skywwwalker

[skywwwalker]

Kiss Me Goodbye ⌖ Leroy Jethro Gibbs

⌖ Maybe it’s your habit of self-sabotage. Maybe it’s his recent withdrawal. Maybe it’s both of you. Maybe you were destined for each other. Maybe in a different life. Oh well.

⌖ I’m bad at summarizing or anything. Read it. No happy ending.

It had been a whirlwind: your relationship with Jethro.

He met you at the bar, seeing your high bun and your tense shoulders and he sidled up next to you. Gibbs didn’t know why but you were an enigma to him. Someone new, mysterious and he had to know you.

And know you he did. Gibbs grew fond of the dimple on your left cheek, read the stretch marks on your thighs like braille, and kissed your scars like his lips and the raised skin were estranged lovers.

But Jethro learned things about you other than the freckles and other physicalities. He learned your coffee order, how you liked your eggs, why you didnt sleep with a pillow, and how you tied your boots the way you did.

Jethro- instead of coming over when he wanted sex- came over whenever he was free. Or invited you to his place (you were a splendid woodworker, he found).

You would sometimes spontaneously see a movie or go out to eat. Jethro would convince you to come stay a weekend at the cabin with him. Maybe he’d help you re-learn how to hunt. Jethro learned how to operate an actual phone with you, often texting your friends back when you were busy.

Then he was sent out on a case.

A week long, absolutely no contact with anyone except his team. And you were completely fine with that. You’d been in the military at a time in your life and you knew how he was: that’s why you got along so well.

It was when Jethro came back did you realize that he would never be able to settle down with you.

Sure he still kissed you after he cleaned you up, but he didn’t stay. Jethro brought you your coffee, but it didn’t have a smiley face or a heart on the side drawn in sharpie anymore.

But the worst part?

It took you two months to realize it.

So now, you’re putting your truck in park in Jethro’s parking lot. Tonight is as good a night as ever, you thought. Despite the anxiety in your gut, you knew you were never going to be able to be with anyone permanently. You wished you weren’t so blind.

But oh how it felt good to see his blue gaze filled with adoration, to feel a nauseating sensation in your gut whenever he reached his hand out for you to hold his hand. Oh. Oh no.

“Hey, you,” Jethro greeted, looking up from his boat- the beautiful thing that you’d helped him with diligently. The damned craft that had you thinking of him whenever someone even mentioned a boat.

You leaned against the railing. “I’m moving.”

The sander in Jethro’s hands actually shook. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing- undoubtedly trying to depict what you were playing at. But you weren’t. You had everything packed up, house nearly sold. Buyers picking the keys up tomorrow. Done deal.

“I, uh… came to say goodbye,” you said.

Disbelief replaced skepticism. “What? What’re ya moving for?” He placed the sander down.

You scratched your head. “You don’t need me. I don’t need you. I need to live my life. Alone. Neither of us are destined for a happy ending,” you say, feeling that embarrassing sting in your eyes. “Things have changed and I’m not good for you. So I need to leave.”

“Wh- What the hell are you talking about?” Jethro asked, throwing his hands up. He shook his head, spluttering. Trying to find things to say. “You’re going to run away from this? What’s changed?”

You shook your head and smiled to hide your welling eyes. “You know what I’m talking about. And it’s not your fault.” You step foward, and take another step, and another until you can stand in front of him in all of your glory. “I’m not going to be another stain on your life, Jethro, but I would be remiss if I didn’t… if I didn’t tell you that a part of me will always be in love with you. But that’s why I have to go.”

Jethro shook his head again, his own eyes glinting. He wet his lips, buying time to keep you in fromt of him before you turn into another ghost to haunt him. “Stop. Don’t say that. Y/n-“

“Kiss me goodbye.”

His lips quivered as he slowly lowered his head to yours and paused: breathing in the scent of you for the last time. Then that damned tear fell, racing down his cheeks and reached his lips just as he closed the gap between the two of you, tasting of salt and sadness and the familiar melancholy grief that had become a permanent resident in Jethro’s heart, soul, and bones.

You broke away first, own tears dripping from your chin to Jethro’s floor. “I love you, Jethro.”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t,” he rasped. He cursed himself. “Y/n, don’t.”

And for a moment you really did consider staying. But then you remembered the hallowness in his actions after returning from that case. You remembered him leaving you at night when it was cold. You remember him more quiet than the man you fell for. And you knew you couldn’t do it all again. Hell, you would ruin it all anyway just like you always do.

“Semper fidelis, marine,” you muttered before tilting your head up- reveries of tears glittering in the light highlighting the sorrow that was mitually shared.

And you turned on your heel and walked out of the basement. Out of the house. Drove out ofthe state. Out and away.

But Jethro let his eyes fall to the floor. To the droplets of tears- your tears. And his, mixed. He stood there all night. Well into the morning. Watching the last of you disappear just like the last two women he had truly truly loved had.

[skywwwalker]

Hi lover! The link to the COD fics isn’t working on your master list, would you mind resharing? 🫶🏽

Hello my angel! Everything except the dating könig hc’s should work! Here is that link for you.

