#and start working in a small bookshop near where I live

[sparksflys]

...

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

The Monster of Wolf Woods | Part One

Summary: a love story of a muggle and a werewolf

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Remus hating on himself

A/N: this is the start of a two part (possibly more if people like it) story to please the David Thewlis hyperfixation my brain currently has. Hope you enjoy! as always spelling and grammar are not my strongest skills so please be kind :)

- - - - -

I’d never paid much attention to the moon, other than the occasional glance up to admire it’s beauty on a dark night. I’d never stopped to consider the danger that lurked beneath it. That is until I met Remus. 

I work in a small independent book shop in the middle of a small independent village. No one really knows this village exists aside from the people who live here and there are only around 300 or so of us. I was working in the bookshop the day I met Remus. It’s not very often you meet new people in this village when so he walked into the shop I felt my heart jump with excitement. His gentle nature, kind smile and enthusiasm for books caught my attention and I quickly developed a crush on him. I kicked myself for not asking for his number as I watched him leaving the shop, thinking I’d blown my opportunity and that I’d never see him again. 

To my surprise (and relief) he came back the following day. And the day after that. And the day after that. 

He came back to the shop every single day for almost a week, each time buying a new book before talking to me for at least an hour about the book he’d purchased the previous day. It was like we’d started our own little book club. 

“Well lovely chatting you as always. I’ll see you tomorrow.” he said on the Saturday as he turned to leave the shop. 

“Actually we’re closed on Sundays.” I replied regretfully, half considering opening up the shop just for him. 

“Oh” he responded disappointed, thinking for a moment “Well I guess you’ll have to let me take you out somewhere else then.”

“Like, a date…?” I tested, feeling butterflies as I waited for his answer. 

“If that’s okay with you.” He suddenly sounded nervous. “You don't have to of course, if you’d rather not-”

“Remus” I said gently, interrupting him before he had a chance to fully spiral. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

“You- you want to?” The hope in his eyes melted my heart. 

“I’ve wanted to since the day you first walked in.” 

The next day we met up outside the closed bookshop. He brought flasks of coffee and together we walked through the village and shared stories about our lives with each other. He told me about how he spent the past year working as a teacher at some private boarding school but recently moved back to the area after having enough of dealing with ‘rich overbearing parents’. I told him how I’d moved to this village 6 months ago after splitting with my ex, opening up to him about the awful way I’d been treated which explained why I wanted a fresh start in the middle of nowhere. 

We’d become so distracted in our conversation that I didn’t even realise how far we’d walked until we arrived at the edge of the forest. 

“Everything alright dear?” He asked, noticing my hesitation to follow him. 

“This is the entrance to wolf woods.” I say and he nods. “Did you mean to bring us here?” 

The forest wasn’t really called wolf woods, that’s just the nickname given to it by the locals because if you listen into the night when the moon is full you can almost hear the sounds of a wolf howling. No one had ever actually seen a wolf, but the villagers still would never get near just in case. 

“I must admit I got so caught up listening to your story I lost track of where we were going. I didn’t mean to bring you so close to the forest. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“Oh no, I’m not scared!” I say with a smile and he looks at me confused.

“But the wolf lives here.”

“I’ve read a lot about them and I think they’re beautiful and misunderstood creatures. I’m more concerned that if there is a wolf living in these woods then two humans walking into its home might startle it and make it feel unsafe.” When I looked at Remus I swear I saw a tear in his eye. “Are you okay?” 

“I’ve never heard mugg-” he corrected himself “person talk so kindly about a monster before.” 

“I don't believe they’re monsters. But even if they were, everyone deserves kindness…” I say, taking a step to close the gap between us.” …everyone deserves love.” 

Remus suddenly leant down and kissed me, taking my breath away, before pulling away flustered. 

“Sorry, I don't know what came over me-” he starts breathlessly but I grab his face and pull him in for another kiss, this one lasting longer as we both melted into each other. 

That was the first of many kisses I shared with Remus as we started seeing each other. As the months went by I noticed a trend in his behaviour. Once a month he’d be gone for a couple of days on what he jokingly referred to as a ‘super secret work trip’ but would never actually go into detail about. When I tried to ask him more about these trips or even what he did for work the conversation would always go elsewhere. He would often come back from these trips with cuts and bruises that he’d try to hide from me. His energy would be low and though he’d try to put on a happy face I could tell he was down. 

After one particularly bad trip where he came back using a cane to help him walk I sat him down on the sofa in my living room and pulled up a chair to sit in front of him as I asked him for the truth. He gave me a sad smile, and started to explain everything. I sat and listened, occasionally asking a question to help me understand, while he told me about magic and wizards and muggles and Hogwarts. It amazed me to find out this whole other world existed right under my nose. It also terrified me a little to learn of someone he referred to as ‘the dark lord’, but Remus assured me that we’d be safe. 

“So… you're a wizard?” I asked and he nodded. I smiled. “That’s pretty cool.” 

“There’s more.” His face turned serious as he took my hand. He breathed deep and I could tell he was afraid of what he had to say next. “There is a wolf that lives in the forest. But he’s not beautiful like the wolves you’ve read about in your nature books. This one really is a monster. And I’m really hoping that you meant it when you said everyone deserves love because-” he stopped, trying to calm himself with another deep breath. “Y/N…”

“It’s okay.” I said, squeezing his hand tighter as he started to cry. 

“It’s not okay, it’s not!” He cries and I placed one hand on his cheek, wiping tears away with my thumb as they rolled down past his scars. “I can’t-”

“You can Remus. Nothing that you say will change the way I feel about you.” I gently guided his face so I can look into his eyes. “Look at me. You can tell me.” 

He removed my hand from his face, placing it with my other hand in his. 

“I’m a werewolf.” He says, looking down to fix his gaze on where our hands are intwined. “When I was a child a vicious werewolf broke into our family home and attacked me while I was sleeping and ever since then I have been cursed to transform into something I hate every full moon. There’s a bunker near my cottage in the forest that I lock myself in but the wolf is loud and sometimes the villagers hear me. Thankfully no one has ever been brave enough to go searching the woods and hopefully they never will. For years I’ve been planting ideas in the muggle’s heads. The right words said to the right people at the right time and before you know it the whole village has been warned to stay clear of the dangerous creature in the forest. They have no idea its really me. I am the monster of wolf woods.”

My hands slip from Remus’ as he leans back in his chair, letting out a breath as he watches me with worry in his eyes, trying to work out what I’m thinking. Silently I stand up from my seat and Remus’ worry turns to panic. 

“I understand completely if this is too much, if you don't want to see me-” he starts babbling but I cut him off as I sit down on the sofa next to him, putting my arm around him to pull him into a tight hug. I feel how much he is shaking and he starts to cry with relief. 

“I can’t lie, that was a lot to take in. But it doesn’t change anything. You’re still Remus, the gentle natured book nerd with a kind smile who came into my shop and stole my heart all those months ago.” I say, leaning away to look in his face. “My Remus.” 

“I don't deserve you.” He whispers with a sad smile. 

“Yes you do.” I smile back at him as I kiss him on the nose, causing us both to start giggling. 

“Thank you.” he says once we’ve composed ourselves. “My Y/N. I really do love you.” 

“I really do love you too.” 

*part two coming soon*

[lxdymoon0357]

WHEN I SAW THE MSSG I THOUGHT I SENT ONE

ok so like, what if after agriche was burned down, you and dion fled somewhere and he started to show emotion?Like u both have a stable life & r set for the rest of your days but what would that be like seeing him being 'normal'

(bby, caring dion> daddy, sadistic dion || also kinda OOC|| Personal headcanons)

Dion X Reader:

But I don't need the comfort of any lies

✟ You were Dion's friend and you were known well in the family for being cruel, ruthless and being the favourite of Lant even though you weren't his, when they found out you both were dating, Lant wanted to have Dion be the next head because he will have you as his wife.

✟ Except, this didn't happen, as you both began dating, Dion began to grow restless and started to be more emotional and merciful, and later on Roxanne fell in love and ran away with her pet, who happened to be Cassiss Pedelian, from the Blue Pedelian family.

✟ As this happened the family fell, when you and Dion also ran away with some of the largest riches in the family, you both were living out on the outskirts of the empire ion a cottage you owned as a result of making your own money in secret.

✟ Sooner or later, you both also fled the cottage upon hearing of the fall of the Black Agriches, you both worried sick of the only people you both cared about; a few certain servants, who became close to you and Dion.

✟ As you both now near a forest, and a bay, living in a minimalist life, though it had been hard you both were doing pretty well, doing work as bookshop owners and bakers and on occasions as assassins for both of your exceptional skills in killing and hiding.

✟ You both ended up three cats and a weird tiny glass frog Dion became emotionally attached to, whom the cats also got emotionally attached. You often have to look after your four kids now, including Dion, as the glass frog named "Blom" by your beloved husband just calmly sits in his glass container watching you scold your husband and three cats.

✟ Oh Yeah! You both got married, by a few families and couples who lived near you both, whom you both made a companionship with. It was a small wedding with you wearing the prettiest dress you had brought with you and amazing desserts and food made by you, Dion and your neighbours.

✟ I personally headcanon that you both live at a place where it would rain often, and so you and your lovely neighbourly ladies would dance with your husbands/ wives in the rain and often sing songs with them too, while making someone will make food and treats for everyone.

✟ You also near a lake btw! You and Dion often play fight and constantly end up swimming away from each-other in the lake, while your cats look at you both with slight concern, until they see you laughing then they join you!

✟ Moving to your cats, you have a grey cat with green eyes, one white with grey eyes and one black with maroonish almost red eyes, whom you think looks a lot like Dion. The grey cat is named moon, the white one Vanilla and the black one is named bamboo, curtsy of your darling husband....

✟ He surprisingly makes good food and his drinks, shakes or anything like that are god-tier, they're absolutely amazing. You'd often find him in the kitchen super early in the morning making you both breakfast, while your three cats are sitting lapping at the pieces of meat he put for them in tiny ceramic dishes he made himself with the help of one of your old neighbours. He's very proud of them.

✟ But you also find him crying his eyes out as well, every since he left the manor, he's been showing more of his emotions than he ever has, and now you actually know what he feels, he is absolutely crushed at the thought of his mother dead, but he always uses one of the cats as his napkin wiping his nose and eyes on their fur while they squeal out for you, their darling mother.

✟ He also smiles a lot, and it's not his blood-thirsty smile he sued to have in front of his toys, but a heart-warming smile and a genuine smile, you wouldn't be able to see if you both were still at the manor. He misses his mother as she would though be kinda mean, Maria loved him in private, when she would often whisper that she finds him the prettiest.

✟ Oh, yeah! You ended up finding Sierra, Maria, Jeremy, Roxanne and her husband, Cassiss. You both were dancing one morning, when you got a knock on your door, thinking it was one of your neighbours asking for something they ran out of, you opened the door just to find everyone smiling with tears in their eyes, as they ran to hug you while Maria immediately ran to Dion to grab him down in a hug while she kissed his forehead, where once Dion realised what happened started crying and sniffling while hiding in his mother's jacket.

✟ As you had a reunion, Sierra explained how she tracked you down and how she helped Jeremy and Maria escape with her to your cabin you showed to her in case she ever got too overwhelmed and wants to escape everything. They explained who everyone was dead, including Lant, Charlotte, Grizelda and Fonataine and many other family members and servants.

✟ Cassiss's family had taken Roxanne as their daughter\sister-in-law and they both were to get married soon and wanted to invite you and Dion to their wedding. As you Maria, Sierra and Cassis were having a conversation while petting your cats, Dion, Roxanne and Jeremy were bickering about somethings and how Jeremy was dating one of your and Dion's trusted friends who used to be both of your servant.

✟ In the end it turned a bit better than you both expected, especially when he Roxanne and Jeremy formed a connection of siblings and Sierra and Maria moved along with Jeremy and his fiancee moved next door to you and Roxanne moved though a bit far from your house, still closer to you both.

[giuliadesu]

you are 25 when you hug 'tsumu for the first time.

...& THEN?

it was almost time. your apartment was a complete mess: two big suitcases laid open on the floor of your living room, while a backpack had been sitting on the cushions of your couch for the last couple of days. in the bedroom and in the kitchen there were boxes ready to be filled with the belongings you’d decided to bring along with you.

in a few days you would finally leave your country for good, a one-way ticket for japan bought months in advance. it felt incredibly liberating: the country of your dreams, where you unwittingly found a family and where you’d hopefully spend the rest of your life was waiting for you.

on the small console table near the front door sat all your documents: passport, approved visa, papers needed to start the process of obtaining citizenship, the last two paychecks and the note from the bank — last but not least the plane ticket. surreal. that was one word that could describe the hectic chaos of emotions swarming both your heart and head.

the owner of the small bookshop where you’d worked in the last five years (a lovely korean lady in her sixties) agreed to take your plants and to see you off at the airport on the day of your departure. looking around, all the green friends you’d seen grow in the last few years were bundled together, ready to meet their new home. a small smile graced your lips, happy to know they would’ve been well cared for and you’d receive regular updates on their growth.

then you still had to say goodbye to the owner of the apartment, who lived just next door; after that, all the tasks that still bound you to the city would be completed, setting you free to begin your new life.

