#accidental echoes of book 2

[bkyngw]

ocean’s echo by everina maxwell was very good

[tomriddleslove]

Blood on Love’s altar.

✩Tom Riddle x Reader

Summary: Tom Riddle did not know he could grieve. But now? He’d give up everything to not feel it.

Warnings: Mentions of Death, Suicide, Self Mutilation (brief)

A/N: 🙂

Song: Dove - Antihoney

Antent - hope to see you again

“You ought to put that away before Professor Dumbledore sees.”

The very first words you spoke to Tom.

First year, 2 weeks into school. It was a Thursday afternoon, to be precise. It was during a transfiguration lesson. Tom had managed to nab a copy of Markov’s ‘A Guide to the Dark Arts’. It was a forbidden book, but one that had greatly intrigued him. He held it under the table, reading.

You nudged him and when he sent you a scowl you did not look away, rather speaking those very words.

“You ought to put that away before Professor Dumbledore sees.”

He just about manages to snap the book shut and shove it into his bag when Dumbledore walks past, the eclectic man giving the pair of you a once over before moving to the next desk.

The second time he spoke to you was in the library a few days later.

“Still sticking your nose in the restricted section?” You pry, sliding up behind him as he startles. He turns to face you, a look of annoyance on his face as he speaks.

"And what business is it of yours?" he retorted, his eyes narrowing.

“You’ve already quite the reputation. Lurking in the restricted section should taint that, no?” You hum.

Infuriating. Nosy. Intransigent.

-•-

“Morning Riddle.” You quip as you walk into potions, taking a seat next to him.

Second year, 3rd day back.

He looks at you but says no more, internally cursing you.

You work on a strengthening solution and accidentally drop a jar of bat spleens onto Tom’s bag.

He debates getting back at you for it, but he doesn’t.

Clumsy. Persistent. Agitating.

-•-

Third year, same scene, same setting.

"Still poking your nose where it doesn't belong?" you tease, sidling up to him with a mischievous grin.

Tom's annoyance flares, but there's a flicker of something else in his eyes, a begrudging amusement perhaps. "You never learn, do you?" he mutters, though there's less bite in his tone this time.

You laugh, the sound echoing through the potions classroom. "Where's the fun in following the rules?" you reply, settling into the seat beside him.

Tom's lips twitch into an almost imperceptible smile before he turns his attention back to the brewing cauldron. Your laugh isn’t awful, he supposes.

-•-

Fourth Year, Charms. The sun was particularly nice that day. It casts a lovely glow on your face.

Professor Trinfort announced a partner project, pairing students for a collaborative spellcasting assignment. As fate would have it, you found yourself paired with Tom Riddle.

You exchange a glance, nudging him lightly. "Looks like it's you and me," you say with a faint smile.

Tom nods, his expression less guarded than before. "Seems that way," he replies, his tone less curt than usual.

As the two of you work together, you notice a subtle shift in Tom's demeanour. He's more open to your suggestions and more willing to listen to your ideas. There’s a newfound ease between you, and you don’t say anything for fear of disturbing it. Tom has left one of his books on his desk again. Professor Trinfort was walking past and you quickly grabbed the book, hiding it underneath your bag. Tom notices and looks at you with an unreadable expression for a second.

Nosy. Irritating. Perhaps not too bad, though.

-•-

5th year. You’re not there. Your absence is noticeable in the first week. It’s suffocating in the second.

Tom finds himself searching for you in the corridors, and he cannot help but feel as though something is missing. He values the quiet he now has during lessons, but it’s not as rewarding as he thought it would be. There’s a nagging feeling in him that he can’t quite shake.

He learns very quickly that you’d been attacked on the first day of term and had been in the hospital wing for quite a while. He visits you whilst you’re sleeping. He stares at your weakened form, not moving. It’s odd, seeing you in such a state.

You wake the next morning to news of the perpetrators being withdrawn from school after they all woke up missing fingers. You somehow know who it is.

Tom does not visit you till you are asleep. When he does, he places your book by your bedside. He doesn’t let himself stay for too long, berating his foolishness as he leaves.

-•-

6th Year. Tensions are running high after the death of Myrtle Warren. You’re all to face your boggarts, and Tom notices how apprehensive you are. You chew at your bottom lip, leg bouncing up and down relentlessly.

He places his hand over your thigh, focusing ahead as you turn to look at him.

“It’s agitating.” He mutters, and he can tell how ridiculous it sounds. You suppress a smile and turn back to the front.

He can tell you’re a bit shaken up from the lesson, so he offers to study with you in the library during the evening. He meets you after dinner, spotting you in the far corner.

You’re wearing a black corduroy skirt—a white vest with lace trimmings and a baggy green cardigan. You’ve pinned your hair back with your wand, the end of your quill pressed to your lips as you work. You’re rather beautiful, he notices. He takes a seat next to you, ignoring the smile you beam as you work together.

Hours have passed and he hasn’t noticed, enjoying your company. He feels a weight on his shoulder and turns, realising you’ve fallen asleep. He huffs in annoyance but he does not move, a hand coming up to remove your glasses from your face as he carefully sets them down on the table. You wake up in your bed, your books neatly placed on your desk. You must have come back at some point, you think to yourself.

-•-

“Hey,” You hum, plopping down next to Tom on the frosty glass near the black lake.

“Morning.” He responds, not looking up from his book as he acknowledges you. You reach into your satchel, producing a small thermos flask. You transfigure a pebble into a cup and pour a glass of steaming cinnamon tea for Tom.

As you hand him the cup of cinnamon tea, Tom finally looks up from his book, a faint hint of surprise crossing his features at the unexpected gesture. He accepts the tea with a nod of thanks, taking a sip before setting it down beside him.

"Thank you," he says quietly, his voice softer than usual, a hint of warmth in his tone that catches you off guard.

You smile in response, a gentle warmth spreading through you at the sight of his rare display of gratitude. "You're welcome," you reply, “Cinnamon tea is my favourite comfort drink.” You add, and Tom finds himself storing that piece of information in the ever-growing folder in his brain labelled ‘you.’

-•-

7th Year. Tom is elected Head Boy. You’re a bit upset you didn’t get Head Girl, but you suppose you weren’t that extraordinary. Tom feels otherwise.

You still got awarded prefect and found yourself paired on patrols with Tom.

“Seems like the universe is set on keeping us together. You finally warming up to me Tom?” You tease, grinning lopsidedly as you both roam down the dark, empty hallways. He meets your gaze with a small smile of his own, a rare display of warmth that sends a flutter of excitement through you. "Perhaps," he replies cryptically, though the glint in his eyes betrays a hint of fondness that you can't help but return.

You continue to walk in silence for a bit more till you (stupidly) have an idea. Upon digging around in your pocket you find a Gorpin’s exploding powered parcels, a tiny thing about the size of an acorn that exploded colourful powder when thrown. With a small grin, you call Tom’s name, tossing the parcel at him. He turns around and meets your gaze for a second before he’s enveloped in a cloud of pastel blue.

You laugh at the sight, clutching your stomach as a string of giggles escape your lips. As the cloud slowly clears, a flicker of uncertainty crosses your mind, a sudden fear that perhaps you've overstepped some invisible boundary. Your smile fades, replaced by a furrow of worry as you open your mouth to apologize.

But before you can utter a word, something unexpected happens. Tom's lips quirk up into a small smile, and he’s chasing after you.

“Tom!” You laugh, the sweet sound echoing through the halls as you begin running away from him.

His laughter joins yours, his footsteps getting closer and closer as you turn a corner. Your lungs burn, laughter bubbling from within you when you’re suddenly swept upwards, two strong arms wrapping around your midsection.

“Got you. Gonna make you pay for this.” Tom says, an uncharacteristic smirk on his face as he practically hauls you over his shoulder.

“Wait, Tom!” You protest, a yelp escaping your lips as he begins running with you in his arms.

Your protests are ignored as you enter the prefect's bathroom, and the second his intentions are clear you laugh, whilst pleading. He shifts his hold on you so you're being carried almost bridal style, and he raises a brow as he looks down at you.

“Wait, Tom. It doesn’t have to be like this.” You plead, trying to free yourself from his gasp. A smile tugs at his lips as he hums, seeming to retreat for a second. But he then holds you tighter, and in two swift steps jumps straight into the baths (which was more like a pool), sending you both into the water. A small shriek escapes your lips, and as you resurface from the water, laughing and sputtering, you shoot Tom a mock-complaining look. "Tom, you're incorrigible," you exclaim, your laughter bubbling up between your words.

Tom chuckles, the sound resonating in the spacious bathroom as he treads water beside you. For a moment, his gaze lingers on you, admiring you.

"You're quite something, you know that?" he says softly, the words carrying a warmth that sends a shiver down your spine.

Before you can respond, he closes the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss. You all but melt into the kiss, a hand coming up to cup his face, resting in his drenched black curls as you sigh into his mouth.

“Tom…” You murmur.

He’s never heard a more beautiful sound.

It’s nearing a month till your final exams and you haven’t seen Tom for a few days. You venture up to his dorm, knocking on his door.

“Tom?” You call out softly, leaning against the door. “It’s me.”

There’s silence for a second, and then the door unlocks.

As the door creaks open, you find Tom sitting on his bed, looking pale and dishevelled. He coughs weakly, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of surprise before he quickly looks away.

"Hey," you say softly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. "I heard you've been under the weather. Thought I'd come to check on you."

Tom nods, his expression unreadable as he shifts uncomfortably on the bed. "Yeah, just a bit under the weather," he mutters, his voice hoarse.

You frown, concern creasing your brow as you move closer to him. "You should be resting," you say gently, reaching out to feel his forehead for signs of fever.

Tom flinches slightly at your touch, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he meets your gaze with a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "I know," he admits quietly, "but I hate feeling like this. It's... frustrating."

You nod in understanding, your heart aching at the sight of him looking so uncharacteristically vulnerable. "I brought you some cinnamon tea," you say, pulling a thermos flask and a few biscuits from your bag. "Thought it might help."

Tom's lips quirk up into a small smile at your thoughtful gesture, a hint of gratitude shining through his usual stoicism. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice softer than usual.

You smile back, and Tom shuffles over to give you some space. You take a seat next to him, crossing your legs as you pour him a cup of tea. You blow on the tea to cool it slightly, taking an experimental sip to ensure it’s not too hot. When you're satisfied with the temperature, you hand the cup over to Tom. He twists it around to make sure his lips touch the same part of the cup yours did. It faintly tastes of cherry lip balm.

You don’t notice the gesture.

You lean back against the headboard, legs outstretched in front of you as you stare up at his ceiling.

“You should go. You’ll get sick.” Tom murmurs, his voice laced with an uncharacteristic apprehension that has you smiling.

“It’s fine.” You smile. You shuffle down slightly and very carefully place your head on Tom’s chest.

He tenses for a second but relaxes soon after. His hand hesitates for a moment before tentatively coming to rest on your shoulder, his touch light and cautious as if unsure of whether he's allowed to show such vulnerability.

"You don't have to stay," he murmurs softly, his voice barely above a whisper, but you can hear the underlying plea in his words.

You shake your head, a small smile playing on your lips as you nestle closer to him. "I want to," you reply simply, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, banishing the chill of the room.

“You shouldn’t.” He repeats, and his words are undoubtedly laced with an underlying meaning that should warn you.

But if you realise that, he certainly can’t tell. You simply close your eyes and speak.

“I’ve never been the best at listening, have I?”

-•-

Exams are over, and graduation day arrives. Tom feels a conflicting mix of emotions swirling within him, and he hates the fact he’s grappling with things he shouldn’t be worried about. On one hand, there's a sense of relief that he won't have to worry about dragging you into the complexities of his life any longer. The thought of you being free from the burdens and dangers that often accompany his endeavours brings him a measure of solace.

Yet, at the same time, there's a pang of sadness that ebbs away at him when realizes that this may be the last time he'll see you. The prospect of saying goodbye, of parting ways, suddenly becomes unthinkable, and he feels a little sick.

As he scans the crowd of graduates, his gaze eventually lands on you, a soft smile gracing your lips as you chat animatedly with your friends. For a fleeting moment, he considers approaching you and saying goodbye properly, but the fear of attachment holds him back.

Instead, he watches from a distance, silently wishing you well. As the ceremony draws to a close and the graduates begin to disperse, he turns to leave, only praying you’ll never have to see him again.

But just as he's about to turn away, you catch his eye, a knowing smile playing on your lips as you make your way over to him. "Hey, Tom," you say softly, your voice filled with warmth and affection.

Tom's heart skips a beat at the sight of you, his resolve wavering in the face of your unwavering presence. "Hey," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile up at him, a glimmer of mischief dancing in your eyes. "Trying to run away? You know, you won't get rid of me that easily," you tease lightly, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand.

Tom's lips twitch into a small smile, a flicker of hope betraying his rationale at your words. "I certainly hope not," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

You lean up on your tip toes, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. You pull back and a small laugh escapes your lips, rubbing the faint lipstick mark it left.

Nosy. Irritating. Beautiful.

Tom doesn’t see you for a year after that.

A hesitant knock at the door of your dingy little flat nearing 1:00 am has you alert, and slightly on edge. You reach for your wand, carefully treading towards the door so as to not alert a potential intruder of your presence. You peer through the peephole, and you feel as though your world stops when you see Tom outside.

Hastily undoing the wards and spells that enchant your flat, you unlock the door and Tom all but collapses into your arms.

He reeks of dark magic, and you know. You’ve always known, really. What other mind could be so sadistically brilliant, who else would be able to crumble the Romanian Ministry of magic in a mere week?

You pull Tom into your flat, closing the door behind him as you guide him to the nearest chair. He looks drained, his usually sharp features drawn and weary. Blood stains his clothes, tension evident on his face.

You set to work immediately, inspecting the various wounds all over his body as you frantically recite healing spells, rummaging through a small leather trunk filled with an assortment of vials.

Tom observes you through half lidded eyes that threaten to permanently shut.

He always knew you’d become a healer. He had known since that day you came into his dorm and took care of him when he was ill. He had known since that day you had found an injured crow lying by the side of the greenhouse and nursed it back to full health in a mere hour.

You preserved lives, he took them.

“Up.” You murmur, pulling the hem of his shirt. He obliges, pulling his lead-like arms up as you unbutton his shirt and pull it off. You frown at the scars that mar Tom's chest and he wants to laugh.

Don’t stress over me, sweetheart. It’d be better off for you if I were dead.

He no longer flinches at your touch as you trail your hands down his chest, murmuring spells that alleviate the ache. You're exhausted by the time you're done, slinging Tom’s arm over your shoulder as you help him walk over to your bed.

He settles onto the bed with a heavy sigh, his body sinking into the mattress as if it's the first time he's allowed himself to truly relax in ages. You gently place your blanket atop of him, your brow furrowed as you take a seat at the edge of your bed.

You brush a strand of hair away from his forehead, his eyes drifting shut as exhaustion finally overtakes him. You watch over him for a while longer, lingering by his bedside as he slips into a fitful sleep.

You can't help but wonder how things came to this. How the boy you once knew, the one who had captured your heart with his sharp wit and brilliant mind, had become so lost.

You slide into your bed beside him and turn over, your back facing his. You let your eyes shut and find yourself falling asleep.

You wake up in the morning, and you know before you even turn around. Your bed was empty, barely a trace of warmth left. You had to be sure you didn’t dream last night's events, padding into the kitchen as you yawn.

A singular cup of warm cinnamon tea is there. You smile softly as you take the cup.

You didn’t see him for another two years after that. The news got worse and worse. Attacks were often and many. People were scared to leave the house.

Just when you've almost given up hope of ever seeing him again, there's a knock at your door in the dead of night. You're startled awake, heart pounding as you stumble out of bed and rush to answer it.

As you swing the door open, you're met with the sight of Tom standing there, looking worse for wear. His clothes are torn, his face bruised and bloodied, and it feels like a scene all too familiar.

Without a word, you reach out and slap him across the face, the sound echoing in the silence of the night.

Tom's startled reaction is almost comical, his hand flying up to his cheek as he recoils from the force of the blow. He stares at you in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief as he tries to process what just happened.

You glare at him, your fists clenched at your sides as you let out a string of curses, venting all the frustration and anger that has been building up inside you for years.

"You can't just waltz in and out of my life whenever you please," you spit out, your voice trembling with emotion. "You can't just show up here, covered in blood and bruises, and expect me to drop everything and help you."

Tom opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off with a sharp gesture, your eyes blazing with determination.

"But you know what the worst part is?" you continue, your voice dropping to a whisper. "The worst part is that no matter how angry I am, no matter how much I want to hate you, I can't. Because despite everything, I still fucking care about you! I sit there, and I read the news, and every day I pray it’s not your death I’m seeing. Do you know how fucked up that is?"

For a moment, there's silence between you, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air.

"I know," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into a kiss, his lips pressing against yours with a desperation that takes your breath away.

You melt into the kiss, your anger melting away as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer. Despite everything, you know that you can't stay away.

For better or for worse, you're his weakness, and he's yours.

He pulls back and you have to resist the urge to dissolve into tears, bottom lip wavering as he pulls you into his chest.

“Don’t you dare leave. Don’t you dare fucking leave.” You tremble into his chest, and his heart pangs at your plea as he speaks.

“I won’t.”

He stuck to his word. He hated you for it. But he hated himself more. Because every second he stayed, was only binding you more and more to your demise. He was killing you, he knew it would happen, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

You erode his being, taking away everything that he was sure he was certain of. There were many times he would contemplate simply killing you, ridding himself of this foolish weakness that was causing him so much turmoil. A single look at you and Tom knew that there would be little to no meaning for immortality if you weren’t to be there beside him.

Tom would disappear for days on end, and you’d hear about an attack shortly after. He’d always come back. You turned a blind eye to his actions, ignoring the furious accusations of corpses that lay there in your name.

Truthfully, you could stop him. You knew that you could turn him in, and he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you. But you didn’t, and so by association every person he killed had their blood on your hands too.

You had been called by Tom at the crack of dawn one morning. His voice echoed through your head, waking you from your slumber.

Clifford close. House 17.

You apparate without second thought, your eyes widening as you take in the scene.

Tom is standing there, covered in blood that you’re sure is not his. You turn around and spot another person, a frail old man who can barely look up.

The frail old man's plea is cut short as a burst of green light erupts from Tom's wand, ending his life in an instant. You watch in horror as the life drains from the man's eyes, a sickening realization settling in the pit of your stomach.

Tom turns to you, his eyes gleaming with a dark intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. Without a word, he turns his wand to you, muttering something that knocks you straight out.

He knows that making you a Horcrux is a drastic and irreversible decision, one that will bind your soul to his for eternity. But at the same time, he can't bear the thought of losing you.

The idea of immortality without you by his side is unbearable, and he knows that making you a Horcrux is the only way to ensure that you'll always be together. It's a selfish decision, born out of desperation and fear of losing the one person who has come to mean everything to him.

A sense of self-loathing creeps in. He knows that making you a Horcrux will condemn you to a life of despair, but he can't shake the feeling that he has no other choice.

When you awaken, you find yourself back in your apartment, the events of the previous moments feeling like a distant nightmare. Tom is sitting beside you, his expression unreadable as he watches you stir.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

You blink in confusion, trying to make sense of what just happened. You recall the sight of the old man dying before you and slap a hand over your mouth, stumbling out of bed as you rush towards the bathroom. You collapse over the toilet bowl, retching. Your eyes sting, and you don’t hear Tom coming in until you feel a comforting hand on your back, one holding your hair up.

“Get the fuck off me.” You snap, pushing him away with a weak shove as you cough.

Tom steps back, his brows furrowing in concern. "What happened?" he asks, his voice tinged with worry.

You whirl around to face him, your anger boiling over as you shout, "You killed a man in front of me!"

He takes a step towards you, his voice cool and collected. "You must have been imagining things," he asserts, his tone firm and unwavering. "We were home all night yesterday."

Your hands tremble with anger and disbelief as you glare at him, tears blurring your vision. "You're lying!" you sob, your voice cracking with emotion. "You're making me seem crazy!"

Tom's gaze narrows slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. "I assure you, I am not," he retorts, his voice tinged with impatience. "If you don't believe me, use Legilimency on me. Check for yourself."

You close your eyes, muttering legilimens under your breath. You probe into his mind, and he doesn’t keep his guard up.

In Tom's mind, you see a vividly detailed memory of him being home all night. He sits with you by the fireplace, a glass of whiskey in hand, engrossed in a book. You drink with him, a drunken giggle escaping your lips as you kiss him.

As you pull away from his mind, a sense of dread washes over you. The memory he showed you is so convincing, so detailed, that you find yourself doubting your own recollection of events.

You come back to this reality, blinking as you suck in deep breaths.

Tom's expression softens slightly, a hint of sympathy in his eyes as he reaches out to gently touch your shoulder. "It's alright," he murmurs reassuringly. "You had quite a bit to drink last night. You're probably just tired."

You nod, though you can’t rid yourself of the nagging feeling within you. Slowly sitting up, you follow Tom back to your bedroom. You lay back down in bed with him, convincing yourself it was a nightmare.

The second you close your eyes, the man calls out to you.

It’s very real.

In the following months, the cycle of Tom's disappearances and reappearances continues, each time leaving you more drained than before. You watch helplessly as he delves deeper into darkness, his actions becoming increasingly erratic and unpredictable.

You're alone in your apartment when it happens, a sudden surge of overwhelming emotions washing over you. You double over in pain, clutching your head as a vision flashes before your eyes.

In the vision, you see Tom, his face contorted in rage as he inflicts unspeakable torture upon an innocent victim. The scene is so vivid, so horrifying, that you can barely believe what you're seeing.

Gasping for breath, you stumble back, your heart racing as you try to make sense of the vision. You feel sick, your mind reeling as you stumble back into one of the chairs.

Tom returns in the evening, and you cannot bear looking at him.

You wash the blood off his hands. He could have used a cleaning spell, but he prefers for you to do it instead. To face the reality of what you’ve chosen. To wash the blood off his hands knowing it could have been yours.

You do not ask him about the vision, because you want to delude yourself into the comfortable reality that it was merely a nightmare of sorts.

‘Those only occur during sleep’ a voice points out in your head. You choose to ignore it.

Egged on by confusion and fear, you begin reading. Researching. A mirror image of Tom, hiding dark books from his sight as you read.

You bring it up one day.

You stand in the kitchen, brewing some tea as you speak.

“Is it possible to make a Horcrux out of a human?”

Tom's eyes widen in alarm, a flicker of apprehension crossing his features before he quickly masks it with a calm facade. "Why would you ask such a thing?" he replies, his voice steady despite the unease that lingers in the air.

You don't miss the subtle shift in his demeanour, the way his gaze flits away from yours for just a moment before returning.

You shrug nonchalantly, feigning innocence as you pour the tea into a pair of mugs. "Just curious," you say casually, though your heart pounds in your chest.

Tom watches you closely, his expression unreadable as he takes a sip of his tea. "It's not something that should concern you," he says finally, his tone firm.

"But is it possible?" you press, your voice tinged with determination.

Tom's jaw clenches, his gaze hardening as he meets your eyes. "Yes," he admits reluctantly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it's a dark and dangerous magic, not something to be trifled with."

You nod slowly, your mind whirling with possibilities. "I see," you murmur, though you're already formulating a plan in your head.

You reach for one of the barely touched knives nestled in the drawer you had open and without second thought stab it straight through your hand.

Tom immediately drops the cup he holds, rushing over to you.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He exclaims, eyes wide with disbelief as he stares down at the gruesome sight.

You grit your teeth, a pained sob escaping your lips as you yank the knife back out, and Tom’s heart is pounding at the sight of your blood dripping onto his hands.

“[Name], please. Stop-“ He pleads, stammering as he tries to staunch the bleeding.

You watch in disbelief as your skin begins to heal itself together, an almost grotesque sight. It seals together, and in no less than a minute it’s completely healed, not a scar in sight.

Your stomach fills with dread, eyes widened in betrayal as you look up at Tom. His gaze meets yours, guilt riddled in his eyes as you snatch your hand away.

"Fuck," you shout, your voice filled with a mix of pain and fury. Tears stream down your face as you struggle to process the revelation. "You... you made me a fucking Horcrux?!"

Tom's face pales, his own emotions mirroring the turmoil within you. He takes a step forward,

"I... I didn't mean for this to happen," he stammers, his voice laced with desperation. "I never wanted to hurt you."

But your rage consumes you, and you lash out at him, your voice filled with venom. "You ruined me, you fucking monster!" you scream, your words echoing through the room. "How could you do this to me? How could you use me like this?"

