#and eats out more often than not because he’s lonely/his empty home makes hard to enjoy food

[amostnobleyandere]

Yandere! Nanami Kento x GN! Reader

CWs: Kidnapping, implied stalking, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, domestic fantasies i.e Nanami wants reader as a domestic partner (“house spouse”), slight mention of death

thinking about yandere! nanami kento who is so incredibly lonely.

nanami, who is used to the solitude, never having made an effort to get close to any one after the death of his best friend. nanami, who was stuck in an endless cycle of work, sleep, eat, and repeat. even after he had quit his corporate job and dedicated his time to hunting down curses and exorcising evil, there always seemed to be a perpetually empty place by his side. he was bereft of companionship, and the place inside him that longed for it had grown numb after years of being repressed.

but then suddenly you’re there. in that empty spot, filing it up like it had always belonged to you. his neighbor, who he had met by chance not long after you moved in. well, technically not his neighbor, as you were renting the place out for only a year. he had met you when one of your packages ended up on his doorstep, which gave him an excuse to introduce himself. he would often catch you going in and out of your apartment, and you always greeted each other, making polite conversation before going your separate ways.

you had spontaneously invited him over at a time when nanami had struggled through a particularly bad day and looked as if he had been through hell. with him sitting in your living room and drinking the tea you had prepared, you sheepishly admitted that you didn’t know many people around this area. it was a bit lonely, you explained, not having anyone to spend time with after work, as you could only contact your friends through your phone for the time being. you smiled at him as you asked if he would like to be your friend and get to know each other better.

to say that nanami wasn’t somewhat shocked would be an understatement—he had never had one of his neighbors reach out to him before. hell, even his coworkers had always steered clear of him, as he knew that his reserved nature came off as unapproachable. but you were different. you seemed sweet, and your offer was genuine. and it would be nice to get out of the house more, he thought—

at his considering silence, you hastily backtracked and explained that you understand if he felt uncomfortable with your proposition. he shook his head, assuring you that he would be delighted to spend time with you, knowing that he would benefit from getting out of the house more himself.

and being lonely? he could sympathize with that.

he begins to feel attracted to you as he spends more and more time with you, bringing along many new feelings with it. a sense of protectiveness, a craving for intimacy, and the novel urge to get home quickly and safely for reasons over than avoiding overtime—or worse case scenario, surviving till the end of the day. he keeps your apartment floor—at this point it was probably the entire building—void of curses, destroying flyheads the minute he sees them.

from then on he observes you relentlessly, even outside your frequent chats and hang outs. he ends up falling for you hard. this is the first time he’s ever been in love, and the warm feeling that fills up his chest every time he sees you is getting addictive.

he finds himself getting antsy whenever you work late or cancel on him suddenly because you can’t avoid overtime from your boss. he’s never minded you working before, as much as he loathes it himself, but he hates to see you stuck in a similar position that he was in the past.

fuck—he wants a house spouse, he realizes. that’s what he wants you to be. not only would it keep you safe, tucked away in his spacious apartment, but it would also fulfill his new desire of wanting to have someone waiting for him when he got home. nanami had never thought about marriage before—his job was too dangerous and he wasn’t selfish enough to expose someone to the pain and suffering that would come with him dying from a curse.

but here he is, acting completely out of character, blushing while thinking about what it would be like for you to send him off with a kiss each morning and greet him with a kiss as he walks through the door every night. it’s borderline insane, but the idea becomes more and more appealing the more he thinks about it.

and, well. all of that working wasn’t for nothing now. he had plenty of money, all that he had managed to hoard over years of soul-sucking labor that made him trade a generous paycheck for peace of mind. he thinks now about how he coveted it so much, and yet there was no one to share it with, no greater point but to collect it and maintain the facade of stability it granted him.

clearly, he was lacking goals. he sees that now, when he realizes that what better way to spend it than on the person most precious to him? it would be best used to spoil you, to keep you safe, and there was so much that he could give. so much that he could use to keep you healthy, safe, and happy

that’s why, the next time you come over to his place, you don’t end up leaving.

—————————

A/N: my toxic trait is forcing my readers to make and drink tea even though I hate tea 😊✌️

[sheepiemc]

Seven Stupid Reasons to Summon a Demon

Reason #1: lonely

It was a day that started like any other. 

Your alarm went off (like always). 

You got ready for work (like always). 

You commuted (like always). 

You did your job for four hours (like always). 

Then, it was time for lunch. 

Normally, you opt to stay inside “the office” (or wherever it is that you work) and bring something from home to save money. But looking at your lunch — the same thing you eat almost every day — makes you sigh. 

You look out the window to the city down below. It was a gloomy morning, but now that it is midday, the sun is starting to shine through the clouds. A beam of sunlight lands on your skin and you enjoy the warmth. The ring on your finger catches the light and you look down at it. 

How ridiculous would it be to summon a demon to have lunch with you because you don’t want to eat alone? You banish the thought from your mind. You don’t want to disturb the demon you were thinking of; you are certain he has a lot on his plate (like always) and he wouldn’t appreciate being  bothered with something so trivial (like always). 

You sigh and look outside again. Maybe the fresh air will do you some good. You decide to spend your lunch break walking around downtown just because you can. Honestly, you don’t know why you don’t do this more often. You can find a lot of hidden gems this way. 

You wander around aimlessly before you happen upon a record store. It's just a little hole-in-the-wall place, mostly unassuming. When you step in, however, you're greeted by a music-lover's paradise. Multi-colored vinyl records, signed band posters, and album covers decorate the walls. The atmosphere is groovy and retro, speaking to a bygone era of funk and flower power. There’s even a disco ball hanging from the ceiling! You take in the scenery for a moment as you stand in the doorway. 

“‘Sup.” The guy behind the counter greets you without looking up. “If there’s anything you need help with or want to listen to let me know.” You nod, even though he isn’t looking at you, and go to explore the stacks. 

Your fingertips brush past rows and rows of records. You search all your favorite genres, looking out for your favorite bands, and find some gems. You don’t have a lot of money right now, so you can’t go crazy. You twist the ring on your finger as you contemplate what to get.

Actually, now that you think about it…

Maybe you can find something to add to your “special collection”. 

See, you were inspired by a certain demon to develop a “cursed” record collection of your own. Since cursed magical items are hard to come by on earth, whenever you find yourself in a place that sells records, you like to check out the classical music section for albums that feature, or are inspired by the devil. It's something you like to share with him and only him. After shuffling through the stacks, you find something you think will work. You smile impishly to yourself, proud of your new purchase.  

You make it through the rest of the workday thinking about the record. You aren't going to listen to it just yet; you like to share the experience with the devil himself. It's a good excuse to summon him from the Devildom — well, good enough for you anyway. You like to have a few more albums to listen to before you call him, so you don't feel as guilty for asking him to stay a bit longer. 

You take a deep breath when you finally arrive in your quiet room, in your now-still apartment. You place the record on top of the others and take a look around — empty, except for your cat, sleeping peacefully on your bed. You could invite friends over to fill the silence, but your friends are notoriously terrible at last-minute plans. You absentmindedly twist the ring on your finger. 

You need something to fill this oppressive quiet, your fingers itch and ache, you have to DO something. 

You have to play the piano. 

You go out to your living room, where you keep a digital piano. It’s a little fancier than a regular old keyboard but you live in a small apartment and you're not exactly rolling in it so it's the best you can do. 

The room is dark. 

You hate the silence. 

You sit at the bench and flex your fingers, hovering above the black and white keys. No sheet music, right now you just need to play your emotions. You play a low note and listen to it reverberate. 

Then a chord. 

Then another. 

You close your eyes and start improvising a melancholic melody over a haunting chord progression. You are so lost in what you’re creating you don't notice the blue light flooding the dark room. It’s gone almost as soon as it arrived and it brings with it a figure covered in shadow, a figure you also don’t notice. He stands tall in the center of your room, tilting his head to the side as he listens. Once he gathers what happened intuitively, he stands over you, proudly watching you pour your potent emotions into your playing. 

You strike a final chord and exhale loudly, ruminating on the final note. You gasp lightly when a teardrop you didn't notice falls from your face onto the keys. 

You nearly jump out of your skin when another chord is struck up the piano. The shadow figure reveals himself to be the very demon you were thinking about while playing. Lucifer doesn't look at you as he continues to play a lighter melody. Your hands jump away from the keys and press against the rapidly beating heart in your chest.

He continues to play, not yet sitting. His sketch sounds hopeful, almost as if to say, "I'm glad to have you with me again." He sneaks a glance at you and smirks, finally taking a seat on the bench next to you. You just watch him, absolutely mesmerized, still in shock that he's really in front of you. 

He stops playing and looks at the keys closest to you, a signal — it's your turn again. Your melody is more playful than moody this time, there's a lightness now that wasn’t there before. Lucifer responds with something firm and grounded. When it's your turn, you tickle your way closer to his side. He gets lower, too. You scoot closer. From the corner of your eye, you see him smile a little bit wider. In the middle of his turn, you start playing again and together you improvise a beautiful, colorful piece of music together, full of happiness and longing, celebrating each other. 

When you can’t contain your excitement any longer, you interrupt the song and throw your arms around him. The force of you throwing your entire body weight at him only pushes him over slightly — he’s quick to catch you in his arms, twisting his torso to face you. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you say into his neck. It comes out as barely a whisper. 

You feel more than hear the chuckle rumble in his chest. “You’re the one who summoned me here.” 

You pull back just enough to look at him. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t do it on purpose?” 

He looks at the keys on the digital piano. “Something was calling out to me.” 

“I guess I’ve been kinda lonely today… And I was thinking about you… A lot…” 

Lucifer hums contentedly, stern lines on his face smoothing out. Obviously, he likes it when you stroke his ego. 

You roll your eyes playfully and bury your face in his neck again. “I’m sorry for summoning you by accident, I know you're very busy but…” You play with his tie. “Can you stay here a bit, with me?” 

Lucifer sighs softly. You steel yourself for the words you're sure will come out of his mouth, “I can’t” or “Not right now”. 

“MC, I don’t think you realize that I want to see you just as much as, if not more so than, you want to see me.” He traces his finger along your jaw and lifts your chin so that you're looking at him. “If I’ve made you think I feel otherwise, that is my fault and I must apologize.” 

You feel your heart skip a beat when the Avatar of Pride apologizes to you, a lowly human. You’re in such a state of shock, you don’t know what to say so Lucifer continues to fill the silence. “If I had the ability to summon you to my side whenever I wanted, I can’t say I wouldn’t abuse that power greatly.” 

His hand rests at the side of your face, thumb wiping another tear you didn’t even know fell. You got so used to that rowdy house in the Devildom, so full of people and chaos, that coming home to your quiet, little one-bedroom apartment in the human world every day has been wearing you down. More tears start to flow as the weight of your loneliness comes crashing down on you.

You hold him tighter and press your face into his shoulder, hiding in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess,” you say, laughing.  

He chuckles. “Don’t apologize. I appreciate all aspects of you. Even when you are a mess.” 

You sit on the piano bench for what you wish was all eternity but is likely only about 10 minutes before you reluctantly untangle yourself from the demon you unwittingly called to this realm. 

“Well, since you're here…” You stand, pull him from the bench, and lead him to your bedroom… where you keep your records! You present him with the newest addition to your collection with a wide smile. 

He takes it from your hands and looks at the cover thoughtfully. He reads the title out loud, “The Mephisto Waltz & Other 'Satanic' Piano Music Of Franz Liszt - John Ogdon”. 

He looks back at you. “Interesting,” he says in the most uninterested tone. You laugh out loud, you thought he might like that. 

“Well, if you don’t want to listen to it, I can just-” You reach for the record but he pulls it out of your reach. 

“I never said that.” 

He walks over to your record player and carefully sets it up while you sit on the edge of your bed. When the music starts up, you're surprised by how fast-paced it is but you're still into it. Luci looks at your desk chair meaningfully then back at you. You scowl and shake your head slightly, tapping the edge of the bed next to you. He smiles and sits down beside you.

You lean against him, sneakily snaking your arms around his middle, and play with one of his hands. 

You feel him relax, almost imperceptibly, leaning into your touch. He chuckles, and softly says under his breath, “This brings back memories.” 

He closes his eyes and you lift your head to stare at him, left wondering whatever the hell he meant by that. You would ask, but he loves to be intentionally vague whenever you bring up his involvement in the lives of humans from the past. 

"This isn't what I thought this song would be," you quietly admit as you play with his gloved fingers. 

"Oh?" 

"It's called a waltz, so I thought, you know, we would be able to dance to it…"

"You wish to dance with me?" He says in a teasing tone, one that makes your face feel hot. 

"WELL, I JUST THOUGHT-"

"That would be fairly amusing…" He says, almost more to himself than to you.

He uses his free hand to lift your chin up so that you're looking at him. If your face wasn't red before, it definitely is now. 

"It was a silly idea, we don't-" 

"No, no. I believe I would like to dance with you as well." 

His smile is rather wolfish as he stands from your bed and pulls you up along with him. The next song on the record starts and it isn't very apt for a dance, either.

"The music-" You begin to protest before Lucifer snaps his finger and the record begins to glow with a blue light. A record scratch abruptly interrupts the music when Chopin's Waltz in A minor, B. 150 starts to flow through the speaker. 

He pulls your body to the proper position, one hand on your waist, the other cradling yours. Of course, he'll lead. You roll your eyes playfully. 

"Do you remember how to do this?" He asks, amused. 

"Pshh, of course I do," you say right before accidentally stepping on his foot. "Oop, sorry." 

He chuckles. "Follow my lead." 

And you do. You dance around your little room, only stepping on him a few more times before you get the hang of it again. ("It's been a long time, okay??") You twirl and pivot, avoiding tiny obstacles around your room, laughing when you attempt to take the lead by spinning him out and back into your arms. 

He finishes the dance by lifting you by the waist and spinning around. You giggle uncontrollably, feeling lighter than you have in months. When he brings you back down, you lace your hands together behind his neck and put your head on his shoulder. The music shifts to something soft that you can slow dance to. His arms tighten around your waist, holding you close as you sway together. 

“I really needed this,” you say. “I’ve missed you guys so much.”

You feel him stiffen slightly at the remark. You smile to yourself, delighted that something so small could affect him. 

You look up at him, “I’ve missed you most, of course.”

He smiles down at you and the affection you see in his eyes is so genuine, it embarrasses you. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, MC.”

You look down to hide your quickly reddening face. “I wish I could summon you more often but I know you’re very busy. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

“Oh, yes,” Lucifer hums, as if he has to think hard about what he was doing before this, “I believe I was in a meeting with Lord Diavolo.”

“Lord Diavolo!?” Your eyes widen with panic. You push yourself away to look him straight in his face, hoping he’s just teasing you. 

His wolfish grin returns as he smooths down a lock of hair that is out of place on your head. “Yes, but it was one of those frivolous meetings he likes to trick me into. ‘Oh, Lucifer, you must try this bottle of Demonus I found in the depths of the labyrinthine cellar.’ Nothing truly important, I promise.”

Relief quickly washes over you and you relax back into his embrace. “So... I get to keep you a little longer?” 

“Tonight?” His hold around you tightens. “You may keep me as long as you wish.”

[ronnierites]

Home

Chan x Reader

Warnings: slight angst, fluff (if you need a warning for that)

Home isn't a place, it's a feeling.

Those were the words that your mother told you often. When you moved out of your childhood home and to a new town. When you went to your first sleepaway camp. When you went away to college. When you moved to live with your boyfriend, Chan. Every time Chan leaves you for work trips. Home isn't a place, it's a feeling.

Those words kept rolling through your head as you shuffled through another long day. Every day offered the same trials and tribulations, and every day they did not get any easier. All you wanted was to be at home, in Chan's arms. You are reminded that home isn't a place, it's a feeling.

When you do finally get to your shared apartment, sometimes Chan is there, puttering around the kitchen or typing away on his laptop in the office. When he sees you, his face lights up in a way you once thought was only seen in the movies. An exclamatory pet name is shouted while he drops everything to run to you. You don't have to say anything, he already knows and opens his arms expectantly. You fall into them, your happy place, and while he rubs circles on your back and whispers how proud he is in your ear, you're able to relax for the first time all day. Breathing in his scent, you remember that home isn't a place, it's a feeling.

Days when Chan isn't at the apartment are harder. If he's at the studio, you make sure to text him reminders about eating and getting home safely and not working too hard. If he's traveling, you make sure to let him know you got back safe, and then pull on one of the many hoodies he left for you. Sitting in your quiet apartment, wrapped in Chan's hoodie, you think about how home isn't a place, it's a feeling.

As hard as it is when Chan is away, you never fail to be reminded just how much he loves you when he gets back. Bags on the ground. Keys in the door. Your name on his lips. Desperate. When his eyes find yours, face-to-face for the first time in what feels like an eternity, it only takes a moment before you are enveloped in his warmth. Your feet are swept off the ground and your breath is caught in your throat, as your lips connect. All of a sudden, you no longer care about the lonely nights, because you had your Chan back and you knew he never wanted to leave. The once-empty apartment is now full of love and light because home isn't a place, it's a feeling.

And Chan's presence made you feel more at home than any house ever could.

[renaiswriting]

Velvet Embrace (part 2)

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo/Reader

Summary:

Shadow people were always there in your life. They never disturbed you; they never interacted with you; it was like there was a pact between both of you to simply ignore each other. They saw you grow from a baby to an adult.

So why are you now getting attached to one of them who keeps looking out for you?

Warnings: None in this part I think

Word count: 1.2k

Author's note: Hello there! I'm creating a tag list, so if you wanna be tagged on the next updates for this story please let me know!

If you wanna be tagged, please fill out the tag list form

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The Silent Watchers Masterlist

Masterlist

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"You're really tense." Your mother noticed, moving behind you and giving your tense shoulders a massage. "Those exams are really giving you a hard time, isn't it?