[skywwwalker]

heh i love me a drumma boi 😇

You were perched on Remus’s lap: straddling him, face buried in his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck. The smell of salty sweat and the sound of the band’s songs overtook your senses as you tried to focus on anything but the pulse between your legs. You knew you were probably causing enough disruption to be on Remus, so asking him to make you cum was out of the question.

     But it had been forevvvverrrr and Remus still wasn’t done, yet he was the only one left in the studio. On one hand, you were really hoping Remus would do something to push you over the edge but on the other hand you knew his practice was of importance- seeing as he had a tour lined up for next month.

     Fuck it all to hell, you thought, sucking dark purple hickeys all along Remus’s neck, letting your hips rock more harshly along Remus’s muscular, twitching thigh. Clearly your actions had a positive effect on Remus: you could feel his vocal chords vibrate with a choked groan. But he didn’t stop the swinging of his arms and nor did he halt the slam of his foot against the pedal, instead stepping harder causing his thigh to flex under you deliberately and deliciously.

     Closer and closer to that high you needed, sounds of desperation clawed out of your throat- muffled by your own earplugs (Remus insisted you wore them)- mewls and wordless pleas for more. You arched against Remus’s bare chest after your clit rubbed perfectly up against the cotton of your underwear. Your shirt and bra were soaked with your and Remus’s sweat, sticking tightly to you as your chest heaved.

     Remus jerked up at a particularly close grind near his crotch and that sent you over the edge- sinking your teeth into the flesh on the junction of skin between Remus’s shoulder and neck, feeling and hearing Remus’s stutter. Blood rushed around your head, the drums and cymbals muted by the ‘wshhhh’ sound behind your eyes. When you finally opened your eyes and your hips had long stopped moving, Remus was just finishing abusing his drums to the tune of one of the band’s most recent releases.

     The second the last slam on the drumstick met the drum surface, Remus flung the sticks out of his hands and splayed his abnormally long fingers on your hips. “Fuck.” He muttered, tearing out his earplugs to hear you. “I messed up the last one,” he muttered, dipping his head to meet your gaze. His eyes dropped to your gapped, plush lips and back to your eyes before melting his lips to yours, hot and sweaty and nasty and beautiful. He groaned into your mouth- a sound that you did get to hear after taking your own earplugs out and sliding your fingers up Remus’s neck. “I’m gonna make you cum again, love. One on the way home, and one in the bed.”

     You smiled against his lips. “Mm,” you mused, “if we get that far into the house.” Remus just tilted his head. “It took me two run throughs the setlist to get you to cum in your pants,” he informed you, resting his forhead against yours. “But I think I’ll pull more than two of you.”

     The glint in Remus’s blown eyes made you laugh. “Better get to work, drummer boy.”

     Remus just captured your lips with his and busied himself with undoing your belt. “I better,” he agreed, tongue prodding your mouth.

[skywwwalker]

Nsfw content below. reader begs tyler to fuck her in a headlock. yay!

Tyler’s ‘are you sure?’s quickly turned into quick, quiet moans as his hips snapped into yours. You’d convinced him to fuck you in a different way. Instead of riding him (Tyler couldn’t get enough of that) you pleaded for him to fuck you in a headlock.

“But… are you sure?” Tyler asked skeptically, breaking his lips from yours. “I just don’t want-“

You turned around, grabbing his arm and laying it across your shoulder. “If you make me ask again I’ll go make myself cum,” you murmured, bringing Tyler’s lips back to yours.

“So good, Ty, so so good,” you babbled. Fuck were you in heaven. Your lover’s muscles and skin everywhere on you, breath fanning your neck, and hips pistoning his cock so deep into you.

Tyler squeezed your tit with his hand, tweaking your already-stimulated nipple. You twitched backward and earned a throaty gasp from your fiancé. “Takin’ it so good,” he praised.

Without thinking you sunk your teeth into the meaty flesh of Tyler’s arm; deep and sharp and fast. A loud yelp ripped out of Tyler’s lips, feeling his gut tighten and heard blood rush to his head. Overwhelmed and overstimulated and so turned on, Tyler came.

His own release triggered yours. You felt Tyler’s arms quivering: struggling to keep you just where he needed it. “Ohh,” he rasped, slumping forward and trapping you under him. You didn’t mind though.

“I- I told you,” you muttered from under him. “So good.”

Tyler’s limbs stiffened as he rolled over. He agreed with an adorably lethargic ‘very good, baby.’ Very good, indeed.

[skywwwalker]

I just sent the criminal minds master list link ask and I just saw your note on your pinned post 🤦🏻‍♀️. So sorry about that. I don’t think most of the time

dont worry one bit, my love. Completely understand and i will hopefully get on this as soon as possible.

[skywwwalker]

Stabbed myself today. not sure when I’ll be posting written things.

[skywwwalker]

A Good Day ⌖ Leroy Gibbs

⌖ reader and Gibbs have the day to laze around and be in each other’s presence.

⌖ gibbs deserves so much love. i love him and i love his character and he deserves so much more.

     “Hey, you,” rumbled Jethro from behind you. His arms wrapped securely round your waist- exhaling stress and letting his eyes close. Jethro’s soft greys tickled your neck as he leaned into you.

     Your heart sped up a touch. Moments like these- the domestic peace that Jethro initiated (especially so early in the morning)- were few and far between. Work had been… less than pleasant as of late. So this- just the feeling of him there with you- seem to put everything in place. “Morning, love.”

