#emma bloom x reader

[zwelcii]

millard: today's officially one year since i've had surgery.

hugh: wooo congrats king!! 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

millard: surgery on my shoulder??? from when i got shot???

hugh: wooo congrats king!! 🇺🇲🇺🇲🇺🇲

[helloalycia]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] — 𝐄𝐌𝐌𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌

two / three / four / masterlist / wattpad

summary: when you're forced into a time loop after losing your parents, you struggle to come to terms with your new reality.

warning/s: mentions of death, blood and injury.

author's note: hello! it’s been so long since i’ve posted anything, but that’s mainly because i haven’t had the motivation to write, despite having a million wips lol. I started this one a year ago when I was rereading and rewatching the miss peregrine series, but never got around to completing it. Idk what spurt of motivation i had this past week, but i finally completed it lol, so enjoy!

just some things to note - it’s a mix of the book and film because i stupidly watched and read both at the same time so mixed the lore up. Apologies! also Y/H/T = your home town. That’s all :)

It all happened so fast, I couldn't even react. One minute I was walking with my parents down some grubby alley in the middle of Cairnholm late into the evening, and the next we were wrestled into by what seemed like some invisible force.

Thrown back, my back hit the wall and I crumpled to the ground in seconds. Whatever had attacked had left me with spinning vision and a concussion, no doubt. But what concerned me the most was the view ahead – my parents.

I struggled to call for my mum, who was unsconscious on the ground, deep crimson blood pouring from her head. It took a moment to register what I was seeing, to accept the reality that she'd died so suddenly. I couldn't even acknowledge it because a wet, breathless snarling noise caught my attention.

The blurriness struggled to subside as I blinked, following the noise to my father, who was flat on the ground, also having been ploughed into by some invisible force. He was trying to sit up and a soft groan escaped my lips as I attempted to call his name. Our eyes met for a moment, confusion exchanged in a single glance, and then he was shoved back into the ground, head smashing against the concrete in a bloody mess.

The scream ripped from my throat before I could stop it. It didn't make sense – what the hell had happened? What was doing this? Nobody was here!

Tears burned my eyes as I struggled to stand, confused and hot and hurt all at once. The snarling grew louder, approaching me and making my heart race in my chest because I felt like there was a threat, but I couldn't be sure what. A strong scent – like a landfill rotting in the sun all day – accompanied the noise, and I almost passed out from it.

Suddenly, an arrow shot through the air, whizzing before me. I followed it to the left, watching the most disgusting creature – was it a creature? It certainly wasn't human – hit the wall and sink to the ground, defeated. I blinked, certain this was a nightmare. Had it just been invisible?

Three tongues hung out of its mouth, between rows of sharp teeth. It was a monstrous corpse, coated in blood – my parents' blood.

This couldn't be real.

I looked back to my parents hoping they'd be up and alive and proving that I'd imagined the whole thing. But they were still there, dead in seconds. We'd just been talking about wrapping up this insane holiday to Cairnholm after a drink at the pub, and now they were gone.

"That was a close one," a voice spoke, and I turned to see the owner of the arrow. A strange woman dressed in black and holding a crossbow. "We need to go. Where there's one, there's more."

At the mention of more of these strange creatures, I felt myself panicking. My gaze returned to it and I could have thrown up there and then, but the strange woman grabbed my hand and began dragging me away. Away from the monster and away from my parents. I was too dumbstruck to stop her.

My mind was working on overdrive, thoughts of everything that had happened replaying. How quickly it happened. My mother's dead body. My father's confused look. His head getting smashed into the ground. The monster – whatever it was – ready to kill me next, if not for my saviour.

The woman took me through the small village on the island, everything fading into a blur as I remained paralysed with shock. Only when she let go of my hand did the horrors catch up with me. I was too distracted by my situation to notice our change in scenery.

"How are you?" the lady asked, and I suddenly stepped back when she watched me with concern, as if she knew me.

"What was that?" I asked demandingly, heart racing too quickly for me to keep up with. "What just did that? My– my parents– are they–?" I couldn't even say it, trembling with each word.

The lady frowned ashamedly. "I'm so sorry, Miss Y/L/N. I was too late."

Nothing made sense, not even the fact that she somehow knew my name, but the sincerity in her expression made me believe her. Which meant it was true. They were gone.

"No... no, they can't be," I muttered, shaking my head. "They can't be dead. They–"

"I'm glad I got to you in time, but–"

"No!" I shouted, eyes blurring with tears. Sinking to the grass, I shook my head. "They can't be gone. It wasn't real. It couldn't have been."

How? How could it be true? We'd just gone for a drink and some dinner! We were stretching our legs! How could they be gone?!

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I glared into the grass, heart crumbling in my chest. It didn't make sense.

"What was that?" I asked, glancing up at the strange lady.

She sighed regretfully. "That was a hollowgast, also known as a hollow. It's a wretched creature, once a peculiar."

"A what?" my voice squeaked, because this woman sounded insane and it couldn't make sense that this fictional nightmare of a creature had just killed my parents.

"It's a lot to hear," she admitted, "but peculiars are those with special powers and traits. Hollows feed off them and anything that gets in their way, with hopes of returning to their form as a peculiar. This particular one was after you, it seems. Unfortunately, your parents were in the way."

Jaw clenched, I stood up and scowled at her as she explained this utter nonsense. "And who the hell are you?"

She pursed her lips, as if not pleased with my reaction. "I'm Alma Peregrine, Miss Peregrine to the peculiars I care for."

I could have laughed because of how clinically insane she sounded. Hollows? Peculiars? Powers? What the hell was she talking about?

"That's stupid!" I exclaimed. "All of it, stupid!"

"It's a lot, but stupid isn't the word," she corrected gently.

I scoffed. "Of course it is! You're telling me that some imaginary monster killed my parents to get to me? And that I'm supposedly some sort of peculiar? What the fuck?!"

She winced slightly at my outburst. "I can prove it, Miss Y/L/N."

I frowned. "I don't care. Fuck, I don't give one. I have to go back. To my parents."

"You mustn't," she said carefully. "It's not safe. Where there's one hollow, there's more. They have your scent now."

"How is it any safer here?!" I snapped incredulously. My parents were murdered in plain sight and she was feeding me fairytales?

Calmly, she tilted her head. "Can't you see it?"

I swallowed hard, finally taking a second to look around and acknowledge where I was stood. Whereas we were once in a grey, dark Cairnholm, now we were in a lovely field under stunning pink watercolour strokes in the sky from the sun set. Everything felt different, wrong.

"Where is this? Where are we?" I asked uneasily.

"You're safe here," she assured me. "You're in a time loop. As an ymbryne, it's my responsibility to create a safe place for my peculiars. A place where hollows can't reach them. This is it. 1940s Cairnholm, Wales." No doubt in response to my horrified expression, she added, "It's protected."

"It's nonsense!"

"It's not," she said quickly, guiltily, before mumbling to herself, "It's my fault, I should've made myself known sooner."

I blinked, shaking my head. This had to be a dream. A long-winded, insane dream.

"I'm going to turn into a bird now and you must follow me," she advised.

A million responses were on the tip of my tongue, but I didn't get chance to speak because she did just that, proving me wrong in an instant. I jumped back with a yelp, hand on my heart, but it was beating ever so quickly and I was forgetting how to breathe and then everything went black.

—

Muttering and hushed whispers is what made me stir, my mind still playing catch up as I opened my eyes. Blinking, I didn't recognise my surroundings – a bedroom that definitely wasn't mine – nor the children wearing outdated clothes huddled by the door that ran out as soon as I glanced their way. I blinked again, certain I'd seen bees buzzing after them.

"How are you feeling?"

I jumped at the voice, eyes falling to Miss Pergerine who was sat by a desk to my left. And then I remembered what had led me to where I was.

"You're... you're human?" I asked weakly, sitting upright.

She nodded, though frowned apologetically. "I didn't mean to frighten you. After everything that's happened, I should have used my brain a little."

I pressed my lips together, eyes flickering over her figure. She'd transformed into a bird. An actual bird. Like magic. If she truly was this ymbryne she'd told me about, that meant peculiars were real. And hollows. Which meant...

"My parents are really gone," I realised, breath catching in my throat.

Her voice was gentle as she spoke, "I'm so very sorry, Y/N."

I looked down to my trembling hands, unsure what to do or say. They were dead. It was all real, not some horrid nightmare.

"So much has happened in such a short amount of time and I can imagine how overwhelmed you must be," she said sympathetically, but I wasn't really listening. "I brought you to our home for peculiar children. The other peculiars live here also and, well, you're welcome to stay here where it's safe. You shouldn't go back to your time, not where hollows still roam..."

I tuned her out, heart aching in my chest. Mentions of peculiar children and hollows and time loops didn't matter... not when my parents were dead.

Shortly after, Miss Peregrine said something about giving me some space and then left the room. I was too distraught – and oddly exhausted – to do anything but fall back asleep. I thought I'd struggle, what with being in an odd place, surrounded by strangers and without my parents, but I fell asleep easily enough.

It was a clear night outside the window as I drifted in and out of slumber. At one point, I laid there, eyes staring aimlessly out the window, watching the stars twinkle. My thoughts were stuck in a cycle, showing scenes of my parents, the monster that killed them. Their bloody heads, the confusion and terror in my father's eyes. The fear in my own as I realised I was next, if not for Miss Peregrine saving my life. If what she said was true, that this thing – this hollow – was trying to get to me, then that meant my parents had died because of me. It was my fault.

It was my fault.

My suffocating thoughts were interrupted by a strong knock on the door. I didn't move from the bed, hoping whoever it was would leave me to rot in my bubble. Then a soft voice came from the other side.

"Are you up yet?"

I stayed quiet, ignoring the voice with hopes they'd leave. I didn't care for anyone who lived here, nor this loop. I just wanted to go home, to be with my parents.

"Please, you must eat," the girl spoke again, pleading.

My stomach had been rumbling all evening – it had to have been midnight now – but I couldn't get up. I didn't want to. I didn't want to do anything ever again.

"I'm coming in," the girl finally decided, followed by a creak of the door opening.

I didn't bother turning around to greet her, but I could hear the sound of a tray settling on the bedside table behind me. The smell of something tasty wafted my way instantly, only making my stomach rumble even more, but I ignored it. Then, a pause. Whoever she was, her presence was felt.

"Y/N," she spoke tenderly.

Did everybody just know who I was now? Was privacy not a thing here?

"What?" I mumbled, voice hoarse.

A quiet sigh, and then, "You must eat. You must be starving. Miss Peregrine made vegetable soup for dinner. It'll be easy enough to eat. Filling, too."

It was stupid, all of it. Who cared? Who cared about eating or soup or any of it?

The girl relented. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to call. I'm only next door. My name is Emma Bloom."

I didn't tear my gaze from the window, not until I heard this Emma Bloom's footsteps retreating. Glancing at the door as she left, I caught a glimpse of her pastel dress and blonde hair. My plan was to return to a state of self-pity and disassociation, but the smell of the aforementioned soup caught my attention again, the flavours making my stomach grumble once more.

After devouring it in minutes, I laid back down and drifted off to sleep with the intention of staying like that forever. Maybe if I kept my eyes closed long enough, I'd wake up and this would all be a nightmare.

—

When I woke next, it was still dark out.

I pushed myself up and stretched, head hurting a little from forcing myself to sleep. Now, I was wide awake and as homesick as ever. The room I was in could have been comforting, but it wasn't home. Everything was old and wooden and simple. It wasn't mine.

As I stood up, I saw the tray was gone, replaced by a glass of water. I downed it in three gulps before leaving my room hesitantly. I was at the end of a long hallway, all the other doors closed. I glanced at the next door over – Emma Bloom's room. She must have been asleep. And as I walked down the eerily-moonlit hall, I counted nine more doors – nine more children?

I stopped at the top of the staircase, glancing out the window by it. It overlooked a huge garden filled with trees and wildflowers and even a pond. Again, it could have been stunning, but it was foreign to me.

Trekking carefully down the steps, aware of the creaking of every floorboard in this rickety old home, I gave myself the tour. Maybe I was trying to convince myself this was real, still in doubt, or maybe I just needed to stretch my legs without wandering eyes. Either way, I strolled through the many rooms. A living room with a vast fireplace. A parlour with furniture you'd find in a charity shop. A kitchen fresh from the 1900s. Some more, that I just didn't have the courage to step inside.

It was dark, a ghastly blue glow washing over every surface, corner, nook and cranny. It was old and foreign and it wasn't home. 1930, did Miss Peregrine say this was? 1940? Was that really true?

I centred myself with a deep breath, but I knew what I needed to do. I had to go home. I couldn't stay here any longer.

—

The sounds of talking and shuffling of feet in the hallway woke me up later that morning. I tried not to dwell on every little thing, including the events of yesterday, as I forced myself out of bed.

Glancing out the window, I saw how different everything looked bathed in the morning light. Nice, though strange. It was still hard to believe I was in Cairnholm, though a different part of it. I wondered, for a split second, what this side of the island looked like in 2025. Maybe I'd find out soon enough.

After pulling my shoes on, I reluctantly left the bedroom, glancing around and relieved the other children were already downstairs. I found the bathroom at the end of the hall and took a moment to freshen up, even if it was just rinsing my mouth and splashing my face. My reflection wasn't great, but I cut myself some slack. I was holding up better than most given the circumstances.

With a goal in mind, I treaded carefully down the steps, following the vibrant sounds of people. I soon realised I was heading for the dining room – all looking much less ghastly during the day – where the others were eating breakfast. Only when I took a step inside, hoping they wouldn't notice me, did I feel a little nervous. And then taken aback, as all chatter ceased and nine pairs of eyes were on me.

I couldn't help but stare back, eyes roaming between the children seated around the long dining table. Peculiar was certainly the word to describe them. As well as their outdated (though perfectly appropriate to them) attire, it was their general appearance that left me speechless. One child was– what? Invisible? It could be the only explanation for the floating clothes in the seat. And another had bees buzzing around his head – I knew I'd seen bees yesterday!

"Miss Y/L/N, lovely to see you up and about," Miss Peregrine spoke from the head of the table, earning my attention. She wore a welcoming smile, no doubt trying to put me at ease from the staring peculiars.

I swallowed awkwardly, glancing at the others, before meeting her gaze. "Can I speak with you, please? Privately?"

She nodded breezily. "Of course!" I exhaled softly, about to make a move to leave, but she continued, "After breakfast."

I blinked. "Ideally now–"

"That would be rude," she interrupted politely. "Besides, you must be hungry. Join us. Please."

I was beginning to see how she was the person in charge here, for the way she spoke made me think I had no choice. And knowing what she was capable of and the fact that she was my only way out of here, I had no choice but to oblige.

Several pairs of eyes followed me as I awkwardly found the only free seat at the table, thankfully to the right of Miss Peregrine, but beside the strange invisible child who I had to make sure not to stare at in bewilderment.

"Children, this is Y/N Y/L/N," Miss Peregrine introduced me. "Y/N, these are the children I was telling you about."

One by one, she introduced each child, working her way around the table. There was Bronwyn, a very strong and androgynous-looking girl, but also apparently the eldest here; Olive, one of the youngest of them all and very smiley; Horace, the only one of them all to be dressed as if going to a formal event, even going as far as to wear a top hat which was especially strange for breakfast; Millard, who was indeed an invisible boy; Claire, another one of the youngest and seemed to be very shy in nature; Hugh, who was indeed surrounded by bees and could apparently control them too; Fiona, a kind but unruly looking girl, another of the eldest here; Enoch, an unimpressed and judgemental-looking boy; the twins, who didn’t utter a word; and finally Emma, the girl who gave me the soup and was now watching me like one watches a monkey in a zoo.

Under different circumstances, I would have been intrigued by them all, particularly about their peculiarities and how they'd ended up here. But I was too overcome with grief to care about any of it. Besides, I didn't belong here. I didn't want to get to know them. I just wanted to go home.

"So, Y/N, what's your peculiarity?" Olive asked with curiosity from the other side of the table.

"Olive," Bronwyn scolded quietly, before shooting me an apologetic glance.

"It's a fair question," Enoch muttered, still the most suspicious of me.

"She hasn't discovered it yet," Miss Pergerine answered for me, looking between them all knowingly. "Let's not overwhelm her, children."

I tensed my jaw slightly as I focused on eating from the bowl of porridge before me. Thankfully, the others soon fell into conversation as usual, letting me keep to myself, though I still felt the odd pair of eyes on me.

Finally, after a long and annoyingly tasty breakfast, Miss Peregrine invited me to her study to talk.

"What can I help you with, Miss Y/L/N?" she asked from behind her desk.

As confidently as I could muster, I said, "I want to go home."

Regretfully, she sighed. "You can't. This is your new home. I know it doesn't feel like it now, but–"

"No! I don't know what you think I am, but I don't belong here," I snapped. "You can't keep me here. I need to be with my parents."

Unfazed by my raised voice, she answered, "I know you do. But as I mentioned last night, the hollows are still there. You're in danger. And it isn't safe for you there, not like it is here. It's happened quicker than it should have, but you don't belong there anymore. I'm sorry."

I glared at her. "Even if what you're saying is true, it's my choice to make, isn't it? My life to decide what to do with? You don't know me."

"I've followed you since you landed on this island, my dear," she spoke gently. "I've known of you for a long time. Watching you. Making sure you're safe. I should have intervened sooner, then maybe this wouldn't have happened."

"Well, you didn't," I said harshly. "So, take me back. I didn't ask for this. I don't have powers like you seem to think. I'm not like you or the others."

"Just because you don't know of them, doesn't mean you don't have them," she pointed out. "Not only is it safe to live here, but the other children can help you. They can–"

"I don't care," I cut her off with a frown. "Just take me home. I want to be with my parents. Return to Y/H/T. Get away from here."

She didn't speak for a long time, merely stared at me curiously. I was planning the many ways I could run away from here or convince her to let me go when she finally stood up.

"Fine," she said calmly. "I'll take you back. But I'm warning you, you won't like what you find."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "I'm sure I'll manage."

She didn't retort, no doubt an excellent skill she'd learnt from looking after nine children who definitely argued back at times. Instead, she walked me away from the house, through a lovely field and to a rocky tunnel. It was the 'loop entrance', she told me, and my ears popped like I was on a plane before we exited from the other side.

If I hadn't believed we'd time travelled before, I certainly did now, for the other side was a dark grey, windy day on Cairnholm – nothing like the sunny paradise we'd just left.

I didn't leave her side as she led me back to where the hollow attacked, where I expected to find my parents' bodies. My heart was beating in my throat as I prepared myself to face reality, but there was a small crowd of villagers held back by a police cordon instead. The whole area was off limits, the busiest corner of the town I'd seen since visiting. They'd found their bodies.

"...yeah, I heard she left after doing it," someone was saying in the crowd, mid conversation, and I wouldn't have paid attention if it weren't for the mention of me. "The daughter always looked dodgy. Can't believe she was eating at the pub a table over just yesterday."

"Such a shame too, they looked like good folk," another said. "That girl ought to be locked in prison and they throw away the key. Absolutely disgusting."

I furrowed my brows as more similar conversations carried with the wind. They thought I killed them? They thought I was a murderer?

"It's her! Copper, over here!" someone shouted suddenly, and a finger was pointed in my direction.

I snapped my gaze to them, watching as the crowd began to back up once they spotted me.

"What? No! I didn't do anything!" I said defensively.

"Oi! Put your hands up and stay put!" a police officer shouted, raising his baton.

I backed up, terrified. "I didn't do anything, I–!"

"Get her!" he shouted to his partner.

Miss Peregrine, whom I forgot was stood beside me, yanked me back by the arm. Her reassuring eyes met mine as she said, "Run. Back to the loop. Now!"

I didn't waste a second as I listened and ran in the opposite direction, hearing the commotion break out behind me. I didn't stop to see a thing, only focused on legging it back to the loop entrance where they hopefully wouldn't find me. My chest was burning when I pushed through the rocky tunnel and out the other side, back into the sunny ends of 1940s Cairnholm.

My mind was racing as I bent over, catching my breath. It was all real. Every bit of it. And to make things worse, nobody else knew except me. Everybody thought I'd murdered my own parents!

