Answer me.” 

Your nod suffices as an answer, especially when more tears slide down your already blotchy cheeks. His grin grows, spreading to either side of his face, reminiscent of a cheshire cat. 

Satisfied with what you’ve given him, he plants a kiss at the center of your forehead, and you curse yourself for melting into it. It’s the last act of physical kindness he gives it, because he’s instantly gripping your hips, hiking your legs up around his waist, and fucking you with no mercy. 

You cum with the sound of Ethan’s balls slapping against your skin, mixed in an almost beautiful harmony with your quiet sobs and the unabashed squelching of your cunt around his cock, a cacophonous edge to the sounds that perfectly represents your relationship with Ethan himself.

[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

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “SPIRALLING CYCLE — I MEET YOU HERE, AGAIN.”

#. — synopsis. sleep, his initial intention, the original plan impulsively made ahead or so he had promised, but y’know, sleep can be a bitch sometimes and damn it all if he’ll ever truly receive it for real, this time.

#. — content warning! angst with some eventual comfort at the end, mentions of physical abuse here and there, substance abuse with alcohol, shit household overall, negative self-perception, a groggy whitney and a glimpse of his life through his own lens.

#. — word count? 2.5k

#. — extra extra! ashes snippets : “too embarrassing to vent about my problems, so why don’t I make blondie here, experience it instead? except all ends well with him and not with me.”

Dappled sunlight faintly seeping through the silken blinds, smoothly draped over the glassy windows to tenderly kiss at Whitney’s drooping eyelids, tiredly shut away from numerous attempts at resting. Sleep, his initial intention, the original plan impulsively made ahead or so he had promised, but y’know, sleep can be a bitch sometimes and damn it all if he’ll ever truly receive it for real, this time.

‘Course, today or specially last night, it hadn’t discreetly knocked at his awaiting door nor contentedly graced him with a visit of its own, therefore, here he is. Stupidly awake at the crack ass of dawn and consciously aware of the ticking clock signalling the approaching hour, dizzying, red lines mundanely staring back at him to readily showcase the eventual obligation he’s stubbornly set upon himself. Fuck. If he doesn’t soon get out of this shitty hellhole life has bitterly stuck him with, then the occasional pebbles clumsily thrown against his rattling bed window will be sure to stir the other bitch up.

Said bitch probably awkwardly sprawled along the used couch, rusty springs threatening to pop free underneath the stitched mattress due to the sheer pressure of their sleazy form resting atop of it. Beer bottle drunkenly discarded forth from their loose grasp, hanging limply below to paint a grimy picture he’s been greeted with time and time again. Just stinkin’ up the fuckin’ place at this point, but who’s he to make the shots on that? Bitter son of the house and he’s acutely familiar with what that position entails. Say the slightest word and he’ll be good to go explore the shadowed streets, end up at that shoddy brothel worst case scenario.

Takin’ all the damn space though, as it had been repetitively affirmed before, he should be fuckin’ near grateful he even possesses a space of his own — no matter how cramped it may well be. No matter how suffocating the bleak walls gradually narrowing in on his curled frame may be sickeningly tight around his dry throat.

Speaking of, he’s getting thirsty here and so are the impatiently growing, muffled shouts of his gang aimlessly straying along the bricked wall of his apartment, boringly kicking at chipped rocks to pass the excruciatingly long stretch of time he’s taking to get the fuck up. Fine. Dirtied blonde, messy haired boy here, s’got the message sent his way. Stifled groan easily slipping its way past his chapped lips, instinctively yearning for the nearest source of a fresh, preferably cold drink to quench his endless thirst annoyingly itching at the back of his throat. Old, dinky fridge’s gotta be somewhere here, fuck— the kitchen. Obviously, dipshit.

Becoming as dumb as the fuckers you hang out with which are the only dumbasses to mindlessly follow him along wherever he so pleases, huffing and puffing like a group of stray mutts pitifully pawing at its owners feet for some much needed attention. Well, they’re not receiving it anytime soon, far too preoccupied with searching for some fuckin’ water— shit, even beer will do, even if it sets him on the same level as that drunken piece of shit to be greedily swallowing down alcohol early in the morning.