YOUR LOCATION, 04:15

it was early, way too early for your likings. groaning, you stretched under the sheets, the tank top riding a bit over your ribcage. your hand tentatively moved over the duvet searching for your phone so to turn off the alarm. a few notifications arrived during your short slumber: a few messages from atsumu (who had absolutely no idea of the fact that today was the day), one from osamu, while the last one was from the wallet app, letting you know that your digital ticket was now available.

you chose a comfortable fit for the long journey — black leggings, ‘tsumu’s shirt and sweatshirt, the most comfortable pair on nike you owned. everything was ready; the bookstore owner would send your boxes over once you’d found a more permanent solution compared to an airbnb, while the two black suitcases were finally closed and next to the door. touring the various rooms one last time, you made sure to have taken everything with you.

several hours later, you were flying over vast mountainous regions, the plane directed towards incheon airport, where you would have to spend about an hour before the last leg of your journey.

a small yet sincere smile graced your lips when the hostess announced it was almost time for landing. you knew exactly what you would’ve done just a few minutes prior to boarding on the japan airlines airbus a350 — there was a certain someone you just had to call.

bubbling with adrenaline, you made your way towards the gate and opted to stay standing in front of the tall floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the runway. was this the same adrenaline atsumu and the others felt before a match? the feeling of being invincible and ready to do anything?

taking a deep breath, you went over to the setter’s contact info. you felt giddy inside thinking that now you were in the same timezone, for the first time in five years. it was almost 11 pm, you called.

“hey bubs, what’s up?”

“hi ‘tsumu, are you still at practice?”

“yeah, but now we’re having a short break. although you know i’d drop anything for you.”

shameless flirt, you thought to yourself, smiling widely at this point.

“well, i have a little something to tell you: currently, i’m at incheon airport. in a few minutes i’ll board a flight that will bring me to kansai international airport-”

“what?!”

ŌSAKA, 01:40

exactly one hour and forty minutes later, you were at the baggage claim. as expected of japanese punctuality, your two very black and very big suitcases were delivered on time, so in just ten minutes you were making your way over to exit the claim area of the airport.

you had no plans, apart from reaching the bnb you booked. you didn’t know if the small bomb you dropped to atsumu earlier on would have made him magically appear in front of you, for one of those incredibly cliché airport reunions that were so popular in dramas. right now you were just too tired to think further, the almost seventeen hours of flight weighing on you. slowly, you tried to navigate through the sea of people that, just like you, wanted to leave the area to reach a place of rest. but, you underestimated how big kix would be; despite being incredibly well designed, it was not exactly easy on the brain of someone who was that tired. for a split second you thought about asking osamu to come pick you up, but the idea quickly left your mind as fast as it came — he was surely tired after a long day at onigiri miya.

you stopped in a little less crowded area, trying to collect your thoughts and figure out the best route to reach your bnb.

atsumu had never run so fast in his entire life. the moment you ended the call, he dropped everything at the gym, shouting half an explanation to his team before grabbing his sweatshirt and sprinting out of the stadium, catching the first available taxi and finally making his way to the airport.

despite being this late, there were still so many people crowding the area. how the hell was he supposed to find you? running a hand through his messy blond locks, he tried to follow a logical line of thought: first, you must’ve gone through the customs to get your visa approved, then surely you went to the baggage claim; his eyes frantically scanned the huge display, looking for the latest plane inbound from seoul. gate 41. of course it had to be the farthest one from the main entrance!

his instinct told him to go towards the columns where the vending machines were located. sure enough, you were there. with his clothes on. your backpack was sitting nicely on top of your suitcase, open as you rummaged through its contents.

atsumu smiled as he made his way behind you, his cheeks hurting from the emphasis of the movement. as he got closer, he could breathe in your perfume and the fragrance of your shampoo. seeing his surname plastered across your back did inimaginable things to his heart, adrenaline shooting through his veins at a thousands miles per second. then, quickly yet gently, he brought his hands to cover your pretty eyes, your back now flush against his sturdy chest — the 32 centimetres of height difference even more evident.

“hey bubs, welcome home.”

it all happened in a fraction of a second: you tensed, then quickly spun around to bury your face in his chest, while hugging him tightly.

“‘tsumu! what are you doing here? you’re supposed to be at practice now!”

“do you really think i could’ve stayed there knowing you were here? very funny, bubs.”

after staying in silence wrapped around one another for a few more minutes, you moved your arms to sneak around his neck; in the meantime, his hands went to grab you in the space between your buttocks and the posterior part of your thighs, hoisting you up. immediately, your legs went around his waist.

now that you were eye level, you both had a dashing, lovestruck smile adorning your features. you cupped his cheeks and booped his nose with your own. your thumbs were slowly caressing the apples of his cheeks, never breaking eye contact.

then, a small whisper, as if his hold on you could disappear just like in a dream.

“hi, i’m home.”

a small kiss on the tip of your nose.

“hi, welcome home.”

ŌSAKA, 03:00

atsumu insisted on having you at home with him. his hand never left you: while going to the taxi, with one he was carrying half of your luggage, the other was intertwined with yours; during the ride, you were nestled in his side while his fingers gently moved up and down your arm.

despite the very late hour, neither of you was tired — there were simply so many things you wanted to do now that you were finally sharing the same space. without thinking twice, atsumu carried your things to his bedroom, setting them nicely near his wardrobe for you to unpack the next day.

“hungry, bubs? wanna  something to eat?”

when you happily nodded, he smiled brightly and ruffled your hair. then, he opened one drawer and pulled out a neatly folded shirt and handed it to you.

“go have a shower or a bath, whatever you fancy; i’ll fix you something in the meanwhile, yeah?”

“you’re the best, ‘tsumu, thank you!”

the sweet kiss you planted on his cheek (terribly close to his right snakebite) was all he needed before going to the main area of the house, where both the kitchen and the living+dining area sat in an open space. as he was about to leave the room, he turned back to you.

“feel free to leave all your things around, both in the bathroom and around the house!” 

now alone in his room, you sat on the floor. was it all real? or were you stuck in a wonderful dream? in case of the latter, then you had no intention of waking up. coexisting with atsumu in his space with him felt so natural and spontaneous, as if you’d always lived together. deep inside, you were squealing like a little child.

“okay, i need to stop. time for a shower!”

you rummaged a bit in your suitcase to fetch a pair of shorts to wear under the shirt and your toiletries. the warm water rolling over your body relaxed your muscles, tense from all the hours you spent crammed in a plane. also, the branches of eucalyptus that the setter kept in the wetroom gave off such a pleasant fragrance that did wonders to soothe the beginning of your headache.

clad in the way too big shirt and a towel around your neck to prevent your wet hair from dripping water everywhere, you made your way over to the kitchen. you stood for a bit in the doorframe, admiring the view: atsumu was in front of the stove, where a pot of water was boiling, and several ingredients sat on the countertop. he had ditched the sweatshirt as soon as you got home, so you could see the muscles in his arms flex for any single movement. with a small smile gracing your lips, you made your way over; once close enough, your right hand went over his back to rest right between his shoulder blades.

“that doesn’t look like a quick snack, mind if i help you?”

“oh no no no. you sit on the counter and look pretty.”

with that, atsumu wiped his hands on a towel, before picking you up by the waist and gently sitting you on the surface right next to him. effortlessly. the setter resumed his ministrations: chopping the scallion and the mushrooms, while the lotus root was simmering before being stir fried with the tofu. after having drained the noodles, he put them in another pot where coconut milk was simmering with some soy sauce; once the other ingredients finished their trip in the pan, they joined the noodles in the pot. a few more minutes and a big, steaming cup of vegetarian ramen was on the counter.

with the bowl in hand, atsumu came towards you, stopping between your legs. his right hand was holding a pair of chopsticks, with dangling udon and a bit of scallion on top.

“say ahhh.”

you leaned in close, graciously accepting the food in a single mouthful, a dashing smile lighting up your features.

“oh my gosh, it’s delicious! when did you learn to make this? and how did you know that it’s my favorite dish?”

“well, you mentioned it once three or four years ago, and after that time i asked ‘samu to teach me… y’know, in the eventuality we’d meet one day.”

your expression became even softer when noticing the slight blush adorning the tip of his ears. your hands went over his holding the bowl, retrieving also the chopsticks in the meanwhile. when you spoke again, while mimicking his actions and offering him a bite, your voice was barely above a whisper — but, considering how close you were, it was more than enough.

“and look at us now, together in your kitchen as if we’d been together for years.”

“honestly, bubs, i think it’s high time we fix that, yeah?”

after the incident with the pictures of almost two months ago, atsumu started shamelessly flirting with you, leaving no doubts or room  to misinterpret his feelings. and you, for once, decided that it was worth it to also let him know that yeah, you felt the same way and everything was perfect like this. in a sort of silent mutual understanding and agreement, after realizing for just how long you had been loving each other (at this point it was way more than a simple crush), it was okay to skip a few steps along the way.

when atsumu started to lean in close, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks, you wasted no time in sneaking your arms around his neck, lovingly caressing his nape.

and then it happened. at half past four in the morning, while in his kitchen, with an empty bowl of delicious ramen long forgotten next to you. ‘tsumu’s lips were on yours, ever so gentle and delicate; the cold metal of his piercings was a stark contrast with your own skin.

neither of you could stop the smile growing on your features. everything was just perfect. small laughs were exchanged in between kisses and pecks, with the soft light of the overhead kitchen lamp as the only source of illumination.

“gosh, i love you so so much…”

an almost inaudible whisper against your mouth, as gentle thumbs caressed your cheeks, a smile so bright it could’ve rivalled the whole galaxy.

“me too, ‘tsumu. i love you so much.”

ŌSAKA, 15:49

when you opened your eyes you were greeted by the warm light of the afternoon coming in from the huge window of the bedroom. the skyline of the city was perfectly visible, as the apartment was located on the last floor of a building. when you tried to stretch, you felt someone stirring and complaining about your sudden movement. lowering your gaze, you found atsumu resting his head comfortably on your chest, while his arms were tightly wrapped around your waist. he was wearing only a pair of grey trunks, too tired after his shower to put on anything else. lovingly, your hands found their way on his back and in his hair, gently massaging his incredibly soft locks — despite the frequent rounds of bleaching in order to achieve his desired color.

“hey sleepyhead, good morning.”

“five more minutes, please…”

you simply laughed a bit, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. at that the setter perked up, a lazy grin plastered across his face as he pressed his lips to yours.

“that was the best night of sleep i’ve ever had, bubs. ‘m so glad you’re finally here with me.”

“mhmh, i’m not going anywhere.”

you spent the next half an hour cuddling in bed (as if you’d done something different ever since you got into bed), whispering sweet nothings and deciding how to spend the rest of the day.

“i think tomorrow i’d like to meet your team, if it’s okay with you. and maybe this weekend we could go to onigiri miya with your mom, suna and aran? oh, but i have to get them something first. ah, and maybe i should first go to the government office, to start my citizenship application, just so i can be su-”

atsumu interrupted you with a sweet and innocent kiss, before looking at you with the most serious expression you’d ever seen on him.

“hey, marry me.”

“w-what?!” 

you were shocked, but not necessarily in a negative way: you had been dreaming of such an occurrence ever since he gave you the necklace with his surname on it. and you knew for certain that both of your feelings were stronger than ever, and would not falter anytime soon. it was just a sudden thought to voice, but after the developments of the last 24 hours, it was not a complete surprise.

“i mean it when i say that i love you. and i’m not afraid of marrying you on the spot. i’ve loved you silently for so many years now that i’d be ready to change my whole life to accommodate you in it. and sure, maybe we’re skipping a few steps along the way, we’re rushing things a bit, and i don’t even have a ring with me right now. but… marry me, please?”

and what were you supposed to answer? your heart belonged to him.

you cupped his cheeks, lifting his face until you were eye to eye. while his expression remained serious, you could see in those chocolate eyes a bit of doubt; he was probably wondering if he’d crossed a line, if such a thing was too much. after all, marrying a professional athlete was no easy feat — you’d have to be shielded from prying eyes, and his training hours kept him away from home most of the days, not to mention when he would have to attend away games. but you knew; in all those years it became obvious, and not once it became a problem in your eyes.

so you simply kissed him again and again, feeling his strong body relaxing in your hold.

“yes.” 

a couple of  hours and a call later, you were in the office of the legal person who would sign your marriage certificate within the government building. they agreed to process your request of citizenship as well, considering that you’d automatically gain it as you were marrying a japanese citizen.

“... and what about the surnames? have you decided how you want to deal with them?”

your answer was quick and full of pride.

“i’ll be taking his; my previous one can be disregarded completely.”

atsumu squeezed your hand, from where your intertwined fingers were resting on his thigh. you turned to him with a dashing smile.

the two of you signed the documents, then the employee did the same and handed you your papers and the certificate.