Tears streamed down my face as I heard someone behind me minutes later, realising it was Miss Peregrine returning. When she found my gaze, her expression softened.

"They think it's me," I said between tears. "They think I killed them!"

"Y/N," she murmured, stepping forward to comfort me, but I stepped back.

"No! They think I did it!" I shouted, hurt.

"This is why I didn't want you to go back," she said with remorse.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "You have to fix this. You have to clear my name. You– you have powers for crying out loud, do something!"

She hesitated. "I could, but it isn't safe for you there. It wouldn't matter. You must stay here, Miss Y/L/N, you–"

"This place isn't my home, it's a nightmare!" I shouted angrily, though the tears did nothing to convey that. "I don't want to live the same day over and over, I don't care! I just– fuck!" I clutched my head, closing my eyes tightly. "I want everything to go back to normal. I don't belong here..."

How was any of this fair? What had I done to deserve this? It was a stupid trip to Wales. That was all it should have been. And in one fell swoop, I'd lost my parents and my life.

"I'm sorry," was all she said, albeit apologetically. I opened my eyes to see her sympathetic expression. "I can't bring your parents back."

This, I believed. But it wasn't what I wanted to hear. Instead, it only frustrated me further and I spun on my heel and stormed off.

"Y/N!" she called after me, and if she'd really wanted to, she could have flown after me and dragged me back to the house. But she didn't, not even when I ignored her calls and trekked through the field to nowhere.

I was glad for the solitude, needing somewhere to make sense of everything. None of this side of the island was familiar to me and so my feet carried me through the grass and to the beach, eventually digging themselves in the sand by the shore.

The ocean lapped before my feet, the sky so clear I couldn't tell where the horizon split into sea and sky. Despite how bright and warm and picturesque the world around me seemed, it did nothing to help my mood. If anything, I felt myself deflate like a balloon, a cruel emptiness settling instead.

Everything had happened too quickly, but just because I didn't like it didn't make it true. Maybe this was it. My new reality. Everybody thought I was a murderer and apparently my life was in danger, so I couldn't return home.

But this place – this loop – wasn't home. These people weren't family. How could I stay here? How could I do anything without my parents?

Hours passed as I sank into the sand, sitting down and staring blankly ahead. The peace was welcomed, calming the chaos just a little. There was much to think about, much to consider, but for now, I simply focused on the smell of the salty air and the sound of the waves around me.

My peace was soon disturbed when I heard footsteps not far behind me. With a sigh, I looked over my shoulder to see the blonde peculiar, Emma, approaching me. Of course Miss Peregrine had sent one of them to check on me.

"Hello," Emma spoke, looking down at me. "I'm not sure if you remember me, but I'm Emma Bloom."

I swallowed hard, looking ahead once more. "Hi."

"I thought I'd–" she began, but stopped herself suddenly, which made me look at her. Her hazel eyes were widened slightly as they were looking down at my body. "Erm, how are you doing that?"

I quirked a brow, half interested. "What?"

Carefully, she said, "You're not wet, but you're sat in the water."

I furrowed my brows as I looked down, trying to see what she was seeing. And then I realised she was right. I was sat in the sand, the water lapping around me and leaving the perfect dry circle in my vicinity. Not a single part of my clothes or feet were wet.

"What the hell?!" I panicked, jumping up out of my spot, my feet finally stepping in the water.

"Your peculiarity," Emma said with intrigue, "is it controlling water?"

My peculiarity? What was she talking about?!

I backed up, away from the water, feeling the panic spread through my chest, making it difficult to breath. This wasn't normal. None of it.

"That's so cool!" Emma said with amazement, before her eyes moved from the water to my expression. Her smile dropped as she stepped towards me. "Oh, gosh."

I shook my head, hand on my chest as if it would calm the pace of my racing heart. This wasn't normal! This place was changing everything and I couldn't take it!

"Hey, you're okay, you're okay," Emma spoke softly, hand resting on my shoulder as the other took mine from my chest. "Follow my breathing, darling."

I shook my head, overwhelmed and overstimulated and unsure what to do about it. She kept her eyes trained on mine, gently lowering me to the sand to sit down, not letting go of my hand.

"It's okay, you just need to breathe," she encouraged, kneeling before me. "Like this."

I tried to focus, her voice anchoring me back to reality, mimicking her inhale and exhale of breath. It must have been working as the world didn't seem so loud anymore and my heart didn't feel like it was going to burst out my chest.

"There you go," she reassured, squeezing my hand gently. "You're alright."

I continued to focus on my breathing as I let go of her hand, to which she seemed to get the hint and let go of my shoulder. She remained kneeling before me just in case though.

"I didn't mean to worry you," she said apologetically, pushing her hair away as the wind blew it in her eyes. "If it was your peculiarity, then great is all I meant."

"It's not great, it's horrifying," I whispered, glassy eyes fixated on the sand.

"It won't always be," she empathised.

Had I really done that without knowing? Controlled the water? Wouldn't I have noticed an ability like that?

"I came to bring you back to the house," Emma changed the subject. "You've been out here a while."

Any energy I had to argue with her was drained, so I merely nodded and stood up, following her back to the house.

"I know you got a brief introduction to us all this morning, but it truly isn't the same as spending time with us properly," Emma began to fill the silence as we walked, clearly not getting the hint that I wasn't in the mood to chat. "And you don't know of our peculiarities either. It's not often we get visitors or new additions. Everybody is excited to get to know you."

She glanced at me expectantly, awaiting a reply, but I simply kept my eyes on the grass as we trekked through it.

"My peculiarity is fire," she explained, not deterred by my silence. "And Bronwyn, she's extremely strong, could carry the house if you gave her a minute. Then there's Horace, he can see the future. May have even foreseen your arrival here."

"And did he foresee my parents getting murdered by that hollow?" I cut her off bitterly. "Foresee me doing nothing to stop it? Forced to come here? Forced to leave everything behind?"

She pursed her lips with uncertainty.

"Yeah, I didn't think so...," I muttered, stuffing my hands in my pockets.

Finally quiet, she led me back to the house where some of the other children were playing outside. Again, they weren't subtle in glancing my way, but I ignored their lingering gazes as Emma led me inside.

"Do you want to go to Miss Per–"

I ignored her as I continued walking, this time straight upstairs and to 'my' room where I slammed the door behind me.

Control fire? See the future? It was a cosmic joke! I was still waiting to wake up from this nightmare, to have my family back, but it never seemed to end.

I was dusting the sand off my clothes and shoes when I heard a knock on the door.

"May I come in?" It was Miss Peregrine.

I tossed my dirty shoes in the corner and refrained from rolling my eyes. "Sure."

Miss Peregrine walked in as I sat at the edge of the bed uneasily.

"I heard you discovered your peculiarity," she said encouragingly.

I tutted, looking away from her. "Barely."

"Well, it's something," she remained positive. "You can figure it out together with me tomorrow. If you'd like."

Tomorrow. So, it was definite. I was staying here. I didn't have a choice, did I? This was my life now. Figure out what this terrifying peculiarity was. Learn to live with it. Live without my parents. No more school or studying or Y/H/T.

This.

Upon realising I wasn't going to answer, Miss Peregrine changed the subject. "Miss Bloom is worried about you."

I exhaled sharply. "She doesn't even know me."

"She'd like to," Miss Peregrine said hopefully.

At this, I rolled my eyes.

As if finally losing her patience with my attitude, she said, "You've tracked sand into the house."

I looked to her, sarcastically saying, "Sorry, my bad."

Indifferent, she shrugged. "It's okay, dear. You'll be cleaning it up. And having a bath."

I blinked. "What?"

"It's pardon," she corrected firmly. "And in this home, everyone pulls their weight. You make a mess, you clean it up." I scoffed in disbelief, but she chose to ignore it. "The tub is down the hall. Miss Bloom has kindly warmed it for you."

"What?" I asked with confusion, and when she shot me a disapproving look, I was forced to correct myself. "Pardon?"

"Her peculiarity," she reminded me. "Pyrokinesis."

It only then dawned on me that heated plumbing wasn't a notable feature of the 1940s. Amongst everything, that was quite a terrible reminder.

"Hurry up," Miss Peregrine said impatiently. "The broom is in the cupboard under the stairs. The sand won't brush itself!"

She left the room and I had to take a second to acknowledge what the hell was going on, but even that wasn't enough time. Nonetheless, I found myself brushing up the trail of sand in the hall and up the steps before preparing some clothes for the bath.

To my dismay, the only clothes in the cupboard were from this time era, so my options were limited – some dark trousers and an olive blouse. The only items I had left from my time were my phone that didn't work and my purse. I left those on my bed before taking the new clothes and freshening up in the bathroom.

I didn't linger as I scrubbed myself raw, washing off the horrors of the last twenty-four hours and freshening up the best I could. On the way back to my room, Millard and Claire both offered a polite greeting my way, to which I awkwardly mumbled one back. Then Bronwyn found me in my room and politely reminded me that it was dinner time.

With how quick the day had gone, I hadn't even realised I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Dinner was tasty, though mildly irritating, knowing the others were stealing glances at me like I was some sort of freak show. A few of them tried to talk to me, but the last thing I wanted was a conversation. Eventually they got the hint.

After dinner, I silently helped them to clear up, not really having a choice with Miss Peregrine reminding me that we all pulled our weight around here.

"Y/N," one of the children called my name before I could disappear to my room. It was Olive, if I remembered correctly, one of the youngest. She offered a smile as she spoke, "We're all going to sit by the fireplace and have some hot chocolates. Would you like to join us?"

She was only being polite, but it was the last thing I wanted to do.

"No, thanks," I said a bit too firmly.

Her smile barely dropped before I left the kitchen, past the nosy eyes and ears of the other peculiars, and back to my room.

[frost-queen]

Stay forever (Fem!Reader x Emma Bloom)

Requested by: anon ,Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia,@alex–awesome–22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

Emma took a deep breath, staring out of the window to the green fields. Up there she saw you run around with Fiona and Hugh. Hugh’s bees buzzing behind him as they escaped his laughing mouth. Glancing down she felt those strong butterflies in her stomach. Reminding her how much she just adored you.

Something she was afraid to admit. The last time she felt so in love was when Abe was still around. Her first love and in her eyes back then her only love. The leaving of Abe had scarred her deeper. Deeper than she ever would admit. Sighing again she stuck her hand in the sink. Pulling it quickly out, feeling how cold the water had turned.

So occupied in her own mind, the water in the sink had turned cold. Half cleaned plates sitting in the soap. Emma groaned at her own neglecting, sticking her hand in again. Pulling the plug she watched as the water got sucked down the drain. Enoch entered the kitchen watching her move her finger under the water to feel the temperature.

He quirked his eyebrow up upon entering. Emma jumped back when the water was boiling hot on her skin. Enoch rushed over, shutting the facet. – “Where is your head today Em?” – he asked, turning the faucet open once more. Grabbing her finger he held it under cool water. – “I…I don’t know…” – Emma replied.

She glanced your way without being fully aware of it. Her heart simply yearning for you. Enoch noticed her staring outside. Caught in her own daydream. He sighed loud letting go of her finger. – “I’ll finish up, you go ahead and be outside with Y/n.” – Enoch said rolling up a sleeve. – “What?” – Emma blurted out. Enoch chuckled rolling his other sleeve up.

“Go on, I know you want to be around Y/n.” – he motioned with his head for her to take her leave. Emma smiled shyly. – “You are the best Enoch.” – she replied, getting on her toes to give his cheek a kiss. – “Yeah, yeah I know now head out!” – he ordered her. Emma dried her wet finger against her dress, hurrying out of the kitchen. Emma rushed out of the pink house to the outdoors.

Out of breath she came to stop near you. – “Our kitchen princess has finally arrived.” – you said coming to a stop. Fiona and Hugh both pulling at your arms for the fun of it. Emma smiled bashful back at you. You nudged Fiona and Hugh to stop pulling at your arms. They got the message running away whilst laughing. – “Now you have all of me.” – you told her. – “I have…” – Emma whispered back. You started walking away, Emma following you like a ghost.

Wherever you went, she went. Emma had an urge to be constantly close to you. Emma’s gaze fell upon her own shadow following her. Seeing how close it was to yours, but just that bit behind. It made her wonder if she would always be your shadow? A shadow of herself that Abe had created when he left. It worried her that her grief for Abe would limit her. It frightened her to think you might leave one day too. That she had once again given her heart away for just to be torn apart again.

Glancing over your shoulder, you had noticed Emma had stopped following you. Staring lost at her own shadow. You walked back to her with a smile. Lowering yourself a bit, you wanted to project yourself in her vision. Slowly her eyes met up with yours, acknowledging you. – “What are you thinking about Ems?” – you asked curios seeing the sadness in her eyes. Emma shook her head, shaking it off. – “It’s nothing.” – she replied putting on a smile.

Furrowing your brows, you didn’t believe her much. – “Emma.” – you said grabbing her by the shoulders. She wouldn’t respond so you simply bend down. Unclipping her heavy boots. Emma’s feet started to float out of the shoes, lifting herself up higher. – “Y/n!” – Emma screamed out in a panic as you grabbed her hands, keeping her from floating higher up.

“Are you crazy! Help me down!” – she panicked as you could only laugh. – “I’m not letting you go Emma. I’ve got you.” – you reassured her. Emma glared at you, making you give in and assist her back down. Emma clasped her shoes back shut. – “What was that for?” – she pointed out. – “Nothing much.” – you said shrugging your shoulders. – “Just me showing you that I’ve always got you.”

Emma puffed loud. – “You won’t always be around!” – she stated, crossing her arms. Her words came as a shock to you. – “Is that what you think?” – you asked her. You moved so you’d face her again. – “Emma I’m not going anywhere.” – you reassured her. – “That is what Abe said too… before he left.” – she uncrossed her arms, a wave of sadness crashing over her.

You took her by the shoulders, making her look at you. – “I’m not Abe. I’m Y/n and I’m telling you that I am not going anywhere Emma Bloom. I’m staying right here as this is where I need to be. I feel at home around you so why should I leave?” – you told her. Emma’s eyes widened with delight.

“You are my home Emma. Don’t you see I’m not leaving home.” – before you could utter another word had Emma jumped in your arms. Hugging you so tight, you got squashed in her grip. – “You are my home Y/n.” – she replied. Pulling her head back, she kissed your cheek. Then your lips, surprising you.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[thehomeofplatonicfics]

Wish That You Were Here

Peculiar!reader x Emma Bloom (platonic!) - Inspired by 'Wish That You Were Here by Florence and the Machine

“Y/N? Y/N, are you even listening to me?” Emma’s voice breaks through your thoughts like a knife and you jump in your seat to attention, shaking your head slightly. “I didn’t catch that, sorry.” You mumble sheepishly, gazing back out into the distance, looking towards the sea once more.

It was one of the things you had appreciated the most when you had first arrived into the Cairnholm loop, you hadn’t always been so lucky. Being a peculiar that most normies would liken to a siren, it was quite a pickle if you didn’t have a body of water to ‘haunt’. It had made life in the middle of London quite challenging at times.

When that loop was destroyed, you were placed here, in Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children… but you then had to leave someone behind. Someone special.

“You’re doing it again.” Emma warned you, the look on her face is equal parts concern and amusement. “Sorry… the sea is drawing me in strongly today.”

“Do you want to head down there? We’re past the reset, so it’ll be safe.” Emma offers, gesturing to the path. “Are you sure you can handle it?” You ask, knowing that if you let out your song, buried in you, that you could control her to do almost anything.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep a safe distance from you. Just means we may have to shout.” Emma smirks. You nod in agreement, and walk down with her silence. You became lost in your thoughts again, thinking of your dear friend. Where were they now? What year, what loop? Were they even still alive?

Your siren’s call slips out before you even realise it as you take one step into the water. True to her word, Emma remains somewhat further back up the beach and luckily seems unaffected. “So, what is this about?” Emma shouts to you, knowing that you weren’t usually so affected by your peculiarity.

“Her. Again.” You call back in a floaty, sing-song voice. “She’s... always on my mind. I wish she was here. Every second, every hour.” Saying every day seemed moot, considering it was always the same day in September.

Emma hummed back in understanding. “I know how you feel. I think of Abe every day too.” You pause your song, surprised to hear Emma talk of him. She rarely brought him up, and you considered it an honour that she felt comfortable enough to do so with you.

“Do you ever feel like missing him becomes so burdening? Like a feeling that just sits on your chest, weighing you down, making it hard to catch your breath?” You ask Emma, your voice still singing a haunting call.

“…Often.” Emma shouts back, taking one step further away from you to ensure she didn’t become trapped by your song.

“I don’t even know if she is safe. Sometimes, I wonder if she thinks of me as often as I think of her.”

“I bet she does.” Emma replies, hoping in her heart that Abe thought of her often too.

“Some days, the image of her seems so very far.” My siren’s song starts to die down, as I turn towards her. A tear slips down my cheek. “I don’t even have a photo of her. I worry that one day, I’ll forget what she looks like. That all I’ll have left is the idea of her in my mind.”

Emma remains quiet for a while, feeling almost guilty that she at least had many remainders of Abe to fall back on. “Why don’t you paint a picture of her? I’m sure the bird will have supplies.” Emma suggested tentatively, praying you responded favourably to it.

You stepped out of the water, looking back out to sea. “Yes… I think I shall ask her.” You walked back up the beach, looping your arm into her’s as you returned the house. “Thank you, Emma.” You say softly as you step back into the safety of the house. “I won’t let her be forgotten.”

[arriansarchive]

Emma Bloom/Male!Peculiar!Reader

I'm just Ken... where I see love, she sees a friend...

I'm listening to that song and I thought that line fit just a little bit with Reader and Emma in this story

Only that line though

This is set when Abe is with Miss P

This is actually a really old draft from a year ago, but I'm finishing it up to try to get something out

Summary: You're sick of Emma ignoring you for Abe, so you corner her one night to talk.

The night was long, and you were restless in your chair. The owls hooting seemed to lull you to sleep most nights but not this one.

You sat awake at your desk, tapping a pen on the paper. Many normal things happened today, almost too normal.

Emma ignoring you for Abe, Fiona and Hugh doing everything together, Enoch being a prick, Emma ignoring you for Abe.

That sentence made your blood boil over the edge of it's imaginary pot. Abe was a problem for your friendship ever since he arrived at Miss Peregrine's house.

You and Emma had been close friends for many years. You both were basically inseparable. You went to the beach together, you helped her pick out clothes for random events, history work Miss Peregrine assigned, and other.

But then Abe came, and it all went away as quick as a feather being carried through the wind.

Suddenly a light switch being flipped from across the hall sparks your attention. You and Emma's rooms were adjacent to one anothers. That means it could only be Emma.

Whenever Miss Peregrine does sleep, which tonight would be one of those nights, she sleeps heavily, so as long as you didn't make any huge noises you could get out of the house easily. That's what you suspect Emma is doing.

Abe is also a heavy sleep, so you suspect that he wouldn't be coming on this midnight stroll. You would be though.

You shot up from your desk, shoved a few pillows under your blankets, and made for the door, waiting for the right time to follow suit behind Emma.

She was probably heading to the beach, you presumed. Since every time before Abe, you and Emma went out to the beach to just talk and think.

You heard the downstairs door opened and shut quietly then started to slowly peek out your door. The hallway was barren and empty just like you thought.

Your footsteps were light inside of your socks, once you get the the bottom slipping on shoes and a fluffy hat.

The front door opened and closed once more as you exited the desolate, quiet household that in the day was loud and bustling with activity.

The walk to the beach was peaceful for your racing mind. It calmed you down immensely, probably for the better with what your about to talk to Emma about.

The outside ring of the beach was beautiful. The plants displayed out the front always calmed your nerves whenever you happened to be in distress.

Usually whenever Emma and you came here, it was to talk about some stupid new rule or short-lived piece of drama that came about in the house. Enoch picking on Horace, Fiona and Hugh, something like that. Something stupid.

Something stupid that the two of you laughed at.

There was no more laughing between you and her. There was just silence. Where there used to be a bold, strong connection; there was dead quiet, a broken string.

You sighed whenever Emma came into view. A sigh of relief? You'll never know. Her blue dress flowed as her knees were drawn up to her chest, her heading hiding in them. You could tell it was her from her blonde head of hair, a head of hair you'd know anywhere.

