#other than just make it pile up within me and then make me blow up like this

[cosmojjong]

.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hey 😊

Can I request an Obanai X reader drabble where he first sees reader being violent ever and the cause for that is someone saying a mean comments about obanai, and reader just goes absolutely crazy? Sorry if it doesn't make any sense. To be honest i'm dying for obanai content so if you would write anything featuring him, i'd be happy.

Wishing you a great day! 💜

„What was that?“

Your jaw clenches, darkened eyes staring into the distance. It’s not a secret to you or even Obanai himself that people talk behind his and everyone’s back. But hearing it with your own ears, those nasty words leaving those little demon slayer’s mouths.

They freeze right in place when your dangerously firm and steady voice reaches their ears.

Except one for them.

“What part exactly didn’t you understand, loser? Was it when I called that pathetic hashira a cold-blooded snake or the part I said he’s just waiting to betray the whole demon slayer corps?”, the boy jeers back at you and earns nervous laughter around him.

Your lover was always misunderstood. His cold appearance that is supposed to keep him and his actually caring heart safe. His face that stays hidden because he cannot stand his own scars, his appearance.

But questioning his loyalty when Iguro Obanai would risk his damn life for every single one of these losers? No, you can’t bear or accept that.

Faster than this pathetic pile of a man is even able to stumble a step back, you unleash your katana, grab his collar and press the blade against his throbbing neck.

"Say that again, and I’ll make sure you’ll regret it for the rest of your miserable life. Obanai’s loyalty runs deeper than anything you could ever understand, and if you ever dare to question it again, you'll find out just how wrong you are. You're not even worth the dirt on his boots, so watch your mouth before I shut it for you—permanently."

“As if I’d fear a pathetic little woman. Come on, get that blade off my face and fight me with your bare hands”, he presses out.

You don’t even give him time to react. In the split of a second you send a punishing blow to his midsection, knocking the wind out of him before he can even raise his dirty hands. The boy stumbles back, but you don't let up. Not for the shit he just talked. A quick, sharp kick to his knee sends him crashing to the ground whining.

Grabbing him by the collar, you lift him off the ground, holding him in the air with ease. His eyes widen in shock, stare at you through a glossy layer of tears.

“P-Plase stop, I-I…I didn’t mean it like that!”

“What exactly didn’t you mean?”

You slam him into the ground with enough force to rattle the room.

“When you said he’s pathetic and cold-hearted?”

His body crumples under the impact.

“Or when you questioned his loyalty towards the demon slayer corps?”

A groan escapes his split lips.

“I’ll mop the floor with you-“

The second Obanai enters the room, the atmosphere changes in an instant, forces your heart to skip a beat and mouth to shut.

“Seems I arrived just in time. Why are you beating up other corps members, (y/n)?”, he questions calmly.

You swallow hard, take in his gorgeous sight as he steps into the scene like a god.

“I was just taking care of the trash”, you comment dryly while sending a deadly glare at the boy who simply stumbles out of the room.

“Get lost, all of you but (y/n)”, he instructs sharply.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Let’s just say I took care of you with my own methods”, you purr, hand gently stroking up and down his arm.

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“I might. Does it work?”

Within the split of a second, he pulls you into his inviting arms.

“Maybe.”

[lady-of-tearshed]

Do not disturb

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra Week 2024

@erisweekofficial

Day 7: Free Day

Summary: You and Eris get a little overexcited and decide to blow off some sexual tension in-between two meetings. Will the new High Lord manage to thoroughly please his wife and High Lady with barely half an hour? Let's hope so.

Word count: 728 words

Warnings: Smut, voyeurism, impregnation kink, begging, praise kink

Dividers made by @tsunami-of-tears 🤎

As soon as the doors had been closed, and everyone that had attended this finance meeting had exited the throne room, Eris pulled you up onto his lap.

Clothes flew to the ground, piling up here and there. One of your hands went to hold tight onto Eris’ shoulder while the other gripped onto his throne armrests as you sank down on him.

“Eris,” You whined, trying to push yourself down onto him despite his strong grip on your hips, keeping you steady. “Please,”

Eris purred against your neck, moving into you unbearably slowly. His tongue and teeth scraped against your skin, relishing on the idea that he had all of the time in the world to worship what was his.

“Patience, beloved,” He nipped at the skin of your neck, his cock twitching inside of you at every little gasp you make. “We have all the time in the world,”

“We're supposed to meet your emissary in half an hour-”

You were cut short by Eris' hips roughly slamming home, his fingers dug so hard into the flesh of your hips you knew it would leave marks. Your head tilted back from the intense sensations, but Eris fisted your hair and brought it back straight to force your eyes to stay on his.

“I don't see the issue there,” Eris answered, his eyes shining with pure Fae male arrogance. “I can thoroughly and properly fuck my mate with half an hour ahead of me,”

“What if–” You swallow thickly, trying to form coherent sentences and concentrate on something else than the sounds your bodies made as they collided restlessly. “We're going to get caught,”

“Then be so,” He slowed his pace, one of his hands tracing a path from your pelvis to your chest. His thumb gently grazed your right nipple. “It's not like we're doing something… naughty,”

You raised an eyebrow and rolled your eyes, the mimic only fuelled Eris' desire.

“I'm being completely serious right now. We're technically fulfilling our duties,” His nose brushed against your cheek, taking in your addictive scent. “We're making an heir,”

“I'm sure this could be done in a bedroom,”

“Are you complaining, beloved?”

All you could do was shake your head from side to side as he hit that spot deep within you, again and again. Your bodies were sticking together from the sweat coating your skin. Eris magic was dancing all around you, little sparks of fire flickering in the throne room.

“Good. Then stop whining and ride my cock like a good girl,”

You obeyed, your vision started to fade to black. The coil in your stomach tightened as you did as Eris ordered, your quivering thighs moving you up and down on his cock, faster. The pace of his thrust was erratic.

“Eris- I'm going to-”

“I know,” He growled against your skin and nuzzled in the crook of your neck. His voice was barely over a whisper as he added, “Let go, my beloved. Come for me. I’m almost there, too,”

Time slowed, all of your muscles contracted, and your inner walls clenched around Eris as your orgasm rippled.

Eris gave a few more thrusts, more sloppy than the others, and roared against your skin when release rushed through him. He emptied himself inside of you, holding your hips tightly and tilting them to reach the deepest spot he could. You shivered at how exquisitely full and warm you felt in this moment, wishing you could just stay like this forever. But-

The door clicked open, and Eris snarl was animalistic. “Get out,”

“M-M-My apologies, High Lord,” the flustered emissary stuttered, “Should I come back l-later?”

You couldn't see Eris’ emissary from where you stood on Eris thighs, but you could smell and feel the raw terror through his voice.

��No,” Eris' arms tightened around your body. His teeth nibbled the skin of your jaw, and you could already feel him hardening again inside of you. “Not today,” He snapped at his emissary, clearly dismissing him.

The poor male didn't hesitate to run away with his tail between his legs. Eris’ attention returned to you completely as soon as the massive wooden doors shut.

A wicked grin was plastered on his lips, his cock, still buried deep inside of you, was already ready and hard with desire once again.

“Ready for another ride, High Lady?”

Taglist: @lilah-asteria @mybestfriendmademe @acotar-lover

[slutorubaby]

cumfort me! ♥

synopsis: you had a long day at work. luckily, your boyfriend gojo satoru, can help you forget all about it.

gojo satoru x reader smut! MDNI

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it felt like everything was working against you today. you had decided to get into work earlier than usual to get a headstart on the never-ending pile of tasks but was met with a massive train delay. this caused you to be in your office an hour later than usual. to make matters worse, colleagues from different departments were blowing up your email inbox about various types of requests and questions. it felt like your to-do list was growing by the second whereas time was rapidly slipping away. it was finally 7pm when you decided that you had made enough progress to stop. although you were slightly dehydrated and starving, all you could think about was returning home, which is not really a place but a person, who is none other than gojo satoru.

you haphazardly shoved everything into your bag and slid through the elevator doors, pressing the “close door” button as quickly as possible, hoping no one wants to join you on the elevator ride. it truly felt like things were finally going right when you were able to travel down 20 floors to the lobby uninterrupted. 

feeling all of your patience evaporate into thin air, you opt to take an uber home instead of the train, especially after the morning’s festivities at the station. after shutting the apartment door behind you, you shrug off everything you were holding right then and there at the foyer. without missing a beat, you quickly pad over to the figure sitting by the couch and slump on the floor in between his legs to rest your head on his lap. 

gojo’s hands immediately find their way to your hair, stroking it softly. “hi baby, you’re finally home. did’ya miss me that much?” he teased. he gently cups your face to raise your head so he can take a good look at you. 

“today was just so horrible, ‘toru. the trains were late, everyone at work kept asking me for something and on top of that, I had a million deadlines of my own to meet,” you whined, closing your eyes and nuzzling into his hand. gojo let you vent as much as you needed about the inconveniences of public transportation, superiors who always dumped work they didn’t want to do on others and just how exhausted you’ve been this past week. he occasionally nods and gives out sounds of agreement to let you know he’s listening, but inside, his gears are churning, thinking of how to turn around this bad day for you. 

“can you just fuck me so good that I forget all about today?” you mumble, face planted on his lap. it went quiet. you lifted your head up to see if he had heard you and when you made eye contact, it was like a switch had been flipped within him. in addition to that beautiful aquamarine color, he was giving you those bedroom eyes that sent jolts down to the tips of your toes. 

gojo swoops you up from the ground and lets you straddle him as he walks the two of you into the bedroom. “don’t worry baby, ‘m gonna fuck your pretty lil’ brain out.” he says as he sets you down on the bed. he kisses your temple while unbuttoning your white chiffon blouse and sliding off your tight little pencil skirt. 

as much as he loved you in your girlboss corporate attire, the view of you disheveled in your matching black lacy underwear under him made his cock throb. throwing all of his clothes to the side, he grinded his bare cock against your panties. “need more.” you whined. he slides your underwear to the side and a string of moans erupt from your lips the moment his fat tip catches on your clit. he could feel your cunt squeeze on nothing, needing to be stuffed to the brim. 

although his raging dick was telling him to just thrust into that pretty little pussy, he held off. He quickly rids you of all your underwear, revealing those perky tits and sopping wet pussy. 

“you’re such’a whore. already so wet and i barely did anything,” gojo says he lifts your legs up so he can remove your soiled panties. “did’ya fantasize about this dick all day at work?” he asks, roughly spreading apart your legs so he can get a taste. “yes, ‘toru. I couldn’t get it off my mind and I wanted to get home as soon as I could to you,” you say, scooting up and away from him. “so how about you let me suck you off first,” you say with a sultry gaze, while getting on your knees.

he does not oppose this and is already leaning back on the headboard. you rest on your tummy and elbows in between the space of his spread out legs, with your legs up dangling in the air. you have a firm grip on the base of his thick cock and start to slowly stroke it. gojo lets out a hum of relief as you continue to use your hands. you look up at his face and his expressions as you experiment with different grip strength and pace. by the time you begin slapping his tip on the flat of your tongue, he already looks so adorably fucked-out. “b-baby, just put it in already,” he says, hands finding your hair and guiding you to his length. in an instant, you have him deep inside your throat where a long moan elicits from his lips. his hips couldn’t help but to buck up into your mouth, face-fucking you. 

focusing on the feeling of his thick cock thrusting down your throat, tears well up in your inner corners as your pussy drools with desire. gojo opens his eyes to take a look at his baby, who is doing her best to pleasure him, and sees your legs squeezing together, hoping for any sort of friction. he slides his slick cock from your mouth. “get on all fours, pretty girl.”  he says, while getting up to his feet and planting them at the edge of the bed. 

your heart is racing with excitement for what’s to come. your ass is high up in the air and your back is in a seductive arch. turning your head back to look at him, you see him pump his dick a few times before aligning himself with your wet entrance. the first thrust has you feeling weak as your form begins to break. “stay with me, baby,” gojo says, while giving you a mixture of fast shallow and deep thrusts to keep you on your toes. 

you can feel his cock buried so deep inside you, hitting your cervix. “r-relax a little, baby, s’fuckin’ tight,” he blurts out, head rolling back as he is catching his breath. gojo’s pace slows down for a bit to control his impending orgasm. growing impatient, you begin fucking yourself back on his dick. his hands grip your hips, knuckles white, trying to control the pace you’re rocking back into him. “b-baby, stop, don’t w-wanna cum yet.” he says, through gritted teeth, muscles all tense. 