     You finished cooking the eggs and plated them. Placed the plate and his designated mug at his spot on the table. It was only after you put your own plate on the table did Jethro finally unattach himself from your back to eat his own food. 

     The day was thankfully slow after breakfast. Jethro worked on the boat during the morning, with you making idle conversation. You were reading a book at one point, but you got more than a little distracted watching your husband’s back flex as he sanded wood.

     Lunchtime rolled around. You warm up some leftover chicken from dinner the other night to eat. You opted to serve it with half a glass of whiskey for Jethro, knowing he would be more than thankful for the familiar burn.

     During the afternoon you convinced Jethro to watch a few movies with you. But watching movies quickly turned into folding clothes and tossing folded socks at each other whenever the other wasn’t paying attention. 

     Ziva had called the night before to see if the two of you would have dinner with her. You said yes, naturally, because Ziva had wormed her way into your heart and you knew it wasn’t always easy for her to reach out to people so you jumped at the chance to see her.

     1700 rolled around. You were just laying the necklace against your neck when Jethro came up behind you. Yes, he had a habit of following you closer than your own shadow. Yes, he did it to make sure you were safe. Yes, you found it endearing.

     He said nothing as his scared fingers took the delicate chain with one hand and moved your hair to the side with the other. You watched in the vanity as Jethro’s eyes twitched as he fumbled with his thumbs to get the clasp buckled. When he finally got it, he moved your hair back and his eyes found yours through the mirror. “Beautiful,” he muttered, hands finding their spot at your hips- because, hell, Leroy Jethro Gibbs had a thing for hips.

     When dinner was over and you stepped up into Jethro’s truck, his hand tucked itself between your thighs. The ride home was mainly just you talking about Ziva and how crazy the demeanor change was when she was off company hours. Jethro agreed, saying she was great at compartmentalization. But you knew that. You had to be great at compartmentalizing if you had her father and her job and her life.

     Jethro took your clothes off and all but launched his shirt and boxers at you to wear because he knew you preferred his clothes over yours. You fell asleep listening to the comforting rumble of Jethro’s voice and the light ghosting of his fingertips on your stomach.

     You wished more days were good like this, but you’d take what you could get.

[skywwwalker]

nom-nom

⌖ you bite Four’s bicep

⌖ its back. The rot is back. Ugh. I have so many inappropriate things to say. GN!reader, sexual implications.

“Hey you,” you greeted quietly as you took a seat next to Four on the bed.

He turned to offer you a smile. “Hi.” Four stifles a yawn and slinks his arm around your waist. “Are you tired?”

You shrug and bring his other hand into your lap. Leaning against his shoulder, you turn his hand so that Four’s palm faces the ceiling. Running fingertips up his forearm to stall at his biceps. Delicious. You actually almost growl.

Four’s head rests against yours and he lets his eyes flutter shut to bask in this moment before the chaos. He feels you bring his arm up but he doesn’t open his eyes. Its only when he feels a sudden sharp sensation in his bicep does Tobias open his eyes.

You couldn’t help it. He looks like a meal all the time, and you barely had any time to dig in. Was it really so bad for someone to want to appreciate their boyfriend? And damn was he worthy of appreciation- with his small gasp and the bulge of his veins and the way his hand laced in your automatically, you were practically drooling on your poor boyfriend.

“Y/n…” Four drawls, catching your gaze as he nudges your back to the bed. He knots your hands in his left hand while his right hand rests against your stomach. Your sly smile and dark hooded eyes urge Four to slot his knew between your thighs.

“Don’t make me beg,” you rasp, seeing the amusement blazing in Four’s eyes.

Four tilts his head in a way to suggest he’s comsidering making you beg. “You did assult me…” he says aloud.

Laughter bubbles out of your throat before you can stop it. “I was just appreciative of your… figure.”

The hesitance of your last word makes Four chuckle a little. His eyes squint because his cheeks are just so cute and his smile is just so precious and oh my gosh his Adam’s Apple looks like a delicacy from this angle. Ugh. So perfect.

[skywwwalker]

reblog to talk a little bit about the cat name.

I’ve seen some feedback regarding the name and saying ‘I can’t take this seriously because of George Washington’ and my response is: this was not coincidental.

I chose a humorous name for such a solemn story because this is not just words on a screen. Someone has actually named their cat George Washington or Motor Oil or Robot or something else lightheartedly with their partner. Someone out there has taken their own life and left things unsaid, unfinished, and unhappy,

But the real kicker? The survivors. The ones that look at the cat- named during happier times- and can smile through the seizing pain in their chest because it doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel real that someone who could have such an affinity for weird humor and jokes will never be seen again.

And I did chose this obscure name on purpose. Because this feeling of looking at a thing or a person and remembering the good times with laughter and hugs and warmth and hardly being able to grasp the knowledge that they are dead is a real feeling- a real struggle.

I did this because I know what it’s like to be left behind. I chose that name because i have struggled with accepting that I will need to live with this feeling of incompleteness DESPITE the good memories, the inside jokes, and the untouched items- gifts from them- will always be a self-contradicting experience just by looking at it.