"Emma Bloom!" You called out, somewhat teasingly.

She looked up and turned her head on the direction where you were standing, waving your hands like a maniac.

"You." Emma rolled her eyes.

You jogged over to where she sat on the sand and took your rightful place beside her. Whenever you looked into her eyes, you saw they were red and irritated. She had been crying; and, for Emma, that meant something really bad had happened.

"What's wrong with you?" You said awkwardly.

You were never good at heartfelt conversations. You thought that was what Emma loved about you until Abe, heartwarming pep-talks Abe, came about.

"You wouldn't care. You don't like him anyways." She sighed and rubbed her eyes again.

You looked away from her and sighed. "I might not like him, but I still want to know what's ailing your heart, love."

She sniffled. "I'll tell you if you promise to never call me that ever again."

Nodding your head, you smile softly. "Deal."

Emma began to explain to you that Abe was planning to go join some mame-shift, hollow-hunters army that sent him a letter a few days ago.

"-and that would leave me alone." She finished.

You almost scoffed but managed to keep it inside, though maybe not your sour expression. She looked over at you, needing somebody to give her some advice.

"My advice to you, Emma, is to look around you at the people who really care about you." You sighed. "I've been right here for weeks, knowing he'd eventually leave you, but you've glazed past me every time."

She huffed and got up from her position on the sand to storm away. "I knew you'd do this. You make everything all about yourself!"

You looked up and started to call after her, but you felt it would do no good. Once Emma got set on something, she wouldn't change her mind. It was something you loved about her.

Supposing you'd just walk back to the house, you got up from your seat. Maybe it would take Abe leaving for her to realize what she had. Maybe you would wait until then.

[cece693]

hi, i was wondering if you’re still doing Enoch O’Connor fics?

If so, i’d love a Enoch x reader where the reader is Enoch’s s/o(idc about gender) from a different loop and nobody believes that Enoch has a s/o until they come visit

thank you!!!! if you don’t wanna do that than just any Enoch x reader will work

I couldn't help myself and added Olive's crush on Enoch and how she becomes sad to discover her actually has a partner. However, it's not so sad as she just wants to see the boy she cares about happy (even if not with her.) Hope you like it!

BELIEVE IT TILL I SEE IT

pairing: enoch o'connor x male reader tags: enoch has a beau, nobody believes him, olive holds a crush on enoch, unrequited feelings, happy ending

Olive lives in a state of perpetual drift—literally and otherwise. Usually she loves the weightlessness, the way her lead-soled shoes click-drag across the floorboards of Miss Peregrine’s kitchen while she daydreams up in the rafters. But today her thoughts are heavier than metal.

Down at the table, Enoch picks morosely at his toast. Dark fringe, darker scowl. The gloom suits him, Olive thinks; she’s spent untold mornings memorizing the angle of his jaw, rehearsing conversations in which he realizes she’s the only one who sees past his bluster to the tender bits beneath. Except he won’t look at her. All of Olive's attempts have landed nowhere, because Enoch announced to everyone (with all the romance of a funeral bell) “I’m dating someone from another loop.”

Right.

Someone none of them had ever met. Someone who, suspiciously, wrote no letters.

Hugh had mocked him, Emma had rolled her eyes, and Bronwyn had laughed so hard tea shot from her nose. Olive also laughed—too brightly, too quickly—because the alternative was letting them see her heart crack like a clay doll under Enoch’s fist.

She floats a little higher now, chin on the ceiling beam, and coaxes her voice into casual cheer. “Morning, Enoch.”

He mutters something that might be “Mornin’.” Might equally be a curse. The look he flicks upward isn’t cruel, precisely, but it is distant, as if she’s become part of the wallpaper.

And that hurts more than any sharp word.

The whitewashed dining room hums with silverware and small talk while wan November light folds itself onto the long table. Miss Peregrine’s roasted partridge perfumes the air; thyme steam halos every dish. Olive hangs just below the ceiling cornice, pretending to inspect a cobweb so she won’t have to watch Enoch brood five chairs away—yet she can’t stop counting the place settings.

One extra plate. One extra cup. One napkin folded with such crisp precision it might cut skin.

He’s coming, Enoch had said. He'll be here by supper.

Olive’s pulse has been clanging ever since.

Enoch sits rigid beside the empty chair, knuckles white around the stem of a water glass he hasn’t lifted. From above, Olive sees how he mutters silent rehearsals to himself—little jaw-twitch giveaways that anyone else would miss. She used to think that meant he was scheming some dark amusement; now she understands it’s what he does when he’s frightened.

And Enoch O’Connor is very much afraid.

The grandfather clock in the foyer strikes six, stalls, and coughs on its own chime. A chill draught flicks every candle flame side-ways. Conversation stills; even Millard’s invisible napkin freezes mid-dab.

Then the front door swings open.

A boy steps across the threshold, exhaling winter. Frost crystals bead on his great coat, melt, and vanish. He’s handsome in a lived-in, windblown way—eyes lit like struck matches the instant they lock on Enoch.

Everything else—the hush, the incredulous gasps—slips out of focus for Olive because Enoch is smiling. Not his usual thin victory-curve, but something shy and aching, like a candle held inside cupped palms.

He bridges the space in three strides, tangles his fingers in the newcomer’s coat lapels, and kisses him full on the mouth. Gasps ricochet off the foyer walls. Olive’s own breath deserts her. She rises six inches before the weight of her surprise hauls her back down with a clank.

Enoch draws away just far enough to rasp, “Thought the rails would swallow you.” His voice is unsteady, but his hand doesn’t leave the boy’s jaw.

The newcomer’s grin is pure sunrise. “Nearly, but you forget I know someone who raises the dead. A delay in schedule is child’s play.”

Enoch’s answering smile is so bright Olive almost shields her eyes. He ushers you to the seat beside his, never releasing your hand, and only remembers the rest of the household when you clear your throat and nod toward the silent audience.

“Everyone,” he mutters, cheeks flaming, “this is…him.”

You give your name with a small bow. “Apologies for arriving late. Miss Kovar insisted I carry her compliments—also half a bakery’s worth of kolache.” You set the parcel on the sideboard with a grin. “Apparently love travels best when sugared.”

A current of tentative laughter prickles the tension. Chairs scrape; conversation stutters back to life. All normal noises—except Enoch O’Connor, resident storm cloud, is glowing.

He tries not to be. Even as he courts his best glower, the corners of his mouth keep betraying him, hitching upward every time your shoulder bumps his. You’ve barely been seated two minutes and already his body forgets its default angles: elbows drift in, knees angle toward you, the whole sharp-boned frame turning instinctively into your warmth as if drafted by invisible strings.

“Stop crowdin’ me,” he mutters, yet makes no effort to shift. Instead his hand hooks over the back of your chair, thumb stroking the worn wood exactly where your spine touches it.

Olive watches from across the roast, astonished. This is the boy who once referred to hugs as “unsanitary sentiment.” Now he’s practically nesting around you like a raven shielding a stolen jewel.

You spear a partridge morsel, hold it to his lips with a smirk. “Eat, misery-guts. You’ve missed at least three meals stalking train platforms.”

Enoch narrows his eyes—then takes the bite straight from your fork, cheeks tinting the pink of sunset brick. “Weren’t stalking. Timetables were inaccurate.”

“A tragedy,” you sigh theatrically. “Shall I write the rail office a threatening letter in dead-ferret ink?”

A bark of laughter bursts out of him—unfiltered, bright, so un-Enoch the entire table jolts. Hugh’s bees peek from his collar in confusion; Millard’s napkin slips from invisible fingers.

“Shut up,” Enoch says, but the reprimand washes out on another laugh. His eyes—usually dull peat-brown—shine glass-green in the lamplight, pupils wide as if dinner has been spiked with wonder.

You lounge back, smug. “There it is. An actual giggle. Mark the calendar, everyone.”

Bronwyn grins. “Noted. Six-oh-eight post meridiem: Enoch O’Connor proves he has lungs for something other than sighs.”

Enoch tries for menace, fails, and ends up nudging his knee against yours beneath the table. The press lingers—half plea, half confirmation that you’re truly here. When your hand drifts to his thigh he exhales, shoulders losing another ounce of tension, until he’s leaning so far in Miss Peregrine clears her throat.

“Mr O’Connor,” she says, eyebrow arched like a parent catching children under mistletoe, “perhaps you’d allow our guest at least one hand free for eating?”

Enoch rumbles, but unthreads his fingers—only to lace them again a heartbeat later on the other side of your chair, hidden from the ymbryne’s polite line of sight. It’s unconscious, needy—as though the years apart snapped some internal hinge and now every second of skin-to-skin repairs it.

Olive’s cheeks burn; her chest feels helium-thin and molten all at once. Emma squeezes her wrist in silent apology, but that only makes the tears threaten harder.

So this is why Enoch never looked at her the way she looked at him. Not because he was heartless, or oblivious, or delighting in cruelty. Because his heart had already wandered into another loop and built a nest there. “It’s all right, Olive,” she whispers to herself. “You wanted him happy, didn’t you?”

And she realises—surprised by her own honesty—that she means it.

[ar3-y0u-l0st]

》 🄼🄸🅂🅂 🄿🄴🅁🄴🄶🅁🄸🄽🄴'🅂 🄷🄾🄼🄴 🄵🄾🅁 🄿🄴🄲🅄🄻🄸🄰🅁 🄲🄷🄸🄻🄳🅁🄴🄽

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

Fandom: Miss Peregrine's home for Peculiar Children

Release Date: 29/09/2016

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

ALMA PEREGRINE

JACOB PORTMAN

EMMA BLOOM

ENOCH O'CONNOR

Babysitting

MILLARD NULLINGS

FIONA FRAUNFELD

HORACE SOMNUSSON

HUGH APISTON

VICTOR BRUNTLEY

BRONWYN BRUNTLEY

*OLIVE ELEPHANTA

*CLAIRE DENSMORE

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

Item Count: #012

Total:

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

(*) Will not, under any circumstances, write smut

(**) If you're into them then I won't deprive you ig

Credit/s: @k1ssyoursister for the divider

[lunarluvbot]

miss peregrine's home for peculiar children

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

personal favorites : ☾

platonic : ✩

sensitive topics/angst : 𖦹

fluff : 𖤓

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

millard nullings

[...]

jacob portman

[...]

enoch o'conner

[...]

hugh apiston

[...]

emma bloom

[...]

miss peregrine

[...]

[vanillarosekiss]

simon riley x teacher!reader

lowk kinda shit but enjoy after 2 months of no posts (which btw i've gone thru a tragic failed talking stage recently that's been making crash out, so i'm thinking writing hella smut may fix that..? we'll see).

content warnings: vanilla (sort of but not really), fingering, praise kink, sliiiight degredation, mean simon but only playful, time skip cuz i'm lazy like that!

word count: 1.4k

Often, parent-teacher conferences were the bane of your life. Excruciatingly painful hours spent (after an already long day) talking to the children's parents, some of whom were particularly difficult in nature. Still, it had to be done, and it was just another part of your job that needed doing.

However, you did enjoy seeing the parent's faces lighting up when you spoke well of their child, pride becoming one of the most common recurrences in your classroom as most of the kids were perfect. One little girl in particular had a (secret) special place in your heart. The girl in question, Emma Riley, had been an absolute delight to have in class.

She shared her crayons. She said "please" and "thank you". She hugged everyone good morning. That kind of kid made teaching feel like bliss. So naturally, even when you were slightly apprehensive on the night of parent-teacher conference, you were excited almost to meet who had raised such a polite little girl. You expected someone gentle. Maybe a bit shy. Probably the kind of man who read bedtime stories to her every night.

What you weren't expecting was him.

He walked into the tiny classroom with heavy boots and a quiet kind of weight. Broad, muscular shoulders stood out the most on him, and the black hoodie that was layered under his jacket made him seem even bigger. The skull print balaclava peeking out from his pocket wads enough to make you blink twice. Interesting.

"You must be Mr. Riley," you said, standing quickly and offering a smile. "Thank you so much for coming."

His gaze flicked over the cheerful posters on the wall, all hand-made and coloured by the children, before it landed on you. Soft lavender knit sweater, pastel yellow painted nails, and a small dainty necklace resting on your chest. You looked like you belonged in a picture book.

"I try not to make a habit out of it," he said dryly shaking your hand, "But Emma insisted."

That made you laugh. "Well, she's very persuasive. And, honestly? A complete angel. One of the sweetest kids I've ever had."

Simon raised a mock brow. "Emma Riley? My kid?"

You pulled out a folder of drawings. "She helps everyone, always cleans up after herself, she even wrote the cutest story about a unicorn who makes sure everyone is included at lunch. Would you like to see it?"

He stared at the glitter-covered paper you gave him, silent.

"She's such a sweetheart to have in class, really. You must be doing a wonderful job with her. And her mum too, of course. I'd love to meet her one day..?"

A tightness set in around his mouth, something that shifted his expression. "I do my best," he muttered. "Emma's mother hasn't been in the picture since she was a couple years old, so you won't be meeting her."

You paused, unsure how to respond, fingers still brushing over the glittered corner of the drawing you had taken to put back into the folder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to assume- "

He shook his head gently, the edge of his mouth lifting. "No s'alright. Just... not something I talk about much."

For a moment there was quiet, the kind that lingered. Then his eyes found yours again. A little softer, less guarded.

"She talks a lot about you, y'know. My kid. You've certainly made an impression."

That made you smile, a warmth blooming inside your soft cage of bone. "She's a special one. Honestly, I feel lucky."

There was a brief look he gave you, unreadable, before his mouth twitched into qa small smirk.

"You really are sweet, aren't ya?" His tone dipped. "Almost too sweet."

You blinked at him, like a deer caught in headlights, caught off guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Simon leaned in slightly, teasing and curious. "Just noticing. Makes me wonder if you're like that all the time... or just in a classroom full of six-year-olds."

You felt your face go warm, heart skipping a beat, as a warmth spread past your core and downwards to somewhere much more private.

"I- well-"

His eyes dropped to your mouth for a second too long. "Mm. That's what i thought."

—

The last thing you had ever expected from the conference was to end up back at Simon's house later that evening, tucked underneath him on his sofa as his daughter slept soundly upstairs.

Arching into every touch, gasping at his hands on your skin. You were so utterly sweet about it. No attitude at all, just soft whimpers and wide doe-eyes like this was the first time someone had ever really handled you.

"Let me walk you back in here like a little lamb, didn't you?" he murmurs. "Didn't even ask what I'd do to to you. Just nodded and followed."

"I trust you," you whisper out into the room.

He chuckled softly. "That's the stupidest part, sweeth'art."

"You're clearly so vanilla, it hurts. S'pathetic how turned on you get just from my voice," he says, hand dipping into your panties, disregard to the skirt that he'd slipped off of you earlier (that was now crumpled up on the floor). "You wanna be used a little, don't ya?"

You moaned, nodding helplessly.

"Course you do. You're too soft to ask for it. You want someone to make you dirty instead."

He was kissing you all over, drawn to your lips over everything, hands moving effortlessly atop your pearl making you gasp in an unexpected pleasure.

"You walk around all day giving stickers out and singing songs, actin' like you've got a single thought in that head of yours that isn't being touched like this."

He was being mean in a playful way, and you knew it.

'Si-" you whimpered out, eyes closed and breathless.

He grabbed your jaw with his free hand, gently but firm, tilting your head to make you look him in the eyes.

"No." he said. "Don't get shy on me now. You're the one who let me bring you back home with me. You're the one who begged me with those pretty eyes."

Your lips trembled slightly in the feeling.

"You knew exactly what you were doing. All soft and innocent like some little doll. And now look at ya. Letting me pull you apart string by string like it's the first time anyone's made you feel good."

You let out the tiniest noise as your thighs clenched together with his hand almost trapped in between. You felt another gush leak from your slit, a wave of embarrassment hitting your cheeks in a pinkish blush.

"Fuckin' hell sweeth'art. You're soaked" he teased, curling his fingers back into something reverent.

You were so utterly embarrassed. Laying on the sofa you even resorting to panting now you were that desperate. But he didn't rush. He didn't stop, either.

"God, you're so fuckin' soft. You don't even fight it do ya? Y'just give in." Simon leaned in closer, his free hand now stroking your side, grounding you as he kept you on edge.

"Don't you dare close your eyes."

You looked at him, barely, tears brimming out of pleasure with your pupils expanded wider than ever.

"Good girl," he whispered, breath hot against your lips. "There she is."

He sped his movements up, not much, but enough to just tip you over the edge with enough pressure to make you gasp and try to twist away from him. But his grip held you firm.

'Ya gonna come for me pretty girl, hm?" he asked tauntingly.

"I- I can't-!" you gasped, hips jerking upwards.

"Yes you can," you said, voice firm and reassuring. "You're doing so good, love. So fuckin' good, just let go. I've got ya."

And just then, like his words were the key to your soul, you broke.

Your whole body arched as you called out his name, softly but with an intensity only Simon could cause. You clutched at him blindly, pulling him in as waves of pleasure rolled over your body.

Simon held you through it, murmuring soft filth against your temple.

"That's it lovie."

"Fuckin' perfect."

"Look how pretty you are when you come for me hm?"

As you collapsed back against the sofa, heart racing and legs trembling, Simon kissed your temple again.

"Did so fuckin' well f'me," he murmured. "Messy little thing. Bet you'll be thinking about this next time you're handing out stickers in that classroom."

You let out a breathless laugh, burying your face in his neck.

"Shut up."

"Mm," he hummed, smug. "Didn't seem to mind me runnin' my mouth five minutes ago, love."

Tag list 𖠋: @punkkture @slut-lmao @sebastianstans-slut @ilikeoldmen @g1rlfa1lure0 @queenoflaflames @tmartin0918 @kkloubee @patricksoulmate @writingandsins @mxnii777 @bruisedfig @mlthree @cupidswan @siphon07 @decaffeinateddelusionbread @kiss4tell @kylies-love-letter @catssmirkingrevenge

[zwelcii]

passing by (rewritten) | millard nullings

8:43. every morning, like clockwork, you ran toward the house with nothing but joy in each step. arms held close to your sides, your floral dress catching the wind as your feet pounded the cobblestones, making your way toward the home. you always wore flowers in your dress, in your hair, growing in your mind. it was like you lived in a garden only you could see. and i'd be there, waiting for you, always on the third step, just near the pot of flowers fiona left the day before.

“hello, gorgeous,” you’d say, your voice light as you caught your breath, a spark in your eyes that always made me wonder how you could look so alive. 

i’d reach for your hand, feeling the soft warmth of your palm against mine, and pull you closer. “darling,” i’d say, bowing dramatically as our hands intertwined. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

“oh, you know,” you smiled in a way that made me feel like you knew more than you were saying. “just passing by,” you’d reply, always the same, always with that gleam in your eyes that made me feel like the rest of the world was far, far away.

we’d walk the shores of cairnholm, the lighthouse a distant silhouette, the waves lapping at our ankles. we'd swim in the shallows, never venturing too far, just enough to feel the cool water tugging at us. by 9:00, we’d be lying in the sand, the grains sticking to your hair, though you never cared. your fingers would weave through my hair in slow circles, gently combing through it as if you could see every strand. i’d watch you, your eyes turned toward the sky as if you could hear the ocean speaking to you in a way i never could.

you made me believe that the world was bigger than what we saw. like we had all the time in the world. but that was the problem, wasn’t it? because by nightfall, the loop would reset, and you’d be gone. the memory of you would stay with me, but you wouldn’t. 

i’d watch you then, stealing glances when you weren’t looking, when your gaze was lost in the horizon. there was something about the way you looked at the sea—like it held answers, or maybe just a piece of you. my smile never faded, like i was fighting the urge to let go of something fragile.

i told you everything i could in those moments, everything but the truth. i’d tell you about the book you lent me, how i was nearly done. i talked about the way fiona’s plants were growing faster than usual. only the things that concerned your world. the world beyond the loop. a world that now seems so distant. 

i’d stumble over my words, trying to remeber everything that happened on september second, nineteen-forty. because i could never tell you how miss peregrine stopped asking about you. or how jacob had supper with us again last night. i couldn’t say it—couldn’t say that you were fading in more ways than one. though i suppose none of it would matter because tomorrow, you won't remember a thing.

the next morning, i was early. too early. i stood by the steps again, the house quiet behind me. the other kids were already up, busy washing their clothes and cooking for supper. doing whatever chores they had to do that day.

i sat there, waiting for you. always waiting for you.