 

You nodded.

 

But it wasn't because of the exams.

 

You have been done with exams for almost a week now.

 

You haven't failed any of them.

 

"I just have been studying a lot lately." You excused yourself, giving him a weak smile.

 

"I can tell; look at those dark circles." Your mother clicked her tongue, shaking her head in disapproval. "Are you sleeping well? Are you eating enough vegetables? Maybe sending you away was not the right choice."

 

"I'm doing fine. Really." You reassured her, taking her hands in yours. "Exams would have been hell in here, just as it is on my own."

 

"Language." Your mother scolded you.

 

"Sorry. But soon I'll be on a break, and I'll come home more often. You'll get sick of me sleeping all day and eating all your food before you notice it." You laughed softly.

 

"I'll never get sick of you being home. You know it." She dismissed your words. "I'm always worried about you. I just want my baby to be healthy and happy."

 

"I am, mom. Don't worry about me; you worry too much."

 

"Whatever." She rolled her watery eyes, holding you in a thigh hug. "I love you."

 

"I love you, too."

 

"I'll make sure your father remembers to drop by next Tuesday and give you some of the meat he will buy; he always buys way too much for us two."

 

Having these weekend visits was never easy. You went back home, missing your family more than ever, and the big empty house always made you feel lonely.

 

Not to mention that they always insist on you staying for dinner and to sleep, even when you didn't bring your books with you.

 

Which always ended up with you going back home when it was already late and dark.

 

And it meant dealing with them.

 

You took a deep breath from the other side of the door. Your father was watching you from his car, waiting to see you get inside safely before driving back to his own house.

 

You have never mentioned the shadows again, ever since you were little.

 

You were scared they would think you had officially lost your kind and make you go back to them.

 

You needed to prove to them that you were not crazy. That you were not imagining things and, most importantly, that you would do well in life even if those things were always around.

 

You needed to prove it.

 

You needed to prove it to yourself.

 

You need to believe it yourself.

 

You could hear the TV from outside; you remember clearly leaving the house on Friday afternoon and turning the TV off to avoid having a big bill at the end of the month.

 

But clearly, Hidden did not have any consideration for your wallet, and he probably even knew about the existence of bills and money.

 

You opened the door.

 

Everything seemed normal.

 

The hallway was barely illuminated by the lights coming from your bedroom, all the way from the second floor.

 

The kitchen was silent, as was the second floor; the only noise that you could hear was the one coming from the TV and from the bathroom that you had forbid yourself from ever entering.

 

You waved your dad goodbye when the car started driving away, closing the door behind your back. You clunked your bag and your jacket closer to your chest, like an invisible cape to protect you from the shadows.

 

You took your shoes off, not wanting to make any sort of noise as you were walking through the stairs.

 

The sofa moved near the window, and that was enough to make you run upstairs.

 

You shut your door. Your chest was moving up and down fast as your lungs were trying to catch as much air as possible.

 

Your jacket and bag were both at your feet, your body resting against the door to give it extra weight and make it more difficult to open it if one of the shadows were even trying to.

 

When you recovered, you moved to your closet, searching for your pajamas to change into and make yourself feel safe.

 

Or at least as soon as possible.

 

Your phone vibrated with an upcoming call from one of your university classmates.

 

"Hello! Did I call you in a bad moment?"

 

"Of course not! What do you need?" You replied. Kate was sounding just as stressed as you remembered her. She was in so many classes that you actually wondered how she managed to pass every single one of them and still find time to eat and sleep.

 

"I was checking our team project, and I realized Melissa didn't answer one of the points she was supposed to make." She sighed. "I tried to contact her all day; I called her like five times, and I haven't received any reply from her yet. I would do this on my own if I could, but I still have to study for my Math exam tomorrow and the Economic one I have next Tuesday. Could you do me a favor and do that answer, please?"

 

"That's weird; I texted her this morning and she replied to me," you frowned, "but yeah, I'll look at it now and see what I can do. Don't worry about it."

 

"Thank you! I'll be here all night, so if you need something, just text me, alright? See you tomorrow."

 

I was not needing that sleep at all. You bitterly said to yourself, finally freeing you from the uncomfortable outside clothes to your comfortable pajamas.

 

You knew why Melissa hadn't replied to any of Kate's texts or calls.

 

She had mentioned to you about that party she was so eager to go to and the one she had invited you to a thousand times because she didn't feel like going alone.

 

There was no way to get out of it now, you thought. You wouldn't be selfish and drop everything on Kate; she was already extremely busy, and you couldn't make Melissa start writing what she hasn't done yet because the girl was probably drunk by now.

 

It needed to be done by tomorrow.

 

You were ready for another all-nighter.

 

This was the fourth one on that list that week; one more? What could possibly be added to the list?

 

You opened the file Kate sent to your email, checking every single answer just in case something else was missing since you couldn't afford to fail it.

 

You were already fifteen minutes in when a soft knock on your door startled you.

 

You kept quiet, not moving at all.

 

The knock repeated itself once again when there was no reply from your side.

 

Then, something moved under your door; it was a tiny piece of paper with something written on the back of it.

 

Hello.

 

The letters were neatly written, with a black tint.

 

You took it with shaking hands; your body temperature was dropping with every second that passed.

 

The knocking started again. It was always the same. One single knock was enough to tell you that it was still there, waiting for a response.

 

Another tiny piece of paper moved under the doorframe.

(Y/n).

[husbandomail-archive]

"so, um...I might have possibly accidentally tipped the entire jar of cayenne pepper into the soup...and by might have I mean definitely" from the cooking prompts + Ace Trappola

The word “sweet” never really suited Ace. He would, on occasion, make an effort— when you’d informed him of your home’s Valentine traditions, he’d awkwardly gifted you with some last-minute chocolate. If you were getting unwanted attention from other men, he was quick to throw his arm over your shoulders and call himself your boyfriend. Not really the sweet type, more practical.

That doesn’t sit too well with him.

“—and make sure you keep stirring, so nothing sticks to the bottom and burns.”

Trey’s voice is smooth and steady as always, but Ace can feel something bubbling and boiling in his own veins. If he stirs any faster, it’ll go splashing out of the pot, but he’s clearly going too slow because he can feel the spoon scraping burned pieces off the bottom, just like Trey said.

“—what if she doesn’t like it?” Ace absently fiddles with the heat on the stove; when he turns it down, Trey reaches over and turns it back up. Heartslabyul’s kitchen is a bit more cozy than the rest of the dorm; Riddle doesn’t cook much, so he doesn’t wander in here often, leaving the place as Trey’s domain.

“She’ll like it.” The upperclassman resumes his half of the recipe, measuring out spices into portions for Ace to use. “You’re going through the effort of making something for her— that’s more important than how it turns out.”

“But if she can’t eat it, the whole thing is pointless!” Ace picks up a tiny bowl of freshly-chopped basil and empties it into the soup.

Trey shrugs. “If she can’t eat it, Grim will. They’ll both appreciate it.” He sets down a small jar of something bright red. “Only add a dash of that, or it will overpower everything.”

Ace is only half listening as he grabs the jar. “It’s not for the damned cat-weasel,” he grumbles, picking up the jar and giving it a gentle shake..

The lid pops off. It lands right in the center of the pot of soup, followed by a cascading jarful of bright red powder. Ace just stares blankly. “Hey, what was in that jar?” He keeps stirring anyways, not really knowing what else to do.

“Cayenne pepper,” Trey hums, not looking up from where he’s chopping vegetables to add. “It’s on the recipe card too, after all. Why?”

“...no reason.”

Later that evening, Ramshackle Hall is filled with the haunting screech of your doorbell— an unpleasant sound, but still better than when the ghosts used to phase through the walls to announce your guests.

You sniffle loudly from your blanket cocoon on the sofa. It seems like a regular cold, but it’s your first one since arriving at Night Raven, and it’s hit you fairly hard. The doorbell rings again and you groan, muscles screaming their protests as you haul yourself off the couch and onto your feet.

“C’mon, I know you’re home!” Ace’s impatient voice drifts through the thin door and adds some pep to your sluggish steps. Your blanket is still wrapped around your shoulders and drags against the floor behind you. When you’re finally able to open the door, Ace visibly recoils. “—ew.”

You stare flatly at him. The effect is ruined when you sniffle like a kitten. “You’re the one who demanded I open the door.”

Ace rolls his eyes and brushes past you into your lonely dorm. He visibly shudders, the bag in his hands rustling as he rubs his warm hands up and down his arms. “No wonder you’re sick. It’s totally iced over in here.” He nudges your shoulder, then his hand drifts down to the small of your back, guiding you back towards the nest you’d made on the couch. “Go sit back down, I’ll be there in a moment.”

You just sniffle again before coughing lightly, too tired to really sass back right now.

From your spot curled up in front of the tv, you can hear Ace clattering around in the kitchen; the familiar squeaks of cabinet hinges, the weak beeps of the ancient microwave you’d scavenged from Mostro Lounge when Azul wasn’t looking. An inevitable round of swears when the microwave fails to properly heat something— followed by a few crackling pops as he resorts to magic anyways.

Eventually Ace does join you in the living room. He’s cradling a bowl in his hands, setting it carefully on your lap so nothing sloshes over the rim and onto your thighs. You stare blankly into the bowl for a second too long; Ace crouches next to you and offers a spoon he’d found in the kitchen. “It’s called soup,” he snickers, “You’re supposed to eat it.”

You snatch the silverware out of his grasp and, muttering something like “I know what soup is,” you scoop a spoonful into your mouth.

It’s warm. The heat comfortably pools in your chest before spreading through your limbs and chasing away your chills. You’re a bit too sick to properly taste it, but you’re sure it’s passable; Heartslabyul boys aren’t allowed to cook without Trey’s supervision, after all.

Ace settles in next to you on the couch as you eat. The television is tuned to some old cartoon he’s seen hundreds of times, so he spaces out a bit, more focused on watchin you eat, your face slowly turning red.

You cough once, assuming it’s your cold. Then you cough again; maybe something in your throat? And then you sniffle loudly, your eyes beginning to water, tears spilling past your lashes and dripping down your face. “Hey, Ace, what’s in this—?”

Oh. Now that you mention it—

Ace sheepishly scratches his face and smiles shyly. “Yeah, I think I, uh… may’ve accidentally dumped the entire jar of cayenne pepper in there.” A beat, and then, “—and by maybe I mean definitely.”

Yeah, you wouldn’t call him sweet at all.

[akkivee]

i’ve been thinking about who out of the boys can and cannot cook and so far my thoughts are:

1️⃣2️⃣3️⃣: all can cook!!!!

🐴: a damn good cook

🐰: no💙

🐦: a damn good cook with the unconventional lol

🍭: no💛

📚: have we actually seen this man eat tho he can cook the simplest of dishes

🎲: cooking is one of those hidden skills of his lol

💉: he can cook!!!!

🥂: best cook in all of shinjuku lol!!!!

👔: no🤍

🎋: no🧡

🍮: has a surprising meal repertoire under his belt!!!

0️⃣: no🧡

📿: he can cook and his father made sure he can lol

🌙: no💜

⚖️: he can cook surprisingly well!!!!!

[yonce6496]

Hacketteer Headcannons

Dylan: He SCREAMS only child to me I feel like he comes from a very small family of just him and maybe a single working parent and his cat. Dylan grew up as a latch-key kid, which basically means you go to school come home to and empty house and maybe you’ll see your parents when they get home from work. Ever since he was little Dylan had never really fit in at school, he’d had a few friends here and there but nothing too memorable. Dylan was never able to visit any friends outside of school or have anyone over because he’d have no parental supervision at his house and no ride to get anywhere. So, all of Dylan’s childhood has been pretty much stuck at home and taking the bus to and from school. Dylan has been pretty independent and self-reflective with all that alone time, even though he gets lonely kind of often but he’s gotten good at distracting himself. With all that time he spent alone Dylan has gotten into a wide variety of hobbies and interests, he is truly a child of the internet. He spends most of his time playing video games, watching science and trivia video’s online and watching stoner comedies. 

He doesn’t get to see his mom very often besides on the weekends. His mom usually won’t get home until late in the night sometime after ten pm, they’ll maybe eat dinner together watch a show or two together and then call it a night. Even still they have a fairly good relationship. Dylan knew he wasn’t straight from a young age and he never really knew what to make of it, when he was younger, he went through a phase of loving action movies (mostly cause of the shirtless buff dudes but that was a realization for later). Dylan had a best friend named Jackson growing up who he always kept in contact with, texting, playing games online or through discord or hosting watch parties. When they weren’t hanging out at school or online, he was always thinking of Jackson, and finding funny videos or memes to send him or recommending him good music. It wasn’t until one of the shows Dylan watched religiously, some Star trek knock off, had a gay kiss in its season finale that a lot things made sense for him. He was crushing HARD on Jackson, the next day at school Dylan was anxious to talk to him about the episode, his neck was warm and his hands were clamming up at the lunch table. Jackson said he hated it, he didn’t get why they wanted to include the kiss and was annoyed that it was one of his favorite characters, Jackson said he was probably gonna stop watching the show anyway. His heart sank to his stomach even more when their other friends chimed in agreement that it was a lame finale. That’s when he became super terrified of rejection and coming out to people in general. When Dylan got to camp and slipped into his camp persona he felt like a fraud because he was nowhere near as bold and outspoken at home as he let on and most of his jokes were just quips and references from his fifteen plus years of scrolling through meme’s and watching comedy skits online, Dylan has an encyclopedic knowledge of all the jokes he ran across. The small time he spent there at camp he’s grown a lot more confidence in himself than he’d had when he arrived. But spending this time here at Hackett’s Quarry has made him realize just how lonely he is back home, He’s made some of his best friends here and he’s mortified at the thought of having to go away to college and start all over again.

[sukirichi]

earned it [02]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. mentions of murder, suggestive content, unedited fic

notes. err, i’m only doing this on impulse. i would like to continue it, but i think part one stands enough for itself :> i might delete this if i don’t like it a few days later lollll

series masterlist

Your infamous customer hadn’t arrived even as the restaurant closed. You watched close enough, fidgety in your movements and often bumping into other servers, all because your gaze kept darting back to the front door, awaiting his presence.

There’s no actual reason why you want to see him. Maybe it’s because he left an impression? The guy didn’t even budge after finding out someone had snuck into the kitchen to poison him, leaving you to wonder why anyone wanted to kill him. Not that it was any of your business, but you figured it was only common between powerful people who are equally greedy. Still, you’re unfocussed in your work, apologizing every now and then when your boss shook their head at you.

Thankfully, you managed to get back to your old pace. Thoughts of the white-haired tall man left the room at the same time everyone did, leaving only you and your boss in the locker room. You ended up working two shifts again on this weekend, your co-worker asking you to cover for them due to sudden family issues.

It’s tiring, that much is for sure, but you won’t complain when it’s more money down in your pocket. You’re dazzled, however, as you leave the locker room and see that your main chefs are still there.

Upon seeing you, they immediately usher you into a lone table, table 98 that remained untouched the whole night, a two lit candles illuminating the otherwise darkness of the isolated restaurant. Only this time, it’s occupied by him no less, his azure eyes flittering up to yours at the sound of your hesitant footsteps.

You’ve been looking for him the whole night, yet now that he’s in front of you, you don’t have any words to say. Instead, you bow down deep, the hands clasped in your lap shaking.

“S-Sir.”

“No need to be so nervous. I only wish to discuss something with you,” his laugh is so carefree, lighthearted as he gestures to the empty spot across him. “Take a seat,” Wordlessly, you foolow his orders and dash down to the seat, spine straight and head held high. There’s a hint of amusement in his small smile, but he doesn’t tease you, save for the lilting tone he held. “So you’re in sophomore year of university?”

“Yes, Sir. How’d you know?” You furrowed your brows, unsure of whether you’re supposed to expensive meal served in two.

Gosh, and this was on page three too, a single meal cost at least six months’ worth of rent.

“I pulled a string or two,” he lifts one shoulder lazily, waving his knife in the air. “And please, call me Satoru. Assuming we come to an understanding, things will go well for the both of us. You are in need of financial aid, yes?” You nod, utterly clueless in where this is leading, but Satoru’s already made up his mind long before he came here that he found no need in beating around the bush.

“Good. Then what do you say about being my sugar baby?”

“S-sugar baby?” you repeat the word first in confusion, then with distaste. He simply hums around the meat he’s eating, as if it’s a normal occurrence for him to inquire such things, and you scoff, crossing your arms on your chest.

You don’t care that this guy is your precious customer – he was just the same as everyone else.

“Is that the reason why you asked me to stay behind? Do you think you can just pay people to sleep with you? It may have worked on others, but not to me. I would rather keep my dignity than be with you,” you breathe hard after your rant, slapping your palms down on the table. The impact of it makes the table shake, his hand reflexively reaching to steady his wine glass. “As for what happened yesterday, you don’t have to thank me about it. I did what any right-minded person would.”

“And if I said I never wanted to be saved?” he asks, his tone still so calm that it further infuriates you. You stare at him, stunned and mouth gaping. “Sit down. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Thank you for graciousness, Sir, but I really don’t—”

“Angel,” You freeze at the nickname. He chuckles with his forehead pressed to his clasped hands, “Do you really think I need to pay people to sleep with me? I could have anyone I want,” his voice falls an octave or two, the sonorous warning rumbling something…alien inside your body. You stand there, unable to move, and he easily sees through this as he hides a smirk behind his drink. “Sit down. I’m not done talking to you.”

You don’t know what snapped in you to actually follow, but his words weren’t just that. They were always laced with eased dominance, the words leaving his lips coming out as a command. No, it was more like a hypnotizing order, and you’re nothing but a puppet enslaved by it.

His smile only grows bigger, and you hate that he looks ridiculously handsome under the dim lights of the room. Life would’ve been much easier if this man had been ugly.