“‘toru, just cum, i wanna feel it inside,” you say, rutting back as fast and hard as you could, leaving a creamy white ring at the base of his dick. after those words left your lips, gojo lets go of your hips, allowing you to control the pace as he chases his high. thick ribbony ropes of cum warm up your needy pussy. as he pulls out, his load also pours out. Knowing that he loves this view, you revert back to your original position by arching your ass up and keeping your face down, letting his thick cum run down your pussy and soiling the sheets underneath. “my good girl, ‘m gonna make you feel so good.” he says, massaging your ass, eyes never leaving your cunt. 

he turns you over on your back and pushes his dick inside, hissing at the overstimulation. “mm’ baby, we can take a minute for you to –” gojo interrupts you mid sentence to give you a passionate kiss. your tongues swirling inside as your arms circle around his neck to get him impossibly closer. he pulls away, both of your lips are red and swollen. “just lay back, ‘m gonna take care of my pretty girl.” he says, face only inches away from yours. 

he starts off painfully slow, letting your pussy feel every inch of him in this new positionn. once he bottoms out, he gives a few shallow thrusts just to hear your pussy sing with wet squelches. gojo moves your legs together and throws them over his shoulder as he begins to drill you at an insane speed. this quite literally knocks the air out of your lungs as you begin panting under him, fists grabbing the sheets for some support. he kisses your right ankle and has one arm holding your legs together and the other pressing down on your lower abdomen. a few more thrusts and you can feel yourself coming undone. once he moves his hand to thumb your clit in circles, you immediately cum. he feels your cunt spasming around his dick as he fucks you through it. “‘toru, ‘m cumming, s-so hard,” you say as your hands fly to his shoulders, holding on to him. “let it all out, baby. cum for me,” he says. 

coming down from your high, your eyelids begin to feel like lead. you drift off without even realizing it. you’re awoken with a warm towel against your skin, wiping off the caked essence and sweat on your lower half. “‘toru? ‘m sorry, how long was I out for?” you ask, rubbing your eyes. “just for about 10 minutes. rest a little longer and I'll get you when I’m done cleaning and have started the shower.” gojo was always so good with the aftercare. feeling so loved and cared for, the only thing on your mind was how grateful you are to have him. 

pulling him towards your bare body, you give him a warm hug. “thank you, ‘toru. you always take such good care of me. I love you s’much,” you say breathing in his scent. 

“of course. I’d do anything for my pretty baby.” gojo says, kissing the crown of your head.

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a/n: haha get it.. comfort me.. cum for me.. horny brain is working overtime today.

thanks for reading!

[dreamerschroniclesofstories]

Clementina pt1

A/N: hello! This is my first fic and hopefully you enjoy it. It was originally just a one shot fanfic but I didn’t realise how long it was going to be so I’m thinking it will be at least two parts but if you want it be a full series of how the Shelby’s adjust to clementina then just let me know! And if you already gathered, this is based after the scene in season 5 ep3 when Tommy and Polly visit the nuns at st Hilda’s. Hope you enjoy!. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR YOU TO REPOST THIS ON OTHER WEBSITES AND TRANSLATION OF THIS FIC.

Summery: the Shelby family are in for a shock when they find out they have a sister hiding in plain sight. pt2: pt3: pt4

Word count: 1,567

The early sunrise fills the Shelby manor, the home of Thomas Shelby and his son is strangely quiet considering it is nearing six am on a Saturday. Commonly, the maids would have Charlie up and having his breakfast by now. however, the only noise filling the silence was the ticking of the small clock on the wall behind Tommy's desk in his office. Inside the office, sat Tommy and his aunt, Polly. accompanying the pair were five piles of old folders sitting on Tommy's desk and on the floor beside Polly's discarded handbag, which she placed there no less than seven hours ago. these folders currently hold the information of the young girls who resided in St Hilda's orphanage.

Two days prior, the aunt and nephew visited the nun-owned orphanage after Tommy had received a concerning report, from a young girl who recently left the care of St Hilda's after turning 18, about abuse that was occurring within the walls of the orphanage. after the rushed meeting, Tommy stopped the funding he was providing and Polly requested the folders of every girl in their care so they could place them into new orphanages ran by the Grace Shelby foundation. Tommy and Polly didn't expect was the folders arriving two hours before midnight and there to be nearly three hundred folders. they knew the orphanage was overrun but not that much. For the past seven hours, the pair had been reading and placing the folders into different piles for the different orphanages that they were going to place the girls in. Most of them were in Birmingham but the occasional one was in London or Manchester.

They were getting close to finishing, having only a handful left to read. this allowed Tommy to have another smoke break. he stood by the double-glazed windows, staring out to the fields watching as his horses walked around slowly and ate freshly cut grass. the room was still quiet, except for the reoccurring sound of Tommy blowing out smoke and inhaling every few seconds. However, the sound of Polly gasping under her breath catches Tom's attention, making him turn around, “Thomas” the middle-aged woman whispered, “You need to see this” she states, her voice full of shock.

Tommy frowns as he walks back towards his desk, “ what is it, ey?” he questions curiously, the newly light cigarette hangs from between his lips.

“Just read it Thomas” she sighs, Polly begins to bite her nails. a habit she does when she is stressed. Tommy opens the folder and begins to read the information, which was written in a hurry because the handwriting was messier than the others.

Tommy was confused at Polly's reaction, to him this was just another folder detailing information about an unwanted little girl placed into the orphanage five years ago. that was until he read the section about her parent....he slams the folder down on his desk and puts his cigarette out into his ashtray, he rubs his hand down his face, a sign he was stressed “ fucking hell” he grumbles, staring at the folder.

“ fucking hell indeed” Polly agrees, watching her nephew across from her “It seems you have a kid sister, out there Thomas” She shakes her head in disbelief, she knew Arthur Shelby Sr was known to sleep around but she did not expect to have another Shelby stuck in this world because of him. Polly grabs the folder again and begins to re-read it.“ another fucking Shelby” Polly chuckles under her breath, Tommy was quiet as he thinks about what they should do. he knew that it wasn't a good idea to bring her into the world of crime that the family were involved in but he knew Polly wouldn't let him leave her in the care of an orphanage.

Tommy suddenly stands up, grabbing his jacket “Pol, ring around, tell everyone to be here in three hours” he demands, walking out of the office not telling Polly where he was going and he didn't give her the time to ask either because he was out of the house and into his car in the record time of three minutes.

By the time everyone was around the Shelby manor, Tommy was back from wherever he left. He walks into his office. Polly was sitting on the chair was was sitting on earlier, Ada was sitting on the leather seat by the bookshelf with Karl standing beside her. Arthur was standing by the windows with Finn beside him. They were all waiting impatiently for him

“ thank fuck for that, thought you'd never turn up” Arthur states annoyedly. His hands are in his pockets.

Ada rolls her eyes at Arthur’s language “What’s the emergency that made you wake me and Karl up at six in the morning?” She questions Tommy.

Tommy walks over to his desk, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket “Me and Pol have been sorting through the orphan girls' files” he explains, sitting down at his desk.

Finn frowns “And what’s that got to do with any of us?” No one answers him, he was allowed to come to meetings but he isn’t allowed to contribute to them

Tommy lights his cigarette and inhales then exhales smoke before he begins to talk again “There’s a girl, who might be of interest to us” he looks towards Polly.

Polly smiles slightly “Her names clementine, nine years old” she explains, looking around at the Shelby siblings.

Ada shakes her head “Why would a little girl be of interest to you Thomas” She narrows her eyes slightly, feeling suspicious of Tommy.

Tommy rolls his eyes slightly and leans back into his chair “Her mother died when she was four, she was left with her drunken father, who lasted three months before he dropped her off at St Hilda’s” he repeated what he read in the file, three hours prior.

Pol sighs “ for god's sake Thomas, just tell them” she demands irritated, she sits up straight “Her fathers name is Arthur Shelby sr” she announces. The atmosphere in the office quickly changed, you could hear a pin drop from how quiet it became. Arthur coughs and runs his hand through his hair, confused as fuck as to what was happening.

Ada stands up and walks closer to Tommy's desk “We have a sister? And she’s still in that orphanage after what you found out” she states, taking the folder from Tommy's hand as soon as he takes it out of the drawer in his desk. She shakes her head and walks back over to her seat.

Tommy pours himself a glass of whiskey “Me, Arthur and Polly are going back to the orphanage to get her” he explains.

Arthur frowns “We are? Linda wants me back for dinner” he explains, shifting from his left foot to his right foot, his body language showing he was nervous since he knew what his family thought of Linda.

Polly grumbles “ I’m sure she can wait” she states, her voice filled with venom as she looks towards Arthur “We are saving a little girl from abuse” She stands up and walks over to Arthur “Not just a little girl, your sister, a Shelby”.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Great Expectations 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Professor Holmes’ class is your most difficult, but he’s about to make it even more challenging.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)

Note: monday

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Friday arrives too quickly for your likely. Amid the usual cluster of readings, lectures, and assignments, you have Professor’s Holmes’ additional task to add to the pile. It feels unfair that he would point out your own efforts only to force more upon you. His praise hardly seems like that in retrospect. 

That you did the readings likely made your experience simpler, though the vague instructions leave you uncertain. No rubric, no objectives, no outline. Your format in the usual style and triple-check the word count before you resign yourself to fate or fortune, whichever favours you. 

As usual, Professor Holmes prefers a physical copy, neglecting the digital workspace designed by the campus for ease of access. He doesn’t seem to be the type for the easy way out, does he? You try not to malinger on your gripes and head off, promising to reward yourself with a double whip frap for your work. It’s certainly more than you’ll receive from your professor, even if you do manage to gleam your first A+ from the man. 

The softness of autumn mingles with the crispness of early winter. You mourn the orange and yellow leaves as they start to curl at the edges and brown, blowing across the pavement and catching on pantlegs and tree roots. Midterm season is almost over but it won’t be long before finals rise to haunt you. 

You come up the Herringbone building and look up at the romanticist arches and columns. The esteemed architecture has you feeling even smaller. Surely, the professor will only add to that. 

Inside, the air is dry from the heat blowing from the high vents and curved staircases crest the foyer. You follow the left one up and continue along to the small set of steps that lead up to a hallway with only three office doors. Holmes is at the very end. You went there once before when you needed to be signed into the course; he was certain to make you wait then threatened not to sign the form at all. 

You stop and stare at the frosted glass with his pedigree emblazoned on it. You contemplate just shoving the paper through his slot but the light is on. You raise your fist and gently tap on the wood. You bounce on your feet as you wait, tugging at the itchy collar of the blue sweater dotted with little clouds. In the warmth of the stuffy building and under your wool jacket, it’s stifling. 

You hear movement from within and ready yourself for the encounter. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to Professor Holmes without some degree of awkwardness. On your end, of course. He can’t be bothered to care what others think of him. 

The door opens and you try to smile but it feels like chewing rocks. He looks back at you without an ounce of emotion. You gulp. 