Tears mix with your words as you continue to berate him, your emotions spiralling out of control. You feel a searing pain deep within your chest, reaching out to shove him.

“I’m sorry. I thought it would work out! You’ll be immortal! Can’t you see it’s-“ He starts, and you snap.

"Sorry won't fix this!" you cry out, your voice breaking. "You've destroyed me, Tom. I can never be whole again."

He doesn’t know what to say, remaining silent as he tries to reach out to you.

“Get out!” You scream, reaching for your glass as you throw it in Tom’s direction. It smashes against the wall behind him, but he can’t look away from you.

He ruined you. He really did.

"Get the fuck out!" you scream, your voice filled with venom. You grab whatever is within reach and hurl it in his direction. Books, vases, anything that can cause damage. Each object crashes against the walls, shattering into countless pieces.

Tom has never felt like crying before, but this might be the first time he does. He turns and leaves, for he can’t bear to face what he’s done to you.

He was weak, after all.

You sink to the ground, your body racking with sobs as you hide your face in your hands.

What a cruel thing it was. Even if you wanted to, you could never permanently rid yourself of Tom.

You claw at your chest, as though you can just pull the fragment of Tom’s soul that was bound with yours.

You feel trapped, imprisoned within your own body. Your heart aches with a profound sadness, knowing that you were both beyond redemption. If only you hadn’t warned him that day if only you weren’t selected as a prefect, if only you didn’t try to save him.

Tom hasn’t heard from you for weeks. He doesn’t dare intrude either, no. He had already done enough damage.

The date is permanently engraved in his mind.

August the 17th. 7:03 pm.

He feels a searing pain in his chest. His hand comes up to clutch his heart as a pained groan escapes his lips. He can’t see for a second, his vision blurred.

Every breath is a struggle as he clutches his chest, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

The realization hits him like a tidal wave.

A Horcrux must have been destroyed. He only had two to date.

One was the ring engraved with his family sybil, which he wore on his hand.

The other?

Fear grips him, a fear he has never known before.

No. No. No. No. No. No.

He all but stumbles upwards, his mind focusing on one image as he apparates without a second thought. He appears at the door of your flat and doesn’t entertain the idea of knocking, bursting through the door with such force it splinters.

“[Name]?” He calls out, his voice a desperate plea as he searches through the eerily quiet apartment.

His heart pounds in his chest, his breaths shallow and rapid as he calls out your name, his voice laced with desperation and urgency.

"[Name]?" he repeats, the sound of his voice echoing through the silent space. There is a sense of foreboding, a heaviness in the air as he navigates the chaos, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow.

His footsteps are quick and purposeful as he moves from room to room, his senses heightened, attuned to any flicker of your presence.

Finally, his gaze lands on a small table, and there, amidst the disarray, he sees a letter addressed to him. His heart skips a beat as he snatches it up, but within the depths of his mind, he knows what the contents of the letter will read.

Tom.

You by no doubt will know by now. I must preface by saying that I hate you. I will never ever forgive you for what you’ve done to me.

I remember with frightening clarity the day we had both first met. You were quite rude, but you backed down slightly when I had covered for you. It was then that I knew you must have not had very good people around you in your upbringing, for you were very reserved.

Despite all that, despite the fact that it was a very clear warning not to get entangled with you, I still did.

Year after year, I persisted. I could tell when you got annoyed, yet I did not give up. I was determined to know who Tom Riddle was.

I knew I loved you the day you had stayed with me after that boggart lesson. It’s rather silly, it was quite possibly the bare minimum someone could have done. But coming from you? Merlin, it was essentially the same as being gifted the moon.

I was not oblivious to what you were doing. Even from a young age, I knew of your plans, of your intentions. I suppose in a sense you’re not to blame, for I chose to love you willingly.

I only wish you had trusted me. You may have loved me, but you never trusted me. If you did, you’d have known my soul was already yours. I was bound to you indefinitely, there was no chance I wouldn’t have loved you.

I wanted love, you wanted devotion. They aren’t the same, my love. Devotion would have been me following you to the ends of the earth if you asked without question. Love would have been me not wanting to, but knowing I’d travel further to save you should you need it.

I would have given the world for you, Tom. I just wish you had let me do it on my own accord.

I love you. I always will. I always have. If there is a heaven though, I hope we never meet again.

Do not be afraid to be human. You, out of despair, and fear, and greed, drove everyone away from you. You cannot mourn a loss that you perpetuated. We are all human, flawed and imperfect. You are too. You may try to avoid it, you can split your soul and continue killing, but you’re only deflecting the truth.

I hope in my death you will meet your own. Mortality is a beautiful thing, Tom.

Do not postpone it. Existence has no better gift.

- [Name.]

-•-

It’s rather cruel how he can recall the entirety of your life in mere minutes. It doesn’t feel right, for the only time Tom truly lived was when he was with you. A lifetime, an eternity.

A mere recollection as he stands at your grave.

The rain is harsh, unforgiving. It seeps into his skin though he’s grateful, for some feeling was better than none.

He thought he would be immune to grief. It wasn’t that bad of a thing.

He can’t recall a day he hasn’t thought about you.

He threw himself further into the dark arts. He became more prominent, more ruthless. Many thought he was simply becoming more powerful.

Tom only hoped that in his efforts someone would find a way to end him. He threw himself into the most haphazard situations with the hope that a spell would misfire, that he would make an enemy of someone who would be able to kill him.

His eyes flicker up to the tree that grows above your grave. It was perhaps the first and only time he had cultivated a living thing.

Cinnamomum verum.

His fingers trace the inscription on the stone. Your laughs are buried deep within the recesses of his mind. They echo everytime he steps foot into your apartment.

It had been 6 years since you were found dead. He hasn’t touched a single thing. He sees life in your unmade bed, in the plants that he has an elf tend to. He keeps your necklace on him at all time, rolling the small pendant between his fingers when he finds himself thinking of you.

He forgoes tending to his own wounds. If it killed him then so be it.

There is not a day that goes by when he doesn’t read your letter.

Losing you was beyond losing a piece of his soul.

It was losing everything.

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

For the person, who requested the bullies König and Horangi I accidentally deleted the ask 😔 but! I tried to write down all that I remember and I think it's pretty much all of it. I hope you enjoy it and to let you know how happy you made me with your wonderful kind words💜.

(Warnings: Non-con, Force blowjob, Oral (Fem), Breeding, Humiliation, Degradation, Bullying, Panty sniffing, Full nelson, Creampies, Squirting, Force handjob, Choking, Hair pulling,)

This is dark! If this is not your thing please move past it. You don't have to hate on me just because you don't like what I write. I decided to make this a part one and put 2 because I feel like it would be too long if I didn't so.

Chewing on part of your bottom lip, you looked up at the building of the College you attended. Dark gray clouds dominated the usual blue sky, and the scent of rain heavily whiffed in the air. You huffed a sigh as you began to walk with your fellow students, you muttered thank you to the boy who was nice enough to open the bulky door for you as you watched the floor, squeezing your books more against your chest as you heard the hectic, loud chatter of friends meeting friends.

You hesitantly looked ahead and a few feet from your locker were the men who loved making your life miserable, you still felt the bruises from them holding your wrist too hard. König, the Star Quarterback and captain of the football team, and Horangi the most liked member of the basketball team. Both transfer students from different countries who became the populars of popular people. Horangi laughed and könig smiled as if someone must have made a good joke and like some sixth sense of torture, they looked your way, wicked smirks on their lips once they saw you.

Whoever was up there took pity on you and the ball rang, sparing you from their torturous ways, for now.

The ball rang for the last time, signaling the closing of the college and for everyone to head to their dorms. Slowly you packed your stuff, while the rest of your classmates hurried to leave your last class and go home. By the time you were walking to your locker, the hallway was bare of life, your footsteps brought a ghastly, eerie feeling to the otherwise silent path, it felt like you could hear your breathing echo around you.

You drop your backpack and shove your shelved books in it, sway it over your shoulder, and continue your journey to your dorm. Your yelp was muffed as a large hand clapped around your mouth and pulled you within a lightless janitor closet. "Don't scream unless you want to be hurt, Ja Liebling?" the austrian voice of one of your bullies purred from behind you and took his hand away. Horang stepped closer to you after turning on the light and reached out to move a stay hair behind your ear.

"P-please just let me g-go." you stuttered, heartbeat was beating like a drum in your ears. "No can do, sweetheart." König cooed, spun you around, forced you to your knees, fisted your hair, and shoved your face against his bulge, "Scheiße! Braves Mädchen! (fuck! good girl!)" he groaned, throwing his head back,  and squeezed his celeste eyes shut as he humped your cheek, in desperate strokes. "Such a good girl." Horangi purred in agreement as he replaced his best friend's hand and yanked your head back as König rushed to unbelt his pants and pulled them down, his girthy dick slapped his stomach from his fast movements. Your eyes widen at the sight, he is long, veiny, big, and has an uncut head. 

Both men chuckled and smiled wickedly at your terrified expression. König pumped his cock, pre-cum drooling out of the slit on his bulbous tip, suddenly he thrusted his dick into your maw and throat, you gagged harshly, you never sucked a dick before, and if you have it wouldn't be as huge.

Horangi pushed your head forward as König drew his hips back and snapped them, causing you to gag again. The salty/ sweet pre-cum overpowered your taste buds as König used your throat as a fleshlight, a mess of saliva and pre-cum pouring down your chin, his sticky heavy, full balls smacked your chin his ginger pubes dark and wet. They smelled a little bit musky an almost addiction scent.

You peaked through your eyelashes and the sight above you had your core heat up with slick. König'd broad chest heaved and sweat glued his usual fluffy and mid-ear cut hair to his forehead, his groans and moans high-pitched in tone. His thrusts fasten, his balls tighten, and unexpectedly robes of his warm cum, painted your mouth white and forced you to swallow every drop.

Once he pulled out after staying in place, you coughed have nearly choked on his jizz. You didn't have time to rest when you were lifted from your spot on the tiled floor and pushed into Horangi's chest "Forgot about me,여자 아기? (babygirl)". He pouted before taking off your shirt, bra, and skirt and when he got to your panties, he took a deep whiff of the crotch area, his honey-brown eyes rolling back in his head as he inhaled the tang of your arousal. 

You whimper as your body begins to heat up at the pervy vision of his clear satisfaction.

When your form was completed naked you shoved back into his taller, giant companion. Your back against his chest, your legs now in his forearms and hands behad your head as he lined his cock with your opening "Don't worry Schatz, I'm gonna fuck this whore of cunt till you see Sterne. (Stars)" he said before dropping you down onto it, inch by inch buried into your cunt until he was balls deep. "Scheiße!(Fuck!)" König growled and drilled his cock up.  Each snap of his hips slammed his tip to your cervix, it was so fucking good! You aren't a virgin but they never had any good rhythm, never moved their hips at a good angle. You moaned feeling Horangi's pink tongue lapping at your clit, hooking into the hood and König jerked his cock at an angle that glazed your G-spot and cervix with powerful thrusts. Hornagi used the tip of his tongue to flick to his friend's movements before suckling in your swollen bud and the knot within broke, your pussy clenched and sprayed your juices onto König's dick and balls, a load of warmth filled with your cunt, thag must have been the groaning man that hold you in his arms cum. 

You panted but you didn't have the time to rest as your back touched the cool tile and your leg threw over Horangi's shoulder, eyes black and hair messy like he ran his fingers through to push back his bangs that stop semi-past his eyebrows, his blue jeans off and his dick hard. His was just as thick yet not as long as Königs, the head cut, and balls heavy, ready to pour his potent in a breedable hole. He wasted no time and slammed into your wet core, Horangi leaned down, and the very motion dug himself deeply, "Is our little toy ready to get her brains fucked out?" Horangi chuckled as you whined pathetically for him to move. A second chuckle joined with his, and  from your peripheral König kneeled by you, pumping his cock "Ja, she's already becoming a cock hungry whore for us." König grinned grabbed hold of your hand, and made your fist his large cock. You felt a wave of humiliation and embarrassment but that didn't last as Horangi began to jackhammer into you, grinding into your cervix, his now wet dark pubes became sticky with slick rubbed at your bud of nerves and that was enough to get your toes curling, your moans, and squeals was music to your bullies. Just as good as a song from your whimpers of pain when they hurt you.

"Goddamn bitch!" Horangi growled in pleasure, the feeling of your clenching cunt edged him closer to his climax, and he'd never admit but your pussy was the best he had so far. His pounding was harsh, fast , and precise, you gasped as he kissed you deeply, sneaking his tongue past your lips and swirling around yours. All the while König groaned at the sight, watching you become more and more cockdrunk, he bit his lip as he fucked your closed hand like your core.

With one thrust Hroangi spilled his seed into your already cum filled cunt his hips continued to jerk and stutter. You came with a powerful vengeance, your body couldn't handle it. And the void welcomed you into it's dark embrace.

(shout to @diejager and @konigsblog for making me addicted to these men)

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

Office Hours/Bells - Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader (Part 1)

Pairing: Professor!Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 12 640

Warnings: Obsessive behaviour, Professor x Student, mild body horror, fear gas, lowkey prey/predator kink (chasing), kidnapping

Summary: Y/n, a university student, forms an unexpected friendship with Professor Jonathan Crane. But are his intentions what he says they are?

A/N: This one accidentally became a bit of a slow-burn but hey! it is what is~ I didn't know which one to call this so I just did both 💀 My initial plan for this was just a short one, around 2k-3k words... guess that didn't work out. A lot of it may be repetitive, so apologies A/N: This one accidentally became a bit of a slow-burn but hey! it is what is~ I didn't know which one to call this so I just did both 💀 My initial plan for this was just a short one, around 2k-3k words... guess that didn't work out. A lot of it may be repetitive, so apologies - (Part 2) (Part 3)

-

Y/n entered the psychology lecture hall, the familiar scent of old textbooks and the low hum of whispered conversations enveloping her as she took her usual seat near the front. The lecture hall was spacious, rows of worn-out seats filled with few students, as most dropped the class within the first week, due to the Professors harsh attitude. As she settled in, her eyes wandered to the front of the room, where Professor Crane's desk stood. He usually entered on the dot so it wasn’t strange to see his desk empty. 

The sound of the office door's wide swing echoed through the hall, Professor Crane walking in, his presence evoked a collective hush in the lecture room. As if choreographed, he navigated the room with an air of precision, placing his meticulously organized files and papers onto the desk.

Professor Crane wasted no time, setting the tone for the day's lesson. It became immediately apparent to every student that patience was not a virtue Professor Crane indulged in. The swift, deliberate motion of his hand grabbed a piece of chalk, and with a decisive sweep, he began writing the day's lesson on the board.

-

As the lesson drew to a close, marking the end of another lengthy lecture, Y/n found herself grappling with the weight of the information presented. Despite her best efforts to remain focused, the sheer volume of content in today's lesson proved to be a challenge for her to fully absorb. The struggle to grasp the concept left her feeling both mentally fatigued, yearning for a moment of rest.

“If there’s any trouble, my office hours are available for help,” Professor Crane finished, as the students left. 

Despite being aware of the option to attend Professor Crane's office hours, Y/n hesitated, daunted by the intimidating presence of the man. The memory of him calling on classmates during class, casually degrading them when they struggled to grasp concepts, lingered in her mind. The thought of engaging in a one-on-one conversation with him only stirred up anxiety. Opting against visiting Professor Crane's office, Y/n retreated to her dorm. 

-

Back in her dorm, Y/n sank into her desk chair, frustration evident on her face. The psychology book lay open before her, its pages a source of bewilderment. Despite her earnest attempts to comprehend the material covered in class, the concept continued to slip through her grasp. With a sigh of exasperation, she tossed her pen onto the desk, leaning back into her chair.

The struggle was real, and Y/n couldn't shake the feeling of being lost in a sea of incomprehension. Even reaching out to fellow classmates had proven futile, as they too found themselves in the dark. The weight of confusion hung heavy in the air, leaving Y/n grappling with the unsettling realization that she may have to push her anxieties away for help.

Glancing at her class calander she made at the beginning of the year, Y/n noticed that Professor Crane had office hours scheduled a couple of hours before tomorrows class. A moment of contemplation ensued, marked by the rhythmic bouncing of her leg. Eventually, she reasoned that giving it a shot couldn't hurt. After all, even if Professor Crane were to belittle her, at least there wouldn't be an audience to witness any potential humiliation.

-

The following morning, Y/n gathered her books and essentials, preparing for another day at the university. As she stepped onto the campus, her destination clear, she headed towards Professor Crane's office. Each step felt burdened, her legs heavy with nervousness that clung to her as she approached the looming encounter.

Standing in front of Professor Crane's office door, Y/n took a shaky breath before knocking. The response came swiftly, "Come in," in Professor Crane's authoritative voice.

Twisting the handle, she entered the room. Professor Crane, engrossed in some papers, looked up as she stepped in. Y/n found herself at a loss for words, her shyness momentarily stifling her thoughts.

Breaking the silence, Professor Crane inquired, "Can I help you with something?"

Caught off guard, Y/n stammered, "Uh, yes, sorry. I was, umm, trying to go over the things we learned yesterday, but I had trouble trying to grasp the concept. I was wondering if you could help me go over it?"

Jonathan regarded her for a moment before gesturing towards the seat opposite him, a silent invitation for her to sit. Y/n promptly took the seat, positioning herself across from him.

Y/n looked around the room, taking in the surroundings. Bookshelves adorned with a myriad of psychology titles graced the walls, that offer a visual journey through the expansive world of the mind. Disheveled piles of papers and folders, likely files from Arkham, added an air of mystery to the atmosphere. The walls were adorned with various academic accolades and framed degrees. The inviting couch, a standard feature in university offices, seemed strangely pristine and untouched.

"Do you have anything for me to look at? Anything specific?" Jonathan inquired, shifting his papers to make room for her.

Nodding, Y/n retrieved her textbook and a few of her own papers. As she handed them over, Professor Crane asked, "What part did you not understand?" The question, though genuine, had a way of making her feel a bit foolish, and a sudden warmth crept into her face.

"Well...I had trouble with the start of it so...I didn’t understand...any of it," Y/n admitted, a tinge of embarrassment coloring her words.

Avoiding eye contact with her professor, Y/n couldn't help but feel small in his presence. She felt like a complete idiot.

"Well..." Crane sighed, surprising Y/n with a comment that sounded unexpectedly friendly. "Looks like we got a lot of work ahead of us."

Despite the friendly remark, Y/n remained on edge. Professor Crane pulled the book closer, running his pen tip over the first couple of sentences. Reading them aloud, he delved into more depth, echoing the teaching style she was familiar with from his lectures.

Y/n clung to his words, processing and understanding the material more with each passing moment. Her notebook lay open beside her, writing brief notes that she intended to expand upon during her own time. To her surprise, Professor Crane exhibited an unexpected gentleness and patience, allowing her the space to ask questions and guiding her through the material at a measured pace.

In this one-on-one session, Y/n found herself gaining more information that surpassed what she could have achieved on her own. The personalized attention and the chance to delve deeper into the subject with Professor Crane were proving invaluable to her comprehension of the challenging concepts.

"Has that helped?" Professor Crane inquired, reclining in his chair.

"Yes, thank you. This makes so much sense now," Y/n replied, unable to contain her smile.

"Glad I could help," Professor Crane acknowledged. "Thanks for coming in; don't hesitate so much next time," he added.

Y/n couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised by Professor Crane's kindness throughout the entire session. The encounter left her with a newfound appreciation for his approachability and willingness to assist.

Y/n finally looked up at him properly, meeting his gaze for the first time in that half-hour. She was taken aback, realizing the striking blue hue of his eyes, a detail she had never noticed before as she avoided looking at him in lectures, hoping he wouldn’t call on her.

Quickly averting her gaze, she began packing away all her materials. "Thank you again, sir," Y/n expressed, her smile lingering.

"Feel free to come back after today's lesson too if you're having trouble," he suggested, offering her a slight smile in return.

The unexpected kindness from Professor Crane left Y/n pleasantly surprised. "I will, sir. Thank you," she replied before leaving the office, carrying with her a newfound appreciation for the approachability and support she hadn't anticipated.

With a newfound sense of confidence, Y/n practically skipped her way to the library to finalize her notes. The weight that had initially clung to the prospect of talking to Professor Crane had lifted, and she discovered that he wasn't as intimidating as she had initially thought.

-

As class approached, Y/n felt a wave of optimism about the upcoming lesson, knowing she now had the option to seek more help later. The prospect of understanding the material became less daunting.

When Professor Crane entered the class, the usual hush fell over the room. Unfazed, he seamlessly resumed his routine, initiating the lesson with his familiar writing on the board. The air was charged with anticipation, and Y/n felt a renewed sense of readiness to tackle the subject matter with the newfound support at her disposal.

Not even 10 minutes into the class, Y/n watched as Professor Crane once again questioned a student's intelligence, a sharp contrast to the kindness she had experienced earlier. It caught her off guard — his demeanor seemed to shift dramatically when addressing individuals in front of the class. She wondered if he found enjoyment in embarrassing people publicly or if there was another motive behind his approach. Y/n instinctively shrank back into her seat, hoping not to be the next target.

-

As the lesson concluded, Y/n made a quick move toward the door, only to find herself intercepted by Professor Crane stepping in front of her.

"Understand today's lesson?" he inquired, hands clasped behind his back. His slight smile surprised her, considering the belittlement she had witnessed throughout the class.

"Yeah, I think I got it," Y/n responded quickly.

The Professor nodded. "Alright, just don't be scared to ask for help," he advised before strolling back to his office. Y/n stood there, grappling with the unexpected duality of Professor Crane's demeanor, thankful for the support she had received earlier but still perplexed by the contrasting experiences in the classroom.

-

Regrettably for Y/n, the intricacies of today's lesson eluded her, slipping through the gaps in her understanding during the last 10 minutes of class. Her meticulous note-taking proved insufficient, she clearly didn’t get the last part of the lesson. The idea of seeking help at Professor Crane's office hours lingered, but a sense of unease settled in after the day's earlier interactions.

The peculiar contrast in Professor Crane's treatment of her versus the rest of the class left Y/n feeling unsettled. Was he kinder to those who sought help, or was there a different dynamic at play? It remained uncertain, casting a shadow over the prospect of returning for assistance.

Yet, the urgency of understanding the material prevailed over any reservations. Realizing the potential consequences for future lessons, Y/n knew she would have to get help. Y/n considered asking another classmate again, but preferred the way in which Professor Crane was indepth and had more to offer. She acknowledged the necessity of visiting Professor Crane's office hours the next day, and it didn’t feel as daunting as it did the day before.

-

Approaching Professor Crane's office for the second time, Y/n hesitated for a brief moment before knocking on the door. 

"Come in," Professor Crane's voice called out.

Y/n opened the door, offering a tight-lipped smile as she entered. "Thought you'd come back," Professor Crane remarked, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back in his chair.

Taking the now familiar seat across from him, Y/n observed as he pushed aside his work to focus on her. Placing her books on the table, she turned to the last page of the chapter, the faint rustle of paper filling the room.

"It was just the end bit that I kinda lost track of," Y/n admitted, her voice portraying a hint of uncertainty.

“This should be a lot quicker than yesterday, then,” the Professor smiled, joking lightly.

Leaning over the book, Professor Crane again took her through the paragraphs slowly, picking them apart one by one, making sure she understood each thing he said.

As she attempted to maintain focus, the alluring scent of Professor Crane's cologne began to weave its way into her senses, creating a subtle distraction. The close proximity, both of them leaning over the desk to study the book, allowed the fragrance to unfold in intricate layers. The cologne, not noticeable the day before or perhaps just more subdued, now revealed itself with greater prominence.

The scent was strong, but not unpleasant. The fragrance enveloping him carried a sophisticated blend of notes that gracefully danced in the air. A distinct combination of musky undertones and woody accents created an aura of timeless masculinity. As he moved, subtle hints of citrus and spice gently emerged, adding a layer of complexity to the scent. 

"Y/n? Did you get that?" Professor Crane's voice pulled her back to reality.

Y/n shook her head, attempting to refocus. "Oh, sorry, could you repeat that last part?" she squinted, her face warming with embarrassment.

Professor Crane patiently reiterated the information, ensuring she grasped it this time. Internally, Y/n chastised herself, questioning how she could be so easily distracted by a man's cologne.

"You want to write that down?" he suggested, studying her expression.

"It might take a while..." Y/n admitted, well aware of her heightened distraction today.