“As I was saying, this relationship should be casual, no strings attached. I’d prefer if you’re exclusive to me, and in return, I’ll cover all your school fees and everything else. As for the sex,” he cuts his eyes straight to yours, an intense burning heat in them. You squirm in your seat, a little intimidated, albeit excited, by this proposition too, though you’d rather die than let him know that, “I don’t need that from you. I just want someone to talk to.”

“You’re paying me to talk to you?”

“No,” he chuckles, “I’m saying you form a relationship with me in exchange of financial aid. You’d be similar to a lover, nothing less of a friend,” he stares at his drink so hard like he was having a debate with it. A few seconds later, he found his answer, the gleam in his eyes surreptitious as he says, “Someone I can trust.”

You huff. Surely it wasn’t easy as that. “Why me?”

“No reason,” he shrugged, “I just find you endearing, that is all,” You lean back on your seat, trying to process all this. The hesitance must be written all over your face because he adjusts his tie, sliding a white business card your way before sliding his chair back in. At least he’s well-mannered enough to do that. “You can take your time to think about it. There’s no need to rush.”

Somehow, seeing his figure retreat triggers something within you. You watch as silhouettes emerge from the darkness trail after him; must be his security team, serving as an additional note that what you so struggled to achieve was likely nothing for him.

Was it fear? Desperation? Shame?

You don’t know, you won’t ever really know, but you run up to him anyway, brave enough to tug at his sleeve. The guards surrounding him tense up at the contact, stepping away only when he raises a finger that spoke a thousand words.

“You-you’ll pay for everything?”

With his back turned to you, you failed to see that victorious grin he wore. “And everything more,” he reassured. He turns around to confirm your submission, but you’re quivering under his towering frame, poor hands clutched around the card so tightly he won’t be surprised if you break it. He chuckles, coaxing the worries out of you as he caresses your cheek, his breath evident of expensive liquor hitting your cheeks. “Relax, angel. It’s not like you’re selling your soul to the devil.”

Your pupils blow wide at the close proximity. If he was attractive before, it’s nothing compared to the clarity of his sharp, angular features that are softened by his playful smile. Oddly enough, his thumb caressing your cheeks is tender yet calloused.

There’s no telling when who put who under a spell, because you’re clutching helplessly at his suit jacket, whispering, “Am I not?”

You are, he wants to say, but you’re so innocent, so vulnerable – such an angel, he can’t help but hum in his head – that he doesn’t have the heart to let you know. He already knew things were bound to fall out of place one another, but until that hasn’t happened yet, he’ll have to keep you close. He’ll make you his.

“I’ll take good care of you,” he declares so confidently that you couldn’t even question his capability to do so you, and for a moment, just a moment, your knees weaken under his stare. “Now that, I can promise.”

Should you have pulled away then? When he leaned down to seal the contract with a kiss, should you have pulled away then? Or better yet, could you even pull away then?

You’ve been so alone your whole life that each moment with him is awakening, soul-crushing, mind-shattering and so damn weakening that you should’ve pulled away then. If anyone were to tell you you’d share your first kiss after work hours with a man whose name you don’t even know of, you’d tell them they were crazy, crazier if they claimed you would enjoy it.

But you did. Oh, you did, you were addicted to him – his taste, his scent, his touch, everything about him – that when he pulled away, taking away every last breath in your lung that formerly remained taint-free by him, you’re left wanting. Craving.

And he knows this. How could he not? Your eyes are hazy with lust, chest pressed against his firm ones that would soon be the same body you found home over and over again.  You’re not the only left intoxicated from this sudden agreement. Whatever you feel, he feels it twice as much after years of watching you from the sidelines, asking himself a million times over what it is about you that pulled him in so much in the first place.

The innocence? The dedication? The youthful naivety?

Gojo wants to laugh at himself. It was never any of those – he simply wanted to fool himself that maybe he’s worthy of this, of your love, of your purity. He’s selfish, manipulative, heartless, and he wants nothing more than someone like you to make him feel like he’s everything he’s not.

He steps forward to brush his nose against yours; breathing in the tiny gasps you reward him with. And he’s barely even touched you.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” he rasps, butterfly touches all the way down your back to hold you flush against him, letting you feel that he’s all muscle and hardness, while you’re the complete opposite, composed of softness and little ghosting kisses. Perhaps when he gives you by a name, he was right to call you –  “My Angel.”

The loud blaring of your alarm cuts through the silence of the room, its shrill sound piercing your ears. You groan, blindly patting the bedside table to swipe snooze. The spot next to you has been cold for a while now, but it’s normal for Satoru to leave early for work that you burrow yourself deeper in the covers. Five more minutes of sleep shouldn’t be so bad; it’s the weekend, anyway. You’ve got nothing else to do.

Waking up after that, on the other hand, now that is an impending task on itself.

You’re beyond sore, your inner thighs littered with handprints and your shoulder covered in love bites. “Jeez,” you mutter to yourself, stepping out of the bathroom. Tying your robe around you, you go out your shared bedroom, rubbing your eyes to get the sleep out.

It’s past noon already – Satoru really wore you out. And fuck, you could barely walk. You had to grip the counters just to sit on the stools, and even then, you’re wincing from the pain.

He should be doing paperwork in his office right now or something; he never really told you what to do. You don’t feel like asking either since he’s made it clear he prefers to keep his personal life, well…personal. But nevertheless, you swing your legs back and forth on the stool, texting him a quick I love you baby :)

Satoru doesn’t reply.

Usually, he’d respond in a few minutes, always supplied with a wink and an eggplant emoji. It was so him to act this way, that when those few minutes turned into a few hours and you’re met with radio silence, you can’t help but worry.

You try to brush it off, ignoring the deafening silence that rings all over his penthouse. He’s busy, he’s working, he’s got things to do – that’s all it is.

You convince yourself hard enough that you’ve cleaned the place until it’s sparkling, your reflection bouncing off the black marble floors. Every minute, though, your mind would race back to him. Not thinking about him proved to be a really daunting task because you think of him when you’re eating, reminiscing the way he’d always surprise you with a back hug, muttering morning angel all over your skin just to distract you from your meal. You think of him as you’re killing time with boring dramas; if he was here, he’d nudge your leg with his foot, pushing your shorts until it exposes your panties. He’d make sure you don’t get to focus at all, riling you up and kissing you hard that the show playing becomes nothing but background noise. You think of him, you dream of him, you remember him – and yet, you can’t feel him.

Nails bitten down to the skin, you scramble for your phone, swiping call over his contact. It doesn’t go through. Now that’s another odd thing; Satoru never fails to pick up your calls.

“He’s just busy,” you lie to yourself, telling the same thing over and over again even as night falls and you’re staring at the empty left side of the bed, hands smoothing over where the curve of his body would’ve been. “He’s just busy,” you say once more, giving into the exhaustion brought on by your worries. “He’ll come home soon. He always will.”

Except he didn’t.

And that was two weeks ago.

“Angel, I got you—” Satoru immediately clamps his shut, his footsteps muted as he walks closer to you. You’ve been dating for a few months now, and you’re still very wary of the nature of your relationship so you refuse to move in with him. He doesn’t mind, he respects your space and decisions, but now he’s starting to regret letting you have your way. You’re hunched over your swiveling chair, cheek pressed against the opened textbook and glasses perched on your hair. The lamp desk illuminates the dark circles lining your eyes, his heart breaking at the sight.

Thanks to his help, you’ve been able to spend more time focusing on your studies. It should be comforting, but Satoru’s heart aches as he thinks of what you’ve been like prior to meeting him.

How long have you stayed up all night just to pass your exams? How long have you cried yourself to sleep, unable to handle the burden placed by the world on your shoulders at such a young age? How long have you had to turn down friends’ invites to parties with a forced smile because you had to go to work? How many times have you stared at a failing mark, teeth clenched because you studied well for it; your exhaustion just got the best of you and muddled your brain?

Satoru places the beer and dinner he’s got you on his way back home on top of your one-man dining table, pressing a kiss at the top of your head. You look so beautiful this way – unaware, unknowing, and focused in nothing but the future ahead of you that you don’t bother yourself with his past.

Perhaps…it was comforting, after all.

He’d rather have you worry over your own studies than worry about him. Satoru can’t stomach the idea of you – his precious angel – being involved in his own shit, possibly get caught between the crossfire. It pains him to say it, but he doesn’t want you getting too close for comfort.

So he stays there by your side, simply because it would expel all ideas of you wanting to be beside him. He’ll be right where you’re safe, and the sigh that leaves your lips when he moves you to your bed, fitting in his long, lanky bed on your cramped mattress an immense struggle. As if feeling that you’re finally home, you snuggle closer to his chest, murmuring sweet nothings that tug at his heartstrings.

Satoru rubs circles at your back, staring so hard at the chipped paint on your wall that he’s sure he’s got it burned in his memory.

Now that he thinks about it, he should’ve been satisfied with that. He should’ve held back in his desire to have more of you. He should’ve just tucked you in and left, but he was never really in control of himself. Before he knew it, he’s pulled in by you too much, encouraging him to move in with you under the lie it’s easier to keep an eye on you.

Had he just left you earlier…would things have been different then?

He’s asked himself this question too many times. Satoru always came to one conclusion. He loved you way too much that it consumed him, and soon the love he held for you slowly burned you inch by inch. The only way to save you was to pull away – but he wasn’t ready for that yet, not now – but he’s too scared, too deep in love that he ignores the warning signals and holds you close instead, finding comfort in the warmth of your arms.

Fuck. Satoru downs his second drink, glaring at everyone beneath his shades. Geto snickers beside him, sending side eyes to his boss every now and then just to check. Of course, Satoru’s not actually going to pass out, he was no lightweight, but he’d been uneasy every since that pretentious gold envelope landed on his desk.

One of the downsides of being a mafia leader meant you had to mingle with other clan shit, including him of all people. There were always new leaders popping out of nowhere, Satoru quote unquoting, criminals be spawning like maniacs.

For fourteen years – fourteen fucking years – his clan had been in bad blood with the Zen’ins. They were pretty new in the illegal side of business, starting off as a powerful name in the trade industry before they got interested in oil. One thing led to another, the family began to realize they could have so much more if they turned a blind eye to a law or to, soon shifting into illegal weaponry trade, human trafficking, then drug manufacturing.

These bastards had the audacity to insult the Gojo Clan when Satoru’s family dropped by to strike a contract out of curiosity to their goods, only to be turned down because they’re ‘barbaric’ and ‘informal.’

Satoru still remembers that humiliating moment of being escorted out by bodyguards, but he held his head high, vowing to show that bastard Zen’in guy that the Gojo’s were one of the powerhouses for a reason. He doesn’t even know where the elderly guy got his confidence from. Mafia business was not the same as their former expertise, yet they acted all high and mighty with their rules and standard of being sophisticated even in a life or death situation.

Gojo doesn’t know whether he should be happy or sad that the old man died, his son taking over just as soon as his father perished. He would’ve celebrated with a whiskey or two, except the new clan leader was quite adamant in cleaning up their name to prove he would not create the same mistake his father did.

The new leader threw a large cruise party, inviting pretty much everyone they were chummy with, and Satoru has never felt more out of place. He recognized a face or two, but he couldn’t really give a fuck. He hated events like this – it was all about establishing power and face.

Satoru groaned under his breath, swiping at another flute as a waiter passed by. He felt the bubbles fizzle down his throat, the slight burning sensation somewhat easing his nerves.

He leans back at the wall and checks his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. It’s been two fucking hours since they arrived, and the host still hadn’t arrived. If they planned on being ‘fashionably late’ Satoru won’t hesitate to slice someone’s neck tonight. He hates his time being wasted the most, and his eyes slid over to his friend’s still posture, looking like he just saw a ghost.

“Suguru,” he sighs through his mouth, “Don’t be so tense. This is a formal event – no blood will be shed tonight.” Suguru had a weird skill of being able to read Satoru’s thoughts that he raised his hands in surrender, silently promising that he’s not going to kill anyone.

“You’re not sure of that.”

“I won’t lose my composure, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he rolls his eyes, not looking back as he effortlessly places the empty glass back to another waiter. Satoru stands next to his friend, sucking his teeth out of boredom. Suguru, on the other hand, is tenser than ever, his eyes locked onto something in the middle of the crowd that began to cheer.

Faintly, somewhere at the back of his mind, Satoru hears someone whistle in signal. A few seconds later, the fireworks are lit and decorate the night sky, bursts of gold and beauty accompanying the entrance of the woman who’s so effortlessly caught everyone’s eye tonight.

Satoru is rooted to his spot, taking off his glasses the same time the crowd parts. Then, his breath is knocked away from his body, his heart pumping so hard he actually struggled to breathe.

Because you’re there, smiling and waving at the crowd as if it’s second nature to you. Seven years of being apart from one another and Satoru is still bewitched each time he lays his eyes on you. You’re the same…from your face down to the angelic feeling you always carried, but at the same time, you’re different. Gone was his precious angel who shied away from too much attention, his precious angel who would’ve never worn such a bodacious ring embedded on her left ring finger. Your smile is more charismatic, confident, and even fierce compared to the small, private ones you always shared with him – he almost couldn’t recognize you.

As if feeling someone’s eyes on you, you spot him leaning languidly against the walls, those lips you used to kiss turned downwards.

Seven years ago, you would’ve kissed him until he smiles again, singing to your pouty and clingy boyfriend who never voiced out the reason of his troubles. Seven years ago, he would’ve carried you and swung you around, showering you with affection as he reminds you how lucky he is to have you.

But this was no longer the past – that much is clear from when he left you without another word.

Still, you smile at him, an empty one that showed nothing but concealed anger. He was sure though, so fucking sure, that for a split second, he saw you light up. That may have been seven years ago, but you loved each other to the point of insanity – surely you still held some sort of fondness of him.

Satoru takes long, self-assured stride towards you, his gaze never leaving yours with his hands tucked into his pockets. There’s no telling what he’ll do, but in his mind, it’s clear.

You still love him, he still loves you. He’ll do something about it. It doesn’t matter what, he just will. That was until a young man closer to your age with blond hair and pierced earrings, narrow feline eyes lined with eyeliner hobbles beside you, his weight supported by a cane that Satoru stops in his movements.

He’d recognize that face anywhere.

The youngest and perhaps most mischievous leader of them all, Naoya Zen’in. Albeit not as hard-headed as his father in comparison with his rather laid-back and welcoming nature, Satoru knows a monster when he sees it. It takes one to know one, after all, and despite the heir being crippled from a former accident, his intelligence and power was not to be overlooked through his appearance and coy smiles.

In fact, he might even be more dangerous than his old man, this theory only proven when his arms snake around your waist. The matching rings gleam from under the light, and you press yourself closer to him to whisper in his ear, your attention very much still on Satoru.

Satoru’s entire body burns.

“Still there, Sir?” Suguru asks, gripping his boss’ bicep to hold him back. Smart of him, Satoru exhales through his nose, unable to stop his glare from darting to your husband’s.

He’s heard of you, of him, of how his most annoying rival had a phenomenal trophy wife who looked harmless at first look, but was actually the brains of most of his operations. Satoru forgets how to breathe normally because he’s heard of you, and the rumors he’s gotten wind of about Naoya’s trophy wife are nothing less of how dedicated and perfect the two of you are.

Slapping Suguru’s arm away from him, Satoru grits his teeth. “Get me a drink.”

His precious angel was gone. No, this woman that stood before him…you were an entirely different entity, something darker, something along the lines that were more like him.

What exactly happened the day he left you?

taglist: @ladywaifuuwrites​ @savantsoulfinder​ @my-reality-is-in-my-head​ tagging the ones who asked for part 2, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

[wishing-stones]

hullo. i found your ao3 and subsequently went rifling through your tumblr and now i must know... tell me flowey headcanons please. apparently, anything you write, i will absolutely devour

Haha oh my god thank you so much! I’m glad you like my writing so much!

Flowey is an incredibly complex character who I feel gets oversimplified by the fandom a lot. He’s contradictory and fickle and deals with, potentially, decades of lived experiences while still sort of having the mindset of a child (while simultaneously considering himself an adult.)

I have a LOT of Thoughts and Feelings about Flowey, so it’s hard to do without specific prompting. I’ll grab a few that come to mind and roll the dice here.

He actually sleeps a lot more than you think he does. He knows ALL the good sunny spots in the Underground, and naps in them. He is a flower, so he photosynthesizes a lot of his energy.

He’s also still a strange flower-monster-amalgamate, so he can also eat. Pie is the way to his metaphorical heart, but he also likes Nice Cream, and even though he’ll never own up to it, he thinks Starfaits are The Shit.

If he’s in the mood to tell a story, it will be the best damn story ever told. He has a keen mind for memory and is an alarmingly good mimic. He might even get especially animated of he gets excited about his story and… for a minute, he’s like a completely different person.

Puns are the lowest form of humor, and he especially hates the ones Sans tells. The ones Papyrus sneaks in are stealth puns and okay. He just hates the really obvious ones that make you groan. (It reminds him of Home and he doesn’t like it.)

It takes a lot of time and patience, but he’ll eventually get tired of being lonely and head up to the surface. He hangs out in golden flowerbeds topside and is pretty hard to spot (If you don’t know what you’re looking for. He has one extra petal and is a brighter yellow than most of the other flowers, not to mention he’s bigger.)

Speaking of that, Flowey comes to about the knee of an average adult human. He’s pretty big.

While he might not have a soul, the echoes of one are enough for him to feel emotions and react to them. If you were to look, he has a sort of empty monster-soul shaped void that’s lined with tiny specks of dust and held together by Determination. He doesn’t even know he has this because he doesn’t like being in traditional Encounters. It’s no soul, it doesn’t do things like make him feel compassion or regret, but it lets him feel and process anger, frustration, sadness, longing, and even happiness, contentment, humor, serenity, and even affection. If he truly didn’t have something there, he’d be completely emotionless.

