#autumn keeps telling me to just do it and stop worrying about whether or not it becomes a career

[maraeffect]

still can't decide if i wanna commit to piercing, or tattooing....soooo i've decided that when i move, my long term creative project will be building a tattooing portfolio....no reason 👀👀

[gwyns]

“Autumn Court males have fire in their veins and they fuck like it too.”

I wanna know if Autumn Court women also fuck like it too, because doesn’t Gwyn have AC ancestry?👀

YOU BRING UP SUCH A VALID POINT ANON

she indeed does have autumn court ancestry, her grandfather was a male from that court and sooo you know that quote definitely applies to her too

i know sjm said az is a "freak" in the bedroom but i feel sarah's definition is much more vanilla than the fandom thinks lol i do think he's maybe into bdsm, even if it's light bdsm. i just get those vibes from him. maybe he even likes to dominate, but i can also totally see him being submissive, especially for gwyn

like it starts as a way for her to just feel comfortable with the whole thing but it's also very freeing for az in that he doesn't have to worry about anything. he can just lay back, relax and let his mate take control. the trust he puts in her melts gwyn's heart and you know az loves touching her every chance he gets, whether that's just because he's still in awe that he has such a mate, or he likes to guide her, it doesn't really matter

so imagine during their sexy time, gwyn brings out her bossy persona in full force and tells him simply "if you touch me at any point, i will stop. and you don't want me to stop, do you?" of course he doesn't, so he does as he's told. she doesn't restrict him in any way and that somehow makes it worse. she wants him to use that warrior's discipline of his. she starts brushing her fingers across his shoulders, his arms, his stomach, going lower and lower each time. it drives him mad, but not as mad as when she climbs on top of him and starts teasing and touching with other parts of herself. they're both incredibly turned on and breathing heavy at this point but gwyn is able to tell him, "you're being so good for me, az. so very good."

then, obviously, she sinks down onto him and rides his brains out. she gets so lost in him, the feel of him and the feral need for him, that she doesn't even notice he's been touching her ever since she took him. that fire in gwyn's blood keeps them awake all night, never getting any sleep. it's to the point that even cassian and nesta complain

[idyllcy]

from one admirer to another : mid-autumn festival?

pairing: leon kennedy x reader || masterpost: from one admirer to another

synopsis: from one admirer to another, an online penpal service, allows for two people with common interests to write to each other without ever revealing their actual address! Luckily for both you and Leon, you get matched up! What do eggs and Christmas even have in common anyway? sure hope it's that modeling business and NOT that Ada Wong addiction.

featuring: reader as scrambled eggs // leon as christmas

Christmas. You whore.

If you really want to keep your identity a secret, I suggest you zip that mouth of yours and stop telling me exactly what my best friend told me first thing when she came back. I can't put two and two together because all she told me was it was the guy I made out with on New Year's and my DUMBASS FORGOT WHO HE IS.

You're using the lingo right (as always) I'm probably around your age too, so don't worry too much about it.

Ugh, Ada supermodel... I should be happy but that only ever means weird male fans and girl fans that would dox me if I ever was down to earth about Ada as a person. I love her, but I also like the little circle of fans local to us right now. Since she's supermodel status now, she's probably going to be in Raccoon less and less. You know how the modeling life is.

Please don't stalk ANYONE. You don't need to stalk me down. If you know who I am, then surely you'll meet me eventually. Considering your language, we've probably already met before. Considering also the fact that you told me not to run off when you asked me for your number... I have a general idea of who you are as well. I still like writing letters to you, so I'd appreciate it if you just pursued me outside of the letters if you're really that desperate. I find dating face-to-face much better than through letters anyway. Though, you are going to have to be fairly obvious. All of my friends claim I'm dumb in the head when it comes to my own romantic life. I only ever notice people dating when it's others.

I don't appreciate that threat of yours. I'm sure I'll see you eventually, but probably not anytime soon. I don't even have shoots until later in the month, so even if you do see me, it'll be after you send me a letter back.

Favorite flower? Columbines, bellflowers, anemones, you know, the usual. Thinking about getting me flowers? I care much more for meaning than whether or not they're my favorite flowers. Though, if you were to ship flowers to my apartment, my roommate would probably hunt you down with her rifle, so I suggest not doing that.

I forgot a gift last time, but I appreciate the pressed four-leaf clover you went out and hunted nonetheless. I'm mailing you two mooncakes my roommate and I made (moreso me, but shh). Hope you like it. It doesn't have egg yolk in it. It's one lotus seed paste filling and one red bean. Lmk if you like it, since there's a high chance I'll have some leftover anyway.

God, this letter's long I'm in your walls :) scrambled eggs

"Welcome back." You look up at Ada from the couch, and she sighs.

"I hate this new life."

"No you don't."

"No I don't." She mumbles. "I love it."

"Is your manager considering having you move to a big city?"

"New York." Ada mumbles. "Most of my shoots are in the big city now, and they're arguing about how I can't keep living in Raccoon City. What happens if I leave you?"

"I leave the agency." You hum. "That easy."

"Easier said than done."

"My contract expires in a bit." You hand her the plate of mooncakes on the side table, and she sighs, biting into one. "I can choose to not renew my contract."

"It expires at the end of the year."

"They've started discussions with me already. I don't really want to keep modeling. The diet control and freakiness about how much I weigh isn't good for me. You know that too."

"You'll probably have to stop writing to your penpal then."

"They know who I am now anyway, so it doesn't matter. They'll probably find me in the next three months."

"You have that kind of confidence?"

"Yes. Ada. My penpal will chase me, and you can go chase your dreams. You deserve to." You toss your laptop to the side, wrapping your arms around her neck. "I'm happy I got to be in your life for so long. I'll only continue to stay, so have peace and keep going."

She wraps her arms around you, light frown on her face as she sighs. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too. Also, the last chapter of my fic comes out today anyway, so it seems like a good time for you to start flying."

Ada rolls her eyes, pulling back to bonk your head.

"Boo."

"Boo you too." You roll your eyes. "You couldn't have racked up so many followers so quickly had it not been for my amazing writing skills, obviously."

"You're insane."

"And you're friends with me."

She only scoffs.

prev letter : masterlist : next post

[percervall]

Watching scary films

Player: Trent Alexander-Arnold Words: 729 Requested: Anon Warnings: Fluff (ends less than innocent) A/N: Hope you like it lovely! Thank you so much for requesting Trent

Autumn masterlist

-----------------

The moment she had agreed to it, she knew it was a bad idea.

“Why did I say yes to this? Oh jesus…” she said, hiding her face in Trent’s shoulder which was shaking with his laughter. 

“‘Cos you love me,” came his reply as he looked down at her.

“Currently I don’t!” 

In all fairness it had been her idea to watch a film and she did tell him that he could pick because she’d chosen the previous one. But why did he have to pick a horror film?

“Because it’s almost Halloween?” came his answer. Apparently she had said that out loud. 

“You could’ve picked Hocus Pocus if that’s your reasoning. Next time ask Robbo to watch them with you. Or Hendo.” Trent laughed again and pulled her closer against him. 

She hated this. Blood and gore were one thing, but the jumpscares were putting her on edge. They watched as the female protagonist went back into the living room of the cabin she and her husband were staying in. By now the viewer was aware of the three murderers that were out there, waiting for them. 

“JeSUS!” she shrieked, as the protagonist came face to face with one of them standing outside the window. It scared her so much that her whole body jerked, sending the popcorn flying making Trent laugh. 

“Not funny,” she sulked. Trent picked a few popcorn kernels up from her lap, popping them into his mouth.

“’s a little funny,” he said with a grin. 

“I’m holding you responsible when I have nightmares tonight.” 

“Don’t worry, love, I’ll protect you.” She somehow doubted that and glared at him. 

After the film had ended, Trent took the empty glasses and bowl to the kitchen while she turned the lights off in the living room before heading upstairs. The corridor leading into their bedroom was dark and she debated whether to just turn every single light on but decided against it; it would only mean having to leave the bedroom to turn them all off. She moved into their ensuite and pulled her dress off and threw it into the laundry basket, leaving her in just her underwear. Because she was focussed on looking for her cleanser, she hadn’t heard Trent coming into the room. She felt two arms wrap around her waist, pulling her backwards. It startled her so much that she screamed and due to the nature of the film, started thrashing in his arms to break free. 

“Ow!” Trent yelped as her elbow made contact with his ribs, causing him to lose grip on her.

“You asshole! I thought you were a murderer!” she shouted, hitting him against his chest as he dropped her. Trent rubbed over the spot where she had hit him, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing.

“Not funny!” 

“I’m sorry baby. How can I make it up to you?” he asked, pulling her into his arms. She begrudgingly let him, arms crossed over her chest. When she didn’t respond, he nudged her temple with his nose, pressing a soft kiss there.

“You have to cuddle me. All night. And keep a light on. And make breakfast tomorrow morning. Cereal doesn’t count,” she said, turning so she could look at him.

“Deal,” Trent said, a smile tugging on his lips.

“And I get to pick the next two films.”

“You should negotiate my new contract,” he replied with a chuckle before kissing her softly as if to sign the agreement. She melted into his arms, kissing him back.

“You might end up with a kisses and hugs quota per day clause,” she said after breaking the kiss. Trent laughed. 

“I’m sure Klopp and Pep would love that. How about we discuss.. other additional clauses in the comfort of our bed, hm?” His brown eyes twinkled mischievously and his lips broke into his trademark grin. He pulled her closer to him and she could feel him hardening against her stomach. It sent shivers down her spine. All she could do was nod as a reply and let Trent move them into the bedroom. She had a feeling these other clauses wouldn’t be suitable for work, but she sure couldn’t wait to find out exactly what he had in mind. One thing she knew for sure: it’d be enough to make her forget all about the scary film. 

[izzy-writes]

A snippet from today's writing. I'm making steady progress on my first draft now, and soon I can get to writing the really plot heavy parts :]

Sebastian

I've never had the best relationship with mirrors. It's not like I hate looking at myself but, as I adjust my jumper so it covers the curve of my hips, that strange hollow sense of disconnect becomes just that little bit more noticeable. A tuft of hair flops over my forehead as I turn to check whether my binder is doing its job, and I stop what I'm doing to finger-comb it back into place. And as I do, I catch the time on my watch – almost six o'clock. I'd better get going.

My camera is nestled in a pile of clutter on my bedside table, next to a slightly droopy looking succulent. I keep meaning to clean up, to water the dying plants scattered around the room, but it feels like there's some invisible barrier, something like a thick fog, stopping me from getting it done. I try to ignore the pang of guilt at the mess as I sling my camera around my neck.

My socks sink into the carpet as I emerge onto the landing. As I head downstairs, I watch Mama and Pa and Ethan and me grow older in the years' worth of photos on the wall. I try to recognise myself in that smiling child with dark pigtails and deep dimples. Over the years, the photos become newer, my hair shorter, my fashion sense more boyish. It was no surprise to my parents when I finally came out – and Ethan couldn't be happier to have the big brother he'd always wanted.

I find my walking boots in the shoe rack by the front door and call for Jack. He comes bolting down the hallway while I'm still hopping around with one shoe on and he tackles me to the ground. There's no time to recover as he greets me with an incredibly wet kiss, but it's worth it to bury my face in his fur. He stinks, but it's a comforting stink.

“Sebastian, are you going out?” Pa calls from the living room. He's in there with Mama and Ethan, watching something on the TV.

“I'm taking Jack for a walk,” I call back.

“Can we talk for a moment?”

“Sorry, Jack,” I mutter, and push open the living room door.

Pa switches off the TV and gestures for me to sit.

“What's up?” I say, perching on the edge of the sofa next to Ethan.

“We're worried about you.” Pa sighs.

I get the feeling I know what this is about.

“You haven't made any friends at your new school, have you?” Mama interludes, shuffling forward on her portion of sofa so she can look at me.

“I don't need friends. I have you guys.” I say, and ruffle Ethan's hair. He dips his head, giggling, and I grab his arm instinctively to stop him tousling my hair.

“I know you find it hard since Abbi-”

“I'm fine.”

I let go of Ethan's wrist and he shuffles towards me a little, leaning into my side. I place an arm around him and try to smile. But all I see now is Abbi and those cold eyes. That look of utter disgust. I'd never be Sebastian, she spat. I'll always be... I'll always...

“I'm heading out now.” I tell them and stand up, not looking at any of them.

I head back down the hall to Jack, who, as soon as he realises I've returned, makes a dramatic show of clawing at the door like he's not been out in years. I sweep his lead from the floor, zip up my coat and step out the door.

Outside, a mist has descended on the orange glow of the early evening. The garden gate swings closed behind Jack and I as we head down the pavement. It's not a long walk to the lake – one of the few perks of living in the middle of nowhere – and soon enough Jack and I are pushing through the overgrown bushes along the muddy path to the shore.

In spring, the lake is dominated by local fishers in their tents and in summer, it's full of kids trampling the plants as they run around. But in autumn, it's empty. Just me and my camera. And the furball who keeps trying to lick my hand as I stoop down to snap a photo of a dandelion in the rapidly fading light.

I lift the camera to my eye, and through the lens is a world that I get to shape. My fingers dance across the buttons, almost instinctively now. Nothing more satisfying than the click of the shutter. A tiny bug creeps up the dandelion's stem as it blows in the breeze. I zoom; slowly, precisely, and capture it just before it takes flight and disappears against the canvas of the darkening sky.

As I stand, I'm hit by a gust of wind that slaps my cheeks raw. Above me, the clouds are churning dangerously, and a fat wet raindrop hits my nose. Why didn't I bring an umbrella? Jack hops around at my feet, snapping his jaws in an attempt to catch a droplet in his teeth.

“Come on, Jackie!” I gently tug at the lead to get Jack's attention and, after he's pulled me around a few laps of the lake, I'm so soaked that my clothes are stuck to me like a second layer of skin. A shiver runs through me as my body gets a moment to realise how cold I am. Time to go.

Jack and I make our way back across the branch-littered bridge that sits over the stream, now rushing with renewed energy from the rain. A roll of thunder booms out behind us and I scoop up a petrified Jack to rush home in the hope of avoiding getting struck by lightning.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

a september chapter

summary: two different scenarios play out with robin and eddie

WC: 2.4K

warnings: cursing, use of drugs, one mention of killing, a quick nonconsensual kiss. should be it.

A/N: ALL PARTS UNDER THE TAG -The Byers Harrington Story-

give me your opinion on the eddie part of this story, cause i just wanted to do a moment were reader does something hella stupid, because shes human and we all do dumb shit.

shout out to my dad and Beyoncé since their birthday is sep4. also i was on the phone with my dad and he would not stop talking about greta van fleet, man is obsessed.

previous chapter  next chapter

September 4, 1984

“Robin,”

“(Y/n)”

“Do you ever feel…do you ever wonder what it would feel like to be-to be someone normal?”

A beat of silence followed.

“What- what do you mean, ‘to be someone normal?’…(Y/n), what?”

You don’t know how you even thought of that question.

You and Robin were just sitting on the abandoned bleachers during your lunch period, the cool autumn breeze would join the two of you and cut through the fabric of your coats and hit deep in your bones. The bleachers were your go-to spot now at school, wanting away from everyone? bleachers, eating lunch? bleachers, wanting to have conversations about certain topics and not want anyone butting their nose in? bleachers. Maybe that’s why you randomly chose to ask the question.

It was a pretty loaded question, it had a deeper meaning underneath, but you weren’t gonna just say the actual question out loud. There were two versions of the question you wanted to ask, ‘what if you could be normal? Normal as in being a part of the popular group, someone who had a pretty normal family life, didn’t have to worry about being picked on just for breathing in someone’s direction.’ And the other version you wanted to ask was something you can’t outright say without digging your grave, ‘what if you were normal? Normal as in…as in someone who didn’t have to worry about asking that one person the wrong question or doing the wrong thing in public and worrying about possibly getting killed.’

You turned to Robin who was already staring at you, her eyes bugging and her teeth worrying at the plush skin of her lips. Her freckled face was turning a bit red, whether it was from the cold wind hitting her face or because of your abrupt question, you weren’t hundred percent sure. Just from hanging out and interacting with Robin for almost a year you could tell, you could tell she was someone you wanted to keep in your life. She was someone you would be able to tell your deepest secrets to and she would somehow be able to keep them from spilling even though her mouth sometimes runs faster than her brain when forming sentences. She wouldn’t judge you and would understand some of the things you’ve had to deal with because both of you came from similar home lives.

Robin felt almost like a haven in a way for you. You weren’t sure if you could even describe out loud what you feel, what you mean, but she just felt safe to be around. It was nice to have that feeling with someone who wasn’t in your family, it gave you a type of hope. Hope that you would be able to find this comfort and safety with non family members, you could have your blood family, people who will be there until the day you die, and down the line in the future, there will be people who you meet and make this connection with that makes you happy.

You hesitantly reached out your hands to try and hold one of Robin’s that was on the bench beside her. She must have seen the action you were doing because she held the hand palm side up and wiggled her fingers in an open invitation. With your clammy hands you held onto Robin’s like a raft and what you were about to tell her could be the push to send you over the edge of the waiting waterfall.

“Robin, what I’m about to tell you, I’m telling you ‘cause I feel safe with you. The only other people who know about this is my family, and even then I was nervous to tell them about this part of myself.”

“(Y/n), please don’t tell me you’re pregnant or- or that you murdered someone. Because I don’t think I could keep that last one hidden for long.” You giggled at Robin’s nerves as they calmed your racing heart down just by a beat or two. After a moment you inhaled a deep breath through your nose and exhaled with your eyes closed before blurting out, “I like girls, the same way I like boys.”

It felt like the world stopped moving, even the wind stilled. You weren’t sure if your heart was still beating or if you were breathing. With your eyes still closed, you weren’t able to see the expression on Robin’s face. You couldn’t see that her mouth was agape with surprise, her lips moving but no thought was coming to mind as she was processing what just happened. You couldn’t see the look in her sea green eyes, the sullen gaze pulling her brow, the slight heartbreak peeking into her iris. 

Only when you felt the tiny pressure of her hand giving a squeeze did you slowly open your lids. The sunlight blinded you for a moment and then you saw her. She was holding your hands with both of hers and was fully facing you now, her legs crossed over each other on the dirty bleachers. She was just observing you, her eyes taking in every inch of your face, from the stray brow hairs to the tiny pimples along your jaw. When her eyes finally settled on yours a warming smile overcame her.

“(Y/n), I will keep this secret until the day I die. And just because you like girls doesn’t change anything about you, you are still the wonderful, amazing, extremely kind-hearted (Y/n) Byers that I have come to know as my best friend. And no one can change my mind about that.”

Your eyes stung from the tears gathering, but they were tears of relief, of joy, nothing to be sad about today. Moving your hands out of Robin’s grasp you moved your arms to pull her into a hug around her shoulders and her’s flew to a warm grip on your waist.

With your face buried into Robin’s dirty blonde hair, you smiled and whispered, “I love you, Robs.”

You weren’t sure if she could hear your declaration, but you got an answer back, “and I love you too, Byers.”

…

September 20, 1984

The car was clouded in the hazy and thick smoke, the dark interior of the van making it seem like you were sucked into a black hole. The cushioned rug in the back of the van made your high feel extra warm like you were wrapped in a giant blanket burrito. The lids of your eyes felt like twenty-pound weights and you were struggling to keep them open, the whites of your eyes overtaken with red veins inching their way closer to your iris. Your lips tug into a Cheshire grin against your will and light chuckles make their way out through your open lips.

“What's got you so giggly, Byers?”

You giggled before replying, “absolutely fucking nothing, Munson. This weed is just perfect,” you ended on another round of giggles.

You heard the shuffling and felt the movement of the van before you saw Eddie now leaning over you. His arms were on either side of your shoulders, his curly dark hair just barely falling past his shoulders, Eddie says he wants to grow his hair out, really living his rockstar fantasy to the max.

He was grinning mischievously down from above, his eyes darting over your face, you think, your vision is kinda hazy and blurring at the moment. You reached out a heavy hand and swirled your cement-feeling fingers into the dark tendrils of Eddie’s growing mane.

“Pretty,” again another string of giggles.

Seeing the grin growing stronger on Eddie’s lips made you copy his actions. Then the feeling of skin on your forehead and then your cheeks made you feel warm inside, the feeling of Eddie’s soft, but slightly rough fingers brushing hair away from your face made you think of him just for a split second.

“Steve?”

“I’m sorry babe, it’s just Eddie.”

“Oh, oh that’s okay,” and then you did something bizarre for your medicated brain.

Leaning onto your elbow that was still on the floor you leveled yourself just a breath away from Eddie’s face, the tips of your nose barely touching. With a glance and not a coherent thought running through your mind, you closed the small space and-

“(Y/n)!”

It was now open air, the ghostly feeling of Eddie’s lips against yours gone in a second. He was away from your body and now sat beside your stretched-out legs, one hand laying on your lower leg, just below your knee. Fully pushing your upper body off the floor and then pulling your legs into your chest making Eddie drop his hand with a thunk.

It took just that second to understand what you did and why you did it. It makes you feel an acidic feeling bubbling within your intestines, worried for a second you might throw up. You tried swallowing a forming lump in your throat, but it wouldn’t leave.

“Eddie, I’m- I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t- fuck I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Hey, hey, (Y/n), it’s okay. You're high, you're not thinking fully. I know you didn’t mean it.”

You sniffled the oncoming snot, “I’m sorry, I- I just thought maybe…fuck I’m so stupid. Thinking if I just kissed you I might stop thinking about Steve for one second.”

A moment of silence passed in the small space of the van, it was still foggy inside from the hotbox, so you could only hear your breathing which sounded like a fog horn in your ears. You can’t even fully tell what’s happening with Eddie, yeah you sobered up just a fraction from your high, but you still couldn’t comprehend everything around you.

And then you heard a deep sigh, “well, I’m flattered you thought I would help your little problem, but I don’t swing that way, babe.”

That got just a baby of a chuckle from your throat, but then you went back to moping. You felt awful and disgusted with yourself, you tried to- no you kissed Eddie while the both of you were stoned. It’s like you got possessed by a frat boy in that split-second decision, and you fully hated yourself for that. You started to gather your belongings, throwing your coat back onto your shoulders, rushing to make sure nothing from your bag dropped onto the floor, and then you were rushing to throw your shoes back on.

“(Y/n)-”

“I- I should probably head home, my mom’s probably worried. Eddie, I’m really sorry and I understand if you don’t want me aro-”

“(Y/n)!” Eddie raised his voice an octave and held you by your shoulders.

“It’s okay, it was just a quick peck. And I know you didn’t mean any harm from it. Just- just let me take you home, okay? I don’t want you walking by yourself.”

Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth, nostrils flared and brows pinched in the middle, you stared at Eddie with a worrying glaze over your eyes.