"That's fine; we have all the time in the world," Professor Crane assured, leaning back in his chair.

"But another student might need help," Y/n hesitated, considering the potential impact on others.

"That's not a problem. No one comes to office hours. Just you," Professor Crane revealed, a statement that slightly shocked Y/n. She had assumed his intimidating demeanor might keep some students away, but the revelation that she was the only one who sought assistance caught her off guard. "O-oh," she stammered in response.

Y/n focused on her notebook, diligently transcribing the information provided by Professor Crane. As she carefully jotted down the details he emphasized, she couldn't shake the feeling of being exposed, a vulnerability that crept in unnoticed.

Glancing up, she caught Professor Crane looking directly at her. Despite the file in his hands, his gaze remained fixed on her. The realization left Y/n feeling a bit uneasy, unsure of why she suddenly felt so exposed under his scrutiny. Opting to dismiss the discomfort, she decided to concentrate on her writing, pushing the unease to the back of her mind and assuming it was just a fleeting moment of self-consciousness.

Having finished writing her notes, Y/n placed her pen down and looked back up at her professor. As he set his file aside, he directed his attention to her notebook. "Finished?" he inquired.

Y/n nodded in confirmation.

"Any more questions about yesterday's lesson?" Professor Crane asked.

She shook her head, indicating her understanding.

"Well, I suppose you're free to go then," Professor Crane remarked. Y/n began packing her belongings when, unexpectedly, he continued, "Unless... would you like me to teach you today's lesson?" The offer hung in the air, leaving Y/n momentarily surprised by the unexpected opportunity for additional guidance.

"But... office hours end in like half an hour," Y/n pointed at the clock, expressing her concern.

"They're my office hours; I can change them however I want," Professor Crane replied, his words softened by the friendly smile adorning his face.

"Are you sure you want to waste your time teaching me? I'll just hear it in a couple of hours anyway," Y/n expressed her uncertainty.

"I'd like to teach you; no one's more eager to learn than you are, my Dear. I insist," Professor Crane insisted, the endearment slipping into his words. Y/n almost missed it, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in her professor's tone. It was a side of him she hadn't anticipated, and the kindness he displayed left her pleasantly surprised.

Y/n sighed with a mix of relief and gratitude. "You're too kind, sir. Thank you," she expressed, recognizing this as a valuable opportunity to get ahead in the class.

"Don't need to thank me, Dear," Professor Crane replied, a slight smile playing on his lips as he again tested the newfound name.

As she retrieved her books, Professor Crane opened them to the latest chapter. Patiently, he guided her through each part, allowing her the time she needed to take thorough notes. Engrossed in the material, Y/n's awareness was focused on the subject at hand, and she failed to notice Professor Crane's not so subtle staring for the second time.

Unbeknownst to her, he watched as her hair gracefully sat behind her ear and took note of the delicate way her fingers held the pen. The Professor's attentive gaze added an unexpected layer to the lesson, one that went beyond the academic content and into the realm of unspoken dynamics between student and teacher.

Y/n looked back up at Professor Crane, anticipation in her gaze as she awaited the next part of the lesson. As the professor spoke, Y/n found herself gazing up at him, absorbing only fragments of his words. Amid the intricate details of the lesson, her thoughts drifted to a deep appreciation for the professor and the invaluable assistance he was providing.

Glad she had returned to his office hours, Y/n reflected on the decision to have him teach her this lesson. The material was notably more information-heavy than previous lessons, and she couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude. Without this one-on-one guidance, the complexity of the subject matter would have left her utterly lost in the classroom setting.

Professor Crane skillfully condensed what could have been a two-hour lesson into just over an hour. The efficiency of the session left Y/n feeling remarkably more confident in her understanding of Psychology.

"Thank you so much, Professor," Y/n expressed her gratitude with a genuine smile.

"Don't have to keep thanking me, Dear. Just doing my job," Professor Crane replied, returning her smile with a warmth that surpassed the formalities of a typical teacher-student interaction.

Checking the clock, Y/n realized class would commence in 20 minutes. "I should head off to give you time to prepare," she suggested, preparing to rise from her seat.

Professor Crane, however, suggested otherwise. "You might as well just wait here. You won't get in the way."

Unsure, Y/n hesitated before asking, "You sure you don't want a break before teaching? You're probably tired of me."

"Not at all... I could use the company," he reassured, his smile indicating a genuine desire for her presence rather than any sense of obligation.

Y/n couldn't help but smile. "Feeling lonely?" she teased, a newfound comfort allowing her to engage in a more playful manner.

"You could say that," Professor Crane replied, meeting her teasing with a genuine smile.

Reclaiming her seat and settling in, Y/n sought to initiate a conversation. "So... not many students come to your office hours?" she inquired, curious about the dynamics of student-teacher interactions.

"None... you're the first to come," Professor Crane admitted.

"Oh..." Y/n's realization set in. When he mentioned earlier that no one attended, she assumed it might be an exaggeration. Now, it became evident that she was indeed the sole student seeking assistance during his office hours. 

Y/n had an realization; perhaps the reason Professor Crane treated her so nicely was that she was the only student attending his office hours. It occurred to her that he might genuinely appreciate her active approach to seeking help, recognizing her passion for the subject.

"I guess the other students are just too intimidated, or don't care," Professor Crane mused, his words carrying a subtle tone that hinted at his sentiments towards the rest of the students.

She sensed a certain disappointment in his words, an unspoken judgment on the other students who, for various reasons, didn't take advantage of the opportunity to seek additional guidance. The realization left Y/n feeling a mix of gratitude for the personalized attention she received and a touch of sympathy for the potential missed opportunities by her peers.

"Gee, you think very little of them, don't you?" Y/n quipped, her tone half-joking. It was her subtle way of delving into why Professor Crane sometimes treated the class so harshly.

She recognized that she might be overstepping, but a genuine curiosity about the man behind the professor prompted her to seek more insight.

"The class is full of imbeciles. They don't know a thing about psychology. The lot of them couldn't tell a psychopath from a sociopath," Crane vented, a hint of frustration in his words.

"Hey, they're not all idiots," Y/n tried to offer a more different perspective.

"You haven't read their papers," Crane rolled his eyes, a touch of exasperation evident in his response. The exchange revealed a layer of dissatisfaction with his students' grasp of the subject, providing Y/n with a glimpse into the source of his occasional sternness in class.

Though Y/n recognized the impossibility of psychoanalyzing her professor, curiosity had taken a firm hold, compelling her to want to understand more about the man behind the lectern. The enigma of Professor Crane's demeanor and his candid assessments of the students intrigued her, prompting a desire to unravel the complexities that lay beneath the surface.

"Well... what about my papers?" Y/n inquired, a mix of anticipation and curiosity evident in her expression. She was eager to hear how Professor Crane would describe her work.

His gaze intensified as he began, "It’s clear through your writing that you’re passionate about psychology. You beautifully discuss topics in a way that engages readers and sparks interest. Your ability to convey complex concepts with clarity and enthusiasm is truly commendable. It's evident that you not only possess a deep understanding of the subject matter but also a genuine passion for sharing that knowledge."

His words hung in the air, the intensity of his gaze holding a weight that went beyond mere academic assessment. Professor Crane's thoughtful analysis revealed not only an appreciation for Y/n's proficiency but also a recognition of the passion that fueled her exploration of psychology. It was a validation that made her feel proud of herself, creating a moment of mutual understanding and acknowledgment.

Y/n was taken aback, her eyes darting all around the room as her face warmed with disbelief. Praise of such magnitude was unfamiliar territory for her, and coming from Professor Crane, renowned for his exacting standards, it added an extra layer to her astonishment. "Gosh, my work couldn't have been that good, sir. You're too kind."

"You know I'm not kind just for the sake of it. I don't praise just any student's work, dear," Professor Crane responded, his expression serious, the weight of his words emphasizing the sincerity behind his commendation. The gravity of the moment lingered, leaving Y/n grappling with a mix of surprise and gratitude for the unexpected recognition of her efforts.

Y/n acknowledged that Professor Crane wasn't the type to dispense niceties without genuine merit, intensifying the authenticity of the moment. "I... I just don't know what to say," she confessed, her words laced with a mix of humility and gratitude.

"You don't have to say anything; just know that you're a brilliant student, and I'm glad to have you in my class," Professor Crane asserted, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, hands clasped together.

"Thank you," Y/n replied with a genuine smile, the warmth of the professor's acknowledgment lingering.

He nodded politely, reciprocating the smile. "So, what would you be doing right now if you weren't here with me?" he asked, a subtle inquiry into her interests without directly posing the question.

Indulging the curiosity, Y/n shared, "Usually, I'd be back at my dorm studying or maybe out with friends."

"Are these of yours friends taking different courses? It's just that I never see you sitting with anyone in class that much," Professor Crane probed further, expressing unexpected interest in the dynamics of her social circle.

She hadn't anticipated his curiosity about her friends. "Yeah, most of them are taking things like English Literature, History, Biochem," Y/n answered, providing a glimpse into the diverse corses her friend were taking.

"I see... and are all of them…just friends?" Professor Crane asked, his gaze intense, as if searching for something beyond the words.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows, a touch of confusion coloring her expression. "I'm not sure I understand the question," she admitted.

"Are you seeing anyone?" he asked, taking the conversation into unexpected territory. It caught her off guard. Why was he interested? What prompted such a personal question? Despite her surprise, Y/n chose to keep the conversation flowing, steering clear of awkwardness. "No, I'm not," she answered. Professor Crane nodded, his focus unwavering.

Feeling a degree of boldness, Y/n decided to reciprocate, nervously asking, "How about you? Any wife or anything?" There was a hesitancy in her voice, a fear of overstepping.

"Nope... just me," Professor Crane replied, his tone casual yet offering little insight into his personal life.

Wanting to explore a topic outside the realm of teaching and relationships, Y/n sought a new avenue of conversation. "So you're also a Doctor at Arkham. What's that like?" she inquired.

Professor Crane sighed, a subtle chuckle escaping him. "Every day's a new challenge. I do enjoy my work there, but the patients can be a handful sometimes," he shared, offering a glimpse into the complexities of his dual roles as a professor and a practitioner at Arkham.

"From all the news, it sure sounds like a lot," Y/n remarked, sharing a laugh at the intriguing tales surrounding Arkham Asylum.

"You could come see it for yourself if you'd like. I can take you," Professor Crane offered, extending an unexpected invitation that caught Y/n off guard.

"W-wow, really?" Y/n's eyes widened with excitement. The prospect of exploring the infamous Arkham Asylum, even with it’s poor repetuation, was a dream come true.

"Of course, it would be a good learning experience," Professor Crane affirmed, his smirk hinting at a certain familiarity with the inner workings of the institution.

"Are you sure it's allowed?" Y/n inquired cautiously.

"I'm pretty high up in that place, so I can pull a couple of strings," he responded with a confident smirk, revealing a hint of his influence.

After a quick glace at the clock, Professor Crane rose from his seat. "People should be coming in right about now."

Looking at the time herself, Y/n gathered her belongings and prepared to leave. "We can talk more later about showing you Arkham if you'd like," Professor Crane suggested, holding the door open.

"That sounds perfect. Thank you, Professor," Y/n expressed her gratitude, making her way to the door.

"Talk to you after class, then," he said, smiling at her before returning to his desk.

Walking out of his office, Y/n couldn't fathom the extraordinary opportunity that had just presented itself, and the thought that such an experience might await her left her both thrilled and intrigued.

-

The class came to a close, and Y/n eagerly approached Professor Crane, who had already neatly packed his things, a shared smile bridging the distance between them. 

"Let's talk about Arkham, then," Professor Crane suggested, leading the way to his office, Y/n following in tow.

"Do you have any lectures tomorrow?" Professor Crane inquired, his voice carrying an air of anticipation.

"Not tomorrow, no," Y/n responded.

"Then that sounds like the perfect time for me to take you," Professor Crane declared, a warm smile playing on his lips.

The reality of the situation began to sink in for Y/n. It was happening — the chance to explore the mysterious Arkham Asylum with Professor Crane as her guide. The thrill of the unexpected adventure filled her with a sense of wonder and disbelief.

"Oh my god, thank you so much, sir. This means so much to me," Y/n exclaimed, genuine gratitude painting her expression.

"You deserve it," Professor Crane replied, his assurance carrying a sense of sincerity.

"So umm... how will we go about this?" Y/n asked, eager to plan the logistics of the upcoming adventure.

"I'm assuming you stay at the university dorms?" Professor Crane inquired.

"I am, yes," Y/n confirmed.

"I suppose it would be easiest for me to pick you up from there. I can come get you at 8, if that works for you," Professor Crane suggested, offering a practical solution.

"Of course," Y/n agreed, the excitement bubbling within her, the prospect of exploring Arkham Asylum with Professor Crane creating a sense of giddiness that was hard to contain.

"Perfect," Professor Crane remarked. "Now, I should let you get back to your dorm and get a good rest; tomorrow's gonna be a big day for you," he added with a confident smirk.

Y/n chuckled in agreement. "I could imagine. Thank you, sir. Goodbye."

Professor Crane nodded politely as she exited his office. Y/n practically floated back to her dorm, the anticipation building within her. Following his advice, she decided to rest for the remainder of the day. The excitement of visiting Arkham Asylum, coupled with the mysterious allure of the institution, fueled her imagination.

As night fell, sleep proved elusive for Y/n. Her mind buzzed with anticipation and curiosity about the impending visit. What would she discover within the walls of Arkham? The prospect of the unknown, guided by Professor Crane, fueled her restless excitement, and she could barely contain her anticipation for the extraordinary day that awaited her.

-

The rhythmic buzz of Y/n's alarm clock greeted the new morning, a herald of the exciting day that awaited her. Brimming with anticipation, she practically bounced out of bed, fueled by a burst of energy that could only be described as a cocktail of nervousness and exhilaration. The bathroom became a sanctuary for a swift but thorough morning routine, cleansing her senses and preparing her for the significant day ahead.

As she perused her wardrobe, each garment held the weight of consideration. Y/n recognized the importance of making a favorable impression, especially considering the potential encounters with the discerning doctors at Arkham Asylum. She chose an outfit that balanced professionalism with a touch of her own style, a subtle nod to the gravity of the impending visit.

A glance at the clock revealed that she was ahead of schedule. It was 7:48, and uncertainty lingered about Professor Crane's punctuality. She realised she had no way of telling when he would arrive. Determined not to keep him waiting, Y/n decided to head outside, leaving the dormitory corridors.

The university grounds welcomed her with a subdued ambiance, the early morning calm only disturbed by the distant hum of city life. Y/n found a spot on a sturdy bench at the front of the dorms. The atmosphere was draped in the typical Gotham gloom – a ceiling of gray clouds stretched endlessly above, holding the promise of impending rain. Yet, for now, the air bore only a biting chill, a forewarning of the unpredictable Gotham weather.

Seated on the bench, Y/n couldn't escape the palpable excitement that rippled through her. The visible breaths she exhaled added a tangible layer to the anticipation, creating wisps of mist in the frigid air. The quietude of the campus seemed to magnify the significance of the moment as she patiently awaited the arrival of Professor Crane, the orchestrator of this extraordinary excursion into the unknown.

Lost in her thoughts, Y/n was blissfully unaware of someone approaching until a familiar voice cut through her reverie. "Good morning, Y/n," Professor Crane greeted her, his presence catching her by surprise.

Looking up from the ground, Y/n beamed a warm smile at him. "Good morning, Professor," she responded instinctively, the habit of addressing him formally ingrained in her.

"We're outside of class, my Dear, you don't have to call me Professor. Just Jonathan is fine," he suggested, a rare invitation to familiarity that caught her off guard. Testing the waters, she hesitated for a moment before tentatively trying out his first name. "Okay, Jonathan."

His smile in response conveyed a subtle warmth, as if sharing this piece of himself with her was a gesture of trust. "My car's just around the corner," he mentioned, and she rose from the bench to follow him.

As they made their way to the car, Y/n couldn't shake the peculiar nature of the situation. Getting into her professor's car in full view of her dorms was certainly out of the ordinary, but the sense of trust she felt for Jonathan quelled any reservations. The gentlemanly gesture of him opening the car door for her only added to the surreal atmosphere.

"Thank you," she expressed her gratitude with a smile as she settled into the car. Jonathan circled the vehicle and took his place in the driver's seat, the engine humming to life. As he secured his seatbelt, he shifted the conversation to a more mundane topic. "Have any breakfast before leaving?" he inquired, glancing over at her.

The realization struck her – breakfast had slipped her mind in the whirlwind of excitement. "Uh, no, I didn't," she admitted, a slight sheepishness in her tone.

“Well we can’t be having that,” Jonathan said, looking at her with his piercing blue eyes behind his glasses. 

“Oh, it’s fine really,” Y/n tried to reassure him. 

"You're in for a long day; you need food," Jonathan remarked, his concern for her well-being evident in his words. "Besides, I haven't eaten yet myself. I know a lovely cafe on the way; don't worry about it."

Grateful for his thoughtfulness, Y/n smiled and responded, "Thank you."

"Not a problem, my Dear," he assured her, his use of the endearment somehow making the situation feel even more surreal. With that, he skillfully maneuvered the car into the flow of traffic.

To her surprise, the chaotic Gotham roads seemed unusually cooperative, allowing their journey to unfold with an unexpected smoothness. The city, notorious for its perpetual hustle and bustle, offered a brief respite as they cruised toward their destination. In the serene confines of the car, Y/n couldn't help but marvel at the contrasting calmness outside. 

Jonathan expertly maneuvered the car into a parking space just outside a charming diner nestled on the outskirts of the Narrows. Exiting the car, the duo made their way into the cozy establishment.

"Seat yourselves, I'll be right with you," greeted a friendly waitress.

Jonathan gestured towards an inviting booth, Y/n slid into the seat, the comfortable booth promising a relaxing start to the day's adventures.

As they settled in, Jonathan reached for a couple of menus discreetly tucked beneath the cutlery. He handed one to Y/n with a casual smile. "Choose anything you'd like—drink and food. I'll pay," he generously offered, his gaze shifting to his own menu.

"Oh, I can't have you pay for me. You're already doing so much for me," Y/n insisted, a hint of guilt tainting her expression.

Jonathan chuckled warmly, his eyes reflecting a genuine understanding. "You're a university student staying at the dorms; money is not something you should be throwing around. I, however, am well off with my jobs. Don't worry."

Despite his reassurance, Y/n couldn't shake off the feeling of indebtedness. "I just feel bad that you're doing all this for me," she confessed, her sincerity evident in her eyes.

"If you want to so badly, you can pay next time," Jonathan suggested, a playful smirk playing on his lips.

"I'll hold you to that," Y/n responded with a smile, the lighthearted banter momentarily easing the weight of gratitude she felt. The easy camaraderie between them made the ordinary act of sharing a meal feel like an extraordinary moment. 

She appreciated the effortless flow of their conversation, finding an unexpected camaraderie with Jonathan. The notion of befriending a professor initially seemed peculiar, but with each passing moment, it felt surprisingly natural. Their discussions swayed seamlessly between topics, and Y/n discovered a side of Jonathan beyond the classroom, making her appreciate him not just as an educator but as a genuinely pleasant individual.

As the morning sunlight streamed through the diner's windows, casting a warm glow on their table, Y/n couldn't help but marvel at the ease with which they interacted. The atmosphere was friendly and unburdened by the typical student-teacher dynamic. In that little diner booth, they were just two adults enjoying each other's company, forging a connection that went beyond the confines of academia.

The array of options on the menu presented Y/n with a delightful dilemma. The diner's atmosphere was lively yet intimate, with the aroma of brewing coffee and sizzling breakfast filling the air. 

The waitress gracefully returned to their table, pen poised over her notepad. "What can I get for you two?" she inquired with a welcoming smile.

Jonathan was quick to respond, "I'll have a coffee and a breakfast bagel." His eyes then shifted to Y/n.

Feeling more on the sweet side, Y/n replied, "A berry smoothie and a brownie, please."

The waitress, attentive to details, followed up, "Would you like cream or yogurt with the brownie?"

"Yogurt, please," Y/n said.

The waitress jotted down their orders. "Is there anything else?" she asked, awaiting their final decisions.

"That'll be all," Jonathan confirmed, and Y/n nodded in agreement. With that, the waitress gracefully glided away, leaving them to resume their conversation in the cozy diner booth.

Jonathan chuckled at Y/n's choice, "A brownie at 8 in the morning?" he teased playfully.

"I know, it's a bit sweet," Y/n admitted, laughing along with him. "But treats like this are rare for me."

"Everyone deserves a morning indulgence now and then," Jonathan responded with a smile.

Their conversation continued to flow effortlessly, exchanging bits of information about their lives, particularly revolving around university.

Around 10 minutes later, the waitress returned with their orders. "Here you go," she said, placing the plates in front of them.

"Thank you," Y/n expressed her gratitude, eagerly eyeing the delicious spread in front of her.

As the waitress left, Y/n took a moment to appreciate the aroma of the coffee and the vibrant colors of her berry smoothie. Jonathan sipped his coffee and leaned back, a relaxed smile on his face. The atmosphere was comfortable, the diner buzzing with the low hum of conversations and the clinking of cutlery.

Jonathan leaned forward, taking ahold of his bagel, a faint smile on his face. "I hope you don't mind the detour for breakfast. It's good to start a day like this every once in a while."

Y/n chuckled, feeling the ease of their interaction. "Not at all. It's a pleasant surprise, actually. I didn't expect today to begin like this."

Jonathan nodded. "Well, sometimes it's the unexpected moments that make the day memorable."

Jonathan took a sip of his coffee before speaking, "So, tell me more about your interest in psychology. What drew you to the field?"

Y/n took a moment to savor her smoothie before answering, "I've always been fascinated by the human mind and how it works. It's like this intricate puzzle, and psychology helps me unravel its complexities. Plus, the idea of helping people through understanding their thoughts and behaviors would also be pretty cool."

Jonathan nodded, "It's a noble pursuit. Psychology has the power to make a significant impact on individuals' lives. Do you have any specific areas within psychology that you find most intriguing?"

“I won’t lie, Arkham has always been an interest of mine. Not necessarily the famous rogues that are constantly escaping, but the more troubled souls that had a rough start,” Y/n shared.

“Not so interested in the Joker then?” Jonathan teased.

“God no,” Y/n responded.

Jonathan chuckled, "Can't blame you there. The Joker is a whole different level of chaos."

Y/n took a sip of her berry smoothie, enjoying the refreshing taste. "But seriously, the idea of helping those who are struggling mentally, especially the ones society tends to overlook, that's where I want to make a difference."

Jonathan nodded, sipping his coffee. "Mental health is often stigmatized, and people don't realize the impact it has on individuals and society as a whole. Your dedication to understanding and helping is commendable."

The conversation continued, effortlessly weaving between casual banter and more serious topics. The comfortable atmosphere of the diner, coupled with Jonathan's easygoing nature, made Y/n feel at ease discussing her aspirations.

-

As they drove toward Arkham, Jonathan and Y/n continued their conversation, Jonathan sharing about the intricate workings of the human mind. The cityscape changed as they delved deeper into the Narrows, with its dodgy alleyways and poorly lit streets, which even in the dark made it difficult to see, creating an atmosphere of unease. The air felt heavy, carrying the weight of the stories locked within the walls of Arkham Asylum.

Jonathan glanced at Y/n. "It's a unique place, Arkham," he remarked, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

Y/n couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. The legendary reputation of Arkham Asylum had always fueled her curiosity, and now, with the prospect of exploring its mysteries, she couldn't contain her anticipation.

Securing a parking spot proved effortless in the vast, desolate parking lot. Stepping out of the car, Y/n gazed up at the imposing structure – a stone fortress that housed some of Gotham's most notorious criminals. Jonathan, an experienced guide in this ominous environment, approached her and led the way inside.

With a swift display of his ID, Jonathan gained entry, Y/n following suit without a single question. He grabbed a visitor badge for her before securing it around her neck.

The echoing clang of the heavy metal door closing behind them filled the entrance hall. The dimly lit corridor stretched ahead, lined with security personnel stationed at various checkpoints. The cold, sterile air of the facility sent shivers down Y/n's spine as she adjusted the visitor badge Jonathan handed her.

The corridor seemed to wind endlessly, each turn revealing another layer of security. Jonathan led her through the labyrinthine structure, his familiarity with the layout evident. The occasional distant echoes of unsettling sounds from within the facility heightened the tension in the air.