I’m sorry if you don’t understand these crappily written words but I felt this needed to be said. Thank you for reading. Stay alive.

tw: suicide, mourning, skipping meals, heavy topic

The day after you killed yourself, he couldn’t get up from your bed. He had gone to your apartment the moment he heard and fell asleep- wrapped around your scent- sobbing into your pillow. Your cat, George Washington, had curled himself into a ball about into the little indent in your designated untouched sleeping pillow- not purring. He only purred if you were around.

The day after you killed yourself, he didn’t get up from the bed until noon. His limbs were so heavy he didn’t really mind going to sleep and not waking up again. In fact, it was your precious baby (George Washington) that had finally got him up. Meowing and whipping his tail at the crying man’s face had succeeded in bringing him to his feet. And when he got up, he saw the sun shine on all the photographs tucked in the side of your vanity mirror- pictures of you smiling back at him with your dimple showing and your eyes squinting the way they did when you were smiling genuinely.

The day after you killed yourself, he went on a drive with George Washington because he didn’t know what else to do and going through your stuff felt like confirmation that you really… weren’t coming back. And he just wanted to believe.

He wanted to believe that if he closed his eyes long enough, he’d see the shape of you refracted by his cornea. He wanted to believe that if he played the playlist you had carefully curated for date night, he would hear you singing along with the tracks just like you always do did. He wanted to believe that, just for a minute, that he was your husband (not just your boyfriend) and he was coming home to you.

When he finally parked in the lot near your apartment, George Washington climbed into his lap. Your songs were still playing on the radio but he couldn’t turn them off.

That night he didn’t eat. Instead he got George’s food and water bowl fixed up before melting onto the couch in front of your TV. He didn’t feel hunger, no, despite the fact he hadn’t eaten anything since the day you…

It was another hour before he brought himself to look at his phone: the incessant, unending buzzing of his phone had finally cut through the murky emotion of grief and numbness and pain and anger. When he scrolled through the notifications, he could only work his thumbs to type out ‘Will call you tomorrow. I love you all.’ to your family groupchat before his vision blurred and he let his eyes close so he could dream of a future he would never have with you.

[skywwwalker]

Look After You (Part Three)- In the Air Tonight

It was day two of our trip to Carinholm, Wales. We were almost there, that much was plainly obvious. A boat ride was all that was left until we arrived at our destination. 

Tommy was excited for the boat ride. As I purchased the tickets for each of us, Quinten went with Tommy to the shore. 

"When will the boat be here, sir?" I asked.

The man checked his watch. "Fifteen more minutes."

I nodded. "Thank you." 

He tipped his hat. I was thankful he wasn't as weird as the cashier at the gas station two days ago.

"What're you doin', Lola-Rae? Wheres El?" I asked, walking over to where Lola skipped rocks on the water. 

She pointed over to where Ella scouted for rocks a couple feet away. 

I took a quick glance back at Tommy and Quin before going over to Ella. "Hi Jelly Bean."

The seven year old beamed up at me, melting my heart a little bit. "Hi 'Lan!" 

"Get ready to go, kiddo. I think I see the boat."

She jumped up, and looked for the boat. When her eyes locked on it, her eyes shone. "I'll go get Lola." With that, the girl darted off to get Lola, who was now watching the sun sank slowly on the water.

I walked over to the two boys, watching Tommy boredly lift some rocks up and splash them into the water with his Peculiarity, making Quinten burst out in bouts of laughter every time his little face got splashed. "Let's go, boys," I said.

Tommy looked over to where I pointed, already getting to his feet. "It's the boat!" He said excitedly. "That's so cool."

"It is. Let's go." Lola and Ella took each of my hands, Tommy walking in front of me. 

We sat down, Ella sitting on my lap with Quinten sitting on hers. Lola leaned against me, snuggling into my side. Tommy watched on the other side. 

He shook with excitement as he watched Cairnholm get closer. I smiled at his excitement- he hadn't really smiled too much since the fire. None of us had. Except Quin.

"'M tired," Lola whispered.

I pressed her closer to me, hoping she wasn't too cold. "We'll be there soon."

"Will you braid my hair when we get there?" Ella asked, eyeing Quinten's jet black hair.

"Of course," I replied. 

"Mine too?" Lola piped up.

I smiled. "Yours too, Lola-Rae."

— 🪼

Miss Peregrine felt a shift in the air. The children gathered noisily in the dining room, getting rambunctious. 

As dinner was being served, the bird yet again felt as if something was going to happen. She tried to listen to the numerous conversations around her, but she felt a spark in the air. 

Something was coming and even the kids could feel it.

🏷️: @lost-in-constellations-xx @n14mh-star

[skywwwalker]

Revival ⌖ Fred Weasley

⌖ George says something that reminds you of something you spent years forgetting. You tell Freddie so your memory-stifling habits don’t keep happening.

⌖ sat down, wrote this, didn’t edit it, called it good, posted it. i myself have a habit of forgetting things and to be honest, it’s getting kinda bad, but I can’t talk to anyone to save my life. 2k words, description of death, blood, murder, abuse, and memory loss. Heh! Have fun!

Light shone through the open windows: giving one of your cats- Motor Oil (Mo for short) a perfect location to sunbathe. The other cat was purring happily in your lap as you watched Fred bustle around the small flat.