“Please, (Y/n), at least for my peace of mind. Just let me take you home.”

You were hesitant, you know Joyce wouldn’t like you walking home by yourself, but you felt like you couldn’t look Eddie in the eyes. Finally, you gave in, for Joyce.

With just a timid nod of your head, Eddie moved to the driver's seat and started up the engine. You stayed behind still in the back for a couple of minutes until you decided to join in the front.

“Ah, finally, some company. I thought there was a cemetery around with how quiet everything was.”

A quick chuckle from you, “Eddie, again I’m so sor-“

“(Y/n), I already told you, I forgive you. Everyone does stupid shit when high, especially after you took a nine-month tolerance break. Yeah, you weren’t gonna be very lucid for a lot of things. I’m just happy you’re doing it with me because if it was someone else, I would be extremely worried for you.”

You turned your head to look at Eddie as he drove down the quiet highway, the moonlight and sometimes a lamppost would illuminate down through the front window. The moonlight bathed Eddie in a ghostly white sheen that looked hauntingly beautiful, it hurt your heart in a way, you weren’t sure of the reason, but it just did.

With your finger twiddling and picking at the skin in your lap, you spoke up, “Eddie-“

“I said I already forgive you, babe.”

“No, it’s not that- well not exactly, but also I should probably just stop smoking now. Anyway, I’m sorry that kissed you because I was trying to rid Steve freaking Harrington from my mind. That was a dick move.”

“Byers, a question for you,” Eddie spoke with a teasing tone.

“Why did you have to fall for Steve Harrington? ‘King Steve’ ‘The Hair’, just why? You’re way too cool for him. Plus he doesn’t deserve you in the slightest, because what I see is that all of a sudden he’s now taking an interest in you, and it’s got me a bit worried about his intentions with you.”

That last part got a snort out of you, “his intentions with me? this isn’t the 1700s, also that’s something for Jonathan to mostly worry about.”

“Yeah, well I see myself growing as your friend slash brother figure, although you trying to kiss me is very Luke and Leia of you.”

“Eddie, gross! Please can you…can you- ugh!”

The two of you filled the silence with your giggles and sometimes ugly laughing that escaped from deep within. The low humming of whatever cassette Eddie had in the car already was just soothing background noise along with the noise of the van as it drove just a bit of the speed limit. The starry night sky and the moonlit your path back home.

When you turned your head to look out the window and only saw the darkness of the never-ending woods, shivers crept up your spine and goosebumps arose on your arms. The knowing that something dangerous could be lurking in the shadows, just watching, waiting to pounce. It made you uneasy.

Tapping on your upper arm stole your attention, “You okay, Byers?”

You looked between Eddie and the open road, “yeah, probably just getting sleepy.”

You lied right through your teeth.

----------------

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[hikari-kaitou]

Capcom's Official AA Fanclub Surveys - DGS Edition

Many Western fans may be familiar with the Turnabout 4koma comics that get posted on the official AA fanclub site that Capcom runs, thanks to some lovely fans on tumblr and elsewhere who have shared their translations. What fewer people seem to know about is the character surveys.

Back in the old days, they used to hold a survey on Capcom's official AA fansite every few months where they'd write about the seasonal activities of a handful of characters and ask fans to vote for the funniest/most pleasant/strangest/etc answer.

They stopped doing them in like... 2016? 2017? The original text is lost for good as far as I can tell. Even the wayback machine couldn't help because the content was password locked and you can't get past the password wall while remaining in the archived version.

Fortunately, I saved some of my translations of them so I thought I’d share them.

Cut for length...

"February has begun, and the DGS cast is nearing the end of their journey aboard the RFS Alacrei. Which of them acted the most strangely?"

Ryuunosuke ~ Exhausted from his intensive study session, he decided to try some katana swinging practice as a change of pace and to combat his recent lack of exercise. But because he wasn't used to handling the katana, he swung it too hard and it went flying out of his hands and got stuck in the wall right next to Sherlock, who had just entered the room. Sherlock asked him, "aren't you supposed to be studying right now, Mr. Naruhodo?" and handcuffed him to his desk.

Susato- worked on developing a curriculum for Ryuunosuke. 'If we keep going at this pace, he won't be able to learn it all in time... It'll be hard on Naruhodo-sama, but we'll have to work hard through a couple of nights together.' With that thought, she created a harsh study schedule, and almost seemed to be looking forward to it for some reason.

Sherlock- Driven by excitement over the thought of returning to England after a long absence, he went up on deck to stare at the ocean. Being February, it was very cold out there and he ended up being chilled all the way to the tips of his fingers. He returned to the ship cabins and amused himself by putting his frozen hands on Ryuunosuke, who was stuck in his room studying.

Van Zieks- Upon hearing from Vortex that there was a Japanese exchange student coming to England to study law, he smashed a Lord's Bottle. He apparently also didn't care for the fact that that Japanese student wouldn't be alone, because he proceeded to shatter his chalice, too.

Hosonaga- in order to provide a respite from studying, he provided some hot chocolate. They enjoyed a pleasant tea time, marveling over how sweet and delicious the drink was until Sherlock piped up with some unnecessary trivia: 'Actually folks, chocolate has long been used in Europe as an aphrodisiac!' Everyone promptly spat it out."

"The long winter is nearly over and spring is on it's way, putting the DGS cast members in a celebratory mood. Who found the best way of enjoying spring?"

Ryuunosuke: the Yuumei University faculty members were holding a flower viewing event, and he joined the assistance committee. He exhausted himself keeping the blankets clean so the intense shower of flower petals wouldn't pile up too high on them, delivering sake and snacks, and mediating whatever pointless fights arose. To top it all off, for some reason his compensation was only a single piece of leftover candy. Talk about a sad result!

Susato- her father and the others living in his dormitory were  holding the flower viewing event, so she got up early to prepare the bentos. But her father carelessly forgot to tell her that they wanted tea cakes, so she had to go around the house and neighborhood collecting sweets. For some reason, she ended up being able to gather caramels, biscuits, candy sticks, basically everything but tea cakes, for the tea ceremony.

Sherlock- he disguised himself as a beat officer and infiltrated Scotland Yard to have some fun. There was a real beat officer napping on his feet in the spring sunshine, and while observing him, Sherlock ended up falling asleep too. Detective Gregson gave them a good scolding when he found them, but then Sherlock revealed his true identity with a "hey, it's me, folks!" "What the blazes do you think you're doing?!" Gregson shouted, his rage growing even more, and Sherlock ended up making a run for it.

Van Zieks- went to the vineyard to oversee the production of the contents of his Lord's Bottle. As he viewed the still unopened grape blossom buds, he thought about how they would someday grow up to fill his Lord's Bottle, and ended up going around to look at each one. But the farm hands couldn't stop wondering whether the bottle itself or its owner's heel might come flying at them and were quite uneasy.

Asougi: exhausted himself running around since early morning helping with the professors' flower viewing event. When it was over, he took a break, sharing his reward candy stick [the name of the candy literally translates to 1,000 year candy] with Ryuunosuke, who had also been helping out. 

"I wonder if the candy's effect is halved if you share it with someone."

"That still gives us 500 years."

They laughed and enjoyed looking at the flowers until dark. Then they parted ways with a handshake and a "see you later, best friend."

(This one was something about celebrating New Years. For some reason I didn't save the original question)

"Ryuunosuke ~ To celebrate New Years, he planned to pound mochi with everyone at the office. He somehow managed to get his hands on some mochi rice and he and Sherlock started pounding. Iris was having such fun watching them that she steamed a whole bunch more mochi rice so they could have some to share, and he and Sherlock spent the whole evening pounding mochi like crazy.

Asougi~ Because it's New Years, he went around to a bunch of shrines. When he drew his new year's fortune, he got a "horrible luck" result. "I'm not worried about it," he claimed, and headed up to the mountains early on New Years morning and work hard on a full training course of purification by water, meditation under a waterfall and wooden sword practice. It seems that he was working really hard to clear his mind of all earthly thoughts

Sherlock- Agreed to help Ryuunosuke pound mochi. As Ryuunosuke was flipping the mochi over, he carelessly dropped his badge into the bowl and Sherlock mixed it in without noticing, so they had to crack open both the hard and soft mochi to look for it. Fortunately they found it in the 4th one they checked, but apparently Sherlock got his hands and face covered in sticky white mochi in the process.

Susato- Wore a furisode and went with her father to do the first shrine visit of the year. The shrine was incredibly crowded and they had to wait in line for a long time, but she brought the Encyclopaedia of British Law and a copy of the Strand Magazine in her sleeves to secretly read as they waited so she actually ended up enjoying the wait.

Van Zieks- Ryuunosuke cheerfully gave him some mochi as a New Year’s (which at that time was celebrated at the same time as the Chinese New Year) gift, which he accepted confusedly, wondering “...Can the Japanese not even keep track of when the New Year is?” Because Ryuunosuke referred to it as a rice cake, he tried to eat it like a regular cake without softening it with heat first. It was so hard that he couldn’t imagine how it could possibly be food, and ended up misunderstanding the Japanese even more!

"Autumn has arrived, and the weather is starting to cool off, which means that everyone is becoming more active. Which character chose the most pleasant autumn activity to keep busy with?"

Iris was making bread but her hands are small and it’s difficult for her to knead the dough, so she asked for Ryuunosuke’s help. She wanted to make enough to hand out to Gina and all the other homeless children in the East End, so she made a massive amount and Ryuunosuke was stuck kneading this massive mountain of bread dough all day. Apparently he became such a expert at kneading that he could be a baker now.

Asougi was practicing with his sword, slicing autumn-colored ginko leaves as they fell from the tree. He cut so many leaves, though, that he ended up making a big mess on the ground, the number of fallen leaves now having increased, and it took him a long time to clean it all up.    

Sherlock: Ryuunosuke told him that he was making anpan (bread filled with sweet red bean paste, the bane of my Asian-dwelling existance) and asked Sherlock to help by being in charge of getting the poppy seeds they’d need to sprinkle on top, so Sherlock went out and gathered a ton of poppy seeds. In fact, he got so many of them that no one knew what to do with them all cuz they had a huge amount of leftovers. Sherlock said, “Well, they’re only the size of poppy seeds! Surely you two can deal with them somehow! Ahahaha!” and Iris scolded him.   

(I couldn’t capture it in English, but Sherlock’s line contained a pun, and a pretty stupid one at that, so that’s part of why he got scolded)

It’s grape harvesting season, so Van Zieks commutes to the winery regularly to direct the production of the contents for his “Lord’s Bottle.” He demands perfection in everything from the selection of the grapes to the way they’re squeezed, and the winery staff is terrified by the “grim reaper’s” gaze and heel swinging (i.e. the leg thing he does in court) so they grumble as they work. 

"Hearing that there’s a holiday in the West called Halloween, the people involved with the court in Japan decided to try it out themselves. Naturally Halloween is a big deal in England as well. So, which member of the DGS cast had the best celebration?"

Team Ryuunosuke and Asougi- Asougi got Naruhodo up on his shoulders and they draped a white sheet over themselves to make a ghost costume. They went out like that, but Naruhodo had such exaggerated reactions to the fear of the people who saw them and to bumping his head on tree branches that they ended up losing their balance and falling on top of each other?!   

Sherlock Holmes- went wearing a horse’s head mask. Iris used her skills to make it a fancy horse covered in stars, but the eye holes weren’t well made and he had to wander around blindly. Because of that he tripped hard over a pile of coal! He ended up getting so dirty that the stars on his costume were covered up!

Van Zieks- took inspiration from his nickname and dressed up as the grim reaper. He covered himself up with a skeleton mask and hood figuring no one would know it was him. Unfortunately he got angry when he saw Megundal (McGilded) pass by and started throwing bottles and glasses and ended up giving himself away.

"November has arrived, and autumn is nearing its end. However, the DGS cast is still keeping busy, even on their days off. Which character chose the most interesting way to spend their late autumn day?"

Ryuunosuke- Thinking that he’d better learn more about British culture if he was going to be a defense attorney in Britain, he went down to the East End with Gina for a little observation. However, because an Asian like him stood out so much, he got mobbed by the other children. On top of it all, his arm band got stolen from him and he had to send a replacement request to Yumei University on the other side of the ocean.

Asougi- He went for a meal at La Quantas. The customer at a nearby table got a persimmon for dessert and scarfed it down, saying “Mm! This is it! This sweetness makes it worthy of being called a treasure among foods!” Asougi tried to comment on this by saying, “The customer at that table sure is enjoying his pershim--gak!” but he may or may not have accidentally bitten his tongue in the process and been unable to finish his sentence.

Iris- She accepted Ryuunosuke’s request to learn more about British culture and prepared a bagpipe and kilt costume for him. “This outfit sure is breezy,” Ryuunosuke said shyly upon trying it on. With Ryuunosuke now dressed, he, Iris, and the others from their office headed over to Gregson’s place to get him to treat them to some fish and chips.   

Sherlock- He accepted Ryuunosuke’s request to learn more about British culture and cooked up some European style curry for dinner. Thanks to the fact that his secret ingredient was a large amount of Chinese herbal medicine style spice, it caused some strange side effects and Ryuunosuke, who’d eaten it, ended up passing out and falling over.

“Another taxing trial for Ryuunosuke has finished and now it’s December. As the year draws to a close, which character acts the strangest?”

Ryuunosuke- he was recruited to help with snow removal around Yumei University and the courthouse and he enthusiastically began his task with the help of a large shovel. He got a little carried away, though, and ended up accidentally burying his umbrella, which he’d left propped up against the side of the building, in the snow he’d just finished shoveling.  He had no choice but to share Asougi’s umbrella on the way home.

Asougi- On the way home, he nods silently to Ryuunosuke’s question of whether he’d finished his travel preparations and changes the subject: “...Come to think of it, it seems that tomorrow is celebrated in the West as God’s birthday.” “I’ve heard that they eat chicken as part of the traditional celebration. Wanna try it?” Ryuunosuke asks invitingly. Asougi is strongly opposed to that particular menu item, however, and they end up going out for their usual beef stew that night instead.           

Susato- in addition to her year-end travel preparations, she also was busy with straightening up the book room in her home. She managed to get the law books in order when she suddenly stumbled upon some old issues of Strand Magazine! She hurried through the rest of her cleaning, then began flipping through the magazines she’d found, trying to decide which to take with her on her trip. She accidentally lost herself in her reading and didn’t realize it until it was already the middle of the night.

Sherlock- he was in the middle of a long ship voyage when Christmas night came. His mind on his partner in a far-off country, he made a toast alone on deck, when suddenly the crew began shooting off fireworks with a cry of “Merry Christmas!” Sherlock had to dart back and forth across the deck to prevent the fireworks from hitting him and setting off the explosive chemicals he carries with him.

Main series edition

[seijorhi]

nostos.

well it’s not exactly monster fucking but um... here there be monsters.

Kuroo Tetsurou x female reader

TW implied non-con, nsfw-ish, blood, gore, minor character death, animal death, um somebody gets munched... 

Every good writer needs peace and quiet. Fresh air and a change of scenery.

You’re not running away, it’s more of a… tactical retreat. Two weeks disconnected from well meaning friends, pushy family members and your eternally irritating editor, with nothing but the beautiful, sprawling forests to keep you company.

The mountains are familiar, if isolating, you think, leaning against the porch railing with a warm mug in hand as the breeze picks up and the tall maple and birch trees rustle in response. The leaves are turning vibrant reds and gold with the falling temperatures and even in the eerie quiet of the cold morning, you can’t deny that it’s breathtaking. 

It reminds you of your childhood, the countless vacations you’d spent here with your family, always in autumn, always in time to watch the leaves change before the first snows of winter set in. Fond memories of running through the trees chasing after cute little bunnies, giggling even when you tripped up and scraped your knees. There was something mystical about the forest back then, something special. But it’s been years since you’ve been here last, and the first time you’ve ever come alone.

And yet it feels different somehow, colder despite the nostalgia. You’re no longer a child, looking at the world through innocent, wondrous eyes. The forest is just a forest. 

Of course, you weren’t an idiot; disappearing off the grid was one thing. Disappearing off the grid without anybody knowing where you were going was another entirely. They’d been surprisingly supportive of the plan – until you told them where it was you were planning on running off to.

‘Why go back to the mountain, honey?’ your mother had asked, her smile wavering and an odd tightness in her eyes. ‘Why not go to the coast instead? Or spend some time in the city?’

But this isn’t a fun little vacation. You don’t want to be distracted by beaches and crowds, you need space to finish your book and time to work through your mess of an emotional state without any interruptions. You want to be untraceable, at least for a week or two.

God knows the last thing you need right now is your ex tracking you down to try and apologise again.

Part of you had thought – somewhat naively, perhaps – that by coming back you’d spark… something. Your memories of the mountains are full of warmth and happiness, but as you stare out into the wilderness, all you feel is a cool chill that runs down your spine and the goosebumps that prickle at your skin. 

Setting your now empty mug down, you pull tighter at the thick knit cardigan draped over your shoulders. Enough reminiscing, your manuscript awaits.

—

The mountain’s too quiet. You don’t notice it so much during the day, the sound of music softly pouring from your laptop and the gentle clacking of keys as you type enough to distract you  from the eerie stillness outside the cabin. Even at night, you’re preoccupied with dinner, and then curled up on the couch with a warm throw rug watching reruns of your favourite shows on Netflix.

It’s only when you lie down, burrowed into the blankets to try and sleep that you notice just how silent the forest at your doorstep truly is. At first you think it’s simply being away from the hustle and bustle of home. There’s no cars driving past, or the sound of neighbours floating through your open windows, there’s not even the distant hooting of owls or dogs barking.

But it’s more than just quiet. There’s nothing. Even the trees seem to still once the sun falls beneath the horizon. And it shouldn't bother you, shouldn’t unsettle you, and yet…

The first few nights, you don’t sleep well. Tossing and turning in bed. When you do sleep, your dreams are plagued with unpleasant things. Not nightmares as such, but an uneasiness that bleeds into otherwise pleasant thoughts. On the fourth night you wake, gasping for air. Whatever dream you’d been in the grips of fades like smoke, and as you draw in another shuddering breath your throat itches and burns.

Water. You need water. 

You don’t switch on the lights as you fumble your way down to the kitchen, trying to preserve what little remnants of sleep are still in your system. Even with the moon almost full and the night sky clear, the canopy shrouds it. 

And it’s in that darkness, as your eyes flicker up from the faucet, that you see it for the first time.

A shape, huge and looming, silk shadow against black. 

For a moment, as your heart hammers against your ribs, a chill creeping down your spine, you don’t dare trust your eyes. Maybe you’re asleep still, dreaming, or your mind’s playing tricks on you, because there’s nothing that should be lurking in the woods outside of your window that size.

Two golden, cat-like eyes peer back at you.

They’re still there when you race to flick on the lights, unblinking, curious as you skitter backwards, hand over your racing heart.

You’re tired, emotionally drained and this–

This is nothing more than a figment of an overactive imagination, a child creating monsters from the shadows in their bedroom. Yet even as you run back to the safety of the bedroom, yank the curtains shut and huddle under the meagre warmth your blankets afford you, squeezing your eyes shut, you feel it out there still, watching.

And in the stillness of the mountains outside, you swear you hear footsteps.

—

You wake to fresh snow, too early in the year, even at these altitudes. It dusts the ground, covering the mossy paths in glittering white, clings to the branches of the trees – the red leaves looking like droplets of blood scattered across a grey sky. The snow will undoubtedly melt as the sun rises, turn to slush and mix with the dirt, but for now it’s a thing of beauty.

For a moment, you allow yourself to forget how tired you are, how unsettled, venturing out from the cabin with wide, excitable eyes. It never used to snow when you were here as a kid, and while you get the occasional snowfall back home, it’s nothing like–

You stop dead in your tracks. 

There’s two human footprints imprinted on the snow – only two – right outside your bedroom window, crisp and clean, as if they’d been left just moments before.

—

Your mother sounds worried when you call her. Of course, you don’t tell her about the lone footprints at your window, or the creepy pair of eyes you’d seen through the dark, you know how that sounds. You’re not crazy, and even if some part of you truly believed what you’d seen, your mom is the last person you’d admit it to.

Once upon a time, when you were little, she’d indulged in stories of fairies and spirits, but that was a long time ago. Now she turns up her nose and sneers at the myths and legends that your grandma still spouts, dismissing them with a scoff.

It’s not the kind of thing well-adjusted adults talk about in polite conversation.

She’s a good woman, but you can’t tell her this. 

And you’re not even sure you’re entirely sold on it either. The eyes could have been from a wild animal – big cats might be rare in Japan, but they do exist here. You were half asleep (half terrified) when you had seen them, you don’t want to make a fuss over nothing. The footprints are less easy to explain away. If there’d been tracks leading away, you could convince yourself that it was a lost hiker and nothing more.

But there weren’t any tracks leading away; just the two footprints. And what kind of hiker doesn’t wear shoes in weather like this? It’s possible that this is some kind of prank, a mean spirited trick designed to unsettle you – a job well done, by the way – but you can’t quite bring yourself to believe that either. 

In any case, you’re hardly going to admit over the phone that you’re freaking out over some footprints in the snow. God knows she’s already worried enough about your mental state, has been ever since the breakup, and you’re not going to give her any more ammunition. 

But perhaps there is something to that maternal instinct, because despite your best efforts to reassure her that you’re doing just fine, that your novel’s going great and you’re so glad you came out here, she still sounds entirely unconvinced.

“Honey, you know you can tell me if something’s wrong,” she tells you, her voice strangely hesitant. “You don’t sound yourself, are you sure everything’s okay?”

You don’t know why you called her at all. You always have been a shitty liar, and she’s always been able to see right through you. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Honestly the fresh air’s doing me good,” you tell her. “It’s weirdly quiet here though, I’m not used to it,” you laugh, and even to your ears it sounds hollow and fake.

There’s a heavy pause on the other end of the line, and if you close your eyes you can almost picture it, your mom leaning against the kitchen counter, teeth worrying into her bottom lip–

“I just don’t like you out there all by yourself.”

Relax, what’s the worst that could happen?

The words almost, almost slip out, an instinctive reaction to a mother’s well meaning but overbearing concern. But it feels like tempting fate, and whether or not you’re fully convinced that there is something strange happening, you’re not that bold. Instead you begin to tell her (again) that everything’s fine when she suddenly speaks again.

“Bad things happen in those mountains. Just… just promise me you’ll be safe.”

Abruptly, the line goes dead. 

Pulling the phone from your ear, you glance down at the illuminated screen, only to frown when you see the little ‘SOS Only’ flashing in the top corner. Huh, you’d had a few bars when you’d started the call, but… 

The weather’s gotta be messing with your signal. Stranger things have happened, right?