“you will receive your new passport and documents in five days, directly at home. just make sure to give the courier this paper once he arrives.”

you both thanked the man and left the office, still hand in hand. atsumu was holding the tote bag containing all the papers as you made your way back to his motorcycle; then he looked down at you, pulling you in for a side hug.

“hi, ms miya.”

“hi, mr miya.” 

before going to dinner in a nice ramenya, the setter insisted on stopping by the jewellery shop where he had your necklace made. the old owner recognized immediately the delicate piece you were wearing around your neck, and was very pleased to know you’d never removed it for three years straight and it still didn’t show signs of wear. 

“so, what brings you youngsters here today?”

“we’d like to purchase a set of wedding rings. the simplest you have, in platinum, sizes xs and m.”

with a happy look on his face, the man went to the back of the store and came out a few moments later holding a small box in his hand. upon showing it to you, it was clear that was exactly what you were looking for.

you ended up exchanging your vows and rings in a secluded booth at the restaurant, a fuming bowl of ramen in front of you, ready to be shared, like the rest of your lives.

thanks to the friendship hinata had with kenma, you started working as a game designer for bouncing ball, albeit remotely from home. mama miya almost fainted when you both shared the news of your wedding that weekend at onigiri miya — the shop had been close for the day, allowing a gran reunion between the msby team and some of their friends. everyone was delighted to finally meet you in person, knowing that this was probably the beginning of weekly meetings all together.

that year atsumu and other msby members got drafted to be part of the olympic team. and when they won gold, your relationship became public: you launched yourself off the bleachers of the olympic stadium of tokyo, ready to jump into the waiting arms of your husband. and at that point all the world could see the red ink embedded on both your left wrists, as well as the shining bands adorning your ring fingers.

JUST TAKE IT SLOW, ONE DAY AT A TIME

previous | masterlist

honorable mentions

@arquitecturadelanada | @bagladyk | @cup-of-fluff | @kyopmi | @ohtokki

taglist

@alienvarmint | @hai1q | @mommyourcall420 | @natriae | @opalloveworld | @voidshoutsback

© giuliadesu. please do not copy, translate, use in videos or reupload on other platforms and sites. it is strictly forbidden to feed any part of my content to ai.

[gaiaseyes451]

Return to Eden - Chapter 2 (of 3)

Chapter 2 of Return to Eden is now live, a continuation of the story published over at @goodomensafterdark during the ineffable smut and angst wars! Chapter 3 (the final chapter) will release tomorrow!

Return to Eden is rated as Explicit, this chapter is Mature. Please, mind the tags for Chapter 1. This work can be read alone, but it will make more sense (and be more impactful) if you've read Fractured and Shatter first - they're all part of the Before Eden There Was a Garden Series.

Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale averted the second coming and were trying to pick up the pieces of their relationship when Aziraphale became plagued with nightmares. After hearing the angel murmur a phrase from a previous life in his sleep, Crowley goes searching for the one place that may be able to set everything right. Where it all started…

Excerpt (continue reading on AO3):

~*~*~

The first time Aziraphale moved from his spot on the bed was when he heard the bell on the bookshop door jingle. He sat up slowly, sliding his feet off the bed and standing without adjusting his shirt or waistcoat. He walked to the top of the spiral stairs and looked down into the shop. There was Crowley, standing full height and stiff, back to the doors, glasses carefully perched on his sharp nose; his face was arranged in a purposefully blank expression. They stared at one another for a long moment before Aziraphale realized he needed to speak first. 

“Hello,” it was barely a whisper, his mouth dry and voice weak from disuse. 

Crowley took a few tentative steps into the shop, eyes never leaving Aziraphale, “Hi.”

In an instant Aziraphale was down the stairs, rushing toward Crowley, hands outstretched to pull him close; to prove that he was really there. Crowley flinched when Aziraphale reached for him and Aziraphale came to an abrupt halt, hands suspended between them before he lowered them awkwardly. His eyes flickered over Crowley’s face, shoulders, chest, looking for signs of injury or distress. “I was worried sick, don’t ever leave like that again.” 

Crowley grimaced and he side-stepped Aziraphale, stopping near one of the columns in the entryway, putting distance between them. When he spoke his voice was strained with the effort to keep it even. “You don’t have the right to make those kinds of demands, Aziraphale. Not now.”

A chill settled at the base of Aziraphale's spine, he shut his eyes and gave a small nod in acknowledgement. His eyes were still closed when he spoke again, small and uncertain. “You came back.”

“I said I would.” 

“Crowley I–” Aziraphale had no idea how he would finish the sentence. Luckily, Crowley interrupted.

“Angel, I can’t do this. Not like this, not anymore.” His voice was calm but unyielding. This wasn’t the Crowley who had fought with him in the bandstand, who he’d goaded into stopping time for Adam, who’d begged him to run away to Alpha Centauri. This Crowley was disconcertingly serious, he demanded Aziraphale listen. “The secrets, the half truths, the omissions. Apparently, six-thousand years and two averted armageddons is my limit. I’ll have you—all of you—the entire truth, or I’ll have none of it at all. Tell me.”

~*~*~

A huge thanks to my beta readers: @the-literal-kj and @hakunahistata, my wonderful siblings in angst <3

[orangerainforest]

drop your fav fics everrrr

*gasp* ANON ! okay i have so many but since you didnt give me a number and a category i'll just list down the ones that come to mind right at this moment.

to lure a hummingbird (you had me moonstruck) by @broken-beaks

Or: An enemies-to-lovers fic where Harry and Louis are neighbours who are forced to get along due to the inconvenience (or convenience) of a broken lift.

any thrill will do by @star55

It’s a Tuesday when Harry’s motorbike stops working. This is a catalyst for her entire life changing forever. She just doesn’t know it yet.

say something by @kingsofeverything

At fifty years old and recently divorced, Omega Harry Styles isn't interested in dating. When his doctor suggests a heat and rut matching service, he signs up out of necessity. It’s the only use he has for an Alpha in his life. Twenty-eight-year-old Alpha Louis Tomlinson aims to change that.

the changer and the changed by @homosociallyyours

It’s the spring of 1977 and Harry Styles has just moved to New York City after graduating college. She knows she’s a lesbian. She just needs to figure out how to meet other lesbians. Louis Tomlinson works at a popular women’s bookstore in the Lower East Side, Womon’s Direction, where she spends her days reading feminist literature, writing poetry, exchanging friendly barbs with her boss Niall, and dreaming of finding someone to love.

keep me closer by @zanniscaramouche

Louis expects Harry to react poorly, maybe even file a formal complaint and that’s gonna suck ass but Louis won’t say shit cause he knows he deserves it, so he prepares an apology before Harry’s even turned around. What he doesn’t expect is Harry to fucking drop.

lightning strikes twice by @dinosaursmate

Rock star Harry Styles was nineteen when he met Louis, a groupie with a huge heart that Harry couldn’t quite shake from his mind. Fate granted him a second chance at the age of sixty, his washed up and lonely existence being transformed by a widower with a bookshop.

bleeding love by @gaycousinlarry

Louis is an animal rights activist who throws red paint at fur coat wearing it-girl Harry Styles. Then there's a crack in the surface and something new starts bleeding through.

love in the dark by @brightgolden

Where Louis is an ambitious Advisor Council that is reluctant to find a mate, and his father takes the matter into his hand while Harry is the valedictorian in his kingdom destined for better things than an arranged marriage.

divinely blessed by @thinlinez

Alpha Harry prides himself on having the bravest and most caring omega who might or might not just fulfill his sudden curiosity.

soul of the sea by vurdoc

Louis lives a nomadic lifestyle. Never settling down in one place for long, he finds himself caught in a storm, as he’s passing through a small Scottish seaside town. Everywhere is full, except the old B&B perched up on an isolated hill near the coastline, where the recluse owner isn’t what he seems.

no chance at all by @lululawrence

Or the one where Louis just wants to drink good coffee and work on his homework in peace, but the alpha barista is charming to everyone but him, and that just pisses him off.

[mimisempai]

It feels like home

Summary

For the first time since he and Aziraphale have been together, Crowley begins to realize the meaning of being home. 

Notes

Canon in the book: Crowley has his CDs and books arranged alphabetically 

"He tried to sort his CDs into alphabetical order, but gave up when he discovered they already were in alphabetical order, as was his bookcase, and his collection of Soul Music.".

On Ao3

Rating G -  1192 words

Night was beginning to fall as Crowley parked the Bentley in front of the bookshop and got out.

"Bonsoir Crowley!"

He turned to see Madame Justine waving at him. He replied with a nod, and as he turned to walk toward the bookstore, his gaze was drawn to the lighted coffee shop and he saw Maggie and Nina chatting in close proximity. 

That made him chuckle and he murmured "vavoom..." before continuing on his way. 

He was about to open the bookshop door when Muriel burst out of it and, seeing him, exclaimed, a broad smile on their lips, "Good evening, Mr. Grumpy!" 

Crowley muttered, "Aziraphale was right, you are really getting cheeky!" then added, winking at them, "I like it. Change nothing.” 

Then, pointing in the direction of the apartment where Muriel was living, he ordered them in a tone whose protectiveness he could not hide, "Go home now, even for an angel, even in this neighborhood, it's never a good idea to be out alone after dark."

Muriel started to walk away, then threw over their shoulder, "I actually knew you were nice," then, seeing Crowley's grimace and about to retort sharply, they ran off laughing, openly mocking him.

Crowley shook his head and entered the bookshop.

Closing the door behind him, he said in a slightly louder voice, "Angel, I'm h-"

Realizing what he was about to say, he stopped in mid-sentence. 

Was this it?

Being home.

How could he know?

Whether in hell or in his own apartment, he'd never felt like this before.

Both places had nothing to make you feel at home.

Hell, because... well, it was hell. 

And his apartment, dark, without warmth, with its minimalist furniture, his few works of art and his plants. 

He had never felt what he felt now.

Belonging.

It took his breath away. 

He looked around and saw his plants placed here and there, between two shelves, one near Aziraphale's desk, one on a small table apart because it had become Muriel's plant. Aziraphale's apprentice had chosen this particular plant because it was smaller and more delicate than the others. Another plant could be seen on one of the steps leading up to the bedroom.

The bedroom.

Their bedroom.

His and Aziraphale's.

A new place, just for them. 

Their own sanctuary.

Then the demon's eyes slid over his CD collection in the back of the bookshop, neatly arranged unlike everything else around it. Because he liked it that way. Because even if Aziraphale wasn't exactly a stickler for order in his books, he respected the fact that Crowley was one for his CDs.

His gaze moved to the frame hanging on the wall just above the CD collection. His Mona Lisa, signed by his friend Leo. 

Al mio amico Antonio dal tuo amico Leo da V.*

His Ming vase in a corner, magically fixed to its base, his Eagle lectern on which lay a large book from Aziraphale's collection. 

He realized that his own possessions had become part of the bookshop, blending in with the rest of the decor as if they had always belonged there.

“Our car.”

Shocked, Crowley swallowed and replied, “ We don't have a car.”

Aziraphale retorted with assurance,“Of course we do. Isn't she a beauty?”

Crowley, annoyed, insisted,“This Bentley is my car.”

The angel answered gently, “Well, yes, technically. Just as that bookshop is technically my shop,  but... we both get plenty

of use out of it, don't we?”

Our.

We.

These words were so real now. Their fragile "we" before their near separation and reconciliation had now become tangible. Physically validated by their now completely intertwined lives.

Their "us" had become a home.

Crowley murmured softly, letting the words roll off his tongue, "I am home."

"Ah, there you are, my dear, I saw the Bentley pull up in front of the bookshop, so I thought it would be a perfect time to share a little appetizer."

Aziraphale came from the back of the shop, a bottle of scotch in his hand and two glasses.

He paused, smiled at the demon, and said in a natural way, "Welcome home," before turning and setting the glasses and bottle down on the small table by the sofa, oblivious to the emotion running through Crowley.

Turning, the angel saw that the demon hadn't moved, still standing in the same spot at the entrance of the bookshop.

He approached with a worried expression and then, studying Crowley's face, asked softly, "Are you all right?"

Crowley murmured, "I'm home."

Aziraphale smiled fondly and, now standing in front of him, took his hand and said gently, "Yes, you are, here we are, home. You look so surprised."

Crowley nodded, and as the two of them made their way to the sofa, holding hands, he explained, "Well, you know, angel, before, my apartment, you couldn't really call it home. It was more functional than anything. Not very warm, if you know what I mean. And to be honest, pretty lonely. Not to mention that I had absolutely no contact with the neighborhood. So when I arrived today, just on the street, Madame Justine greeted me, I saw Nina and Maggie in the cafe across the street, I bickered with Muriel. All these little moments, added to the fact of arriving here and seeing all my possessions here, made me realize that all these parts of me were now mixed up with yours. That our separate lives had become our life, and I finally became aware of what it meant to be home."