Flowey is a world constant. The circumstances surrounding Asriel’s death don’t change just because the human with him was different (swap, Swapfell.) He is always a golden flower, regardless of if it’s Alphys or Undyne doing the DT experiments that make him.

He’s quick to anger and slow to trust, but if he genuinely likes someone, he’s pleasant to be around. He’s an endless wealth of knowledge and experience, and he’s happy to share with people who actually listen to him and take what he has to say to heart.

He has traumatic flashes and nightmares a lot. Phantom pains, phantom body, even, and he wakes up crying during the night. He prefers to sleep during the day, in the sun, for this reason. He’s kind of still afraid of the dark.

There’s ten for you! I love my boy but I don’t often write about him.

[ltleflrt]

Hey Carrie! You talked a little the other day about writers' tendency to start a fic too early in the story, and how you see a lot of first scenes that could have been scrapped to improve the story. My question is if you have some tips to recognize while writing that first scene that you are starting too early in the story?

Hello friend!

That's a really good question, and I'll see if I can give an answer that makes sense. I am not a professional, and I'm not educated or trained in this stuff, it's just something that I recognize from years and years and years of voracious reading. And as with all writing advice, I encourage you to take what I'm going to say with a grain of salt and remember that no writing rule is a hard rule, only a guideline.

Also, my advice is going to be pertaining fanfiction, and specifically to AUs. Obviously a published book has an editor with a razor blade going through a manuscript for you, and the problems that bother me in fanfiction crop up in AUs more than Canonverse.

Oh, and every instance of "you" is general, not specific 😜

So I think the main problem that I see is that people are starting with an Info Dump. An Info Dump is not always a bad thing, sometimes it's completely necessary, but it is NOT where you want to start your story. If it absolutely has to be done, it's better to be somewhere in the middle or near the end. When it's something that your characters need to know.

That's an important bit: Do your characters need to know this?

And related to that: Does your audience need to know this for the story to make sense?

And very important follow up: If the answers to the above questions are yes, does the character/audience need to know this RIGHT NOW?

There's a lot of information about your story that YOU need to know. Heck, my notes files are full of sooooooo much stuff that I know about the characters and plot that never reaches the final product.

So when you're reading your first chapter (I say reading, not writing, because sometimes info dumping for your own benefit is good, and then you fix it before you share the story lol), ask yourself those two questions.

So for example:

In an AU where Dean is a tattoo artist, and it's his POV. The story starts with Dean driving to work, and when he gets there he's going to find out that the empty shop next door has been purchased and is going to be a yoga studio. He meets Castiel out front, up on a ladder trying to hang a hand painted sign, and some teens go running buy and knock into the ladder and Dean has to catch Castiel from falling. (Anyone who wants to adopt this idea is welcome to it btw, I would love to read this lol)

The mistake I often see in a first chapter like this is that as Dean is walking to work, there's a whole Info Dump about why he's a tattoo artist instead of a hunter. He'll be ambling along, thinking about his nice little business, and there's info about how his mom died in a fire, and his dad was a jerk, and Dean didn't go to college because he saved his money for Sammy's college fund, and Dean's only passion was art, and Bobby Singer introduced him to a tattoo shop owner who took Dean under his wing, etc.

Question 1, does your character need to know this?: Why is Dean reflecting on his past? Does Castiel need to know this information in order to build a romance with Dean?

Question 2, does your audience need to know this?: Why does this information matter? If Dean's only reflecting on this because you want to make sure your audience knows where the timeline changed and this became an AU, then you're starting too early in your story. Dean doesn't need to know this, and honestly in a lot of cases the reader doesn't need to know this. This is information that should have been left in your notes file.

Question 3, does the character/audience need to know this NOW?: If this information is pertinent to the plot, like maybe there's some trauma there that Castiel might need to know about to develop their relationship, then you don't want to put it HERE, you want to put it in a conversation with Castiel LATER.

If I was writing this AU, I would just start with Dean sipping his coffee, he's kinda tired because reasons, he looks up to see an unusual commotion, and has to drop his coffee and sprint forward to catch Cas. If he's reflecting on anything in this scene, it's going to be whatever made him tired, or how good/bad the coffee is this morning. Since Cas is a new business owner, they can talk about the origins of Dean's business on their first date, because it'll be a relevant response to Castiel talking about the origins of his yoga studio.

And just in general, if Dean's origin story includes a lot of canon elements, like mom dying in a fire, dad being a deadbeat, Sammy being the adorable overachieving Stanford student.... try to hide that info for as long as you can so that the audience is actually curious about it by the time the info might pop up. It's the wild divergences that are more interesting earlier on.

Okay, and then I want to talk about my giant pet peeve for a starting chapter. It's a specific kind of info dump, that often includes the stuff from above, but then goes a step further.

My nemesis, The Daily Grind.

I haven't asked the authors, so I could be wrong about this, but I feel like most of the time when this type of chapter is included in a story it is because the author wants to show the reader that the character's life is boring and meaningless before the plot's inciting incident. I can absolutely see why that might be considered an important detail about the character, but keep in mind if it's boring and meaningless to the character, it's boring and meaningless to your audience.

You know how I said earlier that writing tips should never be hard and fast rules? Well this is in regards to that Show Don't Tell rule, and it's an example of TOO MUCH showing lol

It is possible to do a daily grind in an interesting way, but only if you include a Shake Up right away. And you have to look at the 3 questions a little bit differently.

So for example:

Castiel POV, and he works in an office. His daily routine is to always get up at the same time every day, he goes for his run, he grooms himself, he has his breakfast, he goes to work and talks to Kelly about how Jack's doing in kindergarten for a few minutes before going into his office. Adler comes in to be a prick, Castiel hates him for it, and then he does his reports, has lunch hiding in a corner of the lunch room so that his co-workers will leave him alone, he does more reporting, leaves an hour after his shift technically ends, goes home to a lonely apartment that maybe includes a pet who is the only being that shows him affection, has an unsatisfying dinner of leftover takeout while watching a mindless reality tv show, then he goes to bed.

Ugh.

BORING.

Which, yeah I get it, the point is that his life is boring. But now the story is too, and I've clicked the back button before I can see how exciting it's capable of getting.

Question 1, does your character need to know this?: No. He knows. Poor thing definitely already knows.

Question 2, does your audience need to know this?: Yes, but...

Question 3, does the character/audience need to know this NOW?: Yes, but new question for ya:

Optional Question 4, why does this need to be separate from your plot's inciting incident? The answer to this 4th question is usually that it doesn't.

Chapter 2 of this type of beginning usually shows the shake up of Castiel's day. My advice is to start with the shakeup, and sprinkle in the details of what you would have put into chapter 1 to show the contrast. It's far more interesting to learn how boring Castiel's day is by starting with the shake up.

So, same scenario:

Castiel's alarm doesn't go off for some reason, OH NO HIS ROUTINE IS SHAKEN UP! You're explaining his routine while also stressing him the fuck out because he has to rush, or skip something that he normally needs to do. Action! Interesting! He gets to work late, and has to miss his conversation with Kelly about Jack because she's telling him that Adler's already in his office being a prick because Castiel isn't there waiting for him like he always is. Oh shit, he's pissing off his asshole boss! Conflict! He's so flustered by the shakeups that he misses something on his report, and he gets a call from that new marketing guy Dean Winchester who asks if they can have a meeting about it when Castiel normally takes his lunch. BAM! MEET CUTE OPPORTUNITY! While Castiel is getting all flustered by how pretty Dean is while they talk about TPS reports, he can reflect on how this is both better and worse than hiding from his co-workers in the corner of the lunch room. The rest of the day after that meeting he's thinking about how weird this day is, he still goes home an hour late, he talks to his pet about his weird day when he gets home, and maybe he still eats leftover takeout, but he's not paying attention to the reality tv show because holy shit he wants to count Dean's freckles.

In this example, you're Telling the audience about Castiel's normal routine instead of Showing them. But since it's during a plot heavy chapter, it works!

Lemme see if I can TL:DR this...

As you're reading, ask yourself who needs to know this information, why do they need to know this information, and why is it important for this information to be included early instead of later?

If the answer to any of those questions boils down to "this is backstory" instead of "this kicks off the plot", then you've started too early.

I hope this helps? I'm always nervous about giving writing advice because so much of the time I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm just feeling around in the dark. And I definitely do not ever want to hurt an author's feelings, because this hobby is so fucking hard, and we're all fragile. Even authors who welcome con-crit with open arms will have a weak point that they're unaware of that might get poked wrong and cause a crack, ya know?

I hope anyone who gets this far who might see their own works reflected in my examples understands that I have a lot of respect for their ability to put their work out into the world, and I want them to keep doing it. We're here to have fun, okay? Okay. I love y'all 💜

[bakingandbooks3]

A Court of Song and Serpents

A bit short but the begging of a project I'm SO excited for- hope you love this as much as I do.

Summary: What a time to be alive as Nesta Archeron, going backward to move forward and finding that the places she once called home are now empty tombs.

Nesta

Nesta held her breath for a moment, a pause, and stilled entirely. The Court of Nightmares. She knew the verdict would be severe, but never would she have expected exile to a world of terror. The horrors of that place, of how it was once the main residence of the High Lord- till Rhysand.

Rhysand, the man who boasted of lands bountiful with choice and reason, now sat across from her donning unmasked hatred. A look he kept shielded from his mate, reserved just for Nesta. The kind that rips one apart from the inside out, would carve out the belly of a beast, burn a witch on a wooden pyre.

Nesta felt nothing, she always did. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking of her, how his beautiful wife’s wretched sister was little more than a gambling thief who slept her way through his glorious city. Now, fingers smeared that blank canvas so pure of her darkest shades.

Eyes flicking back, she studied that same sister. The Cursebreaker, the Savior.

How small and insignificant she became next to the glimmering shining thing Feyre was. The lands spoke of her beauty and kind touch, and how she sacrificed everything to save a world of people, and Fae that she was raised to despise.

Nesta wished it’d be known that her touch wasn’t always kind.

She built her bricks firm enough that her house of grace never shattered; Held firm, it was all she had left in her. Too many eyes on her filled with grief, excitement, retribution-Nesta was keenly aware of how this Court of Dreams felt of her.

“This is an exile.”

Rhysand's smirk peaked so slightly, his mate tensing.

“No, no. This is an intervention, a chance for you to find yourself away from bad influences and habits. You can’t keep living like this, and I refuse to let it continue happening and I take the fall for it. Your decisions are impractical and immoral. You are sober much less than you are drunk and-”

“If you’re going to condemn me, do it. But don’t sit here and act as if this is out of kindness.” Nesta snarled. She hated the barbed words, but it’s what she felt. “Who are you to question my morality?”

“I think I can speak for my wife when I say that your presence here is….” Rhysand growled but pulled back, like he forgot Feyre was right there, too.

Nesta wished he would’ve let go, so maybe that facade Rhys reserved for Feyre was broken. No, that’s cruel. As much as she hated this and him, he was making her sister happy.

Something Nesta could never do.

“I do not give a shit what my presence is doing. The decision has already been made, so stop scolding me like a child and make good on your word, Rhysand.” Bile rose in her throat, the words feeling nothing but slimy and disgusting. Foreign, yet habitual all the same. Sometimes, she forgets there once was a woman called Nesta who was so much more than the viper living in her now.

Sometimes she remembers that she can’t ever be her again.

Home was nowhere for her, not in a person, not in a place, certainly not in this bombastic group of “heroes”. Nesta didn’t need a hero, she just needed someone to care. But Nesta knew better, no one would. She was taught to be unlovable, just a woman to be sold off and married- to climb her mothers' ever-growing social ladder.

But Nesta on her own was never enough, even with her mother six feet under and rotted away there were unsung expectations unmet. She was a catastrophic failure and a dark smear on a family name that never truly held weight to her.

Nesta looked up, felt everything all at once again, could only see one man pacing a worn-through tether between them. He wasn’t going to stop this, but she could see it, how it looked like he wanted to jump out of his own flesh, the veins of his arm prominent and knuckles normally so brown a new fresh fallen snow.

There was no prince to save Nesta, much less any will to save herself. So when Mor took the pleasure of bringing her to a living Hell, Nesta did not fight.

She was tired of fighting, after all, she fought an inescapable fate for the first twenty years of her life…

Flowers always made Nesta sneeze, but Elain lit like lights during winter whenever she could thread them through her hair. They all symbolized something, Laine would say. There are ones for good days, and hard storms, for sunshine and stars.

Nesta was always adorned in flowers that paralleled the estate. Astute, cold, tired, where she was warm, comforting, and smelled like cookies- ones that Celia normally baked for the sisters. She never asked Laine why she picked the ones for her that she did, her reasons would stay silent for now.

Spring was a high time of activity in the Archeron estate. There was always a flurry of activity, from preparing their mothers' obscene balls, to guests at every corner in every room. The halls were sprinkled in candles and on walls hung frames nearly kissing it was packed so tight.

They were in the gardens. It was an Elain day, as the girls would call it, and no matter how boring or mundane her wishes were they’d be fulfilled. Nesta was propped on the floor in front of Laine, who was bunching handfuls to weave in tangled auburn coils that gathered on Nesta’s head- as a bird's nest would.

Eventually, Nesta would have to learn braids or risk knotting the curls entirely.

The eldest basked in the silence she created from mentally muting her middle sister, and spared a glance at Feyre. What she saw was not surprising, but required far more willpower than she expected to not burst into laughter and risk the flowery rat's nest on her scalp.

Feyre appeared to be so bored out of her mind she was eating discarded flowers of Elains. Actually, ingesting them, as if she was a critique. When Elain wasn’t looking at Feyre, she’d grab another couple and study them- analyzing her next experiment. Glaring at the blues and yellows as if she was speaking to them, “Which one of you will make me puke the fastest so I can run away?”

In time, Feyre looked up from her taste tests to see Nesta grinning at her so violently you’d think Feyre hung the moon.

And Feyre beamed back, crossing a pinkie across her chest and pointing it back to Nesta. Then she viciously spit out the grass she’d just finished chewing, crying directly at Laine, “This MUST stop at once, my stomach hurts far too much to continue on here.”

Elain, in a garden so quiet, simply ignored her sister's poor attempts at escape. Making Nesta work even harder to stifle the shaking of her shoulders, covering her mouth and nose before she started wheezing. Elain would hardly hurt a fly but sent Nesta a glare that could’ve easily killed a man.

Nesta cleared her throat, “I do believe there are more of the blue flowers down that hill near the pond. Would you mind getting some more for Laine?”

Feyre was already on her feet, mouthing her thanks as Elain turned her back to get the next bunch of flowers, “Why of course I will!” And with a very bad curtsey, Feyre threw off her shoes and was rolling down the hill, spinning wildly, her laughter sure to be heard in meadows far beyond theirs.

You would find the Archeron sisters all together, or never in the same place.

Laine was the easiest to find, by the waters or pond on the east side, in gardens surrounded with bugs and willows calling to the young girl. She could hardly read but if the text included any mention of colors and blooms, suddenly she was a scholar. Elain was not simple or dull, but rather a passive spirit, like a summer wind- brief, fleeting, but teeming with love and hope.

Feyre, as their mother said, was a reckless wild child. Far too young to care, far too small to be whipped into shape. If you were sent to find her and your life depended on it, may the Mother bless you. Feyre liked the kitchen, because of the immaculate food and maids who would shove any sweet down the littlest Archerons throat. But, also for the immeasurable amount of sharp items to be found in there. If it was pointy and could stab a wall or scare their ice-cold mother, Feyre would be running the halls with it in hand or making targets of her fathers old trade route maps.

Then there was Nesta, the firstborn. Molded to be another woman that she somehow couldn’t fit, as if her feet were too big or hair too long, Nesta was outgrowing the standards forged into her being. You would see her as a ghost, floating in and out of rooms, comfortable in silence and slumber, but never escaping people. She loved the maids and could recite all of their names like clockwork, and the workers loved her in turn. Always stuck in new worlds between pages or willingly dragged by the two youngers, Nesta teemed with liberation. She was often alone, but never lonely, and found new loves in the library or in the fields beyond marble confines.

Adela was constantly dissatisfied with her eldest's progress inside these walls, as if at eight she should’ve already been engaged to a prince. Granted, Adela knew better. Nesta would never truly find another kingdom to buy into when she already had a crown waiting for her elsewhere. She was known as fair and beautiful beyond her years, would age like fine wine, and become so much greater than Adela ever was. What Nesta saw as fit would normally come to be, an instinct Adela was unprepared she would inherit. Nothing left her more confused than this daughter only by blood, who was hated by both her parents for reasons far from the same, and how at less than ten years had an entire mansion wrapped around her fingers.

But Adela would wait, and simply leave them be for now. When viper's strike, they kill. And even though the Matron of the house wanted her little queen gone, she had other ways to see this through.

Anyways, children's blood on her hands would stain her diamonds.

---

Cassian

Cassian was violently fucking ill. Watching whatever the fuck that was did not help in the slightest. The second she was gone, so was he.

The General and High Lord were not on speaking terms, his presence was an obligation and not a request. When Rhys first displayed his plans, Cassian just about murdered him. Had his brother on the table in a chokehold that the Shadowsinger had to come and release Rhys from. The way his so-called family planned her exile was… horrific.

Cassian was full of light and humor, but not dull the way his family made him out to be. He could see this for what it was, punishing an already broken female for not meeting every damn need of a fully grown woman that was no longer her responsibility. Cass knew better than to downplay the sacrifices Feyre made, but he was also well aware that Nesta's habits were hardly a financial problem and more of a reputation scandal.

That’s what the High Lord did best, when his Court was breaking at the bonds, the mess would “disappear”. Just like the Illyrians hidden in the mountains, the displaced families of Spring, the homeless warriors of Night.

Cassian loved his brother, but more often than not he wondered when Fate would come to bite them in the asses for Rhys’ neglect.