Shaking your head you resolve to give her a call tomorrow. And yet, even as you try to put her parting words from your mind and throw yourself back into your writing, you can’t help but feel that familiar sense of cloying unease seeping through your skin once more. 

What the hell had she meant, ‘bad things happen in those mountains’?

—

A good night’s sleep can do you wonders. 

Well, theoretically speaking. You can’t remember the last actual decent sleep you’d had, but regardless, the point stands. All you need is an uninterrupted eight or nine hours, and this… paranoia will go away. Things’ll be clearer in the morning, so long as you sleep.

The mantra doesn’t help you any, of course. 

You don’t need to peer through the window to feel those watchful eyes staring. And maybe it would be easier to ignore the prickling sensation at the nape of your neck if it weren’t for the noises.

Music isn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of the mournful wails, like a wounded animal crying out in pain. It’s incessant, inescapable, reverberating inside of your eardrums until it’s all you can focus on.

It’s instinctual, you think, the urge to creep from your bed and try to find the creature making that sound and help it. But even as your feet touch the cool floorboards, your gut clenches, hackles rising. Something deep inside of you warns you from leaving the safety of the cabin.

Whatever creature is making those noises, it’s not calling for help.

You don’t feel like you’ve slept at all, but you must have because at a certain point in the morning you blink your eyes awake, exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin.

And this time it’s not snow that greets you, but the mangled remains of a doe ripped apart on your porch. Deep, jagged gouge marks run along its flank, organs spilling from the cuts and there’s little left of its neck, the whole thing torn out with teeth. Yet for the gruesome injuries, the only blood you find is congealed, pooled beneath the poor creature.

Whatever happened to it, it didn’t happen here. The knowledge doesn’t soothe you like it should – the park ranger you spoke to on the phone mentioned that while it’s rare, sometimes bears venture a little too close to buildings, though he sounds doubtful even as he says it.

He sounds even less interested when you tell him this doesn’t look like a bear attack, but promises they’ll send someone down in the next few days to check everything out. In the meantime, he suggests, it’s best to stay indoors. 

Yeah, not gonna be an issue.

And so with no feasible way of moving it, you’re left with the butchered corpse of a doe just outside your front door. And the thing that bothers you isn’t so much the body, though you still can’t look at it without wanting to throw up, but the fact that it was just… left there.

Not eaten. No, aside from the missing throat, the deer’s all there. Ripped apart with its guts spilling out, but otherwise untouched. Growing up you had a cat, the sweetest little thing, but every once in a while she would get out of a night, find some poor little creature to torment and without fail, she’d bring it back home, leaving it half dead on the doorstep like a gift.

‘See what a good hunter I am?’ she seemed to say, smugly sauntering back inside. 

It wasn’t about food. It wasn’t hunger that drove her, but instinct. As you stare out the window at the doe, at the milky white emptiness of dead eyes, you wonder whether that’s the same here. There’s no tracks in the dirt, no blood smeared across the ground – it wasn’t dragged here. No animal could’ve done this. 

A gift? 

Or perhaps something less benevolent. A threat. You’ve crossed into territory you don’t belong and the deer, cruelly ripped apart and left to bleed out on your doorstep is a line in the sand.

Either way, as tears fill your eyes, a sob tugging free from your chest, you realise that it was a mistake to come here. You don’t know whether you trust your eyes and your ears anymore, but there is something deep inside of you that tolls like a warning bell and as much as you’d like to bury your head in the sand and pretend there’s nothing wrong here, you can’t.

Bad things happen in those mountains.

You need to leave.

The next ferry to the mainland doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning, but it’ll have to do. Once you stop shaking and calm down enough to carry a conversation, you call the local cab company to arrange a pick-up first thing.

You can survive one more night, you just need to throw yourself back into your writing… if you can only just ignore that sense of foreboding prickling at the back of your neck.

—

There’s a boy running through the trees, giggling as he glances back at you. His hand’s outstretched, wrapped ‘round yours tugging you along as he laughs at you to hurry up.

It’s late, the sun dipping below the horizon, but you don’t wanna go back just yet.

You’re having fun, playing in the forest. And the light is golden, filtering in through the pretty red leaves, your sides burn a little from all the chasing and laughter but it’s a good kind of ache. You don’t want today to end.

His name is Kohsuke, you remember, and he lives down in the village by the valley. He’s only one year older than you, and you’d follow him anywhere. 

You think you might be a little in love with him.

‘C’mon, hurry up! It’s only a little further!’ he calls, and you nod, scrambling over the fallen trunk of an oak tree. There’s old spirits who live in this forest, he’d told you, and today you’re finally gonna see one.

It’s dark now. Cold too. You’re tired and hungry and you kinda want to go home, but Kohsuke won’t let you. ‘Just a little longer! Don’t you wanna see them?’

You do. Of course you do. It’s just that you’re starting to get a funny feeling in your stomach… Can he hear the footsteps too? Is somebody following you?

There’s a voice in your ear, a soft, silky purr that makes a shiver roll down your spine, but you can’t make sense of the words, they’re not in any language you understand. You don’t tell Kohsuke – he can’t hear it, otherwise he would have said something. You just clutch his hand tighter, skipping closer.

‘W-we should go back, Koh,’ you murmur, wincing when it comes out in a childish whine. ‘We’re gonna get in trouble.’

You aren’t supposed to stay out playing after dark, he knows it as well as you do. ‘You trust me, don’t you? Stop being such a chicken!’ he snickers as your cheeks heat.

The voice at your ear growls, low and threatening. You need to go back, now.

You blink, and the scene changes.

You’re curled up on the forest floor, hands covering your eyes. Somebody’s screaming – Kohsuke – crying out your name through ragged sobs, pleading–

There’s a crunch, a ripping sound, a wetness sprayed across your cheek. 

Kohsuke’s not screaming anymore.

Something warm and heavy touches your head, drags through the locks of your hair and you just huddle tighter, eyes squeezed shut, shaking like a leaf as more tears spill. You don’t wanna die here. 

The crunching sounds continue, and you keep your eyes tightly shut. It can’t hurt you if you don’t look. 

It can’t hurt you if you don’t look. 

It can’t hurt you if you don’t look. 

It can’t–

A loud knocking jerks you back to consciousness, your body jolting upright, almost swiping your laptop off the table as you try and gather your bearings. Right, you’d been working on your novel, sitting up at the kitchen table, you must have dozed off… A quick glance out the window tells you that you must have been out of it for a while – the late afternoon shadows are starting to creep in, the sky a golden orange. 

What the hell was that dream?!

“Hello? Uh, anybody home?” a masculine voice calls, another loud knock sounding. “We got a call about a wild animal attacking deer…”

Oh, you think, trying to shake yourself out of your stupor, the wildlife people, yeah. You feel a little nauseous, feverish and trembling, though maybe that’s just the result of your erratic heartbeat. 

Swallowing down the bile in your throat, you turn your attention to the door. Truly you hadn’t actually expected that they’d send anybody out to investigate, much less that they’d arrive before you left, but you can hardly turn him away now.

Especially not when there’s a freshly butchered deer corpse lying only a few feet away from your front door. Quickly, you run a hand over your hair, taking a moment to try and collect yourself before you answer.

It doesn’t work – there’s a knot in your throat and for every step you take towards the door it feels like your legs are gonna give out from under you. You move in a daze to unlock the door, only just remembering to school your features into an expression slightly less alarming as it swings open. 

A ranger, tall with a shock of black, messy hair that reminds you oddly of a rooster greets you with an easy grin. “Oh good, I was starting to think nobody was home. You the one that called?”

Distantly, you nod, fingers clutching at the edge of the doorframe. The ranger glances over at the remains of the deer, still lying in a pool of half dried blood, studying it for a moment, hazel eyes sweeping over the deep gashes in its side. You can’t bear to follow his gaze, you’re not sure you can look at that thing again without throwing up. 

He whistles lowly, shaking his head, “Well you don’t see that every day,” he laughs.

Your eyes snap to his, narrowing slightly. It’s not his fault, you know that, but you can’t help the flicker of irritation that sparks at the cavalier attitude. This is just his job, you get it, but you don’t exactly feel like laughing right now. 

“You still think a bear did this?” you retort, the words coming out a little sharper than intended. 

But the ranger takes it in stride, shrugging as his smirk widens. “A bear, huh?” Amusement glitters in his eyes, sharp and mocking. “Why don’t I come inside and you can tell me all about it?” he offers, stepping closer towards you. 

And there’s no reason for your heart to skitter, your blood running cold as he looms over you in the doorway, still wearing that stupid, irritating smirk. There’s no reason for your insides to clench either, or for the tiny, jerky step backwards you take, your body moving of its own accord.

The ranger pauses, head tilting to the side as he stares at you.

Really stares, like he’s waiting for something. And as discomfited as you are (and as much of an asshole as this guy is), a weary apology is halfway to your tongue when he shifts slightly, propping an arm up against the door – the last, dying rays of light catching his face. 

It’s just for a second.

A heartbeat.

But long enough for you to watch those hazel eyes shift to gold, pupils elongating into slits. 

You stumble backwards, breath coming in a short, ragged gasp as your eyes widen into saucers. “What are you?”

The ranger before you chuckles and you catch a glimpse of his teeth; pearly white and glinting, sharper than they had been only moments ago. “Why don’t you let me in and find out for yourself, kitten?”

You shake your head, retreating further into the cabin, heart pounding. 

“No? You don’t like this body, is that it?” he asks, a cruel edge to his smirk as he takes a half step backwards and slowly spreads his arms. “Something more familiar, then.”

And you don’t think there’s any room left in your heart for more fear, your stomach already twisting in sickening knots, but you blink and standing right there in front of you is Kohsuke.

It’s a punch in the guts, a knife slipped between your ribs, yanked ruthlessly through your still beating heart. He’s beaming up at you, those same adorable dimples, the same ridiculous bowl cut, bleeding youthful innocence. “How about now?” he asks, holding out his hand and wriggling his fingers like he expects you to take it. “You’ll let me inside now, right?”

A strangled noise escapes you as you fall to your knees. Tears fill your eyes, blurring your vision – you blink them away but more take their place. 

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asks, and you wail in response.

It’s too much. You shake your head, hugging yourself tightly, as if your arms are the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely. 

He calls your name – not in Kohsuke’s childish lilt, but that deep, ancient purr that makes the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “Let me in.”

“Go away,” you gasp through tears. “Please– please go away.”

The creature shifts again, the dark haired ranger back in Kohsuke’s place. He eyes you, those unnatural gold irises watching with utter enthralment as you sob pathetically on the floor, still pleading – though you know it’ll do you no good – for him to leave. 

“Last chance, kitten. Let me in, or I’ll make you come out.”

He – it – doesn’t sound nearly as put out by the prospect as it should be. 

And you don’t know why giving permission matters, all you know, all you care about, is that it’s keeping that thing at bay for now. It can’t come inside and so long as you don’t leave the safety of the cabin, it can’t hurt you. The words are nothing but an empty threat.

Right?

You shake your head, defiant even as your voice hitches and trembles, “No.”

“Stubborn little thing,” the creature croons, the smirk on its face widening until the visage no longer resembles anything human – mouth splitting its face in two, rows of long, sharp teeth revealed. “So be it.”

A low growl resonates in its chest, and you can only watch, petrified, as thin, vein-like black marks begin to appear over pale skin, growing thicker, cracking as shadow curls from underneath. The creature itself starts to grow too, limbs elongating as muscles ripple and swell, claws bursting forth in place of fingernails, shoulders broadening – until it’s towering over you, wreathed in thick shadow, grinning with that terrifying mouth. 

This is the thing you’d glimpsed that first night. A creature ripped from nightmares and primal fears, strong enough to tear you apart with a single hand. That’s what it’d done to Kohsuke, to the doe, what it’d do to you if you gave it half a chance.

“You wanna play, kitten?” it asks, head tilting to the side. 

Slowly, it backs away from the door, keeping its gaze fixed firmly on you. For a moment, you think that it’s going to disappear back into the forest, or plant itself by your window to watch for another night, waiting you out till dawn, but instead it stops by the old oak that overhangs the porch and stills entirely, simply… waiting.

“Let’s play.”

Abruptly, the oak beside it bursts into flames. It takes only a heartbeat for the entire thing to be engulfed, red and orange flames licking along the trunk, the gnarled, spindly branches, even the leaves are alight, burning away into ash and floating off in the breeze. The heat from one tree alone is searing, the crackle of burning wood and your own horrified, shuddering breath the only sounds in the night.

It snowed only a few nights before, but the fire spreads with unnatural ease, flames racing across the canopy, embers lighting up the undergrowth, and in the space of a few seconds there’s an inferno raging through the forest before you. And through the smoke and the red, burning haze, the creature watches, smirking.

The heat from the wildfire sears painfully at your skin, the air around you suddenly thick with smoke, stinging your eyes, choking your lungs, and yet you can’t seem to tear yourself away. It’s like a dream, a nightmare, some kind of… hellscape.

And for a moment you forget that there was a purpose to this, too lost staring in mute horror as the forest you’d played in as a child burns–

At least until a single leaf from the oak tree, edges curling as it’s consumed by flames, falls, carried by the breeze and lands on the wooden railing of the porch. With a soft whoosh, the old wooden beam catches fire, and with your chest heaving, panicked breaths falling from parted lips, you rise to your feet as flames spread, the fire eating everything in its path until the entire porch is alight, burning.

Run. 

You don’t know if the voice in your head is yours or not, you don’t have time to care. You scramble for the back door, throwing it open, and you run.

Run until your lungs burn, til’ your bare feet are scratched and bleeding, run, pushed forward by the sweltering heat at your back, the chilling crackle of laughter that follows. You run through tears, through pain and air so thick with smoke that it hurts to breathe.

And you know the creature’s giving chase, you know that you won’t – can’t – outrun it, nor the inferno that blazes around you. You know that it’s futile, that you’re probably running to your death, but that’s human, isn’t it?

To run when you’re scared?

The sky’s awash with a hazy red glow when it catches you, throwing you to the ground, and still you try to crawl. Desperate, choking on broken pleas and sobs, nails raking through the dirt as you try to pull yourself forward. 

And when your pants are ripped from your legs, a puff of warm air ghosting over the nape of your neck as you’re shoved back down, those long, black arms settling either side of you, caging you in – you know that you’ve lost.

“Mine,” the creature growls, and you barely have time to scream before its cock shoves into you with one brutal, merciless thrust. “Mine.”

[peakywitch]

Tommy X reader with Prompt no.24 please❤️❤️❤️

Charlie, Mommy and Daddy - Tommy Shelby

Hi beautiful! sorry for keeping you waiting, life is crazy. 

words: 3.5k WOW

warnings: usual, bad language, mentions of dead people and war, angst and fights. 

PART TWO COMING SOON DUE TO THE AMOUNT OF LOVE GOT!!

masterlist

prompt: 24 “Pack your shit and leave. Get the fuck out of my sight!”

As the last days of October approached, Y/N already knew that Tommy's birthday was near. He had never revealed the date, so a few years ago Y/N started celebrating it one of the many days that were after the twentieth. First, it was the 21st, the next year the 22nd, and so on.

He always smiled at the vanilla and chocolate cake that she baked especially for him.

"Did I guess right?" she always asked, with a tired smile, her hair with a little flour and Charlie in her arms.

"Flavor? Yes. The date? Maybe." He answered, with a mischievous and funny smile.

That October 25, 1925, was like any other. While Tommy was in Watery Lane dealing with legal problems, Y/N and Charlie were trying to finish baking a cake.

"Why do we cook?" Charlie asked, as he walked and stumbled through the kitchen.

"Because today... might be daddy's birthday, Charlie." Y/N smiled, as she finished transferring the yellow mixture to a baking dish.

"How many years is daddy turning?" The woman could hear the question even over the creaking noise of the oven door opening.

"Five hundred." Y/N joked, leaving the tray in the oven and closing the door.

Charlie exploded into euphoric laughter.

After a few minutes, the boy asked a question:

“Is mummy going to congratulate daddy for his birthday? Is she coming back?”

The question left his lips so careless, he never understood. But what could someone expect from a four-year-old? But, although he didn´t understand the subject, Tommy actually never told him. “She went away.” He said whenever Charlie asked. He also never answered the “when is she coming back” question.

 “I think you should ask that to your father, Charles.” She answered slightly, he then bolted out into the garden to kick off wilted autumn leaves and on the ground.

While cleaning everything they used to cook, Y/N doubted that Thomas’s birthday was today, but she was sure he was turning 35. The age difference tormented them a bit, but for only seven years. Although in the past it had been the subject of discussion and disagreements, both were clear that one knew more than the other about certain things. Y/N didn't understand anything about politics or horses, and Tommy had no idea how he should act in situations of extreme emotional sensitivity. But they tried, Y/N tried to pet the horses and Tommy wiped her tears with a white handkerchief that had her name embroidered on it but was always in his pocket.

The half-hour of baking went by quickly, Y/N could only think about whether or not today was Tommy's birthday, she was hoping she could find out.

“Is this how it will be? Will I come to my house and watch you cook while my son plays outside?" asked a smile at the door.

The voice took her by surprise, forcing the girl to drop a spoon mixing chocolate. It fell to the floor, staining the white marble brown. It could have been worse, Tommy thought seeing the mess he caused in an instant, it could have been blood.

"Tommy!" she smiled, then hugged him tightly. "Happy possible birthday, possible birthday boy." She said in his ear, as she stroked his nape with her flour-stained hand.

He thanked her and kissed her forehead.

"So… I guessed right?" she laughed, Tommy could only keep his smile on his face, looking into her eyes “Oh come on. Tell me yes once, or at least tell me that I did well one of these last times. "

"Maybe." He said softly, after clearing his throat. He pulled away from her, leaned against the wall, and stroked his lip with a cigarette that he pulled from a metal box once his back was against the wall.

"I'll put salt in your coffee." She laughed as she cleaned up the mess.

"I don't drink coffee, Y/N." he smoked.

"Then... I'll move all the whiskey bottles around for you and hide them." She backed off, rinsing off the dropped spoon.

"I have them locked up and you know it." He reminded her.

Both looks smiled.

…

When the clock struck midnight, Charlie had been asleep for four hours. Tommy and Y/N had been talking about life in his office. Thomas had a glass of Irish in his hand and Y/N had a cup of tea.

The fire was loud, but the photo of Grace kept in Thomas's left desk drawer screamed in Y/N's mind. Charlie's questions echoed too, and that made the poor woman bite her lip with fervor.

"Y/N" Tommy clarified his voice "would you be so kind as to explain to me that you are so stressed out?" he asked, finishing his drink in one gulp.

"Charlie should know."

Without warning or a proper introduction, Y/N spat out what was so killing her. Although she told her husband a lot, she did not tell him about those times he murmured her name in his dreams. Neither of her constant demand to be like her. Because she felt like he was never going to love her the way he loved Grace. She wasn't asking him to love her more than Charlie, she would never ask that. But she felt like she could never fill Grace's place.

"The what?" he asked, lighting a cigarette and settling into the single chair.

“About Grace, Tom. Don't play games with me." She replied, setting the cup of tea on the small glass table that was holding the bottle of whiskey.

"I already told him, a month ago." He said as if nothing.

Tommy had that talent. He spoke of love, death, and war as if they were as simple as numbers. Two plus two is four, you love, you die and people kill. There was never a sugar coating with others. But with Grace's death, it was never like that. Maybe it never would be, but he had to be an adult and explain the truth to his child in a simple way.

“You told him she's gone, he thinks he's in America, Tommy. I think you should…” she continued, insisting softly in her voice.

"Are you telling me how to raise my son, Y/N?" he asked, after taking the cigarette from his lips and pointing at her.

Y/N didn't speak, but pressed her lips tighter, trying not to blurt out a mention about all those times Charlie called her Mom when he was really tired.

She looked at the gold band on her ring finger, her chest sank. She swallowed hard, forgetting how to breathe and starting to breathe rapidly.

"Because if there's one of the two of us who can give a talk about parenting…" Tommy started, stubbing out his cigarette as he tossed it into the fire. "It's me."

"It's me." Y/N laughed, mimicking him. The comments, the stories, the complaints, and the sadness would not be tolerated anymore. "You never..." she began, trying to be as cordial as possible, it was late.

"Here we fuckin' go," Tommy complained, blinking slowly but not moving. He remained static, imposingly static.

“Yes, here we fuckin’ go, you bloody idiot. I know Charlie more than you do; I saw him more than you in these last four years. " Y/N got up from the comfortable sofa, starting to walk through her husband's private office. "Besides…!" the words hurt when leaving, everything she wanted to talk to him and never could, was coming out in the worst way, between screams and tears “Besides, I don't know what the hell to say when he asks me if I'm his mother! Because...!" the words suddenly stopped, they just didn't come out anymore.

Tommy was staring at her frowning; anger ran through his body.

“If you know him better than I do, why don't you tell him in a way that doesn't hurt, eh? Tell him about your bloody God and the angels, why don't you bring her flowers with him too?!"

The questions shot out of him after he jumped up like a bullet from his chair.

"Take him and tell him, tell him the story because I can't! Because I don't want to be the one to tell him that Grace is dead and that she won't be back!” she screamed back at him.

Both faces were transformed, Tommy had never looked so helpless and Y/N at first couldn't understand why Tommy couldn't do it until she had an epiphany.

"Oh my god..." Y/N whispered, covering her mouth with her hands. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her nose was turning red "You still... you still love her."

Thomas's face remained the same as before, did not change with the passing of seconds.

Everything was starting to make sense.

She suspected it, but now she was sure that that woman was still in his heart. She denied every thought and sent it to the back of her mind, ignoring the pain and anger. But she didn't realize it, until today.

“That's why you don't want to have any more children…” she whispered “You are not afraid to die and leave your children alone, Shelby. You don't want anything that isn't hers…” The realization broke her heart, her tears had a life of their own, they all went at different rates falling down her face “My God, what an idiot I was! At what point did I think you loved me!?" she screamed.

Then nothing.

There was only silence. On both sides. One could only hear the fire, like a few minutes ago.

"Why are you with me?" she asked, her heart ready to break again “Do I have her eyes? Do I have the same perfume?" she began to question, as she tapped him lightly on the shoulders and tried to keep her gaze on his blue eyes.

"Do I have her hands? Or what the fuck is it? I kiss just like her, huh? What the hell of her do you see in me?" she asked even more hysterical, her heart wouldn't stop beating and breaking every second, with every word.

Then, with only a few words everything went to hell:

“Mommy? Why are you hitting Daddy?”

Both adults looked at the little boy, standing on the door on his sleeping clothes. His hair was messy and had the cutest sleepy face ever. It melted Y/N’s heart, but Tommy didn’t care about no one else.

“I’ll be up in a minute, Charlie, go to bed.” She murmured while getting closer to the kid “Everything is fine, don’t worry…” she kissed his forehead and he disappeared, so she closed the door.