“hello, gorgeous,” you said, that same repetitive smile on your lips as you approached. i reached for your hand, feeling the weight of what i couldn’t say pressing against me. 

you leaned into me, and i kissed your cheek gently. i didn't do that the days before, but today felt eerily unlike the others. i needed the warmth of your skin to anchor me. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

you laughed, that same soft sound. “just passing by,” you said, but this time, i thought to question whether you meant something deeper than that.

as we walked, the wind tugging at your dress, i kept you close. i didn’t let go of your hand. i couldn’t. every time the loop reset, you seemed to stray a little farther away, even when you were right next to me. 

we walked the same paths as always, but i kept you closer this time, feeling the brush of your dress against me as the wind caught it. i wondered, then, how you were outside of the loop. have you moved on? found a husband, and built a home. do you remember me? did you miss me the way i missed you? you must have been in your eighties by now

when i looked at you, that hope, that ache in my chest, my heart kept whispering the same question. were you still alive?

the sky shifted into shades of orange and pink as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over cairnholm. we walked in silence, your arm brushing against mine. with each step, the weight in my chest grew heavier. the knowledge that time, something i hadn't truly experienced in nearly a century, was slipping through my fingers.

“i love you, i really do,” i said, my voice breaking the quiet.

you laughed softly, and i felt it in my bones. a sound that once brought me so much comfort now felt like an echo, distant and fragile. of course you knew that. how could you not?

“obviously,” you teased, your lips curling into a playful smirk. “tell me something i don’t know."

i paused, the words catching in my throat. what more could i say that you haven't already heard? but there was so much—so much that i had never found a way to tell you, not fully, not in the way you deserved. i looked down at my feet, feeling the pebbles of cobblestone under my shoes. for a moment, i struggled to find my voice again.

“alright,” i started slowly, my gaze lifting to meet yours. “you are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.” i could feel my heart beating louder with each word, the vulnerability almost too much to bear. “it is a blessing, by the birds or by whatever forces of the universe, that you are my everyday.”

i stopped walking, turning to face you, my hands trembling as i reached for yours. “i love you in ways i cannot express,” my voice softened, barely above a whisper. “and i am overflowing with words that i simply do not have.”

there was a silence after that, one that stretched between us like a vast, unspoken truth. i felt raw, exposed, like every piece of me was laid bare before you.

when i got back to the home, supper was waiting, and the others gathered around the table. jacob was there again, sitting beside emma. i tried not to watch the way they looked at each other, their stolen glances. i could barely hear any of the children at the table, my mind still full of you. fiona and hugh sat across from me, hands intertwined under the table. it made my stomach churn to watch them. they didn’t know how lucky they were—to have time that didn’t vanish, to have a love that didn’t dissolve with the sunrise.

after dinner, i slipped away to the parlour, sitting in the quiet. my mind was spinning. i didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel the emptiness growing in the space where you should've been. next to me. 

that’s when olive appeared, her small feet making heavy, deliberate steps as she approached me. 

“millard!” she chirped, her voice brimming with the kind of enthusiasm that only a child could muster. i had to remind myself that she couldn't see the whole world unravelling around me. “what’s the matter? you're all gloomy.”

i lifted my gaze, meeting her wide, innocent eyes. how could she ever understand? “nothing, olive. just... thinking.”

“aboutttt??” she perched herself on the edge of the chair beside me, her small feet kicking rhythmically against its legs. her eyes sparkled with curiosity and mischief. “you mean the girl, don’t you?” her voice took on a sing-song quality, leaning forward with eager anticipation. “tell me about her, will you?” olive had always been a dreamer, crafting stories of grand romances and fairytale endings.

with little hesitance, i started, “she’s the sweetest.” the weight of my unspoken sorrow sinking deeper with each breath. “a caring soul, full of nothing but love, much like you.” 

olive’s face lit up at the compliment, her round cheeks flushed with pride. “really?” she asked, bouncing slightly in her seat. 

“she’s in love with poetry and passion,” i continued softly, my voice laden with a bitterness that belied the gentle words. “and everything she can feel but cannot see.”

olive tilted her head, her eyes wide and curious. “like you?” she asked, her voice brimming with innocence, not minding the pain woven into my words.

i swallowed hard, struggling with the weight of my own emotions. “yes,” i said, my voice trembling slightly. i looked at her, trying to convey the depth of what i felt. “like me.” but the truth was, it wasn’t the same. i spent my days chasing a ghost, an illusion of you that vanished just as quickly as it appeared. olive didn’t understand. she couldn’t. her world was still full of dreams and possibilities, while mine was shadowed by the echoes of a love that slipped through my fingers.

when miss peregrine came to me, i already knew what she was going to say. her steps were slow, her voice low as she told me that you were sick—that you were fading faster than she’d thought. but i knew. i had felt it for weeks, even if i didn't want to admit it. 

i left the loop alone the next morning. leaving you to get to you. it felt strange to walk the familiar path without you—my steps heavy with dread—though i suppose the pavements weren't so familiar with new cracks and patches of moss. when i reached your house, i knocked, my heart racing in my chest. your voice, weak but still you, called for me to enter.

your home felt different. the warmth was gone, but nearly everything remained the same—your lace curtains, the smell of the sea mingling with the scent of warm tea. i sat beside your bed, taking your hand in mine, the weight of all those unspoken words pressing down on me.

when you opened your eyes, i could see the years on your face, the way time had touched you in ways it never would me. i should’ve been there, growing old with you like i promised. instead, i’d been stuck in a place where time couldn’t touch me, and you had moved on without me.

“hello, gorgeous,” i said, my voice breaking as i pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

you smiled, but it was weaker than before. “millard…?”

i held your hand tighter, not wanting to let go. “don't worry, love,” i whispered, tears stinging my eyes. “just passing by.”

[helloalycia]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 [𝐓𝐖𝐎] — 𝐄𝐌𝐌𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌

one / three / four / masterlist / wattpad

summary: Emma tries to help you adjust to the loop, but it's just not working and you don't know why she even bothers.

warning/s: mentions of death.

author's note: and here’s part two! nice to know some of you are enjoying it - it felt a bit too niche of a fandom 😂

As promised, Miss Peregrine began teaching me about peculiars and my powers and what life was like living in a time loop. It was overwhelming and stressful and I hated every bit of it, but I had no choice.

Every day was identical and it was difficult to adjust to, particularly because it was a completely different period of time. There were no phones or televisions or the internet – it was like being on an alien planet. Then came the actual peculiar part – having powers.

Apparently I could control water, or so it seemed. Miss Peregrine tried to help me get to grips with it, but it was frightening and confusing all at once. It shouldn't have been possible and yet it was. And learning of the other children's peculiarities only astounded me more.

Between that, doing chores and watching the other children – was children the correct word? They'd all been here longer than I'd been alive, but they didn't age – I was kept busy. They were polite, most of them anyway, and offered to hang out with me whilst making attempts at conversation, but I turned them down. Admittedly, I wasn't very forthcoming, and despite being self-aware of this, I couldn't seem to change.

I missed my home the longer I was away from it. I hated that I couldn't say goodbye to my parents. They were on my mind every single day, the grief tightening around my heart like a vice.

It had been a month and it wasn't getting easier. I was walking through the local village within the loop – the small confinements of the loop memorised like the back of my hand now – stuck in a rut. Repeating the same day over and over, watching the exact same events taking place more or less... it was driving me insane.

I found myself returning to the scene of the crime, where the hollow murdered my parents, though obviously not in this time period. Ashamedly, I visited it often when walking around the village, as if seeing it would change anything.

As usual, I stared a hole in the ground before walking away, attempting to push it to the back of my mind. This time, I decided to visit a café, never actually going inside any of the shops here because it felt too strange, like I was a character in a game rather than a person in the world.

"What can I get you, love?" the waitress asked once I took a seat.

"Just a cup of tea, please," I said, grateful for some form of familiarity. Being cooped up by the house all this time was the final straw.

The waitress nodded, though her eyes looked me up and down suspiciously. "Where are you from? Can't be 'round here."

I wasn't sure whether to be offended or not. Since staying here, I'd been wearing the clothes Miss Peregrine had left for me, to fit in with the time period and not raise any suspicion from the locals. But perhaps it was just an innate 21st century vibe I gave off. Or maybe it was the fact that I clearly wasn't a local from Cairnholm.

"Y/H/T," I answered nonchalantly. "I'm just exploring Cairnholm on a visit."

She hummed, still suspicious of me, no doubt wondering what a young woman was doing across the United Kingdom on her own in the middle of a war. It didn't make sense, but I was too disinterested to care for a better fake story. Still, she said nothing and served me my tea.

I sipped it and stared out the front window, lost in thought. Was this truly what my life was now? Later today, I had more training with Miss Pergerine. And then I'd avoid the others, eat dinner and hide in my room. Just to wake up and do it all again.

Having powers should have been cool, but it felt like a burden. It was the reason I was here, the reason my parents were killed. I'd never hated it more.

After finishing my tea, the waitress returned to take my payment, and that was my first mistake.

"Shit," I muttered, patting my pockets.

I wasn't used to leaving the house here just yet, so money hadn't crossed my mind. Could you blame me? In a world of Apple Pay and debit cards, physical cash seemed pointless!

"I don't supposed you accept visa?" I asked nervously, pulling out my purse that I kept on me out of habit.

The waitress was, understandably, fuming at my response. I barely had time to react before she pinched my arm, dragging me out the front door and throwing me to the ground.

I winced as I landed on my face, pushing myself up slightly to rub my chin. Suddenly, hands helped me up and I looked up to see Emma.

"...you idiot children! Keep away from my café, you vagrants!" the waitress shouted, earning attention from bystanders.

"Come on," Emma said, ignoring her and leading me away from the café.

I followed her down the street, rubbing my chin once more and reminding myself never to do that again, or at least come prepared next time.

"You shouldn't wander off by yourself," she warned kindly, glancing at me.

"I didn't need your help," I muttered, as we stopped a fair distance from the café.

"Ah, yes, because you had that perfectly handled," she said sarcastically.

I rolled my eyes, irritated. Emma had been one of the peculiars here who was attempting to help me settle in, more than the others. I guessed it was because she was one of the eldest and Miss Peregrine had put her up to it. Whatever it was, it felt forced and so, naturally, I repelled from her. Of course, that didn't work very well.

"Sorry," she said after a moment, losing her attitude. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't getting yourself into trouble."

"I'm not," I assured her, before adding as an afterthought, "...except for then."

A faint smile traced her lips and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I turned to leave. Unfortunately for me, she fell into step with me.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"What's it to you?"

She shrugged. "Just curious."

I glanced at her sideways. "I'm exploring. After all, I'm trapped here."

She stopped walking suddenly, making me stop too. Her eyes found mine, sympathetic. "It's not a trap, Y/N. It's safety."

I scoffed. "Whatever."

"Y/N–"

"I didn't ask you to follow me," I pointed out defensively, before she could attempt to comfort me or whatever she was going to do.

She frowned but I ignored it and turned to leave. Thankfully, she didn't follow.

—

Missing home was a constant for me, so much that I just couldn't take it anymore. I knew it wasn't possible for me to go back, not permanently anyway, but that had me thinking about other ways to visit...

One visit, that was all I wanted. It had been somewhat long enough, and if I wore a disguise, surely I could go back unnoticed. Of course, Miss Peregrine would never allow it, but she didn't need to know.

Once I'd found a raincoat in the back of Hugh's wardrobe when he wasn't looking, I planned to sneak out late one evening. The sun had long since set, the sky darkening but not quite night time just yet. The others were in their rooms and there was nobody up – or at least nobody out of their room – to see me sneaking out.

I was as careful as could be, raincoat over my clothes with the hood up. Nobody saw me and I was able to make it out of the loop with zero issues. The raincoat was a good call too, as the weather in the 21st century was awful – light winds and a drizzle to match. It was dark, grey and disgusting, but I'd missed it. Sometimes the loop was too perfect, with its sunny skies and green grass. This was real – it was normal.

Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I began to walk down to the village, eyes peeled for any passers-by or, worse, signs of hollows. It was empty out, no doubt because of the weather. Some lights were on in properties as I passed them, including the pub and only inn on the island.

I didn't even know what I was looking for – nobody was here for me anymore – but I kept walking. I glanced in windows, seeing the glow of the television. It must've been a football game going on because most residents had the same match on. I hated football, but I'd never missed it more in this moment, almost hearing my dad cheering for his favourite team in the back of my head.

To my dismay, I found myself passing the alley where my whole life turned upside down. It was different on this side, my brain only remembering the version in the loop. But as soon as I saw it, it was like I was back there with my parents, their bodies sprawled in front of me.

In the present, you couldn't tell that two people had been murdered. Unlike last time I was here, there was no police tape or crowd or anything. As with everything here, time passed and everyone had moved on.

It was stupid to come back, being so close to a world I once knew and still missed. It only reminded me of what I couldn't have, of all I'd lost.

It was stupid.

The rain disguised my tears, which were flowing freely and silently down my face. Maybe it was grief, maybe it was a final goodbye. Whatever it was, it stung.

When I re-entered the loop, back into the warm, cosy, picture-perfect version of Cairnholm, I almost jumped out of my skin upon seeing Emma sat on a rock as if waiting for me.

"Fuckin' hell, Emma," I said, startled.

She wasn't impressed as she stood up, dusting her dress off. "Where on earth have you been, Y/N? I was this close–" she pinched her fingers disapprovingly, "–to sending a search party after you!"

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, hoping she couldn't discern between the rain and my tears, before taking the whole raincoat off. "None of your business. How did you even know where I was?"

She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. "Your room is right next to mine. I'm not deaf."

I rolled my eyes and began walking back to the house, but she only followed after me.

"Hey, I'm talking to you," she exclaimed, cutting me off as she stopped before me. "You can't just disappear like you did, don't you understand? There's hollows out there! What if something had happened?"

"Well, nothing did," I snapped. "And you shouldn't be following me."

She tensed her jaw slightly, and I could swear I saw a flicker of flames in her eyes. "Believe me, following you isn't my favourite pastime, but someone had to make sure you actually came back. Now, I haven't told Miss Peregrine, but that means you owe me."

I scoffed bitterly. "I don't owe you shit."

She rolled her eyes at my tone of voice, and probably my choice of language too. "You do. I'm not your enemy, Y/N, I only want to help." She paused, expression softening as her hazel eyes found mine with concern. "You miss home, don't you?"

The way she looked at me – it was like she was staring into my soul and I hated it. I felt exposed before her, vulnerable, and she didn't get to make me feel that way when she didn't even know me.

"Please, talk to me," she continued tenderly, stepping forward. "I can help."

Still in an emotional whirlpool from my visit, I stepped back and shook my head. "No, you can't. Now leave me the hell alone."

She sighed disappointedly, but I didn't give her a chance to speak as I pushed past her and went back to the house by myself. Goosebumps covered my skin, heart rate calming down, and I told myself it was just the rain, but I knew it had something to do with the blonde I'd left behind.

Maybe pissing off Emma wasn't the brightest idea I'd had, but I truly didn't peg her as a snitch. How silly of me.

The next day at breakfast, I didn't expect anything different. We all ate together, and I sat idly as the others chatted amongst themselves. Though this time, Miss Peregrine had something to share.

"So, I just wanted to remind you all of the importance of the loop," she spoke, halting everyone's conversations. "I give you all the freedom to do whatever you please, but at the end of the day, I'm here to look out for you. To ensure your safety. And that includes leaving the loop."

As soon as she said it, I paused from eating, looking across the table at Emma, who was conveniently avoiding my eyes and playing with her toast.

"You are not to leave the loop without my permission," Miss Peregrine said firmly, glancing at me for a second before looking around. "Not even for a moment. Can anyone tell me why?"

"Because the hollows are there," Olive answered from the other side of the table. "Leaving attracts them and they'll find us."

"Exactly, Olive, thank you," Miss Peregrine said with a smile. "It's not just about yourself. You must think about everyone. Even a second outside of this loop is endangering everyone."

I glared daggers at Emma, on the verge of exploding with anger.

"We can't afford to be selfish," Miss Peregrine concluded, and it was so glaringly obvious she was taking to me. "We must stick together, children."

A silence followed as the others exchanged confused glances, no doubt lost about why Miss Peregrine was warning them of something they already knew. And I couldn't take it anymore. I snapped.

"You're such a bloody grass!" I shouted at Emma from across the table. "You snitched? Seriously?!"

Emma looked up, a hint of guilt in her expression. "Y/N, it was for your own safety."

I scoffed, crossing my arms with displeasure.

"Silence," Miss Peregrine interrupted, shooting me a stern look. "It was nobody's fault. Miss Bloom was right to report to me. Sneaking off isn't permitted here, Miss Y/L/N. You're lucky I'm taking it lightly, but it must not happen again."

I clenched my jaw but said nothing, only nodding slightly in acknowledgement.

"Good," she said with finality.

I glanced at Emma once more as the others picked up on their conversations, scowling in her direction. She frowned slightly, apologetic, but I didn't care. Why couldn't she just mind her own business?

After breakfast, we all cleared up as usual before I was ready to go off on my own to silently rage in peace. But then I felt someone tug my arm into the hall and turned to yank it from Emma's grasp.

"Y/N, I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "I didn't think she'd say it in front of everyone."

I pulled a face. "You still told her! What are you, her lapdog or something? You just report whatever I'm doing to her? Let her know when I take a piss? Brush my teeth?"

"I was worried about you," she retorted in a hard tone, jaw clenched. "You could've gotten hurt."

"I didn't ask you to worry about me," I reminded her frustratedly. "I didn't ask you to care at all, so stay out of it. Just- leave me be, for goodness sake!"

She frowned, eyes on me as I turned and left. How long before she'd finally get a hint?

—

My peculiarity wasn't something I'd mastered. Nowhere near it in fact.

I practiced with the little things – like willing water to appear with a wave of my hand or moving it from one glass to another – but it didn't feel necessary. It was cool to an extent. I mean, not everyone could say they had powers, let alone control water, but it felt like a burden more than a gift.

Despite that, it made sense why I found comfort at the beach. All my life, I loved being anywhere with a water source. Streams, lakes, rivers, the ocean – they all put me at ease in a way nothing else could. So, even in the loop, nothing could take that from me, and I would go to the beach when I wanted a change of scenery or things felt too much.

Today, I was sat in the sand, knees to my chest as I leaned over them to look out at the water. Like following a script, the sun shone bright, clear blue skies matching the sparkling waters beneath it. And as always, with every day being the same, the same residents of Cairnholm were out to enjoy the good weather.

Unless the other peculiars messed with the day or purposely changed the order of things, everything stayed the same. Today, they must have befriended some kids in the village as I noticed Olive, Horace, Bronwyn, Claire and Emma sat on some towels in the sand, the younger ones playing with the village kids.

I kept my distance, finding it easier for everyone, but occasionally glanced their way. I'd observed the peculiars for some time now, and yet they were still a mystery to me. They were all strangers once. How long did it take them to settle with each other? How long before they stopped being angry?

Were they ever angry?

Claire and some other young village girl were playing in the water at one point, too close to the waves for my liking, but nobody told them otherwise. It didn't look like a problem, until it was.

In an instant, the water swept the village girl in, pulling her back and under. Claire screamed and Bronwyn went in right after her, grabbing her with ease and pulling her out of there. Horace and Emma ventured in, waist-deep, searching for the young girl who was snatched by the tide.

I couldn't just watch it all happen, not when I knew I could help. Stumbling up and out of the sand, I ran forward, bare feet digging into the wet sand. My eyes scanned the shore until I spotted a white and yellow outfit, polka dots shimmering in the sun. Without second guessing it, I dove in the water, swimming towards her.

My powers helped without me noticing at first, the rougher sides of the waves circling me, making way for me as I pushed forward. But as I became aware of it, it was like a weight was suddenly on my shoulders and I was forced to push it or drown under it.