After the war, living was hard. It seemed that every person you buried you were sealing another part of your soul into the grave with them. It wasn’t easy by any means but the dynamic trio pulled through together, finding the smallest joys to bring back the energy that’d been stripped.

It took more for you than most people though. No, your parents weren’t beckoning you to their side beside. No, you weren’t one of the mutilated and abused corpses. But your trauma ran deeper than that year. And the worst part? Freddie and George were away at work; meaning you barely got to see them for months.

Reviving the light that died the minute the safety offered by Dumbledore was… hell. You were a Slytherin- a likely partner to one of the Weasley peanksters- and your ancestors had definitely taken pride in their usage of the Dark Arts. When you weren’t being tortured, you were torturing someone else or listening to your mum spit vile curses on muggles. Your punishments when you refused to hold up your papa’s wand and utter those two terrible, life-stealing words? Sitting in the basement with the freshest bodies.

Pairs of pearly eyes open, watching nothing,  had been ingrained into your brain. The smell of the corpses had been 7-year-old-y/n’s perfume after a particularly long punishment. If your mother had been angry enough to draw blood before making the kill then you huddled into yourself to avoid the piles of oozing crimson liquid- tendrils of the iron liquid filling tour throat and lungs.

When you were enrolled, you learned. Quiet and sharp, you observed everything happening around you. You gained enough conciousness to realize that you would not become your parent’s weapon.

So you turned yourself into your own weapon: knowing you would end up with scars and thorns regardless of if you let yourself idolize Voldemort like your parents did or if you worked hard for yourself an played dumb until you could leave.

Third year. You loved school. Well, not school itself but the solace it offered. Snape had recognized your talent in writing and potionmaking. You knew Snape (because… it’s a long story) and when he offered you the benefits of a prefect for tutoring those doing less than outstanding in Potions, you accepted.

“So why are you crushing it if the book says to slice it?” Fred Weasley, third year, asks over your shoulder.

Blinking, you considered the best approach to explain. You wanted to give him an answer that he wouldn’t use to contradict your instructions in the future. “When you’re… pranking someone,” you start slowly. Bingo. You have his attention.

Fred nodded eagerly. “Yes? Pranks? Go on.”

Left eye twiches as you procede. “Say something happens- you think of something you could do better even though your precious item is already complete. You remember what you can change. You try and you fail and you get better. Naturally, you’d learn what ingredients are utilized best with their reactants,” you explain hastily. “This potion right here is… a prototype for the potion you’re going to make for a grade. And just to let you know, take my advice when I tell you something. Maybe you’ll keep your eyebrows.”

Fred blinked owlishly at you, nodding slowly. “So some things work better with other things? Is that what you mean?”

Fred laughed giddily as you threw your arms up and sighed. “You’re nicer than you look,” Fred says when he settles.

“Stop that,” you say sharply. “Now what do I do? Chop or-“

“Chop.”

You give an affirmative nod and Fred’s chest swells with pride. He may be teasing you to get a reaction but now he feels compelled to impress you more.

You smile as Fred gently tilts your chin up with his fingers and kisses you softly on the lips. He pulls away and gives you three more light and quick kisses: his own silent ‘I. Love. You.’ “Goin’ off to get your ice cream, love,” he says as a farewell, only taking his eyes from you to give his brother a good natured slap on the shoulder.

“Bye Freddie!” You sing as he traipses out the door. George mimics you accurately and sits down on the couch to tie his shoes for his own errands.

“Got Mr. Loverman doin’ your bidding, eh? How very Slytherin of you,” George teases in his familiar tone.

You chuckle and nod. “He likes it,” you murmure fondly, scratching softly under the ears of the cat in your lap. 

George chuckles in agreement. “Yeah. Have you heard about those attacks lately? On the wizards? Prophet thinks they’re striking randomly. Who knows,” he babbles, bending over to tie his other laces into a tight bow- the one that Percy taught both the twins to do. “Hopefully he isn’t struck dead on the sidewalk!”

You furrow your eyebrows. A familiar pull at the back of your mind begging to be recalled. “What did you say?”

“I just mean it’d be a shame if he was kidnapped and tortured and killed,” George says, adjusting his watch.

Minks the inky black cat in your lap has stopped purring. Your hand is now in your lap and it stays still. “Don’t say that.”

Your voice must have reverted back to that dark, raspy tone you had when protecting other little Slytherins from being bullied by the Gryffindor seventh years because George immediately looked up. Your gaze was sharp and your eyes were narrowed like a serpant. What did he sound like? You’ve heard that- that phrase… but who else has said it?

“Okay,” George nods. “I’m only joking y/n.”

Your chest exhales a shudder. “Don’t joke about that. Not him, Georgie.” You knew he wouldn’t be too upset at your bristling gaze but you hoped calling him his nickname would ease his rigid form a little more. Now you felt bad: he was looking at you like you were a boa constrictor about to decimate it’s prey.

But George nods. “I won’t, honarary Weasley. I’m off. Have a good day,” he bids, bowing deeply and earning an uneasy chuckle from you, “and stay mischievous!”

You stare at the spot in the room where some little specs of dust are floating- illumates by the sunbeam. ‘It’d be a shame if he was kidnapped and tortured and killed.’ You turned the words around in your conscience: hoping to draw that memory out like a moth to a flame.