Y/N turned around and saw Tommy making a phone call, balancing the tube between his ear and shoulder while he served more Irish on his glass.

“Yes, yes please…okay, right now. Carnaby Street, the second house on your left. Yes… thank you.” He hung up and drank more.

“Tommy…” Y/N mumbled while trying to get closer to him.

He ignored her, walking towards a bookshelf across the room. He opened a book while being watched over by his wife.

“Please, I’m sorry. I…” she was about to burst down into tears, she was feeling helpless.

Tommy took a couple of papers from inside the book and left them on the black desk.

“Twenty pounds. Grab ‘em, pack your shit, and go.” He coldly commanded.

“Wha…what?”

Suddenly there was no more air in the room, it was also getting tinnier and tinnier. Her feelings were strangling her soul, she would fall defenseless on the floor at any given time.

“We need to be alone.” He said, and there it was again. He was being artistically careless as always.

“I don’t need to be away from you, I want to be with you and…”

“A car will be here in ten minutes, pack your things.”

He lit a cigar and sat on his black chair, then proceeded to do some paperwork.

“Tommy…” she cried softly, he was breaking her heart into a million pieces. “You are breaking my heart, please…”

“Nine minutes.” He muttered, without even looking at her.

How could he not care about here? The question was on her mind when she left him alone in his office, the doubt and the pain only grew bigger and bigger as she walked up the stairs to their room.

She opened the door, and everything came back to her.

The feelings she had ten years ago, seeing him date other women while she waited patiently for him to notice her, comforting him all those long nights after the war where he would just cry silently, him exchanging her arms for Grace’s and replacing her in every aspect with the Irish woman… Every single moment washed over her. Like an abnormal gigantic wave, it shook her. She suddenly became lost, she forgot where her dresses were, where her shoes were, and where the man she always loved was. But most importantly, she wondered if there ever was any love in him for her.

“Mommy?” a soft voice asked, and she came back to reality.

There, in the massive bed, was a little body wearing white pyjamas, hugging a stuffed bunny.

He looked sad and tired, just as she did.

“Hey” she susurrated while getting closer to him. She sited on the bed by his side and hugged him. “Charlie…” she whispered while caressing his hair “I have to leave, but we’ll see each other, alright?” Y/N tried to contain her tears, but they were being obedient to her heart.

“No!” he cried, hugging her as tightly as he could “Don’t leave me!”

The little boy was a mess, he was hugging her desperately while crying. She wrapped her arms around him, and another wave washed over her, but this time it was guilt and sorrow.

“Charlie, Charlie, Charlie…” she started to repeat his name quickly, trying to get the kid to look at her “Charlie…look…look at me, Charlie.”

His blue eyes were bloodshot, and his lips were trembling, there was no way Y/N would leave the kid alone here. Charlie was her son, either Tommy liked it or not.

“Grab your coat, you are coming with me. We are going a few days with Auntie Esme, okay?” she cleaned his tears with her thumb and the little kid did the same with hers.

“Don’t cry, mommy.” She smiled with an expression of sadness, then kissed his forehead.

“Don’t forget Mr. Whiskers, he has to come with us so he doesn’t feel lonely without you.”

“Okay…” he whispered and then left.

She started to pack everything she could, which in five minutes it means: two blouses, one pair of pants, a few undergarments, and three dresses. She also took a few things for Charlie. Everything was in the brown leather handbag that had her initials.

“I’m ready.” Said Charlie, while appearing on the doorway with Mr. Whiskers on his left hand and his book Y/N read for him every night.

“Alright, are you ready to have a fun week with your cousins?” she asked while closing her bag, trying to cheer the little boy.

“Yes!” he said, with a smile.

She took her bag and walked to the door, she was now by his side. She saw the room one last time, she knew that was the last time she would leave it with it being “their” room. Because she knew this was the end, it was now Tommy’s room, as it always was.

Tommy’s room. Tommy’s house. Tommy’s kitchen. Everything belonged to him, even she did.

“There’s a car waiting for you, Ms. Shelby.” Said Frances, with a polite smile.

“Thank you, Frances…” she said, and turned around, closing the door. “Let’s go, Charlie.”

She lifted the kid and left him on her hip, while he gripped into her trying not to fall.

“We are going to Auntie Esme’s, we will have lots of fun and…”

She said a lot of things trying to cheer him up, but she was trying to convince herself she wouldn’t cry more that one night for that man.

She walked down the stairs lost in the sorrow, trying to hold everything in place. The kid, the bag, the feelings. She tried to get to the door before Thomas acknowledgement, but he was there, looking at her as if she was just a stranger. But Y/N knew that look on his face. That’s the way he looked at Sabini, that was the way he looked at Kimber before he shot him dead. He was looking at her as if she was his enemy, one who he had to erase.

“Where the fuck do you think you are going with Charlie, eh?” he asked, abruptly and aggressively.

“He´s coming with me.” She said, trying to sound secure and big.

“He’s staying here, this is his house.” He fired back “And I’m his father.”

“But I’m his home.” She fought, Charlie’s face was buried on her neck, he was so confused. “And you are never there for him at night when he cries, neither in the morning when he wants to have breakfast. You are only there to punish him, or to tell him to fuck off because you are working. And he needs time and someone, not a shit tone of money and a massive castle.”

“He’s not your son.”

“Yes, I am.” He cried on her ear, wetting her neck. “You are my mommy.” He kept on crying, he was nervous and scared. He was never in their fights.

“Move countries, I don’t give a fuck anymore. Get the fuck out of my sight, Y/N. Both of you.” He sounded like a mad dog, but at the same time like a lost one. He began to walk away, but froze when he heard:

“Goodbye, Mr. Shelby.”

He couldn’t move, he stood right there. Y/N shut the door slightly and walked straight into the car. She saluted the chauffer and gave him John and Esme’s address.

Ten minutes into the drive, Charlie began to miss Tommy.

“We will have fun, okay? We will play with their dogs, and we will eat freshly picked eggs. We can also go to the lake and do picnics with auntie Esme, how does that sound?” he nodded.

PERMANENT TAGLIST: open

@a-golden-sunflower-vol-6

@fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby 

@stydia-4-ever

[helnjk]

All I’ve Ever Known - G.W.

George Weasley x fem!reader

last of my oneshots for my showtunes fic list, based on the song All I’ve Ever Known from the musical Hadestown! i’ve had so much fun with this series of fics, i hope you guys have enjoyed reading them xx 

Word Count: 2.8k 

Summary: george finds her extremely intriguing, the way she spends her days drawing and creating art. maybe one day he’ll pluck up the courage to talk to her. 

Warnings: mentions of food, mentions of bullying/exclusivity, stereotypical slytherin biases

lyrics are bold and italicized 

–

I was alone so long 

I didn’t even know that I was lonely

Y/N sat by herself at the end of the Slytherin table, pushing what was left of her meal around her plate. She could hear the different conversations flowing around her, the ones including her fellow housemates moreso, but as usual she wasn’t involved in any of them.

She could hear Malfoy sneering to his little crew about something or other that Potter did to irritate him that day. She could hear Adrian Pucey discussing the latest Quidditch plays they had used at training that day. She could hear a couple of first years anxiously discussing the topic of their exams the next day. 

All around her were signs of companionship and community, yet she was left utterly alone. She wasn’t stupid. She knew why she had been outcasted from her house the moment she got sorted. 

“Isn’t she muggleborn?” 

“What a disgrace to Slytherin.”

“The Sorting Hat’s made a mistake with that one.” 

Over the years, she had gotten used to how those in her house treated her–holding her at arm’s length. She had spent many nights in her first year crying herself to sleep because of how all-consuming the loneliness had been, but now at her seventh year, she was numb to it all. 

She knew who she was: A talented muggleborn witch and a proud Slytherin. She didn’t need validation from anyone else. And anyways, most of her time was spent out on the grounds with her sketchpad or in the Room of Requirement painting. 

Loud laughs from the Gryffindor table spurred her out of her thoughts. The Weasley twins had pranked their younger brother, and it seemed like their younger sister was an accomplice to the crime as well. The rest of the red and gold house was watching on amusedly, no doubt accustomed to similar situations. 

The Weasleys were a well known family at Hogwarts. How could they not be? With their fiery red hair and their big personalities, it was a given that they caught the attention of almost every student. 

Y/N admired how they just fit right in with their house, their second family. Of course, a lot of it had to do with the fact that they were so comfortable with the Hat’s placement. Their whole family was sorted into Gryffindor, she could remember, albeit slightly foggily, the older Weasley siblings in leadership roles when she was younger. 

Her eyes lingered on George’s laughing figure for a second longer than the rest of them. She was always intrigued by the younger twin. They seldom had classes together, but from what she could gather, he was just as observant and perceptive as he was mischievous and quick witted.  

As bodies began to take their leave from the Great Hall, a rough shove to the shoulder nearly made Y/N fall onto the floor. Her eyes snapped up to the offender and she saw the unbecoming sneer of Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle were snickering not so quietly behind him as he stared down at her. 

“Whoops,” he jeered, “Sorry to disrupt your staring at the blood traitors and gryffindorks. Maybe you’d be better off with the lot of them.” 

With a huff, Y/N gathered her things and strode out of the hall without so much as a second look behind her.  

It's like I’d known you all along

I knew you before we met

And I don’t even know you yet

All I know is you're someone I have always known

She was drawing again, George noted.

It always baffled him how she was always alone. Usually students at Hogwarts drifted about their days in groups or pairs; it was rare to see someone spend most of their time by themselves. Growing up with 6 siblings, and having a twin, George was so used to the chaos and noise that came with it that he couldn’t picture what it was like to go about your day solo.  

His eyes drifted towards her figure sitting on a blanket out in the grounds. She was blissfully unaware of her surroundings, or more to the point, the person staring at her like a bloody idiot. The weather was slowly transitioning from autumn into winter, and he could tell that she was trying to milk the last few warm days. 

It was no secret to him that she preferred to sketch out in the sunny grounds, but Hogwarts being situated in the Scottish countryside made it so that her window of opportunity to do so was limited.

He was so focused on how her brows furrowed in concentration and how her lips pursed ever so slightly when she made a mistake, that he didn’t notice Fred’s many deep sighs. This caused his twin to take one final deep breath and exhale as loudly as possible. 

“What’s got your wand in a knot then?” George asked, taking his eyes off of Y/N and turning to face his brother. 

“Finally noticed that I exist, have you?” teased Fred. 

“Oi, just get on with whatever you want to say!” 

He merely laughed, “If you want to talk to the snake, just do it!” 

George had the audacity to act as if he didn’t know what Fred meant, “What in Merlin’s name are you on about?” 

“Don’t be daft,” Fred smacked him lightly on the back of the head, “You’ve been pining after that Slytherin bird for months, just go and talk to her already!”

“Was I that obvious?” 

With a frustrated groan, Fred shoved his twin in the direction of the girl. George stumbled for a second and checked to see if she had seen, she hadn’t. He sent a glare at the redhead over his shoulder, before dusting off his trousers and donning a confident facade. 

As he strode across the courtyard, his hands grew increasingly clammy and his heart began to beat erratically in his chest. There was no turning back now, though, as he approached the girl. 

His shadow blocked the sun from Y/N’s notebook and she looked up, not expecting anyone to get so close to her. 

“Erm, hello,” George waved awkwardly as he towered over her figure.

She blinked a few times before replying, “Hello. Can I help you with something?” 

“Mind if I join you?” 

George’s question rang through the still air for a moment as Y/N processed what he had just asked. No one had ever wanted to keep her company as she drew before, she wasn’t quite sure how to react. Just before the moment turned even more awkward than it already was, she gave him a swift nod. 

The tall, lanky redhead folded his legs beneath him as he made himself comfortable on the path of grass next to her. He had to stop himself from grinning too wide, “I’ve seen you around, you know.” 

She merely raised a confused eyebrow in his direction. 

“Not-not like I’ve been stalking you!” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling his ears turn hot, “I’ve just noticed you like to draw out here, especially when the weather’s warm.” 

“Oh,” she mumbled, brushing her hair behind her ear. 

“I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?” 

George’s gaze on hers was so sincere, she kicked herself internally for not saying the right thing to him, “No you’re not! Don’t worry. I’m just not used to people paying much attention to what I do. I mean, I’m not that interesting.” 

She felt small under his analytic gaze, but something in her kept her from looking away. 

“Well I think you’re plenty interesting from what I’ve seen,” He shrugged nonchalantly, “Tell me about your drawings!” 

He had said the magic words and the pair of them dove into a conversation. Y/N couldn’t contain her excitement, as she rarely had the opportunity to speak about something she was so passionate about. 

“These look bloody brilliant,” George murmured in awe as he flipped through the pages of her notebook.  

Y/N’s face warmed at the compliment, “Thanks.” 

All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own 

But now I wanna hold you too

For nearly every day after their first encounter, George made it a point to talk to Y/N. Whether it be along the hallways on the way to class, during meals (he would take her hand and drag her to the Gryffindor tables, much to her bemusement), or out on the grounds while she drew. 

Most of the time, he would talk and talk and talk as she listened quietly. A soft smile would always grace her lips as she observed him and how he spoke so highly of his family and how he was so excited for the shop he would be opening with his brother. The tone of his voice and his large grins always made her feel included in whatever it was that he talked about.

“Hello love,” George smiled down at her before plopping down on the soft grass to her right, “Reckon we’re on the last few days of good weather.”

His eyes raised skywards as the overcast clouds floated above them, hers did the same. 

“It’s alright,” she shrugged, sending him a small smile, “We’ve made the most of it, I think.”  

The pair sat in relative silence, as silent as it could be with one of the Weasley twins, as Y/N built up the courage to show George what she had made for him. With a deep breath, she plucked something from her school bag that lay strewn across the grass and held the parchment to her chest.

“George?” 

“Yeah, Y/N?” his eyes trained on her nervous figure and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Everything alright?” 

She nodded her head swiftly, “Yeah everything’s perfect! I just wanted to show you something that I made.” 

Slowly, she smoothed out the parchment in front of them. She observed George quietly as he took in the sketch she had made. His eyes scanned it over once, twice, three times before they met hers again. 

“Is this…” He mumbled, taking the sketch into his hands to look closer.

“You’ve just been so excited about your joke shop that I–I made a logo for you guys,” she smiled sheepishly, “It’s pretty bare bones, but I wanted you to see it. I won’t take offence if you don’t like it!” 

George stared at her, mouth slightly agape. This was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for him, and she did it out of the kindness of her heart. Without a second thought, he threw his arms around her and quickly pulled her to his chest. Y/N let out a little ‘oof’ as she collided with him, heat spreading throughout her body. She was thankful that she was basically smushed on his chest, at least then he couldn’t tell how flustered she got at his display of affection. 

“So d’you like it?” she asked shyly, looking up at him. 

“I bloody love it!” 

Y/N let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding, the pair of them grinning at each other. 

Later in the day, George all but dragged Y/N into the Gryffindor common room in search of Fred. His brother was sat on one of the couches by the fireplace, chatting idly with Lee. The sound of parchment hitting him square in the chest rang through the relatively empty room. 

Fred’s hands immediately held onto whatever George had placed on him, and his eyes lit with joy as he realized what he was looking at. 

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, “Is this what I think it is?” 

George took a seat next to his brother, his hand tugging Y/N along to take the seat beside him, “Yep. Our Y/N here has made us a logo for Wheezes.” 

“This is brilliant, Y/N! Thank you!” 

For the second time that day, she found herself wrapped up in the arms of a Weasley twin. Slightly used to it, she just laughed the show of affection off and patted Fred slightly on the back. 

“Happy to help,” she smiled. 

–

As the seasons turned from autumn to winter, Y/N found herself spending more and more time with the red headed twins. She found their enthusiasm for their joke shop infectious, always chipping in with ideas of her own for products, or sketching up prototypes for them to look at. 

Slowly, her days were filled with laughter and warmth. 

It was a little jarring at first, spending so much time with people who actually cared about her, people who wanted to hear what she said and see what she created. It surprised her, really, how quickly she had become accustomed to being around them. 

After a while, though, she found herself wanting to spend as much time as possible with George. She lived for the routine that they had formed, spending most of their breaks and meals together. 

It struck her on a seemingly ordinary day, the realization that she was falling for him. 

Y/N and George were at a far corner in the library, discussing how the product designs she made could be tweaked a little. He was hunched over the parchment, tracing his fingers over the soft lines of charcoal on the parchment, smudging it just a tad bit and getting some of the pigment on him.

“I love the way you drew…” 

George had said something or other about the design, but Y/N couldn’t focus on anything except the way his arm flexed as he spoke. From the corner of her eye, she kept glancing at him, noticing how the glow of candlelight cast soft shadows on his face. The freckles on his cheeks seemed to dance in the flickering light, and looking at the constellations on his face made her breath hitch in her throat. 

She couldn’t quite place why her heart was raging in her chest, as if she hadn’t spent most of her days with the red headed boy anyway. 

And then it hit her. 

Her eyebrows shot up at the sudden awareness of her feelings for George. Oh sweet Merlin and Morgana, she thought. 

You take me in your arms

And suddenly there’s sunlight all around me

“George!” 

Y/N’s voice rang through the relatively empty hallway as she raced to meet her friend. The friend that she might have been in love with. The friend that she spent hours and hours of her day with, trying to ignore the bubble of feelings that wanted so badly to burst in her chest. 

The redhead who was on his way back up to his common room paused mid-step as he heard her voice. He spun on his heel, turning just in time for him to see her barreling towards him, waving a piece of parchment above her head. 

When she nearly collided head on with him, he instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist and steadied her, “Woah there, Y/N. There’s no need to try and kill me.”

She huffed, catching her breath slightly, “Sorry, I’m just so excited!” 

“Are you going to tell me what you’re excited about, or?” he teased, cocking his head to the side. 

With a grin on her face, she shoved the piece of parchment she was holding into George’s hands, “I just figured out how the general design of the Wonder Witch products should look like! See here there’s a–”

“Godric I love you.”

Both bodies froze at the statement. George immediately felt his whole body get hot, no doubt tinging his cheeks and the tips of his ears red. Y/N’s mouth was slightly agape, her mind whirring with all kinds of thoughts as she tried to comprehend what had just come out of George’s mouth. 

“What?” she asked, unable to form a proper sentence. 

George took a deep breath, there was no going back now, “Erm, yeah. I fancy the hell out of you, Y/N. That wasn’t the way I would’ve preferred to tell you but, I do–I do love you, yeah.” 

“Oh, Georgie,” Y/N whispered. 

Taking her answer as a rejection, he nervously rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s alright that you don’t feel the same way, I don’t want this to ruin–”

Instead of replying, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him in a hug, “I love you too, you silly boy.” 

The nerves got the better of her, and her words were slightly muffled as she whispered them into his chest. 

“Come again?” 

“I love you too, George!” 

A wide grin spread across his face as he looked at the girl in his arms. He felt like he could fly with how happy he was. Everything he needed was right in front of him, and he would hold her close for as long as he could. 

–

General taglist: @expectoevans​ @george-fabian-weasley​ @gxthsanrio​ @slytherinscribbles​ @harpyloon​ @nuttytani​ @mesmerisedangel​ @amourtentiaa​ @hufflepuff5972

Weasley twins taglist: @whizboingies​ @pineapplesandpinas​ @papapapadumb​ @mrs-g-weasley​ @a-castle-of--glass​ @hey-there-angels​

[hrina]

Something Strange

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: R WORD COUNT: 6.3k+ REQUESTED: no

uhhhh hi. so. this is my (first ever) halloween fic, ft. infuriatingly cocky ghostbuster!harry. i really hope you guys enjoy it, and just like every other writer on this godforsaken site, i’d love to hear any feedback that you might have. ok im done now lol go forth and read :)

warnings: cursing, brief nsfw content, a nasty habit of jumping to conclusions, and harry being an asshole with a secret heart of gold.

~*~

    October 2nd, 2021

Your attention is first caught by the massive, obnoxiously-coloured truck parked in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway. The entire vehicle is a shade of navy blue, though its sophistication is ruined by the neon green bubble lettering streaked across its doors.

Spooked? Call Styles’ Scares!

Beneath that, there’s a promise painted in bright pink:

Lasting results or your money back!

“What the hell?” you mutter.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and exit your car, momentarily forgetting about the groceries sitting in the trunk. Mindy and Gerald are standing on their porch, absorbed in a light-hearted conversation. When they catch sight of you trekking across the lawn, they smile brightly and offer up a pair of welcoming waves.

“Hi, there!” you call, shoving your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “What’s all this?”

“Good afternoon, dear!” Mindy replies. She quickly descends the front steps, meeting you halfway and enveloping you in a tight hug. “How are you? It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

“You can drop in whenever you want,” you say, chuckling. “It’s not like I live very far away.”

“How have you been?” Gerald follows his wife, steadily making his way off the porch. “How’s school?”

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Things are picking up, now, but I’m trying my best to stay on top of them.”

You toss your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing to the bright pickup truck parked in their driveway. (It really is ugly, you think. Probably one of the ugliest vehicles that you’ve ever had the displeasure of perceiving.)

“What’s going on?”

“Oh!” Mindy lifts her hands to her mouth, gazing at you with wide, serious eyes. “Our house is haunted.”

You balk. “Pardon me?”

“I know, I know,” she sighs, shaking her head. “It sounds silly. I didn’t believe it at first either, but—something keeps knocking our picture frames off the wall. And the lights! They start flickering at random intervals throughout the day.”

“Are you sure it’s not just rats?” you joke.

Gerald, who has now joined you on the lawn, holds up his hand solemnly. “We tried using traps, but they haven’t been touched at all.”

“Exactly.” Mindy nods, turning back to you. “We’re already worried about Joseph’s wedding next week, so one of the ladies at the community centre recommended Harry. That same day, Gerald gave him a call, and that was the end of it.”

“Who’s Harry?” you ask, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Er—” A deep voice sounds from behind you. “I am.”

When you turn around, you come face-to-face with one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. He’s got mossy green eyes, dark pink lips, and brown hair that curls around his temples and behind his ears. Smooth skin stretches out over high, chiseled cheekbones and a sharp jaw. He’s wearing a pair of light-wash jeans and matching white sneakers. A black hoodie covers his broad chest; upon taking a closer look, you note that the two front strings have been tied into a picturesque little bow.

Mindy wastes no time, introducing the two of you immediately. When Harry holds out his hand for you to shake, you don’t hesitate.

“Did you want my card?” he asks, peering at you curiously.

You study his expression. Beneath his seemingly sincere exterior, arrogance runs wild and unchecked. You know this man. You’ve met him a hundred different times under a hundred different circumstances, and you’ve learned to recognize a lost cause when you’re staring it square in the face.