Groggy footsteps steadily dragging him towards the stretched hallway, memory settling in thickly as per usual, his feet automatically straying away from the creaking floorboard he’s known to soundlessly creak beneath the slightest weight. Don’t wanna wake the fucker up— doesn’t have the patience nor probably the maturity to properly deal with ‘em face on, specially when the oddly warming sun has recently risen.

No, he’s not a goddamn coward, just too good of a bastard to waste his precious time he mostly spends on fooling around doin’ nothing. Anything will do as long as it isn’t spent in this stifling flat where recollection beckons him in turn and crappy guilt forcibly gnaws at the bruised flesh of his slouched back. Coward? No, he says — but, his subconsciousness subtly whispers out otherwise. Liar.

Marble set in stone, routine playing out as faithfully expected by the absentminded tugging of his sweats, idly scratching at his balls beneath the cotton material all the while reaching for whatever catches his eye in the flickering light. Stupid bulb that never got fixed is really gon’ have him punch the fuckin’ ceiling one day, knowing better than to do so, instead tentatively taking a swig of a cooling bottle of.. something. Definitely strong with how it pleasantly burns within the pit of his churning stomach, momentarily soothes the doubts away in his chattering mind. If only the intoxicatingly warm effects of alcohol were eternal— Scratch that. The blonde knows life would be shit regardless, but at least you get to be drunk while doin’ it.

Hell, if it kills him, all the more better actually. A sullying stain dreadfully misplaced upon this shit world now rightfully wiped away, like he had never existed to begin with, fuck. Everyone wins if the troubling delinquent causing problems ‘round town cleanly kicks the bucket off, randomly dies in some stinky ditch somewhere in the darker alleyways as God would’ve had fuckin’ intended anyway. If there is one, for that matter. Because at the end of the day, he’s just some boy with a troubled mind and split knuckles bloodied up from previous fights — don’t know which exactly, he’s lost count by now. And, this make-believe deity the deluded temple has carefully fabricated isn’t going to spare his ass one bit for the awful sins committed by him, or so the stuck-up nuns keep repeatedly preaching to him whenever they catch sight of dirty filth.

Walking further down the elongated hall— it’s funny, place isn’t even that damn big in comparison to the ones out on Danube Street, yet practically feels like it’s eating him out from the inside with every careful step taken. Get the fuck out, get the fuck out of here before he groggily wakes up, not that they’d possibly care for his absence or presence when it doesn’t mean two shits to ‘em if he fails school, but does he give a shit if Whitney so much as bothers ‘em in any shape or form. Intentionally or accidentally, he claims, all results in the same exact scenario. A purplish bruise painfully etched across his wobbly limbs, bound to leave a residing mark. Bloodied, fucked up nose trickling out scarlet stains for his tongue to messily swipe against later, taste the metallic residue in his mouth as reminder for his actions. Serves him right.

Having gotten the harsh lesson driven into him, body naturally adapting to seek an escape of any kind, finally pausing at the sight of the wooden door with the jiggling chain left unloosed. Fuck, didn’t even lock the damn door? Saves him the gruelling effort of having to deliberately sneak amongst the heap of dirtied laundry riddled onto the ground, notably remembering the fact he can’t go prancing around outside half-naked. When you forget one fuckin’ detail—

Sure, this is the town where you get repeatedly raped on a regular basis to the point where no local resident even bats an eye to the supposedly, morally wrong act — which they never actually take a stance against, fuck if he cares — however, last thing Whitney wants is to instantly draw attention to himself already as it is. Yeah, the urging temptation is there, shivering jolt passing throughout his spine at the mere thought, but he’s not in that particular mood. No, not right now. Blatantly ignoring the sickening sight of his bulge visibly straining against his sweats, hot, leaking tip staining the greying fabric a darker shade. Morning wood, he supposes. Or just cuz’ he’s the type of guy to get high off of received attention when intentionally done.

Great coping mechanism for that affection you’ve never received early as a child, huh? Fuckin’ shut up— Goddamnit.