Now, here he was, in his mothers' cabin, wings dragging behind him wiping tears long since shed over a woman who was thrown to the wolves and torn into so many scraps he wasn’t sure how he could put her together again.

He missed his Nesta, the one who threw glares and begged for her people, not this one who hardly spoke and caved into herself enough that she couldn’t see where she was heading.

Cassian fingered for his mug in the wooden cabinets and hit his mark, soon placing water to heat over a small fire over the counter.

He was not okay, not okay at all.

When you look for something in the dark for too long, you eventually find what you need but not always in the way you expect. Cassian coped the same as Nesta Archeron in his first years post-war. It was suffocating trying to be the happy one while dying inside. He watched men he looked up to fall and a lover he admired take her last breath- too much in far too little time. Cassian was not an idiot, he was simply perplexed. Why was he allowed to grieve in unacceptable manners, but Nesta was a sinner in holy clothing?

Bright walls and unlit rooms in the house were silent, only the winds of the mountains singing outside. The newly dusted snow wrapped the dirt in a delicate kiss- a forbidden touch. It was the peak of winter, just after Feyre’s birthday and another insufferable party.

One that Nesta wasn’t invited to.

Cassian wished he wasn’t invited either.

The cup in his hands was dwarfed in comparison to the bulky Illyrian holding it, but at least it was warm. At least it wasn’t empty.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it could always be worse.

Cassian knew that if things were a little different, he’d be the one sitting in a prison of darkness and Hell because of mistakes made as a child. He’d be exiled by family, cast away by the only living remains of a life once lived.

Nesta didn’t know but long before this he had called it even, their sins atoned for in hurting each other equally.

She was the only one in the world who could tell which smiles he was faking.

To anyone on the outside, one kiss was merely that. How curious it was, the iceberg went far deeper.

So when the mug crashed against the wall, and in its wake resembled his inner turmoil, Cassian took to the skies and found himself at the door of a place far too familiar.

.

.

.

AHHHHHHHH OMG OKAY hope you guys enjoyed this:) if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!

@lovemeforever12345 @champanheandluxxury @nahthanks@perseusannabeth@queenestarcheron@silvernesta

@loosingdreams@sayosdreams@audreycressworth@cyra04@that-golden-lyre@nessiantrashh@misswonderflower@dontgetsalmonella@caram267@bickbickbarnes@sabrinasam-blog

[herofics]

Selfish?

I’ve been feeling kinda lonely lately, because I haven’t seen my friend in weeks, probably almost a month, so platonic Hawks it is, since I feel like he fits this well

“Where you at?” you texted Hawks.

“I’ll be there soon, sorry I’m late” he shot back.

You were sitting on the roof of your apartment building, just waiting for Hawks. Your meetings were always a bit clandestine, since he wasn’t really supposed to have close relationships with anyone, even if you were just friends. The safety commission was tight with the rules like that. It sucked you couldn’t see him often, since he was pretty much your closest and only friend aside from the gal that was basically like a sister to you. You had been feeling pretty lonely lately too, since you hadn’t had anyone to talk to.

“Heyyyyy!” Hawks greeted as he landed on the roof just beside you, sending your hair flowing around your face with the gust of air from his wings. “Again, sorry I’m late”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s just good to see you” you said as he sat on the roof opposite of you.

“You’re always complaining that you’re hungry when we meet, so I brought you some snacks” you said and started going through your bag.

“Thank youuu” Hawks smiled as you handed him a granola bar, some grapes and a small smoothie. “Sooo, how ya doing?” he asked.

“I’ve missed talking with you, since we haven’t seen each other in a while” you shrugged.

“I’ve mished you too” Hawks said, surprisingly clearly for someone with a mouth full of grapes.

“How long can you stay? I know you’re busy with all the hero work, but I kinda want to vent, and hear how you’re doing”

“I have time, a couple of hours at least” he said.

“Oh good, I’ll talk while you eat”

Hawks just nodded with a smile, eager to listen to what you had to tell him. He had missed you as well and he felt bad for not being able to meet with you as much lately.

“So, you know my other friend. I haven’t seen her in the last month at all, because she has been either too busy to come over, or sick, though I feel like half of the time she’s lying to me, because she doesn’t want to see me or something. I would understand that if she just told me, but she keeps making excuses or at least I think she does”

“That sucks, have you told her how you feel about it?” Hawks asked.

“I haven’t really had the chance since I prefer talking face to face, and we haven’t seen each other” you sighed.

“Well, maybe you could call or text her, if this keeps going on”

“Yeah, I guess, but I just feel like she might not even care”

“But you won’t know that unless you talk to her”

“True” you grumbled and crossed your arms in front of yourself, throwing your head back with a sigh.

“Is there something else bothering you? You seem even more stressed than normal” Hawks asked, making a little “ah” sound as he finished the smoothie and set down the empty bottle.

“Pretty much everything is bothering me. I’m slipping back into depression and it sucks. I feel like I haven’t done anything productive all week, I have a basket full of dirty clothes waiting for me when I go back home and I’ve been just not having a good time in general” you ranted.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay” Hawks said and grabbed your hand, trying to reassure you.

You took a deep breath in and out and said: “Can you take my mind off this? Tell me how you’ve been doing?”

“Same old pretty much, lots of work and no play. The safety commission is really running me ragged” he grinned and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I know you can’t talk about your work much, so I’m not gonna ask, but you can still tell me how you’ve been feeling, right?” you inquired.

“To be honest, it’s been a bit hard. I’ve missed you and our talks a lot, and the work recently, well let’s just say I’ve been burning the midnight oil all the time lately” Hawks smile awkwardly.

There was something about the look in his eyes that told you you shouldn’t ask anymore questions. At the same time he looked like he really wanted to say something to you, but he couldn’t.

“If you ever want to talk about it, or just complain about the soda prices or something, you know who to call”

“Ghostbusters?” Hawks grinned.

“Yes, exactly” you rolled your eyes with a chuckle.

Hawks knew he couldn’t ever talk about his work with you, because that would put you in so much unnecessary danger he couldn’t even imagine. The League and the Liberation front were very dangerous and some of the members were very vindictive. He never wanted to put you in danger and he knew it was quite selfish for him to see you at all during such a dangerous mission, but he couldn’t just leave you alone. Maybe he was a selfish person after all.

[plaidbooks]

3am Cookies

A/N: This came outta nowhere, a fusion of personal strife and this post. It’s Sonny Carisi x reader, and covers the Baker square in @adarafaelbarba​ moodboard bingo

Tags: mentions of insomnia, mentions of yearning/longing

Words: 1049

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For the past few days—weeks, months, years—you’ve been feeling lonely, yearning for some sort of romantic love. Sure, you were loved; you had friends and family who loved you. But the monotony of going home to an empty apartment, cooking yourself dinner, and sitting alone was wearing on you. Often times, you found yourself crying while cooking, and sobbing yourself to sleep…if you were lucky enough to actually fall asleep.

Tonight was no different; you had a yearning deep inside yourself, a longing for a romantic relationship. You laid in bed, tossing and turning before you gave up. The clock showed a little past 2am as you dragged yourself to your kitchen.

You were a baker, found comfort in baking. So that’s what you did; you took out ingredients for chocolate chip cookies, and you went to work, trying to lose yourself in the familiarity of baking.

***

After a tough case, Sonny was having a bad bout of insomnia. He tried forcing himself to sleep, tried reading, listening to music, everything that normally took him out. But nothing was helping. Sighing, he pulled on clothes and a jacket, then grabbed his phone and keys. He figured a walk would help settle his mind, or at least exhaust his already tired body enough to sleep.

He left his apartment, locking the door behind him before he headed for the stairs. It was only midnight, so hopefully he wouldn’t be up when the sun was.

 ************************

Sonny glanced at his phone and saw it was getting close to 3am. Hanging his head in defeat, he wandered back home, praying that sleep would come to him. He was having trouble lifting his legs, his exhaustion wearing him down. The elevator in his building was, of course, broken. Stairs it was, then. He dragged himself up the stairs, finally making it to his floor. But as he shuffled to his door, he stopped, sniffing. Something smelt like…cookies? Was he having a stroke, or was that burning toast? Shaking his head, he went back to his neighbor’s door. He pressed his ear to the door, and he could hear running water, metal hitting metal, and the smell of cookies grew stronger.

He knocked on the door in confusion, trying to make sure everything was okay—who makes cookies at this time of night? The water turned off, and there were some muffled sounds before the door opened. His concern deepened as he looked at your tear-streaked face.

“Hey, I live next door and I was just making sure you were okay…” he explained.

You blinked at him. “I’m fine…sorry if I woke you.”

“Then why are you making cookies at 3am?”

Fresh tears pooled in your eyes before you muttered, “because I’ve lost all control of my life.” And then the door gently closed in Sonny’s face, the sound of the lock turning loud in the stunned silence.

Unable to figure out what to say, he simply turned and continued to his apartment. But there was no chance for sleep as his mind turned over the scene with you all night.

***

It was weeks later before you saw Sonny again—in fact, you had forgotten completely about the early morning interaction. That is, until you opened the door to find him standing there after knocking once again, a grocery bag in his hand.

“Hey, uh, could I possibly come in? Make you dinner?” he asked.

You blinked in surprise. “Uh…yeah? Sure?” you replied in shock. If you weren’t caught so off guard, you probably would’ve said no. That night when he showed up as your cookies cooled was the first time you had ever spoken to him. Now, he was moving to your kitchen, searching until he found the utensils he needed.

You followed him in confusion, standing in the doorway and watching him work. He started chopping vegetables, throwing them into the pan to sizzle. It took no time for the delicious smells to fill the apartment, and you felt your heartstrings tug.

“May I ask why you’re in my kitchen, making me dinner?” you finally asked.

Sonny glanced up at you, his expression soft. “I thought you could use a good, homecooked dinner. Not to say that you don’t make your own, but it’s different when someone else does, right?”

“Y—yeah but…but why?”

He fell silent, flipping the vegetables easily, throwing them in the air and catching them back in the pan. He was intensely thinking about his words, making sure this came out right.

“Look, I know what it’s like to feel shitty. I’m not saying that I know what’s wrong in your life, personally, but I—I get it. It’s hard, not having someone to talk to after a long day. You work your ass off, you’re kind to those around you. You’re loved by friends and family, and you love them, too. But it’s not enough. You come home, day after day, to no one. You make yourself dinner, the thought of making a meal for one disheartening, but making too much food is even more depressing somehow. So, you make dinner alone, eat alone, spend your nights alone, then sleep alone. It’s monotonous and soul crushing. And you start to think there’s something wrong with you, because why else would you not find love?”

You were frozen staring at him, blinking away tears and wondering how the hell he knew so much about what you were feeling. That is, unless…. “You’re lonely, too?”

“Y—yeah…” he trailed off, focusing on cooking. Finally, he looked up at you. “I wasn’t positive that that was what you were dealing with; that was more about me. But when you opened the door at 3am a few weeks ago, I felt a—a kindred spirit.”

“That was…exactly my issues. I just…I have such a longing—”

“I do, too. But…but maybe on the bad days, I could come make you some dinner? That way we can be lonely together?”

You nodded before he finished talking. Sure, he was virtually a stranger to you, one that showed up out of nowhere, but it was better than sitting home all night, alone and sobbing to yourself. And besides, he was cute. Maybe, just maybe, this would become a regular thing.

[thran-duils]

Total Eclipse (P.1)

Title: Total Eclipse (Part One) Summary: Fem!Reader x Sherlock Holmes (RDJ). Sherlock had an impression on the reader from a formative age but he was always so busy running with cases. Their moments of passions were coveted between the two but they were few and far between. He left with Watson on a case and in that time, her parents found her a suitable man to give her to. Wealthy and accomplished. Sherlock and her have not been able to let go of each other though. Words: 1,816 Warnings (for the whole fic): Angst, infidelity, smut, swearing, substance abuse, non liner storyline, character death, 18+ as always Author’s Note: more warnings may be added for other chapters. As always, 18+. Also, the song inspo is def Total Eclipse of the Heart but its the Blvck Ceiling remix!

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

The carriage came to a stop outside the glove shop in front of you. It matched the description on the note that had mysteriously found its way into your cosmetics bag at home last night. And as the note had said, the gloves you picked up were already paid for. A practical gift from an absurdly practical man. One you could easily explain away to your husband as a gift he had simply given to you that he had forgotten that he had. He gifted items to you so often, it would not be hard to have this small token pass under his radar. Small to him but it was a symbol of a large wedge in your marriage, and it would always be.

The door opened and Sherlock was leaning out, smiling coyly. “May I offer you a ride, ma’am?”

“Do you even know where I am going?”

“Well, no. But if you would tell me…” You kept your face neutral at his toying and told him the address. He smiled broadly and said, “What a coincidence. I am heading that way and it looks like it might rain…” He turned his eyes skyward. It was cloudy. What a coincidence indeed. There was playfulness in his eyes as he pressed, “Ma’am?”

Sighing, you took his hand and let him help you into the carriage. He swung the door closed and tapped the wall behind him. The carriage took off.

“My, I’m pleased I was able to assist you,” Sherlock started cordially. “That is quite a lovely gown. Persian silk, is it not?”

“It is,” you answered stiffly.

You hated the games he played. He was going to pick you apart just for his own amusement now. Comment on all your riches simply because he had such a keen eye for everything with his travels and his intellect. And also because he liked you to remember how intelligent he was; it was something about him that had drawn you in in the first place. It still impressed you but now you knew it was him simply being petty more than anything. He wanted you and he wanted it badly. He was superior to your husband intellectually and always would be, something that would eat away at you. And besides intellect… Sherlock knew how to work your body like a well-tuned clock. This was foreplay for him. Assessing everything that had been going on with you in his absence since your last tussle in the sheets.

“Hmm. What lengths your family or husband must have gone to to acquire that fabric. You must really be special. Or they’re just woefully arrogant about their wealth.”

You shot him a disapproving look and he merely smirked briefly.

“I think it’s the latter personally. But what do I know? I haven’t seen you for four months.”

“Yes. What do you know?” you quipped.

“How is your son?” he returned quickly.

“With the nanny.”

“How aristocratic.”

“You never wanted children,” you told him tightly, getting tired of his questioning.

You knew why you were here. He was jealous still, even more so that you had had a child. And especially a child that was not his. He had been on a case across Europe at the time of conception… leaving no doubt about the father. But he was here now, wanting what he always wanted. A piece of you.

The two of you grasped at whatever pieces of the other you could get to hold close.

“Presumptive. We don’t know each other,” Sherlock replied, shooting you a look. You glared back and he merely simpered in response. “You look tired of the games.”

“I can’t even begin to describe how tired I am.”

The shades were drawn immediately by him, leaving the two of you in almost total darkness.

He was on you in a second and he pulled you close. “And how lonely?”

“Did you really shut yourself inside for four months?” you hissed back at him, as his hands played with the buttons of your bodice. “You are one to talk about loneliness! Watson told me!”

“I was only inside for two,” Sherlock responded lightly, as if that made it any better. “I had a case I did. But… two months inside was nothing. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? And why is Watson tattling to you?”

His hands were running up your sides, holding you close. His breath was hot, and he was coming in quickly. He claimed your mouth with his, the kiss deep and passionate. His tongue slipped past your lips, swirling and you responded in like. The two of you were panting with the intensity, hands grasping tightly on each other.

Sherlock managed to pull you down to the floor of the carriage and you hit him in protest. “My skirts! The dirty floor!”

“Say you fell. Make up a story of a heroic war hero – think of Watson for inspiration – helped you up off the cobble stone. It’ll make a great dinner story,” Sherlock spoke in hushed tones as he turned you around.

Your hands hit the opposite seat, chest planted firmly against it. Your heart was beating loudly in anticipation of the pleasure you were about to engage in. And the excitement that you truly could be caught at any moment if the carriage stopped for any reason.

Sherlock’s lips were at your neck, kissing up earnestly. He sucked deeply and you knew to let him; he knew the rules. He would never suck hard enough to leave a mark. No matter how much he wanted to. He nipped at your ear before circling back down; you turned your head to let him pull you back into a kiss.

He took this distracted opportunity to pull away, leaving you in a haze as he pushed your skirts up. You had done specifically as he liked and he was impressed.

“No undergarments,” Sherlock commented quietly his hands gripping the sides of your ass. “That’s very inappropriate and screams hussy in society. But… it’s very appropriate for me. I’m just delighted.”

“Will you get on with it?” You said impatiently. He always spoke so much and at the most inopportune time.

He chortled at you. “Always rushing. It’s what got you into your marriage in the first place, my love.”

His fingers traced. Running down between your thighs and pressing your legs open as you huffed indignantly at his rude comment. He always had to talk down about the situation you had found yourself in as a woman, no less. He knew why you had given in and still!

“And the fact—oh!” You gasped loudly at the last.

Sherlock’s fingers had dipped into your folds. He laughed quietly and warned you.

“Quiet now, dear. I paid the driver for discretion about who was in the carriage. Not discretion about any gossip he might hear. We should hurry it up though. We’ve taken three turns which means there are only four left. About fifteen minutes.”

Sometimes it paid off how perceptive he was but it still annoyed you right now when all you wanted to do was get off.

“How I wish I could turn around and sink onto you. That would ensure this would be done quickly,” you hissed at him.

You felt him at your entrance immediately and he pushed in. You groaned and he did in turn too. He filled you to the brim and sat stationary for just a moment, seeming to cherish the feeling before pulling out and setting himself a good pace. You pressed back onto him and one of his arms came to hold you tight across your chest. He still laid sloppy kisses along your exposed skin at your neck as he fucked you.

“Another turn,” you said sarcastically, just to rile him up.

And it worked.

He increased his pace in response, driving deeper. You lost your breath, fingers digging into the carriage seat as his teeth sunk in slightly. Bastard. He was pressing the rules just to teach you a lesson to be quiet and let him work.