Dark rooms, blackout curtains… the stench of death. Your breathing shallowed but your heart bounded as your mind went back in time. ‘It’d be a shame if he was tortured and killed.’

Lines. Lines of guant jawlines and sunken eyes, lines of wood under the young fingers underneath, lines of blood oozing from small cuts and snaking closer to a shaking form. ‘Shame… tortured and killed…’

There. In the absence of light, you found yourself caught in the eyes of a reptilian looking man no hair- eyes greedily surveyinf the people around the table.

Mum and papa weren’t with you this time, you remember. You were instead sitting by Sev, no one occupying the other seat. Bella had been pulling little pranks on you long enough to know it was her that was enchanting that frog leaping around the table. Years of attendance had forged ugly rotting bonds between horrible people with even worse plans. But if Bella liked you… you were practically untouchable by anyone else.

That day, you now remember, was something you had smothered for years. But choosing to forget the details didn’t erase the corpse eyes you saw when you were asleep and vulnerable. That day, Sev had scooted your towering chair closer to him. That day, Bella had enchanted a frog on the table ‘dancing’ with a snake. One singular firefly flickered over them, bright and new and different: complete opposite of these depressing meetings.

“It would be… an unimaginable shame,” a booming voice said slowly. “If they were killed. Right here. Now.”

You only saw them levitating because you were watching the firefly. And the little bug swirled and looped around the air, disappearing and reappearing behind people’s chair until it finally stopped… and flickered out. When you looked down, you saw stringy hair and familiar dark robes. 

“M-Mama?” You whispered, watching the bodies start to float to the center of the table, past you.

Paralyzed. You, your mom, and your dad were all paralyzed. Except they were under a spell and you were frozen in fear. “Papa? What happened?”

Your tiny child voice brought the attention of him. Voldemort. “Oh, dear child,” he seemed to hiss. “They’ve stolen some very valuable things, you see. It’s only fit that they… pay for what they have taken…”

His face twisted into a smile as your lip wobbled. “Do not fear, little one. You’re twelve now. Old enough to live with your… Sev. He shall keep you safe.”

You didn’t cry.

Crying over that was a task that twelve, thirteen, and fourteen-year-old y/n had done well at. Fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen-year-old y/n had done an outstanding job of repressing the memory. And it worked. Until today.

It was that moment- looking down at your shaking hands- that you realized you’ve never explained in detail things that happened when you were young. You wondered how much self-inflicted memory loss you had. Because you lnew you had it, it was just to the extent of the memory-loss that was unknown.

When Fred walked in the door fifteen minutes, you launched yourself into his arms faster than he could apparate. The bag of goods in his hand thunked gently against you as Fred wrapped his arms around your waist. “Are you okay?”

You breathed in deeply, eyes fluttering shut as the comforting smell of him filled your lungs and washed away the memory of the rotting flesh. “I want to talk about something.”

Freddie nodded, still rubbing your back. His eyebrows were furrowed with concern. “Lead the way, love,” he urged, handing you the sweets you wanted. 

While you talked, Fred reached out to play with your fingers. Stories of events Fred (literally) cried over made you pause to take his face in your hands to brush the tears away with your thumbs. The cats nuzzled you at random times, offering something lighthearted to the atmosphere. And when you were done, Fred pulled you into his arms and squeezed.

You weren’t crying, but tears silently slid down your cheeks and onto the soft material of Fred’s shirt. You could feel his chest shake with barely withheld sobs, his hands carding through your hair.

This… was the first time you had told Fred about just how horrible your childhood memories were. Naturally, they good better after you were taken in by Snape, but it caused Fred unimaginable grief to know that his baby girl, the woman he had bled for and would happily die for had still so much love in her body and soul. “My girl,” he whispered, resting his hand on your neck. “I don’t have… a-a joke or anything Fred-like to say.”

“I know, my love,” you replied.

“But,” Fred went on with a sniffle. “Whatever happens next- whatever you don’t know or can’t remember, I will always be here for. I can talk to George if you want. But I- y/n I love you so much, yeah?”

“Freddie Freddie Freddie,” you hum. “I know. And I love you more. There’s no need to talk to Georgie.”

Fred let an impressively long sigh out. “Don’t start this with me, darling, you know I’ll always love you the most.”

You probably would have got up and shoved a pillow in his face before running away, but his arms were devastatingly comfortable and you were so tired and he was warm so you just closed your eyes. “I love you more than the most,” you sleepily stated, nuzzling your nose further into Fred’s sweater.

[skywwwalker]

𐔌 . 𝑫𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒃𝒚 .ᐟ ✧ 𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒓 : 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆 ₊ ꒱

໒꒱ ‧₊˚ cutesy ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ . . .

[skywwwalker]

tell me you see the fucking vision, this is joel miller. I'm gonna bite a bullet

[skywwwalker]

Boyfriend!Peter Summer Headcanons

⌖ some cute headcanons i randomly generated in my braincicles.