No point in sleazing ‘round here any further, not with the increasingly apparent risk at hand and the selflessly given opportunity to make his escape for the day. As always, his hasty departure goes unnoticed for the entirety of the upcoming hours, weeks would be a plausible period of time too with how unimportant his mere presence is at the shit hole one would reluctantly call ‘home’. Shit, if it works in his favour, all the more better for him. Gets to roam as he so pleases all night and who’s gon’ stop him for it? Yeah, that’s right. Normalcy instilled within his mind that this is how it should be. A parent worried sick over his own rebellious child fooling along somewhere amongst the bustling streets filled with bums? Sure, like that’ll happen.

While you’re out here daydreaming over stupid shit, why don’t y’a throw some clothes on? Idiot.

What else to wear than a plain, white shirt, which he somehow isn’t directly in any possession of at the moment. Merely leaving him with the sole option to steal a flitting glance towards the limited closet shut at his side. Thing isn’t going to squeak too loud if he delicately opens it, right? Better fuckin’ not. It’s in the blonde’s inborn nature to be instinctively rough, though discretion is a useful skill he’s conveniently learned when stuck in sticky situations like these, specifically. Cautious palms placed against the hatch, soundlessly sliding the door open to give way to the few attires hidden in the confined space.

Ah, there it fuckin’ is. His scruffy leather jacket hung upon the metallic hook, sewed patches prominent around the torn edges of his sleeve from the wear and tear accumulated over the passing time. Shit quality, but it’s ultimately his alone to wear. And, fuck it if he’ll wear it with pride no matter how used it appears to the naked eye.

Swiftly slipping on the cheap garment before momentarily regarding the broken zipper loosely hanging at the hem of the leathered cloth. Thing just had to wordlessly give up on him at the crappiest of times with the seasons progressively shifting to a cooler weather, chilling breeze bound to have his bare frame subtly shivering underneath the thick material. Likewise, he’ll manage somehow. Doesn’t he always?

Maybe if it was any other day, he would’ve taken a second more to consciously scrutinize his sharp features dimly reflected in the dirtied mirror, visibly scowl back at the glassy surface displaying the very thing he hates to death— Not today, however. No, plan already dully simmering within the tight confines of his mind, action he willingly chose to take.

So scandalous in every sense of the word that stupid ol’ church boy Sydney here would’ve profusely reprimanded him of such wrongdoings, frantically swat away at the revolting notion he was fully ready to carry out. Hah, makes him unconsciously smirk to envision his shocked expression paired by the quivering squirms of his fist tightening around that annoying, red pen. ‘S it so ‘disgraceful’ to a goody-two shoes with an easygoing life like him?

Guess it’s time to openly show him what piles of shit like Whitney someday, end up at. Barely sparing one forgetful glimpse to the cluttered dump he has to regrettably live in, a flimsy goodbye that’s less of a ‘good-bye’ than a good riddance sort of gesture. He’s not one to be sentimental, regardless. That crap is for fuckin’ snotty losers like the tearful orphans he regularly corners in the shady alleyways near the orphanage, choked up pleads falling on deaf ears when his knuckles disgustingly crack against the beaten flesh. A means of distraction for what he’s gotta lamentably endure on the daily. If he’s gotta suffer then, might as well bring a goddamn couple of nosey brats down with him too. Shit excuse and he knows it, doesn’t stop him from doing it either way.

Rushing past the creaking door, forcibly slamming it shut solely to spite the surrounding neighbours sleepily soaking in the approaching dawn, jolt their dumbasses awake as he laughs it off with a resounding snicker and of course, not to forget— his boldened signature move of a straight ‘fuck you’ shot in the windows direction. Whoever may fuckin’ see it by chance, may they remember that snide grin and those golden locks of hair messily tumbling forth to obscure his gleaming eyes. Cocky boy causing trouble, the first name to be softly whispered when an incident occurs on the local streets, Whitney. Yeah, they better fuckin’ hammer that name into their hardened skulls. Yell it out to the goddamn world.

“Whitney! Hey! Over here!”