“Not at all.” You shoot him a fake smile. “I’m just the neighbour.”

“Right.” His lips twitch. He steps back, rolling his shoulders and lifting his chin in the direction of the house. “Well, I should probably get to work. It was nice meeting you, babe.”

Your nose wrinkles as the pet name sinks in.

When you turn back around to resume your conversation with Mindy and Gerald, they’re gone. Your eyes bounce to the right, where you find them guiding Harry up the porch steps. Mindy has one hand on his bicep whilst gesturing animatedly with the other. Gerald opens the front door and holds out his arm, welcoming Harry inside.

You scoff, shaking your head in disdain.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” you mumble as you make your way back across the lawn. The trunk of your car squeaks when you pull it open, and plastic bags rustle as you gather your groceries into your arms.

Ghosts aren’t real. And Harry is obviously a scammer, based on…well, based on everything. The tacky design on his truck. The unprofessional wardrobe. The self-assuredness emanating from every cell in his body. Babe.

But Mindy and Gerald truly believe that their home is haunted. Trying to change their minds without a shred of physical proof is pointless. You blow out a soft sigh, accepting the grim reality of your situation.

Your neighbours are gullible, trusting people. And for the next few days—whether you like it or not—Harry is here to stay.

      October 5th, 2021

You’re approximately two seconds away from chucking your textbook against the far wall.

You’ve been trying to finish this chapter for the past hour. And though you pride yourself on being tolerant when it comes to petty annoyances, your patience is wearing thin. A quick glance out of your bedroom window reveals Harry’s hideous pickup truck parked—yet again—in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway.

You roll your eyes. Of course.

The piercing, raucous whirring starts up again; you release a frustrated yell, slamming your book shut and leaping off your bed. You’re muttering obscenities under your breath as you stalk down the hall, stopping briefly to slide on a pair of fuzzy slippers. When you yank your front door open, the chilly autumn air settles into your bones.

The clamour grows louder as you stomp across your shared lawn. When you knock on Mindy and Gerald’s door, the commotion is nearly unbearable. A few seconds go by, during which your presence remains unacknowledged; you rap once again on the wood, hoping that the sound will be conspicuous enough amidst all of the background noise.

Sure enough, everything goes quiet. Your shoulders slump with relief just as the door opens. Mindy greets you with a friendly smile.

“Hi, dear,” she says kindly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi.” You force yourself to mirror her affable expression, hoping that she can’t see the pained exhaustion brewing in your eyes. “Could I just—could I speak with Harry, please? It won’t take long.”

“Of course.” She nods before peering at you anxiously. “Don’t tell me that you’ve got ghosts, too.”

“No.” You shake your head. Ghosts aren’t real, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. “No, I just—I just need to have a quick word with him, that’s all.”

“Alright. I’ll go fetch him.” She turns around and totters away.

You hear her call his name, followed by the telltale sound of shuffling. After a few long moments, he’s there, leaning against the doorway with a bemused look on his face.

“Evening, babe,” he says coolly. “What’s up?”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, folding your arms over your chest.

Harry’s eyebrows shoot upward. He hadn’t expected you to greet him with such animosity, you suppose. His outfit is nearly identical to that of the other day, save for the red bandana perched atop his head. He buries his fingers into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging nonchalantly and pinning you with a blasé, unimpressed gaze.

“Noted,” he says. The corners of his lips curl up into a crooked smirk as he repeats, “What’s up?”

“You need to keep it down,” you say flatly. “I don’t know what kind of fake ‘exorcism’ bullshit you’re trying to pull off, but the noise is driving me insane. I need to study.”

“‘Fake’?” Harry parrots. “You don’t believe in spirits?”

“No,” you deadpan. “I don’t.” You narrow your eyes, studying the subtle movements of his face. “And if I had to take a wild guess, neither do you.”

“Really,” he says, chuckling softly. It isn’t a question.

“Really.”

Harry watches you, tickled by your obvious exasperation. “I get the feeling that you don’t like me very much.”

“Look at that,” you say, rolling your eyes. “He does have a brain.”

“You’re so judgmental.” He laughs, shaking his head. “How can you dislike me when you barely even know me?”

“I know enough,” you reply, scowling. “I know that you’re a fraud who takes advantage of people and their fears. And for what? Just so that you can take home a paycheque at the end of the day?”

“Ouch.” Harry feigns injury, placing a large hand over his heart. “That hurts, babe.”

There it is again. Babe.

“You know what?” Your nostrils flare. “Forget this—it’s like trying to explain rocket science to a toddler.”

He grins. “Yeah, I suppose. I’m much cuter, though, don’t you think?”

You scoff, pedalling backward. “In your dreams.”

His delight only seems to grow when your retort sinks in. You whip around, descending the porch steps and storming back toward your house. When you chance a glance over your shoulder, Harry is still standing in the doorway, a shit-eating smile stretched wide across his cheeks.

“Just keep it down, okay?” you call irritably.

He raises two fingers to his temple in a mock-salute, and you march away without another word.

      October 8th, 2021

“You’re sure?”

You laugh. “Yes, Mindy, I’m sure. I promise.”

“Alright,” she assents, blowing out a quiet sigh through the phone. “I went grocery shopping today, so our cupboards are fully stocked—help yourself to anything you’d like. Also, when you flush the downstairs toilet, the water may look like it’s rising, but it goes down after a second or two.”

“Noted.” You snicker. “Anything else?”

“That’s it,” she says. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” you reply. “Tell Joseph and Amy that I said congratulations, yeah?”

“We will! See you later, dear.”

“See you later.”

      October 9th, 2021

When Mindy and Gerald get back tomorrow afternoon, you’re going to wring their necks.

Agreeing to housesit whilst they celebrated their son’s wedding a few cities away? Sure. Fine. You had a long night full of nothing planned—sitting in front of the television, munching on some snacks, relaxing for the evening and trying to forget about all of the schoolwork waiting for you at home. You were in the middle of watching a Golden Girls rerun when, suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Coming!” You stood, setting your bowl of popcorn aside. The knocking continued as you made your way to the front entrance, wiping your buttery fingers against the dark leggings covering your thighs.

“I’m coming,” you said exasperatedly. You opened the door, ready to shoo away whoever it was—a salesperson, probably.

Instead, you came face-to-face with Harry.

And now, you’re here—slumped on the couch, angrily shovelling popcorn into your mouth. You keep your gaze trained on the television, trying your hardest to avoid the man who is setting up his “equipment” in the middle of the room.

“Can’t you do this in the kitchen?” you deadpan.

He flicks a switch on his machine—it looks an awful lot like a standard centrifuge. What a fraud.

“Spirit energy’s strongest in here,” he grunts. His knees scuff against the carpeted floor.

A derisive laugh falls from your lips. “Mindy and Gerald aren’t here—you can drop the act.”

Harry glances up at you, his pretty green irises glimmering. “What act?”

You roll your eyes and look away, fixing your attention back on the grainy screen.

Neither of you say anything for the next few minutes; tension builds, saturating the air and making it hard for you to breathe. Eventually, Harry breaks through the awkward silence. You want to scream.

“Er—” he starts, expectant. “Do you mind stepping out for a second? I need the room.”

Your nostrils flare. “Excuse me?”

“I need the—”

“I heard you,” you say, sitting up straight. “You don’t need anything. What the hell are you playing at?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, babe.” His tone is genuine, but you can sense the mirth simmering just beneath the surface. His lips twitch, and your frustration boils like water over a stove.

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, folding your arms across your chest. “And stop playing dumb. Other people might put up with your pseudo-spooky bullshit, but I won’t. Ghosts aren’t real!”

The lights go out.

You gasp, straining your eyes in an attempt to regain your bearings. Slowly, blurry shapes and shadows materialise in front of you. You fumble around for your phone, picking it up and tapping the screen. A moment later, the device’s flash lights up the room. You shine it from side to side, eventually settling on Harry, who is looking up at the ceiling in complete and utter bewilderment.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “Now you’ve done it.”

“Done what?” you squawk, glaring at him. “The power went out. Big deal.”

The lights flicker fleetingly, and then the room is dark again. Your eyes drift over to Harry; he’s smirking.

“This isn’t a ghost,” you say stubbornly, waving your phone around. The bright light bounces across the walls before you steady yourself, positioning the beam back on him. He stands, sinking his hands into the deep pockets of his sweatpants.

“And how would you know?” he teases, cocking one eyebrow challengingly.

“Because,” you scoff. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

Something crashes to the floor. You yelp in surprise, your head snapping to the right. When you shine your light in the direction of the noise, you find a shattered picture frame lying on the ground.

“What the fuck?” Harry murmurs, advancing toward the mess.

“Careful!” you say, holding up your hand. He stops in his tracks, peering over at you in confusion. “There’s glass, idiot,” you explain, climbing to your feet. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He shoots you a crooked smile. “You do care.”

“I don’t.” Your response is curt. “I just don’t feel like driving you to the hospital so that they can remove fragments from your foot.”

Harry chuckles.

You sigh, squinting at the fallen frame. “We can clean it up when the lights come back on,” you say, mostly to yourself. “I don’t want to risk anything.”

He nods and yawns, stretching his arms out above his head. “Suit yourself, babe.”

“The next time you call me that, I’m going to—”

“What?” he asks, padding over to the sofa. You watch him approach with a deep scowl on your face. He collapses onto the couch, slouching and spreading his legs obnoxiously wide. “You gonna beat me up or something?”

You shake your head in disbelief, stepping away from him. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“So you say,” he replies, unbothered.

“You’re so—”

You break off, producing an angry noise in the back of your throat. Harry winks at you; in response, you whip around and storm away, carving out a path from the living room to the kitchen.

You shine the light from your phone across the cupboards, making a beeline for the fridge. When you pull it open, the cold compartment is dark. Squinting, you reach for one of the many water bottles stacked on the top shelf.

Stupid Harry, with his stupid smile and his stupid eyes and his stupid attitude and his stupid bogus business. You can’t believe that Mindy and Gerald were naïve enough to fall for his bullshit. You need to have a long talk with them when they get back, you think—to ensure that they never swallow a pill this big ever again.

“Thirsty?”

You nearly jump out of your skin, pointing your phone toward the kitchen’s exit. Harry is standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You bring one hand up to your sternum, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss, shaking your head. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He snickers lowly. You turn your attention back to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and uncapping it quickly. Through the darkness, Harry watches you gulp down the cool liquid; you pretend not to notice.

“Can I help you?” you finally ask, wiping your mouth with the heel of your palm.

“No.” He shrugs. “Just…looking, I guess.”

“That’s creepy,” you reply flatly. He laughs.

“May I steal a bottle?” he says, padding across the tiles. “I’m parched.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I—sure. Whatever.”

And though you try, you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from him. He hums as he opens up the fridge, leaning forward to get a better look inside. You play with the hem of your sweater, standing behind him awkwardly. When he peers over his shoulder, you quickly look away, feigning interest in the marble countertop next to the sink.

“Er—” he starts. He fixes you with an inquisitive look, glancing down at the device in your hand. “Would you mind? I can’t see anything.”

“Don’t you have your own?” you ask.

“Yeah, but you’re already holding yours. Come on.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

You draw nearer, lifting your phone and shining its flash into the fridge. Harry hums, plucking a water bottle off the top shelf with a satisfied smile. When he turns to face you, a puff of air catches in your throat; he’s awfully close, his torso brushing almost imperceptibly against yours.

You stare up at him, stunned. There’s a small mole beneath the left corner of his mouth. Part of you—an insignificant, microscopic part—fights the urge to reach out and run your thumb over the mark.

“I’m sorry for calling you a piece of shit,” you blurt.

He inhales deeply, chest expanding and fitting a bit more firmly against your own.

The contact snaps you out of your trance. You retreat, backing up against the counter to maintain your balance. Harry clears his throat and glances away.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Unable to find the right words, you simply nod.

The two of you stand there for a long moment, sinking into a pool of uncomfortable silence. Just when you think that you’re going to choke on the invisible tension, a faint buzz resonates through the air. Less than a second later, the power returns, illuminating the kitchen in a wash of warm, brilliant light.

“Thank God,” you mutter. You shut the flash on your phone, sliding the device beneath the waistband of your leggings.

Harry blinks rapidly, disoriented. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

He waves your question away. “No, it’s—it’s nothing.”

And you don’t really feel like pressing the subject, so you let it go. A tired sigh falls from your mouth as you scan your surroundings.

“Help me find a broom,” you tell him. “We need to sweep up the glass in the other room.”

His lips twitch. “What’s the magic word?”

There he is. The same insufferable man who has been pushing your buttons all week. You scowl, shooting him a displeased glare.

“Forget it.” You drag your fingers down the left side of your face. “I’ll do it myself.”

~*~

“You sure you don’t want my help?” Harry calls, kicking his feet up onto the sofa.

You grunt, crouching next to the shattered glass on the floor. “Positive.”

The broom and dustpan that you’ve acquired from the laundry room are old and frail, but you suppose that they’ll get the job done. You set the dustpan down on the ground, wrapping your fingers around the broom’s handle and trying to maneuver it in an efficient way. It’s no easy feat, but eventually, you manage to create a small, compact pile of shards. Gingerly, you reach for the picture frame, plucking it up from the ground and setting it off to the side. Next, you take your time sweeping all of the fragments into the dustpan, inspecting the floor for any lingering bits.

“Struggling over there?” Harry asks.

You grit your teeth.

“No,” you counter in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think I got it all, actually. No thanks to you.”

You throw the last part over your shoulder, coupling it with an accusatory frown. Harry holds up his hands in surrender, suppressing his amusement.

“Shouldn’t you be exorcising spirits?” you ask. Sarcasm drips from your words.

He chuckles. The couch squeaks as he shuffles around; a moment later, the sound of approaching footsteps reaches your ears. You stiffen when he stops next to your squatted form.

“To be quite honest,” he begins, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, “I’m having a much better time watching you.”

“Creepy,” you say. “Again.”

He laughs, lowering himself to his knees. In the periphery of your vision, you watch him pick up the abandoned picture frame, turning it around and studying the photograph inside. His cheeks lift with the slope of a familiar smile, but somehow, this one is different from the others that you’ve witnessed.

It’s real. Sincere.

“Nice, don’t you think?” Harry asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

He extends his arm, revealing the photograph. Mindy and Gerald’s beaming faces stare up at you, a balance of bright grins and crinkled eyes. Subconsciously, your lips curl upward, and you take the frame from Harry’s hands.

“Yeah,” you murmur, running your fingertips over the photo. “They look happy.”

“How long have you known them?” he asks. There’s no malice behind the question.

“Since I moved in,” you say absentmindedly, admiring the ornate frame around the picture. “A few years, now.”

He hums in response. “They talk about you a lot.”

“All good things, I hope.” You cast a wry look in his direction.

He chuckles and nods. “Yeah. They look out for you, it seems.”

“I try to look out for them, too.” You sit back on your haunches, groaning quietly. “Which is why I was surprised that they didn’t come to me when they first thought their house was ‘haunted’.”

Your intonation changes on the last word; you still don’t believe that your neighbours are being plagued by spirits, despite the plethora of peculiarity that you’ve witnessed tonight.

“Maybe they didn’t want to worry you,” Harry suggests.

You roll your eyes. Even now, he refuses to drop the act.

“Sure,” you say. “So, hiring a spirit exterminator—or whatever you pretend to be—was a better move?” You snort softly, climbing to your feet. “How much are they paying you, anyway?”

He purses his lips. “They’re not.”

You freeze.

A beat of silence drags out, during which you swallow your shock. You clear your throat and lift your chin, staring down at Harry banally.

“You’re lying.”

“Nope.”

“You are!” you insist. A short, incredulous laugh tumbles off your tongue. “You are one hundred percent fucking with me.”

“I’m afraid not,” he says.

“Your truck, though...” you say. “‘Lasting results, or your money back’?”

“I’ve got to make it look legitimate, don’t I?” He smirks. “But it’s cute that you remembered.”

Your eyes lock with his, and suddenly, it’s almost impossible to breathe. His gaze is deep, open, and honest. Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Instinctively, your legs carry you a few paces back, veering toward the sofa. You plop down onto the plush cushions, clutching the picture frame tightly between your fingers.

“Then, why—?” you break off, shaking your head. “Why would you—?”

“Peace of mind,” Harry shrugs, still rooted to his spot on the floor. “Ever heard of the placebo effect?”

“You admit it, then,” you say, sitting up straight. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

He nods, blinking languidly. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“So,” you start, trying to make sense of the situation, “you let them believe that you’re actually cleansing the house—for free, too—just to—?” You glance around the room, searching for the right words. “—just to put them at ease?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s…”

Sweet. Thoughtful.

“…ridiculous.”

Harry chuckles. “Thanks.”

“I—” You hesitate, depositing the photograph next to you on the couch. “This whole time, I thought you were just…”

“A con?”

You bring your fingers up to your mouth, nodding silently and studying him with big, rounded eyes.

He shrugs.

“I mean, I never really got the chance to explain myself. You’d already made up your mind about me, hadn’t you? So, I thought I’d just let you stick with your assumptions—it didn’t bother me much.”

“I’m a horrible person,” you say, mostly to yourself.

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “No, you’re not. You’re just a bit judgmental, that’s all.”

“You’re right.” You nod again, bowing your head in shame. “I am. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, babe, really.”

You stand abruptly, abandoning your spot on the sofa.

“I should finish up,” you state, embarrassed beyond belief. Harry watches you closely as you approach. You crouch down next to him, reaching for the dustpan with shaky hands. A few small shards of glass are littered at the brink of the collector; you nudge them away from the edge, trying to be as careful as possible.

“Ow!” you suddenly hiss, retracting your arm quickly. You twist your wrist, fixing your attention on a thin cut engraved into the pad of your index finger.

“What happened?” Harry asks, leaning forward.

You shake your head, waving away his worries. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just got nicked, that’s all.”

“Let me see,” he requests, holding out his own hand.

You pause, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and stealing a quick glance at his face. His expression is concerned, but neutral. Your hesitation is silly, you think—he may be a bit of a jackass, but he’s not going to hurt you. You’ve already condemned him once before, and you were wrong.

You don’t want to make that mistake again.

After a brief moment, you give in, sliding your knuckles into his open palm.

“It’s alright, really,” you say, speaking around the lump in your throat. “The piece was tiny—it hardly broke the surface.”

Harry inspects the laceration closely, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

It’s not that serious, you want to tell him, but you refrain from letting the words escape. Part of you is enjoying the way your hands fit together so perfectly. You don’t want it to end—not yet.

“You’re bleeding a bit, babe,” he announces faintly, brows cinched in concentration.

“I am?” You try to tug your arm back, but he keeps a firm grip on your wrist. A low, confused noise echoes in the back of your throat; Harry peers up at you, his features unreadable.

“It’s just a spot,” he murmurs. “Let me.”

And before you can say or do anything else, he’s taking your finger past his lips and giving an easy, gentle suck.

You squeak.

The sound snaps Harry out of his trance; he releases your hand and recoils hastily. You exhale, driving out the stale air gathered in your lungs. When you peek up at him from beneath your lashes, he’s already watching you, shoulders taut with anxiety.

“Sorry,” he stammers. His nostrils flare. “That was weird—sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shaking your head. “Er…thanks.”

“No worries.” He swallows.

“Alright.”

Awkwardly, you wipe your clammy palms against your thighs. Harry seems to be looking at everything except for you; his gaze flits to the ceiling, then to the couch, then to the floor. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and push yourself up off the ground. The room is painfully quiet as you slowly slink back toward to the sofa.

“I should probably put this somewhere safe,” you mumble, picking up the forgotten picture frame.

Warm air floats over the nape of your neck. You gasp and spin around, nearly toppling over in your haste. Harry’s hands find your shoulders, steadying you and crowding you closer to his chest. You glance up at him; your shallow breaths mingle together in the narrow space, noses only inches apart.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice no higher than a gruff whisper. “Tell me. Please.”

In response, you fumble for one of his hands, grappling at his wrist; he loosens his hold on your arms, confused but willing. He’s motionless as you lift his knuckles up to your mouth. You glance down, tilting your head to the side and studying them carefully. Harry says nothing when you press a soft, feathery kiss to the pad of his index finger.

But then you’re dipping the tip of the digit between your lips, and suddenly, he’s undone.

“Fucking—”

He grabs your face in his palms and seals his mouth to yours.

The two of you stagger backward, tumbling onto the couch. Mindy and Gerald’s picture frame slips from your grasp, landing on a neighbouring cushion with a faint thud. Reflexively, your legs part; Harry takes his rightful place between them, slanting his body accordingly. When he applies the faintest hint of pressure, you moan.

“Fuck.” He draws back, his warm breath wafting over your chin. “Don’t.”

“‘Don’t’ what?” you ask, puzzled.

He shakes his head. “Don’t make those noises. It’s—you’re—I’m—”

He curses quietly and reaches for one of your hands. You allow him to guide your palm lower, inhaling sharply when you feel the slight bulge protruding from his trousers. Instinctively, your fingers close over the subtle ridge of his cock. His shoulders stiffen, and his eyes squeeze shut.

“You’re hard,” you murmur, as though it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Not fully.” He swallows. “But I’m getting there.”

“Because of me?” you ask, peering up at him innocently.

“Yeah.” Harry expels a wobbly, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, babe—because of you.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as the familiar moniker falls from his mouth. He notices your unusual reaction, mouth curling into teasing smirk.

“What?” he says, lifting one eyebrow. “No nagging, this time? I thought you hated that nickname.”

You grip the collar of his sweater and give a gentle tug, guiding him down for another kiss. When the two of you finally break apart, you shrug. “It’s growing on me.”

He smiles.

“Do you—?” you pause, pursing your lips. The question sounds silly—presumptuous, even. Rather than finishing your sentence, you lift your chin, gazing up evenly into Harry’s green eyes and declaring, “I think I want to sleep with you.”

His cheeks dimple with a wide grin. “Is that so?”

You nod.

“Right, then.” He kisses your nose and pulls away. “There’s a condom in my wallet, but…I may or may not have left it in my truck.”

You groan, allowing your head to fall back against the sofa with a heavy thump. Harry chuckles at your theatrics. After a brief moment of contemplation, you compose yourself and sit up quickly.

“That works, actually,” you say, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Grab your wallet, and then we can go to my place. I don’t think my neighbours would be very happy if we fucked on their couch.”

He laughs, climbing eagerly to his feet and shooting you a smug wink. “You got it, babe.”

      October 10th, 2021

It’s nearly half past noon when you step out onto the porch the next day. You yawn, squinting up at the sun shining brightly in the sky. There are no clouds in sight; the slight chill of the autumn air tickles your exposed arms. You tug on the waistband of your sweatpants, keeping the material seated firmly on your hips.

“Good morning, dear!”