I was able to reach the girl in less than a minute, grabbing her limp body and using my powers to push us back to shore quicker than if I were to swim, the adrenaline doing most of the work.

Emma and Horace helped me carry her to the sand, laying her flat on her back. She wasn't moving, eyes closed and chest still.

"She's not breathing, why's she not breathing?" Horace asked, horrified.

"She needs CPR," Emma said in a panic, kneeling on one side.

I could sense the water in her body, filling her lungs, and I knew she didn't have long if we didn't get it out of her. CPR would work, but I could be quicker, I knew it.

"Nobody touch her," I said quickly, hands hovering over her chest. "I can get it."

Emma looked over her to me, eyes questioning as they met mine. I couldn't explain, not with how little time we had, so I looked back to the little girl and tried to focus. I'd never done anything like this. Manipulating water in glasses and objects, sure, but not a human body.

First time for everything, I suppose.

I closed my eyes, grasping the water with my hands as I always had, and once I had a firm hold, I quickly but carefully directed it up. Higher and higher and higher, until–

The girl began to splutter, coughing water out. Emma rolled her onto her side, rubbing her back as she finished spitting out the saltwater from her lungs.

"You're okay, darling," Emma told her gently, easing her through it.

The others began to cheer once they saw the girl was okay, and then I felt Horace smack me on the back in amazement. He was saying something encouraging, but I couldn't focus on it as I closed my eyes, suddenly lightheaded.

"Y/N?" Emma spoke, concern in her voice.

I shook my head, standing up, needing to get away from the noise. My sight was slightly dizzy as I walked away, finding my spot in the sand on the other side of the beach. I collapsed there, leaning back on my hands as I closed my eyes, trying to catch my breath.

The adrenaline was wearing off, being replaced with lightheadedness. My body ached, clearly not being used as it had, and a rush of warmth was on my lip. I touched my nose, realising I was bleeding.

"Hey," Emma's voice caught my attention, and I opened my eyes, vision focusing enough to see her approaching me.

She kneeled before me, handing me a canteen of water and a towel.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

I accepted the towel, wiping the blood from my nose before taking a sip of the water, relieved. "I think so," I finally answered, setting both items down in the sand.

Her eyes roamed my expression, troubled. "It must've taken a lot out of you. Have you ever controlled water like that before?"

I shook my head.

"It takes practice, but you did good," she said with a proud smile, hand resting on my knee, squeezing it. "You're a hero."

"No, I'm not," I said, feeling like anything but right now.

"You just saved that girl's life," she reminded me. "So, yes, you are."

I didn't know what to say, especially when she was watching me in such a way that had me nervous.

"We're all heading back to the house," she said when she saw I wasn't comfortable. "Do you want to come with us?"

I swallowed thickly, shaking my head. I was fine by myself. This was a one-off, but I still wanted my solitude.

Her smile faded at my response, but she tried to cover it up as she let go of my knee, moving her wet hair from her eyes. "Very well. Be careful and take it easy, Y/N. I'll see you later."

She left the canteen of water and the towel with me as she left to return to the others. I squinted my eyes in the sun, watching them all glancing in my direction before immediately going to talk to Emma, no doubt about me. I looked away, breathing out deeply and taking another sip of water.

She still cared. Why on earth did she still care?

Not long after the others left did I finally return to the house too, just in time for dinner. I didn't expect the talk of the meal to be about me, but it was my worst nightmare.

"–should've seen her just dive right in like an olympic swimmer!" Horace was recalling the story for the millionth time. "It was as if the water was at her mercy, parting all around her! She didn't even get wet!"

"That's amazing," Millard commented from beside me. "Y/N, that's fantastic!"

"It really isn't," I mumbled, eyes glued to my plate uncomfortably.

"She was like a superhero," Claire confirmed with a grin.

"Let's not over-exaggerate now, Claire," Enoch said with a hint of bitterness from the opposite end of the table.

"No, no, she's not," Emma chimed in, lighthearted and impressed. "She really was like a superhero. It was very brave."

"I second that," Bronwyn agreed.

I risked glancing up at Emma, who was sat across from me, and she was already looking my way, a shimmer of pride in her gaze.

"Well, it seems like you made quite the impression, Miss Y/L/N," Miss Peregrine commented with a laugh, earning my attention. "And sounds like you're getting quite the hold on your peculiarity. Congratulations."

My cheeks were warm as I stayed quiet, unsure how to respond, but I didn't need to because they kept talking about it and all I could do was listen. That and squirm under the attention.

—

"I don't think I'm as ready as you think I am," I said to Miss Peregrine as she led me up a grassy hill.

"Nonsense, you must have more faith," she said encouragingly. "And your heroic rescue at the beach only proved to me that you're more capable than you think."

I chewed the inside of my cheek at the mention of that day. It was over a week ago now, but it was still brought up.

Miss Peregrine and I usually trained by the house or the beach, never up wherever we were now. She insisted that we tried something new, certain my abilities would prove effective for the task, but she wouldn't tell me what the task was.

"Okay, we're here," she said, coming to a halt at the top of the hill.

I squinted my eyes in the sun as I looked around, noticing we were overlooking the beach from the other side. But the unusual part was the sketchy white-painted outline of a dead body on the grass, fresh out of an old detective film. The dead body didn't look human though.

"What's here exactly?" I asked. "And what is that?"

She had her crossbow in hand, lowering it as she turned to look at me. "I have a challenge for you, one I know you can complete, but I don't want to scare you."

My brows furrowed, unease spreading through me. "How would you do that exactly?"

She pulled out a pocket watch from her breast pocket, glancing down at it. "When I created this time loop, it was in a rush. I couldn't have foreseen the hollowgast that slipped through and killed Victor."

I frowned at the mention of Victor, the dead peculiar boy who was in the room a floor above mine. He was Bronwyn's older brother who was sadly killed by a hollow a long ago, but they couldn't bury his body without him coming back and resetting with the loop, so that was his permanent resting place. But why was Miss Peregrine telling me what I already knew?

"Sadly, the hollow is still here," she added regretfully, and my insides froze when I realised what she was saying. "At the same point every day, midday, he gets to this point and I take care of it."

Panic settled in as my eyes widened and I looked around, though it made no difference because peculiars couldn't see hollows. "You're saying that- that- a hollow is here? With us?"

"He will be, but I know when, where, how and why," she said in what was supposed to be an assuring way, but did everything but. "I want you to take care of it using your peculiarity." She motioned to the water ahead. "You've got the ocean at your disposal."

I moved backwards instantly, heart racing. "You're joking! You brought me to a hollow?!"

"It's completely safe!" she said, stepping towards me, then her eyes checked the watch. "Any second now, Miss Y/L/N, prepare yourself."

I could have screamed, but I didn't get chance to as the sound of water splashing was heard, and then the smell hit me – a combination of a hot pile of rubbish mixed with sea salt. Knees bent, I stepped back, sweat dripping down the back of my neck. I hadn't seen a hollow since– since–

The grass matted under pressure. I couldn't see it, but I knew it was in front of me, climbing over the edge of the cliff. I was paralysed, memories of my mother and father dying before my eyes coming to mind. The invisible force that destroyed my life, back again.

"Miss Y/L/N, you must act," Miss Peregrine spoke carefully, as if not to startle it.

I couldn't breathe, the air sucked from lungs. My powers weren't with me, my feet didn't work, I forgot what words were. All I could do was stare at the space before me, eyes burning with unshed tears.

"Y/N," Miss Peregrine repeated, and the steps grew closer.

I couldn't do it. My whole body shut down, betraying me.

Miss Peregrine was quick as she lifted her crossbow, aiming and shooting in a second. As soon as the arrow stuck the hollow's invisible body, it fabricated, its gruesome body falling to its knees and landing perfectly in the white-painted corpse outline. Horrified, I looked at the three tongues hanging limp from between rows of sharp teeth. The same face, the same teeth, the same creature that killed my family.

"Y/N," Miss Peregrine spoke gently, approaching me, conflicted.

I looked to her, nauseous, before shaking my head and taking a step back.

"My child, I'm sorry, I didn't realise it was so soon," she started, but I tuned her out and did all I could.

I ran.

Back down the hill, away from that wretched creature, and back to the house. How on earth could she have thought I'd be ready to face a hollowgast?

When I reached the front of the house, I paused by the gate, catching my breath. My heart was still racing though, and the leftover fear from seeing the hollow wasn't helping.

Suddenly a bird flew down and landed before me, which I recognised as Miss Peregrine. She transformed back into her human form, apologetic, which only seemed to irritate me further.

"Y/N, please accept my apologies," she said guiltily. "It was too soon, I can see that now."

"I don't want to talk about it," I said with a shaky voice, glaring, before storming past her and into the house.

"Y/N!" she called after me.

I wiped a stray tear from my cheek as I went down the corridor and to the stairs. Some of the other children were hanging around, noticing Miss Peregrine following after me, but I didn't spare them a glance as I stomped up the stairs.

Thankfully, Miss Peregrine stopped at the bottom of the staircase, giving up, but I passed Emma as she was coming down. Her smile faded as she noticed a commotion, and she looked between Miss Peregrine and I.

"Y/N, are you okay?" she asked considerately, but I squeezed past her and went straight for my bedroom.

I was trembling as I closed the door, arms wrapping around myself. Grieving my parents was long and hard and came in waves, but this... this was the hardest part yet.

—

Miss Peregrine left me alone for the rest of the day, not even forcing me out for dinner when I knew she definitely wanted to. I kept to myself, needing to get over the haunting memories and tight pain in my chest on my own, before everyone else could see them too.

The next morning, I went to breakfast as I always did, though silently fuming at Miss Peregrine for what she did. She meant well, but this was too far.

Nobody brought up the elephant in the room as we ate, but the exchanged looks told me they wanted to. Miss Peregrine kept glancing my way, apologetic, but I was too pent up with frustration to make the effort.

After breakfast, we were supposed to train together, but I didn't even want to be in the same room as her right now, and she must've known as much.

"I'm sure you're tired of hearing it, but I'm truly sorry, Miss Y/L/N," she told me from her desk, as I stood before her in her study like I always did before training. "I never meant to cause you pain. Defeating the hollowgast is a training method I've done with all my peculiars in this loop. It wasn't intentional, if not ill thought-out."

I pursed my lips, hands behind my back as I waited for her to get to the point. I didn't need more apologies, I just needed space.

She sighed regretfully. "I don't blame you for being mad with me. And I'm sure you don't want to train with me, but I don't want my error to jeopardise your education, so I've asked Miss Bloom to partner with you indefinitely."

All I could do was nod, unable to lift my gaze. My anger and hurt was so all-encompassing that I didn't even care to spend time with Emma. It was a step-up in this instance.

"She's waiting for you in the garden," she finished.

I left for the garden, knowing whatever Emma decided to do in training wouldn't be half as bad as yesterday. There, I saw her standing by some rose bushes, admiring the flowers before she spotted me. Her face lit up with a smile as she met me halfway.

"Y/N, how are you?" she asked with her usual enthusiasm.

I gave her a halfhearted thumbs up and her smile lessened significantly.

"Very well," she said, shaking it off. "So, I suppose I'll be training with you. I must say, I'm excited to see where you're at with it. Your peculiarity is intriguing."

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, wondering where she kept all this positivity. Or was I just a bitch now? I could swear I was nicer, once upon a time.

"How far did you get with Miss Peregrine?" she added curiously. "I can help you with something specific or–"

"I'm not fussed," I interrupted in a clipped tone.

She licked her lips, studying me closely. I wasn't sure how much detail Miss Peregrine had told her about yesterday – or any of the children – but she didn't bring it up, to my relief.

"How about we work on some drills that I did when I learnt to control my peculiarity?" she suggested. "Fire and water aren't all that different."

"Sure, whatever," I agreed with a sigh.

If she was bothered by my sour mood, she didn't let it show. Instead, she put out her hand, igniting a flame out of nothing in her palm. Admittedly, I was impressed, still not used to other peculiarities just existing like it was normal.

"Control is of the utmost importance," she explained carefully, maintaining the flame. "You can't let outside distractions make you lose it. Nothing can. Take fire. If I lose control, well– everyone burns and I can't have that."

She scrunched her hand together, the flame dispersing into thin air, before lowering it and nodding towards me. "Your turn."

I glanced at her, an unusual nervousness in my mannerism as I lifted my hand. As I'd done many times before, I flicked my wrist and a small ball of water hovered above my palm.

"Great, now hold onto that no matter what," she said with an approving nod.

"No matter what what?" I asked suddenly, looking up at her, not in the mood for even more surprises.

She suddenly clapped by my ear, making the ball of water drop into my hands with a small splash.

"Dude!" I exclaimed, looking to her questioningly.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she corrected, "I'm not a dude, I'm a lady. And I told you to hold it."

"Kind of hard when you're clapping in my ear!" I retorted.

"That's the point," she said with narrowed eyes. "You have to concentrate. Again."

I scoffed quietly, but conjured another ball of water in my hand. This time, she began to circle me slowly, studying my stance. She began to talk about a book she was reading, then started to hum an annoying melody I'd never heard of, juggled balls of fire, whistled made-up tunes, and even shot tiny sparks of fire around me, all to distract me.

And it worked, startling me every time. It was the twelfth go when I quenched the ball of water in my hand, giving up.

"Forget it," I grumbled petulantly.

She stopped before me, giving me a sympathetic look. "It takes practice, darling."

"It's stupid," I argued.

"It'll help."

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms in defeat.

"Just practice it when you can," she encouraged. "Next time you're reading or cooking or talking to someone, hold the water. See if you can."

I quirked a brow and she shrugged, tilting her head with a soft smile. I hated that she was onto something.

And that wasn't it.

Turned out she was generally good at training me, and her peculiarity was quite similar to mine in a way, which made it easier for her to understand my frustrations and struggles. Maybe Miss Peregrine's error had forced me to get to know Emma better, and I felt stupid for not making the effort sooner.

In terms of our powers and my learning, we just made sense.

[urdreamydoodles]

Head cannons or one shot of a love triangle between Emma jean and reader, mostly angst with some fluff! Reader basically kinda replaces Scott during that whole fiasco anyways I love ur work!!

"WHAT THE FIRE DIDN’T BURN" — A Jean Grey & Emma Frost One Shot

SHIP: Jean Grey x Fem!Reader x Emma Frost (Comics)

WORDS: 1.495 words

THEME: Angst

I'm back after dealing with family and health issues. Everything is better now! I missed you all ♡

The quiet is deceptive. You’ve learned that in the halls of the X-Mansion—stillness is never a promise. It’s the eye of a hurricane, the space between pulses, the breath before a scream. Right now, it clings to your skin like silk soaked in ice water, and you’re not sure if the chill is from the air or the ache bleeding through your ribs.

You’re seated in the war room, alone, though you rarely ever are. Here, privacy is borrowed, not given. But today the lights are low, the monitors asleep, and the walls mercifully quiet. The world outside may still be crumbling—mutants feared, hunted, headlines slashing red across the sky—but for a brief moment, you’re allowed to breathe.

Or you would be, if your lungs didn’t belong to two women.

Jean. Emma.

They orbit you like stars too close to detonation, and you—beautiful and broken in ways even Cerebro can’t map—are the gravitational pull that keeps them from drifting apart or annihilating each other.

Jean was first. Not chronologically, no—but first in the way fire always arrives before ash. She came into your life like déjà vu. Like the part of a dream you wake up from, heart racing, sure you’ve been there before. She looked at you, and you saw galaxies collapse behind her eyes. Saw the Phoenix in her, and something else. Something small and painfully human.

Hope.

You didn’t expect Emma. She arrived not like fire, but the sharp crack of diamond shattering glass. You’d seen her on the battlefield before—cold and exacting, her mind a cathedral of mirrors—but nothing prepares you for being wanted by her. Desired, yes, but more than that—chosen. You were a complication, a softness she let herself believe in.

You didn’t ask for any of it.

But love never asks. It takes.

And now you’re drowning in it.

Jean finds you first tonight.

You sense her before the door even opens—a phantom pressure behind your eyes, the warmth of sunlight blooming along the curve of your spine. She’s always gentle when she enters your mind, like she’s brushing back a lock of your hair with fingers made of breath.

“Didn’t think I’d find you here,” she says, closing the door behind her.

You don’t turn around. “Didn’t think I wanted to be found.”

She pauses. That quiet again. “Too bad,” she says softly, coming to stand beside you. Her hand brushes yours. You don’t pull away.

“I thought you were with Logan,” you murmur, and immediately regret it. Not because it’s petty—but because it’s honest.

“I was,” she replies. “But I wasn’t with you.”

It’s such a Jean thing to say. She’s always known how to wound without cruelty. She means it. And you hate that part of you softens.

You glance at her, finally. Her eyes are green fire, soft and searching. “This isn’t fair,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“To any of us.”

Jean looks down. “Especially not to Emma.”

You flinch. The name cuts deeper than you expect. Emma—who never enters a room without owning it, who touches your thoughts like a pianist touches keys, deliberate and devastating. You know she’s felt this shift between you and Jean. She knew before you did.

“She still loves you,” Jean says, so quiet you barely catch it. “Even when you don’t choose her.”

“I haven’t chosen anyone.”

Jean smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “That’s the problem.”

You rise too quickly. The chair screeches behind you. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this is some cruel indecision.”

“Isn’t it?”

You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste metal. “I love her, Jean. I do. But you—when I look at you, it feels like dying. Like I was meant to burn for you.”

Jean steps closer. Her hand finds your chest, just above your heart. Her touch is tender, almost reverent. “Maybe we were meant to die together,” she says, not unkindly. “But that’s not the same as living.”

You close your eyes. “Then why do you keep coming back?”

Her breath catches. “Because even gods are greedy.”

Emma doesn’t knock when she enters.

The door clicks open with surgical precision, and you turn just in time to see the white of her silhouette—ivory, diamond, devastating. She looks like a storm in heels.

Jean doesn’t move.

You don’t breathe.

“Well,” Emma says, and her voice is silk sheared on steel. “I always suspected you two enjoyed brooding together.”

“Emma,” you start, but she holds up a hand.

“Save it,” she says, walking further into the room. “I already know.”

Her eyes flick to Jean. “You always did like to haunt the ones I touch.”

Jean’s expression doesn’t change. “I’m not here to fight you.”

Emma arches a brow. “Darling, you couldn’t win.”

You step between them before the tension cracks. Emma’s perfume floods your senses—jasmine and ozone, sharp and unforgettable.

“I never wanted this to be a triangle,” you say. “I never wanted to hurt either of you.”

Emma’s laugh is bitter and bright. “And yet you’ve managed both with such exquisite precision.”

You reach for her, but she steps back.

“I loved you,” she says, eyes like glass about to break. “And maybe that was the joke. That someone like me thought they could be someone’s first choice.”

“You were—”

“No,” she interrupts. “I was a detour. A breath before the flame. You gave me pieces, fragments. But she’s the one you think about when it’s quiet. When you’re alone.”

You want to deny it. But you can’t.

Emma’s voice falters. “I let you in. I let you know me.”

“I still do.”

“No, you don’t. Because if you did—you wouldn’t have let her come back.”

Jean finally speaks. “I never left.”

Emma turns to her, something like fury buried beneath elegance. “No. But you knew exactly when to appear. Just when she started to need someone else.”

Jean says nothing.

Emma looks back at you. “You don’t get to have both.”

And with that, she walks out.

You don’t sleep that night. You try.

But your mind is a battlefield, and love is the wreckage. You think of Jean’s touch, light and luminous, a tether to something eternal. You think of Emma’s lips, clever and cruel and soft, the way she said your name like it was a secret.

You think of how each of them saw you—not as a hero, not as a mutant, but as you. Messy. Splintered. Human.

You love them both.

And that’s what damns you.

It’s raining when you find Emma the next morning, standing by the greenhouse. She’s in civilian clothes—white coat, black gloves, no mask. Her hair is swept up, immaculate as always, even in the mist.

“You didn’t have to come,” she says, not turning around.

“I wanted to.”

She exhales, watching the fog curl from her lips. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry over you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know,” she says, quiet now. “But I wanted you to stop me.”