Fucking hell— He totally forgot those morons were still loyally waiting for his eventual arrival out here in this icy weather, freezing their asses off till’ he got out of the house or flat, whatever they call it. Fists snugly shoved in his pocket jeans, freshly lit cigarette already comfortably tucked between his lips to then appreciatively take a slow inhale of the fag before casually exhaling out a puff of smoke to meld with the cooling air.

“Fuckin’ idiots. You’re still here? Scram, I’m not in the mood.” Barely hiding the faintest traces of a smirk creeping on his lips at the sight of his gang appearing like a bunch of stray dogs without him in the middle, where he rightfully belongs. Fine, he’s in somewhat of a good mood right now. Why not play nice? “Whatever, you guys can come if you want. I don’t give two fucks either way, just don’t fuckin’ start with that dumb shit again from last time or I’ll dump your asses in the nearest river and watch you fuckers freeze to death.” Classic tactic of ‘I actually want you to come and if you don’t, I’ll kill y’a.’

Holding back the snicker that’d ease past him once they gleefully raise their heads to meet his serious gaze, implying that he isn’t joking— he means it. Really does.

“See, what’d I tell y’a? He’d be happy to see us—” One naively chirps up while the other simply smacks their head in retaliation, puffing and crossing their arms in turn. “Fuck off! If it weren’t for your genius idea to stand outside in the freezing cold, my hands wouldn’t be fucking turning blue by now, y’a cunt!”

“Oh, shut up! If you hadn’t complained the whole goddamn way then maybe—“

Usual banter ensuing as per usual, told those fuckers not to do it and they still do. Hah, what the hell did he expect in the end? Wistfully sighing out to his warning being plainly ignored, hands coming up to run along the golden strands of hair in an easing habit to soothe the headache he’s getting from merely listening to ‘em. Head drooping lowly in a half-assed attempt at covering his widening smile threatening to fuck the whole act up. Bunch of freaks, aren’t they? His gang, though.

Which he’ll never concede to, no. Can’t have ‘em know he’s secretly grateful for their constant presence and insistent tugging for him.

“Cmon, you morons. Pub’s still open till midnight and I’ve got a fuck ton of money to spend from that slut. Drinks are on me this time, you better be grateful I’m sparing y’a a penny.”

No, he can’t possibly admit the simple fact that they make the difficult things in his shitty life, slightly more bearable.

[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. 

[dottiro]

Hide & Seek [ i. ]

Unreliable synopsis: How many masks can you stack on one face? / What happened to Zandik? Warnings: This is experimental and involves my own interpretation of Dottore, this will be dark content, no proofread

A grim sky declares the first signs of a rapidly approaching storm. Clouds flock together, growing darker as they gather energy. Thus, rain begins to fall steadily. At first, with rhythm—dancing down, until its intensity overwhelms and everyone caught in it has to seek shelter. Finally, it reaches a climax. Lightning flashes, abrupt and blinding, followed by roaring thunder, deafening everyone with its fierce violence.

The storm has come, and soon it’ll pass—as all eventually will.

But ‘Zandik’ doesn’t.

ㅤ

ㅤ

· · ────── Ω ────── · ·

ㅤ

In the dining room, at the other end of the long table, a stranger sits in your captor’s chair. His crimson eyes are stern and focused on the steak placed on a porcelain plate before him. You watch as Dottore lifts his knife and fork between his slender fingers. He pierces the fork in, keeping the red meat in place, and then proceeds to cut it with the precision of a surgeon. 

His actions are delicate and not without purpose. He seems foreign in his home—too different from the enigmatic Zandik you met in the Akademiya. 

His pale blue hair is slicked back, safe for the two strands that frame his face. And however he might’ve tried to tame his blue locks, the ends curl up and create waves in his otherwise perfectly orchestrated appearance. 

Your eyes move to his neck which flexes when he brings the fork to his mouth. The silver utensil shines underneath the orange light from the chandelier above, something the metal parts of his single earring imitate. It hangs vertically against next to his jawline, showing off his rigid posture—something that feels out of place when he is supposedly enjoying dinner.

You try to fathom what has changed between this morning and now. 