⌖ since i’m hot and miserable, i need to occupy my mind with other things than of my misery. i just love him and i think andy peter will always be my precious boy so there!

peter LOVES the heat. Before he was bitten, he 100% preferred spring, but didn’t much care for summer

i read that some spiders thrive during the heat: good weather to help them grow, hunt, and reproduce. Wink wink.

if you aren’t a hot weather person, peter will accommodate to your request even if you dont ask

LOVES going to the pool with you!!! Heh yes he likes going so he can see you in a swimsuit (because he loves whenever you change it up) but he also likes swimming so he can impress you with his muscles and play games with you and your friends

like one time you were playing chicken with him as your partner. (If you dont know what chicken is, you have to have at least 4 people. One person gets on their partners shoulders and they try to push each other into the water/make them fall. Peak childhood game.) He literally didn’t even stress as he picked you up. I mean, yeah, he’s Spider-Man and has all this strength but geez does he need to be so showy about it smh 🙄🫣

another reason he likes the pool is because he likes seeing you fresh out the shower. Skin glowing, smelling like coconuts, hair wet… Peter really does think that you’re are picturesque while you have your back toward him as you brush out your hair. Ugh. Ur just so perf to him.

You have Peter take you to the park at dusk to run around and chase fireflies!! He somehow has like three in his hair before you can even catch one

there’s a little spot between two buildings Peter found after a particularly rough mission that had a nice opening to watch the stars. Peter takes you for a date there as much as he can because you’ll both pack up a little basket and he’ll swing you there. You’ll open up the basket and get the food ready while Peter whips up a little hammock out of his spiderwebs. You always end up falling asleep because the fresh air just knocks you out like a little baby. Peter loves nights like those 🥹

the fourth of July is good for everyone. May cooks some good food, you come over, everyone’s happy. May will insist on driving out to see the fireworks and fuss over the both of you: “are you kids having fun?” “did you eat enought, sweetheart?” “oh, do you both wants some of the good ice cream on the way home?”

Peter loves that you love May, and May loves that Peter loves you. And making her happy had become a major priority for you (and Peter) so you liked taking her to things

late night drives stress peter out due to the amount of car crashes he’d assisted before. So instead, he insists on swinging you everywhere!!

The first couple times? Less than ideal. You wrapped your arms and legs around his front, comforted ONLY by the hand he wrapped around your back as he swung with the other. But you didn’t scream. (Peter noticed that: at waterparks and rollercoasters you never screamed. He asked you about it and you shrugged it off. ‘Too breathless to scream,’ you replied casually, ‘I don’t really know, honestly.’)

After the seventh time swinging, Peter noticed your heartbeat staying relatively steady during the trip and he was just super happy that you trusted him with your life in his hands so literally. Hes just. So perfect. 😓

You convince Peter to get matching shoes with you! They’re nothing flashy- just some reliable blue converse- but hey: they’re yours. Something solid and real, a symbol of the love thats taken the two of you so far. Peter wrote a little note saying ‘Be safe! I love you! - Spider Boy’ in both of your shoes. You wrote ‘Keep kicking butt, Spidey! I’ll always be here to heal ur butt when u need it :)’ You giggled despicably as you wrote it. Your smiley face was a little (read: LOT) crooked because you ran out of room but Peter treasured it like it was a gift from the Queen herself bc thats just the guys he is

takes you to get ice cream. All. The. Time.

Learns how to braid (if your braid your hair) so it takes you less time to get ready for things and because he knows you hate your hair in your face

when he takes you back home, he always gives you a kiss. Either on the lips, temple, cheek, hand, head- you never know. It makes Peter feel like hes in a movie

saving people takes up a lot of time. So he sometimes just comes over to nap or even parallel play in your presence because knowing you are safe is why he does what he does. 🙃

[skywwwalker]

Hey! Would you be interested in writing more about twenty one pilots and band member reader?

yes yes yes!!

[skywwwalker]

waitttt i think this gave me a lil idea… 😋🙌

Firefighter!Simon who meets you when your apartment goes up in flames, breaking down the crumbling excuse of a door to make sure that everyone had been evacuated from the building. Gaz was having a laugh about how someone ‘could sleep through that shit’ as Simon had to wake up this poor girl who just wanted to sleep after her stressful day. Firefighter!Simon who answers all your questions with a gruff tone, navigating through the burning building. On one hand, he’s glad you aren’t screaming and crying about the building but on the other hand he wasn’t used to people asking him questions. You ask him things like his favorite color, his favorite food, how many times he had punched people in the face, and about his opinion on everything under the sun. He was on his seventh ‘you need to stop talkin’, ma’am, yer wastin’ air’ when you started coughing.

When you got to the ambulance, Firefighter!Simon didn’t say no when you asked him to go with you to the hospital. Johnny raised an eyebrow at Simon as he maneauvered his hulking body onto the seat next to you. For some unknown reason, Firefighter!Simon didn’t want you- nosy and kind and pretty you- to be hacking up a lung by yourself in the presence of someone like Johnny. And when your breathing started slowing and you weren’t looking around with bright eyes, Simon let you slide your hand into his gloved one.

Firefighter!Simon who, miraculously, has the night off. He decides to stay in the hospital until you wake: thinking it would be the gentlemanly thing to do to make sure your friends or family were made aware of the devastating fire. But when you finally blink awake and Simon asks all his questions, he’s stumped when you hit him with a ‘I don’t have any family’. Simon can’t stop himself from blurting out ‘You c’n stay with me. If you want.’