You take a step closer. “Emma…”

“No.” She turns to face you, finally. “No more apologies. No more tortured looks.”

“Then what?”

“Say it.”

You hesitate. The words choke at the back of your throat.

“Say it,” she repeats. Her voice is trembling. “Do you love her more than you love me?”

There it is.

The blade.

The truth.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

Her face crumbles. Just slightly. But she recovers like it’s muscle memory. “Then that’s your answer.”

You reach for her. She lets you touch her hand, but it’s distant. Fragile.

“I do love you,” you say. “Not as a substitute. Not as an echo. I loved the way you challenged me. The way you saw me. You never let me forget who I was.”

Her lips quirk, sad and proud. “Because I never wanted you to become less.”

You lean forward, resting your forehead against hers.

“I don’t know how to stop loving you,” you murmur.

She closes her eyes. “Then don’t. Just don’t ask me to be okay watching you love her too.”

You nod. Because you understand. Because you’d feel the same.

Emma steps back. Straightens her spine. “Goodbye, my love.”

And then she’s gone again. This time, she doesn’t look back.

Jean doesn’t ask questions when you find her hours later. She just holds you, silent. Her warmth fills the cracks Emma left behind, but it doesn’t erase them. You know it never will.

“I lost her,” you say into Jean’s shoulder.

“No,” Jean whispers, holding you tighter. “She was never something to lose.”

You let yourself cry.

Jean kisses your temple.

And in that moment, you know this is what it means to be torn between light and diamond. Between mercy and pride. Between two women who loved you completely, in ways you didn’t deserve, and yet still chose to stay—until they couldn’t.

Maybe the fire didn’t burn you.

But what it left behind?

You’ll carry that forever.

[snailpebbles]

a silent kind

gustave x fem!reader - pt.1 pt.2

summary: joining expedition 33 was the right decision - you could watch over Maelle and help form history. Learning more about her illusive brother was merely a potential plus you choose to ignore.

wc: 2.5k ON THE DOT

tags: slowburn (?), they're in love but don't know it, strangers to lovers, angst and fluff, SPOILERS FOR ACT 1!!!!!

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆

It was a depressing evening. The day of the Gommage was not one for smiles, for laughter, for unweighted love - yet flowers bloomed and people danced, as if those in their hands weren’t destined to flit away in the wind at the stroke of a brush. Lovers, family, friends, and even complete strangers all embraced for one last warmth before their unjust end. A head on a shoulder, a hand in another, tears mingling in a final kiss - all to end in petals. The Gommage was painful, but you kept smiling. Maelle was beside you, ten years your junior, and needed your help in consoling the children. It was necessary that you never break, never falter under the weight of tiny hands needing your comfort. Maelle was still young, regardless of what she believed, and couldn’t handle it all on her own.

Emma makes her rounds, keeping an eye on all those with flowers decorating their doomed bodies. She falters, praying no one sees, but you do. You see how she pauses just a few steps from Gustave, where his entire world is narrowed to one point.

Sophie.

She is - was - a true sweetheart. Loved and appreciated by all; you are no exception. It was only a night prior that she pulled you aside and in hushed tears, begged you to watch out for him - Gustave. Her warm hands held your cold ones, teary eyes meeting solemn ones. It was with a tug at your heart that she made her plea - a final wish, she called it. Who were you to deny? A shadow in the lovers lives, not admiring but not resentful. Merely appreciative, if not daydreaming on days where your strength was weak and the warmth you craved was wrapped away. 

Now she stands there at the end of the harbor, the looming figure of The Paintress overshadowed by the grief of the shattered man holding her. It wasn’t pity or sympathy you felt, only understanding. You didn’t turn away when the petals flew, a glowing thirty-three hanging like an omen in the sky. You didn’t step back when Maelle shied away, tucking her face into your sweater. It was indistinguishable from the little ones hiding behind your legs, clutching your hands and wiping their noses against your clothes. Your own tears fell silently. An apology of sorts.

Gustave was frozen by the harbor, a broken image of angel highlighted by an unforgiving God. He never asked for the blessing or the punishment it brings. The love he craved enough to leave was permanently gone. If your heart tugged in his direction it was no one's business but your own.

“Come along Maelle.” The two of you usher the crying children away, gentle sniffling a broken symphony. She follows beside you and occasionally glances back at Gustave, torn between her duty and her support. Deep down she knows he needs time, so she follows you, sticking like a welcomed glue. 

It’s late into the night, the small city a quieter hum now that another number is gone. It made no sense to drink and party, but hey. If you were destined to die on this expedition, so be it. For those who come after. It’s those mumbled words that catch the attention of Lucien, stumbling over from a barely concealed sulking Gustave. 

“And what, pray tell, are we lamenting?” Your friend grins, arm slung over your shoulder as he steers to the very impressive five table layout. A warmth flickers in your chest, the grip loosening.

“The silence I was enjoying.” You say dryly, tilting your head to grin slightly at him. He chuckles, easily amused as usual, and sits down heavily on a table. His hand clutches a bottle, taking a long swig that makes your own liver ache. 

“You wound me dearest, truly.” He sighs. Margot walks past, sliding a token in your hand with a wink before shoving Lucien off the table. He squawks like a bird and a small laugh catches your attention. Gustave. It’s nice to hear, especially when it doesn’t falter as his eyes catch yours.

You look away first. 

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆

He thought nothing of you at first, not during the festival and not when the expedition first arrived on the beach. You stood beside Maelle so he kept his eyes trained there, always airing on the side of caution. It’s when the man in the suit steps out that he looks away - a fatal mistake. The explosion hits, dread coiling in his stomach with ill intent while his ears ring a violent tune. Only one word, one soul, rips through his mind as a cursed symphony. Maelle. 

“What the fuck is happening?!” Leo curses, Lucien and Margot tucked alongside the two of them behind a rock. Dust and blood fills the lightning-striked air, making it hard to breathe. Before Gustave can even fathom a response, Margot is dead and they’re scattered. His head hits the ground hard, his eyes rattling in his skull as the ringing sharpens. The beach is shaking, why is the beach shaking?

With immense strength, he forces himself to look up - only to be met with the hands of a truly terrifying nevron. His training screams at him to act, to use his sword, to do what they all came here to do! But he falters. 

A blur comes in and he's off the ground, thrown to the side as Lucien yells at him to move! Just as he starts to wake up, to feel the panic and turn it into fuel, Lucien is shot away. Something, someone, is screaming; it’s so loud and his ears are hurting like his throat and - oh. He’s screaming. Screaming for the crumpled girl in front of him being dragged away by other expeditioners he knows he owes his heart to. Light eyes meet his, Maelle’s name ripping out of his throat as she leaves his line of sight. That damned nevron takes her place.

The large ball of chroma forming should terrify him, but he only feels numb. Is this what it means to be an expeditioner? It all goes dark right when a familiar form steps in his place, chroma exploding in a purple light. 

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆

The first thing you notice is that your head hurts. The second is the yelling from somewhere below you. 

“Are you alive up there?!” It takes a minute but you roll over, just enough to catch sight of a familiar face. Lune. She sighs when she spots you, out of relief you hope. It’s honestly hard to think when your brain is rattling around. Through some form of magic, truly you haven’t a clue what spell she did, you’re on her level. 

“Sight for sore eyes..” You croak, being rewarded with a rare smile. Lune helps you up and you brush dirt off of your uniform, double-checking for any life threatening injuries. She heals both of you to play it safe. 

“Your mind is an enigma to me.” Lune chuckles as you both take a much needed breath in the fallout of whatever the beach was. You glance around the cave you’re in, brain helpfully blocking out the bodies of who knows how many expeditioners. 

“Cozy.” You comment dryly, the ball of chroma in Lune’s hand lighting the way. She mumbles on about contingencies, a rapid-fire pace you can’t even hope to keep up with. The cave widens and you look around, only snapping back into focus when Lune speaks to someone that isn’t you.

What you say makes your heart drop. Gustave sits with a gun to his head, lowering it not even a second later with Lune crouched by his side. You don’t know the man - not beyond Maelle, at least. The ache in your chest at the thought of her will be settled later. Quietly, you join Lune by crouching at Gustaves other side, pushing his hand down the rest of the way until the gun dissipates. His eyes catch yours and you look away first, pretending not to notice how encapsulating they could potentially be. 

“We will find her.” The whisper seems to waken something in him, your voice and the promise it holds. He’d frankly forgotten that Maelle was important to you too, guilt worming its way into his heart. That’s why he stands up, not saying anything beyond a grateful nod. 

The ground, hell the entire cave, rumbles beneath your feet. Gustave steadies you and Lune - though she’s already floating - as the nevron emerges from the dark. It’s tall as fuck and the ball of chroma at its head is well protected. Thankfully you’re a hell of a shot. 

You don’t even think before shooting at it, dashing to the side to get at the slim opening in that weird cage. Gustave looks at you, then Lune, and then back at you before shrugging and running forward, sword drawn. 

“I work with idiots..” Lune mutters before floating higher, shards of ice striking any weak point her calculating mind sees. Pain hits your side and you spot blood on Gustaves collar, but the attack patterns are quickly taking route in your mind. Within the minute the nevron is gone, Lune is pushing a healing tint in your hand, and Gustave unhooks the infamous Lumina converter from his pack at Lune’s insistence. The tint is sweet as you chug it, watching curiously as the converter actually works. 

Gustave sighs with relief, standing up and rubbing his neck. 

“Good, now let’s go. Any survivors should meet at the Indigo Tree.” Lune takes the lead while the two of you walk side by side. It’s silent for a while as the events of the day seep in, Sun slowly lowering in the sky. To pass the time you admire the landscape, tragedy be damned. Working with kids taught you to appreciate all that there is to see, and damn is it a beautiful sight. The Sun illuminates all there is; buildings older than your world, trees glimmering, and water sparkling at a nearby creek. A sigh leaves your lips, attention so focused on your surroundings that a pair of brown eyes slips by unnoticed. 

He thought you were a little odd. Not in a bad way - his friends and family all tended to be weird as Maelle would say. He could see why she liked hanging around you. It was bothering him that he never paid attention before; you’re strong and for some reason, his mind is telling him he needs to keep an eye on you. That’s why he’s watching so closely, even when your merry little trio runs into two more nevrons. 

“Is that a building..?” Your head cranes back to take it all in, Lune getting a grin on her face that is definitely not dorky. She’s already climbing before Gustave can blink, the two of you sharing an exasperated look. 

“I swear..” He mutters, clicking his tongue before climbing as well. You take a second to wipe the sweat and blood off of your brow - ew - before doing the same. 

The breeze gains strength the higher you go, your eyes watering. Lune seems intent to keep climbing even as the handholds run out. While it is technically mean to force her hand, you’re tired and not too fond of heights. So, you shoot out a window and hop inside, Gustave thumping down beside you.

“This is a safety hazard.” He comments at the destroyed flooring, but he still looks so excited at all he’s experiencing. Beneath that grimace is the same energy any little boy has; you see it all the time at the orphanage during apprenticeship day. 

“That’s what makes it fun. Maelle would be jumping off the walls in here.” You chuckle, remembering how the runner could never keep still. Gustave thankfully laughs with you. You weren’t sure when Lune got there but based upon her unamused expression, it wasn’t just then. 

“Guys, focus. We still have a mission.” She steps further into the house while you shuffle forward, tired of being active. Gustave takes the other half of the building.

It’s after listening to a depressing journal that you all walk out of the building. Lune pats your shoulder to get your attention off of the ground. 

“Indigo Tree, come on.” She ushers you both forward, Gustave now in the lead. Just as you take the first few steps down, crouching to avoid a nevrons sight, you see the handholds.

“Hey. Something might be over there.” You point west just past a large nevron, broken mountains concealing whatever the end point is. 

“We don’t have time for distractions.” Gustave shakes his head, Maelle his priority, but you can already hear how his interest is piqued. Lune debates in her mind, the Sun low in the sky. She knows that it’ll be growing dark soon. 

“The Indigo Tree is far, we might not even make it in time before dark.” Lune explains. The rock digs into your back as you lean against it, smug in your silly victory. Gustave glares weakly at you but relents with a sigh, already forming his sword. 

“There could be an old camp down there?” You suggest in an attempt to get back on his good side. Gustave, the angel he is, takes the obvious olive branch and nods with a small smile. 

“Go on.” Lune gestures at the nevron - more specifically its chroma center. You sigh dramatically but shoot it, Gustave faltering in his own attack. Lune covers with a fire ball, bless her. 

“...Did you just do that without looking-” He parries mid-sentence, grunting at the strength behind the nevrons own sword. You nod, dodging one of Lune’s ice shards with a yelp. 

“Watch the damn ice!” 

Lune quickly apologizes but hides a laugh of her own, floating off the ground as the sword swings her way. The nevron hits the ground, shaking what feels like the entire continent. You almost stumble but catch yourself. Gustave doesn’t have such luck, doomed to be clumsy, and would’ve fallen on his ass if it wasn’t for you catching him. 

“Oh uhm, thanks.” He clears his throat, embarrassment obvious with how his cheeks flush. The urge to laugh is there but you hold back, only nodding with a semi-cheeky smile. 

“Come on, it’s getting dark.” Lune flies forward, forcing you both to jog behind her. 

The ground is fractured beneath you and even with the grappling spots, your stomach still swoops when it disappears. There is nothing but clouds around you now, but you can make out a faint circular looking base up ahead. Definitely a camp. 

Lune lands first, waiting for the fog to clear and you both to catch up. Damn her agility. Your feet hit the ground and you stand still for a second, letting your stomach settle. Heights are decidedly not your friend. Brown eyes glance at you with what could be called concern. You meet them with a practiced dismissive smile. 

The fog clears and all of your heads turn simultaneously to the assumed base.

“Is that a fucking mime?”

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆

this will be continued I pinkie swear <3 THERE WILL BE SPOILERS FOR ALL OF ACT 1!!!!!!

[cece693]

HELLOUUUUU I LOVE LOVE THE NEW FICSS may i request an enoch x male reader where he gets really jealous so he locks? the reader in a room? 😭 if not , enoch taking care of sick reader 🙏🏻🙏🏻

Hello, so I really have been leaning toward this fandom for sometime, but didn't know what to write about, so I thank you for these ideas. Couldn't decide between the two, so I'll write both.

Locked Inside

tags: jealous enoch, he's literally a cat, you can't change my mind, reader was written with a male in mind but it can literally also be gender neutral

You don’t think much of it when Enoch’s eyes narrow at you across the sitting room. He’s been that way all day—drawn into himself, fidgeting with the small homunculus he created just that morning, and wearing the most obvious pout. At first, you suspect he’s just having another one of those days where irritability is his default mode. But after dinner, he guides you by the hand upstairs.

You’re so used to letting him lead you that you don’t notice, at first, where exactly he’s taking you. Only after he closes his bedroom door and you hear the lock click do you spin around, confusion written all over your face. “Enoch?” you say, placing a hand gently on the doorknob. “Is there a reason the door’s locked?”

He looks at you—dark eyes flickering with swirling emotions. “I didn’t want you leaving.”

The small, powerless click of the lock feels more like Enoch’s own heart snapping into place than anything threatening. You’ve seen him moody and sarcastic, but this? This is different. He’s shifting from foot to foot like he’s not sure if he wants to come closer or retreat entirely. It reminds you of a cat that can’t decide if it wants to be in your lap or stalk off with its tail in the air.

Your eyebrows lift in mild concern. “Not that I’m complaining about alone time, but what’s going on?”

He glares at the space between you both. “I saw you laughing with Hugh earlier,” he says softly. “And you gave him that new scarf to try on. You were talking so happily…then you went with Emma and Claire to pick flowers. You just—You haven’t spent any time with me all day.”

The jealousy in his voice is heartbreakingly obvious. You can’t help but smile a little, despite the pinch of guilt in your chest. “That doesn’t mean I like them more than you,” you say gently.

Enoch scoffs, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Well, you might as well,” he mutters. “I can’t compete with them. They’re…they’re nicer. Or at least more—well—charismatic than I am.” He looks away, swallowing. “Why would you bother with me when they’re so much easier to be around?”

Softening, you cross the few steps that separate you, then slowly ease your arms around his waist. He stiffens for only a second before he gives in, letting out a breath he’s been holding. He nuzzles his forehead near your collarbone, almost as if he’s trying to hide.

“Enoch.” You lift one hand to brush his hair back from his forehead. He’s tense in your arms, shoulders wound tight. “I don’t want easier, or nicer, or more charismatic. I want you.” You feel him release a slight tremor of relief when you say that. “I enjoy being around the others, sure, but you have something that no one else does. You see things differently, and you don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. You’re my Enoch.”

He shifts again—pushing his face against your shoulder. It’s almost catlike, the way he leans and subtly demands your touch. “You’re sure?” he asks, voice half-muffled. “You’re not just saying that?”

You tilt his chin up, making him meet your eyes. “I’m absolutely sure.” You watch as the tension in his features slowly uncoils. “As for locking the door…” you tease gently, “I guess I can forgive you this time, but maybe next time, you can just ask to spend time with me without barricading me in a room.”

His cheeks flush pink. “I just…didn’t want to risk you saying no.” He tries to sound nonchalant, but he’s clearly embarrassed. You only smile.

“Enoch, if you want me, all you have to do is tell me,” you say. “I promise, I’ll want to spend time with you—no question.” Enoch slowly cracks a small, genuine smile. The sight feels like a warm beam of sunlight in the dusty gloom of his usual expressions. He tugs you to his bed, encouraging you to sit, and then promptly curls up beside you, leaning his head on your shoulder as if you’re his personal pillow.

You run a reassuring hand up and down his arm, content and comfortable as he snuggles closer. All at once, the locked door doesn’t feel confining—it feels safe, a private cocoon for the two of you. You can’t stop the soft laugh that leaves your lips when he hooks a leg over yours to keep you in place, making his possessiveness known. You only pull him closer, pressing your cheek gently against his hair.

Personal Nurse

tags: enoch cares, enoch becomes nurse, grumpy to others but melts around you, pre-relationship, gender neutral

Somewhere in the timeless hush of Miss Peregrine’s loop, the air feels heavier, more oppressive than usual. You notice it first when you wake with a dull ache in your bones, head throbbing and throat tight. Being peculiar never guaranteed perfect health, and the cold that grips you is proof enough. By afternoon, you’re reduced to a shivery bundle under covers in your assigned bedroom, nose runny and eyelids drooping with fatigue.

You’re dimly aware of the others bustling outside your door—Millard’s telltale footprints, Emma’s quiet knocks to ask if you need anything, Bronwyn’s booming concern. But after an hour or so, their voices fade, and a different presence appears.

“Oi, you awake?” Enoch’s soft voice, laced with uncertainty, drifts across the room. You push aside your swirling thoughts and look up. He’s standing near your door, balancing a cup of tea and a small bowl of soup on a tray. It’s a comical sight—Enoch, usually snarky and uninterested, meticulously carrying sustenance. He wrinkles his nose as if the whole act embarrasses him. Without meeting your eyes, he sets the tray on your nightstand, pulling a chair closer.

You blink in surprise. “Enoch? Did…did Miss Peregrine send you?”

“No,” he mumbles, crossing his arms but not quite managing his usual scowl. “I just… Millard said you were coughing up a lung. I figured I’d see if you needed something. Don’t look at me like that.”

A chuckle rattles in your chest, turning into a small cough. You cover your mouth quickly and watch Enoch’s eyes widen with momentary concern. “Here,” he says, ignoring your amusement, “drink the tea. Get some liquid in you so you don’t keel over.”

As you take the teacup, your hand brushes his. He flinches—startled by the heat of your skin—and sets his palm against your forehead with unexpected gentleness. “You’re burning up,” he murmurs, brow furrowed. “Idiot. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Didn’t realize it was this bad,” you admit, voice scratchy and weak. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Enoch tries to scowl, but it flickers at the edges and melts into something softer. “Don’t apologize. Just get better,” he mutters. Then he straightens with renewed resolve. “Anyway, Miss P said I should check your fever. So.” He presses a cool, damp cloth to your forehead. “I’m just—uh—helping.”