You jump, head snapping in the direction of a familiar voice. Mindy and Gerald are sitting on their veranda, nursing twin cups of coffee and looking awfully cozy. Gerald smiles at you, folding up his newspaper and setting it on his lap.

“Good morning!” You wave before re-evaluating your words. “Well, it’s technically past twelve, so good afternoon.”

Mindy laughs.

“How was the wedding?” you ask, approaching the side of your deck. You lean against the thin metal railing, combing your fingers through your messy hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to be back this soon.”

“We woke up early,” Mindy explains. “And the wedding was fabulous. Amy wore the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” You grin. “Do you have any pictures?”

“Of course! Just let me run inside and grab my phone—”

“Mornin’,” a gruff voice says from behind you.

You gasp and spin around, bringing a hand to your chest. The sight laid out before you has your heart speeding up, galloping wildly and battering against the confines of your ribs.

Harry’s wearing that same hoodie from last night. Your gaze trails lower—he’s also sporting a pair of grey boxers and white socks. There’s a mug nestled in each of his large hands, his spindly fingers wrapped around the handles comfortably. Your eyes lock with his sleepy ones, and your breathing hitches in your throat.

“Morning,” you whisper, unable to muster up anything louder.

“I—” Harry clears his throat, stepping closer and extending his left arm. “I, er, took the liberty of making us some tea. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, it’s—” You swallow as you accept one of the mugs, suppressing a giddy smile. “It’s completely fine. Thank you.”

“Of course.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You nod shyly.

He chuckles. “Good.”

His gaze wanders over your shoulder, and it’s then that he notices Mindy and Gerald sat on the neighbouring porch. Without even batting an eye, he lifts his hand in a friendly wave. “Morning, you two. How was the wedding?”

You turn back toward the couple, a sheepish look on your face. Mindy is beaming, and Gerald is trying to hold back a laugh. Heat creeps up your neck; you wish that the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“It was wonderful!” Mindy trills. Her enthusiasm has skyrocketed. You pinch the bridge of your nose, utterly mortified.

“Yes.” Gerald finally pipes up, smirking knowingly. “It was great. What about you, though? How was your night?”

“Fine,” you blurt before Harry can respond. “It was fine.”

The duo share a look, and then Mindy giggles girlishly. You bring your mug up to your mouth, taking a long sip and groaning into the cup. Harry’s arm snakes around your waist, making you jump. You steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye; he’s fighting a smile.

“Well—” Gerald clears his throat, plucking his folded newspaper from his lap and rising to his feet. “I think I’ll be going, now. Need to catch up on those few extra hours of sleep.”

“Me too,” Mindy says, nodding fervently. She directs her next words at you. “If you pop by later, I’ll show you those photos, okay?”

“Okay,” you croak.

She shoots you one last grin before disappearing inside.

“God,” you say immediately, hanging your head. “That was torture.”

Next to you, Harry laughs. You aim a weak swat at his chest. He snickers, catching your palm and ducking down to drop a gentle kiss against your knuckles. You exhale shakily, twisting your body around so that you can face him.

“Your hair’s a mess,” you murmur, running your free hand through his dishevelled curls.

He cocks one eyebrow. “And whose fault is that?”

You scoff. “Shut up.”

He chuckles quietly and steps closer to you, holding out his mug. You smile in assent, mirroring his movements and clinking your cups together.

“So,” Harry starts, sipping his tea casually, “you gonna let me take you out on a proper date, sometime?”

“That depends,” you say, trying to ignore the flurry of butterflies flapping around in your stomach. “I’ll go—but only if we take my car. I refuse to drive around town in your tacky truck.”

“It’s not that bad!” he protests.

“It’s awful,” you tell him, shaking your head. “It looks it was decorated by a preschooler during arts and crafts.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes playfully, giving in. “Any other requests?”

You pause, lost in thought.

“One more, actually,” you say, fixing him with a challenging stare. “You need to come clean to Mindy and Gerald.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Alright.”

“Really?” You balk, taken aback by his compliance. “That’s it? But I—I had a whole speech prepared.”

Harry laughs softly, cradling your face with his free hand and kissing you slowly. Your fingers tighten around your mug. When the two of you break apart for air, he shrugs.

“I started considering it after everything that happened last night. Keep your speech, though.” His lips twitch. “You’ll be needing to scold me again in no time, I’m sure.”

Your shoulders shake with a silent giggle. “You’re probably right.”

“Also—” Harry clears his throat, soothing the ache with another sip of tea. “You may want to suggest that they hire an exterminator.”

“An exterminator?” you repeat, blinking in surprise. “But…they don’t have rats. Gerald said that the traps hadn’t been touched.”

“Not rats,” he hums. “Squirrels, I believe. Living in the walls.”

“And how did you reach that conclusion?”

“I’ve been doing this for a while, babe—I’ve seen my fair share of pests. Plus,” he clucks his tongue, “they like to chew on wires.”

“Really?” You sigh distantly, pinching your bottom lip. “God, that sucks.”

“It does.” He nods, wrapping his fingers around your forearm. “But you can tell them later.”

“Later?” you say, brows knitting together. “Why not right now?”

“Because,” Harry grunts. You squeal when he crowds you up against your front door. He cups your jaw and tilts your chin up with his thumb, handsome face splitting into an easy, salacious grin.

“Right now, I’m taking you back to bed.”

~*~

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this piece, please consider donating to my ko-fi! and as always, don’t forget to share your thoughts. thank you bunches <3

[cultgambles]

Nearly a Blip in Time

I love historical sukuna so here i am. Also i am lowkey so confused at his story. Like i know he was a sorcerer at one point in history but like when did he get all his arms?? BC according to the wiki he was killed and then became a cursed spirit and then his fingers were waxy (lol weird choice of word) ?? anyway, in this, hes not a people hes a monster.

He’s also OOC. first time writing for JJK, but i wanted something soft hehe. Reader bites the dust

Wc: 3033

Masterlist | Requests? open

“[Y/N], you can’t be serious. No way a person of your . . . stature . . . could research in depth about something as big as Ryomen Sukuna. In fact, I’d wager that you wouldn’t even get within 5 feet of his temple,” the local teacher scoffs, disbelief plain as day on his face.

“You wager? What if I do get within 5 feet, then? Will you take me in as your student?” You cross your arms, staring him down. “Do you accept the challenge? I mean, you said it to begin with.”

The scholar throws up a hand, blowing you off. “Fine, whatever. You have half a year to write an in-depth dissection of the demon lord Ryomen Sukuna, and you will report your findings back to me at this very hour once your time is up. I expect perfection.”

“And if I win?” You ask, writing down every word he has said.

“You won’t die.”

“And?” You shoot him an unamused glare.

“And I will take you in as a student. God curse your father for teaching you to read and write.”

“He knew it would be beneficial for me. Now, sign here so you don’t try to cheat your way out of this,” you thrust the wood block and paper attached towards him. The scholar grumbles, almost breaking the ink brush in the process of writing his signature.

You carefully tuck the contract under your arm and scurry off, not before telling him you’d be back.

His laughter echoes around you.

At home, your father was amazed and horrified to learn of this deal, but he knew nothing could stop you. You gave him one last hug for the time being and gathered what little belongings you had in a knapsack.

“Don’t worry, father, I’ll be back before you know it.” His warmth lingers on your person, seeping into your bones. You’ll miss this.

Sukuna’s temple isn’t far from your village, in fact, he was revered as a protector of some sorts. Perhaps one quick to anger and that changed on the dime. It was a couple miles up the mountain where the snow thinned in winter and where the flowers bloomed in the spring. You’ve been to it only a handful of times before, once with your father, and several with the other village ladies. A yearly tradition, you suppose.

The temple is always well kept, the torii gates painted a pristine red, the surrounding area swept and neat, no dust to be seen near the wells or on the floor. Some, like the scholar you had made a wager with, merely believed he was a spirit, a demon of imagination. Others, like you and your mother, really believed in his existence. Before it becomes too late, you decide to scope out the area and set up camp a ways away from the temple so as to not disturb him. You briefly wonder if he was here or away at some other village. Would he be wreaking havoc? or be somewhat kind and spare the folks living there? You decide to set up your small camp under the camouflage and protection of the trees, maybe fifty feet from the river. You’d be much happier to stay at home, but the paths could become treacherous for a young thing like you at night. Maybe a little bit of the great outdoors is what you needed, anyway.

Almost a week passes before you ever have the hint of seeing the demon in the flesh. It’s on one of the days where you bring a small offering. Not much since you can’t exactly go home and cook a nice meal every time, but usually a flower crown or other type of decor.

When you do see him, however, time slows to a crawl. You swear your legs feel like jelly as he glances down at you. Sharp-featured and arrogant, beautiful, all man. He stands tall, towering above you. He has to stoop to reach the depths of the temple from the doorway.

“Well, well,” he croons, “what do we have here?” His four eyes are the color of what flows through each being and his canines sharp as knives. Truly, he’s beautiful, sculpted muscles rippling under inky black tattoos, blazing red eyes.

You bow deeply and straighten your shoulders, gaze still downcast to be respectful. “I just wanted to make this offering to you. I know it’s not much, but I hope you will find it useful.” You raise the small gift above your head, feeling his gaze roll over your body, sharp nails lightly scraping against your skin, grasping the wreath.

“Peculiar,” he says. His thumb and forefinger tilt your head up and you struggle to avert your eyes. “What’s your purpose here, little human?”

“I made a bet with the town scholar. I’ve to write about you and return with my findings so I can become a real student there.”

“A student, eh?”

“Please! I’m fascinated by you,” you plead, feeling his grip on your chin tighten.

“I’m intrigued, if only slightly,” he muses, releasing you harshly enough you’re forced to regain your balance.

You soon learn his ego is massive, that’s probably the only reason he spared you. He’d just love something written about him, wouldn’t he? Ever the gracious god, he lets you stay in one of the temple rooms. You had offered to take one the furthest from his own so he could have plenty of space, but he put you up right across from his instead.

Something about you being near to always capture his persona. Whatever.

Life at the temple is never truly boring. there’s always something going on; whether someone bringing gifts, like an unlucky human sacrifice, or some warriors barging in thinking they could actually harm the demon.

Sukuna likes you watching him tear apart these people limb from limb the best. The first couple times you couldn’t stand it, but it soon became a natural occurrence. Sure, you felt bad for those folks, but they never came truly prepared.

“What’re you writing now, pet?” he asks you one day. You glance up at him. He’s wringing the blood out of one of his sleeves, the blood drip drip dripping to the floor in red rain.

“I’ve noticed you like toying with your prey. If you’re in a good mood, you’ll let them think you have the upper hand,” you tell him.

“And if I’m in a bad mood?”

“Slice them in half!” He nods. His black nails gleam in the sunlight and you watch a pair of arms reach up behind his head as a cushion as the other balances to sit next to you.

“I really like how the trees change color in the autumn,” he says nonchalantly.

“Because they’re the color of blood?” you offer. You draw a small leaf on your paper’s corner.

“Maybe. Their lives are so short, unlike mine. Not that I’ve been a curse for too terribly long.”

You bite your tongue. Is it lonely? bounces around in your head.

“What will I do when my little scholar leaves too?” You flush and stammer that you still have a couple months. Sukuna pauses in thought, then, a sinister smirk gracing his lips.

The more you get to know him, the more you realize that he’s much more bored with life. Killing random people stated his boredom and gave him something to do, it wasn’t until later that he learned to revel in it. The more you got to know him, the more you didn’t want to leave.

He taught you, too. Weird things, usually, but still, useful things. He wasn’t all that good a teacher, but he was patient and expected you to figure shit out on your own. Sometimes he took you down to the market and showed you how to best barter.

And to steal.

Other times, he would sit and watch you cook silently. He always says your cooking wasn’t crap, so you just take it as a compliment.

Six months have passed since you first climbed the mountain. Sukuna finds you in your room packing what little belongings you have.

“That time already?” he muses, leaning against the door. You hum in acknowledgement. “What if they don’t even accept me?”

“Then you’ll return, of course.”

“That’s a nice thought.”

Of course, little did you know, but to Sukuna, that was a command.

He didn’t just watch your figure walk away, no, he followed silently behind, taking in the way you’d stop to study a particularly interesting tree or follow the clouds.

Your village is still the same. Same rickety well, same sunken houses, same sort of dreariness when you left.

You make your way towards the school house, it’s kind of near the back of the village, backed up to the lush forest. “I’ve done it!” you call, standing tall. “Not only have I been within 5 feet of his temple, I’ve been inside. I’ve had actual conversations with the demon Ryomen Sukuna.” You fish out your copious amount of notes and dissertation, shoving it in front of you.

“I’m surprised,” is all the teacher says, “give it here.” You hand him the documents, and he flips through the pages.

“So?”

“So what? For all I know, this could all be made up.”

“What? It’s not! How would I make up his favorite fruit or the way he likes his meat cooked? Papaya and rare, by the way,” you cross your arms.

“Then you should have brought him down with you.”

“You called?” his deep, rumbling voice cuts through the silence.

“S-Sukuna? What are you doing here?”

“I told you, pet, you’d return to me.”

“Sukuna-sama!” the scholar bows. “This is all a misunderstanding, their findings were great! Very convincing!”

“Give them to me.”

“Yes, sir!” he wails, pressing the papers to the other’s chest.

“You didn’t think he would actually keep that bet, did you?” Sukuna asks you.

“Well, I was hopeful!”

“Aw sweet,” he mocks you lightly. “You don’t need to be surrounded by such inferiors. Come now.” It seemed just a snap and somehow the scholar’s head was lobbed off.

You nod dumbly, barely processing what exactly just transpired. Did he kill him? For you? Surely there must be something in it for him.

But the way he holds out one of his four hands for you to grasp sets a fire in your heart. It’s small, no grassland bonfire, but a smolder that you know will become a steady heat.

His hand is rough and calloused while yours only has a few bumps from holding your ink brush so tightly and for so long. Sukuna leads you back to the temple, guiding you back into the room you stayed before.

“Why,” you ask him softly.

He shrugs. “You’re amusing to me. I like the silly words you use.”

“So you like my company?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he chuckles, running a hand over your head.

“Hey! You’re gonna mess up my hair!” you giggle.

“Don’t worry, next time it will be because your head will be atop my bed.” Shameless. Truly shameless. “Just keep writing about me.”

Somewhere in between you returning to the temple and now is when you find yourself tangled in his sheets. Two of his arms wrap securely around your waist and hip, another caressing your cheek. If you’re being completely honest, it seemed as if he adored you. He never coddles you per say, but anything you’d mention off hand, he would remember. An object you wanted, or even that you wanted to take a bath later that day. Sometimes he would even brush out your tangles for you.

You’re surprised by the normality of it all, how he’s gentle with you, unlike others who dare to cross his path.

Waking up together is a part of your daily routine. (Every morning, he gives you a quick kiss on the forehead.) (You trace the patterns of his tattoos lazily.) You’d ask him about you and him sometimes, and he always responds that he’ll always keep his little one happy, that you belong to him. Sometimes, in the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s actually being truthful or he’s just passing the time. Maybe the truth is a little bit of both, but you’re happy anyway.

He likes holding you, the two of you sitting by the river in the flowerbeds, watching nature for hours at a time.

Other times, he lets down his walls in the four corners of the temple. Every time he comes home smelling of blood and decay, you drag him to the bathroom and run a hot bath. Your nimble fingers glide through his hair, stopping to pull out leaves and scrub away dirt from his skin. More often than not, he would pull you in with him, your laugh ringing in his ears like bells.

But happiness must come to an end.

Apparently.

It’s a weekday when it happens.

Sorcerers.

They come in doves, feet stomping like drums.

“I guess they’re tired of me wreaking havoc, hmm?” he muses.

“There’s a lot more than usual, are you sure you’ll be alright?” you whisper softly, cupping his cheek.

He holds your hand there, leaning in and closing his eyes. “Who do you think I am? Of course I’ll be fine. You will be too.”

“Okay,” you watch him leave, a familiar aura of danger seeping in like a thick fog.

But it’s not okay.

Someone finds you and they drag you out of the temple by the hair. You’re thrown to the ground harshly.

“What, a little harlot? That demon won’t bother saving you, don’t even look at him. You’re nothing to him,” the sorcerer tells you, pressing a steel toed boot to your throat. You’re gasping for a breath, any.

“Obviously you think I’m worth something since you’re dealing with me,” you struggle to voice.

His nostrils flare, eyes wide. “See you in hell,” he snarls. You’re feeling everything and nothing at once. Surely the wound in your chest as you bleed, but you can’t seem to think of anything good or bad. You’re clutching your wound, sputtering. As if sensing you, miraculously, Sukuna turns in your direction as his fist rips through someone’s chest. Faintly, you hear a roar of anger, and then the screams around you are deafening.

The dozens of sorcerers that tried to defeat Ryomen Sukuna lay at bizzare angles, each in their own pool of blood.

It’s this horrible humorless laugh, his open mouth desperate and hungry like he wants to devour the world in punishment for taking the one true thing he held dear to him. The last piece holding his humanity together. He doesn’t know how you even got out of the temple, that’s definitely not where he left you. You’re staring blankly ahead, but he notices your hand gripping the pendant he gifted you.

Sukuna sighs, kneeling next to you, holding you close to his chest. He doesn’t know what you would have preferred: whether to be buried or cremated, and there’s no point now. Ultimately, Sukuna places you in a bed of flowers. He makes his way back to the temple, stepping around the bodies that litter the floor. Maybe he can threaten some laymen to come clean up the mess.

When he returns to the main room, the first thing he notices is the shelf with all the books you loved. Papers strewn everywhere, pages bent.

Your findings about him on the top shelf are gone.

That’s not something he realizes until much, much, much later when he’s ambushed after terrorizing another village. It’s been years without you, and yet he still feels anger of how you were taken from him. He promised he would protect you, at least, in the sanctum of his own mind, never voicing it to you. And yet, he’s failed.

Your coping mechanisms suck, you’d probably say if you saw him now. But I’ll write it down anyway, and we can cross it out later, if you want.

Like your death, he’s not even sure how the sorcerers managed to defeat him.

His twenty fingers cut up, separated through time and distance. Dormant, for now.

—PRESENT TIME—

“Oi, brat, ask that blindfold asshole what those are.”

“Ask what are what?” his host, Yuuji Itadori quips.

“Over there, on display. The books.”

Yuuji hates to admit it, but he’s curious too. How important are they to be kept here, and in a glass case, no less? Anyway, he hardly ever gets to see cursed objects in the flesh.

“Gojo-sensei! What are those!?” he shouts.

“They’re books, don’t you know what a book is?”

“Okay, yeah, but what’s their use? Like, why are they here?” Yuuji pulls at his hair.

“Hmm, they’re written by a [Y/N]. Long ago, not much information about the author, but the writing is phenomenal. And all about that little curse inside of you,” Gojo smirks, running a finger down Yuuji’s forehead and bopping him on the nose.

“About Sukuna?”

“Pretty mundane stuff, if you ask me. I’ve been told the sorcerers that defeated Sukuna used those texts. Not sure how ‘he hates when food offerings have tomatoes’ was useful, but apparently it was,” he shrugs, looking at his watch. “Ah, would you look at the time, I’ve gotta go! Pressing matters with a special-grade. And the candy shop I want to go to closes in 30!”

“Later, sensei,” Yuuji waves. “You don’t like tomatoes?”--silence-- “What, no response? You’re suddenly shy now?”

Sukuna hears him, and ignores him as per usual.

So, my little scholar’s books were stolen, huh? Here, all this time?

[ellsbclls]

The Fire Escape

warnings ➛ A couple of swear words here and there, mentions of death, endgame spoilers, and a dash of far from home erasure.

word count ➛ 4.7K

synopsis ➛ After the events of End Game, Peter Parker takes a break from his crime fighting persona, but when Spider-Man is called to a mission in Sokovia, he realizes that you might not be ready to handle the life of an Avenger’s girlfriend. There’s a little bit of angst, but not enough to keep you up at night.

“Y/N… Earth to Y/N.”

Peter ropes you back to reality with a light squeeze of your hand, a simple gesture that you return two-fold. On normal dates, the competition would ignite almost immediately, squeezing each other’s hands back and forth, under varying degrees of pressure, until one of you cried uncle — but this is far from a normal date.

It had started innocently enough. Peter had begged Dr.Banner to let him leave his “internship” an hour early just so he could surprise you at work. You assumed — after some superb groveling on Peter’s part — that Bruce agreed, because the end of your shift was met with a parchment wrapped dozen of blushing roses, accompanied by your equally blushing boyfriend. The two of you were able to snag one of the emptier carts on the N train, and were accompanied by a small Greek woman who sent a warm smile when you nestled your head into Peter’s shoulder. The smile disappeared as soon as he started using the poles as his personal jungle gym, but your laugh made up for its loss as he offered his hand out, begging you to join him with a Gene Kelly-esque flair. He ushered you into one of your favorite ramen places during your stroll down Ditmars, pulling out your chair when you were given a table, pretending not to notice how you snuck a noodle or two from his bowl when he wasn’t looking. Your heart felt so warm, you’re surprised it didn’t melt.

So why does everything seem so off now? You and Peter are walking side by side down 37th avenue, he’s rambling excitedly about some new enhancement he made to his web slingers, the evening breeze is kissing your cheeks as it waltzes around the autumn foliage, and somehow, you feel like you’re in the eye of a hurricane.

“Where’d you go?” Peter tries to reel you back in once more and succeeds, craning his head to meet your gaze.

“Oh, just a quick jog.” you tease. There’s a thin edge underlying your sarcasm, and you wonder if he can hear it, too. You’re only a block away from your apartment, and the tiny voice in the back of your mind rationalizes that nothing could ruin your impromptu date night if you were tucked away in your home — because you always feel safe when you’re home. Yet, with no solid evidence to confirm or deny the thought, you’re in a race with the block to dig through your purse.

“Oh, well don’t forget to warm up.” he teases back. His caramel hues, once alight with a mirthful glint, start to descend into an uneasy resolve that only confirms your suspicions, but you’re too occupied by the whereabouts of your keys to notice. “Speaking of warm up, actually, there’s something I have to ask you.”

“Shoot.” you reply offhandedly.

“Well, I- I don’t know how to say this.” The tremor in his voice is subtle, but just present enough to pull you from your search.   “There’s- uh- there’s something going on in Sokovia, or at least what’s left of it. There’s a lot of feedback coming off the maps, like a… a hotplate of cosmic activity, so Captain wants the entire team there.”

There it is — that dark cloud that hung over your head this evening finally drenches you in a sharp, cold blanket of realization. Your heart stops, aches, and then crumbles to the pit of your stomach, waiting to be washed away by the waves of terror that crash upon your airways, and despite the wash cycle of emotions you’ve just endured, you feel far from clean. In fact, everything feels heavy — from the weight of your heart to your ragged breath — paralyzed by the idea that each thump, each exhale, brings you closer to the moment where Peter has to leave.