His hand slipped back down to toy at your nub and your breath quickened.

Sherlock’s hand slapped across your mouth in anticipation. You hated he could read you so damn well. You moaned against his hand, your cunt clenching around his cock. His fingers dug in on your cheek, struggling to hold your pleasure in as you came undone as you were drawing it out of him with your tightness. He grunted loudly, sputtering. And then he was spasming just like you.

The third turn. The two of you felt and you were away from each other in a messy way. You pulled yourself back up onto the seat, touching at your hair. No, that was fine. He was always careful to not mess that up unless you two were spending the night together.

Across from you, Sherlock straightened at his waist coat. “The ball two days from now—” he started to say.

“It’s a masquerade.” You straightened your skirts out and sad back down on the carriage seat opposite him. You pressed them down further and did not miss the amused expression on his face.

“I’m quite aware, darling. Perfect opportunity.”

“For you to greet everyone? Come out of your shell?” you returned.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Watson told me I should.”

“I’m telling you that you should.”

“And that is enough.”

He had a sincere look in his eyes.

In your tryst, the rain truly had started to fall, a steady beat on the top of the carriage.

You had only been married for less than two years. And god, how you wished it was to him. But that was never to be.

The carriage came to its final turn and your house was so close. Your big… big house. It was so empty. The two of you were locked in a gaze just as the carriage came to a stop.

Swallowing sharply, you grabbed your purse off the bench beside you and said loudly, “Thank you for your courtesy. My husband would have been angry if this silk had been ruined in the rain.”

“You better run quick since there’s no butler here to greet you.”

“Ass,” you snapped, and he smiled again. You hated his smug smile so much, but you cherished seeing it too all the same. You climbed out, reluctantly taking his hand to help.

“You didn’t even say ‘welcome back’.”

He was actually pouting.

“You’ve already made yourself at home, dear,” you quipped.

You slammed the carriage door in his face and heard him chuckle from inside.

Turning, you went up the pathway quickly to the gate and threw it open, not bothering to look back. You knew you would see him again at the ball. The light rain was no bother.

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney  @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl

also @mcnegan​ if you are interested haha!

(THIS IS THE ONLY TIME I’LL USE THE MARVEL TAG, OTHERWISE I’LL TAG SPECIFIC PEOPLE AFTER THIS SINCE IT IS NOT MARVEL, AND JUST AN RDJ CHARACTER! If you wanna be tagged, let me know! :D)

[zeldasayer]

Futile Devices — Chapter 5

A Javier Peña/Call Me By Your Name AU

gif by @pascalplease

Javier Peña x Reader

Summary: Everything has changed since your father’s book with Javier was rejected, just as you and Javier were getting close.

Warnings: SMUT — age gap (reader is of age), inexperienced!reader themes, gagging, praise (use of “little girl”), vocal Javi, squirting. Angst. 18+

Masterlist | Chapter 4

——

Vita Murphy was born on April 9th 1963 in Milan, Italy to American architects Connie and Steve Murphy, who met your mother by chance one afternoon at a market in town. Taking a liking to Connie, Daisy invited her and her husband to one of their legendary parties. Your mother and father loved to entertain and invite interesting people into their home for cocktails and Daisy's delicious cooking. Your parents celebrated every holiday, birthday, or life event they could think of, any excuse to dress up, string lights through the fruit trees in the back yard and drink in excess to your father's extensive record collection. As a child, you missed most of the parties, having been put to bed just as they were taking off, but when Connie and Steve arrived to your mother's 35th birthday after meeting in the market, and saw you sitting alone at your piano, Connie knew that next time she would bring her daughter.

Even at 13 you felt the pull that Vita had. You watched as she floated around your home, seeming even more comfortable in it than you were, stealing sips of wine and hors d'oeuvres before noticing you and asking if you had ever had your tarot cards read.

"It's my favourite game." You spat out nervously unaware.

Vita just smiled with a nod, "Yeah. Mine, too."

And from then on, you were inseparable.

"She didn't cry, she sang!" Connie always said about her daughter's birth. "It was the happiest day of my life."

Made in her mother's stunning image, Vita had the most incredible large eyes and long blonde hair she cut only once a year. Connie knew at a young age that her daughter was special, as a believer in the universe and the infinite lives a person could have, she knew her daughter was an old soul put on Earth to love and protect the new souls, the tired souls, those who were born somewhere and didn't know why they were born there. She knew it would be quite the burden for one girl, but she saw it quickly in her daughter that it was what she was meant to do. A healer, a listener, someone who understood what many feared no one ever could. Vita attracted those who needed her, and in that, unfortunately led to a large turnover in friendships. Vita was used to strong, short bursts of complete female unity, where she loved you undyingly and provided the support that you needed to pass through a difficult period of your life. But not with you, there was no passing through with you. Not even during your extended stays in the United States or even now that you are gone most of the year in college, could your friendship be weakened.

"It's because you were siblings!" Connie exclaimed in a tipsy state on a summer night long ago. "In another life."

"Do you think?" Vita asked, turning to you.

You believed in Vita and her mother's cosmic knowing, and relied on it more than you were willing to admit. "Of course."

"You were brother and sister." Connie said before taking a sip of her wine, and going quiet.

She always goes quiet — one moment she will tell you how your whole life is going to be and the next, just as she's about to get into the details, she switches off without any explanation, claiming she "doesn't really know this stuff, anyway."

It always makes Vita roll her eyes, because she knows that's not the case for she is just like her mother. Vita saw everything and found people she couldn't read extremely frustrating. Vita has this otherworldly understanding of people and a patience unmatched by anyone you have ever met. She knows how devastating it can be to be seen, but how crucial in life it is to not only be understood, but accepted. Vita also knew how often you spent up in your head, in your make believe world where nothing could hurt you. How your lust for life was so consuming it left you unable to move, too afraid to start because it always felt like you were doing it on your own. Your best friend once told you with tears in her eyes that she wished she knew what planet you were from so you would have the peace of mind that you weren’t completely alone, and you thanked her because sometimes that is enough.

Vita is the human embodiment of home.

So why can't you tell her what is going on? Why does your throat close up every time you want to talk about Javier in any capacity? Why does your throat close up when you think about Javier at all? A part of you wants to run barefoot straight to Vita’s house and up to her room, beg her to help you understand your own emotions. Why are you so enamored by a man who always makes it so hard to breathe? How he manages to make you so hyper aware of your movements, yet he isn't even looking at you. How he's never there when you want him but you would drop everything to be close to him once more. You would drop everything just to be what he wanted again and it makes you sick to your stomach. It's like watching yourself at 15 all over again, when you believed the most important thing you could be was desired. Hell is the mind of a fifteen year old girl, and you thought those days were gone forever.

The tension in the house doesn't make it any easier. You and Daisy tiptoeing around your father and house guest. The quiet meals, that used to be your favourite parts of the day now leave you cold even in the relentless summer sun. You spend most of the time, sitting across from Javier, staring at him. Waiting for him to look at you so you can ask him what's wrong with your eyes. To let him know that he can come to you, that you want him to. But he never does.

Christian and Javier lock themselves away in the library most days and your mother tells you they still haven't come up with anything new. You're startled every night when you're woken by their raised voices traveling through the halls and you hold your breath until you hear their roaring laughter and you know they must be drunk.

You don't see Javier much these days, but you don't see anyone for that matter. Resorting to lazy floats in the pool by yourself or reading alone in the cool living room to escape the heat. It feels as though, if you can't be around Javier you can’t be around anyone at all and sometimes you can make that make sense but most of the time you ignore the irritating notion that you may really be going crazy.

But what was supposed to happen? Javier would fuck you and realize right then and there he couldn’t live without you? It’s so embarrassing because it’s true. You can't talk to Vita because you're embarrassed to admit you wanted to be more and tonight after another lonely dinner where you might as well have been eating alone — you dumped your dishes in the sink and slipped out to the back gardens for your abandoned childhood swing set. And you finally cried.

“Fuck!” You scream up at the sky and you kick your legs back.

As you create your momentum, swinging back and forth you can’t help but succumb to your own erratic emotions and you wonder why it has to be this way. Why can’t you just be happy with what you have? Why must you always need more? Why is it so goddamn exhausting to keep yourself neutral? You’ve never felt sad, only despair. Never angry, only full of rage. You’ve never been embarrassed, you only know humiliation. And you hate to think this way because you always search for your brain for a time you were truly happy, but you always come up empty.

Something is always missing. Something is always missing and you’re always alone but you can’t even be upset because you do it to yourself.

It feels like you’re taking the world on by yourself simply because you are. Because you feel like you need to, this is your burden and yours only. You must suffer to be rewarded for one day you will be able to walk in the sun and be alright.

But to what end? When will you be rewarded?

You want it to be Javier. Just being close to him feels like the reward. The energy you feel just sitting next to him, those eyes you want to swim in, the perfect angle of his nose and the voice that drips from his lips. It must be him, but he won’t even talk to you.

You spend the evening locked in this thought, the concept of the reward — you can convince yourself it isn't real but your heart aches for it knows it is the truth. Which is why Javier is so difficult. He is the one and it makes you dizzy with excitement, but you’re not sure if you can trust it. There is this pull of doubt at the corners of every thought because he still doesn’t know you. Though he could. If he just said the word, you’d spill every story, every thought, every idea you’ve ever had. How you long for more. More life. More love. More sex. More understanding. To truly be alive, not just living. Who could understand that better then him?

——

You like the way the cold ground feels under your bare feet as you walk back up to the house in the darkness. You feel lighter, now that you’ve cried and the house that sits quiet and empty is suddenly comforting. This is your life, your home. Javier is just a tourist and he should be so lucky to exist in the same space as you. But maybe this is you just channeling arrogance as to not be so sad, focusing on what he’s missing instead of your desperate need for him to actually see it.

“Claude?” You hear from the living room at the first creak of the wooden stairs.

You tiptoe through the corridor and into the living room to find Javier taming his fluffy hair with a yawn. Your jaw tightens.

“I’ve been waiting for you. I fell asleep.” He says and you just stand there, crossing your arms over your light blue summer dress. “Can you come sit?”

Shit.

“I don’t know Javi, I’m tired.” You shrug.

“Look, I just want to apologize.” He says, standing up and turning toward you, “We had sex and I haven’t spoken to you since and that’s fucked up. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen, but he doesn’t see because he looks down like he’s ashamed. You believe him. Gliding across the living room, you watch him in his usual ensemble — tight black t-shirt, soft cotton pants and his thick black framed glasses, and sit back down with him, on your side.

“It’s just everything with this book, I’ve never felt this kind of anxiety.” He says, his eyes cast down, resting his head on his fist propped up by the top of the couch.

You nod for you understand, but it hurt. “You didn’t even look at me this week.”

“I know.” He sighs, “I know, but I really am sorry. Please believe me when I say I’ve missed you.”

You look up at him, biting your cheek to contain your excitement.

“I miss you even while we live in the same house.” He says, looking away. His hand fidgets against his knee. “If you’re not at breakfast, or you spend your day here, reading in the living— I miss you when you aren’t around me.”

You wish there was a way to burn these words into your brain so you could have them at any time, to hear his voice say these things to you. This validation that he has felt the same after these long, horrible days of practically ignoring each other.

Bringing your hand to his cheek, you turn Javier’s gaze back to you, and study him as you feel the fine hairs of his beard under your fingertips. He looks tired, even behind his glasses you can see the deep longing for rest in his eyes. You don’t think he’s used to rejection either.

Javier leans into your touch with a soft hum and you could almost lose your breath from the tenderness. You want to hold him, bury your nose in his hair and tell him to rest with you. Just laying together, his big body between your legs and head on your stomach, until the inevitable rising of the sun. You can hardly bring yourself to imagine how beautiful Javi must look by the light of the morning.

“Come here.” You whisper, though it’s barely audible, as you rise up on your knees so you are flush against his side, looking down at him. Before you kiss him, Javier kisses you, and your hand floats down from his cheek to wrap your arms around his glorious neck.

Javi wastes no time, his one big hand dragging up your spine to squeeze the back of your neck, holding your against him. And with the other, letting his thick fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass. You can feel the desperation in his skin, and you want all of it, this exquisite juxtaposition of feeling both safe in his arms but that he could also crush you with his desire.

What was life before this? Before Javier’s thick moans into your mouth, his heavy wet finger tips tracing. He takes up all the air in the room and you don’t stop him. He is everything.

You break off the kiss for a moment and remove his glasses. “I missed you too.”

“I’ve only touched you once, but I have spent every day thinking about you. Kissing you. Having you.” He says, pulling you impossibly closer to him. “It’s all I’ve wanted, every day.”

“Why didn’t you tell me.” You ask, and you can’t help the confused look on your face but Javier doesn’t respond. You search his face anyway longing for something heartfelt, like he was locked up in his head, consumed by his feelings for you, like you were. Instead, he kisses you again. Swallowing any upsetting feeling you’ve had since you’ve touched him last.

Kissing Javier is a soft pleasure all in its own, but you want more. More skin. More contact. To ache around him again. To show him how much you truly missed him.

“Let me take care of you.” You whisper, your palm trailing flat down the man’s chest. You get lower and lower, kissing along the beautiful exposed skin of his neck, dragging your hand down the soft black fabric until you reach the drawstring of Javi’s pants.

“Are you sure?” He asks, and you feel his body stiffen as he looks around.

You nod, pushing your legs out from underneath you so you’re laying flat on the couch, your face practically in his lap. “Just relax.”

Javier lets all the air escape from his chest as you pull on the pants and he lifts his hips so you can get them down his thighs.

He watches you with heavy eyes, his mouth falling open as you kiss up the underside of his length, hardening under your lips. Swirling your tongue around the tip, you rest your head on Javier’s lower abdomen lazily, feeling him grow even more in your hand as you stroke him.

“Shit..” He says through his teeth, smoothing your hair back out of your face for you.

You continue to take your time teasing him. Humming in delight as Javier can barely contain himself, thrusting up into your hand shamelessly. He keeps his eyes closed, hands in your hair and you can feel the relief radiating from him. He was desperate for touch.

“Oh, Javi.” You coo, as his head falls back on to the couch, fucking up into your hand and you swear you can hear him whimper. This feeling of power over Javier is absolutely intoxicating, to feel so disconnected from him all week then to have him almost pathetically trying to relieve himself with any bit of human contact you’ll allow him.

“Look what you do to me.” He growls. “Fucking your ha-and...”

Javier reaches around, taking his length from your delicate grasp and pushes you lightly into his pelvis.

“You’re so fucking — soft.” He grunts, tapping his throbbing head against your lips before dragging his cock along your face.

You smile, letting him. Revealing your tongue for a moment to tease him once more.

“Thought you wanted to take care of me.” He says, his voice tight and you feel his hand in the back of your hair as he continues to run his length along your face. Grinning as his grip tightens, he doesn’t hurt you, it’s just about the control.

“I do.” You moan, as Javi softly pushes and pulls your head in a rhythmic motion, just hovering over him.

“Open your mouth.” He mumbles and you do what you’re told.

Javier motions your neck down, pulling you slowly over him, taking just his head in your mouth. “Is this okay sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” You whimper around him, your thighs involuntarily rubbing together, searching for some kind of relief from the arousing pull of his voice.

“Yeah? F-Fuck your pretty mouth.” He grunts, thrusting up slowly, stretching your lips to accommodate his thickness. You close your eyes, focusing on the fullness, calming your breath to take him.

“Stay just like this.” Javier sighs, his other hand tangling into your hair to keep you in place and you hum in agreement. Then he thrusts — quickly like he’s actually fucking you and it comes as a surprise but the moan that drips from his mouth almost instantly is enough to make you squeeze your thighs tighter. You have never felt a high like this, being exactly what Javier wants.

You dig your finger nails into his thighs as he takes you, a blunt, bruising force to the back of the throat and you can’t help but gag.

“That’s a good girl.” He says, “Taking my dick in your hot fucking mouth. I love that sound.”

You gag once more and Javier pulls out to you gasping. Spit suspended from your mouth to his cock and you watch it for a moment before grinning up at Javi.

“You’re so fucking cute.” He shakes his head in disbelief, wiping the saliva from your mouth.

“I’ve never done that before.” You smile, looking down slightly embarrassed as you wonder if you were even any good.

“You keep saying that...” Javi’s voice trails off as he pulls your dress up to knead your behind. You love having his hands on you, playing with you. “But you’d never know...”

You try to suppress your satisfied smile, flattening your palms around the base of Javier’s shaft, you take him back in your mouth.

“Fuck...” he exhales long and slow, grabbing a rough handful of your ass before pushing you down on to him, taking him completely down your throat and keeps you there. Your eyes water, and your leg kicks out before he lets you breathe again, coming up for air with a cough you look up at him and he looks down at you like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

——

Javier pulls you back up against his side, and he looks up at you as he’s slumped down into the couch. You wrap your arms back around his neck, fluttering your fingers through his hair and he nuzzles your chest, pressing his lips into your skin. You wish he was like this always, soft in your arms.

Javi hooks a finger into the top of your dress and pulls down, freeing your breasts, nipples hard in attention and he takes one in his mouth. Your cradle his head as he sucks on the buds and you let your own fall back slowly, relishing in the feeling of his tongue and his lips, the brushing of his moustache and the digging of his nose and how sweet he looks in your arms. This is too much, you’re going dizzy.

Javier helps you pull your dress over his head and his lips quickly return to your nipples. His big warm hands squeezing your bust harshly, alternating with his teeth scraping the sensitive flesh and completely pressing his face into your chest. Even as you climb into his lap, on top of him completely nude, his tongue doesn’t give up until you pull his face up to yours for a kiss.

He tastes like everything you want to drown in and it’s heady, like a force you must fight before it completely consumes you, but you don’t want to.

“Fuck.” You gasp, grinding your hips along Javi’s length, desperate for more.