You can’t hide your fond smile as he fusses over you. His movements are gentle, minutely precise, yet laced with his brand of awkward care. You sip the tea, feeling warmth spread through your aching chest, and Enoch continues to hover, eventually picking at the fabric of your blanket like a fidgety cat. By mid-afternoon, word spreads. Hugh and Fiona stand by the open door, peeking in with wide eyes as Enoch shuffles a blanket around your shoulders.

“Aww,” Hugh can’t help but tease, “look at Nurse Enoch go.”

You see Enoch stiffen instantly. His posture changes from gentle caretaker to defensive cynic in a heartbeat. “Shut it,” Enoch snaps, turning his glare on the onlookers. “I’m just doing what needs to be done. Now get out if you're just going to stare.” A bit flustered, Fiona quickly ushers Hugh away, casting you an apologetic smile. The moment they leave, Enoch’s shoulders lose some of their tension, and he gently tucks the blanket around you again.

“Don’t mind them,” you offer, voice hoarse but understanding. “They’re just surprised. You’re normally…well, not exactly Florence Nightingale.”

He huffs, lips pursed. “I don’t do this for anyone else.” The admission is so quiet you barely catch it. “Besides, you’re the one with a fever. If it were me, you’d—”

“I’d do the same,” you finish confidently, smiling up at him.

A flicker of relief lights his eyes. He lingers beside your bed, unsure what to do with his hands now that he’s been ‘caught’ being tender. Finally, with a dismissive sigh, he grabs the chair and pulls it close. “You should sleep,” Enoch says, voice just above a whisper.

“I’m not that tired anymore, actually,” you protest, but another wave of exhaustion weighs on you. You slump back into the pillow, eyelids fluttering. Enoch runs a hesitant hand across your forehead, checking the damp cloth, and you catch a glimpse of genuine concern in his eyes. Despite his usual grumbling exterior, his touch is cool and mindful, lulling you into a comforting haze.

“I’ll wake you if anything changes,” he says, and you know he’s talking about your fever. Slowly, you nod, letting your eyes drift closed. You sense him fiddling with something at your bedside. Then, you feel the gentle ghost of movement as he tugs the covers more snugly around your shoulders and settles in the chair. Through the haze of half-sleep, you feel strangely safe.

When you wake a few hours later, the early afternoon light has softened in the windows. Enoch is still there, arms crossed, dozing lightly. The tray on your nightstand has a fresh pitcher of water, and a half-folded note from Miss Peregrine reads something about rest and medication. Unable to hide a grin, you reach out and lightly tap Enoch’s arm. He startles awake with a snort. “You alright?” he blurts, voice thick with sleep.

You nod, your own voice a little steadier. “Feeling a bit better, actually.” A slight pause. “Thank you.”

His cheeks tint with the barest hint of pink. “You’d do the same,” he repeats quietly, eyes avoiding yours in that shy, defensive Enoch way. He stands up, briskly adjusting the damp cloth on your forehead. Then he stands by the door, not quite leaving yet. “Do you need anything else?” he mumbles, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“Just you,” you say, your smile warm. “I mean—your company, I mean.”

He catches the meaning, and for a second, a tiny smirk lifts the corners of his mouth. He exhales, stepping back inside. “Fine. I suppose I can keep watch a bit longer,” he says, like it’s a big inconvenience. Yet he makes no move to leave your side—pulling up the chair, leaning forward with elbows on knees, eyes resting on you. For all his scowling and snapping remarks, he can’t quite keep the softer concern out of his gaze. And you can’t help but feel grateful that, for at least a moment, Enoch has let himself be your personal nurse. Even if he might deny it later.

[fanaticsnail]

Feet: Heat

Birthday Celebration Masterlist Here

Word Count: 4,700+

Themes: Heat x gn!reader, MDNI, NSFW, 18+, smut, foot fetish, feet kink, grinding against feet, hurt/comfort (injured reader), catching feelings, awkwardness, friends to lovers, no gendered terms used, Heat has the feet kink, sweet domesticity, flirty friends, porn with plot, awkward first kiss.

Notes: It is well past my birthday, but I am still working my way through the list. I love doing these so much, and Heat is one of my favourites.

Sitting with your head resting against the reclined deck chair aboard the Victoria Punk, you were enjoying the heat caressing your skin. Each ray decorated your pores with a warmth you had long-since neglected in your recovery. Although your wounds were healed, your body was still encumbered by the pain marked alongside the effort in defending your fire-breathing commander.

Although each member of your crew knew how to handle themselves in battle, you felt it in your gut to spring forth and protect Heat from an unforeseen attack. Swirling and kicking back against their motions, you were injured far more than you had anticipated in the recoil. This resulted in you feeling a little under the weather and out of sorts lately, with large bruising decorating your shins and knees as your trophy.

Docking at a town did not seem to claw your joy from you, but rather have you sink more into yourself in your recovery. Doctor’s orders had you needing more time on your back than anticipated.

Sunbathing with House, Emma, Boogie and Dive was always a highlight after a heavy battle. Being with those four, sometimes with Reck and Bubblegum joining you, was the routine you had all silently set in place to recover the ache in your muscles and creaks in your bones directly after combat concluded.

Unfortunately, your usual companions had all decided their time was better used inland on this particular occasion: drinking, frolicking, swimming, and partying. Considering the damage done to your muscles, and the burn in your joints as a reminder of your exertion, you decided to upkeep with the tradition alone. The rowdy crowd that you often surrounded yourself with was finally absent, and their voluminous ruckus was heavily missed in your solitude.

As you took another breath in, ballooning your lungs and feeling the burn in your recovering body, you heard a thud of boots and twinkle of chains rattling in your ears.

“This seat taken?”

Your smile automatically upticked in the corner of your lips at the question. The deep tenor of the fire-breathing commander was a welcome melody beside you, and you adored keeping such company.

“Commander,” you smirked with your tone, without opening your eyes while you lay comfortably in your bathing suit, soaking in the rays. “Didn't think anyone stayed behind. Thought you'd be out with the others enjoying the mayhem.”

“There's enough mayhem next to me in your sorry ass,” he chuckled down at you, plonking unceremoniously down onto an unoccupied deck chair. “How's your legs holdin’ up?” Reaching over, he gave your bare thigh a gentle clap before clamping his hand on your exposed skin. Your smirk bloomed into a smile, prompting you to reach down and press your palm over his knuckles and give his digits a small squeeze.

“They're alright. Bit bruised on the shins, but otherwise peachy-keen, jelly-bean,” you giggled, removing your hand from his and relacing your fingers against your belly in your recline. Taking in a deep breath, you both took a moment to enjoy the silence with one another before he spoke once more.

“You didn't have to, you know. Jumping in like that could've gotten you killed,” Heat gave your thigh another squeeze before unclamping his grip from your flesh, “Sure, you took ‘em out, but you shouldn't have done it. Now I owe you one.”

“Commander,” you scold him, finally opening your eyes and shooting him a playful glare, “Just because I took a hit meant for you, doesn't mean you owe me anything. You were occupied in using your swords instead of breathing fire, and I was free to heed the call of battle and take the damage for you.” You bobbed your head to solidify each word, enjoying making the taller man feel small with your gaze, “Besides, it was just my legs. I'll heal.”

Heat’s scarred lips curled up in a soft smile, his eyes falling to his hands and rolling an object within his digits. You snap your head to the side, attempting to spy what he was holding while he rotated it in his hands to shield it from you.

“What you got there, Heat?” you quipped, knowing he was waiting for you to acknowledge it. He slowly revealed the small jar and brush hidden in his fingertips. The shade was a deep burgundy, one you had known decorated the fingernails of your captain from time to time.

“Was gonna use the time to repaint my nails,” he admitted slyly. The small smirk in his tone had you chuckle at his confession, prompting him to spur on with his admission, “Always liked burgundy nails. Matches my colors. Swiped it from Cap’s office, he won't mind. Steals my hair shit all the time even though we've got different textures.”

“You do look nice with burgundy nails,” you admitted flirtatiously, feeling the burn in your muscles each time you adjusted yourself to the side. “I adore the color. Something about it feels really deep despite who wears it.” Taking in the shade, you cock lull head to the side and nod briefly down at the cubic jar in Heat’s hands, “And it does match your colors.”

“Thanks. I, uh…” Gently rotating the cubic ink within his fingers, he avoided your gaze while focussing on his next choice words. With a deep inhale, he hardened his resolve and drew his sunken eyes towards your own, “...Would you like me to paint yours for you?”

Gently chuckling at his words, you shook your head and peered down at your freshly manicured nails. Each of your ten fingers was carefully, not so professionally, painted and signed by the signature look of the youngest member of the pirates serving aboard the Victoria Punk.

“Sorry Commander, Dive did mine for me earlier. Would break her poor little heart to know you painted over her hard work,” you admitted with a soft smile donning your features, “You don't mind, do you?” It did not escape your notice the way his hands halted rolling the ink within his hands.

“Fair enough. Don’t wanna be the cause of the little tyke’s misery,” he admitted with a false smile you could see directly through. Heat was many things: a fire-breather, a dual-wielding swordsman, a commander, a former gang leader: but a liar was not amongst his many renowned titles.

His face always had an honesty to it, and you adored that in him. This honesty was what drew you to him the most. Each word was emphasized by a certain way only you knew how, and you truly admired him for it. Taking a moment to think about it, you peered down at your legs and halted on your feet. Giving your toes a quick wiggle, you turn back to him with a playful smile. Gently turning your eyes back to him, you offer him slyly.

“You could do my toenails, though?”

Heat takes a moment to pause, his teeth immediately darting out to pinch his lower lip and suck it into his mouth. His cheeks tinted with a rosy blush, and his eyes rounded out in a way only that had you giggling.

“Are you…?” he stuttered over his words, doing everything in his power to avoid his eyes falling to your feet, “Are you comfortable with that?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” you shrug your shoulders and purse your lips. Heat twitched in his step, meeting his eyes to your bare feet reclining on the deck chair. A small, shuddering sigh fled his lips, eyes fluttering as he shook off his stupor.

“I-...” Heat darts his eyes between yours, hoping you would understand without him having to admit it. Without finding any spark of recognition in your eyes, he sighs deeply before admitting to his secret. “...I… I have a thing for feet. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but it's… uh… It's one of my things.”

Your smile dropped slightly at the edges as you watched Heat turn his eyes away from yours. Mentally kicking himself, Heat began thinking of all of the many outcomes involved in your silence: what cogs would begin turning in your brain, and with what judgement to follow. Just as his lips parted to apologise for his admission, you sat upright in your chair and moved to cup his scarred cheeks.

His eyes met with a playful smirk finding its way to swell with mischief over your lips. Your eyes darkened with curiosity, and a small amount of lust lingered in your gaze. Leaning forward further and gently thumbing over his scarred cheeks, you lull your head to the side and playfully scrunch your nose at your fire breathing commander.

“Thank you for letting me know, commander. I do enjoy your candor, you know that,” you whisper affectionately, “And I would be honored to share this color with you. Toes or otherwise, I'm down.”

“W-What?” he stuttered, taken aback at your admission before straightening his corset-laced vest and rolling the paint in his fingers. “I… You… You still want to do this? With me?”

“Of course I want to do this,” you roll your eyes, shaking your head and sitting a little more upright on the deck-recliner, “I think it would be nice to be pampered for a bit, especially if it means matching with you.” Scrunching your nose briefly at him, you finally lay back down and wince slightly at the movement with your injured body. Heat watches on, momentarily perplexed by what has just transpired, before shaking himself out of it.

“I... apologise for the person I’m about to become,” he whispered in a shaken exhale. Slowly rolling the vial of inky paint in his larger hands, he removed the cartridge topper and withdrew the paintbrush from the tip.

“Save your apologies for someone who wants to hear them, commander.” Your body relaxed back into your recline as you revealed your bare feet to him, “Did you want to do your own nails first, or do you want to play around with these first?” To emphasise your question, you gave your toes a small wiggle at him, immediately met with the first whisper of a breathy, “Fuck.”

Biting your lip to save face, you withheld your grin as the commander drew himself immediately down to your reclined chair and placed your calves over his lap. You could feel the energy vibrating off him in those tingly hands. The first little drop of burgundy hue seeped onto your big toe in a dollop of burgundy from the brush tucked in his fingertips. Heat took a moment's pause to stare at your feet, marvelling at the colour reflected against your skin before setting to work on your toes.

The careful precision he took was almost causing you to gawk at him. Sure, the fire breather was a man who took careful action while serving the ship, but this was almost delicate, sensitive, and in synchrony with your slow and heavy breathing. Your eyes began to glaze over as you gazed at your commander in a new light while his fingertips continued to work their magic against their canvas.

“You have beautiful arches,” Heat’s shaken whisper choked out, “And your toes are so much smaller than I thought they'd be. Almost dainty. Smallest little canvas just there for me.”

“You've thought about my toes before, commander?” You teased him as he focussed his attention on recoating your toes in a secondary layer of shine.

“I think about your feet all the time,” Heat admitted while cleaning up his painted line with his blunt fingertips along your cuticles, “Fuck, you're gorgeous. So smooth, so gentle, so delicate: regardless as to how you've been fighting lately, your feet are the softest I've ever seen or felt.” Heat ghosted his fingers along the frame of the top of your foot, causing your reflexes to kick in in the shape of a soft laugh.

Heat froze. His hands stopped their motion as he looked at your feet in his hands.

“Ticklish?”

“Very.”

“Fuck.”

That interaction alone has you laugh a little more, not so much at him, but the fact that something you had very little control over was the pinpoint of his obsession. They were your feet. Something just there for you. Something that you had taken for granted by their existence on your body, yet he was obsessing over them in the same way someone would marvel at breasts, pecs, asses, or other more explicit parts of a body.

Heat resumed his painting with sunken shoulders, silence in the place of conversation at every small swipe. You furrow your brows at him, yet watch on as he finally completes the secondary coat on your secondary foot. With tacky toes, you slowly sat up and cupped the taller man’s shoulder, drawing his attention towards you in a soft, leading tug.

“What happened, what's wrong?” You asked softly, reaching for his scarred chin and holding his attention with your own. Heat avoided your eyes before mumbling out a soft confession.

“I don't like bein’ laughed at. I know my thing aint all that common, but it's still not all that nice to be giggled at an’ shit.” You halted your touch, slowly thumbing over his bottom lip while gazing into his hollowed features. Heat attempted to pull away from you, only to find your grip a little stronger and more insistent than he assumed.

“I wasn't laughing at you, Heat,” you assert firmly, “My laughter was reactionary to the fact that I haven't done anything special with my feet, and you're out here complimenting them like they're worth their weight in gold. All the while being so careful, so kind, and so thoughtful while restraining your lust for this.” You softly raise your left foot to gently kick his left upper arm, “It's laughing in surprise, not laughing at you, I swear on my life.” Heat grumbled inaudibly at you while shifting your legs on top of his lap completely while placing the bottle of varnish on the ground.

“Don't move ‘em. They're still tacky and I don't want you to smudge the paint,” he nodded, returning his gaze to the sun glimmering over the soft, tussling waves in front of you both. With a smirk on your lips and a fire burning behind your eyes, you slowly moved that left foot once more, considering it was closest to his chest, and drew it up to his face.

“Then blow on them, commander,” you suggest as if it's the most regular occurring experience between a leader and a subordinate. Heat’s cheeks flushed with a dark radiation of warmth, his skin burning hot with a large shroud of lust.

Heat’s darkened eyes zeroed in on your toes, all the while he has been ignoring the shameful swell of desire puncturing his briefs beneath his flared pants. His cock was like a rod laid as the cornerstone foundation of the tent in his pants, waving its flag in surrender to desire long before you had raised your toes to his lips. Your commander couldn't meet your eyes, fully hypnotised by the fact his desire was presented up to his face so readily.

Raising both hands, he cupped your significantly smaller ankle with his larger hands, holding it as if it was the most delicate and precious thing he had ever been given, and slowly pursed his lips. With a small jet of air, Heat blew his warm breath over your toes, tingling your skin with a small amount of fire trickling out at the corners. You gasped, the sensation feeling somewhere between ticklish and intimate, knowing that your right heel was directly atop the erection he had been attempting to hide for the duration of the painting session.

“That's it, commander. Blow on my toes to dry them off,” you praised him, earning you a small whimper and a gentle rock of his hips against your right foot, “Be careful, or you'll smudge the other one. Can't have that now, can we?”

“No,” Heat whispered softly between waves of warm breath drying your toenails, “No w-we can't have that. Oh, fuck. O-Okay.” Heat softly whispered as he moved down his lips over your left foot in. As he drew them up to his lips, giving it a curing treatment with his warmed breath, you softly added a small amount of pressure with your foot against his clothed cock. Gently rolling it with your toes, you felt his cock spring and twitch out beneath your ministrations.

“Oh, sh-shit,” Heat gasped, still focussing on drying your toes while your other foot worked at his cock. His breath came out in heavy pants, all the while treating your toes so delicately with his slow, blown caresses.

“Check if it's dry for me, commander,” you ask him, your voice coming out more confident than you were truly feeling at this stage. With a squeaked curse, he gently released your ankle with his left hand and drew his index finger to your big toe. Giving it a soft touch, he whined out a soft confirmation that your nails were dry.

A grin spread over your lips as you halted the pressure of your foot on his cock and elevated it beside your other. Heat’s eyes gently met yours as nothing but a shuddering question lingered in his glassy eyes.

“This one too, Heat. Don't want unequal treatment now, do we?” you ask with confidence in your eyes. Heat gasped out in shock, slowly and gently placing your left foot on his lap, careful to avoid the bruising while cupping your right ankle to his chin. Pursing his lips, he let out a stream of breath framed in unintentional flames that warmed your skin. You maintained the contact of your foot over his clothed cock, feeling with your toes the damp patch of precum swelling from beneath the many canvases of his maroon pants.

“O-Oh, shit,” Heat whimpered while focussing his attention back on your toes. He held your foot as if it was made of fragile glass, doting on your skin, bone, and muscle with his hands while his lips continued to relay your praises. “So beautiful,” he groaned, “So soft,” he praised out softly, “So delicate.”

“Test if the varnish is dried, commander,” you encouraged him, “Go on, Heat. Can you test if it's all dried for me?”

“I-I can do that,” Heat whimpered as he slowly continued rolling your heel and ball of your left foot against his cock. You felt every near ridge of his tip, his shaft, and his balls pressing against his hemline. He slowly released your foot with one of his hands, and raised his palm to the ball of your foot to hold it delicately, “Just g-give me a-.”

“-Use your lips,” you moaned out softly, almost ashamed at how much your commander was using you like this was turning you on. Your whole body was alight with arousal, causing you to continue your boldness, “If there's no burgundy stain on your lips when you kiss them, you're free to continue doing what you want to them.”

“A-And if there is?” Heat whispered, already blindly elevating your toes to his lips, “W-What then?” The commander parted his lips, gently raising your toes to his bottom lip and almost grazing the polished digit to his skin. He moved his hollowed gaze to meet your own eyes, sunken eyes darting between yours as if you were about to drop the curtain on his desires at any moment. Instead, all that you offered him was a single notion.

“Then your kiss will be perfectly cast on my toes in memory of us here with one another. Put your lips on my toes now, commander.”

“Fuck-!” The gruff whisper blew against your toe as his lips finally found their perch over your nail. Heat’s eyes almost roll back, the motion of your other foot rolling and rutting against the fabric of his pants only having his whisper come out in more desperate huffs. “Oh, fuck. Please?” He kissed the top of your toenail, checking to see if the pattern of his scarred lips remained behind, “The-there's no mark. You're all done. I-... I can s-stop if you-... Fuck, no I can't. I can't, I'm sorry.”

At those apologies, Heat immediately set to work worshiping each of your toes with kisses ranging in intensity. Delicate and soft kisses to your littlest toes, to heavy, open-mouthed kisses against your big toe. You fought the urge to kick in reaction to the ticklish nature of the position he was kissing. The urge all but fled your mind as he took your big toe in his mouth and rolled his tongue over the digit. Although not having the heavy kink for feet as he did at this moment, you could not disregard how the warmth of his lips felt against your toes.

Your belly knit itself in thick knots, curdling your stomach in the tingles of pleasure without anything erogenous truly being caressed. The foot on his cock increased its intensity, causing his chest to rumble with a moan that oozed out of his occupied lips like thick honey and the burn of whiskey.