He sat on the sofa while Aziraphale filled their glasses, and he noticed that something else had changed. Before, they'd always sat facing each other when they drank, but now even that distance had disappeared. As if he'd heard what he was thinking, Aziraphale handed him his glass and sat down next to him.

Under the angel's attentive gaze, Crowley continued, "I don't remember feeling this way before. The closest thing to feeling like being home is probably the joy I felt in heaven. Creating my nebulae. But even that felt nothing like what I feel right now."

Aziraphale nodded gently and raised his glass to him, saying softly, "To us and that wonderful feeling of being home."

Crowley clinked his glass against Aziraphale's and each took a sip.

It was at that very moment, when Aziraphale looked at him in that loving way, with that soft smile, that the demon fully realized that he was home, and that realization was more vivid than the one he had when he entered the bookshop.

He put down his glass, took the angel's from his hands, and placed it on the table.

Turning completely to Aziraphale, he cupped his face in his hands, leaned over him and said in an emotional voice against the angel's lips: "I'm home because you're my home, angel."

He closed the distance and pressed his lips to the angel's in a deep, tender kiss.

A kiss that felt like he was all the way back where he belonged.

A kiss that felt like home.

*To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo from V.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

[trashboatprince]

So, here's some stuff I have for the sea monster wives au:

-Aziraphale comes from a rich family of merchants and business owners. She herself owns and runs a bookshop in the small island town of Tadfield, where the citizens know she won't sell books. She does repair them though, so she can make a living without having to rely on her family. She lives above the shop because she refuses to live at the estate, but will visit because she feels she has to.

-Aziraphale is a bit of an outsider with the family. She wears dresses and skirts, but is often seen dressed in men's clothing while she works because she prefers it that way. Always sports a tartan bowtie, no matter the outfit.

-Visits the beach often, and goes to a secluded spot that is hard to access. This is where Crowley lives.

-Aziraphale is a lesbian and knows what she's all about, but refuses to bring it up with her family.

-She has older brothers and she's the only daughter, and the youngest. Gabriel James and his twin brother James Gabriel (who goes by Jim) are the eldest and mainly run the businesses, Michael is a military officer. Jim is the only family member Aziraphale likes. The rest of the family are cousins that live in the home.

-Crowley is an ancient creature from the Mediterranean Sea. She used to be in a pod with other creatures like her, but she never was on the best of terms with them. She went along with them as far as she could, which wasn't far. She was never into the whole 'drown sailors to eat them' thing, humans are disgusting and full of diseases.

-She is fascinated by humans in a scientific setting, so she has... experimented on remains, to see how humans work. She doesn't understand any of it, but she's curious.

-She was forcefully removed from her home months before meeting Aziraphale by the gods, and cannot swim back to her home waters. Any time she tries, the waters fling her far away.

-She swam around for ages in the Atlantic before being pulled towards the north, where the waters are colder and not meant for her kind, but she's stuck. She is forced into exile here.

-Crowley was injured when arriving near the shores of Eastgate Isle, having been captured by fishermen and was slashed in the back by one upon her escape during a storm. There is a massive scar going from her right shoulder down to her left hip.

-Crowley washed up on the shore of the island and had been occupying it since. She lives in a small cove and comes out to sunbathe and hunt for food, but mainly stays hidden. Until an angel shows up.

-Crowley can change forms. She has her normal form, where she's coated in black and red scales, is clawed, and is much more dangerous. Her second form makes hers appear a bit more like a typical mermaid, if a mermaid had the tail similar to a sea snake's. Her third form is a human form, but she gets that when drawing blood from a human who willingly offers it to her, or at least that's how it works for her nowadays, as she can't forced a human to offer it like she could in her home waters.

-She can speak languages if she 'steals' from people. She can learn every language a human speaks if she drains the life from them through their mouth and keeps those languages for ages. Or she can learn the main tongue of a human by kissing them and gaining words from each kiss. This is how she learns English from Aziraphale, as she mainly speaks her natural language and a few of the languages from her home waters.

-She also just really, really likes Aziraphale, so kissing her to learn to speak with her is a lot more fun this way.

-She fell in love with Aziraphale at first sight, but kept a distance for ages until she felt that she could approach. It resulted in Aziraphale passing out. Better than her screaming, at least.

-Aziraphale took a while to warm up to Crowley, but there was something there from the start. Probably doesn't help that Crowley is really pretty to look at, and actually wants to listen to Aziraphale talk and read books aloud.

-A major plot point I have is that Gabriel wants to marry Aziraphale off, as she is the only daughter and really, a young lady shouldn't be running a shop all by herself.

-Crowley takes on her human form to keep Aziraphale from being married off to someone, she will not let someone take her mate away from her. Which results in Aziraphale having to help Crowley blend in with humans, which isn't... easy. At all. How do you teach an ancient sea monster who hasn't walked on land in centuries proper Victorian behavior?

-Look, part of me is really, really tempted to have the 'I'm just so angry! Ten!' scene from season two, but with a slightly-feral Crowley doing this in the middle of the town street, in front of people, and fucking pulling a whole 'ancient god' move with the lightening. And then just stomps off, like the weird redheaded mystery friend of Ms. Fell did not just get struck by a bolt of fucking lightening on a clear and sunny day.

-Oh, and Crowley absolutely hates clothing, so the less layers the better. Which is not proper in public. Proper in the bookshop, when it's just her and her angel, but not with everyone looking!

-Crowley also goes by they/them, because sea monsters don't give a shit about gender that much. She/her is used more often because that's what humans just assume.

[kaylinelizabeth4004]

Sky Full of Song

Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley listen to some music. Then Crowley decides to make something special for Aziraphale.

Title from a Florence + the Machine song, I don’t know why but Florence and Good Omens are connected in my mind.

When they had first settled upon the idea of Crowley living inside the bookshop, along with Aziraphale, they had a few small technicalities to work out. Where Crowley would sleep was easily sorted out with a quick snort by Aziraphale, who called it their bedroom, as though it were the most obvious thing, which only shut Crowley up and make him cover his face with his hand to hide the blush across his cheeks.

And of course, there was the matter of Crowley's plants. There were 23 of them to date, all named and specialized with their own personal stories - of which we will dive into a different day. Aziraphale didn't hesitate to set aside some books, miracle some new end tables, and create space for the plants. They were Crowley's version of books, he argued, and deserved their place in their world. So there they stay, Orion up near the front to stare at anyone who dared to actually purchase a book.

Naturally, Crowley assumed that his moving in would eliminate the need for a flat at all. That flat was cold, damp, and terribly inconvenient to get to, quite like the rest of London. He saw no reason to cling onto a place that never felt like his home. However Aziraphale had a different approach.

"Well, dearest, it's not that I wish to be away from you, of course. It's rather that you, err, you might wish to be away from me," Aziraphale had explained over some delightful wine from the '20s.

"Wot?" Crowley asked, furrowing his brows in genuine confusion.

"It's just, I worry you feel as though you have to stay here all the time. I want you to have an, err, an out. An out from me. If you wish to do something without my presence."

Crowley thought for a moment then scoffed, "if you didn't want me around all the time you could have just said so."

"No!" Aziraphale stiffened in his seat, reaching out to place an eager hand on Crowley's arm. He looked so warm and inviting to Crowley, as though his very existence was one large hug you didn't deserve. "Dear, I adore having you here. I want you here as often as possible. I just don't want you to feel as though you have to, for my sake. You are more than my... person. You shouldn't have to sacrifice your life for mine."

What Crowley wanted to say was, 'I'd sacrifice my life for yours any day. I want to be with you every moment of every day, even if it means I stare into space while you pour over the same book you've been pouring over for two centuries. You aren't a sacrifice, you're a gift in my life.'

What he actually said was, "s'alright then. I can store... things there."

Aziraphale smiled that proud and yet shy smile, patting Crowley's arm. He rose from his seat, placing a soft kiss on Crowley's temple as he went towards the record player. He lifted a record from his collection with a flourish as he said, "Wonderful, my dear."

"S'bloody brilliant," Crowley mumbled before swallowing a large mouthful of the truly delicious wine. Aziraphale had such a wicked taste in wine, it was unmatched.

"Oh I think you'll quite enjoy this one," Aziraphale said with a giddy smile, sitting down as the record played that dull hum before the music actually started. Crowley tried to contain his smile as he watched Aziraphale wiggle from excitement, shake his body like he couldn't contain it.

It was jazz, that much Crowley could tell. He took extra care to pay attention to the song being played, and when he realized what it was his brows lifted. "Angel, is that Nature Boy?"

"It is!" Aziraphale giggled. "I know you just adored Nat King Cole's music and I found this record, I just knew we had to have it."

'Adore' might have been a stretch in Crowley's mind, he'd never been outright obsessed but he did enjoy listening to him. Nat King Cole's voice did something to Crowley that few other artists could do. Sure Elvis Presley made him nostalgic, Queen made him feel alive, The Smiths were all he wanted to be, KISS was all he wanted to dress like, and somewhere in there Nat King Cole's voice floated around. Nothing specific, but nothing unspecific either. An emotional blob that just existed.

He wished he could explain it, tried to reason that maybe he loved the way his voice seemed to slide through the room like butter. It was smooth, calm, deep. The lyrics to Nature Boy didn't help that ache in his soul, their story echoing in a room full of stories. It was beautiful and simple, but it seemed to reach a part of him he didn't quite understand. But he felt his heart tighten, threatening to burst as the sweet Angel across from him closed his eyes and listened to it all. He bought this for him, knowing he loved it.

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved, in return," Crowley murmured along with the record. Aziraphale looked up suddenly at Crowley's voice, and took a small, selfish smile. This was everything.

There they were, one late evening in a quaint, unassuming little bookshop, on an unassuming street, in an unassuming city, a demon and an angel sat in the music. They didn't say a word, letting the chords glide through them as one. It was always something that united them. Even when good and evil seems blurred and the world might actually fall apart because of a preteen, the music never faltered.

———

Sometimes ideas seem a lot better in words than in action. While Crowley had agreed that he could 'store stuff' in his now empty flat, he stared at it like it was a beast. Apart from Aziraphale, huh? Bah, it would never happen. Crowley scoffed as he left, locking up quickly as he sauntered out of there. He didn't see any reason he needed to abandon his Angel.

On the walk home, - yes walk. Unfortunately Aziraphale had decided the 'our' in 'our home, our bookshop, our hot chocolate', now applied to Crowley's Bentley. His sweet, precious Bentley. Now turned as yellow as piss while Aziraphale went to collect a package an hour outside of town. No, Crowley supposed it didn't really look like piss. But anything other than her true, dark beauty seemed deceiving. She did belong to a demon of all things, not Miss Frizzle. Whatever, he blew a breath and continued down the road.

Crowley chuckled to himself for a moment, Aziraphale was one strange dress and some box dye away from becoming Miss Frizzle. Though he didn't suppose Aziraphale would appreciate the reference as much as Crowley liked it.

He stopped for a moment outside one of the shops, catching a glimpse of his hair looking positively on fire. It wouldn't be the first time he was literally on fire, and he worried he'd been smoking without realizing. Pissed off some good people last time he let that get out of hand.

As Crowley turned to leave, he noticed what sat on a little stand in the window. A knitting kit. Along with various shades of blue and yellow yarn, laying on a sweet basket that seemed to have all one would need to knit. Needles and what not, Crowley wasn't actually sure what was required to knit but some of the ladies back in the 1790s loved to do it while the aristocracy lost their heads. One lady made him a love scarf, he still has it somewhere. Bloody good wine, then.

He didn't really know why, but against his better judgment Crowley strolled right in and purchased the kit. Then he went and stood on the street corner for a full two minutes, trying to decide what to do with his 30 quid worth of knitting supplies. He very well couldn't bring it back to the bookshop.

Not only does Aziraphale know how to knit, he's good at it. And Crowley doesn't necessarily feel like having him linger around, breathing softly down his neck and completely unaware he was doing it. Then he would sit down, away from Crowley, nose shoved in a book with wide eyes over the edge. And each time Crowley would do something wrong, Aziraphale would whisper a little "oh dear" before avoiding Crowley's gaze. This was part of the reason Crowley gave up on sewing. That and the needle was too damn small for his eyes. It was sweet and infuriating all at the same time. Aziraphale meant well, Crowley knew that, the Angel never meant poorly. But it wasn't worth the trouble.

So that was why Crowley ended up make in a cold, damp, inconvenient flat with a basket full of knitting supplies sitting on the empty floor.

"You s'can't be worth at the trouble," Crowley mumbled to it, poking it with his foot.

They stared at one another in awkward silence for about a minute before Crowley broke, sauntering through the different dark rooms of the flat. He loitered in his office, remembering fondly when Ligur melted into a puddle at the entrance. His desk still had the scratch from his vintage message machine. Crowley let out a breath.

Then he found himself back where he started, staring at a basket full of knitting supplies as though it were going to bite him. He wishes it would, it would be better than the mocking stare it presented instead.