As they passed by the barred cells, Y/n couldn't help but steal glances into the shadows, catching glimpses of faces that seemed to hold a myriad of stories. The residents of Arkham Asylum, each with their own struggles and torments, observed the visitors with a mix of curiosity and detachment.

Jonathan explained the varying levels of security, detailing the procedures in place to ensure the safety of both staff and visitors. Y/n absorbed the information with a mix of fascination and a growing sense of apprehension. The weight of being surrounded by some of Gotham's most troubled souls pressed down on her.

They eventually reached a central area, a hub of activity where staff members bustled about their duties. Y/n observed the dynamics, the interplay between doctors, guards, and the patients who moved within the confines of their respective spaces. The atmosphere was a blend of tension and routine.

Approaching a door, Jonathan turned the doorknob, revealing the door marked with his name – Dr. Crane. The office, his domain, welcomed them, and Jonathan efficiently navigated around his desk to retrieve a couple of files.

Jonathan gathered the necessary files and responded, "Just a regular in-patient for the first session, but the second might be less conventional."

"Will they be okay with me being present?" Y/n asked.

"Well, if you're concerned, you can always ask them. Consent is important," Jonathan replied.

"Thank you," Y/n expressed her gratitude.

Jonathan guided them through the dimly lit halls of Arkham, arriving at the room where the first session would take place. They waited at the door, observing the tense atmosphere. Soon, a guard led a patient down the corridor, and from Jonathan's focused gaze, Y/n assumed this was the individual they were there to see.

"Mr. Wilson, you seem to be in good spirits today," Jonathan remarked, his tone carrying a sense of monotony.

“Mhmm,” Mr. Wilson responded, his eyes wandering around the hallway.

“I have a student from Gotham University joining us today. She's here to observe the session. Would that be acceptable to you?” Jonathan inquired.

Mr. Wilson finally looked up, his gaze meeting Y/n's. It appeared as though he hadn't encountered a woman in years. After a moment's contemplation, he nodded slowly.

“Great,” Jonathan said, holding the door open for everyone to enter the room.

The room was clinical, with pale walls and minimal furniture. Jonathan guided Y/n to a seat near the back, gesturing for her to take a comfortable position. Mr. Wilson settled into a chair across from Jonathan's desk.

As the session began, Jonathan engaged Mr. Wilson in conversation, discussing various topics. Y/n observed the interaction closely, trying to discern the nuances of the therapy process. She noted the controlled detachment in Jonathan's demeanor, a stark contrast to the patient's erratic and paranoid behavior.

Throughout the session, Y/n was captivated by the exchanges between therapist and patient. Mr. Wilson's responses were often fragmented and disjointed, revealing the complexity of his mental state. Jonathan navigated the conversation with finesse, probing gently into sensitive areas while maintaining an air of professionalism.

As the session concluded, Jonathan thanked Mr. Wilson for his time, and the patient was escorted back to his room by a guard. Jonathan turned his attention to Y/n, who had been silently observing.

“What did you think?” he asked, his expression betraying a genuine interest in her perspective.

“You're a really good doctor,” Y/n chuckled softly.

"I appreciate that," Jonathan replied modestly. "It's crucial to establish trust and understanding with the patients here. Each case requires a unique approach."

Y/n nodded in agreement, absorbing the gravity of the therapy session she had witnessed. Jonathan guided her out of the room, and they continued to explore different areas of Arkham, with Jonathan sharing insights into his work and the challenges he faced.

As they walked through the eerie corridors, Y/n couldn't help but feel a mixture of fascination and trepidation. Arkham held a dark allure, and she marveled at the intricate dance between the staff and the troubled individuals confined within its walls.

"So, your next patient?" Y/n inquired curiously.

"I'm sure you've heard of Edward Nigma, otherwise known as the Riddler—a real piece of work, that one," Jonathan remarked.

Y/n felt her heart skip a beat. The Riddler, notorious for creating horrifying traps and puzzels for his victims.

"I'm assuming you're going to sit out on that one?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes, please," Y/n replied.

Jonathan chuckled, understanding her hesitation. "Not a fan of riddles, I take it?"

Y/n smiled nervously. "Let's just say I prefer my challenges to be in textbooks, not in the form of elaborate mind games that may or may not get me killed."

"Well, you're not alone in that sentiment," Jonathan assured her. "Nigma is... unique, to say the least. We'll proceed cautiously, and you can observe from the safety of the mirrored room."

They continued down the hall, passing by cells where other inmates were confined. Each face carried its own story, and the air was thick with an unsettling atmosphere.

As they approached the next room, a heavy door with a small window, Jonathan peered inside. "Edward, good afternoon."

The Riddler, a man with sharp features and an air of arrogance, looked up from his seated position. "Crane, always punctual. Who's this?" He nodded toward Y/n.

"Edward, meet Y/n, a psychology student from Gotham University. She's here to observe our sessions," Jonathan explained.

The Riddler's eyes narrowed as he examined Y/n. "Ah, another curious mind seeking the secrets of the human psyche. Fascinating."

As they entered, Nigma looked up, his eyes locking onto Y/n through the window. A sly smile crossed his face. "Are you here to solve my riddles?"

"She'll just be observing," Jonathan explained, gesturing towards the second room—the observation room.

Y/n's discomfort grew at the Riddlers staring, but she managed a polite nod. Jonathan guided her to the observation room, assuring her of the safety measures in place before going in to talk with Nigma. 

From behind the one-way mirror, Y/n observed the intricate dance of intellect between Jonathan and the enigmatic Riddler, realizing that the challenges in the academic world seemed trivial compared to the complexities of Arkham Asylum.

The atmosphere grew more uncomfortable, and Y/n felt a chill run down her spine. She could tell Jonathan was reaching his limit with Edward's antics, his patience visibly waning.

"Riddle me this... how much does the Doll behind the window know?" Edward provocatively inquired, locking eyes with her.

Edward, ever the provocateur, threw a cryptic remark Jonathan’s way, using the unsettling nickname "Doll." She couldn’t understand how he knew where she was behind the window, considering it was a mirror from his side, but he was looking right at her.

Jonathan's reaction was subtle but telling. A momentary pause in his movements, a flash of irritation across his face, and then he composed himself. "My, my, getting lousy with the riddles, are we?" he retorted, his tone laced with thinly veiled frustration.

Edward, undeterred, pressed on, "Then let me ask a question..Why did you really bring her here?...Does she know about Scarecrow?" His tone held a hint of malevolence, making Y/n acutely aware of the dangers potentially surrounding her.

Jonathan decided that enough was enough. "That's it for today, I believe," he declared, swiftly closing his file and rising from his seat.

Edward, seemingly amused by the exchange, reclined in his chair, his laughter lingering as the guard escorted him out of the room. Jonathan approached Y/n, his expression a mix of exhaustion and determination.

-

Even after that chilling session, Y/n found herself increasingly drawn to the complexities of mental health and the delicate art of psychiatric treatment. As the last session concluded, Jonathan silently walked her back to his office, both seemingly lost in their own thoughts.

Packing away his last thing, Jonathan moved over to Y/n, “Come on…” Jonathan's voice broke the quiet, quietly guiding her out of Arkham, his hand resting on the small of her back.

Reaching his car, Jonathan moved to her side first, holding the door open for her.

"I hope this was an insightful experience for you," he remarked, opening the door for her.

"Absolutely," Y/n replied. "Thank you for the opportunity, Jonathan." She hopped into the car, and Jonathan closed the door behind her before taking his place in the driver's seat.

The day at Arkham had left a lasting impression on Y/n, sparking a newfound interest in the intricacies of the human mind and the challenges faced by those dedicated to healing it.

The occasional streetlight cast shadows across his face as she looked at him from her side. However, her mind couldn't shake the lingering questions from the Riddler's cryptic words at the end of the session. Did Jonathan have another motive for bringing her to Arkham? And what was he referring to with Scarecrow? What was Scarecrow, and what role did Jonathan play in it? The mysteries lingered, casting a shadow on the experience that, despite its profound impact, left Y/n with a sense of curiosity and unanswered questions.

She hadn’t even noticed Jonathan pulling up in front of the University dorms. It took a moment for her to realize that they had arrived, and Jonathan's gesture of opening the car door for her snapped her out of her daydream.

Jonathan opened her door and extended his hand to help her. "Thank you," she expressed meekly as she accepted his assistance.

“Don’t mention it...” Jonathan replied, a subtle smile on his lips.

“...You’ve been so kind to me, Jonathan. I really appreciate it. I honestly couldn't thank you enough,” Y/n conveyed, looking up at him.

“I’m just giving you what you deserve,” Jonathan responded, a warm smile still playing on his lips.

Jonathan walked her to the stairs and as Y/n stood by the entrance of the dorms, she hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was appropriate to ask what had been lingering in her mind.

"Jonathan," she began, "about what the Riddler mentioned... Scarecrow, and your motive for bringing me to Arkham. Is there something more I should know?"

Jonathan's expression shifted ever so slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like he was carefully choosing his words. He leaned against the car, a thoughtful gaze in his eyes.

"The Riddler likes to play games with words," Jonathan began, "and sometimes, the less you know, the safer you are. It's part of Arkham's peculiar charm."

Y/n nodded, understanding that some things might be better left untouched. "Okay..Thank you, Jonathan."

He nodded in return, a sense of mystery lingering in the air. "See you Monday."

With a final nod and a friendly smile, Y/n made her way into the dorms, the encounter at Arkham echoing in her mind.

-

Monday came around, and Y/n hadn’t stopped thinking about her indirect encounter with the Riddler. The weekend had been filled with a mixture of fascination and apprehension. She went about her usual classes, but the questions surrounding Jonathan's involvement with the Riddler and the cryptic mention of Scarecrow lingered in her mind.

As she entered Professor Crane's psychology class, she couldn't help but wonder if he would address anything related to their visit to Arkham. The room filled with students chatting, the usual buzz before the lecture, but Y/n found herself scanning the room for any signs from Professor Crane.

The door to the classroom swung open, and in walked Professor Crane, looking as composed as ever. He started the class without acknowledging Y/n at all, diving into the lecture material as if it were any other day. Y/n's curiosity grew, but she decided against pressing further, at least during class hours.

After the lecture, as students filed out of the room, Y/n lingered, waiting for the opportune moment to approach Professor Crane. Once the room emptied, she approached his desk.

"Professor Crane," she began, "I've been thinking about our visit to Arkham. I know I shouldn’t, but I haven’t stop thinking about what the Riddler was talking about?"

Professor Crane looked at her, his gaze unreadable for a moment. Then, he sighed, realizing her curiosity wasn't easily deterred.

"Y/n," he started, "Arkham is filled with various personalities, each with their own stories. The Riddler is among many. Some tales are better left in the shadows. Focus on your studies and leave the mysteries of Arkham where they belong."

It was a cryptic response that left Y/n with more questions than answers. She felt unsettled in the way Jonathan was dismissing it so easily. 

Jonathan sighed, observing her detachment. "Just forget about it, Nigma is in Arkham for a reason. Don’t take what he says seriously... He’s just trying to mess with your head," Jonathan said.

Y/n nodded. "Okay... sorry about that. I won’t ask again."

"No need to apologize," Jonathan replied, his eyes showing a hint of understanding.

“I’ll be off now,” Y/n said, sensing a slight awkwardness in the air.

“You don’t want to stay?” Jonathan asked, his expression softening.

“Uh... would you like me to?” Y/n inquired, feeling a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

“Only if you wish to,” Jonathan said, leaving the decision up to her. The room held a lingering tension, a silent invitation for more conversation or perhaps a shared moment of quiet reflection.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, considering the unspoken offer. Eventually, she decided to stay.

"I don't mind staying for a bit," she said, offering a tentative smile.

Jonathan gestured toward one of the chairs in his office. "Please, have a seat."

As they settled into a conversation about various topics, the atmosphere became more relaxed. Y/n found herself opening up to Jonathan about her experiences and interests, and he reciprocated by sharing anecdotes from his work at Arkham. The initial professional boundaries started to blur, and a genuine connection began to form between them. It was an unexpected and refreshing turn of events for Y/n, adding a new layer to her academic journey.

-

In the following weeks, Y/n continued to attend Jonathan's office hours, not just for academic assistance but also for the engaging conversations they shared. Their discussions spanned beyond the realm of psychology, delving into personal stories, interests, and even occasional light banter.

As the semester progressed, Y/n found herself becoming more captivated by both the subject matter and her professor's unique approach to teaching. Jonathan's guidance extended beyond the classroom, as he recommended additional readings and shared insights that went beyond the standard curriculum.

-

The day that followed unfolded in a way Y/n hadn't anticipated. Making her way into Jonathan’s office for their customary daily discussions, she greeted him with a warm "Hiya," bearing a takeaway tray adorned with a coffee and a smoothie – their usual indulgences.

"Evening, Dear," Jonathan reciprocated, his smile adding a touch of warmth to the comfortable atmosphere of his office.

Choosing the inviting couch over the formality of the desk, Y/n settled in, and Jonathan joined her after finishing up his paperwork. The shift in seating only enhanced the coziness, turning their daily talks into a more intimate and relaxed exchange. Y/n handed the cup of coffee to Jonathan, a small gesture in their routine. She indulged in the refreshing sips of her smoothie as Jonathan accepted the coffee.

"Thank you, my Dear," he expressed with a grateful smile.

"Anytime," Y/n responded, the casual exchange feeling comforting.

Sipping her smoothie, she rested her head on the back of the couch, facing Jonathan. 

"..I know I said I wouldn't ask again, but.. I just can't shake off what the Riddler was saying..back at Arkham" Y/n said, slowly looking up at Jonathan.

Jonathan huffed, a hint of frustration showing in his expression. "What the Riddler said is not important," he dismissed.

Y/n sat back up, "I know that's not true. I don't understand why you can't just tell—" Y/n was abruptly cut off.

"There's nothing to talk about!" Jonathan suddenly snapped.

The sudden outburst startled Y/n, witnessing a side of Jonathan she wasn’t used to being directed at her. She could feel the tension in the air. Jonathan, realizing his sharp reaction, sighed. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his face with his hand, frustrated.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm just... trying to protect you, okay?" Jonathan explained, his voice softer, revealing an undercurrent of concern.

"..How is this possibly protecting me? The Riddler was taking about me... I need to know," Y/n insisted. She realized she had pushed too far, but this seemed like something serious that Jonathan was intentionally keeping from her.

Jonathan stood up slowly and approached his office door. Y/n heard the distinct sound of the lock clicking, sending fearful shivers through her body.

"What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room," Jonathan stated with a gravity that heightened Y/n's anxiety.

As Jonathan turned around to face her, setting his coffee down, he sighed and began tapping his feet with his hands on his hips—an unusual display of nervousness. Y/n, taken aback, had never seen Jonathan appear so uneasy.

"I will admit, Y/n, the feelings I have for you are not entirely appropriate," Jonathan confessed, avoiding direct eye contact.

Y/n let out a shaky breath. "What?"

"The real reason I brought you to Arkham was to make you feel special... to show off, even," Jonathan revealed.

Y/n's mind raced back to the Riddler's insinuations about Jonathan's potential ulterior motives for bringing her to Arkham. The revelation left her bewildered and unsure of how to respond.

Y/n tried to push aside Jonathan's unsettling confession, focusing on the second thing the Riddler had mentioned. "So what is Scarecrow?" Y/n inquired, curiosity driving her to seek answers.

She could sense Jonathan's breath hitch. "Scarecrow... is an individual with a fascination for fear," Jonathan explained, his gaze fixed on the ground, hands still on his hips. "I'm sure you've been hearing about the recent patients being admitted to Arkham with strange yet similar symptoms of hallucinations."

"So what does this individual have to do with me?" Y/n pressed further.

"Let's just say... his fascination doesn't stop there," Jonathan replied cryptically.

With each passing moment, Y/n's tension heightened. "Jonathan... who is Scarecrow?" she asked nervously.

"I think you already know," Jonathan responded, finally meeting Y/n's gaze with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine.

Y/n found it difficult to catch her breath as her eyes darted around the room. Setting the forgotten smoothie on the ground beside the couch, Y/n stood up.

"I should probably go," Y/n attempted to make a quick exit past Jonathan, only to be halted by his firm grip on her arm.

The touch made her jolt, but his grasp didn't loosen. "I can't let you leave," Jonathan declared.

"P-please, I promise I won't say anything," Y/n pleaded, feeling tears welling up in her eyes.

"How do I know that?" Jonathan questioned.

Her blood ran cold. "I promise you, I'll do anything," Y/n begged.

Jonathan looked at her curiously. "Anything?"

Y/n gazed at him, her stomach jumping. Acting on an impulse she couldn't quite comprehend, she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him. His eyes widened in shock, but the desperation in the air forced him to give in.

Jonathan couldn't resist, kissing her with a passion he had suppressed for months. His hands moved to Y/n's waist, pulling her closer. In that moment, Y/n thought, this was the perfect distraction.

She slowly moved one of her hands behind her, fumbling for the doorknob. Finally getting a firm grasp on it, she slowly turned the knob to open the door. However, luck was not on her side when the lock clicked loudly, the sound echoing in the room. Her heart dropped, and Jonathan's eyes shot open. Just as Y/n was about to hastily open the door, Jonathan pushed her back, causing her to scream as her body slammed against the door, keeping it firmly closed. Harshly grabbing her arms, he held them above her head.

He stared down at her as tears streamed down her face. "Trying to distract me, huh?" Jonathan said, an evil glint in his eye.

Y/n tried to yank her hands out of his grip, but it proved impossible given the strength he had over her.

"Please, Jonathan! You can't do this!" Y/n cried.

Jonathan brought his face closer to hers, she turned her head in fear, closing her eyes tightly. Jonathan dragged his nose up her neck, breathing against her skin. "I'll do what is necessary," he whispered.

In a desperate attempt, she brought her foot up, trying to stomp on his foot, but that only seemed to anger him more. Jonathan aggressively threw her around and shoved her over his desk, holding her down by her hands again. However, this time, he stood between her legs, preventing her from using them.

Y/n whimpered beneath him, but he remained unyielding. "I never wanted this to happen, but you don't leave me much of a choice," Jonathan spoke through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry, I'll be nice, but you have to let me go," Y/n pleaded.

"That's not going to happen, my Dear," Jonathan said.

Before Y/n could react, Jonathan swiftly brought his sleeve-covered wrist up to her face, a faint hiss preceding the release of a mysterious puff of gas. Y/n's immediate response was a piercing scream as the unexpected spray hit her face, sending shivers down her spine. The gas had an acrid smell, and as she inhaled, an unsettling sensation crept over her. The world around her started to warp and distort, as if reality itself was bending to the whims of her deepest fears.

Y/n's vision blurred, and her surroundings became an eerie dreamscape. The once-familiar office now transformed into a haunting image. Jonathan's figure morphed, his features elongating and contorting, creating a grotesque visage that sent chills down Y/n's spine.

A sense of dread settled over her, intensifying with every passing moment. As the fear gas took hold, Y/n felt a chilling coldness crawl up her spine. Her body became increasingly heavy, and the room seemed to close in on her, suffocating her in a nightmarish reality. The longer she stared at Jonathan, the more the lines between nightmare and reality blurred, until the gas finally overwhelmed her. Y/n's consciousness waned, slipping into the abyss of her deepest anxieties, and the world around her faded to black as she succumbed to unconsciousness.

-

Waking up was excruciating, her head pounding with unbearable intensity. Fear pulsed through her, her heart racing in tandem with the throbbing ache in her temples. As she reluctantly opened her eyes, a disorienting mix of darkness and blinding light assaulted her senses. Surveying her surroundings only deepened her confusion; it appeared as though she had awakened in some kind of forest, a surreal landscape that contradicted Gotham's urban reality. Yet, her vision played tricks on her, rendering it impossible to discern between what was real and what was illusion.

“It’s good to see you’re awake, my Dear,” a voice echoed beside her.

Startled, she turned towards the voice, recognizing it but struggling to reconcile the distorted tones with its origin. The person wore a burlap mask, concealing their identity.

“J-Jonathan,” Y/n stammered, feeling a profound sense of weakness.

“I’m giving you a chance to run,” Jonathan declared.

Confused and disoriented, Y/n attempted to question him, but Jonathan interrupted her.

“I'll give you a 30 seconds headstart. If I can't find you, I’ll leave you alone. But if I catch you…I won’t let you go,” he ominously proclaimed.

“J-Jonathan, I can barely see!” Y/n cried.

“Get up, Y/n,” Jonathan commanded.

“Jonath-”

“Get. Up.”

His authoritative tone sent shivers down Y/n's spine. Trembling, she maneuvered to kneel on her knees, only to be met with a searing pain radiating from her ankles. A guttural scream escaped her lips as she gazed down, her vision still distorted. Through the haze, she discerned the ghastly reality – two bells, meticulously sewn into her flesh on either side of her ankles. The skin threaded through them, attempting to heal around the foreign objects. The grotesque sight made her stomach churn, and she screamed in sheer horror.

“What did you do to me! My fucking feet! You fucking bitch!” Y/n cried, her voice filled with rage and terror as she screamed at Jonathan.

He sighed before grabbing her by the arm roughly and pulling her to her feet. She sobbed, attempting to push Jonathan away, but his strength prevailed, keeping her on her unsteady feet.

“Listen, Y/n... I’ll give you a minute to get ready, but after that, you have to run... I don’t want to hurt you,” Jonathan said, his voice carrying an unsettling mix of calm and sincerity.

“You fucking liar! You put bells on my fucking feet! You gassed me! You have no fucking intentions of letting me go!” Y/n tried shoving Jonathan, her desperation evident, but his unwavering strength proved impossible.

Y/n felt a mix of fear and desperation as the distorted voice of Jonathan haunted her in the dark forest. The minute he gave her felt like an eternity, her mind racing with confusion and terror. She could barely comprehend what had happened to her – the bells on her feet, the agonizing pain, the disorienting surroundings.

As the seconds ticked away, Y/n attempted to collect herself. She fumbled to her feet, the pain shooting through her legs with each movement. She desperately wiped away her tears, trying to focus on her surroundings. The distorted voices in her head urged her to find a way out, to escape from this nightmare.

"Jonathan, please!" she pleaded, her voice shaky and weak.

But Jonathan remained silent, hidden behind the burlap mask, his presence lingering in the shadows. The ominous silence amplified Y/n's anxiety as the countdown continued. The forest seemed to close in on her, each shadow playing tricks on her mind.

As Y/n continued to struggle against Jonathan's grip, he finally let her go. She stumbled backward, her vision still blurry and disoriented. Tears streamed down her face as she realized the gravity of her situation.

“Your minute is up, Y/n,” Jonathan said coldly.

Panicking, Y/n attempted to move, but the pain in her ankles was excruciating. The bells on her feet jingled with each step, amplifying her fear. She could barely see the distorted figures of trees around her, unsure of where to go.

Jonathan's distorted voice echoed, “Run, Y/n. Run if you want to escape.”

With her heart pounding in her ears, Y/n turned around and limped forward, desperately trying to navigate the nightmarish forest. The fear of being caught and the pain in her feet merged into a tormenting symphony.

Every step felt like agony, the pain from her ankles shooting through her with every move. Determined, Y/n forced herself to pick up the pace, only to be met with the relentless jingle of the bells on her feet, echoing through the unsettling silence of the distorted forest. Her screams of frustration reverberated, a desperate attempt to drown out the haunting sound. Uncertain of the reality around her, Y/n pushed herself forward, driven by the primal instinct to escape from the unknown horrors lurking in the shadows.

The echoing chime of the bells attached to her feet seemed to resonate through the eerie forest, an ominous soundtrack to her desperate flight. Despite the seemingly impossible task of escaping undetected, Y/n pressed on, fueled by fear and rage.

Tears streamed down her face as she navigated the distorted landscape, grappling with the stark contrast between the professor she respected and this nightmarish pursuer. Regret and self-blame consumed her thoughts as she questioned whether she had unknowingly unlocked a darker side of Jonathan Crane or if this twisted game had been his true nature all along.

As the forest blurred around her, Y/n couldn't gauge how much time had passed, but the feeling of being hunted intensified with every breath.

The shadows danced around her, but Y/n had more pressing concerns. The closest forest was on the outskirts of Gotham, and by her knowlegde, this wasn’t it. The trees surrounding her didn't match the familiar landscape. Adding to the surreal experience, the echoing sounds of concrete beneath her feet contradicted the visual illusions that played out around her.

Although the effects of the gas were gradually diminishing, the horror lingered. Trees transformed into buildings, and lampposts seemed to sprout from the ground, creating a nightmarish dreamscape that defied the logic of Gotham's familiar streets.