Earlier, when he had approached you, you had gotten a glimpse of his full outfit. Simple, yet elegant, Zandik shows he made an effort to look perfect this evening. A dark sapphire button-up blouse is rolled up to his elbows, with the top buttons loose and showing off his collarbones. On top of the blue, he wears a white sleeveless blazer, decorated with charcoal-colored designs crossing his chest. To match the formal style, he wears black flat-front pants in a darker colour worn a little lower on the waistline to showcase his slender silhouette. Finally, the look is completed with a glimpse of his pristine white socks and black dress shoes. 

If you didn’t know better, you could’ve believed he had an important meeting to go to.

If you didn’t know better, you could’ve hoped he would’ve left, if only for a few hours. 

But you do know better. 

The reality of the current circumstances is as unfortunate as it is confusing. While you had locked yourself away in the gallery room, he had found you and instructed you to follow him. Having no courage to reject him, you followed him from one end of the mansion to the other. 

The whole time you were forced to chase his tense figure. Back then, aside from the obvious change in clothing and his improbable request for you to join him, you had already noticed something was different. He walked without rhythm, shoulders broad and tight, with his arms crossed behind his back… it seemed programmed—mechanical in the aspect he carried himself.

Part of you is convinced that his outfit is an indirect claim of power over you. While he allows himself to put effort into his appearance, you’re stuck with your old clothes from Sumeru, which; first of all, do nothing against the cold; but furthermore make you feel out in place, across from him at the table—underneath the crystal chandelier and china vases with intricate designs. 

For someone who decided to keep you at his side no matter the cost, a part of him seems keen to forget and neglect you. 

But not this one.

“Is the food unsatisfactory for your standards?” His voice is distant, robotic, and final. It’s not a question, but rather a statement.

You look at the plate in front of you. Red juices spread from your steak. To add colour to your otherwise dark thoughts, a spoonful of mashed potatoes and a mix of roasted veggies balance the meal. The utensils remain in their rightful place as you had found them; the fork on the left side of your plate, and the dull knife on the right. 

Your appetite had left when you first met this Zandik.

“I’m not hungry.” 

Your rebut comes out bland. It’s a tasteless excuse with no seasoning compared to the meal on the plate. You stumble over the tight composure you had tried to mimic as you hastily add, “I overate for lunch.”

Zandik’s eyes haven’t left yours from the moment he first spoke. Despite the dining room being void of homey furniture and bringing a cold feeling to the table, his frozen movements are the ones to incite the shiver that embraces your spine. 

He tilts his head lower, eyes drifting from your right eye to your left. “Since when has your appetite decreased?” he asks; being either curious or accusingly. 

Your hands move over to hover above the utensils. You try to shake him off, preferring the silence over the interrogation. “It’s fine. I’ll eat.”

He watches you hesitate. With shaky hands, you move your fork undecidingly over the plate. Every choice seems like a test and you fear to fail. Your eyes glance back at him, seeking some twisted form of assurance in the hopes you’ll find a right answer between all the same wrong choices, only to snap away when you meet his red eyes observing you. 

A test. This must be a test—!

You wish to go outside and let yourself be locked in by the snow. At the very least, it’d be much more preferable than your current cage. Between the thousand individual snowflakes, you’d be embraced by the coldness until your body would scream at you and force you back inside. It’s a constant cycle of trying to find a way out only to end up where you had started, and you wonder if the everlasting storm outside is that much different from Zandik.

Unlike the man sitting across from you, you avoid the steak. The red juices remind you too much of the blood that’s been spilt by his hands before and it makes your stomach churn in response. 

Your fork decides to pierce some of the tiny roasted carrots. You bring it to your mouth, focusing too much on the taste until you find everything you dislike. 

In the end, you gulp it down to your dismay.

You don’t notice the passage of time until a hand takes the plate away from your vision.

There is love in this gesture—as if he were apologising for his previous actions.

This time, your stranger waits in the room; letting you be the one to abandon him instead.

©dottiro. Do not copy, repost, translate, feed to AI, or take heavy inspiration from my content. Thank you for reading ♡

[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.”