“Um, Professor, I have my paper--” 

He’s already walking away as you stand dumbly in the doorway. You blanch as he circles back to his desk and sits heavily in his seat. He leans forward and dips his head, bending over an open leather folio with a lined pad within. A curl falls onto his forehead and he reaches without looking for the pipe propped up on a mahogany tray. 

“Come in,” he says before he puts the pipe to his lips and bites down. He teethes on it as he snatches up a pen with his other hand. You warily obey and cross the threshold. 

“So, um, here you go,” you near the desk and lay down the stapled paper. He doesn’t look up. “Erm, thanks, professor. I hate to disturb, so I’ll just leave it here--” 

He sighs and sits up, flicking back the curl as he replaces the pipe on the tray, “they won’t let me light that, even with the window open.” 

You glance over at the drawn curtains and nod, “oh.” 

“You’re the first,” he interjects before you can summon any sort of response. 

“Ah, oh--” 

“You are rather quick, aren’t you?” He challenges as he rolls the pen between his fingers, his shoulders spreading wide against the puckered leather chair, “fleet of foot, as some Victorian ponce might say. Quiet.” 

You blink and purse your lips, giving a shrug. 

“You didn’t say hello,” he intones, “it is courteous when you see an acquaintance to greet them, though I suppose etiquette does continue to change.” 

“Um, I didn’t want to... impose?” You murmur. 

His expression remains cryptic. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or something else. 

“So you didn’t,” he shrugs, his vest bracing on his chest. 

“Sorry, er, sir. But um, there’s my paper, I’ll... let you be. I’m sure you’re busy enough--” 

“Terribly busy,” he confirms dryly. “Since I’ll have a new batch of papers to mark, I’ll be kept well in hand.” 

You clasp your hands together and sway, “right, uh--” 

“And you’ll be off like the rest of those dull girls, paying no mind to the real purpose of study, but rather the wordly pleasures of the modern campus. All that pumpkin spice and such.” He reprimands. 

“Oh, uh, professor...” you know better than to argue. He is set in his ideas of his students and what should make you any different than the rest. 

“Right then,” he reaches for your paper and barely glances at the title page. He flips to the short essay and his eyes skim. He reaches for the antique pen and marks up the page as he goes. He hums as he scratches with the nib. “Good point but clunky prose. No, redudant.” He scribbles his comments in the margins. He turns to the second page and sighs. He closes it and holds it out. “You show comprehension but you need refinement.” 

“Um, thanks, er...” you take it hesitantly and back up again. He watches you with his bold blue eyes, not showing a single crack in his veneer. 

“Go off and enjoy your weekend, don’t fret over the fault of others. Certainly, you show more promise than most who haunt my lectures,” he says. His tone is flat but his words are praising. The contradiction has you off-foot. 

“Thank you, Professor, have a good weekend too.” 

He doesn’t respond as he puts his attention back to another stack of papers. You turn on your heel slowly and scurry to the door. He clears his throat and you stop. 

“Perhaps I mightn’t have such a tedious weekend.” 

You glance back but he still has his head down. You nod and leave him be with a sharp inhale. You hold your breath in until you close the door from the other side. 

Only a few more weeks and you’ll be through this class. Hopefully, you won’t ever have to face the heart palpitations that come with each encounter after that. For now, you will focus on the last paper and the eventual exam. Those are hurdles that look higher the closer you get. 

📕

There’s a cafe off campus you prefer. The library kiosk and the franchised booth in the Student Rec Centre are always overcrowded. This place isn’t so bad. A local mom and pop with a single barista. Maude, the retiree turned businesswoman, works slowly but efficiently. Traffic matches her pace but is enough to keep her thriving. 

“I’ll bring it to you, dearie,” she smiles as she hands you a plate with a crumbly scone on it. You thank her and go to find a seat. 

The place is homey. The seating is mismatched. There are armchairs around a low coffee table, some long tables with thrift store dining chairs, and square table in the corner with two benches and some stools. The rug that stands center to the sitting space is faded but its patterns still visible. 

You claim one of the armchairs near the bookcases and sit. Despite the tense submission, you’re glad not be stressing over another mark. Another A- to add to the rota in Holmes’ class. You could do a lot worse given what you’ve overheard from your classmates. 

The door opens and closes, letting in a chilly. You keep your coat on as you balance the scone on the coffee table. You’ll wait until you have your mocha and savour them together. It’s a rare treat but the dropping temperature coaxed you into it. 

A familiar baritone pricks your ears. You glance over before you can bury your nose in your phone and flinch. What luck. You almost doubt it’s a coincidence. Twice in a row you’ve managed to stumble upon the Professor outside of class. 

Your shoulders sink as you turn back and plant your elbow on the armrest, shielding your face behind your hand. What do you do? Your mind races. Despite what he said in his office he does not radiate welcoming energy. You can’t just flee and leave your order behind; it isn’t fair to Maude and you wouldn’t want to waste the money. 

Professor Holmes’ voice carries. He orders a black coffee and two shortbread biscuits; the Saturday special. The elder barista takes his order and as usual, bids him to sit down so she can bring it to him. You chew your lip as time ticks on. Make up your mind. 

Too late.  

“Pardon, oh,” Holmes approaches and gives pause as you look up at him. “You aren’t reserving these for your friends?” 

He gestures to the other arm chairs. You shake your head and clasp your phone tight in your hands. He dips his chin and sidles around the coffee chair. He removes his jacket and hangs it on the rack between the bookshelves. He lingers there as he browses the titles on the spines. 

Maude appears with your mocha in a large mug on a matching saucer. You thank her as she sets it by your scone. She calls over to Holmes, “I’ll have your coffee and biscuits in just a moment, dearie.” 

He turns his head and nods but says nothing else. She shuffles off and you lean forward to take your mug. Somehow your chocolatey treat doesn’t seem so sweet any more. He backs up and lowers himself across from you. You shyly return his gaze over the brim of your cup. 

“You come here often?” He asks. 

The question has you off-guard as much as his presence. You slurp noisily before you pull the cup away and put it down. You take the napkin by your scone and wipe your lips. 

“Sometimes. Once in a while. Er, I... I make my coffee at home. Tea, more often.” You clamp your lip shut before you can ramble on. 

“Mm, yes, I prefer tea as well. I was suggested the dark roast here by a colleague however.” 

You don’t know what to say. You’re entirely unprepared for the conversation. You’ve never thought much of what he might speak of outside his lectures. His interests, you assume, would align with his expertise. 

“You are enjoying your time? You haven’t any schoolwork?” He asks. 

You slant your lips one way then the other. You look down at the bag by your feet and back at him. He wears a wool sweater with elbow patches; not quite casual but casual for him. 

“I was going to do my readings...” you say. 

“Ah,” he sits back in the chair as Maude brings his coffee and biscuits. He thanks her tersely. 

You bend over and reach for your bag. You slide out your notebook and open it to the printed articles stashed between the pages. You hope it’s enough of an excuse not to talk as much. 

“My class?” He asks. 

“Yes, sir, er, Professor,” you answer. 

“Those are available digitally, as I understand.” 

“I know, but I, er, prefer print.” 

“Mm, yes, it does permeate more effectively, doesn’t it?” He intones. 

You agree with a silent nod and try to focus. You’re too shy to check if he’s watching you but it feels like he is. He sighs and sips from his cup. 

“What were you on the hunt for then?” He asks abruptly before you can read the introduction for the fifth time. You look up, perplexed. “At the craft store?” 

You open your mouth then pause. Finally, you summon the answer, “thread.” 

“Thread?” 

“Yes, I... make little things. Sometimes. It wasn’t urgent. I don’t have my sewing machine in my dorm and... no time.” You shrug and let the papers lay flat on your notebook. 

He considers you as his cheek dimples and he leans his chin on his knuckles. He looks down at the cup he holds over one leg. He sucks his teeth. 

“Rather flat,” he dislodges his elbow and leans forward. “And what did you get? It smells intriguing.” 

“Mocha with peppermint,” you answer. 

“Mm, with whip?” He peeks at your cup and the melting glut of cream. 

“Yes, Professor,” you reply. 

“I think I might trade mine for the same,” he stands with his cup in hand. 

You watch him, confused and uneasy. So much for getting some studying done. You doubt you’ll be able to concentrate with him looming on the other side of the table. 

[stormsplurge]

nobody's fool

warnings: none!

pairing(s): seth jarvis x fem! reader

1239 words

a/n: its not directly inspired by the song but i've been listening to shes always a woman by billy joel on repeat for the last 2 days which is where the title comes from. it's also not proofread at all so please ignore any typos or spelling errors. i hope you guys enjoy this one!

“oh my GOD!” you squealed as the last couple of seconds of the game ticked by on the jumbotron and the “canes win” rang out through the arena. 

the hurricanes had won their first game of their series against the rangers, and the entire building was buzzing.

you could feel nykki next to you screaming her lungs out as the two of you jumped up and down in your seats.

a couple of days ago, after returning from new york and losing to the rangers again, you saw a fire get lit under your boyfriend (and the entire teams) ass. they had come back to playoffs with something to prove, trying not to get swept for the second year in a row, and they’d pulled it off. 

as you walked with the other wags towards the locker room you felt a sudden jolt of energy run through your body. after the last game everyone had been down, seth especially. his tendency to place all the blame on himself was in full force, but this win was exactly what he needed to pull himself out of his head.

you were in the middle of making small talk with gracia when the boys began trailing out of the locker room. brady was one of the first ones out, wrapping his arms around his wife as soon as he was within arms reach of her.

“we’re all heading to the bar.” he said. “you and ton of fun should come.”

“thanks for the invite skjeisy.” you replied, before your boyfriend entered your eyeline. 

you shot out a quick “see you there!” before bouncing towards the entrance to the locker room, practically jumping into seths arms. 

“congratulations!” you giggled as he hooked his arm around your waist and began walking the two of you towards the parking lot. 

if you were enthusiastic about the win, seth was practically bursting at the seams with excitement. his trademark giddiness shining around him like a halo.

“oh my god!” he exclaimed as the two of you made it outside. “i have no idea how we pulled that off.”

“i know how.” you replied. “you guys are fucking awesome thats how.”

“you’re my good luck charm you know, we wouldnt have done it without you.”

“whatever you say jarvy.” you said as your cheeks begin to heat up. 

seth was always selfless, insisting that every win was because of anyone but him. doing everything to shine the spotlight on someone else. 

——

as the two of you drove towards the bar you reminisced on your first christmas in winnipeg together. 

it was a white christmas, something you weren’t used to seeing as you had never lived as far north as seth had, and kayden was telling you about how eager seth was to get on the ice with his brother and his friends. he was smaller than all the other guys but still itching to play with them, begging their mom to let him play for a couple more minutes everytime she insisted he get off the ice and take a break.

seth was too busy helping his mom with something to notice that his brother was telling you every embarrassing story he could possibly think of. blowing through the kitchen like a tornado helping as fast as possible so he could get back to his spot right next to you in front of the fireplace. 

kayden was in the middle of telling you about the first year seth was with the winterhawks, how he’d call their parents every night complaining about how much he missed home, when your boyfriend returned to his spot amidst the piles of wrapping paper littered around the living room. 

“kayden!” he exclaims as he sits down. “stop telling embarrassing stories about me you asshole.”

“i’m just telling her what she deserves to know.” kayden responds, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before a throw pillow lands in his face.

seth lets out a long groan before getting up and pulling you with him, slowly dragging you towards his room. the walls littered with duke memorabilia and hockey stuff. 

“he’s such a dick” he whines as he shuffles towards his desk. 

“i think its hilarious.” you reply, making yourself comfortable on your boyfriends bed, craning you neck to try and figure out what he’s trying to find as he rattles through the drawers. 

it isn’t long before he whirls around, a small turquoise box in his hands, and sits in front of you. 

“seth…” you question, “what is this.”