Navigating the unnaturally morphing terrain was challenging on its own, but the addition of bells sewn to her ankles introduced a cruel twist to Y/n's desperate attempt to escape. A sharp turn around a building resulted in the bells grazing against a rough surface, tearing at her delicate skin. Agonizing pain shot up her legs, forcing her to collapse in sheer torment. A cry of pain escaped her lips, quickly stifled in the realization that Jonathan could be lurking anywhere, ears attuned to her distress.

As she sat on the ground, cradling her injured foot, hot tears streamed down her face. The sight of her foot revealed a troubling scene – it was red, irritated, and blood slowly trickled to the ground. Cursing under her breath, she was foolishly leaving a trail of breadcrumbs, marking her path for Jonathan to follow.

Defeated and desperate, Y/n closed her eyes, surrendering to the overwhelming hopelessness that enveloped her. Resting her head against the wall behind her, she weeped. She damned from the very beginning. Jonathan's idea of escape left her grappling with uncertainty – was his definition of ‘escape’ merely leaving this immediate area, contacting the police, or leaving Gotham altogether? Didn’t matter, she didn’t know.

Even if Y/n managed to ‘escape’, she knew all too well that Jonathan wouldn't simply let her be. Having spent months in his company, she had learned that determination and obsession defined him. The prospect of escaping his clutches seemed increasingly elusive, leaving Y/n trapped in a sinister game of hide and seek.

Refusing to succumb to hopelessness against the wall, Y/n gathered her remaining strength. She couldn't accept this as the end; she needed to keep going. Rising to her feet with deliberate determination, she carried on moving. Instead of running, which would only amplify the bells' noise and her exhaustion, Y/n pressed on with a steady walk. She was determined not to let Jonathan's twisted game break her spirit.

Undoubtedly, the blood marked her path, but Y/n had no other choice. Pressing forward was her only option. The effects of the gas seemed to have worn off, revealing a less distorted reality, albeit no less grim. She recognized that she was now in the Narrows, but the specific location remained a mystery.

As she moved cautiously ahead, a voice, dripping with malevolence, echoed from behind her. "I see my Dear has hurt herself..." Her blood ran cold. She didn't need to turn around to know she was in deep trouble.

The tears flowed freely down Y/n's face. "Why are you doing this?"

Jonathan remained silent, a chilling stillness in the air. He took a step forward, and instinctively, she took one back.

"Please..."

Suddenly, Jonathan lunged forward, catching her off guard. Y/n had no time to react as he tackled her to the ground, his weight pinning her down. She screamed and thrashed, the muffled sounds of her distress lost in the indifferent hum of Gotham's background noise. People in nearby buildings likely heard, but in a city like Gotham, such cries often went unanswered.

"Like a doe that's been shot," Jonathan spoke in a low, unsettling tone near her ear.

A syringe emerged from his pocket, and panic surged through her. She squirmed and fought, but his hold was unyielding. The needle pierced her upper thigh, and a sudden rush of paralysis coursed through her body. As consciousness waned, she heard Jonathan's remorseful voice.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," he uttered, holding her captive on the unforgiving ground.

"I thought you were my friend.." Y/n cried, her voice echoing in the desolation of the Narrows.

The world around Y/n blurred as the drug took effect, robbing her of control over her own body. Jonathan's mask became an indistinct smudge, but his unsettling presence still lingered. The last words she heard before succumbing to unconsciousness were Jonathan's remorseful apology, leaving her with a sense of betrayal and a haunting question: What had she done to deserve this? -

A/N: I think it's pretty clear by now I have a chasing(Prey/Predator) kink🧍‍♀️I don't know about you guys, but I want that adrenaline rush of being chased by an obsessive man 😫🤚 Thank you for reading and I hoped you enjoyed it. My requests are open for feel free to request 💚

[turtleybeachin]

Okay I have finally thought of an ask! Not sure if you remember me or not but that's okay. It kinda has to do with the summoning through pacts. I was wondering if you could write something along the lines of an MC who is usually calm, but a MC having a panic attack or is just scared and accidentally summons a brother? I'd like to request all of the brothers or even the dateables but I don't want to ask that much. Do whoever you want with this ask if you do it at all! ❤️❤️

Hi I totally remember you and never forgot this but got way too in my own head about it. I think I crawled back out now. Thanks for being patient with me. ♥ So first of all, I love the concept of accidentally summoning someone to you. Sure, the actual summoning spell is great, but the idea of panic-summoning and maybe not even fully intentionally? Amazing. I started writing how they'd comfort you but got too in my head trying to do everyone (and not feel like i was rehashing Burnout), so I have a few that are spawning future updates to Burnout (for the new side characters), and then some one-offs I'll share as I finish them as well. But! Here are some thoughts I had on alternative summonings when upset.

Characters: Everyone! :) and a GN!MC (reader) Rating: G Word Count: ~2.3k Tagging: references to MC struggling mentally/emotionally, some fluffy affection, mostly a think piece on unintended summoning. Spoiler warnings for OG game, most notably for end of season 2, a bit of season 3, and vaguely part of season 4. Nothing too big, but there nonetheless.

Lucifer's Ring of Light is a perfect fidget piece. Spinning it around your finger, rubbing your thumb along the band, pressing on the edges of the stones to let the dull pinch ground you. It's always there on your finger, always present, always twinkling in the corner of your eye as a reminder you aren't alone. It is not his any longer, but that doesn't mean he isn't still aware of it, that a little piece of him isn't still present in a little piece of its inherent magic. And when you're spinning it and digging it into your palm and distressed, he feels an echo of that pain. It pulls him to you. Perhaps, in your own way, you're admitting you need his presence, his strength, his help, and he is not about to start abandoning his loved ones now.

With Mammon's keychain of that chocolate lizard, your thumb knew all the grooves, the smooth spots and the rough ones, the little spot where paint was chipped away that you knew you shouldn't pick at but it just happened anyway, your nail catching on the rough edge. You fidget with it when anxious because you know Mammon used to fidget with it just the same, and isn't that comforting, to know that even a powerful ancient fallen angel would run his thumb along the very same ridges you do? It's almost like you can still feel the warmth of his touch there. And you can't really think your First Man ain't gonna know you as well as he knows himself, can you? That he doesn't know when you need him, when you're tuggin' on the pact like that?

Leviathan's script he gave you? You've memorized it by now. In times when everything is spiraling, you remember your favorite lines, the ones that remind you to stay strong. You recite them to yourself between shaking breaths. Because when you can't be strong and cool and calm yourself, sometimes it helps to put yourselves in the shoes of Henry, the shoes of the Romantic Lead, the shoes of the characters written to always have a happy ending. It is, you realize, the same way Levi puts himself in the shoes of the Lord of Shadows, wrapping the cool-clever-badass-strong cloak around him as an armor. There's no Lord of Shadows without his Henry, and there's no you without him. And just like how in book six, the Lord of Shadows gets accidentally bound to Henry with a spell and is able to feel when Henry's in need and the Lord of Shadows leaves his lair without knowing where he's really going just knowing that he's needed and he ends up following this magical instinctive pull to find Henry and get to him just in time to save him from his enemies who were-- ...well, let's just say that Levi won't leave you to fight your mind alone for long.

Satan wasn't wrong that cats are perfect for calming the emotional storm inside you. They're good little listeners, and their company is a great distraction from the voices in your head. Watching the little fuzzballs roll around, or nap in a sunbeam, or prowl through the grass, it distracts you from all the frustration and anxiety and worries. Whether it's watching neighborhood cats, or visiting a cafe, or popping into a shelter, you've taken to Satan's favorite hack for handling your wayward emotions. On the really bad days, it's nice to know you can vent and cry to them and they won't judge you or tell anyone your secrets. But did you forget, MC, the stories about cats that traverse the realms? They won't ever tell anyone, but they might wander from you to their favorite place in the Devildom and they might headbutt a certain blond demon's shin and chirp for him to follow them. They are, after all, very good listeners. And so is he.

With Asmodeus, you look at the photos of him on your phone, at your selfies together and how big you smiled beside him. You blink away burning tears to focus on how he looks not at the camera but at you, his body angled not to show his best side (which is every side of course) but to press always closer to you, and how no matter where you two were or what was happening your smiles were always so bright and genuine with him. When everything feels like too much and not worth it and you feel trapped and cornered by situations beyond your control, you find yourself clutching your phone and swiping through hundreds of pictures of laughter and kisses and hugs and twirls and snuggles and you whisper a promise that one day, soon, we'll be together again. Sooner than you expect, of course, because did you really think that he wouldn't feel your burning need for him across realms, hon?

Beelzebub just has to be comfort food, our precious glutton. When life without your demons is getting you down, it's the salty snacks, the sweet treats, the tubs of ice cream with the chunks of something extra to dig for like buried treasure. And whenever you indulge, you can't help but think of your gentle giant and what he'd have to say about everything. He'd be happy you're eating, of course, and then what would he think of your human world snacks? Which makes you think of your favorite Devildom snacks, and that just hits you with a fresh wave of homesickness. But somewhere out there, a realm away, one particular Avatar just gets this feeling, you know? Like the way he knows when Belphie is craving quetzalcoatl brains, or is napping in the garden. Just that instinct. And his instinct is telling him you need your favorite cupcakes. Surely Lucifer will understand how vital it is he takes these three dozen cupcakes to the human world right now. And if he doesn't, well, that argument with his brother can wait until after your craving is satisfied.

Belphegor of course is our star-gazing boy, and while you like the idea of looking into the sky to seek out any possible shared stars to look at with him, you can't always see the stars at night everywhere, and the human realm has day and night cycles that hide them for at least half the day anyhow. For Belphie, you have a pillow from him (that he either gifted or didn't complain about your stealing) that you keep with you -- not for sleeping, but for comfort. A pillow to smother your tears on the rough nights, a pillow to pummel on your frustrated days. A pillow you curl around and snuggle for a memory of contact now distant. And when you drift off in those fitful sleeps of exhaustion, you wander in your dreams to another dream unknowingly. He's with you when you rest, and the moment he can get away from Lucifer's watchful gaze, he'll be there to tug the pillow out of your arms to crawl into your embrace himself.

With Diavolo, well, he knows things. Usually it's because of Barbatos, or Lucifer, or his familiars, but you? MC, you're so much more precious than the 'usual'. If asked by anyone who doesn't know him well enough to call him out, he'd say the charm he placed on you was simply for matters of Devildom security-- after all, you know possibly too much, and that could make you a target to the wrong people! (Barbatos politely does not point out that it's because he misses you so much and wants to see what you're doing.) It's not that he wants to intrude on your life or anything, it's important you have the chance to be as wonderfully human as you are, but he just worries. Are you alright? Are you comfortable? You'd mentioned once the extravagance of the brothers' lifestyle, do you have enough income? The charm is just a minor thing, a little thing, just to make sure you're well. And when you aren't? Well, paperwork and meetings will wait.

With Barbatos, he's just such a badass god-like time lord, we don't even need a pact to be connected to him. You had brought up the idea of a pact once, and he had just given you that dangerous smirk and demurred that it wasn't so much a pact you desired, surely, as his company and his attention, both of which were already yours. It seemed like such a smooth line at the time, but you didn't realize the extent of it. How you're a bright twinkling point on every timeline for him, how you are the center of every universe he knows, how he orients himself in any reality by looking to you. So when something is wrong, when you're falling apart or in danger, it's like the spiderweb crackling of a timeline splitting. Like an itch at the back of his throat, an ache behind his eyes. The choices are to let you suffer alone, or to teleport himself to your side and help you through. Do you even have to wonder which option he chooses?

Simeon may have a complicated relationship with his blessing and his celestial light, with his place and his purpose, but one thing has never felt complicated:  you. Every baked good he ever made for you was made with pure love, and every gift he bestowed -- from a little sheep plush sewn by hand to earrings made from his own feathers -- had all of his hopes and wishes and prayers for you inside them. Maybe that's why squeezing the soft little plush fills you with such warmth and comfort, and why the brush of the feather against your neck feels like a kiss. When you're struggling and upset, the gifts from Simeon make you feel grounded just a little more. And perhaps it's a prayer answered for him, too, that he just has a feeling when it's time to go visit you.

Solomon has been watching out for you longer than you know. It started in the little ways, simple defensive spells and barriers to protect you, reminding demons who looked a little too closely at you who precisely he was and what he could do. It graduated to teaching you to defend yourself, and gifting you various magical trinkets and charms to help focus and direct your growing magics. You still don't really know all the ways that he keeps an eye on you. But he does. Nothing is more important than you. When one of his spells alerts him that you're upset or in distress, well. He just so happened to be in the neighborhood, MC, and what a lucky coincidence that is!

Luke is such a literal perfect little angel baby. One who gave you his blessing, to protect you even when he can't. Everyone teases him for being so young, but he knows that you are the one human he wants to guide and shelter and protect. And sure, when he gave his blessing, it was under the assumption you might need protection from demons or fae, from magic and shadow. But that doesn't mean his blessing doesn't also guide and protect you in times of need that aren't external, MC. When you're at your lowest and feeling completely alone, he feels the pull, feels your pain, and what sort of guardian angel would he be if he left you alone?

Mephistopheles you don't have a pact with (yet?), but imagine your magic ripping open a portal to him without your conscious intent when you're feeling small and lonely and just so badly miss him and want him with you. Maybe you think of him because of the kindness he has shown himself capable of; maybe you think of him because you know he's the least likely person to tell the brothers or anyone else about you having a meltdown. And he's startled and confused when this portal opens before him, the magic somewhat familiar but certainly not demonic, and he warily steps through half-expecting some idiotic prank of one of the brothers only to find you curled up and small and fragile and all of his complaints and questions can wait. After all, clearly you can't even manage your own magic right now, so someone has to keep you from causing trouble.

With Thirteen, it's the little conversation crystal that she gifted you during The Three Worlds' Fair. Perhaps you turned it into a pendant, or perhaps it's just always in your bag or pocket, kept close as a charm for good luck and reminder of the fact you aren't alone. You don't think it would actually work across realms but still hold it tightly and whisper your frustrations or fears or doubts into it just to get things off your chest. But between your magic and hers, it does still connect, and she does hear your outbursts. And at first she just lets it happen, quietly charmed and amused you would use her gift as a secret diary. But when you're really struggling? Well. Reapers are meant to move between realms, you know. There's nowhere she won't go for you.

And Raphael is not an angel to be summoned on the whim of some human. But he is incredibly observant (even if he sometimes doesn't 'read a room' well). He is the one who reads between your lines more than you expected, more than you intended, more perhaps than you want. He sees the tension you hold, the dark circles under your eyes, the way your smiles are just a little slow and empty; he hears the silences where he expects to hear laughter or humming or conversation. And he nearly ignores it, because it's not his business, and you have plenty of other devoted fans already flocking to you, but then he realizes that in those moments you don't. In your pain, you are alone, and that is the most jarring observation of them all. So perhaps it is up to him to correct this cosmic error, and be the one to support the human who supports everyone else.

I hope you still enjoy, even if it's not exactly what you had in mind! ♥ and when i get around to the other little things this spawned, i'll tag you if you'd like.

[faintedlcve]

False Fronts IV

part 4 of 4

fluff version.

hii omg i finally did this im so happy with this there's an angst version as well bc who doesnt like some good ol' angst from time to time

also the other version was released early bc im stupid so ty to @berryzxx for reminding me (i just want a reason to tag you)

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

warnings:fluffff arguments (oohOOHOoH) swearing, not so fake dating (but are they?), the and y/n being idiots, not a happy ending, not proof read (as usual) and my writing

summary: being asked to fake date someone to get a petty ex off their back is the worst possible way of being friend-zoned. you, however, were willing to take any chances to get as close as you could to theodore nott.

angst is hereeee

reblogs with tags are always appreciated mwah

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4: angst

The tension between you and Theo had been brewing for days, each passing moment adding weight to the unspoken emotions that hung heavily in the air. Unable to bear the silence any longer, you initiated the conversation, the frustration and confusion evident in your voice.

"Theo, can we talk?" you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and determination.

He glanced up from his book, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. "Sure, what's up?"

"It's about us," you began cautiously, the words feeling heavier than you'd anticipated. "I feel like there's something here, between us. But I'm confused about where you stand."

Theo's expression flickered, a fleeting mixture of uncertainty and conflict clouding his features. "I don't know if diving into a relationship right now is the best idea."

"But this isn't just about a relationship," you insisted, your voice rising in exasperation. "It's about acknowledging what's been brewing between us, Theo."

He sighed, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "I'm not sure what I want, Y/N. It's complicated."

"Complicated?" You scoffed, the frustration simmering within you. "What's so complicated about being honest?"

"Why can't you understand?" Theo's voice rose, mirroring your frustration. "I don't want to mess things up and end up causing you pain."

"You're not getting it!" Your voice echoed in the charged atmosphere. "I need to know where we stand, and your indecision isn't helping."

Theo's reluctance grated on your nerves, fueling the intensity of the argument. "I need you to be honest with me, Theo. I can't keep waiting for something that might never happen!"

"I know, but I'm conflicted," he admitted, his tone wavering.

Frustration boiled within you. "Conflicted about what? Us?"

His gaze shifted away, a mix of guilt and concern clouding his features. "I... I don't want Jess to hurt you."

"I can handle Jess, she isn't your responsibility," you asserted firmly, the frustration simmering beneath your words.

"You don't get it, do you?" Theo's voice cut through the tension, edged with frustration. "She's MY ex."

His words stung, and the heat of the argument intensified. "And that gives you the right to dictate what's good for me?" you shot back, your voice rising in indignation.

"Look, I'm just trying to protect you," Theo retorted, his tone laced with urgency.

"Protect me? From what?" Your voice rose, the frustration boiling over. "I can handle my own affairs, Theo. I don't need you deciding what's best for me!"

The tension crackled between you, each word spoken a testament to the underlying emotions that had escalated into a heated argument. The clash of opinions and conflicting desires hung heavily in the charged atmosphere, leaving the potential relationship teetering on the edge of uncertainty. The anticipation in the room was suffocating.

Days stretched into weeks, and the awkward distance between you and Theo became the new norm. Despite the avoidance, every accidental encounter sent a rush of conflicting emotions through you. Butterflies danced in your stomach, a bittersweet reminder of the connection you once shared, now lost in a fog of misunderstanding.

Each time your paths crossed, the unresolved tension simmered beneath the surface. The silent longing for resolution battled with the ache of hurt and confusion, leaving you caught in a turmoil of emotions whenever Theo came into view.

The avoidance hadn't dulled the effect he had on you. His presence was still magnetic, drawing your attention despite the unspoken rift that divided you both. The simple sight of him evoked a rush of emotions, a testament to the bond you once shared and the rift that now tore you apart.

With every passing moment, the yearning for clarity clashed with the fear of confronting the situation, leaving you entangled in a web of unresolved emotions and unspoken apologies, the butterflies a painful yet undeniable reminder of the connection you couldn't seem to sever.

Summoning your courage, you approached Theo's dorm, determined to offer an overdue apology. A hesitant knock resulted in eerie silence. Unsure of Theo's whereabouts, you glanced around the deserted hallway, your resolve mingling with uncertainty.

Taking a tentative step forward, you reached for the doorknob, finding it unlocked. The decision to enter felt both intrusive and necessary. The room was devoid of life, the emptiness echoing the void that had developed between you and Theo.

Your gaze drifted to Theo's desk, where a single piece of paper lay. The handwriting was unmistakable, sending a jolt of emotions through you as you read the words:

Last night was so fun, so glad you dropped Y/N.

- Jess

Disbelief and a pang of deception ricocheted through you. The words were like a gut punch, shattering the fragile hope you had held for reconciliation and understanding. Confusion clouded your thoughts as you grappled with the apparent evidence before you.

Your mind raced, attempting to process the meaning behind Jess's note. It seemed to confirm your worst fears, undermining the fragile trust you had in the situation and leaving your heart aching with the weight of assumed betrayal.

With tear-filled eyes and a heavy heart, you turned away, the intention of offering an apology now replaced by a swirl of hurt. The unaddressed misunderstanding had taken root, poisoning the hope for amends and leaving you in a cloud of uncertainty and hurt.

After catching a glimpse of the note and feeling a surge of mixed emotions, you found yourself actively avoiding Theo. Days turned into a tense cycle of dodging encounters and deflecting questions, leaving Theo increasingly perplexed by your sudden distance.

"Why are you avoiding me?" Theo finally confronted you, his tone a blend of confusion and concern.

Your gaze wavered, torn between the urge to explain and the fear of facing the truth. "I just need some space," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, evading the heart of the matter.

Theo's expression shifted from confusion to hurt, his eyes clouded with the weight of your avoidance. "Did i do something wrong?" he pressed gently, hoping for a glimmer of understanding.

You hesitated, unsure how to voice the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. "I don't know," you muttered, the words falling between you like an insurmountable barrier.

The tension between you was palpable, an unspoken rift widening with every passing moment of silence. The distance between you grew, leaving both of you stranded in a sea of unanswered questions and unspoken feelings.

Theo sensed your unease. "Hey, something's been off. What's going on?" he asked, a tinge of concern in his voice.

"Well..." you hesitated, before showing him the note, unaware that he didn't know about it. "She sent you that note?" Theo's voice edged with surprise and confusion.

"What! No," you replied hastily, caught off guard by his assumption, unaware he didn't have any knowledge of the note's existence.

Theo's eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment. "I'm lost. What's happening?" he asked, completely unaware of the note you were holding, his confusion evident in his expression.

"You're being accused of cheating on me with Jess, but now I think you're being framed," you explained, your voice tinged with concern as you showed him the note.

"What? I would never! You know that!" Theo's words spilled out, shock and disbelief evident in his tone and expression.

His vehement denial resonated with the sincerity you knew so well, and a wave of relief washed over you. You knew him, knew his values, and believed in his loyalty.

"I love you, I'd never do anything to hurt you," he continued, desperation and honesty lacing his words as he took his face in his hands turning it to face him.

His earnest declaration struck a chord within you, dispelling some of the doubts that had clouded your mind. You realized that amidst the chaos and confusion, trusting in your bond with Theo was paramount.

"Yeah, I-I'm sorry." you stammered, your voice filled with a mix of emotions, as you finally let go of the lingering doubts.

Theo's eyes softened with understanding, a gentle smile forming on his lips. Without another word, he closed the distance between you, enveloping you in a reassuring embrace. In that moment, the unspoken affection bloomed, filling the air with an undeniable warmth.

With a rush of emotions, you met halfway, your lips gently pressing against his in a tender and heartfelt kiss.

"I love you too" you whispered as he pulled you in again for a kiss.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡*:☆

hi hello! this is the end of the series. check out the angsty ver here if you'd like! here are a few fics to read while i work on my next one:

masterlist

reader's choice (mattheo x reader)

reader's choice (theodore x reader)

i honestly had so much fun writing this thank you for sticking along with this <33 sorry for how late this is i was like so busy and im also lazy so yea

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy @jetblackpayne @delulu4marauders @ahead-fullofdreams

if you want to be added to my theodore/any other character's taglist just send me an ask/dm!

[neytirisheaven]

she’s all i wanna be so bad

warnings: no use of y/n, slughorn calling you sweetheart (a jumpscare in itself), regulus being oblivious, slight angst

regulus black x fem!slughorn!reader word count: 1.2k (part two)

summary: being slughorn’s daughter, you were immediately sorted into slytherin, where you befriended the infamous regulus black. throughout your five years at hogwarts, you only grew closer to the youngest son of walburga and orion black, and you just so happened to develop feelings for him. unfortunately for you, a beauxbatons transferee would steal his heart before you could even manage to grasp the fact that he had yours.

notes: THIS IS UNBEARABLY SHORT I’M TERRIBLY SORRY, i wanted to get something out for you guys so you wouldn’t have to go through a long wait!! i do have a part 2 in mind if anyone would like to read it, and while this is definitely not my best work and i don’t really like it.. i PROMISE it’ll get better once i get the hang of tumblr fics!

THE EERIE SILENCE of the Slytherin common room was relaxing at night, the high-positioned windows allowing the dim moonlight to shine through the dark living space. The light crackling of the sparks from the fireplace echoed against the stone walls, and the only other audible sound was the crinkly noises of your book’s pages. 

They had been soaked with water just a day prior, when an entourage of snobby Ravenclaws ‘accidentally’ tipped their goblets over. You were only grateful it wasn’t pumpkin juice, just as they should’ve been grateful that your best friend was there to hold you back from hexing them in front of your professors. 