“Oh, god.” He chokes, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Are you going to fuck me this time, sweetheart?”

“Yeah..” You whine, reaching between your bodies.

“Yeah? You’re gonna bounce that wet little pussy on my dick?” His voice shakes into your neck, and it’s such a contrast from his stern “Get on your bed.” from days ago.

You nod, kissing up his jaw in this sudden codependency, his need to feel every inch of you as you both fall back into the couch.

“Relax, Javi. Let me do this for you.” You coo, sinking down on to him. You hum from the incredible stretch and Javier groans right into your ear.

“That pussy is so fucking tight.” He says, out of breath. “Don’t move.”

You obey him, stilling in his lap and Javier lifts his head from the safe space between your neck and your shoulder and he looks up at you.

“What if I just held you here like this.” He says, almost to himself, his hands coming up to your ass. “Stuffed full of my dick and I didn’t let you move.”

“Javi...” You whine.

“Would you still be my good little girl?”

“Javi...” You whine louder, your chest feeling like it’s going to collapse, Javier’s fingers digging into you and he gives you two small thrusts.

“You love being my good girl, don’t you?” Javier whispers, pushing your hair behind your shoulders.

More than anything.

“Yes.” You gasp.

“I know you do.” He says, guiding you slowly up and down. “Just sucking my dick made this pussy a dripping mess.”

“I love it.” You groan as the sound of your skin against his gets louder as you work your hips for him.

Javier looks a moment away from possession and it just fuels you, for you have him where you always want him and you want this to be the death of him.

You still again, but only for a moment to steady yourself as you get up on your feet.

“Shit..” Javier sighs, before he turns you both with your arms wrapped around him, his back now against the arm rest and his legs straight out along the couch. “There you go, baby.”

You reach behind you, finding your balance with your grip on his knees and you pull your hips up.

“Oh my fucking god.” Javier gasps, running his hand down his face and you push your hips down slowly, watching him and in this moment he is really yours.

Fighting through the burning in your arms and your legs, you give him everything you’ve got. Mewing in the pleasure of seeing him underneath you like this, needing you like this. Submitting to the grinding of your hips and the wetness that aches around him. You wish you could see yourself on top of him, your chest bouncing, skin glowing in sweat so he knows exactly what he could have, whenever he wanted it.

“Your pussy is so fucking pretty.” Javier says, his thumb dragging across your mound and down to your clit, that is begging for attention and the moment his fingertip grazes the sensitive nerve your legs clamp together. But he doesn’t stop. Even as his length falls from your body from the increased height of your hips, Javier’s hand doesn’t retreat from the soft thighs it’s wedged between. Circling your clit over and over, your arms buckle and you hold your breath. You thought you had the power but even on top of him you’re just putty in his hand and he knows exactly what to do to make you sing.

“Are you going to squirt for me again?” He rasps, his other hand pushing you down into his lap. “I want to watch this pretty little pussy squirt all over me.”

“Put it back.” You gasp, trying to force your legs open.

“Yeah, baby? Do you need my dick?” Javi teases, pushing at your thigh to open up for him again. He finally eases his dizzying pressure on your clit and holds you just above his pulsing head, slick with you. Running his tip along your folds, you try to sink down on to him, but he keeps you suspended.

“Beg me.” He demands. “You know I love the way you say my fucking name.”

“Please, Javi.” You whine, grinding your hips into nothing. “Please, I love your cock so much, give it to me.”

You push yourself up and fall forward so your hands are on his chest, “Please, Javi. Make me squirt again. Only you know how to fucking do it”

“Oh, fuck.” He groans, pushing up into you sharply despite your yelp. “Anything for my good little girl.”

Javier pulls you down, flush against his chest, still clothed against your’s nude and he wraps his arms around you. He smells like amber and fresh linens as always. Summer. A sunset. The breeze off the ocean and wine. Safe.

His grip around you tightens as you inhale him, pounding up into you as he finds your ear, and his voice is like syrup, “I’m going to take care of you sweetheart. Going to make this pussy cum. You tell me okay? I want to see it. Want to see you fucking soak me. Don’t by shy, my good little girl. Give it to me.”

“Fuck, Javi.”

“You’re so fucking incredible. Taking my big dick in this perfect little pussy. Let go, Claude. Cum for me, angel.”

You groan lewdly and Javi’s hand comes down on your mouth.

“Shh. Shh. Shh.” He warns, and you sigh into his palm. Angel.

This pace is overwhelming, and as he’s restricted your limbs there really is nothing you can do but take it, trying to keep your thighs from clamping together every time Javier brushes that incredible spot within you. Your moans getting longer, from an even deeper part of your throat every time. Your core twists and tightens as he brings you there, unlike anyone else ever has.

“Javi, now!” You exclaim, barely recognizing the screech in your voice and Javier pulls out. His lap wet with you.

“Oh that’s a good fucking girl.” He says, kissing the top of your head as you fall to his side. “That’s so fucking hot.”

Your house guest’s impressive length twitches in his hand as he strokes himself, his nose buried in your hair as you nuzzle his chest in hazy delight and he keeps whispering, “Fucking you is such a dream. You make it so hard not to just nut in that tight fucking pussy.”

You hum, lifting our head up and kissing him softly. “Cum for me.”

“Yeah?” He swallows.

“Please, Javi.” You sigh.

“Where?” He asks, stroking himself harder.

It takes all your strength, but you slip silently off the couch and on to your knees. “On my face.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He says, getting up quickly.

Javier takes your chin delicately in his hand, stroking himself with vigor with the other, and you display your tongue for him, feeling the weight of his cock on it instantly.

“Such a good girl, letting me cum on your pretty fucking face like this. I don’t deserve you. So fucking— pretty.” He groans, with everything left and in this moment you have him, again.

——

You wake in your bed, and you know it’s late because you’re hit by a wall of heat followed swiftly by disappointment when you realize you are, once again, alone. With your arm spread out at your side, you know you are going to be met with nothing but empty sheets and you still feel it at the pit of your stomach anyway.

You sit up with a sigh, back to normal you suppose. Another day of existing separately, but together with only your lost puppy sense of self and a fascination for this man to sustain you.

Then you see him. Javier leaning up against your balcony door with his coffee, wearing only his pyjama bottoms. He hears you stirring and looks back with a smile, “Good morning.”

——

Tags: @pascalisperfect @thefinalgurl @we-are-like-a-timebomb @ssppoorrkk @headsindreams @kehrite @nerdyknightwritersblog @tangledlove27 @chipotle-pour-moi @jokersdoll @zea-is-amazing @someplace-darker @kaylaylaylayla @spacenerdsebby @forever-rogue @fionnthebandersnacc @colourmeinblue @longitud-de-onda @dogsinspace @spitmillk @staellula @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @leo-moon @mandoandyodito @bonkybaaarnes @sadthotsonlylove @ah-callie @astrolo-galaxy @lockedoutofmyotherblog @hayley-the-comet @boybalm @casjason @mrsparknuts @blushingwueen @ignimbritetcax @benakenalove @fioccodineveautunnale @exrebelshocktrooper @pascalisthepunkest @sav-a-nna @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @solarwars @cumberbitching @rae-gar-targaryen @tabalugax @lokiaddicted @roxypeanut @ezraslittlebirdie @thisainttheway @none-of-your-bullshit @mand0-l0rian @assaultsofthought

Love, Zelda

[amazingmaeve]

All to well ↠ Fred Weasley

━ “can i come over. i need to talk to you.”

summary ━ y/n and fred had an amazing relationship during there time at hogwarts. then he broke up with her then left. fred ends up calling y/n one night after the war because of his nightmares.

warnings ━ angst, insomnia, mentions of the war, depression, and fluff

a/n ━ some what based on all to well by taylor swift. also can relate to the dad part of the story.

word count ━ 6.2k

Ever since Y/N was young her fathers been her hero.

When she fell off her bike, her dad was there to swoop in and save the day. He put a bandage on her sore and kissed her forehead, reassuring her while she cried against his chest.

That was one she was 5.

After Y/N had gotten done with her tonsils being taken out. He was there holding her hand throughout it all. Her mom was there and Y/N was close to her but Y/N was an extreme daddy’s girl.

Her dad was there for when she got into Hogwarts and helped her with everything in her first year.

Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

When Y/N got back for Christmas she noticed how distant her dad was. He didn’t come in and read her a bedtime story or even to say good night.

Her mom was the one to do that. Y/N noted that she had bags under her eyes and even being 11 years old she could see how stressed her mom was.

Her mom reassured her everything was fine. But she didn’t believe her because one night during Christmas break, her mom and dad got into a huge argument. They were screaming and yelling at each other while Y/N stayed up stairs right by her door, tears strolling down her eyes listening to the people, who she thought loved each other so much, argue.

Y/N came out of the room with the stuffed animal her dad got for her fourth birthday, tears stinging her eyes. She heard someone come up the stairs loudly and angrily.

She looked up and saw her dad look straight at her and walk past her to her parents room. Y/N’s lip quivered as she saw her dad get his suitcase and pack everything, walked past her without even looking at her. He didn’t even say goodbye.

Y/N flinched as the door slammed and she heard her mother sob down stairs.

Y/N slowly walked down stairs hugging her bear to her chest. She saw her mom crying on the couch, tears coming out at a fast pace.

“Mommy,” Y/N voice wavered as she said it. Her mom's trembling body turned towards her with a shocked look. She tried wiping the tears so her daughter didn’t see as she walked up to her.

“Sweetie what are you doing up,” She asked, kneeling down next to her.

“Where’s daddy,” Y/N asked as her tearful expression brought some tears to her mothers eyes.

“It’s just us now baby,” Her mother wiped some tears away from Y/N’s eyes as they kept coming. Her mom's arms came to wrap around her hugging her while Y/N cried.

That’s when Y/N could never trust any man. Her father made such an imprint on her life that it made her not want to trust anyone. She was willing to give up love for it.

Christmas came the next day just Y/N and her mom and that’s all she needed.

For the next 5 years Y/N had to stay strong for her mom when she was at home. Y/N heard her mom cry herself to sleep when she was home and it broke her head. She hates her dad for what she did not only to her but to her mom.

Y/N stayed lonely for the next 5 years not wanting to get attached to anyone and break down again. It got lonely at some times but it helped with her studies.

Her mom was proud of Y/N. She’s got good grades and is even a prefect. She's everything she wanted her to be.

As Y/N walked down the halls doing her prefect duties as she noticed the Weasley twins playing around probably going to prank someone. Y/N rolls her eyes, she doesn’t know the Weasley twins all she knows is that they cause trouble and Y/N hates that.

“Weasley,” Y/N sneered walking up to the twins who had feared expressions on their faces.

“Actually Weasleys,” Fred corrected her with a smirk on her face. Y/N sighed out of annoyance.

“What are you doing up past hours,” Y/N impatiently asked while crossing her arms over her chest.

“Studying,” George shrugs innocently. Y/N lets out angry huff.

“Where’s your books,” Y/N asks, giving them a look. She didn’t understand why they were so damn popular they were getting on her never right now.

“In the library,” Fred starts to say as he looks Y/N up and down with a smirk on his face.

“Just stretching our legs,” George finishes with a smile. Y/N thinks on what to do and if they are studying she doesn’t want to ruin it for them.

“Fine but get to your dorms when you’re done,” Y/N sternly says, walking away from the twins hoping she did the right thing.

Y/N takes a deep breath leaning against the wall. She had to admit they were attractive and she’s always had an interest in Fred but acted in anything since she barely even saw him. And she didn’t get the butterflies that often.

It didn’t matter she wasn’t going to get her heart broken by a boy, or anyone ever again.

The next Y/N did her morning routine. Got dressed, put a little makeup on, get all of her books, and went to breakfast where she got her food and started eating.

Y/N was a perfectionist and always stuck to a routine and hated when someone ruined it.

As she was eating her toast two people sat on each side of her and she immediately knew who it was.

“Fred George,” Y/N greeted coldly, not looking up from her food to look at the twins.

“We just wanted to thank you for last night,” George began to say as he looked at the girl who didn’t look up from her food.

“It helped us big time,” Fred finished for his twin. Y/N had always intrigued him. She never talked to anyone unless she had to. Fred wanted to know what happened to her.

“Well you guys were studying right,” Y/N snaps looking from George to Fred.

“Who knows,” Fred innocently looks at her making butterflies erupt in her belly. She ignored them and rolled her eyes at the red head.

“Great so you lied to me,” Y/N sighs. She can’t blame them. She had a bad feeling in her stomach last night. She should have done something.

“Not exactly,” George giggles.

“Whatever,” Y/N grumbles. Her appetite is gone as she thinks about losing her role as a prefect.

She grabs her books getting up to leave since it’s almost time for her potions class. It’s her sixth year and she still hates potions.

Snape was a hard teacher to deal with. She had to be on time or points away from Y/H. So Y/N had to pay extra attention so she didn’t fail the class.

Y/N sat and got all her books out as students rolled in the class talking and chatting with each other. Meanwhile Y/N sat in her seat doodling in her note book trying to block out the noise. Unbeknownst to her a certain redhead was curiously looking at her.

Snape entered the class dramatically as always. Y/N closed her notebook getting ready to pay attention to the glass.

When she was taking notes Y/N felt paper hit the back of her head. She turned around to see Fred Weasley smiling at her.

Y/N rolled her eyes turning to face the front again. Y/N tried to ignore everytime Fred Weasley threw paper at her. It disappeared when it hit the ground so no evidence.

“Will you stop,” Y/N whispers angrily as he keeps throwing the paper at her. He holds up on defense.

“Miss Y/N do you have something you’d like to share with the class,” Snape's sharp tone seemed into Y/N’s brain.

“No sir,” Y/N shakes her head not wanting to get in trouble.

“10 points away from Y/H,” Snape snapped as Y/N looked down at the table. This was the first time she’s ever gotten house points away.

Y/N keeps her head down while Snape talks. She takes note trying to pay attention but it’s hard when she just got into trouble for the first time.

Fred didn’t try anything else with Y/N during the rest of the class and Y/N thanked god for that. If he didn’t that one more time she probably would’ve hexed him with something.

Snape dismisses everyone and Y/N grabs her books getting ready to go to her next class which is empty so she goes to the library to study.

“Hey Y/N wait up,” Y/N heard Fred yell which made her roll her eyes. She didn’t wait but Fred caught up to her anyways.

“What do you want Fred,” Y/N stops and looks up at the boy who gives her a charming smile.

“Just wanted to ask if you wanted to go and get a butterbeer tonight,” Fred says eagerly. Y/N can feel her heart racing again as the butterflies in her stomach start to flutter even faster than before.

“Why would I do that if you just got me in trouble,” Y/N asks, trying to hold all of her books up in her hands.

“I was just trying to ask you something,” Fred says happily as his eyes brighten while Y/N’s stay the same. Gloomy and uninterested.

“You could’ve done it in a different way,” Y/N mutters looking down at her feet to avoid eye contact with Fred.

“Here let me help you,” Fred grabs Y/N’s books. Y/N was about to interject and deny but he took the books out of her arms.

Fred didn't want to admit but he’s always been intrigued by Y/N. She was alway by herself and only talked to teachers, class partners and so on. Fred also never saw her smile which made him want to make her smile. She made him nervous for some reason.

He never got nervous around anyone.

He wanted to know what happened to her that won’t make her smile. Fred loves to make people smile. Especially people he likes/loves.

Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose. He’s being nice to her and she doesn’t want to be rude to him.

“You don’t have to do that,” Y/N retorted as Fred rolled his eyes at her stubbornness.

“Come on just let me help you,” Fred pleaded just wanting to be around her.

“Fine I’m going to the library,” Y/N gave in. She couldn’t say no to him and look him in the eyes at the same time.

They start to walk towards the library in silence til Y/N breaks the silence.

“I just wanted to apologize for being mean,” Y/N apologizes. She feels bad for being mean since he’s the one who’s helping her out. She doesn’t get that offer often.

“No need to apologize, you helped me and George out last night,” Fred sends her a wink which makes her shake head looking at the ground strolls on the ground, her heels clinking against the hardwood floor. He makes her feel things she doesn’t want to feel. She’s only known him for a day.

“I thought you were only studying,” Y/N corrects him trying to see if her gut reaction was correct.

“What do you think we were doing,” Fred avoids the answer, not wanting her to be mad at him. He doesn’t want to screw this up.

“I think you weren’t studying,” Y/N ponders, crossing her hands over her stomach as they stop in front of the library.

“You aren’t mad,” Fred asks astonished. He thought she’d lash out at him while kicking him in the balls.

“Just a bit, but we don’t know each other and I’m the one at fault. If I didn’t turn you in that’s my decision not yours,” Y/N explains running her hands through her hair. She pulls a few knots out while at it.

“Why did you let me and George go,” Fred speaks his mind. Y/N bites the inside of her cheek. Why did she do that?

“I don’t know,” Y/N answers, not looking at him. Fred gives her a smirk.

“So how bout that date,” Fred says, very optimistic. He hands her the books as he leans against the wall.

“I-I don’t know,” Y/N stutters looking around. Maybe dating wouldn’t be so bad but what if something bad happens and he doesn’t care about her?

“Come on one date and if you don’t like it we don’t have to go out ever again,” Fred offers, making Y/N let out a sigh and for the first time in her life she lives in the moment.

“Sure pick me up at 8,” Y/N accepts running into the library not wanting to see his reaction or him to see how nervous she was.

Y/N sits down and lets out a tiny smile feeling a bit of happiness inside of her. Happy. She hasn’t felt that in a long time.

She’s just met him and she’s already very happy. She wonders what will happen next, hopefully more happiness.

All she hopes is that this feeling doesn’t go away.

For the rest of the day Y/N felt something she could describe as giddiness. She can’t wait for the date. Years ago if someone told her she would have been going on a date Y/N would laugh in their face.