“okay.” he rambles, opening the box and revealing a small necklace within. “i got my mom a car the first year i played, and my dad a car last year, so this year i wanted to get you something nice.”

tears began welling up in the corners of you eyes as he continued his speech.

“… i wasn’t really sure what to get cause you already have a bunch of really nice stuff back home in raleigh, so i asked nykki for help cause she knows that type of stuff and we picked this out.”

the necklace was a simple circle attached to a chain, with one end of the circle wider than the other end. minimalistic, but beautiful.

“oh my god…” you responded. “i don’t even know what to say.”

the gesture alone was enough to bring you to tears. the drops of salty water streaming down your face and pooling at your chin. 

you were at a loss for words, so you opted for closing the gap between you and seth and pulling him into a deep kiss. 

“do you like it?” he asked after you broke the kiss, finally coming up for air.

“i love it seth it’s beautiful.” you replied and you turned and exposed the back of your neck. “do you want to help me put it on?”

“oh yeah yes totally yes please.” seth jumbled out, words falling out of his mouth like loose teeth.

“don’t act like you’ve never seen the back of my neck before.” you joked, turning to face him after he closed the clapse.

“it’s just, like, different this time i guess.”

“youre adorable when you’re flustered.” you remarked, placing your hands on the sides of his jaw and running your thumb over his cheek. “i guess that means i’ll have to get you to help me put on all my necklaces if i want to keep seeing you like this.”

“i would gladly help you put on every piece of jewelry, you don’t even have to say please.”

“careful mr jarvis, someone might hear you and think you’re in love.”

“i’ll shout it from the rooftops i dont care.” he exclaims, throwing his arms in the air and puffing up his chest. “i’m in love!”

“this is the best christmas gift ever” you giggle, falling back onto the bed in your fit of laughter. seth quickly flopping down next to you. 

as you finished reminiscing and found yourself back in the present, sitting in the passenger seat of seth’s beat up old volkswagon, playing with the tiffany necklace around your neck. 

“i love you.” you said as you brought your free hand over top of where seth’s right hand was positioned on top of your leg, tracing circles over the top of his hand. “i know i say it all the time but i’m so proud of you.”

“i love you too.”

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

Found this in my "Garbage" folder, saw no reason to let it languish.

*Ahem*

I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this. I thought being a captive of a tribe of fucking werewolves would be less...pleasant. In my head I'd constructed this nightmare of being eaten alive, my guts pulled out of my belly and my blood welling up in my throat until I suffocated. I wasn't expecting a huge pile of warm, furry wolf-monsters who – as far as I could tell – just wanted to cuddle and be scratched behind the ears. They seemed to not care that I was the only human within almost a hundred miles, or that I'd stumbled onto their den carrying two rifles and a nine millimeter pistol loaded literally for bear. No, the only thing they seemed to care about was that I was female. While being cuddled by what amounted to giant bipedal wolves was pleasant, warm and secure and surprisingly soft, I could not help but notice that the four of them were vying for my attention almost constantly whenever I was awake. They brought me food, bumped their huge heads against my chest and belly, draped their bodies over me while I slept, and licked my face and hands to make me smile. It was like living with gigantic puppies. I swear to God I could see human intelligence in all of them, and they learned the names I gave them and responded to them. The grey one was Tundra, the black one Midnight, the brown and grey Buckeye and the all-white Ice.

Ice was much gentler than I expected for a creature his size. Rather than pinning me down like Buckeye, he seemed to prefer a more...delicate approach. At least I interpreted it as such. Wrapping his big paws around me, he pulled me in and rubbed his chin on my head for a while, nuzzling my neck and shoulders before huffing and settling down on his haunches to look at me. Crystal-blue eyes stared at me from his white face, his forelegs around my waist. I'm tempted to describe his paws as hands, except the shape is all wrong – the palms too long, the thumbs too short – but they could still manipulate objects and hold things. I wrapped my arms around his thick neck, burying my fingers in his dense coat. I knew he wanted to apologize for Buckeye's rough treatment, for the way he just used me whenever he wanted and didn't bother to tend to me afterwards. But Ice always did. Ice always laid with me afterwards, sometimes even after Buckeye was done with me, watching me recover and licking my wounds, literally. It got so that I preferred Ice over his brother, and Buckeye resented that. So he was rougher with me than he should have been.

Once, Buckeye pinned me so hard that my wrists were bruised for days. Ice was angry about that, I could tell. He would growl at his brother any time Buckeye got near me, and it came to blows one night about four days after my puffy, purple wrists turned yellow. Buckeye got too close and Ice cuffed him so hard I heard something crack, and Buckeye spit out a piece of a tooth. I treated it the best I could, but the whole time I was within Buck's reach Ice was right beside me, a low thundering rumble coming from his chest. Ice wouldn't let Buckeye touch me for another week after that.

Now, with the change in power structure and with Buckeye relegated to beta, Ice seemed to take advantage of his new position to show the others how a female should be treated. He was never rough, and even took the time to make sure I was ready before mounting me. Usually he did so in the relative privacy of the cave while the others were at least outside, but one time he took me in front of the whole clan, laying me down on my back and ignoring the other males while he had his way with me. He never looked anywhere except my eyes, even while Buckeye and Midnight and Tundra circled and sniffed. I...I am only a little ashamed to admit that when I was with Ice, I could come. I could actually enjoy what was happening to me, and Ice knew it. So he would be gentle with me, waiting and holding back until I cried out and twisted handfuls of grey-white fur out of his chest. I could see in his snow-blue eyes then that he was pleased. He would lean down and lick my face, then press his huge head against my chest and hold me to the ground while he filled me.

Tundra wasn't so bad, and neither was Midnight. Both were young, barely adults, so their versions of mating were still clumsy and sometimes hurt, but they were always kind to me. Tundra brought me things he found, little pieces of stones with shells embedded in them, clean sun-bleached bones, pieces of food. Midnight was a cuddler, he liked to bowl me over and snuffle and snort around my ears and neck before rolling me onto my stomach. That was the way he liked it, and it wasn't terrible. Once I surprised myself and actually came while Midnight was inside of me, and it startled both of us. He stopped for a moment and nibbled my cheek, checking on me. “It's okay, I'm fine.” I smiled at him and let him finish. He looked so pleased with himself.

Soon, I realized that Ice wanted me to teach him how to make me come. He communicated this to me the best he could, by pulling me into the cave one afternoon and dragging me into the big nest we all shared in the winter. He nosed my legs apart and studied me, sniffing and licking and looking sharply up at me when I cried out as his hot tongue swept over me. “It's fine, that felt good. Do it again.” He licked again and looked up. “Yes, like that.” Ears forward to listen to me, Ice laid down on his belly and put a huge paw on my thigh. The claws grazed me, but Ice never broke my skin. With slow, experimental sweeps of his tongue, Ice explored the place he usually only put his... I shivered. I could feel his monstrous teeth, and I realized with surprise that I liked it. “Oh, Ice...”

.

[lazuliquetzal]

me reading the comics post and ur tags fr like *brings you a microphone* how do u feel about the shit tim's been put thru?

I'm assuming you're talking about my "everyone needs to do a 1-year stint in comics fandom before doing a different fandom" tags. My genuine opinion on the shit Tim's been through?

I think it's hilarious. Tim Drake spent much of his Robin Career being the cool, relatable, 90s nerdy teen. He chugs energy drinks. He skips school. He skateboards. He's the main character of a 90s teen sitcom. It is immensely funny to me that this theoretically-on-paper normal, oddly charismatic nerd loses most of his closest friends, his father figure, his title, the trust of his family, etc etc within the in-universe span of, what, a year and a half? Like it is SO funny to me that the universe just decided out of the blue "yo we gotta shit on Tim Drake RIGHT NOW" and then it happens in rapid and dramatic succession.

And keep in mind Tim is already unhinged (NOBODY NORMAL WOULD EVER DO THE FAKE UNCLE THING) so the fact that he he decides to go all in into an edgy new persona is like, comparatively reasonable and normal. But he's so uncool about it that he reuses another one of Jason's castoffs and doesn't change the name, because the idea of someone calling him something other than 'Robin' makes him want to curl up and die. It's the funniest, most dramatic way to do a cry for help.

Don't get me wrong, it's also extremely sad. However, I am a firm believer that things can be very sad and very funny at the same time. That's life, babey.

Within the context of my "everyone needs to do a 1-year stint in comics fandom" tags, the way I pick and choose my Tim canon is that I pile on every single ridiculous, over-the-top, dramatic and sad event, smash them all together, and shove them at a boy whose coping mechanisms start at "lie your ass off" and end at "blow shit up." This creates a very sad character. It also creates a very funny character. Yeah, giving Tim the love and support he needs is great, but also making him do increasingly elaborate cries for help without realizing he's crying for help is even better.

Anyway, Red Raven by PlotlessWanderer is the greatest Tim Drake fic of all time.

[cupcakeslushie]

Really loving all this lore for your seperated!AU, it's probably my fave AU actively updating within the fandom rn! You've talked a little about the krang, but i more so want to know Donnie's reaction to finding out aliens are a thing. The Krang themselves have a strong focus on power/strength, so i'd assume that their existence/tech would be of great interest to him. Would he want to try and catch one to dissect, for science?

@hotcrosscorgibuns So I’m changing things up a bit and Donnie will have the front seat when it comes to the Kraang! Mostly for those exact reasons you mentioned—their focus on power vs weakness really parallel his struggles growing up with Draxum. And since Leo’s arc in the movie will be pretty much taken care of by the time the Shredder is defeated, the movie plot will be vastly different in my AU (except for the time travel aspects)!

@lollobumy Leo and Raph will have their major character arcs in the final battle with Shredder and the movie plot will be more focused on Donnie and Mikey’s arcs. This means in regards Raph getting Kraangified we wont see that, and instead another brother will be, and it’ll be in a slightly different way but I wont say which brother it’ll be, or how the process will be different 🤐!

BUT Raph will still have his time to shine (be traumatized), and will sacrifice himself to save Leo, it’ll just come into play earlier and be different than the escape pods scene. Raph will even come out of the Shredder arc with some physical changes 🤐. And Leo will still have his arc of growth fulfilled, but since his personality is so different in the AU it’ll be less about him growing to become responsible and finding what his particular value is that he brings to the table, and more about him accepting his place in the family and that he deserves their love and support despite his bloody past.

Thank you anon for your concern about my water intake! I actually have a bottle right next to me that I’m working my way through! ❤️

@buckybarnessparearm We will see the brother’s getting their own chance to protect Raph eventually! He cares for them so much, that they can be pretty over-protective themselves when he needs them to be! The smarter villains eventually learn to not go too hard on the big guy if they wanna make it out of the fight with their jaws unbroken lol.

Raph and Leo will be super close after the Shredder is defeated. And actually tho in the beginning, there may be that barrier stopping them from being close emotionally—in the field and dojo they fight and train seamlessly like they’ve been training together their whole lives. It’s just the emotional side that gives Mikey and Donnie a headache—and no matter what they do, they only ever seem to make things worse. The family is horrified at first to realize that Leo’s mind’s been so effected by magic, but at the same time it’s almost a relief that there’s an explanation as well.

@organisedchaosstuff Raph’s self worth and guilt is pretty bad. He tries to hide it, and he’s good at it for the most part, until it’ll blow over and cause everyone to realize how much he’d been struggling.

I’d say in both AUs they comfort each other the same ways, physical comfort in turtle piles, and words of reassurance and love—finding each other after a dispute, and talking things out—apologizing when necessary (in Sep!Leo’s case that’s quiet often, unfortunately). Also Mikey and Raph really try and push fun group activities like going out and playing basketball, or teaching Donnie and Leo how to skateboard. They all even decide to take Donnie to the natural history museum after hours just to see him go nuts.