“I-I'm-,” Heat’s muffled lips confessed hurriedly against your toes, “Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cum!” Heat’s soul felt as if it reached the choirs of angels, feeling his rapture thrust to kneel at your feet. Your body was his altar, and he was a zealot to your divinity - all while rutting helplessly against the barrier of his clothes containing his cock from kissing your foot.

“Cum for me, commander,” you urged him on, “Suck on my toes and cum for me. Don't you dare stop.” He hastily dropped one of his hands from the foot in his lips down to the foot in his lap, slowly increasing the pace and intensity of the drag on his lap while he cried out desperately for more. You used your initiative while he was distracted to press down against his tongue with the pad of your toe, feeling the texture of his warm, slippery muscle against your skin.

"Hhah, f-fuck, s-shit-!" Heat immediately began to groan more desperately into your foot, all the while you felt the dampness grow more dominant against his pants. Thick ropes of pearlescent cum shot out of his tip to paint the inner creases of both his briefs and his pants. His soft gasps were entwined with heady whimpers from his diaphragm, almost as melodic and soft as his thick praise whispered into your skin.

Feeling the final few spurts of his euphoria leave his body and pool down his shaft to gather in his seat, Heat released your toes from his lips with a soft ‘pop’. A rosy blush flooded his cheeks and his eyes refused to meet with yours, instead focussing on the foot in his lap above the mess he made of himself.

“I…” Heat began, gulping softly at his words, not truly being able to make their mark. Stumbling over his thoughts, he was truly lost in the thick fog of the words he wanted to say, all the while avoiding your eyes. Refusing to watch him flounder further, you moved to collect his cheeks with your smaller hands and turn him to face you.

“...You like feet,” you nodded at him with a warm smile drawing over your lips, “And that's okay. You're allowed to like feet.” You moved your fingers to caress his blue hair from shrouding his scarred face, “Doesn’t make me care for you or respect you any less, commander. What would, however,” you moved your hands to gently thumb over his scarred bottom lip, “Is if you wouldn't let me paint your fingernails to match with my feet.”

Heat chuckled at that before his eyes went wide while searching in a panic for the burgundy nail varnish. He let out a sigh in relief as his eyes found the vial undisturbed on the floor where he placed it. Slowly reaching for the vial, he paused as he cringed at the feeling of sticky dampness forming in his pants and coating his balls in his release.

“You, uh… You reckon I can go change first?” Heat’s voice was sheepish, as was his guilty expression. You laughed softly, reaching for the paint in his hands and moving your legs off his lap to free his mobility. Heat joined you with his own laughter, more muffled in a warm chuckle as he rose to stand. “You want anything while I'm up?” He adjusted his corset, watching in puzzlement as your eyes moved to his clothed cock. You could almost see the thick coating of his cum painting his lap, causing you to bite your lip and your arousal growing more urgent beneath your own hemlines.

“I… uh…” you tried to form a cohesive thought, but your mind was immediately thrown back to those few moments prior when you made your commander cum in his pants by just your feet alone. Your belly tightened, brows knitting together as a small gasp moved from your chest to the air with an ease you almost felt ashamed of.

Heat looked from your face, to his pants, back to your face again as your glazed eyes were fixed on his cock.

“...You've got a thing for domming, or a thing for cumming in pants, don't you?”

“I don't know what ‘thing’ I have,” you admitted, shaking yourself out of it before peering up at his face, “But you cumming in your pants without ever touching my bare foot to your cock was really nice.” Shrugging you slowly readjusted yourself back to your comfortable recline, now feeling your arousal begin to warm and bloom in your belly further, “I'll be waiting right here for you to come back, though. I want to match with you.”

“I'll be back,” Heat shook his head with a smile, “And then we can work out what ‘thing’ you have together, alright?”

“If you say so, commander.”

Just as Heat moved to make way towards his quarters, he paused in his movements and froze in place. You lulled your head curiously to the side, furrowing your brows as you watched him have an internal argument with himself. Turning back on his heel, Heat stop-starts with every shifting movement he makes. Slowly stooping to meet his face with yours, Heat continued to argue with every motion, uncertainty darting in every waking breath.

You refused to say, do, or act in any way, shape, or form; wanting to know exactly what your commander was doing and letting him continue to argue with himself internally. His lips slowly puckered into a heart shape, his eyes darting around your face for a placement of appropriate impact. Your internal giddiness only rose, trying to keep your face vacant in order to not give yourself away. To refuse to prolong his own suffering any little longer, Heat opted to place a small kiss somewhere between your cheek and the smallest corner of your lips. His larger mouth found its place in that small point for a moment as he rested his lips against the smallest corner of your own.

Heat pulled away, his face almost glowing with embarrassment as his eyes remained somewhere between astounded and appalled at himself. You continued to hold your own expression neutral, but internally screaming at the small hint of affection shared between the both of you away from the curtain of heavy lust.

“I, uh… I…” Heat gulped back his shame, rapidly blinking as he took you in, “...I'll go change my pants, and I'll… See you in a bit.”

With every step towards his quarters, Heat was reminded by the crude squelching in his pants that he was less awkward in sucking your toes and cumming in his pants than actually going in for a real kiss. And one that he missed. The firebreather chastised his actions by harshly changing out of his soiled garments, roughly cleaning up his mess with a rag, and tugging on his pajamas with added emphasis. As he caught his reflection in his mirror, he mouthed at himself, “Heat, what in the hells is wrong with you? You fuckin’ idiot.”

As you laid back and awaited the return of your blue-haired commander, you continued to scream at yourself and reactionarily laughed at the ridiculousness that transpired moments prior.

With the sun dancing on your skin, and heart teetering in your chest, your eyes finally met with Heat's as he withdrew from below decks in his loose-fitting pajamas. He gave you a lopsided smile, one that warmed your heart and caused you to swoon. This was going to be an afternoon to remember.

You couldn't wait to paint Heat's nails, and enjoy the rest of your silent time exclusively with one another.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @mermaniaa @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel @nocturnalrorobin

🎶Happy Birthday to Me🎶

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

[izanacore]

“casual” | manjiro sano x reader

chapter twenty-two 𓂃⋆.˚

synopsis: a no-strings-attached arrangement between a party girl and a frat boy turns messy when mikey falls first. but when (y/n) runs from love, she loses him for good—until fate brings them back together, years too late.

characters: manjiro “mikey” sano, fem!reader, emma sano, izana kurokawa, ken “draken” ryuguji, haruna imaushi (original character)

warnings: angst, heartbreak, fwb dynamics, explicit content, crack, fluff, jealousy, insecurities, themes of regret, alcohol use, violence, bullying, depression

notes: i am so sorry for the slow updates. i’ll make it up to y’all. i promise! anyway, happy arc is starting yay. enjoy it while it lasts.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

chapter twenty-two

the night had stretched into morning, hours blurring in the haze of tangled sheets and whispered moans. y/n didn’t get much sleep—not that she minded. her body still tingled with the memory of him, of manjiro. the way he moved. the way he touched her. just thinking about his hands ghosting over her skin made her cheeks flush, even in the soft light of early dawn.

surprisingly, she woke up first.

turning onto her side, she found him still asleep, his hair messy, lashes brushing his cheeks like he wasn’t the same man who had just devoured her hours ago. her heart ached in the most unfamiliar, tender way. she reached out and gently cupped his cheek, running her thumb across his skin in slow, soothing strokes.

he stirred.

his eyes fluttered open, meeting hers.

“oh—sorry, manjiro…” she whispered, pulling her hand back quickly.

but he caught it before she could go too far. brought it to his lips. kissed her fingers. then, without a word, pulled her close until her face was against his bare chest. the steady rhythm of his heartbeat was the only sound in the room.

y/n looked up, and he met her gaze with half-lidded eyes. he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, then closed his eyes again, letting sleep take him once more.

she held him like that, her arms looping around his waist, skin to skin, warmth to warmth.

they didn’t speak. didn’t need to.

she melted into him.

maybe it wasn’t so scary, she thought. letting someone in. being seen. being held.

just this once… just for him… she’d let manjiro sano in.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

it was finally the night of mikey’s birthday party.

and yet… y/n was still sitting in front of her vanity mirror, dangerously close to crying—but of course, she couldn’t. not unless she wanted to ruin the makeup she spent hours perfecting.

her fingers lightly brushed over the trail of bruises blooming along her skin—starting from the curve of her neck, trailing down her shoulders, and dipping right above her chest. god. how was she supposed to wear that strapless dress now?

“if he’s so jealous of izana, he could’ve just said so,” she muttered loud enough for someone to hear, glancing at her reflection with a pout. “no need to go this far…”

“i heard that,” came a lazy voice behind her.

“i made sure you did,” she said without turning, rolling her eyes as she went back to fussing over her skin and her crisis.

mikey chuckled, as he wore his polo shirt, his voice full of amused smugness. he came up behind her, dipped his head, and kissed the very same mark she’d just tried to hide.

“want me to add more?” he murmured, meeting her eyes through the mirror with that wicked grin of his.

“get off me,” y/n groaned, pushing him away with a light shove, though the heat crawling up her neck betrayed her.

mikey just laughed.

she was trying—desperately—to conceal the worst of the damage when he spoke again, tone smooth and infuriating.

“what’s the point of me putting them there if you’re just gonna hide it?”

“please shut up,” she muttered, swiping concealer over the red and purple mess. she managed to hide most of them. most. there were a few that refused to cooperate, stubborn just like him.

when she was finally done, she looked over and saw mikey standing there, fumbling with his tie. she walked over and took it from him, hands moving swiftly as she fixed it.

“all done,” she said softly, the tiniest smile tugging at her lips.

“y/n,” he called, voice suddenly lower.

“hm?” she looked up.

his hand slid around her back, pulling her close, lips just inches away from hers. “would you get mad if i ruin your makeup right now?”

“yes,” she answered instantly. “i spent hours on it.”

he stepped back, hands up. “okay. i don’t wanna risk being nagged on my own birthday.”

she laughed—and he looked at her like she hung the moon.

after changing into her dress, she stood by the mirror again. mikey turned to look at her—and just stared.

“fuck… can we just ditch the party?” he groaned, walking over and sliding his arms around her waist. “i wanna cuddle you all night. maybe a little naked?”

his lips hovered, so close.

“idiot,” she giggled, pressing her palms against his chest and holding him back. “emma planned this whole thing. she’ll kill us.”

mikey let out a long, tortured sigh and stepped away, grumbling under his breath. as much as he wanted to bend her over the vanity again and take his time with her, it really was emma’s hard work they’d be throwing away.

he reached out his hand to her.

“let’s go?”

she took it without hesitation, fingers slipping into his with a smile.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

the club draken booked was actually… really nice. classy enough for mikey. the lighting was perfect, the music was just loud enough to drown out drama, and the drinks were already flowing. basically, it was a success.

not that toman deserved all the credit—emma did most of the heavy lifting. correction: emma bullied everyone into pulling this off. if they were scared of mikey or draken, they should also be scared of the emma sano.

when mikey and y/n arrived—hands casually laced together—no one said a word. not even a raised eyebrow. not even from baji, who would normally live for that kind of drama.

“happy birthday, mikeyyy!” emma all but launched herself into her brother’s arms.

mikey chuckled, hugging her back. “thanks, emma… for all of whatever this is.”

“it’s amazing, right?” emma pulled away proudly, already scanning the club like a general checking her battlefield.

draken stepped in with a fist bump. “happy birthday, man.”

and before mikey could even hold y/n again, emma immediately went to y/n, already reaching for her arm. “can i borrow y/n for a sec?”

mikey frowned. “tsk. we just got here—”

“thank you!” emma said sweetly, ignoring him entirely as she yanked y/n away.

mikey sighed, left behind with draken.

mikey’s party wasn’t huge—just the rest of toman, a few people from uni, some close friends, shinichiro, and of course… wherever there’s shinichiro, there’s wakasa… and wherever there’s wakasa…

“happy birthday, mikey…” came a soft voice.

mikey blinked. “oh. haruna. uh… thank you.”

he eyed the crowd. “why are you alone?”

haruna smiled shyly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “i don’t really know anyone here… except you, y/n, and emma. but i don’t think your sister likes me. and y/n’s with her…”

“and wakasa’s at the bar already,” she added with a laugh. “your brother dragged him there the second we got in.”

mikey winced. “oh. yeah. sorry about that…”

they both chuckled. okay. that sounded like shinichiro.

“well…” mikey shrugged, glancing around, “i guess you’re stuck with me. that okay with you?”

haruna nodded sweetly.

across the room, emma paused mid-sip.

“i don’t like this.”

y/n followed her gaze, brows lifting when she saw haruna and mikey talking. laughing. smiling. leaning a little too close.

she tilted her head. something in her twitched. what the hell was that?

c’mon, she told herself. can’t mikey have friends who are girls?

emma, already a few drinks in and as unhinged as ever, slammed her glass down and started to stand.

y/n grabbed her wrist instantly. “sit down, emma.”

“girl, that bitch is practically throwing herself at your boyfriend.”

y/n gave her a look. “emma.”

“what?”

“not my boyfriend.”

emma rolled her eyes so hard it looked like she might pass out.

“you’re just seeing things,” y/n said.

“am i?” emma turned her head, motioning for y/n to look again.

haruna was now leaning into mikey, saying something low near his ear, her hand brushing his sleeve as she laughed at whatever it was she whispered.

mikey? he looked… comfortable.

y/n didn’t realize how tight her grip had gotten on her drink until her fingers ached, nails digging into the chilled glass.

huh.

interesting.

emma had just downed another drink—she was absolutely feeling it—when the club doors opened and a familiar figure stepped inside.

her eyes widened instantly. “izanaaaa!!”

she lit up like it was christmas morning.

emma had always been closest to izana. sure, shinichiro was the golden eldest and had the “dad” energy. mikey? he was the annoying brother who stole her snacks and teased her every chance he got. but izana? izana was the one who spoiled her rotten. her favorite partner-in-crime.

izana barely had time to react before emma flung herself into his arms. he caught her with a surprised laugh, wrapping his arms around her. “i told you,” emma pouted against his chest, “you should’ve just come with me and draken!”

“and i told you,” he said, ruffling her hair, “i had somewhere to be.”

“come on!!” she took his hand without warning and dragged him—not to y/n—but straight to where mikey stood.

“excuse me,” emma said, with the most passive-aggressive little tone, brushing past haruna like she wasn’t even there.

haruna blinked, stepping aside quickly as emma positioned herself directly between her and mikey.

“izana, say happy birthday to mikey,” she demanded, practically swaying from the wine. oh no. she already had too much to drink for this.

izana blinked. “emma…”

“c’mon, izanaaaa. say it,” she tugged on his arm like a toddler demanding a candy bar.

the silence was instant. uncomfortable. like the air itself held its breath.

“uh, em…” draken tried gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “how ‘bout we go back to y/n?”

“no.” emma folded her arms. “not until my brothers talk to each other.”

both mikey and izana froze. they knew better than to challenge emma when she had that look in her eye. she meant business. even drunk.

izana sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “h-happy birthday, mikey.”

mikey didn’t look up. just kept swirling his drink in the glass.

and then, izana added quietly, “and… i’m sorry…”

the apology wasn’t just for the rocky past between them. it was for everything. for the misunderstandings. for the mistakes. for y/n.

mikey didn’t speak. didn’t blink. he just reached over to the table, grabbed a second drink, and silently handed it to izana.

not a word.

but in mikey’s language? that was everything.

izana’s eyes softened. he took the drink. and he smiled.

emma threw her arms around both her brothers, smashing them into a sibling sandwich.

“ugh, emma—get off—” mikey groaned.

but before either of them could escape her clinginess, a new pair of arms joined in.

“finally,” shinichiro sighed, pulling them all into one big group hug. “took you guys long enough.”

it was a mess of arms, laughter, and one very drunk emma screaming, “i love you guys!! so much!!”

and in the background, y/n watched from across the room, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

this—this right here—was the kind of healing mikey needed.

and she was grateful. even if just one weight was lifted off his shoulders tonight… it was already a perfect birthday.

the party raged on around them—music pulsing, laughter spilling from every corner of the club—but in the far side booth where emma, y/n, and izana sat, it felt like the air had thinned.

emma was talking, or trying to anyway. she’d already had her drinks confiscated by draken, who had given her the classic “that’s enough” look and taken her glass without room for argument. she was sobering up now, a little pouty, but mostly just chatting about whatever came to mind.

but something felt… off.

emma paused mid-sentence, eyes flicking between the two people seated with her. y/n was nursing her drink like it held all the answers in the world, and izana? he was pretending to scroll through his phone, but he wasn’t really looking at it.

neither of them had spoken to each other. not once.

weird.

way too weird.

“okay,” emma suddenly said, slamming her hand down on the table, startling both of them. “what the hell is going on?”

izana looked up lazily, one brow raised. “what now, emma?”

y/n didn’t even flinch. just kept her eyes down on her drink, lips pressing tighter against the rim.

“don’t ‘what now’ me.” emma’s eyes narrowed. “you two are acting like strangers. what, did you fight or something yesterday? spill. i’m not dumb.”

“you’re just overthinking things, em,” y/n replied quickly. too quickly. the kind of voice you use when you’re dodging.

izana didn’t even bother to speak up. he just leaned back in the booth, expression unreadable.

emma’s gaze grew sharper. she wasn’t buying it. “seriously. whatever this is,” she gestured between them, “you two better fix it. i don’t want this trio ruined just because of your issues to each other.”

“since when are we a trio?” izana muttered with a low scoff.

“since i said so.” emma shot back, crossing her arms. “and you should be thankful i added you to my very exclusive friend group.”

izana huffed a laugh, lifting his fingers to air-quote. “friend group. it’s just you and y/n.”

emma lightly smacked izana’s arm in mock offense.

he winced playfully, raising both hands in surrender. “alright, alright. i guess we’re a trio now.”

his gaze flicked back to y/n. he smiled at her.

and finally, y/n looked up and smiled back.

but even as their eyes met and lips curved, emma could tell. something still hung between them.

something they weren’t saying.

but before emma could dwell on it further, a voice called out—“izana! come join us over here!” draken waved him over from across the club.

izana excused himself from emma and y/n before getting up and heading over. the moment he reached the group, he was greeted with claps on the back, a fist bump from draken, and a round of welcomes from the rest of toman. for the first time in forever, izana didn’t feel like the outsider. no tension. no weird glances. just laughter and warmth. he finally felt like he belonged.

back at the table, emma and y/n were left alone.

“babes, i’ll go get you a drink,” emma suddenly said, standing up way too quickly.

y/n raised her eyebrow, looking at her suspiciously. “…my drink’s literally still half full.”

“and? i’ll go get you another one already, okay?” emma said, standing up and heading toward the bar. y/n knew she was just trying to sneak one for herself—draken had already banned her from getting more. but she let her go this time.

a few minutes later, emma returned with two drinks in hand, looking proud of her little heist. except—y/n was gone.

“…y/n?” she looked around, confused.

and then—

a voice behind her cleared their throat. “why do you have two drinks?”

emma jumped and slowly turned to see draken looking down at her with that dad mode activated expression.

“they’re both for y/n,” she said with zero confidence.

draken raised a brow. definitely not buying it.

he reached out, snatched the drinks from her hands, and handed them off to the nearest waiter.

“hey!” emma whined. “that was for y/n!”

“sure.”

emma just sighed. she wasn’t winning this one with her boyfriend, so instead, she just started scanning the crowd, hands on her hips. no y/n in sight. “ken, have you seen y/n?”

“mikey shoved her into that room earlier,” draken said, casually pointing toward one of the private lounges.

right on cue, a loud, breathy moan escaped from behind the door.

emma froze.

then slowly, she put her hands together in prayer. “please protect my best friend from the monster that is manjiro sano.”

draken burst out laughing and threw an arm around her, steering her away from the scene.

the party went on—music blaring, lights flashing, laughter echoing.

for mikey, it was the perfect night. his family was whole. his friends were here. and y/n… y/n was under him, soft and breathless, skin pressed against his, lips whispering his name like a secret only he could hear.

best. birthday. ever.

chapter twenty-one point five | chapter twenty-two