"Ngk, fine, you stupid bloody thing," Crowley said in an agitated voice, sitting on the empty floor beside it. "You s'better be the best damn kit money coulda bought."

He dumped the supplies in a heap, going straight for the needles and the blue yarn. This should be easy. People been doing it for hundreds of years. Easy. Easy peasy, tickety-boo as his Angel says.

20 minutes later and it was most certainly not tickety-boo. Crowley had pin pricks along his fingers, fraying yarn on the cuffs of his jacket, and one massive knot he couldn't comprehend how it had happened. His phone buzzed in his pocket, giving him a chance to escape this nightmare. He could feel the steam coming from his ears and he threw the offending material down to stand and answer it.

"Ah, Angel, was wondering when you'd bother to call. I've been left alone for days."

"Oh don't be dramatic," Aziraphale said, but Crowley could hear the smile on his face. "It should be I who is upset with you. Where are you? I returned home to find an empty bookshop and some very rude individual trying to open the door to buy books!"

"Bloody idiot."

"That's what I said, in less offensive terms, of course. Dearest, you didn't answer my question. Where are you?"

"I'm..." he debated the different possible answers he could be giving Aziraphale. Admitting he was at the flat would excite him, but it could also prompt questions about the purpose. Saying he was anywhere else would be lying, and that didn't feel quite right. Not anymore, though he supposed it never did. So he sighed and just said, "I'm at the old flat. Checking in."

He could hear Aziraphale's giddy voice, "oh wonderful. I'm so glad you have that space."

"M'yeah, it's, uh, it's nice."

"Goody!"

There was a moment of silence on the phone. Aziraphale was moving some items around to accommodate the rare Walt Whitman he had just spent 2 1/2 hours of his day acquiring. Crowley was staring at the blue heap of yarn on the floor.

After a few moments of companionable silence Aziraphale sighed and said, "Well I'll be the first to say it. I'd like you here, to spend time with me. I miss you."

Crowley fought the smile on his face as he teased Aziraphale, "wot? Wot'd you say? I missed it, signal totally blew."

"I said I missed you!"

"Wot? Say it again, Angel, totally lagging over 'ere."

Aziraphale puffed out in a whined voice, "oh you wily serpent, come home! I missed you today!"

"Ahhh, you missed me. And here I was thinking you said I pissed me, and that doesn't make bloody sense does it," Crowley said with a sarcastic tone, walking outside and towards the bookshop faster than he intended to.

"Oh just hurry on home, my love."

Crowley was stunned for a moment. 'My love' was a new nickname, and one he had always considered cheesy with other pairs. But instead, with Aziraphale it just made him blush and walk faster than he meant to.

"On it, Angel."

———

A week and a half later, Aziraphale was off at Maggie's little record shop helping her organize and try to market to the current generation. She wasn't getting much busy, which Aziraphale thought to be the most disappointing. Records were his favorite form of music.

As Aziraphale tucked every Nat King Cole into their proper place, Crowley was across London in a damp, cold, inconvenient flat hunched over and trying to knit. He'd bought a book full of patterns and instructions, and was now on his third iteration of the same scarf. The two previous attempts were in burned heaps in the corner, neither even close to completion. They had started to go horribly wrong and Crowley got so angry he accidentally set them on fire.

This time around, Crowley was taking his time with each action. He was terrified of mucking it all up. This was important to him, even if it was just a bunch of fibres looped together.

"If you s'don't do exactly as I tells you I will make your life hell," Crowley muttered to the yarn. "And's I can actually do that. Think hard on your decision."

Whether it was the slowness, the patience, or the fear of Crowley installed in the bundles of pale yellow and blue yarn, it was actually started to turn out his way.

———

Aziraphale hummed to himself a song he'd heard for the first time over at Maggie's shop. 'Unforgettable' by Nat King Cole. He realized he might have started to develop a real love for that man's music, all because of how much he knew Crowley enjoyed him. He never imagined himself a jazz fan, far too eccentric for his tastes, but the smooth notes got stuck in Crowley's head as he made the pair hot chocolates.

He was still humming softly as he returned to the main area of the bookshop, eyebrows raised as he saw a small white box with a yellow ribbon on his desk.

"Crowley, what's this?" Aziraphale asked, setting his mug down beside the box and walking over to where Crowley was sprawled across a chair.

"Wot?"

"The box, what is it?"

Crowley shrugged, sipping the hot chocolate Aziraphale gave him and looking out the window, "I dunno."

"You don't know? What do you mean you don't know?" Aziraphale scoffed as though it was completely impossible.

"I said I don't know, Angel. Might as well open it and find out."

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and looked at Crowley with confusion. Crowley didn't always love to communicate well, though neither did he - a sin they both unfortunately share - but this was entirely new. Despite all this, Aziraphale did go to the box. He gently undid the pale yellow ribbon, it was so beautiful he took extra pains to not rip it, and lifted the the lid.

He gasped slightly at what he saw, "oh Crowley."

Crowley cringed, expecting Aziraphale to hate it. But that was quite the opposite. Inside the box sat a scarf, blue and yellow and hand knit, with a small card sitting on top of it saying 'Happy Creation Day.' Aziraphale glanced up and was surprised to find that it was, indeed, October 21st. Creation Day, the Earth was now 6,027 years old, and Crowley remembered.

Aziraphale lifted the scarf from the box, seeing it for what it was. It wasn't perfect in the slightest. The yellow and blue made an awkward, uneven contrast at some parts. Knots made lumps throughout the entire scarf, and one color was at least an inch and a half longer than the other. But all the same, it made Aziraphale tear up, "oh Crowley it's beautiful."

"You really think so?" Crowley asked timidly, now standing stiffly near where he was sitting. His eyes were looking anywhere but Aziraphale, scared if he looked at him he'd be humiliated. His cheeks were pink as Aziraphale looked at his work.

"Oh dearest, this is amazing. How long did it take you?"

"Oh, just, you know normal knitting times..."

"Crowley?"

"2 months," he mumbled.

Aziraphale dropped the scarf into the box, walking over to Crowley and gently placing his hands on his cheeks. Though he closed his eyes, he leaned his head into the touch. "You spent 2 months making this for me?"

"S'course, Angel. Woulda spent longer, got rushed."

"My darling, it is absolutely beautiful. Thank you so much for this gift. You have outdone yourself."

It was these words that made Crowley open his bright, yellow eyes and look at Aziraphale. He wasn't lying, he wasn't lying in the slightest. All he saw in Aziraphale's eyes was admiration, love, and the glassy look of someone trying to hold back tears. Crowley whispered softly, "why are you crying?"

Aziraphale laughed softly, letting a tear fall at this, "Oh my sweet, it's good tears. I'm just so overwhelmed. It's so beautiful and you made it for me."

"S'course."

Aziraphale let his forehead fall against Crowley's. There they stood in their little bookshop, two angels holding each other. After a few moments of this, Aziraphale broke away, kissed Crowley forehead and wiped away his tears.

"Well, shall I treat you to a spot of lunch?"

"I think a table at the Ritz just opened up," Crowley smiled, hiding the mist in his own eyes.

"Oh, what a miracle!" Aziraphale giggled. "You go on and warm up the car dearest. I'll only be a moment."

"M'kay, Angel." Crowley walked out and greeted his lovely Bentley with an appreciative whistle. "Such a beautiful girl, can't wait to ride you."

A woman walking puffed up and said, "shut it, you creepy bloke."

Crowley, offended, scoffed, "I- I was talking to my car. Not you!"

She rolled eyes, "sure, mate, I believe ya."

Crowley took on a taunting tone, "You're not even my type, you- you- you box dye brunette!" He couldn't think of a better insult and she just flipped him off and stalked off.

"Oh bugger," Crowley murmured, going to open the driver's door. Then he stopped, looking up at Aziraphale who was now on the steps of the bookshop. He was wearing the scarf he made him.

He was wearing the scarf he made him.

And proudly too. Despite it's lumps, it's unevenness, and it's wonky patterns, Aziraphale wore the scarf like a badge of honor. He was showing off to the world that Crowley was his, and Crowley was talented, sweet, and anyone would be lucky to have him. But they couldn't have him, because Crowley was Aziraphale's, as Aziraphale was Crowley's.

"Ngk-wow, Angel."

"Don't you like it?" Aziraphale asked, preening like a peacock. "I had it handmade by the most talented man. I shall give you his number if you like."

"N-nah. I'm not a knit type of guy."

"Oh shame, he really is quite good. And he looks fantastic is those leather jackets," Aziraphale says with a wide grin.

"Just get in, Angel." Crowley was now blushing violently, and got in the car to avoid turning into a hot pink mess out there. Aziraphale slid in beside him, sitting pin straight as he does but with a little proud wiggle in his seat. He was so fucking cute it hurt sometimes, so Crowley turned on the radio.

In the silence of the car ride, Nat King Cole's mesmerizing voice called out, "the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved, in return."

[uhdrienne]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

to be published: (estimated) february 2024!

🌼 summary: going back to the countryside where you grew up was at the bottom of your list. unexpectedly, your life changes course, and you eventually find your home in weekly village cleaning, the sound of the waves, and with the local jack-of-all-trades, jeon wonwoo.

🌼 pairing: wonwoo x reader (smau, written)

🌼 genre(s): fluff, mild angst, yn can be mean sometimes at the start (this is inspired by the kdrama hometown cha-cha-cha, so some parts of the plot and characters are similar), wonwoo is an overall sweetheart

🌼 a/n: there are many other villagers in the area! not all of them are named here, but they may make small appearances throughout the series. the ones named below are the villagers that appear the most!

🌼character intros under the cut!

wonwoo: a witty villager in his late twenties, and the most skilled man around. also the go-to person in the village for any and every problem. fixing your pipes? call wonwoo. helping the fishermen by the dock? wonwoo is your man! he's so kim seon-ho coded to me, i can't explain it. incredibly popular among the villagepeople. has a past of his own that no one knows of, but it doesn't hinder his kind and helpful nature.

yn: a pediatrician in the city. (physical appearance is up to you!). ambitious, hardworking and determined to come on top, your emotions have taken a backseat for much of your life, which is why you can be cold and calculating at times. your parents no longer around because of a freak accident, you can be emotionally sensitive, with a sharp tongue on the topic of family. deep down, you're kind and affectionate, you just show it a little differently.

chanyeol: yn’s close friend and old crush from university. now a famous tv producer and presenter, this gentle giant is constantly in search of a muse to kickstart his next project. stumbles into the idyllic town to film a program after going in the wrong direction, and fits in just perfectly before long. also ends up becoming wonwoo’s friendly rival (🥲)

delia: yn's best friend forever!! a pediatric nurse by profession, she's one of the only people who can tame yn down when she's being haughty/angry. moves to the town to work with yn, and sometimes acts as the neutral party between yn and the villagers. gets along very well with other people, she's a complete E. she's a little ditzy, but a lovely person.

miss kim: yn’s landlord. divorced with a child, she runs a small bookshop in the village. as the unspoken village head, she handles the village’s admin matters. her ex-husband, mr woo, lives in the village too and works in the village bank. she shares her son's custody with him.

grandma lee: affectionately called ‘grandma’ by everyone, she’s seen wonwoo through most of his life, his ups, downs, and everything in between, except for the three years when he left town. a clever, patient, and kindhearted woman, she often knows what everyone needs before they do.

miss hwang: the neighbourhood gossip. a loudmouthed person, she runs a small cafe near the coast, selling coffee and cake (which yn really doesn't enjoy), and once she knows something, the whole village will. she can jump to conclusions too quickly sometimes, but she’s a nice lady, honest!

seungkwan and joshua: wonwoo’s best friends in the village, who grew up with him. they are similar to him, in the sense that they help everyone out in the form of part-time jobs, but their expertise isn’t as wide as wonwoo’s. however, if you need someone to fix your chair or install a bulb, they’re pretty solid options. didn't stay in contact with wonwoo during the years he was away, but the trio became close again after he returned. they have a hunch that he had a hard time, so they've never brought it up with him.

[the-darkdragonfly]

NEW TALE!!

Obliviate - A Dramione Tale, Chapter One

The end of the war is nearing, and its not clear which side will win. The hunt for Muggle-borns is intensifying and Harry knows he needs to hide her. Save her. With no family, Hermione starts a new life in America, unaware that the man she meets at the library one day used to be a schoolmate. A wizard.

Narcissa Malfoy is desperate. The Dark Lord has ruined everything now with his sights firmly set on her son once more, she does the only thing she can think of that might keep his safe. She obliviates him, sending into the Muggle world where he stands a chance at a safer life, even if it's without her in it.

Hello friends!!!

Welcome to my new fic! A late-night brain child fueled by too much coffee and a desperate need to indulge in soft Dramione. In typical fashion, I have ignored the epilogue and given myself a squish more of an artistic license than is probably advisable for one's first dalliance with a new fandom, but whatevs.

A thank you to @donteattheappleshook for making this presentable!

I do hope you like it!!