Feral!Leo finds comfort in the familiar, so fav movies and his favorite old blanket go a long way in calming him down. He’s most calm when he has sights on everyone, and knows they’re all safe in the lair.

[qismet]

this is not up for debate ! [ yuji and nobara ]

yuuji sees her in dreams. the others, too, but it's her he spends the most time chasing. sometimes it's as simple as reliving the touch - point of death, she says tell everyone it wasn't so bad and then she's gone, sometimes they stand in broken silence. yuuji can't form words, can't reach out for her, was never going to reach her in time regardless, so he doesn't understand why he thinks he can change it. it won't make a difference. he wakes and within the first seconds of consciousness he blissfully forgets what happened, then it all comes crashing back and he stands in the doorway to her room, her things untouched and gathering dust. the photos pinned to the board were the only thing he ended up taking, a pile on his nightstand, turned over because he can't bear to acknowledge the fragile reality that exists in them. the things they had planned. the digital rentals of the human earthworm saga sit in his unwatched list on his laptop, he gets charged for them every week that they remain so.

he misses her, in heartbreak's simplest form. regret swims in the cavity in his chest where she should be, it's something yuuji wonders if he'll ever let go of. it's selfish of him, he thinks. but maybe death was just as selfish in its choice of selection and left behind too many halves never whole again. he finds it odd to perceive her in dreams, she's maybe the first person to appear to him that way. his parents are almost faceless ghosts in his childhood and his grandfather said everything that needed saying on his last breaths. he's read about it, what it means to see someone manifested in your unconscious mind, like it means you have unfinished business. yuuji thinks he'll have unfinished business with everyone he's ever met.

when sleep claims him one night, it feels different. usually the dreams start off cold, although the trains weren't running to schedule that night, he always hears the brakes screech. he's come to realise he could be confusing it for his own scream, but there's never any time to rationalise it before she's in front of him at the end of the passageway - not tonight. tonight, what manifests is their classroom, cicadas singing beyond the window and heat searing through the glass. yuuji sits in his chair the wrong way, leaning his arms on the back of it, watching her write the answers to the stupid quiz with his own confused expression. as it comes to him, he realises he knows this day. megumi had given up half an hour before this and tossed his papers in the trash, saying something like, he won't care if we don't finish it, as he left the room. yuuji had stayed behind even if only to press her buttons, weasel his way into her good - books and convince her to watch a movie with him later, if the heat allowed. somehow, it turned into begging her to watch the entire human earthworm saga, start to finish.

this is not up for debate ! he remembers she said on his fourth attempt, when he started bargaining and making deals, i'll watch your shitty movie, but you have to come shopping with me and get some decent pants . . . and carry my bags. at the time, yuuji knows he agreed for the simple fact that he'd finally struck a blow to her resolve, with human earthworm five in the works, he had more than enough time to sit her through them. he remembers he said, movies, there's four. and she'd made out to hit him, in return he'd bolted and she threw her pencils at him.

now he sits with the breath knocked out of him, and maybe some part of him knows this is a dream forged from a memory, but it doesn't stop the fragile smile that twitches at the corner of his lips. “ this is not up for debate ! ” she says, pencil pointed directly to the centre of his face, the rubber tip nearly touching his nose. she continues the line word for word, he thanks himself for remembering it so clearly. yuuji goes off script, releases a heavy breath. “ kugisaki . . . - ” her name spoken like he'd forgotten what it sounded like. i'm sorry, he wants to say. i miss you sits on the tip of his tongue. but then he thinks better of it, he doesn't want to ruin whatever gift he's been given, for the obvious, thinking himself undeserving. he grins at her, like nothing has changed, like they have all the time in the world, drops his chin into his palm and watches her. “ - . . . movies. there's four. ”

[cheekedupwhiteboy]

I performed the operation that night, with a cheap disposable razor and a towel to sit on. Starting from the bottom, and shaving from the crack to the cheeks, I began the arduous process of ridding my ass of hair. Occassionally, I would have to clean the razor of accumulated hair and miscellaneous slime, which I did by wiping it on the towel. Slowly, my twin mounds and the between-ravine began to resemble the hairless cheeks of a newborn baby. Finally, I wiped the razor one last time, and surveyed my work. The towel was covered with a pile of hair. My ass was smooth as ivory. I smiled, satisfied, thinking my troubles were over.

Little did I know.

I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two asscheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I thought, it would dry.

Unfortunately, it did dry, but only after mingling with the microscopic shit- molecules lingering around my brown starfish. When I stood up after class, my cheeks were stuck together with a slimy sticky shit/sweat combination. As I made my way back to my dorm, it started to itch. God-DAMN, did it itch! Felt like a swarm of ants was making its way up and down my crack. Fighting to keep from jamming my hand down there and scratching away, I rushed back to the dorm. Unfortunately again, this exertion caused me to sweat, and when I finally reached my room, my cheeks were sliding back and forth against each other like a pair of horny cane-toads. I quickly dropped my pants, and attempted to dry my ass off by sticking it in front of a fan and spreading my cheeks. As I pulled the two mounds of flesh apart, a horrible stench burst free and filled the room. Every dog within a 4 block radius started to howl. I had it worst of all, as the ripe aroma of festering shit/sweat went into the fan and blew back into my face. I fought to keep from heaving. And as I sat there, fighting vomit, my ass cheeks spread and dripping, with the concentrated aroma of my body odor mixed with the tangy smell of my own shit blowing right into my face, I had only one thought: "It will be like this until the hair grows back. Weeks." Later on, trying to deal as best I could, wiping my ass at every opportunity, I discovered another wonderful use for ass-hair - ventilation. I attempted to launch a fart, only to have it get stuck between my asscheeks. Apparently, with no hair, the two pink twins can get vacuum sealed together, and the result was a frustrating fart that slid up and down between my cheeks like a lost gerbil. As if that wasn't enough, I am now enduring further torture. As anyone who has ever shaved anything knows, when hair is first growing in, it comes in as stubble. Imagine your ass having the texture of a brillo pad. Well, that is what I am dealing with now. It is a hellish torture, and there are many times when I just look out the window and contemplate why I shouldn't just jump out and get it all over with in one fleshy splat, rather than endure this constant agony.

Friends, DON'T SHAVE YOUR ASS-HAIR!

[demialwrites]

Rufus Vs Reeve Ch 2

AO3 Link

Your talks with Reeve naturally lead to something that’s been weighing on him. You know this because he sighs sadly when he talks about it. It’s the budget for rebuilding Sector 7. It’s strange that the file is still sitting on his computer, gathering digital dust. You must have heard the president talk about rebuilding several times. You want to support your friend so you decide to bring it up the next time you go up to his office. If he shuts you down because you were out of line, then fine. If not, then great. It benefits everyone.

When you tell Reeve this, he appears confused. He asks twice if you're sure. Sure, it’s a risk but you’re willing to make it.

You print out the budget for the rebuild. Checking your watch, you remember there's a board meeting in less than an hour. That should be enough time. You’re off the elevator and walking through the executive suite when reason kicks in. As much as Rufus is friendly towards you, he’s still your boss. And the president. A man like that has to have the nerve to reprimand anyone below him. He will not have any trouble doing so with you. Hopefully, you look non-threatening, then. Like a puffy, baby bird. How cute does he think you look? Lots, hopefully. You grumpily press your lips together, shutting off the ridiculous thoughts. There’s no time for that because you’re pushing through the door into the office.

Seeing Rufus perks you up a bit. A lock of straight, blonde hair has fallen over his eye as he reads one of the reports he already had. It's handsome. You’re getting less of the “ don’t get close ” vibe. Or maybe you’re imagining it. You manage to ride that out long enough to bring up the rebuild budget.

An impassive expression descends over his face like shutters separating you from his thoughts. He must give everyone this treatment at some point so you try not to let it bother you.

“There are few things here and there that need adjusting but it's overall ready-to-go,” you say, ending your spiel.

With barely a glance down at the budget folder, he says, “If you say so, then it must be fine.” He then picks it up and lets it drop on a small pile of others.

You try to cover your shock by fidgeting. Because surely fidgeting is better than having a stupid look on your face. You want to say that you're going to leave now but feel trapped in a slide under a microscope. He still wears the shutters. Maybe this is why Reeve asked you twice.

He rests a cheek on his fist. “Has he said anything about me?”

“Ah, who?”

“Director Tuesti.”

“Oh. He said you're smart,” you say, nodding. It's easier to hide things when it's partially true.

“He used other words, I’m sure.”

Despite claiming not to believe you, he nonetheless looks amused.

You’re not sure how you got into the elevator. You glance dumbly over at the panel and it indicates you pushed the cafeteria floor button at one point.

Figures.

Not only did the president not shut you down, he asked what Reeve said about him. As if he couldn’t ask the director to his face. But it’s not like you know their relationship, you suppose. What’s the opposite of a tornado? Because the president doesn’t blow in and out of your life. You willingly go within range. Sometimes feels the same, though.

When the elevator doors open, you step out with a plan to eat your feelings a bit. It’s not as good as a bakery but it’ll do. You run into that red-haired woman from Urban Planning when looking for a place to sit. She ignores you again. What she doesn’t know is her appearance just reminded you to call Reeve after you’re finished eating and tell him that you were successful—and not fired.

You’re a bit sad when he doesn’t answer.

That’s when you remember there’s a board meeting scheduled right now. You still had enough time to head back to your desk to open some files and make it look like you started something before making it to the 64th floor when the meeting was supposed to finish. You plan to just give him the good news and return to work.

You lean against the wall because the meeting runs late. About 15 minutes later, Rufus leaves the meeting, making you hope it’s done. He doesn’t notice you as he leaves. You’re lucky that Reeve leaves next.

You grab his attention with a soft “hey,” and tell him that the morning went well. Or at least, not disastrously. 

“That’s it,” you say. “You must be busy, so…”

“No, I…”

You know Reeve well enough by now to know he is not being the person he is while in his office. He appears calm but to you, he’s being weighed down by something. You don’t think you’re allowed to ask what went on in there. Instead, your words take on a comforting tone, turning to mundane matters like what’s being served at the cafeteria today. Especially the dessert. Friends are nice and they offer hugs when their friends are in distress but no one hugs at Shinra, as far as you are aware. Instead, your hand makes to grab Reeve’s but you’re not sure you should touch him in front of the other directors. It feels like showing weakness for some reason. You don’t want to make him show weakness in front of these people. The directors are walking past and thankfully, they ignore the both of you. You are briefly amused by this because technically, you work for them but this is the closest you’ve been to them. You can’t help but smile because you’re happy with that. He looks confused at your sudden smile but he also smiles a little back.

“What are we talking about?”

A familiar, but not unwelcome, voice interrupts your conversation. You turn to see President Rufus stand perpendicular to the both of you. He says “we,” and it makes you realize you don’t think you’ve been in the same space with both of them at the same time.

Rufus glances down at your hand, which has found a piece of Reeve’s suit jacket between its thumb and pointer finger. You let it drop, knowing that it must raise questions. You also stop smiling when you see Tseng standing behind Rufus.

“What can we help you with, Sir?” asks Reeve.

“I need to talk to this one.” He gestures at you with an open palm. “In my office.”

“Yes, Sir,” you say. “I’ll see you later, Director.”

As you follow the two men, the sympathy you feel for Director Tuesti is replaced by sadness. Because what's bothering him, you probably can't do much about. You feel helpless. You suddenly get the hope you’re never promoted again. If he can't do anything, you probably can't. Right? You don’t like how working in this building sometimes makes you feel secure and sometimes makes you spiral.

Tseng is the one who uses his keycard to access the 70th floor button in the elevator. The president remains silent. Evidently, it’s business-only time. You wonder if Tseng’s presence is the reason for his silence. Or maybe you’re looking for a reason to talk to Rufus.