Y/N didn’t believe in love. But maybe Fred can be the exception. No she’s not in love with him right now but if they start dating Y/N can see that as a possibility.

She gets ready with the best clothes she gots which is a dress her mother bought her. Y/N puts a little more makeup on to make herself more presentable.

Y/N prances down the stairs to the common room where she sees Fred sitting on the couch. His knee is bouncing up and down out of nerves. When he sees her he looks her up and down and notes how beautiful she is.

“You look beautiful,” Fred compliments her as she brushes some of her hair behind her ear. She smiles at him as he puts his hands outstretched wanting her to take it.

Y/N takes his hand and her heart races. She’s never been this nervous before, it’s a new sensation that makes her feel weird.

They talk on the way to Hogsmeade about their interest. What they have in common and what they don’t have in common.

Fred told Y/N about his and George’s dream to open a joke shop while Y/N listened fascinated. She’s never liked pranks but Y/N can’t lie when people like Malfoy get pranked on.

When they get to Hogsmeade he orders them some butterbeer while Y/N taps her nails against the wood of the table, nerves rattling in her stomach.

“You okay,” She heard Fred ask her as he sat the butterbeer down and took a seat next to her. He had a happy expression on his face as he looked Y/N.

“I’m fine just kinda nervous,” Y/N admitted taking a drink then looking at Fred who had a confused look on his face.

“Do I make you nervous love,” Fred asks with his signature smirk on his face.

“Maybe,” Y/N says looking at him. “It’s just my first date and I don’t want to screw this up,” She nervously laughs looking at her hands where blue nail polish is being picked off.

“I noticed,” Fred added and Y/Ns head snapped towards his direction.

“How’d you know,” Y/N asks, narrowing her eyes at Fred.

“It just seems like you never talk to anyone,” Fred confesses, making Y/N frown. She didn’t know anybody knew about this but then again Y/N always thought she would be invisible. “I didn’t mean to make you upset,” He freaks out as he notices the look on her face.

“I’m not, I just always thought I was invisible,” Y/N elaborated. “Guess I was wrong,” She smiles.

“Trust me Y/N boys notice you,” Fred laughs as Y/N narrows her eyes in confusion. Y/N barely talks to any boys unless it's for a school project. “Guys talk,” Fred admits seeing the confusion spread on her face.

Y/N made an ‘oh’ face.

For the rest of the night Y/N and Fred chatted and got to know one another. She knew that she wanted to see him again. She wanted to get to know him more and vice versa.

At the end of the date Fred leaned in to kiss her and Y/N paused for a second. She’s obviously never kissed anyone so when Fred kissed her she just froze. Until she moved her lips along with his copying his movements.

Fred put his hand in her hair and pulled her head closer. While Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck leaving nothing between the two.

Y/N takes a deep breath leaning out of the kiss. It was so passionate it made her feel like on cloud nine. Y/N noticed Fred looking at her and buried her face into his chest not wanting him to catch her embarrassment.

“You’re so cute love,” Fred chuckles, bringing his arms around her and pulling her into a hug.

From then on everything was bliss. Y/N started hanging out with Fred and George more often since Fred asked her out on their second date. On her prefect duties she tried to ignore the two pulling pranks not wanting them to get into trouble.

Even in her sixth year at school Y/N could only describe the feeling in her chest as love. She felt as if she was in love with Fred Weasley and she hoped he was feeling the same about her.

Y/N told him about her dad when they were in the last week of the year and sixth month into their relationship. She felt like she needed a reason to tell him why she was so closed.

“You know how closed off I was,” Y/N asks Fred pushing some of her hair behind her ear feeling nervous about telling him this.

“Yes feels like centuries ago love,” Fred says as he rolls his head to look at her. Fred was laying down in his bed while Y/N sat criss cross picking at the skin around her nails. Fred picked up on this and leaned on his arms to look at her.

“Hey what’s wrong,” Fred grabs one of her hands and kisses the top of it.

“My dad left me and my mom when I was young,” Y/N begins to explain. “He was my hero. He was my best friend and then one day around Christmas he just left,” She explains her eyes brimming with tears. “I never found out why,” She whispers as a tear rolls down her cheek.

Fred puts his hand on her cheek and wiped the tear away with a sorrowful expression on his face. He didn’t know this was the reason why she never talked to anyone. He thought she just hated everyone not this. Fred sits up to pull her into a hug as she sobbed into his chest.

Y/N didn’t know she still felt so strongly about the situation as buried her head into his chest.

“It was my fault,” She sobs into his chest. Fred comfortingly strokes her back.

“How can you possibly think that love,” Fred says, scrunching his nose. He pulls her back from his chest with a stern look on his face. “This is not your fault you were just a child darling,” He enveloped her cheeks between his palms.

“Then why’d he leave,” Y/N whimpers tears coming out of her eyes at a faster pace. Fred does his best to wipe away all the tears but they keep coming like a waterfall.

“I don't know love but all I know it’s not your fault,” Fred kisses her forehead. He lays both of them down and pulls her head to his chest as her sobs start to calm down.

“I love you,” Y/N whispers after a while and her voice is raw from the crying. Fred looks down at her shocked by her words.

Fred doesn’t know much but he knows that he wants to have the joke shop with his twin and that he is absolutely in love with this girl.

“I love you too,” Fred whispers, hugging her harder. Y/N leans up to kiss him and Fred holds her hand as they kiss pouring their love into that kiss. Fred's hands travel to her hair as they kiss for a minute.

Y/N smiles as they part and pecks his lips again leaning her head in the crook of his neck feeling exhausted from all the crying.

She falls asleep in minutes while Fred stays awake admiring how peaceful Y/N looks. She looks completely stress free and even though finals are down that doesn't mean there’s stress and Fred loves it when she just relaxes.

Fred falls asleep soon after his thoughts are filled of Y/N.

A week later they both parted to their houses where they sent owls to each other where they explained how much they missed each other. Y/N explained how the lake she visited reminded her of him.

When at Hogwarts Y/N and Fred usually laid in the field talking about their day or just making out. That of course if they weren’t in class.

Y/N often helped Fred with school work but it usually ended up in a make out session.

Meanwhile at the Weasley household they noticed a change in Fred. They noticed how much happier he was. Whenever an owl was delivered to the house Fred was the first to get it. He had a smile on his face as he read it.

They both couldn’t just wait to get back at school to see each other again. But what was waiting for them at school would make them wish they stayed in summer forever.

Professor Umbridge. Or as Y/N liked to call her an evil shrew.

Y/N was demoted from her prefect duties as soon as she covered for Fred and George. Y/N went to Fred rambling how much of a bitch Umbridge was.

Fred couldn’t have agreed more.

Throughout the year Y/N had Fred with her by her side which was all she needed. Fred was there for when she was demoted and she was there when he was taken off of the quidditch team.

Fred that year was extremely protective over Y/N. When she had the blood quill Fred almost went to curse Umbridge but she stopped him not wanting Fred to get hurt.

Y/N was also muggleborn which meant Umbridge used that against her. It didn’t bother Y/N that much since Umbridge was a blood supremacist. But it bothered Fred very much.

When Malfoy called Y/N a Mudblood, it didn’t bother her since she was so used to it, especially from Malfoy.

But when Fred heard about it he went to Malfoy and punched him square in the face.

“Fred why the hell did you do that,” Y/N snapped at Fred as she looked at his hand and cleaned up the blood.

“He had it coming angel,” Fred told Y/N. Angel was a new nickname Fred came up with over the summer.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Y/N softly explained, wrapping his hands up in bandages.

“It’s not like we have quidditch anymore,” Fred sadly says rolling his eyes.

“Freddie,” Y/N says with a somber expression in her eyes as she cups Fred’s cheeks with her hands. She plants a kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry if I could’ve done anything I would’ve,” She says as she sits in his lap.

“It’s not your fault angel,” Fred reassures putting his hands on her hips gently massaging them.

Y/N leans in and kisses him, her arms on his shoulders as she does so. He kisses back his hands traveling up her back. As the kiss deepens he takes off her shirt leaving her in a bra.

After that Y/N takes off his shirt and they continue to kiss passionately. Her hands wrapped around his cheeks, kissing him harder.

Before anything else happened someone opened the door.

“MY EYES,” George screamed covering his eyes as Fred rolled his eyes at his twin. George ran out of the room. Y/N giggled at the boy.

“I have a question,” Y/N asks, getting her shirt back on.

“You already did love,” Fred teases, pulling the shirt over his head and back on his body. Y/N rolls her eyes smiling at him. “What is it angel,” He asks, walking over to her and pulling her into a hug.

“Will you always love me,” She asks, burying her head in his chest.

“Always,” He promises kissing the top of her head.

It was nearing the end of the year and Fred and George were sitting down on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. They were going over plans for the joke shop.

George was rambling on about something as Fred thought of Y/N. He knew what he had to do. Let her go so she wouldn’t get hurt. By Voldemort or Umbridge.

“Fred, what's wrong,” George asks, concerned for his twin.

“I have to break up with Y/N,” Fred says and the thought of doing it even nauseated him. But he had to do it for her.

“What,” George asks flabbergasted. Y/N and Fred were good for each other. George also knew about her past and also knew it would break if he did this.”You can’t do this,” George scoffed.

“I have too for her safety,” Fred says looking at his fingers.

“Fine but you’ll have to deal with consequences,” George states.

Fred nods and stands up going to Y/N’s dorm getting ready for this. But he doesn’t feel ready as he climbs the stairs.

When he reaches her room he takes a deep breath before opening the door but frowns when he realizes when she isn’t in there. She must be in the astronomy tower. That’s where she goes to think.

Fred runs to the tower wanting to get this done and over with so he doesn’t have to see her cry. Jesus he didn’t want to make her cry but it was inevitable.

Fred sees her leaning on the railing and watching the stars. Her hair flowing in the wind. Fred didn’t want to leave her but he had to.

“Hey Y/N,” Fred gloomily said as she turned around he noticed the happy smile on her face and hated himself as he knew that smile was going to be wiped off. He walks towards her

“He Freddie,” Y/N says smiling wrapping her arms around his shoulders planting a kiss on his lips. When he didn’t kiss her back she frowned. “What’s wrong,” She asks worriedly.

Fred takes her arms off his shoulders and she looks hurt as he does. “Me and Georgie are leaving to make a joke shop,” He explains.

“Dropping out,” Y/N asks and he nods and she nods at him as well. “It’s only a couple more months and we can be together again,” She says smiling. Y/N didn’t know what’s wrong but she had a bad feeling in her stomach. Maybe it was the look on Fred’s face.

“I think we need to break up,” Fred blurts out with a sorrowful expression on his face.

“What,” Y/N replies shocked. She didn’t want to break up with him. “It’s only a couple of months,” She tries to explain.

“I don’t want to be with you,” Fred snaps, making Y/N’s eyes water.

Why do the people she always loves leave her? Why can’t one person just stay and be there for her whether it was platonically like her dad or romantically like Fred.

“Okay,” Y/N says rolling her tongue in her mouth trying not to cry. But she can feel tears brimming her eye begging to be let out. “I knew I shouldn’t have gotten close to you because all it would end is in heartbreak,” She whispers, her lip quivering as tears start to cascade down her cheeks.

“Y/N-,” Fred tried to say as he approached her. She takes a breath as the wind makes her wrap her arms around herself.

“I knew it everybody in my life eventually leaves me,” Y/N lets out a laugh with tears still coming out. “And you said it wasn’t my fault,” She finally breaks down and lets out a choked sob.

“Angel-,” He tried to approach her tears glistening his own his.

“Don’t,” She whimpered, running away to her from where she finally collapsed on her bed sobbing into her pillow.

She should’ve focused on her studies and not let Fred in. If she did, she wouldn’t be here sobbing against her pillow curled up in a fetus position.

Y/N loved him so much and she thought he felt the same but she was wrong. She wished she had a time machine where she could’ve said no to the date.

If she would’ve Y/N would still be somewhat content. Now she’s just downright sad.

Fred promised her he would always love her. Y/N scoffed at the memories wiping the tears away but they kept coming.

When Fred left the next day with George she had to hold in the sobs so no one knew how bad she was hurting. They left with happy smiles on their faces as they left leaving a depressed Y/N.

Y/N finished school passing luckily. School kept her mind off Fred. It didn’t stop her from crying herself to sleep. And then she was finally out of Hogwarts.

Y/N got a job at a muggle coffee shop where she tried to rebuild her life. But things quickly fell again.

Her mom revealed to her that she had stage four breast cancer. Y/N was shocked she didn’t see the signs. She’s been so caught up with Fred she didn’t see her own moms pain.

Her mom reassured her it wasn’t her fault as Y/N cried against her moms chest.

For the next few months she was there for her mom and helped her with everything. When her mom was bed ridden she cooked her food and helped her bathe.

Y/N paid the bills with her unemployment and her money from the coffee shop.

Even in such a dark time for Y/N, her and her mom joke around. Her mom always made everything better for her.

Y/N would sometimes stay in the room in the rocking chair making sure she was okay. Y/N knew what was coming she couldn’t avoid. Her mom was going to die and she couldn’t prevent it. Y/N had to accept it. But she couldn't because her mom was the last person in her life that cared about her and she wasn’t ready to let go.

During the wizarding war Y/N stayed with her mom. She couldn’t do that, leave her all alone. Y/N had to be with her mom through the pain.

One morning Y/N woke up in the rocking chair. She opened her eyes stretching her joints before looking at her mom smiling. Then she noticed something.

“Mom,” She whispers worried as she shakes her hoping for her to wake. When she doesn’t Y/N starts to cry. “Mommy,” She whispers, shaking her hoping she wakes up. “Please wake up you’re all I have,” Y/N sobs as she hugs her mom. “You’re all I have left.”

Sobs rack throughout her body as she realized something. Everyone she’s ever loved left her. Her dad and Fred. And now her mom.

After a few more minutes of sobbing and hugging her mom she called the ambulance with tears running down her face. Voice hoarse from crying.

Y/N decided to cremate her mom and just to put a headstone so she could still visit. She put some of her mom's ashes in a necklace so she will always be with Y/N.

“I’m gonna miss you mom,” Y/N weeps as she places the flowers on the headstone. It was a sunny day contrasting her gloomy expression.

When Y/N’s mom died the war was over for a few days. Y/N didn’t worry about that since her mom was her priority.

For the next few months Y/N is almost robotic. She gets up, eats breakfast, goes to work, gets home, eats dinner, and then goes to sleep.

It feels like she can’t feel anything. She still cries herself to sleep. One day while at the coffee shop she sees some she recognizes.

“Y/N,” Fred says surprised. Y/N is too and notices he’s changed. He looks older in a good way. But Y/N doesn’t show her surprise as she stares at the red head.

“What will you be having,” Y/N asks in a monotone voice.

Fred notices something wrong with her. It doesn’t feel like the Y/N he knew. But that’s none of his business, he broke up with her.

“Just regular coffee,” Fred says quietly. Y/N nods walking away getting the coffee and walking back setting it down. “Thanks,” He smiles at her.

Y/N doesn’t say anything just walks away going to another customer. Y/N notices when she collects the money he gave her an extra tip. She rolls her eyes as she walks to the counter.

That night Fred has the same nightmare. Him dying with a wall falling on him. He wakes up in a sweat with a few tears rolling down his eyes.

Fred gets up to the phone book and looks for Y/N’s number and calls her shaking back and forth.

Y/N wakes up to a ringing and then realizes that it’s the phone. She lets out an annoyed sigh before answering it.

“What,” Y/N snaps.

“Hey it’s me,” Fred’s soft voice comes through the phone.

“Fred what are you doing calling me at,” Y/N sits up to check the time. “3 o’clock in the morning,” She sighs.

“Can I come over? I need to talk to you,” Fred asked desperately. Y/N doesn’t even know why she’s considering it. Maybe it’s the desperation in his voice that makes her worry.

“Fine,” Y/N sighs.

“Thanks,” Fred sighs out of relief getting ready then apparates to her front door and rings the doorbell.

Y/N gets her robe on and walks down the stairs. Her mother left the house in her will. She basically left everything in her will.

“Hey Fred,” Y/N sighs, opening the door wider gesturing for him to come in.

“I’m sorry for showing up so late,” Fred apologizes as Y/N goes to the kitchen to make them some tea to relax.

“Why did you even call me Fred you don’t even want to see me,” Y/N huffs before taking a sip out of her tea.

“I broke up with you for your safety,” Fred admits. Y/N scoffs not believing him. “I’m not lying, I didn’t want Voldemort or any other death eater to hurt you,” He explains with sadness in his eyes. “I know that’s not a good excuse but I just wanted you to be safe,” He pinches the bridge of his nose out of stress.

Y/N sighs and moves to the couch which Fred follows her with his cup of tea.

“Why did you even call me,” Y/N asks, leaning her arm on one of her cushions on the couch.

“During the war a wall almost fell on me and I almost died,” Fred explains making her eyes soften. “I keep having repeated nightmares over the situation and I thought talking may be able to help.”

“Oh Freddie,” Y/N cooes wrapping her hand around his cheek. “You know even being with me won’t cure this,” She explains rubbing his cheek.

“I know but it might help to have someone. I mean there’s George but I think he’s getting annoyed,” Fred lets out a little chuckle making Y/N smile. “Do you think I can have another chance,” He asks, a bit hopeful.

“Yes but we have to take it slow,” Y/N sternly says making Fred smiling

“Okay I can go with that,” Fred accepts that. “Where’s your mom,” He asks knowing this is her house.

Y/N’s face falls and Fred gets worried scooting over to her.

“Uh she died of breast cancer a few months ago,” Y/N admits, trying her hardest not to cry. She plays with the necklace with her mother’s ashes.

Fred pulls her into a hug and she rests her head on his shoulder as Fred comfortingly rubs her back up and down.

“I’m so sorry Y/N,” He whispers.

“It’s fine I think I’m finally starting to move on.”