You started dating a year and a half ago, and two years have passed since half of the population was restored to its rightful plane of existence. Iron Man’s death left a massive hole in Peter’s morale, as well as a nagging doubt that he would never be able to take on the mantle he was left with. So, for the first time since he was bitten by that radioactive spider, he cowered in the face of adversity. Not only had he lost a mentor, he had lost his friend — and when Tony Stark sacrificed his life, he was under the impression that the heroes he saved would continue to protect the world, but sometimes Peter wonders if that still reigns true. If Mr.Stark knew just how easily the team had crumbled, how easily he had crumbled, would he still leave? Three and a half years later and Peter still can’t find the answer.

Meanwhile, when it seemed like the world needed him most, Spiderman slipped into obscurity. Now he only makes an appearance when the newscast is a little too bleak to ignore, and even then, he usually sticks to the rogue bank heist or back alley mugging.

You try not to pry, knowing that each time you ask about his brief hiatus is like poking an open wound, and, albeit selfishly, you relish in the fact that your boyfriend isn’t throwing himself in harm's way. However, now seems like a better time than ever for an interrogation, seeing as this is not only the first Avengers mission he’s attended in your relationship, but the first mission to ever span past the Hudson.

No obstacle prior has conjured a looming sense of dread and anxiety as palpable as the one you’re toting now. You can already feel it bubbling in your chest, like a cauldron of endless toils, expelling a hazy fog that makes your head spin.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t give out on me now.” You don’t realize that your knees buckled beneath you until Peter comes to your rescue, and you silently wish that all of his heroic excursions could be this simple. The warmth of his hand bleeds past your winter coat and business casual blouse as it settles against the small of your back, and your body betrays you as it melts into his touch. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m actually not CPR certified.”

“I- I’m sorry.” Your mouth is bone dry, and you can barely muster a laugh convincing enough to counter his attempt at humor, so you don’t. You opt on settling your gaze upon the entrance of your building, just over Peter’s shoulder, and trying to ground yourself enough to stand without his help.

Peter’s hand still lingers on your form when you shuffle away from him, moving from the small of your back to the curve of your elbow. He can tell that you’re shaken, he expected that much from the get go, so he doesn’t leave your side, encroaching on the space you so obviously seek.  

“I don’t know- I don’t…” You muster just enough courage to counter his gaze, and a tiny frown creases between your brows, confusion riddling every other feature. “What exactly are you asking me?”

He pauses, searching for the answer himself. “Well, I guess- I just wanna know how you’re feeling.”

You chalk it up to your sudden sense of irritability, but his question just pisses you off. How dare he throw out a semblance of hope, a faulty impression, that you’d have any choice in this matter. You climb the three steps up to the front door, dolled up in dismay, and still try to find purchase in the illusion that you have any control in the matter. Maybe that’s what pushes you over the deep end, your once honeyed voice now curdled by venom — the hopelessness of it all. “Oh, I’m fine! I’m amazing, Peter. After the way you buttered me up all evening, how could I possibly be upset?”

“Y/N, that’s not fair-” Peter’s visibly taken aback, his features mimicking your own. You can see the cogs turning in his head, formulating some way to diffuse this situation before it really begins, but now that the gates are opened, it’s too late for you to hold anything back.

“Why not? Cause it’s the truth?” You cut him off, freshly manicured nails digging into your palms in an attempt to keep your tone even. “Let me tell you what’s not fair — You don’t even know how long you’re gonna be gone, do you?”

You’re met with a mutual silence, which confirms just how equally unaware you both are.

“Exactly.” At this point, your nerves are getting the best of you. Whether you lay all of your feelings out to him tonight or not, a sickening thought will remain — Peter is going to leave, and there’s a chance he won’t come back. So you persist, your hues boring into his own with each word. “You don’t know what it’s like to sit in our bed and wonder if you’re gonna be in it the next morning. You don’t know how terrifying it is to watch the news and pray to god that you’re not a part of it. You’re never going to be in my shoes when it comes to all of this, and I pray to god that you never have to be because I never want you to feel this way. That’s what’s not fair.” You wish your voice hadn’t grown weaker with each blow, you wish you could utter your last few thoughts with an unwavering certainty, but you know you can’t — not when a sob threatens to bubble up from the back of your throat. “That you can just decide to swing across the globe and put your life in danger while I sit at home and worry about you, and the worst part is that it only makes me love you more.”

“Y/N, do you think this is easy for me?” he’s never raised his voice at you, especially not like this, but it looks like tonight is a series of firsts for the both of you. “I haven’t been on a mission with the Avengers since high school, since —” Since Mr.Stark died. You know.

It’s not like he didn’t try to say it, he did, but the name just felt so foreign on his tongue. After years of inactivity, the threat of unearthing all those memories, all those bright eyed, bushy tailed endeavors, was almost as bad as remembering that he was gone — or even worse, not remembering them at all. But where could he retreat to now? He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, forced to choose between the thought of losing Mr.Stark, or the thought of losing you. His thoughts are raw and earnest as he tries to placate the latter. “I don’t want to leave you. It terrifies me to think of all the things that could happen to you while I’m gone —”

“Obviously it doesn’t scare you enough, because you’re still going!” You punch the last two words, as if you’re suddenly trying to talk to him from across the street.

“I don’t have a choice, Y/N! I don’t-”

Your argument skids to a screeching halt, rivaling the groan of the metal door that guards your apartment complex, and with it appears Ms.Nunez — the single mother that lives a floor below you, whose ability to juggle her graveyard shifts at the hospital with her two rambunctious toddlers is almost as impeccable as her timing.

She appears to be in a rush as she skirts past you, but not enough to stop her from sending Peter an all too knowing look — one that screams “what did you do to that poor girl?”, with only the view of your red, puffy eyes and guarded stance to back up her assumption.

And with an opportunity so golden laying at your feet, who are you to ignore it? You catch the door before it hits the frame and slip into the yellowed entryway, barreling up the stairwell before he can question her weighted stare. You leave Peter no choice but to slip past Ms.Nunez in your pursuit, without so much as a goodbye, but a few choice words still sit on the back of his tongue, waiting to be swallowed.

Normally, the five stories of stairs leaves you winded by the third, but you chalk your superhuman stamina up to adrenaline. Luckily for you, you’re able to reach the last flight of stairs as Peter climbs up the first. Unluckily for you, you seem to forget that your boyfriend actually does have superhuman stamina, and you swear to fucking god that he’s flying up the stairwell by the time you shut the door behind you.

The door slams twice more after that, one loud bang to signal Peter’s entrance and one to punctuate it. His voice pierces through the apartment, firm and unyielding. “This conversation isn’t over, Y/N.”

He has no idea where you’ve run off to, ruling out the kitchen once he drapes his jacket over the center island. All he can hear is your voice, muffled behind one of the walls, calling out to him with little emotion to spare. “Oh, yes it is. I’m over it. It’s over.”

“Well, that’s mature.” He mutters under his breath, not expecting you to hear him, let alone respond.

“Oh, I’m so glad you think so!” You chuckle dryly, ”‘Cause your judgment of maturity is oh so rational and not at all fucking batshit.” And he thought he had enhanced hearing.

“You know what? You’re right.” He scoffs, letting the slam of the bathroom door punctuate his final words. “I’m over this, too.”

🕷 🕷 🕷

“Y/N?” Peter calls out, but to no avail. It’s on nights like these where he wishes you weren’t fighting, knowing fully well that you would command him to the bed with a downward pointing finger and the best glare you could muster. You’ve always loved the way his hair curled into soft, chestnut waves, so you didn’t mind weaving through his damp tresses before he went to sleep. You would make up some excuse about how the process helped give his curls definition, and he would always end up way too tired and relaxed to call you out on it.

You’re nowhere to be found, though. Your comforter is still as haphazard as it was this morning, and the kitchen is void of your late night snack ravaging. The only sign of your presence is found in the open window next to you bed, and way the curtains float against the evening breeze, leaving him to ponder your whereabouts at a breakneck speed. 

A million visions of paranoia screen through his mind all at once, but he’s quick to dismiss them, oddly familiar with the prospect of losing someone, and all the fretting that comes with it.

And you know better than to wander the streets of the city so late at night — but with all of the venom being spewed throughout the apartment, Peter wouldn’t be surprised if you needed a small reprieve. Even for just a quick trip to the corner market. He’s well aware of the eagle eye you sport in the moonlit streets, as well as the switchblade that sits in the side pocket of your bag, but he knows better than anyone that you have to expect the unexpected in these streets.

He pulls out his phone, ready to shoot you a quick text when the bars of the fire escape let out a metallic groan. Despite your apartment’s... adequate amenities, you’d never had a problem with the fire escape. The finicky oven? Maybe, but never the fire escape.

Even without his spidey senses tingling, he has no choice but to poke his head through the window pane, and to his surprise, he ends up killing two birds with one stone.

“I didn’t know you were out here.” Peter balances on the window sill, crouching in a near feline stance as he surveys your position — bundled between the metal grates of the fire escape and your downy comforter. Your lips are parted in a tiny “o”, eyelids blanketing your hues, and with the street lights flickering to life across the seam of thirty-eighth avenue, you’re nothing short of angelic — features now outlined in a seraphic, dewy haze.

If he wasn’t feeling guilty beforehand, the sight before him guarantees he is now.

“Yeah, that was kind of the point.” you murmur. You don’t bother to open your eyes, not even when the iron beams start to squeak under Peter’s weight. “Can I help you with something? I’m pretty sure this thing has a weight limit, and this is a weighted blanket.”

You’re met with silence, and you hate to admit it, but you’d take his silent presence over your self-induced isolation any day. Despite the fact that you only moved in together four months prior, your body has grown accustomed to his presence, subconsciously weaving it into your daily routine. There were nights when you would splay out like a starfish in your childhood bedroom, waiting restlessly for the gentle wrap of his knuckles at the window pane, and that same restlessness bleeds into nights in your shared apartment,  which then bleeds into now. Sure, you can trick your body into sleeping, but rest seems to be boroughs and islands away when Peter’s not there to wish you a good night.

A terse silence settles between the two of you, and you blink up at Peter, expecting him to break it since you surely wouldn’t.

“Why here?” Peter exceeds your expectations with his query. His gaze is fixed on Manhattan’s skyline — even from the tippy top of the complex, he can still make out the jagged glittering, crust of the city’s bustling core — and it’s then he finds the answer to his very own question.

“I used to sneak onto the fire escape at my parents place, too.” you reminisce, the corners of your lips curling into a bittersweet grin. “The apartment walls were thin, and whenever they would fight, or talk shit about something I did that day, I would just sit on the fire escape until I fell asleep.”

“How?” He breaks yet another lengthy pause, and you fight the urge to chuckle at his candor, settling with a lazy grin. “I mean, no offense, but Astoria isn’t exactly a library.”

“Yeah, but inside, I knew exactly what they were saying, how they were feeling — it was all in the air. At least out here everything just… blends together. It’s kind of peaceful in a way.”

Your voice is so timid and gentle as you recall your childhood, reflecting on moments that seem lifetimes away despite the handful of years in between. Peter’s gaze is transfixed on your profile, skating down the slope of your nose and skirting the curves of your lips until he realizes just how small you are. He tends to hold you on a pedestal, a habit he’s retained since the very beginning of your relationship, so sometimes it still baffles him to know that you can be anything but perfect — that you too can be human, and make human mistakes.

“How come I’ve never seen you out here before?” He feels like a little kid, question after question slipping past his lips before he even has the chance to filter them.

“‘Cause I haven’t had a reason to hide since I moved in with you.”

And just when he thought he couldn’t feel even guiltier, he’s soon overflowing with it. It kills him to know that you felt the need to escape, and you’ll never admit it after tonight, but he was the one who pushed you toward it.

“I’m sorry.” Peter blurts out, not expecting you to say —

“I’m sorry.”

You furrow your brows, cutting him off before he can even open his mouth to protest. “I’m just so used to my Peter. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that I’m sharing him with the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

“Hey, hey — look at me.” His thumb traces the spot right under your eye, using his pinky to nudge the curve of your jaw upward, toward his gaze — heavy and drenched in a type of resoluteness that leaves your mouth bone dry. “It may not always seem like it, but trust me when I tell you that you’re always going to be my top priority.”

“Peter, you’re being dramatic.” You sigh, finding it hard to believe that your life could take any precedence over the safety of mankind itself.

“No, I’m being honest.” His voice, his gaze, they leave no room for protest. You feel a little awkward being the center of their attention, and so it’s a relief when they shift to the city’s skyline once more. “Look over there, you know what that is?”

“Central Park?”

“Mhm, good girl.” Crimson blooms across the valley of your cheeks at his choice of nickname, no matter how innocently he uttered it, but your attention still remains undivided. “I figured out that I can get home quicker if I cut through it.”

You quirk a brow, and he doesn’t need to ask to know exactly what you’re thinking — So what if he hasn’t figured out which trains he needs to board in order to make a dent in his homebound commute? It’s the thought that counts.

“Sometimes like to just stop for a second and watch some of the people in the park, but not in, like, a creepy way? You know what I mean?” A subtle hint of embarrassment tinges his features, but dissolves once he notices your understanding nod.  “Is there a word for that?”

“Yeah, it’s called people watching.” You snickered, trying to imagine your boyfriend and his attempts at roasting the New York natives. “MJ and I do it all the time.”

“No, but with less… shit talking.” He counters.

Ouch.

“Oh…” You’re stumped, unsure of where he’s heading and, quite frankly, a little humbled by his read. “Hmm… Carry on?”

“Well,” Peter lets his hand rest palm forward on his knee, fingers gently curled, and you’re well acquainted with the gesture. Almost instinctively, you hover your hand above his own, digits clumsily dancing with one another as he speaks, and for a fleeting second, everything is back to normal. “It’s just… mind-blowing sometimes. There’s so much life there, all at once. All of these people are just living their lives, making their way home, falling in love, falling out of love, buying overpriced hotdogs from the street vendors — The other day I saw this mom fishing her two toddlers out of that fountain on Terrace road and honestly, if they don’t end up with superpowers, I’ll be shocked.” He can tell he’s drifted wildly off track by the way you nod, slowly and unsure, as to not offend him and his train of thought. “The point is… I used to protect all of that, and it used to make me so happy.”

“You still do,” You murmur, not one to discredit the risks he does take in the name of New York. Just because his enemies aren’t held to the same caliber as, say, Thanos, doesn’t mean they aren’t worthwhile. “All that matters is that you’re doing what you can.”

You hesitantly intertwine your fingers with his, in just a delicate enough hold to let him reject it if he so chooses. Your lips softly quirk upward when he only tightens the grip.

“Thank you.” He offers a comforting smile, one that barely reaches his eyes, and you can tell that he has more to say. So, you squeeze his hand, silently urging him to continue. “Well, I just- after Mr.Stark… passed away… it was really hard to remember why I started doing all of it in the first place. Like- I hate saying this, but why do we keep protecting all of these strangers when all the people we do know just keep getting hurt?” He winces at his own words, so far removed from such bitterness that he can barely believe he once thought such selfish things. “But then- then I get to see all of the people that I’ve been protecting, and suddenly it all makes sense again. All I want to do is make sure people are safe, and happy, and hopefully… Hopefully, when we’re older, and we have kids that jump in the fountains at Central Park, someone like me will be watching… and they’ll feel the exact same way.”

When we’re older, When we have kids... Those promises of marriage, of a loving family, of a future — they bounce off your eardrums like a mantra. Soon, you can’t even imagine thinking about anything but Peter’s words, and how much you love him right now, and how you’ll love him until your heart can’t possibly take it anymore. You can read what he’s trying to portray loud and clear — He loves you, he can see a future with you, and if there’s ever a doubt in your mind that his feelings may have changed, you can look out into the world and find pieces of his heart in every passing face.

“I haven’t been doing everything I can to make sure that’s possible, though.” He breaches your lovesick trance, reminding you that there’s still a thread of discord dangling between you. One that you can see rapidly disappearing with each passing second. “I have to go on this mission, Y/N. I wanna start helping people again. I wanna do right by him.”

“I know.” You whisper, conceding to the fact that you will always want what’s best for him, even if you aren’t a fan of the circumstances. “It doesn’t make it any less sucky.”

“C’mere.” He can barely pat his thighs before you’re crawling toward him. He passes a warm hand under your thigh once you straddle his waist, scooping you further into his lap, and uses his free hand to encompass the nape of your neck. You feel like you could melt, being cradled between his strong, toned  arms, and the feeling only intensifies when his lips seek out yours. His lips are soft, and warm, and taste like listerine, and you couldn’t ask for anything more perfectly suited for you.    

“I love you.” He murmurs against your lips, without a trace of uncertainty. His thumb wipes the corner of your mouth, and he continues to plant a series of sweet, soft butterfly kisses over every patch of skin he can get his lips on — your cheeks, your nose, your temple.

He’s so wrapped up in his gentle ministrations that he barely hears you return the sentiment, eyes fluttering to a close as you breathe out, “I love you.”

“Please come inside,'' he whispers against your forehead, punctuating his plea with a chaste kiss.

You pretend to entertain the thought, tapping your index finger against your chin, before shaking your head with a waggish simper. Fortunately for you, it doesn’t take long for him to take the bait, and he disappears through the window. You can just barely make out the harmony of wild rustling and hushed obscenities coming from your room before Peter is returning to your makeshift bed, clad in the cheesy “The Floor is Lava!” hoodie you snagged from a street vendor during your trip to Pompeii the summer beforehand.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Y/N,” Peter’s voice is tight, shuffling his knees across the fretted ground as he crawls into your lap. It takes him all of three seconds to make himself comfortable, collapsing between your thighs, and you seize the opportunity to weave your fingers through his soft, chestnut locks. “I don’t think I can make this a recurring thing. I can already feel the scoliosis forming.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” you scoff, only to be met with a scandalized set of caramel hues. “I think you can make it through the night without any permanent damage to your spine.” With droopy eyes, your body starts to hum with the tell-tale signs of sleep, and your voice drips with drowsiness as you murmur, “And I wanna savor as many nights with you as I can.”

“I know,” he whispers back, the aftertaste of guilt intermingling with the abashment that follows your sleepy confession. ”I know. I’m right here, babe.”

And he swore, in that very moment, that nothing would change that.

[feysandfeels]

ACOTAR 5 or 6?? (I don’t know which book is next)

Did someone ask for this? No, not really. Am I still going to theorize how the next book is going to go in length? Yes, yes I will. Also I’m doing a facemask that needs 20min to set in so like, I have time to kill. 

I have seen many saying that Azriel’s book is next because through him we will get Illyria, which still needs to be dealt with. Also through him we get Gwynriel and that. Even though I can definitely see the logic behind that, I thought I might throw in another option just for shits and giggles. 

This is more like a fever dream than anything. Don’t hold me to it, because I haven’t read these books with the academic rigorosity to come up with counter arguments as to why it’s Az’s and not Elain’s book that will come next. But, that being said, if I’m right I will say I told you so (lol). 

Also this will further my Elucien agenda so like... yeah you’ve been warned.

Why Elain?

Because I think it makes more sense to go have a book deal with one villain working up to Koshei, than to have Beron+Koshei as the big baddies in one final book. So like ACOSF was the human queen, ACOTAR 5 is Beron and then ACOTAR 6 ultimate baddie Koshei. And who is character that has ties to Beron? Lucien and who would Lucien’s book be with? exactly, Azriel. no I’m kidding, of course Elain. 

I also think Elain was a character that had a huge presence in this ACOSF despite having like three sentences. You could see her impact in the book and to me that was quite telling. 

ACOTAR 5: 

Right so we all can agree on a few things after being in this fandom for a couple of years or at least since the end of ACOSF: first, Elain and Lucien will deliver a Jane Austen type romance; second, it will entail a lot of court politics; and third, Elain is up to something and no one knows what it is. Yes? 

First Act:

Elain doing her suspicious stuff and we as the reader find out what it is and can already see the negative implications

Lucien still taking the brunt of the work in the SC, which is still utter chaos.

BoE content: Vassa is agitated because her curse is nowhere near close to being broken and time is running out. 

The IC finds out what Elain is been up to. I do think it has something to do with her wanting to go back to her human self. Cue the confrontation.

Meanwhile with Lucien: Vassa might attempt something it triggers a magical response from Koshei, an attack or something. Maybe Beron decides to make a move to the SC given that Tamlin is absent as a ruler. I don’t know, the point is we get a confrontation scene that sees Tamlin die to protect Lucien. Everyone is in shock because the HL of Spring just died, without heirs and close relatives. Where did the power go?

Lucien starts to feel it, but then he realizes that it’s not because it is happening to him.

Cue to Elain having her “i want to be human again I don’t care the cost” rant at the IC. Amren will call her a stupid girl, because that’s what she does. Then the power flows to her and she’s going to be hella confused, everyone in the IC is stunned and when Elain asks wtf just happened, Feyre will say: Tamlin died (because she can feel the shift of power of spring due to the kernel of power of spring that she has), so that means and Rhysand finishes the thought by saying that Elain is the new High Lady of the Spring Court (and the first cauldron-chosen high lady)

This means that now she has more ties to this fae world and can’t simply abandon them.

We will have some discussion about what to do next and Elain is all like “I don’t want to be High Lady I didn’t even want to be fae”. Trust someone in the IC, maybe Amren (since she has no problem with saying what everyone else is thinking in the bluntest-maybe even rudest way), to say that having Elain be HL of Spring would make everyone’s life easier given the unified Prythian front they must once again have because of the Koshei threat. Maybe it will even be Azriel and they will have the E/lriel fallout...

Lucien arrives at the NC to talk to Elain or well something. 

News spread about what happened and they know that Elain’s claim (if she chooses to make it) to the SC is a tad shaky and not everyone will accept it. Beron is like the fuck if you think I will accept this human-turned fae claim. The SC is an strategic location and I will take it for myself because it will be useful fo my Koshei-agenda.

Eris arrives like hello my dad is about to move his army to the SC so now is the time to kill him

And Elain is still like “i don’t want it”. Think Jon Snow in GoT.

Cue an Archeron confrontation of “you can’t run away from your responsabilities// life is not neat and sometimes it will throw at you things you thought you wouldn’t have thought you’d needed to take on// take a stance for once and think beyond your own plants”.

Details are blurry but she is like I need to leave here (the NC) because no one has my best interest at heart they are just doing what it’s politically best. But who might have my best interest at heart? That’s right, Lucien. She asks him for help or to leave or whatever.

Lucien is a politician and a courtier but for once, for fucking once he will do something that’s not for political gain (for the court he represents). He will help her because he wants to see her at peace. They go to the human lands with BoE.