“You seem close with the director,” Tseng says to you, halfway through the ride. He says it innocently enough that you can't glean his intentions.

“Yeah. We’re friends.”

You don’t want to talk to him. Thankfully, he doesn't say anything else. You can’t see Rufus’ face or if he has an expression.

You follow them into the office and stop to stand in front of Rufus' desk. Tseng stands behind Rufus. You know you aren't in trouble. You don't know what Tseng has to do with this, however.

Rufus begins by explaining that he's impressed with the consistency of your work. Pride expands in your chest upon hearing that–and from him , no less–but you maintain a neutral expression. He next says that he has a task for you. He wants you to dig through the finances of all the departments to identify any signs of possible fraud. He plans to put together a team later if needed.

At first, it hits you that he is acknowledging any of the rumours floating around the company, even if indirectly. After that, you begin itching to say yes. You've been wanting to do some real good ever since you got promoted. The itch gets worse when you realize it would indirectly help your new friend, Reeve. Maybe you want to do good because of Reeve. That's a thought you should revisit later.

You don't think the president would waste his time by giving someone meaningless tasks unless he had a good reason. You can imagine the long, mind-numbing hours but it still seems too good to be true.

“Will the directors find out it's me who found the evidence?” you ask.

“Possibly. But I will be able to protect you. Tseng will be available should anything go wrong.”

Tseng nods when mentioned.

That should be reassuring but it annoys you. Not just because Tseng makes you uncomfortable. It's that you should be able to be safe at your place of work, no matter what. But then you remember what Reeve said about Rufus’ tenuous grip on the rest of the board. This could be Rufus asking you for help to strengthen it. His expression is neutral but there's something else glittering in his blue eyes. Hopefulness or perhaps curiousity.

“Think about it,” he says with finality.

“I will.”

You bow and take your leave of the tornado for the second time that day.

A few days later while handing in your report, Rufus surprises you by telling you he has something for you. You can't tell if he's paid any attention to your tastes so you can't imagine what he might have.

“Please,” he says, beckoning you politely forward.

There's no other way to come closer but to walk around the desk. The desk is an awkward C-shape. It’s not exactly something you pull up a chair on the other side of. Getting closer, you notice someone has set up a little table behind his chair and another chair behind it. Shinra black, of course. It wouldn't kill anyone to put a white table instead , you think to yourself in amusement. When Rufus spins his chair around, it's opposite the black table.

Two plates lie on the table, holding a different slice of cake on each.

“A bribe?” you joke.

He chuckles. “If you want to call it that.”

You’re worried you look happy enough to see the desserts that he might mistakenly believe he could attempt to use them as a bribe and it would succeed . You feel foolish. But also a little giddy.

You disregard decorum and hurry over to sit opposite the president. Judging by the thick layer of frosting, the slice in front of you might be chocolate mousse cake. The one in front of Rufus is yellow. It’s not plain enough to be just yellow cake; it must be another flavour. The massive office fades into the background as you pick up the fork. It quickly parts the mousse and then slows as it hits the cake beneath. You have to stop because you have taken too big of a piece. A short struggle ensues as you try to maneuver and shove it in your mouth without ending up needing a napkin. Rufus watches you eat. You feel pressured and a blush is creeping up your face to your ears.

“It's good,” you tell him, thinking that was what he wanted to hear.

Rather than acknowledge what you just said, he says, “You should try this.”

You're caught off-guard because he doesn't seem like the type to share food. You yourself don't mind.

“Sure.”

You don't think much of sharing the same fork because you really want to try what he's having. He reaches toward you to hand you the fork and you lean forward to meet him in the middle. Instead, his free hand darts forward like a striking snake. He hooks it behind your tie. You're pulled forward out of your seat. Your lips part in surprise and he pushes the fork in.

You catch him looking pleased with himself before he releases your tie. You clumsily plop back in your seat. You somehow forget that chewing comes before swallowing and start to choke. Rufus stops just before taking another bite. His eyebrows shoot up in concern but you wave it off. You squeeze your eyes shut and force a painful swallow. You hope you didn't look like a frog.

You open your eyes just in time to see the fork disappear behind his lips with more cake. Just now, you realize it's lemon. You barely caught the taste on the back of your tongue before it went down. You had to hand it to the patissier. Rather than a weak lemon flavour and lots of sugar to overcompensate, it tastes strongly of fresh lemon. It reminds you of lemon sorbet. It makes the mousse cake seem overly rich and sugary in comparison. You’ll have to ask where he got these brought in from so you can tell Reeve.

Why do you feel guilty about that, though?

You could offer Rufus a taste of your slice but you're too embarrassed now. And you don't have much left after ravenously gobbling it.

You want to say something. Anything. But the only thing that comes to mind is Sector 7. Other work-related topics line up behind it, ready to pop out of your mouth. Work-related topics don't suit the moment so you end up saying nothing. You realize you'd been staring at Rufus while you had been struggling.

Yet he seems oddly pleased with that, rather than uncomfortable. He smiles.

“I'm glad you liked it,” he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Rufus doesn't say anything else. It's like the move with the tie didn't even happen. It's confusing. When he's finished his slice, he leans back, throwing one leg over the other.

“We should do this again sometime.”

He grins when you light up again. What he doesn't know is that you're half thinking about the opportunity for more cake.

“Yeah.”

He examines you for a moment, then says, “That was a bribe, actually.”

You frown in confusion but wait for him to continue.

“I have a small favour to ask. I’ll be busy with something important tomorrow so I’ll need someone to fill in while I’m away. Someone I can trust.” In response to your outward shock, he adds, “It’s just for a few hours. I've already gone over anything that is need-to-know.”

You feel silly. Of course, he wouldn't be putting anything important on your shoulders.

“For more…cake?” you ask.

He frowns. “Is that what you want?”

“Oh. No.” You shake your head, hoping he would forget what you even said that.

“How about I owe you a small favour in return?”

You nod. That sounds fair.

“It would be helpful to know your answer about the department budgets. I can leave them on my desk tomorrow for you to look over. Less eyes on you that way.” He keeps his tone light but you still pick up on the pressure behind his words.

“I guess it can't hurt to look.”

The other directors don't seem to know who you are, anyway.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Through Love And By Love (Pt. 9)

Summary: Twenty-Two years ago, Draco Malfoy used the imperius curse to slow Voldemort’s rise to power. No good deed goes unpunished. Warning: this series contains mature subject matter surrounding use of the imperius curse, discussions of trauma and mental illness; reader discretion advised.

18+ ONLY this chapter contains sexual content.

Part 8

Hermione and Ron’s daughter, Rose, Harry and Ginny’s son, Albus, and Rosanna and Draco’s son, Scorpius, are all born within three months of each other. Rose is the oldest, followed by Scorpius and finally Albus.

All of their children remain close growing up, their lives forever entwined. But the three of them are truly inseparable.

Years pass, Harry is head of the auror department, spending a fair share of time with Draco. His partner of sorts, after Ron left the ministry, to join Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Hermione succeeded Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister for Magic.

For all intents and purposes, Rosanna still works interrogations. But truly she's a floater; she goes wherever they need her.

A twelve year old Rose, blows out her birthday candles, making a wish as everyone cheers. Hermione has a few tears in her eyes.

"Alright presents, presents for the birthday girl!" Molly takes her job as grandmother very seriously.

"We have loads to open. Ron, cut the cake for us, will you?" Hermione presses a hand to her husband's back.

"Yeah, Ron. Cut the cake for us!" Not two, but four voices sound in unison. Fred and George Weasley have always been especially fond of the Malfoy twins, and vice versa.

Molly eyes them fondly, yet in warning.

"This one's from me!" Hugo holds up the parcel, proudly. "And Mum and Dad."

Rose moves the present to her ear, shaking it with a smile.

"Sounds like-" Scorpius leans closer.

"We're here! We're late! We're sorry, Rose!" Leo rushes into the room, boyfriend Henry in tow. The blonde leans down, kissing Rose's head.

Rose reaches back and offers an awkward sort of hug. "Thanks for coming, Leo. I know you're busy."

"Never too busy for you." Leo is jet lagged, coming off a huge win, as seeker for the Holyhead Harpies. The all female team is headed for the Quiddich World Cup, for the first time in history.

"It's my fault, I'm always slowing her down. The muggle airports are a nightmare!" Leo’s boyfriend, Henry, is a rather tall, lanky man, with chestnut curls that spring freely about his head. As it turns out, squibs can't travel far by apparating with a witch or wizard. So when they travel long distance, it's by plane.

"Tell us about it." Helen, Hermione's mother understands completely.

"Anytime we go on holiday, security is barmy! They on flagged me because I forgot about my shoe buckle. They checked our luggage twice and we missed the entire flight." Hermione’s father, chimes in.

The conversation sparks Arthur's interest. In his humble opinion, muggle endeavors are more interesting than most magical ones.

Leo sets a large rectangular box near the growing pile at Rose's feet with a wink.

"What is it?" Albus inquires.

"You'll have to wait and see." Leo shrugs, ruffling his hair.

The Malfoy's are known for their extravagant gifts. This stems largely from Draco's upbringing. Gifting is his love language, Rosanna is showered in jewelry and clothing and handbags. Their children are no different, it is their father's way of showing just how much he adores them.

Rosanna accepts graciously and encourages others to do the same. This is particularly hard for Ron. Who for the longest time, thought Draco was just boasting about how wealthy he was.

The other children twiddle about, watching the gifts unwrap.

"Stop, James!" Polaris swats the boy's nagging hand away. He’s been tugging at her white blonde hair.

"Well if your big head weren't in the way." James remarks with wicked grin, giving another tug on her locks.

"Quit, James, I'm serious." Polaris pulls the end of her ponytail over one shoulder.

"No. I'm Sirius, James Sirius." He is a shameless flirt.

"That isn't funny, you must realize that." Vega scowls.

"Don't be so hard on him, he's trying." Roxanne, Angelina and George's daughter, remarks. "Can't all be blessed with the funny gene."

————————————————————————

When things are good, they’re good. But when it rains, it pours.

Rosanna stomps toward her husband's office. Fuming down the hallway, past her coworkers with the latest issue of the Daily Prophet, clenched in her first.

Draco's door opens for her, on command, "sweetheart." He greets, from behind his desk. A bit of green apple still trapped between his teeth. “What’s happened?"

Rosanna slams the paper down onto the desktop, hand trembling as she does. "He can't go in September."

Draco sighs, skimming the front page. 'Desperate for male heir, Draco Malfoy acquired a time turner to have wife impregnated by He Who Shall Not Be Named. Scorpius Malfoy, son of the dark lord and Rosanna Malfoy is set to attend Hogwarts this coming fall.”

"It's too wordy, Skeeter has lost her touch." Draco shrugs, brushing the paper aside.

"Scorpius can't go to Hogwarts." Rosanna wraps both arms around herself.

"Of course he's going. Come off it." Draco can feel a throb take up in his left temple.

"Did you read what she said?” Rosanna's tone verges on hysterical. "What she's implying-"

"Is as disgusting as it is far fetched." Draco says, dismissively. "No one's going to believe this rubbish."

"You don't understand." Rosanna shakes her head, making to leave.

Draco stops her, leaning his body heavily against the door, blocking her exit. "Enlighten me." He taps her temple twice, before resting his hand against the side of her neck.

She fills his mind with hushed whispers and sideways glances. The apologetic smiles from members of her department, snickers and sneers from the last man brought in for questioning.

"You'd never do it for him, you know?" The man scoffed, teeth rotting out of his foul mouth. "You reek of desperation and remorse. You're pretty poppet; but you're weak. The dark lord couldn't get up for you."

"That's just ridiculous," Draco mutters, as they finally break apart. "Any man could get up for you."