♥️♥️♥️

Wednesday, February 9, 2001

The snow swirled in lazy patterns across the deserted street, the tires of the cab which had delivered him to the small bookshop at the centre of Muggle London twirled a flurry of flakes from the street as it pulled away from the curb. 

She was here. 

Just inside the small bookshop she worked at on Wednesdays. 

He had been scouring the country for weeks, having followed one dead lead after the next, his window of opportunity quickly closing around him. He had started in San Diego, having placed thoughts of sunshine and living near the sea into her mind before he saved her- banished her!- he could hear Molly’s voice shirking at him from the small apartment everyone had huddled together inside of after the fall of Hogwarts. 

582 days. 

It felt like a lifetime.

Nineteen months to defeat Voldemort and his army of Death Eaters. Nineteen months to find her again and bring her back to who she was. 

He knew the math was good, it was hers after all, and he knew the wand work to free her from the false life she had been confined to. 

It had felt like the only choice. 

♥️♥️♥️

Read the rest here!

Tag List (let me know if you would like to be added!):

@donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @stahlop  @mysteriouscatstellation @dramioneficrecommendations

[liquidlucc]

You Learned to Swim in France

AKA A fluff piece based on talking to strangers about the love of your life lol 

Read on AO3 Here! 

Moving in with Harry had been so natural Draco had hardly even realised he’d done it. Had hardly noticed when all of his clothes ended up at Harry’s; day by day, the good robes hung up next to Harry’s Auror robes in his wardrobe.  His shampoo and conditioner had to come to Harry’s.  He always showered there anyway and he wasn’t using the man’s 3-in-1, absolutely not, he’d rather actually die. And so what if he spent more nights at Grimmauld than he did at his tiny London flat? Well. By the time his lease renewal had been up, he’d… Well, he couldn’t exactly say he didn’t realise that he spent almost no time there, and after a quick conversation with Harry, which had mostly consisted of Draco babbling and the stupid, smug look never leaving Harry’s face as he’d insisted, ‘Of course you’re moving in, you daft git. Who else is gonna drag me out of bed to make him breakfast?’ 

Living with Harry full time was different than coming over, obviously. But… Draco hadn’t realised how different it would truly be until he was there. Some mornings were much of the same, good morning blowjobs and tea, laying in bed till noon. But then there were the days that they would go to the shops that Harry frequented, and that was where Draco was most out of his element. It was great, going to all these places, meeting the people who knew Harry as a regular, making comments about how this is the man they’d heard so much about, and it was confusing. 

What was even more confusing was that the muggle chip shop owner on the corner knew he’d spent his summers in France, and had even greeted him in french one morning. 

Or how the woman who owned the bookshop knew that Draco had an affinity for old romance novels, something he’d only ever told Harry. 

Or, even worse, how the workers at the clothing boutique near Harry’s work had heard of him! And known he had an affinity for green, had helped him pick out a lovely scarf and- 

“Why does everyone around you seem to know about me?” Draco had been dying to ask, and even the question didn’t seem like quite enough. He wanted to know how they knew so much, why they knew such small details, like his favourite colour, the type of tea he liked, where he learned to swim. Still, as he always did, Harry seemed to understand. And, even more, he looked a bit… sheepish about it. 

“Well. Uh.” He started, clearing his throat as he set a glass of wine aside, their dinner mostly gone. This was the time of night that they usually spent watching those weird muggle shows on telly, or listening to the radio.  Just enjoying each other and  the closeness and ease that living together allowed.  But Draco couldn’t help himself. It had been eating at him for weeks. 

“I talk about you, sometimes. Maybe a bit more often than I realised.” Harry finally explained, and Draco felt himself flush, grabbing his fork and stabbing at a piece of veg on his plate simply for something to do with his hands. “It’s not meant to be oversharing or anything. I just get a bit excited is all. People will be talking about the news, about what tea they need at the shops, something like that, and I just… I think of you. And I have to mention how my boyfriend learned how to swim in Paris. Or how you only like Earl Grey if it’s been prepared perfectly, and the second it goes cool you won’t touch it. Or how you take your showers so hot I’m surprised your skin hasn’t burned from it.” He looked genuine, if embarrassed, and Draco couldn’t help the way his heart melted, just a little. 

Because Harry remembered all those little things, things said casually, offhand, on dates or during pillow talk, moments when Draco had let Harry in, if only a little, to who he’d been before, to life between the moments of fearing for their lives as teens. And Harry had grasped at that, taken it in and catalogued it in his mind, and the next time someone brought up that they liked their eggs a certain way, well, it was only instinct that led Harry to tell everyone who would listen that Draco absolutely hated eggs, unless Harry made them. 

“I try not to do it when we’re in wizarding spaces, I know how they can be, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, it’s just… instinct.” He repeated, shrugging, as Draco stood, making his way around the table. 

“You’re a sap, and a git. And an utter fool, for thinking of nothing else to talk about but me.” Draco laughed as he made his way over, running a hand through Harry’s curls and looking at him as though he were the only thing in the world. The traffic outside their window disappeared, the sound of the neighbour dog howling like mad, the clinking of cups being cleaned by a charmed sponge, it all seemed to fade away as he looked into those green eyes. For a moment, he thought he must understand, to some extent, why Harry went on about him so much. 

He’d gone on just as much about Harry. The broom shop he went to knew that Harry could handle whatever he had on hand, even if it was just a charmed kitchen broom. The grocer knew that Harry was lactose intolerant, but still ate enough cheese toasties to feed an army. And so really, was it any surprise that Draco was so, so obsessed with this man, he’d scream it from the rooftops, tell everyone and anyone who would listen just how lucky he’d gotten, to have him, to know about his life and who he was. 

He kissed Harry then, slow and sweet, and for once, Draco, who normally felt so cool and collected, felt so full of love he might just burst. 

And he had a feeling that no matter how long it had been, they’d still go on talking about each other to strangers, to friends, to anyone who would listen.

[vidalinav]

Nessian Week Day 2: Gifts

Summary: Nesta finds the present Cassian threw in the Sidra. 

Look I can only write prompts in Cassian’s POV for some reason and he’s always a simp. I can’t make him less of a simp. I think I’m projecting my own love for Nesta Archeron, but it is what it is.

~

Cassian’s sitting in the living room, and the windows are open as well as the doors, and Nesta chooses to be outside. She wants fresh air, she says. It’s a beautiful day and Cassian can’t blame her, but he tries not to grumble in her absence. He’s stuck inside, waiting on Rhys who conveniently forgets they have a meeting today. 

It seems, Rhys would rather be with someone else... and Cassian would rather be with her. He jostles his leg impatiently, sighing every few minutes, thinking of all the ways he could be spending his time. 

At least, they’re going to a new restaurant in the city after. Cassian can’t wait and he looks to the clock as if his glare might make it tick faster. 

He’s sure after the restaurant, they’ll inevitably find themselves in bookshops. Cassian smiles at the thought. It seems they have a routine. 

One after another, they’ll peruse until he’s carrying a tower of romances. Nesta will make a game of it, he’s sure. How many can he carry before he drops them or she can’t reach the top even as he leans down? How many can she get away with before he starts complaining that his arms hurt? 

Cassian will do no such thing. Nesta should have as many books as she wants. Mother knows they have a house big enough for three hundred libraries. They can stand to have three hundred more. It will feel like three hundred books anyway, but Cassian won’t say a word. In fact, he’ll tell her she forgot to look in this aisle and jut his chin to the colorful bindings and some title that’s laughingly  scandalizing. 

Nesta will feel guilty about it later that evening though, as she always does, and so she’ll smile fondly. Gift it to him. That small, tilt of her lips, the mirth reaching her eyes. For holding all those books. Nesta will hold him closer too, because when she’s happy, she stops thinking about the city lights and the people and the noise. She keeps looking to him, tucking her hand into his, leaning her head on his arm. They’ll listen to the music as they walk, and all of it will sound sweet, and soft, but really he’ll be too distracted by her. All of her. 

Cassian sighs. He’d rather be outside with Nesta--whatever she’s doing. Anywhere but here waiting for Rhys who’s taking his damn time. 

He hears the sound of footsteps and sends a thank you to the Mother. Finally. Cassian gets up thinking it’s Rhys. He might just punch his brother for taking so long. Where have you been? He’ll screech. 

But it’s Nesta who comes trampling through one of the sliding doors. 

Better option, he thinks, and he’s about to say so, but Cassian notices the light blue fabric, the lacy edges trailed in dirt. 

Her dress is caked in mud, the bottom drenched. She has a spot of dirt on her cheek, and Cassian brushes it off as she nears, as he pulls her close. Nesta pays no mind; she only grins. A big, happy expression that he’s already named. 

Nesta only smiles like that when she’s over the moon, when the sun seemingly sinks into her chest and wants to shine from her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. Sunset hues. Peaches and blush and bright skies. Cassian feels warm to his toes, and he smiles unconsciously for she brings out the sun. 

Nesta holds up a little box and Cassian eyes it curiously. 

“I found a book!” She explains, “It’s the smallest book I’ve ever seen.” 

Cassian looks to the box again not recognizing the color. He’s sure it can't be--

But it is. She opens the box, not torn at all, and inside lays a perfectly small book. Made my tiny, fairy hands. All the pages are intact, no water or mud in sight as if it’s never seen the Sidra at all. 

Cassian holds his breath, but Nesta grins so fondly, he feels his chest start to squeeze. 

“I was just walking along the river and I saw something on the side, and... I was curious,” She says sheepishly. 

Nesta never can keep her curiosity down, and it explains her dress coated in the banks of the Sidra. He half wants to chastise for not getting him to help her. She must have climbed all the way down and he could have flown. She could have gotten hurt or carried away by the rapid tide. It’s at least a good couple of feet... but he shakes away his worry as she holds up the gift. 

He just can’t believe it. 

“So I climbed down a bit and I dug out the box! It’s perfect, isn’t it? I’m surprised the water didn’t ruin it. It must have come in with the storm last week.” 

“Where do you think it came from?” He asks, because he doesn’t know what else to say as Nesta looks at the book, flipping through the pages carefully. “Does it belong to anyone, you think?” 

It’s yours, he wants to blurt. I got it for you. It was yours all along. Just like I was. 

But Cassian doesn’t say that, he can’t make words form... and he knows where it came from. He doesn’t know what the words mean, but he know who made it. What type of material it is. How many exist in the world? Not many, but one is in her hand when it had only ever met his pocket and the sea. 

It must be some work of fae magic. A blessing from the Mother who know Nesta deserves the world... or he deserves some peace. Whatever power calls forth the tide or preserves paper in a flimsy box, he’s grateful for it. For the way, Nesta smiles like that. 

Nesta holds up her chin as if she’ll fight any person who claims it’s theirs, who tries to take it from her. A ferocious sort of gleam in her eyes. “I don’t know... but it’s mine now. I’m the one who climbed down for it. I’m caked in mud.”

Cassian’s lips raise as he wraps his arms around her waist, “I think it was definitely meant to be yours.” 

“It feels like mine,” she says softly. Nesta looks at the tiny book. It’s purple cover a sheen of old leather, stamped with unrecognizable words. She clasps it to her chest like she’s trying to burrow it away in her heart. Somewhere precious and protected behind a ribcage and a will of iron. 

All she loves is stored there. 

Cassian is there, too, he knows, because of that look she makes. That softness in her eyes, the sun in her smile. It’s reserved for him. For him and this tiny book. 

I’m yours, he thinks. 

Cassian grips her hand, pulling her towards the door. “Let’s see if we can go find a magnifying glass. Maybe we can try and read the words.” 

Nesta frowns, “I thought you had a meeting.” 

Cassian shakes his head, forgetting all about this room and Rhys and meetings. All that matters is her. “It’s not important,” he says. 

That joy, he thinks, is more important than anything. A blessing. A gift. He wonders how many times he can make her smile like that. 

Cassian doesn’t know, but he’s sure he’ll make a game of it. 

~

Tag List:

@arinbelle @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @nestaarcher0n @duskandstarlight @soitsgorgeous @swankii-art-teacher @lordof-bloodshed @thewhelk @daisy-in-danger @highqueenevankhell @lovelynesta @sirendeepity @champanheandluxxury @ladynestaarcheron @moodymelanist @teagoddess99 @spoilersteph @angelic-voice-1997 @bo0kmaster69 @drielecarla @generalnesta @cozycomfyliving08

~

The only reason I wrote this is because I was tagged on nessian week and therefore felt obligated to post something. Apparently you can get me to write anything if you give me the obligation. 

Bye! 

[dottielovegood]

ASMR - Chapter 5

Elriel fanfiction

About this fic:

Azriel can’t sleep Elain has an ASMR channel Match made in heaven (or you know, on youtube..)

_______________________________________

You can find chapter 1 here, chapter 2 here, chapter 3 here and chapter 4 here

Read this fic on AO3

_______________________________________

Elain Beautiful!

Elain’s message made Azriel blush. He even blushed the next day whenever he thought about it.