Everything would have gone red if it weren’t for Regulus. He was always there for you when — wait, where was he? You couldn’t quite remember where he told you he was running off to, only that he had the most shit-eating grin you had ever seen him bear. His pearly-whites were shining ever-so-brightly, and not even the appearance of his parents could dampen his spirit.

Being the most amazing best friend you could be, you didn’t pry and only let him be, ultimately deciding to head down to the common room and read your book in the peace and quiet that came with it. 

“For the love of Merlin, Reg, you’re practically bouncing your leg off,” you had commented during Potions.

Regulus had been spinning his quill between his fingers as if he hadn’t just dipped it into a fresh pot of ink, biting a smile back as he gazed off into the furthest wall of the confined classroom. You were snapping your fingers in an attempt to gain his attention, but your efforts were to no avail. All he did was hum and spit out a “yeah, sure.”

“Have you even been paying attention to any of the instructions?”

“Of course, I have, dimwi—“

And then she walked in. A pretty girl, one of the prettiest you’ve ever seen, with long, luscious, blonde locks cascading down her shoulders and back. You were sure you could run a pine cone through her hair, and it still wouldn’t get tangled. It was like she had some sort of glowy aura radiating all around her.

You hated it.

Correction, you hated the way he looked at her. The way his eyes almost popped straight out of his skull at the mere sight of her undeniable beauty was unbearable for you to watch. 

That’s why he was giggling to himself, you thought to yourself when the whole class went dead silent. Your father shot her a welcoming smile and trotted over to her with his hand extended out. You could make out the small, white paper that the girl held in her hands — oh, Merlin, her hands. They were absolute perfection; her figure itself seemed like it was sculpted by the Gods. 

No wonder Regulus was completely and utterly awestruck.

“Is this the correct class?” Her accent, from what you could tell, was a very thick French accent, a sign that she was from the Beauxbatons Academy. And there was no way you could compete with a Beauxbatons girl. “You are Professor Slughorn, yes?”

Your father nodded his head and led her to the front of the class, “Indeed, I am. You’ve come to the right class! What is your name, dear girl? Go ahead, introduce yourself to the class.”

The girl clasped her hands behind her back as she spoke. Her posture was impeccable, straight enough to hold the whole library on her head if she wished to. Her voice was full of light and confidence, which only added to the already-long list of reasons why your best friend was head-over-heels for her.

“My name is Adaléne, and I am a transfer student from Beauxbatons. Thank you for welcoming me into Hogwarts,” she beamed, her rosy cheeks lifting when she smiled. 

Maybe it was the intensity of your emotions, or maybe it was just the fact that you were a Slytherin, but you were glaring so hard that if looks could kill, she would’ve been six feet underground the second she stepped foot into the Potions classroom.

Your father said a few more things to her and the class, but you had tuned his words out. You only focused back when you felt Regulus’ soft taps on your thigh. Your gaze immediately softened as you looked at him, the sole feeling of his fingers against your leg being enough to bring you down from the rage that was building up inside of you. He nodded towards your dad, who was now looking straight at you with a concerned gaze. 

“Sweetheart, could you and Mister Black fill Adaléne in on the curriculum and the topic for today?” He asked, already bringing the blonde girl over to your table before you had enough time to respond. 

You and Regulus looked like complete opposites, his excited grin contrasting with your deadpan look. For the rest of the class period, you sat there expressionless, watching Regulus and Adaléne flirt with one another. Just watching.

Now, you sat alone on the couch before the fireplace, toying around with your bookmark as your eyes fluttered over the inked words on your pages. Your ears almost perked up when you heard Regulus’ voice trailing through the entrance of the common room, your book becoming the least of your worries. 

You heaved yourself off the green couch and plastered a grin onto your face while you tugged on the knitted sweater you fished from your best friend’s clothes. The sleeves fell just past your fingertips, shielding you from the chilly temperature of the dungeons during wintertime. You opened your mouth to call out the boy’s name, but before a word could leave your mouth, you heard his name leave her mouth.

“Oh, Regulus,” she sighed dreamily, her black Hogwarts robes draping down to her expensive shoes. You could hear her giggle behind her hand, and as soon as the boy’s figure came into your line of sight, your smile dropped.

Regulus had his arm wrapped firmly around her waist, and his face was littered with pink lipstick stains. His cheeks were flushed just as rosy as the color of Adaléne’s lipstick was, and his hair was run rugged from what you could assume was the girl running her hands through his thick curls. Maybe you were jumping to conclusions, but every detail only led you to worse and worse ideas.

You could barely manage to stand there without feeling the urge to vomit or scream. For the few seconds you looked at the two, you saw Regulus’ wide grin when Adaléne cupped his cheeks and beamed up at him, and all you could wonder was why that wasn’t you. 

Your book found its place in your hands, and as quickly as you could, you swiveled on your heel and dashed into your dorm. 

You didn’t even notice the bookmark you dropped, and you definitely didn’t notice Regulus’ regretful, burning gaze piercing through the back of your skull.

[grottylittlefox]

How could I ever forget you? Chapter 16

Sebastian Sallow/Professor Sallow × f!MC / reader

Slow burn/fluff/angst, aged up characters 18-mid 20s

Somehow it had taken until your final day at Hogwarts to finally show Sebastian how you felt, and by then it was too late. Years pass and your distance grows stronger, despite your many efforts for him. A surprise encounter at a new job could change things forever. Finding each other once again at the very place you first met, Hogwarts.

Chapter 1: "I guess this is it"

Chapter 2: "Oh how I missed you"

Chapter 3: "Goodbye, Sebastian"

Chapter 4: " think it's time you move on"

Chapter 5: "Professor Sallow?"

Chapter 6: "Welcome Home"

Chapter 7: "You're my good luck charm"

Chapter 8: "I'm more of a butterfly person"

Chapter 9: “What have you become?”

Chapter 10: “I have something for you”

Chapter 11: “Curious”

Chapter 12: “I can never stay away from you”

Chapter 13: “Meet me in the undercroft”

Chapter 14: “Shall we dance?”

Chapter 15: “Maybe I’m just as messed up as you”

Chapter 16: “I need you”

The Professor cleared her throat as silence echoed the dusty halls, your eyes focused firmly on the ground.

“Professor,” Sebastian acknowledged, in an awkward huff as he barged past her, fading into the darkness ahead.

He had completely abandoned you.

You stood up straight, tucking your hair behind your ear in an attempt to make yourself presentable, as if that would somehow ease the tension.

“Professor Weasley, I-“ your voice trembled.

“It’s none of my business,” she snapped, making you look up at her in pure disbelief. “Just.. clean up this mess, will you?”

Her glance peered over the frame of her glasses at the books scattered by your feet. As you knelt to the floor to retrieve them your eyes met again. The expression of discomfort slapped across her face spoke a thousand words. This wasn’t the mess she was talking about.

~~~

Books in hand, you made your way back across the castle under flickering candlelight, stumbling on the green gown that still hung from your body. By now it was likely very early morning, as this eventful night had dragged on for hours.

As you passed the Great Hall once more, a trickle of light caught your eye, revealing the grand old door to be just slightly ajar. Your curiosity was getting the better of you, as who in Merlin’s name would still be partying at this hour?

Passing through, you were met with the dim empty hall, candles bobbing gently in the night sky overhead, accompanied by quiet twinkling music playing only for one lonely figure that stood by the drinks.

Turned away from you, broad shoulders in that same white shirt rolled up at the forearms, holding a bottle of something that it was far too late to be drinking.

You gently crept in, and slammed the pile of books on the table in front of you, causing him to turn with a shudder.

“Thanks for that,” you stated, glaring at Sebastian. “For just abandoning me in there.”

He took another swig of his drink before wiping the sweat from his forehead and leaning onto the table. His fingertips landing on the books you’d just placed down. His head turned, investigating the titles that graced the covers.

“I did wonder what had taken you to the library at such hour,” his soft lips hummed. “An architectural guide to hogwarts?” He raised an eyebrow, a simmer of a smirk in the corner of his mouth.

“So no apology?” You stood your ground, furious that he’d avoided it the first time.

“That’s your mess, MC. Not mine,” he teased.

You gasped, accidentally letting a chuckle out with it. The audacity of him.

Arms folded, you responded so slyly that anyone would have thought it was you that was in Slytherin.

“A mess you created.”

“And how exactly did I do that?” He leaned in close, once again inhaling the alcohol on his lips. “I didn’t force you to play lovey dovey with Weasley, it’s not my fault you can’t resist me,” a grin plastered across his freckled face.

“Actually you did,” your lips slipped out, instantly realising you’d revealed too much.

“I’m sorry?” He questioned. “I forced you?”

“Enough, Sebastian!” You snapped.

The energy shifted as Sebastian dropped the teasing in an instant, giving you both a moment to breathe.

“MC, I… I don’t know what you mean,” he whispered, gently taking your hand in his. “..but I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for leaving you. For every time I left.”

You heard him place the bottle down onto the table with his other hand, before bringing it to your waist with a protective grip. As you glanced up at him, a wave of warmth passed over you. His deep eyes glistened with pure compassion as they fixed on yours. You didn’t just know he meant it, you felt it.

“Its.. it’s not your fault… Theres some things I need to.. take care of “ you whispered, feeling a little tear forming in the corner of your eye.

“Don’t.. worry about that right now,” he shushed. “Instead…dance with me?”

A smile grew across your lips, as did his to match. Suddenly your felt your feet lift from the ground as Sebastian picked you up into spin, holding you ever so gently as he carried you across the Great Hall. You giggled into each other, never before so comfortable.

As Sebastian placed you back onto the ground, his cheeks beamed a blushing pink, something he was hoping was hidden behind his shadow of stubble. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it felt like he’d been waiting an eternity to hold you like that. To be the one who made you giggle again. To make you his.

Sebastian bowed, offering out his hand to you with a grin.

The thudding in your chest grew louder at a sight you’d only dreamed of, taking place before your very eyes.

“Sebastian,” you chuckled, leaving him standing there, hand still out to you with a puzzled look.

As his lips parted to respond, you leapt forward into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He cradled you in, burying into your shoulder as you pressed against his chest. His familiar scent had you melting at his touch, begging for this moment to last forever. He slowly swept you across the floor, entirely lost in each other as the sunrise began to slowly trickle in. Sending beams of light dancing through the room with you.

“I need you,” he breathed into you, coming to a halt as his pressed his lips against your forehead. His beard tickled against your skin while his large hands drew circles across your back, luring you in to him with every breath.

“Sebastian,” you whispered, stepping back with a smile, resisting the want for him that consumed you. “Go to bed.”

You turned, making your way out of the hall with a blushing smile as you stopped to remove your healed shoes that were burning your tired feet.

Sebastian stood there as he watched you slip away. Analysing the way your body moved with the floating dress behind you. The curves in your hips, the sharp edges of your shoulder blades. He was besotted with you, and practically panting like a puppy.

His sigh echoed across the room as he brought himself back to reality, spinning like a giddy schoolboy. Turning towards the table, he caught eye of the books you’d left there, picking them up rather curiously. Whatever were they for?

~~~

The castle was now buried deep in crisp white snow and fairy lights, it was the last week of term before Christmas break.

A few days had passed since you’d danced with Sebastian under the stars, and unfortunately you hadn’t yet seen Garreth either. The rest of that weekend had clearly been recovery time from the drunken antics of that night, and now Monday had rolled back around faster than ever.

You sat at your usual seat for breakfast that morning, a festive cheer lingered in the air amongst the students all chatting away before you. As you looked out from the professors table, you scanned at every seat for a pile of missing books that you were sure you’d left there a couple of nights prior, but alas they were nowhere to be seen.

Professor Weasley promptly made her entrance, causing you to look away rather shamefully. Just the sight of her had sucked the festive joy right out of you, a hash reminder of the reality you were facing, and the one thing you had to do today.

Holding your spoon, you began prodding at the food on the plate in front of you in order to look busy, hoping that absolutely no one wanted to converse with you, however it seemed you’d be wrong about that as a voice cleared their throat from above your head.

Looking up, a pair of brown smiling eyes were beaming down. Eyes you’d missed dearly since you told them to go to bed.

“Hello, you,” spoke his smooth voice. His hand delicately brushed against yours on the table, ever so subtly that nobody noticed.

You felt your stomach flip as the tingling sensation in your cheeks began to flush. Sebastian clearly noticed this, prompting him to tuck that stray piece of hair behind your ear to see you turn even redder.

“What are you doing?” A shy whisper left your lips as you smiled down, completely baffled that he’d be even remotely affectionate with you in public.

“Asking you to meet me in my office after classes,” Sebastian grinned. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.”

The way he spoke oozed with tease, as if he’d entirely forgotten his life was at stake.

“And why is that?”

“To collect the books you’d forgotten.”

“Oh, of course.”

“And..” he paused. “For something else.”

Chapter 17

[ghosty-0w0]

MASTER POST

What up! Name is Ghost but moots and friends can call me Ghosty! Pronouns are any (Middle of gender crisis) and my sexuality is lesbian! Age: 15

Hyper fixations and tv shows I like:

Rottmnt, owl house, Loki, amphibia, bluey, Scott pilgrim, ducktales, good omens, Heartstopper, the amazing world of gumball and many more!

Sonas: ref sheet :3

(I’m calling it my ref sheet for now maybe I’ll do an actual one with like the full body someday)

100 DITYS

200 DITYS

SECRET DRAW BOX

internet fam

my pfp drawn by @chaos-potat and @qeelovestea

Art:

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

ART TRADES ARE OPEN

Rottmnt human version refs: Mikey, Leo, Donnie, Raph

Cat reactions

Goober turtles: main four, sharkfinn’s and elli’s, averagetmntfan’s, n30nnnl30nn’s, missingleon’s, potatoefwisdom’s, Echo’s, August, Diona’s, qeelovestea’s, icequeenabby’s, afreakingdork’s, clown-froggi’s, bootswiththefurclub’s, daboyau’s

drawing requests: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,

Sketch book tour: 1 and 2

Also I have a reblog account: @ghosty-reblogs-0w0

Rules:

•No nsfw and stuff like that I am a minor and it makes me feel icky

(Probably will update rules later cause I can’t think of any more)

TIME TRAVELER LEO AU

Chapter one-the disappearance: Chapter cover, Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four

Chapter two- look the past to find the future: Chapter cover, Part one, Part two, Part three,

co author/illustrator is @taffycandyqt!!

Just trying to save New York City from the foot clan when Leo accidentally gets time traveling powers and disappears. What will happen next?

(On going)

[signed-sapphire]

The Fallen Star ✨ Wish Reimagined

Chapter 3 - The roses

Tw: nightmare, fire, small prick I guess? it's a thorn, swearing as always, it's Asha and by that I mean it's me

Chapter 2

Asha is burning.

She's screaming, she's being crushed. The crackling of fire echoes in her ears, drowning out her own cries.

Everything is bright, but there's a single pair of eyes staring at her from behind the flames.

(Imagine something like this shot from The Owl House)

The creature tilts its head, its expression unreadable. It emits a series of musical tones, like a melody woven from starlight and moonbeams. Asha feels a strange pull, as if the creature is trying to communicate with her through some arcane language she can't quite grasp.

The roof caves in and crashes down, obscuring Asha's view of the figure. The collapse pushes the rubble further into Asha, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

Someone pulls the rubble off her. She wants to yell. Watch out! You'll get crushed too!

They say something. Asha can't hear them. She wants to reach out. Stay with me. The words are on the tip of her tongue. Her throat is parched.

Don't go back in! she wants to cry. Someone's in there!

Why are you leaving me—

She wakes with a gasp, something flat and wet catching the inside of her mouth.

Asha hacks. Valentino had accidentally licked her tongue.

She wipes her tongue and takes a moment so her eyes adjust to the darkness. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, she can make out the familiar details of her bedroom. But with it, she can also see the memories of the dream, crisp and fresh in her mind.

The feeling of panic, of helplessness... she won't be able to fall back asleep, not with the echoes of their screams still haunting her.

This was bullshit. She shouldn't be affected this much by a stupid book. It was just a light.

Asha gets up. She does not tremble.

She unties her hair scarf. Valentino raises his head, his cheek fluff smushed flat from the blanket.

Asha smiles softly and pets his velvety ear. Val bleats quietly, and Asha kisses his forehead.

"Stay here, baby," she whispers, grabbing her cloak. “I’m going for a walk. I'll be back in a bit. Go back to bed, okay?”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The air is cold, but the crispness is a shock to her system that Asha desperately needs. She decides to head to the gardens.

She smiles softly as she remembers the gardens of her childhood. They had roses there, too. Asha used to paint the white ones red.

Red like fire.

Asha hurries on.

She tucks her hands inside her cloak pockets as she walks across the checkered-grass floor. Asha stops at a pocket of daffodils, walking between them and sitting down, careful not to disturb the petals.

Asha watches the flowers dance in the wind, effortless and elegant. She brushes her hand along a row of them.

Right before she reaches the end, she pricks her hand on a thorn. Asha swears under her breath, pushing back the flowers to see a single strewn white rose laying amongst the crowd.

Asha picks it up and stares at it in distain. At a glance one might gloss over it. Even now, a drop of crimson blood painting the petals, the rose blended in quite well with the daffodils.

But up close, it wasn't fooling anyone.

Asha plucks off the petals and tosses away the thorny stem, watching the wind carry the petals... and something else, too. A quiet conversation, approaching Asha's location.

“Baz, I told you, it’s fine, Dahlia just wanted us all there.”

“Argh, but what if we get caught?” came the responding whisper. “Safi, I– I–”

“Hey, breathe,” Safi whispered. “We’re al– a– ACHOO! Why are there so many flowers?”

“Hehe. We’re in a garden…”

“Heh. Made you laugh.”

Asha rolls her eyes and makes her way out of the flowers, making sure her footsteps are heavy enough to catch their attention.

“Eep! Your nose gives away your lies! Hide, Safi!”

“Oof!”

Asha rounds the corner, and Bazeema hides her face as the bush next to her sneezes.

"Ah. Bashful. What are you doing here?” Asha asks, entertaining the other girl’s silly fantasy.

Bazeema peeks open her eyes and lowers her hands. “H-hi, princess. I- I –”

“Speak properly.”

“I–” The girl swallows. “I like to come to the gardens to get inspiration for my designs,” Bazeema squeaks out. “I’m a weaver. My hijab this morning– I made it myself. I’m actually really proud of the design–”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I don’t care,” Asha says. “What are you doing out at this time?”

Bazeema blinks. “I, um… couldn’t sleep. I was worried about Hal.”

“Pfft. Worried?” Asha smirks.

Bazeema looks firmly at the princess. “Yes," she whispers.

Asha frowns. “Right. Uh. Sorry... that your friend is now depressed.”

“Hal has been through a lot, and yet she still smiles. It’s… a trait I admire about her.” Bazeema’s face takes on a wistful look.

Asha is about to respond, but then the bush sneezes again.

“Welp! Time to go, oh I am rather exhausted! Maybe I need that spindle idea of yours!” Bazeema peeps, ushering Asha out of the gardens. “Thank you for gracing me with your presence, princess! Sweet dreams!”

The gates slam in her face.

Asha blinks.

She entertains the idea of throwing Bazeema out the castle windows.

(Can't find the gif, but Bazeema is the old man that Emperor Asha would punish for throwing off her groove)

“So, you admire Hal, huh?”

“Oh, shush, Safi!”

The sound of footsteps retreat. Asha pushes open the gates.

“That was shady,” Asha says, pulling her cloak hood over her hair and shadowing the two teens.

She sneakily follows the two teens to the chicken coop. She peeks around the corner to see the seven teens holding candles and quietly catching Bazeema up to speed.

“I fell asleep in while cleaning my dad’s armour, and I heard something." Sleepy's voice.

“It nearly killed me!” Gabo huffs. “Abuela told me to go see what was causing a ruckus. That could've been the last she saw of me!”

“Baaaaa!”

Asha covers her mouth with her hand to silence her yelp as Valentino pops up beside her. “Jeez, baby! You scared me!” Asha whispers, pulling the goat close.

Dario signs something, not paying attention to the conversation.

“We trapped it inside the coop, but it’s scaring all the chickens,” Safi says worriedly.

I think they're performing an opera, Dario signs, grinning.

Gabo stares in disappointment at his friend, then moves on. “That’s why we sent you to get Bazeema. You’re worrying about the birds too much when you’re here,” he grumbles to Safi. “They’ll be fine.”

“The chickens probably think it’s a fun surprise,” Hal offers. “They sound like they’re having fun.”

“And why wake us all up for this?” Dahlia yawns. “Dario, put the soap down. Where did you even get that?”

It flew out of the coop! Dario grins. He signs with one hand, spelling out some words since the other hand is occupied with holding the bar of soap. I think the chickens laid it. It smells like apple. Hey, do you think this is related to the S-

"Dario, for the last time, spoons cannot be ingested," Dahlia says, massaging her temples while Safi takes the soap from a frowning Dario.

Simon looks nervous. “Well… my papa’s one of the bookkeepers for the castle. I think I know what’s in there—”

Suddenly, Valentino wriggles out of Asha's grasp.

"Valentino!" Asha whisper-shouts as the goat and runs towards the teens. Dario notices the blur of fluff heading towards him and stumbles back, dropping his candle and colliding with Simon, who's already snoring against the wall.

The impact shakes the wooden support beam, and a pile of baskets falls down on Dario’s head. Bazeema yelps and swats at the baskets, crashing into Safi behind her.

The two fall down, almost knocking over Dahlia, but Gabo pulls her out of the way and stomps out the fire Dario's candle lit.

"Okay, spy! Reveal yourself before I do something I won't regret!" Gabo snaps. Dahlia shushes him.

Asha rolls her eyes and pulls down her hood, stepping into the light. The teens' eyes widen, and they scramble up, quickly dropping into a bow.

All except Dario, that is. He was still peering into the chicken coop.

Hal pulls her friend into a bow.

(I can't find a picture but it's like that part in the movie where the seven teens bowed down to Queen Amaya)

"Threatening a royal, Grumpy?" Asha tuts. "Keep it up and I'll have your friend's precious chickens filleted."

Gabo snarls, but stays quiet.

"Now, care to tell me why you stole my goat?" Asha asks. "And what are you doing by the chicken coops when you should be sleeping?"

"None of your royal business," Gabo mutters.

Suddenly, a burst of sparkles poofs out from the crack under the coop's door.

Safi kicks over a pile of baskets. "Whoops! I am so- so-- ACHOO!" The baskets kicked up some hay in the air. "I am so clumsy!" he laughs awkwardly, sniffling.

"What are you hiding?" Asha demands.

"Nothing! And no one!" Safi says quickly.

"Well, we should all head to bed! You too, princess, your otousan would be very cross if he saw you out this late!" Dahlia smiles, moving to direct Asha away.

There's another poof, and a discord of musical instruments.

"Magnus?" Asha scoffs. "I can deal with my adopted father. Now out of the way."

Dahlia looks desperately at her friends. Asha storms past her, shoving away Hal when she tries to stop her.

The princess yanks open the wooden door. Inside the coop is a crazy sight.

Dario smirks, self-satisfied.

Chickens, dancing, doing ballet

Angry chickens in bisexual lighting

Chickens, shooting out eggs out of PG-hidden cloacas

Chickens, juggling their eggs

And in the center, conducting them all...

The thing was round, with eyes shaped like a sparkle and an oval respectively, five points sticking out of it like little limbs.

Exactly like the symbol on the spellbook in Magnifico’s study.

“Oh, fucking hell," Asha swears.

Author's Notes

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I hated writing this. I was just stuck, and then I was like, fuck it, I'm posting it because the next chapter I'm really excited to write. Because if I add more, then the cut-off would be... too harsh? I don't know. My phone is broken so I can't create gifs right now akjdkjajksjskjksaj fuck it. Post.

Btw, Star in The Fallen Star looks like this:

With a sparkle on the (our) left and a "regular" oval for the other eye on out right.

GET READY! THIS CHAPTER SUCKED BUT THE NEXT ONE SOMETHING BIG HAPPENS AND IT IS A LONG ONE!

Me to my own writing

[rose-of-the-grave]

Two Can Share

Pairing: Gwyn x Azriel

Hey! I hope you like this. I'm the author(please don't repost)

Masterlist. Read on Ao3

Warnings: kissing, mating bond, getting together, drinking

Word Count: 2,775

Description: After having a little too much to drink Gwyn accidentally stumbles into the wrong room.