"This isn't a joke." She snaps. "What if the other kids, or their parents see this and think-"

"No one who's anyone is going to believe this." Draco says again, softly. "He's been waiting to attend Hogwarts for years. We can't keep him home."

"What are we going to tell him?" They can shelter him at the manor. In their small group of friends, but not forever.

"We're going to tell him what we've told him a thousand times. People say things about our family that are vile, and moreover untrue." Draco understands this is hard, he knows she's frustrated. But they're on the same side and he doesn't want to fight.

"Rita's been saying Scorpius wasn't yours since he was born. But this...is the worst. How could she think that he-"

"Hush, love." Draco draws her into his chest, swaying her gently. "Scorpius is a wonderful, loving, smart, compassionate boy. He's our boy, and he's good."

————————————————————————

The months leading up to their youngest child's departure are torturous. They speak about the war, the parts they played. How sometimes they worked with opposing forces, but truly they always fought for each other. A vague rundown of their prophecy, briefly touching on the blurred lines they'd crossed while Rosanna was under the imperius curse. They mention Hermione's torture, the final battle, how choosing Harry allowed him to win.

Presenting their son with his own copy of their autobiography. "Through Love And By Love" by Draco and Rosanna Malfoy, was on the required reading list for seventh years.

Although he wouldn’t be reading it for sometime; each of their children was given a copy with their dedication on the first page.

'For Leo Selene, our every dream, the light at the end of the tunnel, and inspiration to write this story.'

'For Arlo Cressida, our reason to seek healing, the hope for a better future, and inspiration to share this story.'

'For Vega Juniper, our next chapter, the first half of our double trouble, the world is a better place for having you in it.'

'For Polaris Athena, our moving forward and second half spitfire, you burn as brightly as the star for which you are named.'

'For Scorpius Hyperion, our proof that history does not always repeat itself, and that things will get better; no matter how impossible it seems.'

Scorpius runs his fingertips over the scripture, "I know why you're worried about me. But I'm your son," he says, proudly. "If you can survive all of that," he clears his throat, "I can survive being called names."

"Some people suck," Rosanna tells him, leaning forward to take his hands. "Don't let them get under your skin. Always remember who you are."

"You'll have Albus and Rose there with you." Draco tacks on, "Your sisters too, if you need them; James, Teddy-"

"I know Dad," Scorpius cuts off his father with a lopsided grin.

Rosanna pulls back, before she bursts into tears. "You want some tea?" She runs a hand over Draco's hair.

He turns, slightly, kissing the inside of her wrist. "Tea would be nice."

————————————————————————

"Did you get the talk too then?" Rose asks, aboard the Hogwarts Express, after their parents and the train station have disappeared from view.

"You mean the birds and the bees? Yes, I did. It was awful, thanks for reminding me." Scorpius frowns.

"No, not that talk." Rose rolls her eyes.

"You mean about the Wizarding war?" Albus asks his cousin.

"Exactly...you in particular, Scorpius. How are you doing?" She puts her hand over his.

"I'm fine, Rose." He stammers, "it's weird though, my looks favor my Dad. I'm surprised no one's said she's not my real Mum."

"Everybody knows Skeeter's a tosspot." Albus shrugs. "And that's besides the point, if any of you are fathered by you know who, it's Polaris." The girl is a nightmare in her own right.

"Then Vega too, by default." Rose says disapprovingly. "They are identical twins; that means one embryo divided during-"

"Don't you think he's suffered enough without thinking about his Mum's embryos?" Albus scolds his cousin.

Scorpius smiles, "thanks, Al. What'd you say we try our luck flagging down the trolley? I want to try the chocolates."

————————————————————————

Arlo leaves her train car and Ravenclaw roommates, to wander down and check on her brother. Peeking through the glass window at her youngest sibling, having a laugh with Rose and Albus. The seats around them full of empty sweet wrappers.

She's about to knock and get his attention, when someone startles her.

"Is he someone I should know?" A burly, dark haired, boy asks. His door pulled open behind her.

"Excuse me?" Arlo turns quickly, it's not a voice she recognizes, heavily accented and deep.

"You are the third one to look in." The boy motions to Scorpius. “Is he special?"

"I guess that depends on who you ask," she shrugs. "He's my kid brother. I have three sisters, two are still students, we're supposed to look out for him."

"He is special then." The stranger nods.

"You're not from here." Arlo says with a smile. It's a breath of fresh air, meeting someone who has no clue what sodding Rita Skeeter and the Daily Prophet, has been saying about their family for years.

"What gave me away?" He laughs, flashing her a blinding grin.

"Well for starters, you've got a smidge of an accent. Any relation to Bulgarian Bon Bon, Viktor Krum?" She crosses her arms over her chest.

"Bulgarian Bon Bon?" He's never heard the term.

"Never mind, it's just a thing-" she shakes her head.

He grins. "I am Marko Petrov."

"Arlo Malfoy." She extends her hand for a shake.

"Nice to meet you, my Arlo." The tall man takes her hand gently, pressing his lips to the back.

"Just Arlo," she stammers, breathlessly.

"I will learn." He takes a step back, bowing his head.

"Honest mistake." Arlo waves away his concern, "so what brings you to Hogwarts?"

"My mother passed away three years ago." Petrov explains.

"Oh, I’m sorry."

"My father’s new wife was teaching in Bulgaria. But her home is here." Marko tells his new found friend.

Arlo nods.

"Now we’re here." His voice is pleasant. The longer he speaks, the more Arlo wants to listen.

"I've gotta get back to my friends. But you can come sit with us, if you want." Arlo offers, waving him back toward her seat.

"What about your brother?" The transfer student asks.

"Scorpius is fine." Arlo assures him, he hasn't even noticed her standing in the doorway; for what was, at this point, an obscene amount of time.

"Scorpius?"

"We're all named after stars and constellations," Arlo explains. "It's kind of stupid, but it's a thing."

————————————————————————

Over the next few days, Draco and Rosanna receive daily letters from their children. Knowing from past experience, that they will die down after the first month.

"We have another Slytherin." Rosanna shakes the parchment at her husband as he lounges on the couch. Feet propped up on the coffee table, reading over a case file.

They had a Gryffindor, then a Ravenclaw, another Gryffindor and finally a Slytherin with Polaris, now again with Scorpius.

"Shall we head down to Diagon Ally and pick up him up a few robes?" The man is grinning at the news, taking the note to read for himself. "We can make a day of it."

"Sure, I'm gonna hop in the shower quick." She kisses the top of his head.

Rosanna loves his hair, she always has. So when he came to her, three years ago, and asked how she felt about him letting it grow out; Ro was all for it.

‘See if you like it, if not, cut it off, it's only hair.' She laughs, stopping him from agonizing over the prospect any longer.

Now it hangs well past his shoulders.

Draco sets the letter aside, venturing up the stairs to their washroom. He can hear the steady stream of the water, over Rosanna's singing. She has quite a pleasant voice, thick and sweet like honey.

He opens the door, stripping off his clothes. They haven't had a shag in the shower for years.

Rosanna hears rustling outside of the, sliding, glass door. Popping her head out. "Baby?"

"Who else?" He chuckles.

"Alright, smart ass, you wanna piece of me?" Rosanna arches a brow at him.

"Actually," Draco half smirks, "yes I do."

"You're a pervert, Malfoy, has anyone ever told you that?" She watches her husband step inside.

"Don't act like you don't enjoy it, Malfoy." He slides the door closed behind him, trapping in the warm air.

Rosanna smiles, with a shake of her head. "What if I don't?"

Draco tips her chin up, her eyes locked on his; burning with desire. Swiping his thumb over her bottom lip. "Shall I go then? Since you don't appreciate my advances."

"No." Her breath grows shallow, as he backs her against the tile wall.

"Better choose your words more carefully, my darling. Someone might get their feelings hurt." The corners of his mouth turn upwards.

She nods, mouth suddenly dry.

Draco blinks at her expectantly. "Why don’t you tell me what it is you want?”

"You." The confession slips past her lips, easy as breathing. "I want you."

"Care to be a bit more specific?" He nuzzles his nose against hers. "Seeing as I already belong to you in every way imaginable."

"I want-"

He moves his leg between hers, pressing against the apex of her thighs. "What?" He pulls back, when her lips search for his.

She whines, squirming against him. "Draco."

"You're not very articulate today, sweetheart.” The man taunts. "Shall I go first?"

"Yeah, that'd be good." Ro says, lips parted, slightly.

"I want to fuck you, against this wall. I want your fingers twisted in my hair, tugging and releasing, because they can't decide which pleases them more.” His voice is hypnotic, intoxicating. "I want your lips against mine, when you can't be bothered with kisses and just whimper until you cum. I want you to remember what it feels like to have me so deep inside that your pretty little cunt is sore. I want you full with my child, again." Draco purrs against her ear.

Oh. She mulls over his proposition while sliding the elastic band down hair. Fanning it out to frame his face, as best she can. "Yes, please."

"Please, what?" He murmurs, over the warm spray of the water.

"Please, fuck me." The cheeky little thing guides his mouth to hers.

"And what of my other request?" Draco inquires, if she says no, he'll cast the sodding protection charm; he needs to be inside her.

"Do it.” She agrees, “now.”

"You've never been one for delayed gratification. I've loved that about you since I was a boy." Draco confesses, sealing his lips over hers and lifting her up so that soft legs wrap around his waist.

Rosanna moans into his mouth, as his length fills her. "Shit, baby," her head thunks against the shower wall.

Draco sucks bruises into the exposed skin of her neck. Moving to her nipples with the same suction, one hand pressed against her back, keeping her arched toward him.

"You are so lovely," he whispers. "All mine."

Rosanna tugs his hair, pulling him back up to her. "Yours," she sighs, contently, against his lips.

His hands grope her bum, greedily. Thrusting harder, brushing against the spot that drives her mad.

"I love you, I love you, I love you." She chants like a prayer, nails raking over his pale skin.

"I love you." Draco replies, because there's not a proper word for how he feels about her. So he settles for love. Making her cum twice and swallowing her breathy whines.

“Fuck,” she begins to protest as his nimble fingers snake between them, teasing her sensitive clit. “Draco.”

“Cum on my cock again,” he orders.

“Please,” she whimpers, not entirely sure what she’s pleading for. The coil in her lower belly tightens, the sensation almost painful.

“Hush, my sweetheart.” He doubles the speed of his ministrations, guiding her lips back to his. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

Colors explode behind her eyelids, release washing over her in searing waves, never seeming to wane.

Draco follows her over the edge. Where you go, I go.

————————————————————————

The paper’s headlines remain cruel. Granting no clemency.

'Bandaid baby to mend Rosanna and Draco Malfoy’s crumbling marriage."

'Leo Malfoy to wed squib, further besmirching bloodline.'

'Arlo Malfoy's suspected teen pregnancy with Bulgarian transfer student.’

'Vega Malfoy caught snogging roommate Arlene Fischer.'

'Polaris Malfoy attempts woo James Potter, nearly one year her junior.'

'Scorpius Malfoy, son of the Dark Lord and Rosanna Malfoy, sorted Slytherin.'

———————————————————————-

The children return home for Christmas. Rosanna pops in to say goodnight to each of them. Her second oldest daughter being the last stop. "Arlo, can we talk?"

She cuts her mother off. "I'm not pregnant."

"I know." Rosanna assures her. "I'm sure you're being safe."

Arlo sits up, motioning for Mum to join her on the bed. "We're not... doing that. I'm not ready. No offense, but I don't envy you. Having a kid right now- I don't think I could do it."

"You could, if you had to." Rosanna tells her, softly, "you think you can't. But somehow you just do."

Arlo offers her the brush, off of the bedside table. Turning so that her mother can braid her hair, like when she was a little girl. "Didn’t it ever piss you off? That you couldn’t finish school or do what you wanted?"