He had never been called “beautiful” before. Handsome? Yes. Sexy and hot? A few times

But beautiful? Never

He couldn’t stop thinking about the message. Nor could he stop thinking about the fact that she lived in Velaris. Had they ever passed each other on the street? Had he stood behind her in the line at the grocery store?

Had they breathed the same air without knowing it?

Azriel couldn’t help but think back to Rhys and Feyre’s wedding. She had been there, hadn’t she? That same day when he was sitting with Rhys in a suite before the ceremony, she had delivered flowers downstairs. If he had just left the room before the ceremony, he might have met her that day. He was certain that they hadn’t met, even though Nesta was certain that they must have at least seen each other. He knew in his heart that he could never have forgotten her face if he had seen it. He couldn’t stop thinking about her now, and he had only seen her on his screen.

Azriel imagined that she must be even more beautiful in real life.

And now, he could actually find out if that was the case.

He told himself that he didn’t change his usual morning route because he wanted to see her. He told himself that he was tired of running in the park and that a run along the river Sidra would be a nice change of pace. He told himself that he didn’t even think about the fact that Elain’s flower shop was located on River Street, looking out over the Sidra.

He told himself all these things, but deep down, he knew that he was lying. It felt stupid and idiotic to lie to yourself, but it made him feel a bit better. It made him feel a little less like a creep as he ran along the river.

It was a nice day out. You could tell that summer was turning into fall because of the crisp morning air and the changing colors of the leaves. Velaris was probably the most beautiful during fall, at least according to Azriel. He had always loved fall and always hated summer. He didn’t like the heat. His friend, Cassian, hated summer too because of his allergies. That’s why he and Nesta had opted for a fall wedding.

The city was quiet this early in the morning. Azriel enjoyed the quiet; he always had. He never worked out with music and he couldn’t understand why people wanted to blast stressful tunes in their ears while working out. For Azriel, running was a form of meditation. He was completely alone with his thought and he often felt as if he had his best ideas during his morning runs. Music would have bothered him.

He had mapped out a route along the Sidra that was approximately 5 kilometers long (he always ran 5 km in the morning). It just so happened that Elain’s store could be seen from this route. What a coincidence, he thought, as it came into view.

In between the lies he had told himself, he had also told himself that she would probably not be there this early. He just wanted to see the place where she worked, but she would most likely not even be there. It was less creepy if she wasn’t there, which is why he hadn’t walked by in the middle of the day. He didn’t want her to think that he was a stalker. He remembered what Nesta had said about her taste in men, and he was pretty sure that she would never look at him again if she thought that he was stalking her.

As he was nearing her shop, he felt his palms sweat and his heart race. Totally normal reactions to a workout, he told himself. And all of a sudden, he found himself across the street from her little shop. It was situated between a small café and a bookshop. The sign above the door was light pink, and swirly green letters read “WALLFLOWER”. That was an interesting name for a flower shop, Azriel thought. Then, he noticed that the lights were on and the door was slightly ajar. Azriel held his breath as he slowed his pace and looked through the window. At first, there was no sign of anyone in there. Then, a door in the back opened, and there she was. She had her hair down today, and she was wearing a dark blue dress over a white t-shirt. Her face was covered by the big bunch of flowers she was carrying. Azriel knew nothing about flowers, but he knew he hated these white and pink things for covering her face. Azriel pulled up his hood, hoping that she wouldn’t see him as he lingered on the other side of the street, hoping for just one look.

She bent over and put the flowers down just by the door. Her hair fell in front of her face and…

That’s when Azriel’s phone rang.

And for once in his life, the sound was on. He had no idea when he had un-muted it, but he could see Elain shift. Shit, she had heard his phone. The door was slightly open and there was no traffic right now which obviously meant that anyone within a 100-meter radius could hear it. And it did not help that someone, probably Cassian, had changed his ringtone to fucking Barbie Girl by Aqua.

Azriel quickly turned away from the shop and started running again. He didn’t even see where he was going as he fumbled in his pocket for his phone. “Fuck,” he let out as the female voice in his pocket sang about how fantastic it was to be plastic.

“What?” he answered, ready to rip apart the person that had called him.

“What has your knickers in a twist?” Rhys asked in a fake British accent.

“I’m running.”

“Yeah, I know. You always run at this time of the day. Creature of habit and all that.” Rhys sounded chipper. Who the fuck was this happy in the morning?

“What do you want? Didn’t you say that the meeting started at nine today?”

“Yes, Azriel. The meeting starts at nine, but I need you and Cassian to come in earlier. Like now. Where are you?”

“I’m by the Sidra, so it’ll probably take me ten minutes to reach the office if I run,” Azriel answered. “Is this urgent, or can I go home and change?”

“Why are you by the Sidra? You always run in the park?”

“Trying to get out of my comfort zone,” Azriel mumbled, hoping that Rhys would just let it go.

“Well, good for you. And yes, it’s urgent. You can shower here and I know that you keep extra clothes in your desk drawer. See you in ten minutes!”

Azriel groaned. He did not want an emergency meeting right now. He wanted to go home and drown in his shower from the sheer mortification he was feeling.

“Oh, Azriel!” Rhys almost shouted before Azriel could hang up. “Bring coffee.”

Azriel snorted. “I didn’t think you were allowed coffee.”

Azriel could hear the smile in his brother’s voice as he said, “just bring the fucking coffee, Az.”

20 minutes later, Azriel walked into the office with three cups of coffee and a few croissants.

“What’s the emergency?” Azriel asked as soon as he walked through the doors to Rhys’ office.

Cassian was already there, and Rhys had the biggest grin on his face. It made Azriel uncomfortable. Why was he grinning at half-past seven in the morning?

Azriel handed one cup each to Rhys and Cassian while taking one for himself. He didn’t take a seat. He just waited for Rhys to tell him why the hell he was here.

Cass took a sip from his cup and made a disgusted face.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked.

“De-caf, vanilla latte with extra foam.”

“Why? You know that I drink my coffee black.”

“Barbie girl,” was all Azriel said, and from the way Cassian’s face lit up, he could tell that it was, indeed, Cassian who had changed his ringtone.

“Oh, yeah,” Cassian grinned. “great song!”

Azriel rolled his eyes.

Rhys leaned against his desk and took a swig from his own cup. Azriel had not made a funny order for him, but he kind of wish he had. The stupid smile seemed to be permanently etched onto his face. Rhys let out a sound that sounded eerily like a moan.

“God, this tastes like heaven,” he sighed. Azriel liked his coffee as much as any other person, and he guessed that it would taste even better if you had gone without any caffeine for months, but this was still weird.

“Better than your wife?” Cass joked and wiggled his eyebrows.

Rhys shot him a death glare. “Don’t you dare speak about the mother of my future child like that!”

Azriel felt his jaw drop. Did he just say what Azriel thought he said?

He didn’t have time to ask before Rhys lit up again. “Feyre’s pregnant!” he basically shouted.

For a beat, Azriel and Cassian stared at him dumbfounded. Then, Cassian jumped from his chair, embracing Rhys.

“Damn! Finally! Congratulations, man,” he said and patted him hard on the back.

Azriel wasn’t much of a hugger, but even he embraced his brother. “Congrats!”

“How did you find out?” Cassian asked.

“Well, it was all very romantic. I made her breakfast this morning, and she looked at me as if I had put rat-poison in her porridge. Then she threw up. Actually, the first sign was definitely that her boobs got bigger, but she told me to shut up every time I mentioned it.”

“Didn’t need to know that,” Azriel muttered.

Rhys ignored him. “So she took a test, and there were definitely two little pink lines there.”

His entire face was a big smile now, and Azriel couldn’t help but smile too. He was so happy for Rhys and Feyre. They were going to be great parents.

“So, I wanted to tell you that you’re going to be uncles,” he announced.

Azriel and Cassian looked at each other. If Azriel wasn’t mistaken, he could see Cassian tear up.

“I’ll be the fun uncle,” Cass exclaimed as if anyone would ever question that.

Azriel took a seat next to Cassian as they continued talking for a while. Az couldn’t help but notice that Rhys seemed almost equally happy about the fact that he was now allowed to eat meat and drink coffee again.

“So, Rhys, just to be clear. You only called us in here this early to tell us that you were going to be a father? That couldn’t wait?”

“Obviously, it couldn’t wait,” Rhys answered matter of factly. “But no, that wasn’t the only reason. There’s a problem with the online subscriptions that I need you to look at.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I have no idea. That’s why I hired you.”

Azriel spent the entire morning sorting out the problem. When he was finally done, it was time for lunch. Since he hadn’t been able to go home and bring the lunch he had prepared, he had to venture out for food. He decided to go to one of his favorite places in town; a small Vietnamese place within walking distance to the office. He ordered Phở and decided to eat his lunch there since he was a bit tired of staring into his computer screen. He took a seat in the corner next to the windows looking out over the street and started a podcast on his phone as he dug into his noodle soup. It was delicious, as always, and he didn’t really pay attention to anything but the food and the podcast. This is why he didn’t notice that someone had sat down at his table until a female voice started speaking to him. He had just shoved some noodles into his mouth as he looked up to see who was talking to him, and his heart almost stopped.

It was her. Flower Girl ASMR. Elain.

Azriel had noodles hanging out of his mouth and his brain couldn’t decide if he should just push all of it into his mouth, or take a bite and let the rest fall into his bowl, so he just sat there; looking and feeling like a fool.

“Azriel,” Elain greeted him when his eyes met hers. His brain couldn’t comprehend that she was here, at one of his favorite restaurants, while he was listening to a true-crime podcast. Azriel quickly swallowed what was in his mouth and removed his headphones. He could feel himself blush.

“Elain,” he breathed, feeling warm and sweaty all of a sudden. “What are you doing here?”

She laughed. She had a lovely laugh. “Nice to see you too. Is it good?”

“What?”

“The food,” she gestured to the bowl, “is it good?”

“Yes, very.” Azriel didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected to see her here. He had actually not expected to ever hear from her again if she had seen him outside of her store this morning.

Elain looked around. “This place is really cute. I’ve never been here before, but my employees recommended it.”

That explained why she was there.

“Yeah, it’s the best Vietnamese food in town.”

“I’ll take your word for it. You seemed to really enjoy it.” She smiled at him, and he was suddenly very aware of the fact that she had seen him eat. He had no idea what he looked like when he ate, but he felt very self-conscious all of a sudden.

“So, you live in Velaris?” Azriel asked after a short stretch of silence.

She nodded. “Mhm. I moved here a few years ago and opened my shop. Speaking of, did I see you this morning?” She was eyeing him suspiciously.

Azriel felt himself go completely still. Fuck. She had seen him. His life was over. Mentally, he started to prepare to move away from Velaris. Maybe he should just move to Australia? Or maybe Siberia? Anywhere far, far away.

He felt himself shake his head in answer, hoping that she believed him.

She raised an eyebrow “Really?”

She looked down at her lap and he could hear her tap on her phone, and then Azriel’s phone, which was conveniently sitting on the table, was ringing.

Fucking Barbie Girl.

He had forgotten to put it on silent again. He was going to murder Cassian.

The screen lit up with her name, and he knew he was busted.

He expected her to tell him to never contact her again. He expected her to kick him under the table and call him a creep. And god, did he deserve it. But, to his surprise, she laughed.

“Interesting music choice. I wouldn’t have pegged as a 90’s euro-pop lover.”

“I’m not,” he muttered under his breath. “This is my friend’s idea of humor. I am going to kill him as soon as I get back to the office.”

“Please don’t. You’re too pretty to go to jail,” Elain joked, and Azriel felt himself blush - again.

He took a deep breath and decided to try to explain the situation. “About this morning... I was just doing my morning workout. I promise I was not stalking you.”

“I didn’t think you were stalking me. I mean, did you even know I lived in Velaris?”

Azriel was just about to answer when Elain’s name was called. She got up and picked up her food from the girl behind the register. She walked back to his table and held up the brown paper bag, “Well, I have to go. My employees need fuel.”

“It was really nice meeting you in real life, Elain. Sorry if I was weird,” Azriel apologized.

“Don’t apologize. I get it. I hate when people interrupt me when I eat. But when I saw you, I just felt like I had to say hi.”

Azriel smiled at her. “It was a welcome interruption. Enjoy your lunch!”

With a quick goodbye, she turned around and started to walk to the door. Azriel cursed himself. Why was he such a weirdo? Couldn’t he have been cool and mysterious? Why did he have to be some kind of awkward noodle-eating monster?

He was just about to drown himself in the remaining food in front of him when he saw Elain turn around and head for his table again.

“Would you like to do this again?” she asked, the question coming out quickly.

Azriel stared at her. “Do what?”

“See each other in real life.”

“Yes,” Azriel blurted out. “I would really like that.”

She gave him the sweetest smile and he felt like he was looking at the sun.

“Great! Are you free this Friday?”

Azriel didn’t tell her that he would make sure to be free any night she wanted to spend time with him.

Instead, he just said, “Yes, I’m free.”

“Good. I’ll text you.”

And with that, Elain exited the restaurant. Azriel was staring at his bowl of cold noodles, not feeling very hungry anymore. She had asked him out.