Gwyn stumbled through the hallway to her room, drunk giggles echoing from the room she had just left. Tripping over thin air, she reached an arm out to steady herself against the wall. She tried to keep walking but ended up kicking something solid. Cursing, she shook her foot. Trying to dislodge the pain. She had run into the stairs. Hesitantly she took a shaky step. Then another. And another. She kept on climbing the stairs, pausing whenever she felt dizzy. Which was nearly every step.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she made it to the top. And was faced with what seemed to be an endless hallway. She couldn’t focus enough to even see the end of the hallway.

She walked, or more aptly stumbled down the hallway. She counted the doors on her right. Or wait, on her left. Normally she slept in the dormitories with the other priestesses but Nesta had offered her a permanent room to stay in.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. 

There it was. Or wait, was it seven doors down? Oh, who cares. It’s not like any of the rooms were occupied. Emerie and Nesta were still downstairs drinking. Cassian was in the capital and Az was on a mission.

Right. Azriel. He’d been gone for weeks. All she knew was that he was in Vallahan gathering information for the High Lord. She missed him so much. She missed their late night practice sessions, she missed talking with him, she missed spending time with him. Every night when she couldn’t sleep she had been going to the practice ring and had gone through the same motions he had been teaching her before he left. The stars glittering above her, the moon illuminating her surroundings so didn’t trip. She missed him.

She missed his smile, and although he rarely did it, his laugh. She missed the way his eyes would light up whenever she got something right. She missed how at ease she was when she was with him. Over the last few months they had become friends. And maybe, just maybe, they were on their way to becoming something more. She needed to see him. She loved him.

No. Those thoughts were what had prompted her to indulge so much tonight. What she needed was sleep. Lots and lots of sleep. Maybe in the morning she’d feel better prepared to take on her traitorous thoughts.

Twisting the handle to her room, she entered her room. There in the middle of it was a bed. A great big bed that looked so welcoming and cozy. Without changing she plopped down on the bed, face down. Reaching up she grabbed and hugged her pillow. Turning over onto her side, she promptly fell asleep.

The minute Gwyn opened the door, he had awoken. Not because his shadows had warned him, the little traitors, but because he had been having difficulty sleeping. In his exhausted state he hadn’t been able to speak. He watched as she fell face down on his bed, readjusted, and then fell asleep. Careful not to wake the sleeping figure, he slid out of bed. He pulled on some clothes.

Sighing, he dragged a hand down his face. Walking over to the chair in the corner of his bedroom he picked up the book he had been reading earlier. Placing a pair of glasses that had been enchanted to allow him to see in the dark on his face, he opened the book to where he had stopped.

He read for a few hours until his vision started to blur and he regretted not finding somewhere else to sleep. Determined to be more alert he put the book down and stood up. His muscles groaned at him.

Walking to the kitchen he made some coffee and a scone that had been made yesterday. Nuala and Cerridwen had probably made them. He bit into it, swallowing it down with the bitter taste of the coffee.

When he got back to his room Gwyn had sprawled across the massive bed. Her red hair was the only indication of where her head was underneath the blankets. By this point rays of golden light were peaking over the mountains in the distance, illuminating Velaris. Pale light streamed through the windows of Azriel's room. The light brought out the strands of gold in Gwyn’s hair, it looked like golden flames, licking against his sheets. If anyone had asked him his opinion on fire it would have been decidedly negative but any comparison of Gwyn’s hair to flames seemed to ignite a warmth in his heart.

His love for the priestess had not been a lightning strike, stunning him into silence. It had been a slow realization that had crept up on him over the last few months of spending more and more time together. At first they had bumped into each other when neither could sleep but after it became obvious that their insomnia was not going away, he had suggested they train at night. It would allow him to teach her his more specific skill set and gave him the opportunity to take his mind off of the previous few months, particularly Solstice.

Over time their late night training sessions became the best part of his day, the part he looked forward to the most.

Just as his love had grown for Gwyn, so too had his hesitancy to tell her how he felt. This wasn’t the first time he had been in love, or at least thought himself in love and look how that had turned out. He had been obsessed with Mor for centuries and it took him just that long to admit what he had long known. She didn’t see him like that. It had hurt at first, but the signs had all been there, he had simply ignored them.

After meeting his High Lady’s older sisters, he had also found someone new. Elain, the middle sister, was everything kind and gentle and it had been difficult to believe himself worthy of her. It had been only right that she be his mate. Her younger sister and her older sister were both mated to his brothers. Three brothers for three sisters. But like Mor, he was just ignoring all signs to the contrary. When the youngest Vanserra had said those fateful words in Hybern it had hurt but it also felt like everything clicked.

How could Elain be his mate? He wasn’t worthy of her and he never could be. 

That night when they kissed and then Rhys had stopped them had only been about attraction. If he was being honest, when his brother and High Lord had told him to stay away from Elain his issue hadn’t been that he didn’t want to stay away from Elain so much as it had been that it had been Rhys telling him to. It had felt like a confirmation of his own darkest thoughts. That he wasn’t good enough.

In the months following everything had been so busy that he hadn’t had time to really think about that night. Then, like a ray of light in the darkness, came Gwyn. They had already been friends for a while at that point but things had changed between them. When he started training her their friendship deepened to the point where he realized that his infatuations with Mor and Elain had been just that. Infatuation.

There were times he supposed when he thought that there might be something more between him and Gwyn. Almost as if he was being drawn to her by something not quite of this world. He didn’t dare to hope that it was the mating bond. It was probably just his imagination.

“What are you thinking about with that intense look on your face?” Gwyn’s words were enough to shock him out of his thoughts.

He had been looking out into the distance, unfocused, but now all of his attention was on the veritable goddess who lay in his bed, wrapped in sheets. Her auburn hair created the impression of a halo above her angelic face. Her eyes met his and he smiled. She returned for a split second before she groaned.

“Ow! My head.” He chuckled. “It’s not funny!”

“No, it’s not.” He assured her, still smirking.

“Quiet. Please. Too loud.”

Lowering his voice a bit, he said, “I’ll get you some water.”

“No. Coffee.”

“Sure. I’ll be back soon.” He made to leave when the sound of a mug appearing on the bedside table reached his ears. Looking back, he saw Gwyn sipping what appeared to be coffee from a blue mug that he distinctly recalled being down in the kitchen last he checked. It looked as if Nesta hadn’t been lying when she said that the House was sentient.

“Why are you in my room?” She asked, blowing the steam rising from the mug nestled between her hands.

“I think you mean what are you doing in my room.”

“What?”

“This is my room.”

Looking around the room Gwyn saw that it was indeed his room. All of a sudden last night came back to her in a flash. Drinking with Nesta and Emerie. Leaving to go to her room. Stumbling into bed. Drunk Gwyn could have easily miscounted the rooms. But she could have just as easily been trying to do what Sober Gwyn desperately wanted to.

At least Az didn’t think anything of it. He just found her predicament amusing. How would he react if she told him that what she wanted most, enough that her subconscious was meddling, was him? She wasn’t blind. She had seen him with her friend’s younger sister. Nesta herself had mentioned it in passing about the two of them.

Pushing the blankets off of herself, she stood up. Still holding her coffee she walked towards the door. Towards him. He walked with her, opening the door.

She turned to look at him with a soft smile.

“Thanks for letting me stay here. It was the best sleep I’ve had in weeks.” Then, without giving herself time to think, she stretched up onto the tips of her toes and brushed her lips gently against his cheek before walking through the door. She left him there stunned. Lifting a hand to his cheek, he let his fingertips graze the very spot where her soft lips had kissed him.

He stood there, rooted to the spot, amazed.

Before he could even come up with a plan for what to say he ran out of his room and down the hall, chasing Gwyn.

At the sound of his rushed steps she turned around to face him.

“What…?” Before she could finish what she was going to say he took her face in his hands and kissed her.

He poured every emotion, every feeling of longing that he’d ever felt for her into that kiss. Her smile flashing before his eyes. He didn’t care that he probably didn’t deserve her. He loved her and he was going to tell her in the only way he could without having a way out if things went south. At least if she rejected his kiss he could pretend it never happened. He didn’t quite think he could if he voiced how he felt for her and then she rejected him.

But then, something magical happened. She kissed him back! He smiled into the kiss causing them to break apart. Gazing intently into her eyes he leaned in to kiss her cheek before walking away. Her hand somehow entwined with his pulled him back.

Smiling at her he knew that they would need to talk later.

“Kiss me.”

Fuck that, later can wait.

She leaned in and this time her hands crept up into his hair pulling him down. He met her kiss with equally as much passion and need. All too aware of their surroundings thanks to his shadows he pulled away once more and led her into a room that just happened to be a library. It was a small, cozy room with a few shelves of books, a comfortable looking couch, and a fireplace that warmed up the room deliciously.

He walked them backwards towards the couch, his lips never leaving hers except to come up for air. They tumbled back onto the couch, giggling like a pair of horny teenagers. In that moment he needed to tell her. 

Pulling away to look in her lovely face, he smiled at her low whine. Taking her face in his hands he said those three little words that he had never said to anyone before. He might have wanted to but he had never screwed up enough courage to. She made him feel like he could be brave.

“I love you.”

Her eyes flashed with some unknown emotion.

He hoped this wasn’t a mistake.

“You don’t have to say that.” She said, not meeting his gaze.

Lifting her chin with his hand, he said, “I mean it.” He wanted her to believe him. He wanted her to feel just how much his love for her had consumed him. “I love you with all my heart. With every breath I take, with every beat of my heart. I love you.”

She smiled softly. “I love you too.”

Then leaning up she kissed him, slowly and sweetly. Taking one of his hands in hers she placed it on her hip. Deepening the kiss, she bit his lip. Growling, he took control twisting them so he was above her, careful not to put his full weight on her.

“Is this okay?”

Instead of responding she simply drew him even closer. 

They were so wrapped up in each other that they didn’t even notice the time until Rhys spoke into Azriel’s mind.

Where are you? You’re already five minutes late.

He shot back a quick, be there in a minute. Before pulling away from Gwyn, regrettably.

“I’m supposed to be in a meeting with Rhys right now.”

She frowned but urged him, “Go. Don’t keep him waiting longer. I have to get back to the library soon anyway.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

“Can I see you after?”

“Sure. I should be finished in time for our usual late night training sessions. I can meet you in the training ring?”

Not wanting to push her he simply nodded instead of asking if she wanted to meet him here instead where they could maybe talk instead of practice.

“Or,” she continued, playing with a strand of her hair instead of looking at him. “I could meet you in your room and we could talk?”

His heart warmed at her words. “Of course.” Getting up from the couch, he walked over to the door and was about to leave when he looked back at her. “I’ll see you then.” His voice, full of promise.

--------------------------------------------------

After sorting through books and reshelving for what had felt like hours Gwyn was finally free to go. Walking along the hallway to Az’s room she couldn’t help but grin. He loved her.

The door opened the instant she went to knock.

He smiled at her, opening the door wider so she could come in. The door hadn’t even closed full before she was back in his arms kissing him. Walking together, they fell on his bed. After kissing for a while, she pulled away to catch her breath. Her eyes met his and that’s when she saw it. He looked at her in awe, lifting a hand to her cheek, cupping it almost reverently. A thread of gold streamed between them, binding their two hearts together. It didn’t feel surprising, it felt like she had always known. In an instant she saw every interaction between them in a whole different light. Every time she had felt inexplicably drawn to him now made sense. Her entire world had been spinning but now it had snapped into focus.

Was this how it felt for his brothers? He wondered. He was overwhelmed with his love for her. It was the most amazing feeling in the world to realize that Gwyn was his mate. He was destined to be with the person who he was in love with. No more heartache, no more wishing for a mate. He had never felt luckier.

Breaking the silence he asked, “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

“Yes, but only if you actually sleep in the bed tonight.”

He blushed.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“And I’m grateful but from now on, the two of us can share. That is, if you want to.”

“I would love to.”

“Then it’s settled.”

[soylent-crocodile]

Bohf-bwam (Monster)

(Book of Hours, Flanders; kept in Baltimore, in the Walters Art Museum)

(This is a very old one, created years ago when I first saw this amazing piece of medieval art. I did some minor edits to their statblock, and completely redid their description- they were originally just "no one knows where they come from or what they're thinking, they just cause violence". Nowadays I try to ensure that every creature I make has some kind of story hook to it, rather than being a prepackaged Random Encounter. Enjoy!)

Bohf-bwam are chaotic, violent creatures that spawn in places with high magic potential and a particular veneration for weaponry and martial prowess- typically forming with a hand gripped tightly around a specific and well-adored weapon. Most often they form in the great halls of castles, wielding a displayed ancestral weapon, although more low-tech societies may accidentally create them in camps or villages. Indeed, the bohf-bwam pest problem is hypothesized to be a reason why so many "barbarian" cultures have an aversion to arcane magic, as their love of weaponry can easily produce large groups of these creatures when mixed with magic.

A bohf-bwam's violence is erratic, instinctual, and unplanned; these fits may come and go, and the subject of their violence is typically whatever or whoever is close to them. It is not unheard of for bohf-bwams to be tamed, somehow, by a particularly kind and affectionate person, and such creatures will focus their violent rage on defending the subject of their attention, becoming peaceful- even friendly- in other situations.

Particularly powerful magic weapons may spawn larger, more powerful bohf-bwam. Such creatures gain the Giant and Advanced simple template and lose the oversized weapon ability. Many gain additional spell-like abilities relevant to their weapon- a bohf-bwam wielding a +1 Flaming Sword may have the ability to cast Fireball 1/day, for example.

A small bipedal reptile-like creature scurries forward, a hand wielding an axe where its head would be.  Misc- CR2 CN Small Aberration HD3 Init:+2 Senses: Blind, Blindsense 90ft Perception:+2 Aura: Aura of Martiality 30ft Stats- Str:15(+2) Dex:15(+2) Con:12(+1) Int:4(-3) Wis:6(-2) Cha:13(+1) BAB:+2 Space: 2.25ft Reach:5ft Defense- HP:16 (3d8+3) AC:15 (+1 Size, +2 Dex, +2 Natural) Fort:+3 Ref:+3 Will:+3 CMD:13 Immunity: Dazed, Dazzled, Stunned, Confused Special Defenses: Fast Healing 1 Offense- mwk Handaxe +6 (1d6+3) CMB:+2 Speed:20ft Special Attacks: Proficiency with All Martial Weapons Feats- Iron Will, Power Attack Skills- Intimidate +5, Knowledge (local) +1, Perception +2 Spell-like Abilities-  Spiritual Weapon 3/day Special Qualities- Oversized Weapons, Spiritual Echo Ecology- Environment- Any Languages- Aklo (Cannot speak) Organization- Solitary Treasure- None (mwk handaxe) Special Abilities- Aura of Martiality (Su)- Creatures affected by a bohf-bwam’s aura must make a DC13 Will save or be compelled to use any available melee weapon, as opposed to spells and abilities, natural weapons, or ranged weapons, in combat. This is a compulsion effect and the save is hit die based. Aberrations and creatures with intelligence 2 or less are immune to this effect. Oversized Weapons (Ex)- A bohf-bwam wields weapons as though they were a size larger than they are. Spiritual Echo (Sp)- The weapon created by a bohf-bwam’s Spiritual Weapon spell-like ability takes the form of whatever weapon the bohf-bwam is currently wielding in its head-hand. If it is not weilding a weapon, it cannot use its spell-like ability.

[morningstargirl666]

WIP WEDNESDAY

In a completely unsurprising turn of events, my rewrite of tbbw's chapter 5 had to be split into 2 chapters because I've added so much. So the old chapter 5's contents are now chapter 5 and 6. Here's a snippet from the new chapter 6:

“Oh my god, she’s inviting him to the Ball,” Caroline exclaimed, eyes popping between Rebekah and Matt, watching as the former smiled demurely, placing a hand on Matt’s arm and swear-to-God giggling at something he said. That snake. She spun to Elena, outraged. “Why is she inviting him?”

Elena glared at Rebekah from her seat, the anger in her eyes fading a little to make way for resignation. “Probably to get this reaction from us.”

“Urgh!” Caroline huffed, leaning back with a scowl on her face, folding her arms over her chest. “What day is this stupid dance again?”

Elena turned towards her, eyes hopeful. “You’ll come?”

Caroline rolled her eyes, still glaring at where Rebekah stood. “I’m not leaving you and Matt to those vipers.”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, Caroline,” Elena said softly, looking worried. “I mean, if Klaus invited you…won’t he expect you to dance with him?”

“It’s like you said, he’s following his mum’s rules right? I should be fine. ” 

“Still, I get it if you want to bow out.”

“Not a chance,” Caroline declared firmly, offering Elena her first smile of the afternoon. “Besides, do you know how jealous Courtney will be if I go to this Ball while she’s not even invited?”

Elena’s face broke open in a grin, laughing a little. “Is she the one that-”

“That saw Klaus pick up Rebekah from school that one time and has been thirsting after him ever since? Yep,” Caroline finished for her, eyes widening to show how truly ridiculous she thought her classmate’s crush was. “I mean, objectively, I get it-” Who didn’t? Even Caroline could admit Klaus was hot. Just more in the I-kill-people-and-I-look-good-doing-it kinda way. “-but has she never heard of the phrase don’t judge a book by its cover? Or stranger danger?” 

“Clearly not,” Elena mused with a smile, picking up her menu again.

Caroline huffed, leaning down to take another sip of her coke. “And what’s worse,” she continued, talking around her straw, “she said she met one of the other brothers yesterday morning in the town square and will not stop TALKING about it.”

Elena’s brows flickered with confusion. “Elijah?”

Caroline shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. She said he looked our age, maybe a little older. Apparently she-” hear Caroline held up her fingers to make air quotes, “-‘accidentally’ bumped into him and he was totally flirting with her, and then they shared this ‘moment’-” Elena opened her mouth, no doubt to ask what Courtney meant by ‘moment’ but Caroline had already lived through Courtney’s nauseating retelling of their make out session against the wall of the Grill and she was not repeating it. “-don’t even ask - where she pointed out he had a bit of ketchup smeared on the edge of his mouth.” 

When Caroline stopped talking, staring at Elena, clearly waiting for a reaction, her friend blinked, looking lost.

“So?”

“So?” Caroline echoed, throwing her hands out in frustration. “Elena, it clearly wasn’t ketchup.”

Elena’s eyes widened in realisation. “You think it was blood.”

“That family? With their record?” Caroline scoffed, leaning back with her head held high. “I know it was blood.”

“Kol’s not one for table manners, I’m afraid,” Rebekah announced, joining their conversation. Caroline flinched a little at her sudden appearance behind her - why was it, she could be so loud in those heels when she walked away but so silent when sneaking up behind them? Dramatic bitch.

“Were you listening in?” she asked to hide her unease. “Creeper.”

Rebekah shot her a smile that was all fake pleasantries and masked murderous intent. “Only when you started gossiping about the bachelorhood of my brothers.” She tilted her head, eyes raking over Caroline, silently judging her. “To think I once respected your taste in men.”

“Hey,” Caroline spat, jabbing a finger in the Original vampire’s direction, “Courtney is the one gossiping, not me.”

Rebekah’s nose scrunched up with disgust, familiar with their dark-haired classmate who was a particular breed of rich who thought every new trend was the height of social status. At the moment, the girl was on some vegan diet she’d found on a guy’s blog and bragging about the advantages of goat yoga.

“Kol was flirting with Courtney? I very much doubt that.”

Caroline sent her most saccharine smile back, the one that was all politeness but said in my head, I’m stabbing you in the eye with a hot poker. “Maybe your brother’s just shallow, like you.”

Rebekah’s face dropped, lips twisting into a sneer.

Elena awkwardly cleared her throat, shooting Caroline a warning glare. “Kol? That’s his name, then? Your brother?” she asked Rebekah, diverting her deadly attention from Caroline. 

When Caroline didn’t back down, merely raising her chin higher in challenge, something relented in Rebekah’s eyes and slowly, she turned to Elena, even though she glanced back at Caroline with a contemplative look on her face from time to time.

“Finn’s the eldest. Kol though, he’s younger than Klaus. Older than me. I’m sure you’ll meet them both soon, or Kol will eat you,” she said with a smile at Elena, turning to walk away, this time to leave the Grill, heels clicking behind her. “Whichever comes first, he’s not one to play by my mother’s rules.”

“Elijah won’t stand for it!” Elena shouted after her, as determined as Caroline to get in the last word.

Neither saw Rebekah’s smirk.

“As long as Kol isn’t setting the house fire,” she called back over her shoulder, “I doubt my dear older brother will care.”

[faintedlcve]

False Fronts IV

part 4 of 4

angst version.

i am absolutely owing my life to @berryzxx bc this bitch (/pos) has given me all my ideas like this wouldn't even exist if it weren't for her also sorry for how late this is?!? i had writers block and then i was packing up to leave uni and go back home woohoo sorry if i accidentally made it third person halfway through bc im stupid

sorry for the wait hope this makes up for it!! didn't wanna release angst and fluff at too different times bc i don't hate you people

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

warnings: angst angsty angst angst gut wrenching heart breaking angst, arguments (oohOOHOoH) swearing, not so fake dating (but are they?), the and y/n being idiots, not a happy ending, not proof read (as usual) and my writing

summary: being asked to fake date someone to get a petty ex off their back is the worst possible way of being friend-zoned. you, however, were willing to take any chances to get as close as you could to theodore nott.

im not that mean, the fluffy version can be found here.

once again these beautiful dividers have been created by @cafekitsune!! you can find these exact dividers in a wider range of colours here!

word count: 1.7k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4: fluff

The tension between you and Theo had been brewing for days, each passing moment adding weight to the unspoken emotions that hung heavily in the air. Unable to bear the silence any longer, you initiated the conversation, the frustration and confusion evident in your voice.

"Theo, can we talk?" you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and determination.

He glanced up from his book, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. "Sure, what's up?"

"It's about us," you began cautiously, the words feeling heavier than you'd anticipated. "I feel like there's something here, between us. But I'm confused about where you stand."

Theo's expression flickered, a fleeting mixture of uncertainty and conflict clouding his features. "I don't know if diving into a relationship right now is the best idea."

"But this isn't just about a relationship," you insisted, your voice rising in exasperation. "It's about acknowledging what's been brewing between us, Theo."

He sighed, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "I'm not sure what I want, Y/N. It's complicated."

"Complicated?" You scoffed, the frustration simmering within you. "What's so complicated about being honest?"

"Why can't you understand?" Theo's voice rose, mirroring your frustration. "I don't want to mess things up and end up causing you pain."

"You're not getting it!" Your voice echoed in the charged atmosphere. "I need to know where we stand, and your indecision isn't helping."

Theo's reluctance grated on your nerves, fueling the intensity of the argument. "I need you to be honest with me, Theo. I can't keep waiting for something that might never happen!"

"I know, but I'm conflicted," he admitted, his tone wavering.

Frustration boiled within you. "Conflicted about what? Us?"

His gaze shifted away, a mix of guilt and concern clouding his features. "I... I don't want Jess to hurt you."

"I can handle Jess, she isn't your responsibility," you asserted firmly, the frustration simmering beneath your words.

"You don't get it, do you?" Theo's voice cut through the tension, edged with frustration. "She's MY ex."

His words stung, and the heat of the argument intensified. "And that gives you the right to dictate what's good for me?" you shot back, your voice rising in indignation.

"Look, I'm just trying to protect you," Theo retorted, his tone laced with urgency.

"Protect me? From what?" Your voice rose, the frustration boiling over. "I can handle my own affairs, Theo. I don't need you deciding what's best for me!"

The tension crackled between you, each word spoken a testament to the underlying emotions that had escalated into a heated argument. The clash of opinions and conflicting desires hung heavily in the charged atmosphere, leaving the potential relationship teetering on the edge of uncertainty. The anticipation in the room was suffocating.

Days stretched into weeks, and the awkward distance between you and Theo became the new norm. Despite the avoidance, every accidental encounter sent a rush of conflicting emotions through you. Butterflies danced in your stomach, a bittersweet reminder of the connection you once shared, now lost in a fog of misunderstanding.

Each time your paths crossed, the unresolved tension simmered beneath the surface. The silent longing for resolution battled with the ache of hurt and confusion, leaving you caught in a turmoil of emotions whenever Theo came into view.

The avoidance hadn't dulled the effect he had on you. His presence was still magnetic, drawing your attention despite the unspoken rift that divided you both. The simple sight of him evoked a rush of emotions, a testament to the bond you once shared and the rift that now tore you apart.

With every passing moment, the yearning for clarity clashed with the fear of confronting the situation, leaving you entangled in a web of unresolved emotions and unspoken apologies, the butterflies a painful yet undeniable reminder of the connection you couldn't seem to sever.