It takes a full day for you to be cleared before Firefighter!Simon picks you up from the hospital to take you to his (more than) humble abode. He finds that you quickly find happiness in the kitchen, but are more than disappointed to see he has barely anything to cook or bake with. “A damn shame” you say. With the remaining daylight hours, Simon finds himself driving you to a little supermarket in the corner of the city he hadn’t had the time to be explore. You insist on buying everything, telling Simon (a man who you really knew nothing about) it was the least you could do since he saved you from homelessness. And dying.

The rest of your first day in your temporary home with Firefighter!Simon is spent cooking. You whip up a marvelous pasta dish with hearty meatballs that almost make drool seep from Simon’s lips. He sits at the island watching you move around his space like you’d been there millions of times, an unfamiliar feeling blooming in his gut similar to fondness. Since picking you up some new clothes, Simon had learned a little bit more about you than Simon thought healthy. It was unfortunate enough for him to have been unable to get laid in over three months, but it was even more unfortunate that he had such a pretty bird in his apartment making him food and insisting on being near him when he sure as hell couldn’t make a move on her.

Firefighter!Simon who gets comfortable in his routine with you. On the days he’s not at work at assfuck 0200, he’s up making a simple breakfast for you and him before rhe day starts. You’ll eat and concerse a little awkwardly but that wont stop you from asking all about how he slept and if his buddies wanted more of those monster cookies you’d made to thank them for saving you and your fellow tenants. Simon had to relay many praises of your work in the kitchen, only ommiting the details and sly jokes about how ‘Simon’s girl’ was already taking care of the family. You’d go to work by bus or train- depending on how you felt- and then come home and make dinner or reheat leftovers. If Simon was at work, you’d laze on the couch in the main room and watch television and read. If Simon wasn’t at work, you’d bring the softest blanket from the room Simon had placed you in and watch a movie. More often than not, you would scoot closer and closer to Simon before falling asleep against him. When you woke up, you were in your bed- undoubtedly carried by Simon. Oh well. Its what friends do.

Firefighter!Simon who sees you as a friend. It’s basing your third week in his home and he feel comfortable around you. You’re good at reading his silence- the set of his shoulders and the future of his brow say enough- and he can’t be more thankful of that. For someone so new to his life, you seem to know exactly when to let a comfortable silence fall between you and when to start chattering about them things that come to your mind. But when you are the silent, short-tempered, and fatigued one, Simon is more than scared to get in your way. “Needa talk?” He offers, sliding you a cup of steaming coffee when you level a glare at the mug that had irritated you at such an inconveniently early hour. You heave a sigh and your head crumbles down into your arms. “I’m a mess, Si,” you tell him. Though your voice is muffled, Simon hears the shakiness in your throat trying to escape. He rounds the corner of island and places a large palm on your back in his attempt to comfort you. You are wrapping your arms around his neck and buring your face into the frail fabric of Simon’s shirt before he even knows what’s happening. And- as avoidant as Simon is to physical touch that doesn’t occur during work hours or when you fall asleep on him or when you slid your hand in his gloved hand during The Ambulance Ride- Simon didn’t mind your arms and warmth around him. When you started shaking in his arms was when Simon had to clench his jaw. It pained him that it pained you- and he didn’t even know what was ailing you! Simon tried to soothe himself with the knowledge that he was giving you the best comfort he could offer.

A day later you wake up to a crime scene in your underwear in the middle of the night so you decide to take a midnight trip to the convenience store a literal block away without letting Firefighter!Simon know. I mean, hey, he needs sleep and you were not going to wake him up to let him know you would be gone for a total of five minutes! But when you were on your way back to his house, you noticed someone following you. As you turned right for the third consecutive block, you finally fumbled for your phone.

Hearing you say ‘hey baby’ at 0146 had Firefighter!Simon’s head spinning. He was a little dazed because of the abrupt awakening but your casual greeting was wnough to jolt him awake. “Y/n? Whadda ya- what-?” He couldn’t finish his question before you interrupt him. “Hey do you think you could pick me up? I think I got a little lost.” Simon shoots out of bed, hitting the speaker button as he goes to slip a shirt on. “Where are you? Do I need a knife? Are you okay, dove?” He slips his shoes on and is out of the door faster than he is when he gets a work call. “Yeah, I’d bring the knife, babe,” you answer on the other line, more than loud enough for the man who is following you to hear. “I’m about four blocks away, by the Casey’s. You have my location.” Simon peels out of his driveway and immediately clicks on your profile to find the map with your smiling face. “Talk to me, y/n. I’m almost there.” Your breath is shaking on the other end and Simon doesn’t want you to be scared. “I think I could go for some Italian, Simon,” you say truthfully. “A minute away” Simon tells you, tires squealing as he turns down the streets you were hightailing down. Simon steps out of the truck after shifting it to park and the guy scatters. You’re running into Simon’s open arms before he could take a third step toward you. “I’m sorry,” you murmur “I kinda… started my period and didn’t want to wake you but then-“ Simon just shushes you, running a large hand down your back. “Let’s go home, love.” Simon scooped you up easily, tucking the obnoxiously loud crinkling plastic bag into your lap as he easily carried you to the passenger seat. Home. Yeah, Simon and his place had become your home.

[skywwwalker]

breakfast