The first act ends with one dead Tamlin, one unsure Elain, one willing to help regardless of the decision Lucien, and one war focused Beron. 

Second act:

The BoE content we have all been waiting for 

Vassa might be weak from whatever happened and Jurian is all worried. 

They see Elucien arrive and are like 👀👀👀👀. Lucien glares at them in a “say anything and i will in fact kill you” way. 

Elain starts to open up and mentions that if anything it should be Lucien who’s the HL and not her because he knows the territory and it suits his skillset. All she wanted to do was have a quiet life and see the world. 

Lucien says that if he were to make a claim he would need even more support from other courts, because if Elain’s claim is shaky at best, then his is like ... not great.

They agree that Lucien should travel to other courts to gather support because regardless whether it’s Elain or Lucien who will ascend to the Spring throne, they will need it. Elain asks if she can go with him because, as she said, she wanted to see more of the world. 

We also get an Eris Vanserra visit - or several - and Lucien starts to realize that Eris knows waaaaaaaaaaaay more than he has lead on. And that they need to work together because again, regardless of who takes the throne, Beron will fight it, but if Eris is on the Autumn throne he would offer support to either. 

Cue the Lads tour of Prythian ft. Politics-courtier plotline and the “how the fuck are we going to help Vassa” side quest.

Elain starts to learn more about what it takes to be a High Lady and about the territory of Spring and its people.

During visits to other courts one or two members of the IC will pop in and out.

Elucien slow burn + court romance begins (We have nice balls with tension because that’s how Jane Austen would have wanted it and this is nothing if not an austenian romance).

Elan will learn about Jessminda (that’s her name right?)

Lucien and Elain have a heart to heart one day and Lucien is like “I’ve never had a home that is mine, i’ve always owed it to someone else or it comes because they see me as a political pawn”.

Eventually another heart to heart about the complex grief (if you will) that Lucien must be feeling for Tamlin. 

When we get to the Day Court, we get the baby news. Not only are they trying to gather Helion’s support but also to figure out a spell to save Vassa. Doing something with a spell Lucien and Helion find out. I imagine that Feysand is in the DC because they are trying to keep tabs on how Elain is feeling regarding her High Lady position and they wanted to meet somewhere neutral; and so is Eris, because things are getting out of hand at the AC so they are trying to see what they should do. Also Feysand are nosy bitches so of course they would be there.

After the reveal, Lucien is shooketh and leaves, Elain leaves after him. It is raining. They get wet and he stops when he arrives at a temple (we love a good P&P reference) Lucien starts the monologue of what does this mean, who am i, I’ve always been alone and Elain cuts in and says that maybe in the past he’s been alone but that he will never be again; Lucien turns to face her and she walks up to him and kisses him like the Cauldron intended when it made them mates. 

We Eluciens are starting getting our well deserved smutt dishes. 

Third act:

Elain is still  a tad unsure about being a High Lady, because all she ever heard was that she was good at being pretty and an ornament, that she was meant to be the supporting role. Lucien is like “babes fuck what your mom said but no matter what you choose, I will choose you”. 

Finally shit hits the fan at the AC so that’s where Elucien go and Helion.. because LoA is there and he says fuck it imma go help her Beron can go fuck himself.

However they do not arrive at the palace or something like that but to another location where we can finally have visual proof of what Eris has been up to. LoA appears. Her and Helion have a nice tête-a-tête. 

Vassa and Jurian are there too beause #WereGoingToNeedAllTheHelpWeCanGet

Elucien formally arrive to Beron’s court, as is the plan. 

The tension is absurd, the coup is about to happen, something goes wrong, they need to think of their feet, somebody gets hurt.. you know the usual stuff. 

They use the spell to free Vassa and in such release of power Beron is confused and weakened

Lady of Autumn delivers the killing blow. Beron dies, power goes to Eris and everyone is like did we win??

Eris makes the joke that whichever half of Elucien will make the claim to the SC he will support it. By this moment is clear that Elain will take up the role so we all have a good laugh.

Archeron sister reunion, congratulations all around. Maybe a celebration in the SC??? or maybe that’s too tacky given that the whole court is still a mess,

Happy ending?? oh wait there’s something more uh-oh, when freeing Vassa you also freed Koshei. Oh you thought you had weakened Koshei by killing is Prythian ally? think again. Koshei is a god of death that now has full access to his powers. 

The end. 

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Facade pt. 2|2 [Sirius Black x Reader]

Title: Facade pt. 2|2 -> Facade pt. 1|2 - Here! Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader Word count: 1.1k Published: 25 June 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Notes: Since I have received so many messages to do a part two, after 9 months I decided to do so :) Summary: You have been silently suffering pretending to be someone else, but noone can see the real you.

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

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Hiding your pain away, pretending that you were alright started crumbling down on you. You couldn't act as strong as you did before, you couldn't pretend you were filled with warm brightness. As hard as it was to admit, your facade started falling into pieces and you weren't sure how long it would take for your friends to realise the real you. The one who wasn't as strong, someone who needed a shoulder to cry on, someone who couldn't handle the pain alone. Loneliness has become your great friend regardless of how many friends you had. They didn't know you, they didn't know the real you.

You wanted to stay beside them, tell them that you were always there for them, that they could rely on you. But the pain has become unbearable. You couldn't support them when your own mask was threatening to fall apart, when you couldn't even find the will to keep yourself in one piece.

Seated under the moonlight of the dark evening, you enjoyed the refreshing breeze the chilly autumn offered you. Pulling your jacket tighter around you, it reminded you how much you missed to be held in a protective embrace, where you could finally let yourself be vulnerable, where you could forget about being strong.

"Love," you heard his voice, warm and caring. But it wasn't for you. It was for the person he knew you to be. A mask you wore for so long, at times even you believed that was the real you. "I've been looking for you," he said with a small smile across his face as he finally found your saddened eyes, tears sliding down your soft cheeks. Your usual smile was nowhere to be found, your mask has disappeared and as much as you wanted to wear it and pretend to be just fine, the clenching feeling in your chest overpowered you. For the first time, you couldn't pretend to be okay, you couldn't act as though everything was alright, you couldn't care about others more than you. "What's wrong?" He whispered as he hurried up to you and sat down beside you with a worried expression.

Sirius has never seen you upset or emotional. You were everyone's strength, you were always ready to offer a shoulder in need. But this time, you couldn't be the strong one, the one to offer a shoulder, the one others could rely on. Needing a tight embrace and reassuring words, you wrapped your arms around Sirius, pulling him closer to you, inhaling his intoxicating scent. You let go of your tears, for the first time in front of someone else, not caring about what they might think. You prepared for it after all. It was inevitable for them to leave you once they realised that you weren't that strong person, they thought you were.

"You're scaring me. Talk to me, please," he pleaded with you, your broken state terrifying him.

"I'm tired, I'm just so tired," you replied with a heavy sigh, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. "I'm tired of pretending. I'm tired of acting as if I was okay. I'm tired of closing a part of me away so I can stay strong for others. I can't keep pretending to be strong when I need someone to rely on," you sobbed into Sirius' shirt, his arms tightening around your frame, his embrace making you feel safe and comfortable.

"Then stop pretending," he replied as he placed a finger under your chin and lifted your head, establishing eye contact. "I love you the way you are. Whether you wake up with a big bright smile or tears streaming down your face, I love you either way. Do you think I didn't realise the change? Always smiling around, us, always acting as though you were perfectly fine. But minutes later you disappear with a heavy sigh and an empty expression? I knew something was wrong, but I can't understand if you don't open up to me or us. You need to communicate," he pleaded with you, his tone soft as he caressed your tear-soaked cheeks.

"What if you won't like me when I'm down, when I'm not as strong as I always showed, what if you won't love that person? What if our friends won't love that person?" Your voice was shaky as the questions left your lips.

"Have you seen me angry? Or upset? Or even crying?" He asked and you hummed in response, nodding nervously. "Have you seen me down?" He asked, earning another nod from you. "Do you still love me when I'm down, when I'm in a weak state, when I feel like I'm incapable of doing anything? When even leaving my bed or eating something feels exhausting?" He asked with an expectant expression.

"Of course, that wouldn't change my feeling," you tried to reassure him.

"Then why do you think it doesn't work the other way around? We love you when you are in your element and we love you at your lowest point. We just want to be beside you because we love you. What you need is to be honest not only with us, but with yourself. Don't pretend to be different than how you feel. We are here for you the way you are here for us, okay?" He asked you reassuringly. "It's fine not to smile, it's fine to be tired, it's fine to be upset. We are human after all. It's perfectly okay to tell us when you don't feel fine, when you need someone to hold you. Whenever you need me, I'm here, the same way you are here for me," he continued as he hinted a small kiss on your forehead. "Just because you are always here for your friends that doesn't mean that's not the real you. That's just a part of you," he whispered against your lips.

"It's just hard to show that side of me," you replied a heavy sigh. "The little voices in my head keep reminding me that others might not be interested in me when I'm down. That they might leave me if I show a weaker side of me."

"That happens, love. But that's not your fault. People who don't care about you when you are at your lowest and are only there for you when you are shining— those people don't love you and they are not worth your time. But I can reassure you, we are here for you, because we love you," he offered you a soft smile. "And next time, if you want me to stay and hold you, say it. Sometimes I understand without a word, but other times, I need you to speak clearly, because communication is key," he spoke as he caressed your damp cheeks.

"Thank you for being here for me," you replied with a soft smile, one that was finally truly genuine.

"Anytime, love," he said as he leaned down to you and left a light kiss on your lips, reassuring you that he was there for you whenever you needed him.

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and/or reblog. Your opinion matters and gives us motivation. Thank you ^^

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Taglists are in reblog from now on

[minty-malfoy]

reading between the lines

• pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

• summary: draco takes you on a date that involves lots of hand holding and a cozy bookshop.

• request: Hi! I was wondering if you could write a Draco malfoy imagine where he and the reader are dating, and he takes her for a hogsmeade date at a bookshop, because she is a bookworm, and they pick books for each other and he pays for everything?

• word count: 2.9k

a/n: no thoughts head empty just draco fluff. this is meant to be a breather after all the angsty love triangle fics i wrote for this boy

oh & this would've been out way sooner if I stopped being too much of a perfectionist (which I did like midway) so yeah I'm finally putting it out and just hoping for the best. my writing style had a weird identity crisis when I was working on this, but let's pretend it didn't. enjoy!

"Cold, isn't it?"

You look up at the voice's owner, only to catch a mixture of sympathy and a terribly smug I told you so on his pretty face.

Despite your scoff, you know he's right, and so does he. The chilly autumn air was penetrating through the fabric of your coat, mercilessly tickling the skin underneath; feeling like an in between that's neither as icy and cold as winter, nor as warm and friendly as summer. Regardless, it's something that your boyfriend, whom your fingers are laced with, doesn't seem to like.

"C'mere," he finally grumbles, tugging you closer towards him. "Merlin, (y/n), couldn't have underdressed more than this, could you?" he says bitterly, but his eyes display the complete opposite. You've learned to recognize the glint of affection in his orbs quite easily by now.

"I was in a hurry!" you exclaim with a wide grin that betrays your stern excuse. "And you don't have to be so rude and mean about it."

"Well, pardon me for being against the idea of my girlfriend freezing out in this weather. Now enough of that, give me your hands," he orders, because the only other thing Draco would be against is the idea of arguing with you, especially when it's over such trivial things. This was just his way of deflating the situation.

You eye him curiously as his hands rub into yours, enveloping them completely with his own. Then when he catches you staring, a small smirk finds its way onto his lips. Suddenly he's lifting one of your hands to his face, holding it right under his mouth before placing a few soft breathy kisses there. Even with the fabric of your glove in between, you can still easily feel the warm contact of his lips.

You can't tell whether it's due to the cold air that a blush paints itself on Draco's cheeks, but you decide not to think about it, because now you're looking away to hide a blush of your own.

Both of you continue walking with hands still entwined, letting the air glide around your bodies softly. It's a complete juxtaposition of the ecstatic impatience pulsing through your veins, all contained behind your soft smile that Draco doesn't need to point out or question. He knows you're excited, and he knows the reason perfectly well.

You've been giddy ever since he proposed taking you on a bookshop date. After all, it involved two of the things you loved most: Draco Malfoy, and your undying passion for reading. It was no secret how often Draco found you deeply engrossed in a book, without fail making him feel awestruck and simultaneously envious. Not that he would ever admit he got jealous over an inanimate object, of course, and least of all to you.

Deep down, Draco's more than happy to see the joy in your eyes when you're rereading one of your favorite books, or the cheerfulness in your smile after picking up a new one. He loves you and your hobby all the same.

When you finally make it to the bookshop, you practically have to hold back from stampeding directly into it, pursing your lips into a line to contain your enthusiasm. This, of course, doesn't go without Draco's notice, and you don't mind the chuckle he sends your way. You're far too occupied with the thought of gliding your fingers over the eclectic book collections.

He pulls you inside gently while eyeing your reaction the entire time, and frankly, he can't help but melt at the way your eyes light up in childlike wonder, the way you take in the familiar scent of parchment, and the way you finally turn to him with an uncontainable grin.

"I have a proposal to make," you announce, unaware of the way your grin makes his heart skip a bit.

"Should I be worried?" he smirks.

"We should pick a book for eachother!"

Draco thinks over the idea in his head for a moment or two, finding it hard to deny that it was rather pointless to him. Neither of you are sure what the other would like, and for the most part, his concerns are true. But then again, it's the way your smile brightens up at the idea, coupled up with his curiosity as to what you'd possibly pick for him, that ultimately leads him to accept the suggestion.

You give his hand a light squeeze before finally pulling away and parting to another section of the bookshop. Draco's left to stare at his empty hand with an obvious frown. Maybe he shouldn't have agreed to this, he thinks, as he's missing the contact already. All he wants is to have you nearby, to see the enthusiasm in your face from each book that you pull out. But when his eyes meet yours in the far off corner of the bookshop, he smiles tenderly, and decides to let you be. There's always more time for physical affection later.

Back in your spot in the bookshop, you're already eyeing the countless racks of books in wonder, roaming over every cover and title curiously. For once, you're somewhat thankful to have time and space to yourself from the blonde slytherin. To select a book for him, you would have to be methodical and punctilious. Neither are ever easy when he's around, when it feels like your rational thinking is all turned into mush. Hence, rather than wasting a single second, you immediately focus on the task at hand.

For a brief moment, you wonder if Draco had already deduced the type of book you'd get him, considering how obvious it is by the section you instantly went towards.

Non-fiction, the factual informative reading that might suit his tastes and interests. Something under astronomy seems to make the most sense, although then again, you assume he already knows most there is to know under that natural science. School related studies like potions and transfiguration cross your mind as well, albeit briefly, because you're not sure what good it would be to give someone a book on something they're already quite good at.

You toss your thoughts back and forth as your fingers fumble over multiple books, hoping one of them could strike you with a burst of inspiration. But it isn't until a peculiar idea lights up like a light bulb in your head. You didn't necessarily have to give Draco something he would like, as long as your choice would be meaningful and thoughtful.

That's exactly how you make up your mind and gingerly pull out a certain book with a content smile, keeping it tucked under your arm as you continue to browse the selection for a few books for yourself.

"All done, love?"

You spin around in one swift motion, quickly hiding the book you chose for him behind your back, although it wasn't the easiest thing to do when you had a couple other in your hold.

"What do we have here?" he cheekily tries to catch a peek, but you're already backing away spontaneously.

"It's a surprise!" you squeal, and Draco already has his hands held out innocently, chuckling slightly when he says, "Alright, alright. Now let's go purchase all these books."

You follow him to the cashier where you hand over all the items you've been holding. You reach for your purse in the bag you had with you, rummaging around for it with your fingers. But when you finally pull it out with a triumphant smile, you find that Draco has beat you to it, and he's already paying for all the books you chose.

You give him a look that says that's not fair, but you know it's just one of his many ways of showing his adoration for you.

He picks up the paper bags and begins heading towards the exit, where he's stopped midway by a kiss on the cheek. In other words, your little way of thanking him.

"keep doing that and I'll end up buying you this entire bookshop," he tells you in a half joke, betraying the fact that deep down he's rather serious about the idea. Draco Malfoy had come to a point where spending money was the least of his worries when it came to you.

"Tempting," you hum. "but you know I'd rather do it for free." you get up on your tiptoes again and plant a second kiss on his cheek, as if to prove your point. His hand reaches for the spot with an affectionate look directed your way; not entirely used to receiving the loving words and gestures that you give him.

"There's another bookshop nearby. Fancy giving it a look?" he asks with a wink.

You let out a faux gasp, smacking his shoulder playfully, "If you want more kisses, all you have to do is ask! And besides, I'll make sure to give you lots of them when we get back."

He smiles widely, leaning closer to whisper in your ear, "Well, I'll make sure you stay true to your word on that."

The two of you giggle as you finally walk back out into the outdoors, where the cold air greets you before anything else could. You're trying your best not to shiver, mainly out of knowing it might ignite a second wave of Draco's lecturing. Not that he'd notice, really, he's far too busy staring at that pretty smile of yours and how much he wants to capture it with the matching one on his face.

And he almost would have if you didn't snap him out of his thoughts, reaching for a specific book and pulling it out for him to see. It didn't take much to figure out what you were doing, so he grabbed a book of his own before you both exchanged the two items.

"How did you know what I'd like?" you ask him, gazing at the hardback under your fingers, feeling the texture you've become familiar with against your skin. But when Draco doesn't respond, you take a glance at him with a raised brow.

"Romance?" he blinks in confusion a few times, struggling to hide the surprise at your choice of what was, frankly, not his cup of tea. He's not entirely sure on what to say, so you fill in the silence for him.

"I know it doesn't suit your tastes, but I thought it would be nice to get you something I like instead. Kind of like showing you a part of me that you'll only understand through things like books."

He looks between you and the book, processing the explanation that you gave him. Until finally, his signature smile is back on his face and he says, "I won't promise that I'll like it."

In moments like these, it was easy to read between the lines, when Draco showed his love through actions much more than words. "I won't promise that I'll like it" rather meant "I'm willing to give it a shot only because it means something to you" and it held a larger amount of affection than he let on.

"What?" Draco asks, noticing the stupid lovesick grin decorating your face.

"Oh, nothing. You're adorable."

He raises a challenging brow to match his response, "I think either menacing or charming is far more suitable. Adorable is far off the list." but you still notice the blush on his cheeks. It's not that hard to miss, honestly, with the color of his skin.

"I stand by my statement."

Draco nearly snorts at this, already thinking of an alternative counter argument. One quickly comes to mind, "Try telling that to someone like Weasley. Bet he'd puke before he could even begin proving you wrong."

You roll your eyes, "Well, he's not the one you're snogging or taking on bookshop dates, is he?"

Draco sucks in a sharp breath, stuck between finding it useless to continue the disagreement while also grimacing at the sudden image of him snogging Ron Weasley, likely a potential nightmare fuel to haunt him in his sleep.

"Please never mention that thought ever again," he begs you before switching the conversation to a lighter topic. "Where would you like to head to now, my dear?"

You already have an idea in mind, and you have the feeling Draco would like it just as much.

• • •

And like it he does, although that word is nowhere close to describing the fondness he feels in the moment; having you tucked in between his legs with your back against his chest, the both of you hidden in a spot beside the Black Lake where no one would be around to disrupt.

You melt into him, feeling every intake of air that enters his respiratory, eliciting the soft rise and fall of his chest. You feel every thud of his heartbeat against your skin and every single vibration of his occasional humming.

His free hand is wrapped around your waist to pull you closer into him, where his thumb is absentmindedly rubbing your skin every now and then. It all turned reading into a nearly impossible task, which was a first for someone like you.

"How's the book?" you ask him in hopes of a distraction— which you earn far too easily. Instead of the book in your hands, you're now fixated on the way Draco's lids flutter when he blinks at you, and the way he licks his lips that have gone dry from the crisp air.

"Underwhelming," he begins. "These two idiots are clearly in love, and it would've all been over by the first chapter if either of them made a move."

Draco had thought that this comment was enough to make you attempt reasoning with him; to defend the fiction novel he was reading. What he did not expect, however, was to hear you giggle, bright and clear as day.

He looks at you in confusion, hoping to get handed an explanation.

"You do realize that's exactly how we were back then?" you utter, looking into his grey eyes once again. Both of you take a moment to recall the memory, smiling silently at the image of two clueless lovesick idiots wondering if the other liked them just as much.

"Hm, I suppose if you put it that way." Draco finally affirms. His fingers begin reaching for yours, where both meet in a loving entanglement. "Honestly, (y/n), how was I supposed to know you fancied me when all you did was bloody look away?"

"That's only because I was too nervous to look at you!" you huff out. "I'm beginning to think I should get you more of those romance novels."

You don't hear a reply, but you feel the smile in his lips as he presses soft wet kisses into your skin, followed by the hot breaths that are a contrast to the freezing air. Draco notices this fact from the tiny shivers of your body, and he begins to pull away gently.

"Come now, love, we should head back inside before it gets too cold."

You pout at his offer; enjoying yourself in the current activity far too much, even if you've left the reading part of it unattended. Having Draco's arms around you with your fingers laced together was all that mattered.

Your lover frowns at your reaction, wishing you weren't so stubborn when the cold is biting your skin, but he makes sure to vocalize a second offer; one he knows you wouldn't refuse, "I could read to you in my room if you'd like."

And that's all it takes for you to beam an appreciative grin at him.

"And someone would have to warm up that body of yours. Can't exactly do that out here," he adds, referring to the darkening sky and the decreasing temperature enveloping your bodies. But you seemed to have misread his statement, or perhaps you were purposefully trying to tease him. Either way, a smirk was sitting on your expression that didn't go unnoticed.

"Not in that way, love," he drawls out, letting out a small laugh that vibrates into your skin. "Unless that's what you'd like?"

Your hand immediately comes into contact with his chest in the form of a playful smack, although you can't hide the amused smile on your face. In turn, Draco dramatically gasps out, "I've been wounded!"

For a moment, all that exists is the sound of your laughter coming together like a muddled up choir and the feeling of fingers wrapped together. When the laughter dies down, and you're finally brought back into the present, you pull Draco into a warm hug. You savor the scent of his familiar cologne and the sound of his thudding heart, wishing you could stay that way for the slightest bit longer.

Although it takes a few seconds for him to wrap his own hands around your frame, when he does, it feels nothing short of perfect. His head rests in the junction between your neck and shoulder, where you can feel each of his warm breaths stroke against your skin.

"We should go on these bookdates more often," he suggests, and with the happiest smile you tell him, "I'm not against that idea."

draco taglist — @arossebyanyothername @kawaii-angelanne @thefandomplace @yuosmi @bbeauttyybbx @mywellspringoflife @slytherinsunrise @avatarbeeb @scarlet-says-hi @lunars