Summoning your courage, you approached Theo's dorm, determined to offer an overdue apology. A hesitant knock resulted in eerie silence. Unsure of Theo's whereabouts, you glanced around the deserted hallway, your resolve mingling with uncertainty.

Taking a tentative step forward, you reached for the doorknob, finding it unlocked. The decision to enter felt both intrusive and necessary. The room was devoid of life, the emptiness echoing the void that had developed between you and Theo.

Your gaze drifted to Theo's desk, where a single piece of paper lay. The handwriting was unmistakable, sending a jolt of emotions through you as you read the words:

Last night was so fun, so glad you dropped Y/N.

- Jess

Disbelief and a pang of deception ricocheted through you. The words were like a gut punch, shattering the fragile hope you had held for reconciliation and understanding. Confusion clouded your thoughts as you grappled with the apparent evidence before you.

Your mind raced, attempting to process the meaning behind Jess's note. It seemed to confirm your worst fears, undermining the fragile trust you had in the situation and leaving your heart aching with the weight of assumed betrayal.

With tear-filled eyes and a heavy heart, you turned away, the intention of offering an apology now replaced by a swirl of hurt. The unaddressed misunderstanding had taken root, poisoning the hope for amends and leaving you in a cloud of uncertainty and hurt.

Approaching Theo with a determined stride, you took a deep breath before speaking. "Can we talk?" you requested, your tone indicating the urgency of the matter.

Theo nodded, a mix of apprehension and curiosity in his eyes. "Sure, what's up?"

Without further ado, you gently pulled Theo out into the corridor, seeking a bit of privacy before diving into the conversation. "What's going on?" you asked, urgency evident in your voice.

Theo's brow furrowed in response, confusion evident in his expression. "What do you mean?"

In response, you reached into your pocket, retrieving the note. Holding it up for Theo to see, you arched an eyebrow, your gaze fixed on his face.

"What's this?" Theo questioned, puzzled.

"You tell me," you replied, your tone laced with a hint of accusation and urgency.

Theo's eyes widened as he caught sight of the note, a mix of shock and confusion crossing his features. "I… I don't know," he stammered, genuine bewilderment resonating in his voice.

The weight of the moment hung heavily between you, the note acting as a stark reminder of the rift that had developed. A tense silence pervaded the corridor, each passing moment thick with unspoken tension, the truth seemingly just out of reach.

Amidst Theo's genuine confusion and your distress, the mystery behind the note remained unsolved, leaving both of you ensnared in a cloud of uncertainty and doubt, the truth obscured by a veil of suspicion.

Holding out the note for Theo to see, you watched his expression closely as he read it. His eyes widened in surprise, confusion etched across his features. "She sent you that?" he asked, incredulous.

"What? No!" you responded quickly, a mix of frustration and confusion in your voice. "She sent it to you. It was in your room."

The implication that Jess had sent the note only added to the confusion between you and Theo.

heo's eyes flickered from the note to your face, disbelief written across his features. "I've never seen this before," he stated firmly, his voice tinged with confusion.

"Well, yeah, I took it," you admitted, the tension in the air palpable.

His brows furrowed in surprise. "Wait, you were snooping around in my dorm?" Theo's voice betrayed a mix of shock and frustration, his focus narrowing on your admission.

"What? That's what you're focused on?" you retorted, a touch of exasperation coloring your tone. The accusatory tone caught you off guard, adding to the already tumultuous conversation.

"Jess is obviously trying to screw up our relationship," Theo retorted, a trace of agitation and concern lacing his words.

"Or maybe you're just making up excuses. How about that, huh?" The words escaped your lips, edged with annoyance and simmering anger, as you grappled with the ease of his denial.

"What exactly are you accusing me of?" Theo's voice held a note of incredulity, his expression a mix of confusion and concern.

"Right now, I am accusing you of sleeping with her and cheating on me," you declared, the accusation spilling out in frustration and hurt.

"Wow, you really don't trust me, huh?" Theo's voice held a note of hurt, his expression a mix of disappointment and irritation.

"Currently, I don't," you admitted, your voice tinged with a hint of regret and exasperation.

"Well, If you can't trust me, I can't be with you," Theo replied, his tone laced with a touch of resignation and hurt.

The weight of the situation settled heavily between you, the conversation having taken an unexpected turn. Hurt and distrust hung like a veil, casting a shadow on the once-promising connection between you and Theo.

"Wait, are you breaking up with me?" The words stumbled out, your voice heavy with dejection, a lump forming in your throat.

"Well, you know what? Maybe Jess was right. We weren't really dating," Theo's voice held a trace of sorrow, the admission heavy with a crushing finality.

The realization sank in, the weight of his words like a sharp dagger through your heart. A shroud of sadness enveloped you, the abrupt end of something you thought was real leaving you feeling hollow and shattered.

In the deafening silence that followed, a heavy sadness settled upon you, your heart aching with the bitter sting of a relationship unraveled by doubt and mistrust.

"I'm sorry y/n. I really did try." Theo replies.

"Oh. So this is it then."

"Bye y/n."

"Goodbye," escaped through clenched teeth, a silent echo reverberating through every fiber of your being, each syllable a struggle against the strain of every muscle in your body.

And there you stood, the sudden and sharp cessation of what might have been, seeping into your core. It left you standing in the haunting echoes of a love's demise, surrounded by the desolate remnants of something once cherished.

hi hello! this is the end of the series. check out the fluffy ver here if you'd like!! here are a few fics to read while i work on my next one:

masterlist

reader's choice (mattheo x reader)

reader's choice (theodore x reader)

i honestly had so much fun writing this thank you for sticking along with this <33 sorry for how late this is i was like so busy and im also lazy so yea

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy @jetblackpayne @delulu4marauders @ahead-fullofdreams

if you want to be added to my theodore/any other character's taglist just send me an ask/dm!

[agi-ppangx]

Hi!

So, I'm not much of words, that's why I prefer giving ideas rather writing, sooooo...

Can you do something like: meeting 14 year old Jeongin (while reader is 14 as well) while reader was in a holiday with her family (younger brother included that is reader's partner in crime). They meet on the beach while both of them are in holiday and they find out they're soulmates (y'know those tiktok vids of finding who your soulmate is..? Something like that happened as well, maybe, just maybe, they have a soulmate sign that colors when the two soulmates make eye contact?). First kiss with him, as well as first love, but they drift off because reader was going back home, however he gives reader something for reader to remember him.

If you will do this, I also have an idea for a pt.2 bcs imagination is something I am full of. :)

Anyway, thanks!❤️

💭i could never forget you

pairing: yang jeongin x fem!reader

an: hii omg im so sorry you had to wait for so long !! i was struggling a little with this one, because i actually haven't really seen those tiktoks and i had to do lots of research so i apologise in advance if this is not what you had in mind :(( but!! i really hope you enjoy it<3 please let me know what do you think about it and thank you for this idea, it was a challenge but a very pleasant one<3 also please don't mind any grammar mistakes and typos

“ynnnn!” your brother whined right into your ear. you closed your book with a dramatic thud and looked up at him. his hair was wet - he must’ve just come out of the ocean - and he was staring at you with a huge pout on his face. “i’m bored,” he mumbled when he finally had your attention. you raised your eyebrows. “okay? what am i supposed to do about it?” you teased him, though you exactly knew he wanted you to just do something with him. your attempt to mess with him was met with yet another whine and you giggled at that, but proceeded to get up. “fine, what do you wanna do?” you asked, looking at your parents who were sunbathing right next to you, but didn’t seem to care too much about your plans. “let’s dig a hole here,” your brother pointed to a free part of the beach. you stared at him - you could’ve expected something like this. “and then let’s fill it with water.” you blinked, a bit confused. you were pretty sure you saw something like this on the internet a while ago and it didn’t end up positively. you thought about it a little and decided that, in fact, it's not a good idea. “okay, let’s do it then,” you picked up a plastic shovel and stuck it in the sand. 

an hour later and at least four reprimands from your parents the size of the hole was satisfying for both your brother and you. “now - you’re gonna stay here and keep an eye on the hole. i’m gonna go for some water,” your brother ordered and you saluted him jokingly, but obeyed nonetheless. you sat on the sand right next to the hole, breathing in the salty air and letting the wind mess your hair a bit. you observed people around you - an old couple feeding each other pieces of watermelon, the lady holding a tissue under her husband’s chin, and a younger couple, swimming together and splashing the water on each other, their laughter echoed all over the beach. you smiled to yourself slightly, deep inside wishing for a life like this in the future. you were young, so you still had time to find your soulmate. after all, your parents met when they were way over twenty years old and your aunt found her soulmate in her thirties. on the other hand, your friend from school accidentally met her soulmate when she was ten and the way she was bragging about the “beauty of the world in colours” was making you so incredibly jealous that you had no choice but to wonder when it was your turn. 

you were brought back to reality when you noticed a boy running towards the deep hole you dug. he was chasing a frisbee, his eyes so fixated on it that he didn’t even notice that something’s wrong and he kept running. you quickly got up and jumped into the hole to catch the boy before he could hurt himself. he let out a loud yelp when he slipped but you wrapped your arms around his torso. you helped him to get out of the hole and when he did, he turned around and reached out to you to help you get out of the hole, but as you were about to stretch your arm your eyes crossed and you swore the whole world stopped. you dreamt of this moment since you can’t remember when. you often wondered - did it hurt? was it overwhelming? you had so many questions, but were too scared to voice them. but now you knew. it was almost magical, you were now drowning in the boy’s brown eyes, his black hair was tousled by the wind. you took his hand in your and let him help you, never breaking eye contact. when you were finally out of the hole, you just stood there, hand in hand with the boy, both of you too astonished to even say a word. you didn’t know how much time passed, you were too focused on your soulmate standing right in front of you. 

your mother’s voice made you finally snap from this whole trance. you dropped the boy’s hand and looked at her. she looked mad. “yn, that’s enough, i told you to stop this whole digging! someone could’ve gotten hurt. apologise to this young man right now and fill the hole with sand. and for god’s sake, find your brother before he does something silly again,” she exclaimed, sounding more and more defeated with each word. she rubbed her eyes and went back to lay on the blanket. your attention was brought once again to the boy. “where are you staying?” you asked him in a hushed tone. he pointed a finger at one of the hotels by the beach. the same as you. “let’s meet at the reception at 7, okay? i think we have to talk about… this,” you added, doing a weird gesture with your hand. he nodded, still in shock. “i’m jeongin,” he stuttered finally. “i’m yn,” you introduced yourself and hesitantly started walking towards the shore to look for your brother, leaving jeongin alone. 

your friend was right - the world in colour is breathtaking. you’d spent your whole day just looking around, taking in the beauty of everything you could lay your eyes on. you finally could see why your mom always complimented you when you wore your yellow dress, the colour of your dress accentuating your eyes, and why she liked red roses so much. you thought to yourself that you might start liking them too. 

“yn? hi.” jeongin’s voice snapped you out of your reverie. he approached you, coming out from the elevator. you looked up at him, he was wearing a green t-shirt and he was smiling shyly at you. “hi,” you replied, getting up from the chair. you didn’t really know what to do - should you hug him? take his hand? it was so hard to figure this whole soulmate thing out, but you knew one thing - you felt comfortable around him. earlier, when you were holding hands at the beach, it all felt strangely right, considering that you always avoided contact with boys at your school. 

“so um…” you started awkwardly, slowly making your way to the hotel’s garden and making sure jeongin was following you. “how are you feeling?” good, you thought to yourself, it’s a good start. “confused, i guess? i mean, don’t get me wrong, i just didn’t expect to meet my soulmate here,” jeongin answered, his shoulders relaxing a little. you hummed in response, opening the door and breathing in the fresh air. you sat on a bench, looking up at the setting sun. the sky was stunning - you could spend an eternity just admiring the colour of it at sunset. “is it too soon to ask for your favourite colour?” jeongin was first to break the silence. you took a moment to process the question, though deep down you already knew the answer. “blue. it’s the rarest colour in nature and i’ve always wanted to appreciate it even before i knew what it looked like. and now that i know, it only convinced me that blue, in fact, is a very pretty colour,” you explained, playing with the hem of your dress. “you’re pretty…” jeongin whispered dreamily and your eyes widened. you were sure your cheeks were red, but maybe not as red as jeongin’s. “did i just say it out loud?” he mumbled, hiding his face in his hands to save himself from the embarrassment. you just laughed at that, placing your hand on his back and patting it a few times. “it’s okay. i guess it’s just a soulmate thing,” you added joyfully, realising that it was real life and not a dream. jeongin placed his head on your shoulder and you sat there for a long time, talking about everything and nothing, as if you knew each other for your whole lives. 

jeongin and you became inseparable. every morning after breakfast you rushed with him to the beach, swimming together and eating fruit from a local market. your parents were happy that you found a friend on your trip and even though you spent less time with them, they didn’t mind since you were having fun with jeongin. they even let you go with him to explore the town, eating local snacks and wandering in the narrow streets that resembled a labyrinth. you were glad you could get lost in this labyrinth with jeongin. you sat on a pavement in one of those streets, eating ice cream and admiring the world in colours. jeongin held your hand - it was gentle and innocent, but you felt as if your heart was about to burst out of your chest. you stole a glance at him, taking in all the details of his face. “oh, i think you have a little bit of ice cream here,” you pointed a finger on a corner of his lips. he tried to wipe it off but he missed the spot. “no, wait. here,” you exclaimed, wiping the ice cream yourself. when you did, you looked jeongin in the eyes, realising the proximity between you two. you backed off a bit, suddenly too shy to acknowledge the simple gesture, but jeongin placed a hand on your cheek and caressed it with his thumb. you loudly gulped but decided to close the distance between you and pecked him on the lips. it was short, some might not even consider it a “real kiss”, but it left both jeongin and you a blushing mess. you dropped your eyes to the ground but decided to lay your head on jeongin’s shoulder. you didn’t say anything after that, deciding to just relish in each other’s company instead.

the day of your departure came faster than you wanted and it was time to bid your goodbye with jeongin. you tried to keep your composure when you met him in the garden, but as soon as you saw his sad, faint smile, you broke down and tears started to stream down your face. jeongin hugged you tightly, letting you cry into his chest. “i got a little gift for you,” you heard his voice after a while. you looked up and jeongin cooed at the sight of your puffy eyes. his hand dove into the pocket of his jeans and he pulled out a little bag. “it’s not a lot, but i thought it might be cool if you had something to remember me,” he added, scratching the back of his neck. you took the bag from his hand and looked inside. it was a silver necklace with a rock in it. a blue rock. you felt the tears wail in your eyes again and you didn’t stop them from falling down your cheeks. “could you put it on my neck, please?” you uttered between sobs, sniffing loudly. he nodded and did as you told him, gently taking your hair out of the way. “done. now you’ll remember me forever,” jeongin chuckled, trying to lighten the mood a little. you made eye contact with him and placed a feather like peck on his cheek. “i could never forget you, jeongin.”

taglist: @rosieposieshifts @iyenbread @flooo71

let me know if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist🩵

feedback and reblogs highly appreciated🫶🏽

[ms-existentialcrisis]

~ Domesticity || Stucky

"And then, when you're finally cumming dry, I'm going to fuck you on my cock till you pass out and even after that, do you hear me?" Steve continues, jerking the toy deeper into Bucky and making him lose his mind, filthy squelches of dripping lube mixing with his cries. Bucky shudders at his words, aching with oversensitivity, body taut against Steve and trembling but god he'd let this man do it and more. If this was the punishment then Bucky would sin every day.

Rating/tags: EXPLICIT/MDNI{teasing, dirty talk, Dom/sub themes, use of toys, punishment, overstimulation, crying,}

Masterlist

The apartment Bukcy shared with Steve is a nice one. Located in Brooklyn, their apartment is everything that Bucky had wished for.

The peace and comfort in it; with everything that had happened, Bucky was even surprised that he managed to have this with Steve.

Their apartment consisted of 2 rooms, one as their bedroom while the other was turned into Steve's art studio. There's a hallways separating the kitchen and living room that's parallel to each other, leading to the door towards the balcony.

They didn't have a dinning table, instead choosing to have a breakfast bar with tall chairs. Standing by the sink, Bucky knew that the kitchen island was the only thing that kept him from Steve's full view from where the man sat in the living room.

Not that Steve's paying attention to him. The asshole has been reading for past- Bucky doesn't know how long he's been standing there trying and failing to wash their dishes carefully and quietly.

His front shirt is wet with soapy water, soaking all the way to his skin and down to the front of the boxer he's wearing. The tap water continues to run and Bucky thinks, 'just a little more,' as he rinsed the cup in his hands.

There's only 2 bowls and a plate left for him to wash. Doing the dishes is usually Steve's job because it was Bucky who always cooked but this? This was punishment.

He could do this with his eyes closed if it weren't for the fact that there's a fucking vibrating dildo shoved up his ass. The buzzing is consistent, never slowing down or speeding up, just enough to keep him high strung but not enough for him to get off.

Bucky shivers, both from the chill that's starting to settle on his skin due to the water splashed on him and the pleasure that zipped up his spine. He shifted his footing, hands trembling and a mewl quietly leaving his lips.

Behind him, the sound of a page being turned echoes on the otherwise silent apartment.

He carefully washed the cup, placing it to the side with the spoons. It makes a clanging noise as he accidentally puts it with too much force. Bucky freezes and not even a beat later, the buzzing in him increases.

"Fuck!" He moans as he bows over the wet sink, head hung and body held up by his forearms. He's knees has all but folded under him, shaking as he unwillingly clenched around the toy in him. He moans again, prostate rubbed raw and dick aching in the contains of his damp boxers.

Bucky lets out a ragged breath as he struggles to get up, the buzzing never ceasing and god, Bucky's going lightheaded with how all his blood is rushing to his dick. He just wants to come but rules are rules.

He's not allowed to touch himself until he finishes his task and it's hell, this whole ordeal is hell. Bucky feels so fucking full with the 9 inch or so dildo going to town in his ass. It's nothing compared to Steve and the way his hot length would drag against Bucky's prostate but the vibration is nearly enough to make his eyes roll to the back of his head.

Slowly, Bucky manages to rinse the rest of the dishes. He's panting and sweating at the end of it and as he puts the rest of it away, he bows and rests his forehead on the sink. 'Im gonna die.'

His left arm gives a quiet purr and Bucky groans, shifting from one foot to another. Shutting his eyes and drowning himself to the quiet buzz of the toy inside him, he doesn't notice Steve putting his book down and making his way to the kitchen.

Bucky all but jumps once he feels broad hands settle on his hips, a warm body settling on his back as Steve bends over him. He shivers as lips trace the juncture of his neck, unconsciously tilting his head to the side for more access.

He can feel Steve's erection pressing against his ass.

"You finally done?" Steve murmurs. Bucky helplessly nods, a sigh falling from his lips.

"Please, I finished it Steve so please," He pleads, pushing against Steve. The man clicks his tongue at him, grip on his waist tightening.

"You finished it alright but look at this mess you've left," Steve jerks his head at the wet sink and counter, bubbly water dripping.

Bucky's eyes widen and he stammers, "I'll wipe it Steve just give me a moment-"

His words ends in a keen when Steve drags him back by his waist to grind his ass against Steve's erection, eyelids fluttering close as the action causes the toy in him to grind on his prostate.

"Tsk, you just can't do things right can you? Have to make a mess first before you do something right," Steve murmurs by his ear. Bucky bows his head, a shameful heat rising in him.

Slowly, Steve's hands wander. One rests to cup the twitching bulge in his boxers while the other wrapped around the front his neck. Bucky groans at the touch, head jerked back by his neck to rest against Steve's shoulder.

He rocks back and all he gets is a tight squeeze on his dick that makes him choke on a pained moan.

Message received.

"You'll be good for me?" Steve asks and Bucky nods enthusiastically. He all but yells his answer.

"You're so sweet with a toy in you hmm? Maybe I should keep you like this. In our home with a vibrator in your ass," Steve says casually. "Just a little buzzing and you're folding faster than a wet paper. It'll keep you open and wet, just a hole for me to fuck."

He punctuates his words with a dirty grind and Bucky all but melts in his arms, a loud moan leaving him. His fingers dig into the edge of the sink, going bloodless with how tight he's holding on.

"Steve please please I'll be good for you! Anything baby just- please touch me," He frantically begs.

"Such a sweet mouth," Steve groans to his neck. "But it's all talk, yes? The very moment you get what you want, you go back to being brat."

"No no! That's not- I'm not a brat Steve," Bucky cries. "I swear I- I'll be good for you!"

"Liar~" Steve sings. His grip on Bucky's neck tightened, Bucky arching against him as Steve bites his ear, lips drifting down to his neck. Bucky howls when Steve sinks his teeth on his flesh, hips jerking and grinding against Steve's grip and back to the erection poking his ass.

"Good boys listen and follow their orders. They don't run straight to fucking danger and take a goddamned bullet not meant for them," Steve quietly snarls at him and Bucky freezes, choking on a sob.

He knows what Steve's going on about, what this punishment is for. Like the usual, they were having another mission with the rest of the avengers. Bucky had seen an enemy take a shot at Steve from his blind spot and tackled him down, shielding him with his body.

He wasn't even hit but Steve continued to give him a cold shoulder until Bucky finally begged him. Steve had him bent over the couch then and meticulously opened him up with his fingers, the vibrating dildo sunk into him slowly before Steve sent him to do the dishes with a slap to the ass as if the man wouldn't pull the same shit for Bucky.

Unbiddingly, anger and irritation rises in him.

"Big words for someone who's got a shield but never uses it to defend himself!"

As soon as those words leave Bucky's mouth, he knows he's done for.

Steve's a warm statue behind him and Bucky almost starts desperately begging then.

"I- Steve I didn't mean to say those- Steve please OH FUCK!"

Thrashing, Bucky screams as he's hauled away from the sink and shoved straight to the kitchen island, Steve's grip shifting to hold him down by his nape while his other hand played with the remote of the toy. The buzzing increases, raised to its highest level.

Bucky's helpless but to take the barrage of pleasure turning his body to a puddle, heat pooling in his belly. He's leaking in his boxers, cock so hard it hurts, hole contracting around the slick dildo in him. The build up is familiar, the pain pleasure pushing him closer to the edge.

"Steve I- I'm- Steve!" Bucky keens, hips thrusting forward. The marble is cool under his overheated skin, edge digging painfully to his navel. Steve's grip on his nape is unrelenting.

"Don't cum," Steve says but his tone suggests that it's not really an order, like he knows Bucky's too far gone to really listen to him.

Not a second later, Bucky's moaning and trembling, dick shooting ropes of cum and soaking the fabric of his boxer even more. His knees fold, body a lump of shivering flesh on the kitchen counter.

"A good boy you say you are hm?" Steve hums, folding over him. Bucky feels like his brain was about to melt out of his ears, shivers wracking his body.

Steve's fingers move to tangle into Bucky's hair, the other squeezing his hips. Bucky shudders, tears starting to well in his eyes as he weakly clenches around the dildo inside him, still buzzing and sending his nerves to an overdrive.

"You like that Buck? You like cumming on a toy?" Steve asks him, mocking and lightly grinding his own cock on Bucky's ass.

"Yes," He weakly moans, rocking back, going cross eyed and drooling.

"Going stupid on me already huh? This is supposed to be a punishment and like every time, you're only good at the beginning," Steve scolds, hand on his hip moving to toy the waistband of his boxers before finally slipping in, wrapping deft fingers around Bucky's cum-slicked cock.

Bucky whines, crying when Steve's grip tighten painfully. He jerks Bucky's cock, the slide made easy by his cum till Bucky's shaking with the pain and pleasure. Steve moves his hand towards Bucky's ass, pushing at the toy the same time he drags Bucky up by his hair, forcing his body to a sharp arch.

Bucky howls under him, sobbing and delirious. He feels so close again already.

"Since you like cumming so much, I'm going to fuck you with this toy until you can't cum anymore," Steve darkly whispers to his ear, gripping the edge of the toy and slowly dragging it out of Bucky as far as his boxer would allow before shoving it back into him.

"And then, when you're finally cumming dry, I'm going to fuck you on my cock till you pass out and even after that, do you hear me?" Steve continues, jerking the toy deeper into Bucky and making him lose his mind, filthy squelches of dripping lube mixing with his cries.

Bucky shudders at his words, aching with oversensitivity, body taut against Steve and trembling but god he'd let this man do it and more. If this was the punishment then Bucky would sin every day.

Fin~

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