"Before I had Leo; I worried I wouldn't be able to bond with a child that I wasn't ready to have. But when she was born I understood. All those plans, goals, dreams, the things I wanted… didn't matter to me anymore. Because I was holding the entire world in my arms, she became my dream, she was everything I wanted. I felt the exact same way each and every time I held you. I wanted you, more than I wanted anything else." Rosanna begins weaving soft tresses into a fishtail braid.

"You're a good Mum." Arlo tells her, just in case she doesn't know.

Rosanna gives her shoulder a squeeze, "I'm trying."

Arlo relaxes into her mother's calming touch. "I'm meant to read the book this summer. It's on the required list."

"I can talk to Head Master McGonagall, if you need more time. I'm sure she will make an exception." It isn’t meant to be a burden on any of their children.

"I had Marko read it early. He said it was a good read. He didn't realize that you wrote it actually, I had to explain it to him." She’s become quite taken with her Bulgarian boyfriend. "Anyway, he has some questions. I think I probably will too. After I'm finished, do you think it’d be alright for us to sit down with you and Dad...and talk?"

"Yeah, of course, we can do that." Rosanna secures the elastic at the end of Arlo's strawberry blonde plat. She leans forward, kissing the back of her daughter's head.

"One more thing." Arlo catches Rosanna's wrist. "You said, in your dedication, that I was the reason to share your story. I think that's beautiful, but why me?"

"A lot of people expected different things after the war. They expected me to take Leo and leave your Dad. They expected me to press charges and send him to Azkaban. They expected me to lean heavily into my friends, because they were 'good' and the Malfoy's weren’t.” It's hard to think back to that dark time, after the war. When the world was quite literally in shambles.

“There was a moment of panic. How could we stop pretending like nothing happened; but at the same time let people know I was ok. I wasn't with your dad because of a curse, or a prophecy, or because he was the father of my child. I was with him because I love him. That was the story I wanted to tell; and I wanted to tell it for you. It never really stopped the media circus or the side ways glances. But you deserve to have all the facts in one place." Rosanna twists her hands in her lap, restlessly.

"Didn't you ever want the glory?" Arlo wonders, turning to search Rosanna's eyes.

"For a long time I thought I was going to die, that your dad was going to die. I thought I'd never see my parents again. Or my friends,” Rosanna tells her daughter. "Being here, married to your dad and getting to see my friends happy, with kids of their own, watching all of you grow up together. That is the glory for me."

"And your card comes inside the chocolate frog box." Arlo reminds her.

"That's pretty cool too." Rosanna laughs.

Part 10

[tea-and-typos]

The poker table sat four. Around it, Juliet and Beatrice were attempting to play a high-speed game of uno, a struggle when the two other players had to be repeatedly reminded they were playing. Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother and Cinderella’s Evil Stepmother had recently reconnected after their long and complicated divorce, and now were spoiling a perfectly good game with their inability to focus on anything aside from each other.

‘You can’t put a skip card on top of another skip card!’ Juliet kicked the table leg nearest to her, causing the precarious discard pile to wobble, but not quite fall. ‘It skips your go, that’s the whole thing.’

‘Yeah, but I’m stacking?’ Beatrice, who had argued the exact opposite point earlier in the game, popped her chewing gum obnoxiously. ‘Back me up here, Manon.’

Manon, Cinderella’s Evil Stepmother, waved her hand distractedly, accidentally flinging her unlit cigarette across the room. ‘Yeah, whatever Beatrice said.’ She lazily dropped her hand on the table, the uno cards spilling out like a bright yellow fan. Evidently Juliet had shuffled badly. ‘We’re being narrated, so I’m going to go.’ she said, raising a middle finger pointlessly at the sky. Obviously, no one would be watching her from up there.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Juliet flung her own, significantly smaller hand down. ‘How can you always tell when it’s happening?’

Manon elegantly plucked her silver cigarette case from her breast pocket, and an engraved zippo from her coat pocket. She offered the cigarettes round the table, and then offered the lighter about. Fictional characters didn’t tend to get lung cancer unless it was to further the plot, and then it hardly mattered if they smoked or not. Consequences were thematic as opposed to sequential, reflecting on page actions as opposed to off page ones.

‘My theory,’ Manon said, blowing a deeply impressive smoke ring across the table. ‘Is that because plays don’t have narration, you don’t pick up on it.’ ’

‘Mine does.’ Juliet said sulkily, sinking down in her chair and folding her arms. This was true, Romeo and Juliet did have a narrator, however it was a nontraditional narrator, more for exposition than anything else. Within her source material, Juliet did not have her actions dictated by a narrator, meaning she was largely unaware of when it happened now she was part of the public domain.

‘Still.’ Manon flounced off, leaving a puff of smoke behind her—a trick that made the Fairy Godmother weak in the knees. It certainly caused her to leave the poker table and walk after her ex-wife/current squeeze, for activities that would not make it into versions of their story aimed at children. 

‘Fucking fairytale bitches think they’re so special and timeless.’ Beatrice spat her gum on the floor unceremoniously, before putting on a high voice, ‘ooh I can just somehow magically tell when I’m being narrated, oooh I’m going to seven divorces.’ Her impression of Cinderella’s Evil Stepmother was neither accurate nor particularly amusing, but Juliet laughed anyway.

‘Evil Stepmother and the Seven Divorces, coming to cinemas near you.’ Juliet put on a terrible announcer voice, before pulling out her Magic: The Gathering deck. ‘You had a remake more recently than any of the Cinderella crowd, anyway.’

‘It was shit though.’ Beatrice pulled a pouch of tobacco out her pocket, rolling a cigarette because it gave her more hand movements for the narration to ground her speech in, and when being narrated a character exists to serve the narrative. Fictional characters are malleable like that, to a certain extent.

‘You’re lucky no one really cares about your play, next thing you know they’ll do a garden gnome retelling.’

Beatrice rubbed the tobacco between her fingers in preparation for rolling. ‘First of all,’ she said, licking along the shiny strip of her rolling paper, ‘loads of people care about my play. Recent film adaptation was terrible, but I still got one.’ She smoothed the cylindrical tube of tobacco together, and stuck it between her teeth as she patted her pockets down for a lighter. ‘Second of all, Gnomeo and Juliet was better than the Leonardo Di Caprio film you’re so fond of, and I won’t hear a word against it.’

Juliet slid a lighter across the table, and Beatrice took it, lighting the cigarette continuing to speak around a mouthful of smoke. ‘It’s funny how much copyright law changes our way of life. Or whatever it is this is.’

‘Not really life, not really death.’ Juliet shuffled her Magic: The Gathering deck. ‘Lots of time to play card games.’

[tenebrius-excellium]

I somehow feel like it's a little too early to make this estimate, but I took care of some things for myself lately and I'm feeling so so alone and vulnerable but also wayyy more confident, cautiously optimistic and hopeful for the future than before? Like, as a motherless daughter I have this dream of being able to say that "it got okay around age 30". I need to be able to tell this to someone else one day and be so so compassionate and encouraging to them, being able to promise that everything does get better, even if it might take someone another decade to reach that point for themselves.

So here's my coping mechanisms / survival guide for other motherless kids/teens/young adults out there... it's so trashy, like, I was making this up as I went along, I was just winging it out there, I did not have help and nobody cared what I went through. These are the things that got me through. They're not developed, they're not scientific, they're makeshift comfort. But please take what you need if you find anything helpful in this pile of rugs. (so crying right now)

Music and daydreaming help. So, sooooooo much. Don't get lost in the daydreaming too much, but I, for example, literally use music beat patterns to physically calm myself down. Music is a GREAT emotional regulator. Get that stuff out. Pacify yourself. I hum, I tap, I blow my eardrums out when life gets too much.

Stuffed animals help. They are soft and go everywhere with you and they are a guaranteed safe space. They are your pillow at night and the one you can always kiss and hug. They will love you back with their presence as well as they can. They've been through your shit with you and they are witnesses.

Christianity and Church help. A lot. A good Church will have motherly mothers and safe men in it. Members will gift you their spare items (I got like a clothes rack, a microwave, and more). They will give you money to get by if you honestly admit that you need help. When starving, I've always lowkey found food there. Within a Church, people will naturally move and clear out their households and get you connected to essential supplies like repairs, vacant housing, unused furniture, clothes and such. Accept this help. Don't depend on it, however, and do not exploit it either. Just grasp those opportunities when they present themselves.

Jesus himself helps. He will answer your prayers prayed in desperation if you honor him with your life. He saw. Trust me, he saw and he still sees, and he still helps you. Even now.

Socialism helps. A LOT. I've survived on state benefits for the longest time and have been so greatful discovering all the graces the government will grant you as an orphan, as a student, as a child, as a young person. My state has been more loving to me than my own parents. At least that's what it oftentimes feels like. Whenever they abandoned me, I was able to apply for some financial aid elsewhere. I recently organized insurance for myself, and it is my first real safety net EVER. I can relax better now.

Media help. Books, movies, talks, inspirational quotes, whatever floats your boat. Hearing and watching about other people's experiences lets you find kindred spirits and role models to aspire to. Don't get too lost in them either because you have to forge your own path. But take all the strength from them that you can. My real life role models include Kate Winslet, Kate Blanchett, Hugh Jackman and RDJ. My fictional role models are every swashbuckler ever, every dreamer, fighter, dancer, singer ever, just passionate people who are able to live in the present and get creative with the situations they find themselves in while maintaining a positive attitude and a fun, confident spirit.

No one will be coming to save you. Take responsibility for yourself as early as you can. I made the mistake of expecting others to save me for far too long. I remained passive expecting my step-family to accomodate my needs "when they finally find the time to think about me". These people have their own family dynamic; they don't get that you are different. Listen; THEY HAVE THEIR OWN FAMILY. You, however, are from an entirely different family. I wish for each and every orphan to be grafted into a family that wholeheartedly accepts who you are and supports you unconditionally. In my case though, I was expected to fit in with them and to grow up to do things exactly like them, their way. Which I couldn't. Because my blood literally boils different. If you feel "off", "out of place", "different", reclaim your origins, insist on it, do things your own way. It'll free you dramatically. If you're happy, good for you, then don't touch that shit. You can be grateful for what you have. Sincere gratulations! But what I'm trying to say is, asking the dumb questions and having to learn everything by yourself is humiliating. It's also exhausting. Sometimes you will have to fight the adults in your life for what you really need when they try to give you what they *think* a normal kid needs. You are not a normal kid. You need extra stuff. Why do YOU have to do everything by yourself out of all people? WHY YOU? WHY MEEE? I have no idea. It doesn't make sense. It's so unfair. All I can tell you is that things immediately get better for you the moment you stand up for yourself and take responsibility. It's okay to whine. Just get to doing something about it while you're at it. Listen, I love you, but you HAVE to.

This I can't say from personal experience, but apparently, having animals/pets and engaging in sports helps some people. Small things I've noticed are that basking in the sun feels like a hug. Walking barefoot as often as possible connects you to the earth. It's very grounding. Everything from the night stars to the glistening water to the soft blades of grass is there to love you and for you to feel safe under. Mountain ridges and beloved cityscapes are things for my eyes to hold on to when the abyss gets bottomless and the void unbearable.

Take things as slow as you need to. Don't beat yourself up for not developing or understanding things as fast as your peers, - they get the luxury of being inherently taught by the mere existence of their parents - you don't. You're a warrior. You're a survivor. You are busy reconnecting your family line to the future which was severed by the disappearance of your og folks. You are literally carrying the load of two generations. Respect that. You will get to the same destinations as the others, just a whole lot slower. It's okay. Preserve your strength, take as many breaks as you need as you teach yourself to not just survive, but to genuinely thrive.

You will make it. You will make it. You will make it. You will make it. You will make it. You will make it. You will make it. You will make it.

You will make it.