Elain, the prettiest girl alive, had asked him out.

If he had been a comic book character, he was certain that there would be small, pink hearts flying around his head.

She texted him later that night.

Elain It was lovely running into you today :) But damn that ringtone of yours! I’ve been singing Barbie Girl all day, haha!

Azriel Thank you for interrupting my lunch! Don’t tell anyone this, but I haven’t been able to get that stupid song out of my head either. But don’t worry, I was able to get my hands on my friend’s phone this afternoon and return the favor.

Elain Oooh! Which song did you pick?

Azriel Jizz in my pants by the Lonely Island.

Elain You’re evil! I love it!

Azriel So, for Friday. Would you be up for drinks?

Azriel wanted to suggest dinner, but drinks felt safer. If she thought that he was dull or weird, it would be easier for her to leave.

Elain Yes! That would be great. There is this new place that I’ve been dying to go to. It’s called Rita’s.

Azriel Rita’s it is! Shall we say at 8?

Elain It's a date! I’m really looking forward to it :)

Azriel Me too!

Azriel felt giddy. He felt like a teenager that had just been asked out by his crush. Or at least, he thought that this was the same feeling. He hadn’t really been asked out in High School. Elain had probably been popular, but he had been the emo-guy in the corner, listening to music nobody had ever heard.

However, the more he thought about Friday, the more nervous he became. What if he couldn’t find something interesting to talk about? What if she found him boring?

And worst of all; what the hell should he wear?

[fcntasmas-archive]

Bookshop AU + scars?

hmmm a good one a good one maybe i'd write something like -- buck, after years of trying to find his place in the world, goes out on a limb and instead of becoming a firefighter buys a small corner space: it takes his entire life's savings and he's not even sure what he's going to do with it, but fuck it if he's not ready to find his path and if he has to make it himself, then so be it. (also, considering the apartments the show has them living in, i, too, will suspend disbelief re: their financial situations, thank you) this shop happens to be near a fancy-looking fire station -- the 118, the sign above it reads, and while buck spends his afternoons sitting in the middle of this empty space, he loves watching the firetrucks leave, arrive, leave, arrive, and he always makes bets with himself, like, how long will it be this time? where could they have gone today? sometimes he’ll bring a lawn chair and sit outside the space, with one of the many books he’s collected throughout his travels, and this is how he meets bobby for the first time. the tall captain’s making his way to the coffee shop next door, and he spots buck — mid-20s, ratty t-shirt, faded jeans — sitting in a lawn chair minding his own business and he’s like, “uh? you okay?” buck and bobby hit it off immediately, obviously. buck explains he’s sitting in front of his own space so he’s not really loitering, and he’s been trying to to decide what he’s gonna do with it. bobby looks at him thoughtfully and suggests buck look at the things around him, what they’re lacking, then at the things buck loves, and see if there isn’t an overlap. buck thanks him, makes some dumb joke about the firehouse captain getting his own coffee, and they part ways. eventually, he meets the rest of the 118: hen, who’s curious about the “tall white boy who is all legs” that sits outside the space for hours at a time, reading a different book every time; chimney (who refuses to explain the nickname), who bet hen he could guess what book he was reading today (he couldn’t); and eddie.

eddie is — buck’s pretty sure what would happen if “buck’s type” and “buck’s wet dream” clashed and formed an entire human being. eddie is way too attractive to be real, and buck manages to fumble through a conversation with him — where he says the words i’m actually just chillin’, like a fucking idiot — before eddie smiles quizzically at buck’s entire, like, thing and heads to the coffee shop, leaving buck to privately hit his head against today’s book (a wyoming travel guide, of all things) in embarrassment. except when eddie comes back out, four coffee cups in a holder, he says to buck, “you know, with all the books you go through, you could probably open a book store.” and it’s like a lightbulb moment — wherein another person screwed in the lightbulb for buck, i mean. so buck gets to work — he doesn’t actually own enough books to fill a bookstore, but when he tells his new friends at the 118 about his ideas, they start donating old books — and their friends start donating old books — and eventually, buck’s got just enough to get himself started.

buck opens the strangest, most quaint used bookstore known to los angeles, california. why? because there’s really no rhyme or reason to it. there’s no order to it — buck kind of just makes up sections (“books that spoke to me at three in the morning”, “books that are not appropriate for children, kids stay out”, “books that made me want to call my sister”, etc.) and he — kind of becomes a success when hen brings denny to the store and he makes a semi-viral tiktok out of it. eventually, the hype dies down, but he retains some loyal customers, and that’s all that matters.

what matters most, though, in buck’s opinion, are the months that follow: eddie comes in every weekend with the most adorable fucking kid on earth — christopher, he introduces himself cheerfully — and they take home exactly one book each every time. christopher will stay away from the sections clearly marked “no children here” (later, buck will add, “YES EVEN YOU CHRIS”) and eddie will carefully peruse through some of the more obscure sections (“books that fed my addiction to cheese”, “books that made me believe in aliens but only from mars”) and pick out what seems like the most interesting one for the weekend.

they’ll stay for an hour, maybe two. buck and eddie will talk about everything and nothing at all — they’ll gauge enough about each other to be friends, but not enough to be closer than that, and, fuck, does buck want to be closer than that. eddie has eyes that promise to tell him a thousand stories and he has scars on his skin that promise to tell him a thousand more, and he wants to know every single part of the man that smiles softly at him in awe, like he’s the most interesting sight he’s laid his eyes on, when he goes on an unrelenting rant.

so one weekend, once christopher is gone and knee-deep in the “books that will definitely make you want to be a (freelance) knight” section, buck looks over at eddie and asks him what his favorite book is. eddie, a little taken aback, admits that he doesn’t think he has one. buck hums, like the tidbit is Very Interesting Indeed, and eddie raises an eyebrow and asks, “why? what’s yours?”

joke’s on eddie, because that’s exactly what buck had wanted him to ask.

buck tells him he’ll tell eddie — in fact, he’ll even trade him a copy of his favorite book — for a story. eddie looks at him a little quizzically, like he’s having trouble understanding the concept, so buck explains that he’s collected way more than just books during his travels: he’s collected stories. and stories are all he’s made up of, and stories are all he loves to hear. it makes him feel like he’s part of something bigger — he collects them like secrets, keeps them close to his chest for himself, for a rainy day.

so buck points at a scar on eddie’s lips, and says, “you tell me the story behind that scar, i’ll trade you my favorite book.”

and eddie is — endeared? charmed? very confused? buck can’t really keep up with the plethora of emotions that flash past his expression, but eventually eddie concedes, and tells buck about the story behind the scar on his lip.

it’s a childhood scar, buck learns. eddie had been playing on a trampoline at his grandmother’s house and he’d bet his sisters he could do a backflip — turns out, he could do a backflip, but he back-flipped off the entire trampoline and hit his mouth on the edge of it. blood for ages, he says, laughing at the memory. he was sure he’d cracked some teeth — was lucky he didn’t. just the scar to remind him that he does not, in fact, have the spacial awareness he thought he did.

buck, satisfied with this response, hands him a copy of holes. he doesn’t tell eddie it’s his personal copy — leaves that tidbit out, content to see eddie’s gaze soften at the gift.

and then it just — keeps happening.

a book for a story. buck asks about a visible scar on eddie’s person and eddie will tell him the story behind it; for every story he tells buck, buck will gift him a copy that means a lot to him. the first book he ever learned to read himself; the first book he ever stole from a library (he forgot to return it, okay); the first book he read so much he wore out.

sometimes, eddie’ll take a second to gather himself before telling buck a story — in these instances, buck promises eddie he doesn’t have to tell him anything, but eddie seems like he’s determined to tell buck about it, and buck will learn about his time overseas, in the military; his adventures in firefighting; his brief stint in street fighting, of all things; childhood stories that involve his grandmother, his aunts, his sisters, even, more than they ever do his parents.

he’ll learn eddie, too, is made up of dozens of stories, and it’ll open up the most beautiful sight buck’s ever laid eyes upon: a man, filled to the brim with love and affection, feeling lonely and guilty every day of his life, unable to leave his stories in the past where they belong. so he gifts them to buck, and buck keeps them as he keeps all the others: close to his chest, closer still to his heart, and he begins to carry them for eddie, watching as, one by one, the weight begins to leave this wonderful man, leaving behind only the love and affection buck thinks he glows with.

eventually, buck runs out of scars to point out — he smiles sadly at eddie that day, says he guesses maybe it’s for the best: wouldn’t want eddie sharing anything else he’s not ready to share. eddie looks at him, a little conflicted, before his lips turn up into a slow smirk and he says something buck is probably going to be dreaming about for the rest of his entire fucking life: “you know, i got a couple more scars where you can’t immediately see. maybe you can inquire about those sometime.”

(and buck, eventually, very much does.)

(though eddie would super appreciate it if it wasn’t while he was trying to go down on buck, thanks.)

[wrenhyperfixates]

Not So Alone

Pairing: Loki x female teen!reader (platonic) Summary: Meeting a young fan of his gives Loki some renewed hope. Warnings: none :) A/N: Here you go nonny! Hope you enjoy :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff​ @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart @marvelouslovely @laurenandloki @fallinallinmendes @sophlubbwriting

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki was never one any person thought of much note, a sad fact he’d near resigned himself to, setting his face and body into an unbothered mask. The outside, at least, convinced everyone else, though no amount of staring at an emotionless reflection could impress upon Loki that he didn’t care. His mind was far too tumultuous for that. Anyway, for being the God of Lies, Loki has never figured out how to effectively lie to himself.

Five years in the Avengers Tower was far more than enough for the downtrodden god, and now he lived in an unremarkable apartment building that held some kind of charm to him, if solely for the reason there was a small, privately owned bookshop beneath it. He enjoyed the neatly arranged books in the display window, greeting him as he walked up the three stairs to unlock the building crammed in with so many others every day. Once his courage had been gathered two months after his initial move, he’d begun frequenting the store often.

Regardless of whether he was able to escape the relative misery he found himself stewing in by living in the Tower, he still had to work with the team that still managed to hold some amount of contempt for him even after he’d proved himself repeatedly. Simply, they weren’t cut from the same cloth, and when trying to sew the fabrics together, they clashed something awful. A truly dreadful state for a team of superheroes to work in, remarked Loki to himself often, and had resolved to make himself as small and agreeable as possible, though the sharp wit never died in his tongue. Such an attitude as he adopted seemed to suit the others just fine, and missions were carried out successfully and without any major mishaps more often than not.

Today he was heading that familiar way up to his home after a trip to the supermarket, when he saw a young girl sitting on those slate steps he could take two at a time if he really wanted to. Midgardians aged differently than what he was used to, so he wasn’t much good at supposing someone’s age, but he thought you looked to be about in your teenaged years. You were sitting glumly upon those cold, grey steps, staring down at the blank, stark white pages of a sketchpad. Your eraser on the tip of the pencil made a dull thump-thump-thump as you tapped it against the emptiness waiting to be enlivened by strokes from the opposite, leaden end.

“Pardon,” he said, carefully moving on your side.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I-” you cut off with a heinous sort of gasp, the kind Loki would have thought fake if not for the raw feeling behind it. “Y-you’re Loki!”

“Ah, so I have been found out,” he chuckled, somewhat nervously. It seemed you said it with a sort of starstruck wonder, but he could hardly believe such a thing possible and figured it was wishful thinking on his part.

“Oh my gosh!! I’m your biggest fan,” you squealed before introducing yourself and brandishing your still unfilled sketchbook and pencil toward him. “If-if it’s not too much trouble, could I maybe get y-your signature... Please?”

Now the shoe was on the other foot, and he felt shock at this stuttered request. It felt almost like some long forgotten fever dream. Someone wanted his signature? At this point, it was a small thing for the other avengers at this point, but not so for Loki, who so many were still afraid to meet eyes with. He could have continued wistfully standing there as if reminiscing over some passed joy, but this was the present, and he did not want to disappoint his biggest, possibly only, fan.

“Alright,” he granted, putting down his bags of fresh produce and fish he was planning on cooking up for dinner that night. He took the offered paper and scrawled a quick note, made out to the name you’d given him moments before. He was never much of an emotional speaker, but he hoped it sufficed. He finished with his well-practiced, looping signature. “Here you go, little one.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Loki!”

He chuckled a little at the sound of the name. True, he went by no surname as he felt he didn’t belong to any one particular group or family, and would rather not be reminded of his lineage, true or otherwise. Still, hearing the honorific before his name was unusual, especially when your continued respect prompted you to offer to help with his groceries.

“I am certain you need to be running home soon, it is almost dinner time. But I appreciate it immensely.”

“Don’t worry about that,” you persisted, grabbing a bag anyway. “I lice in the building. We just moved here. But you save the city literally all the time, and your powers are so cool! You deserve a little extra respect.”

“If you say so,” he managed, still in a fit of disbelief. “If anything, it should be because I am elderly. Over 1,000 years old, you know,” he joked.

Indeed, you did know, and began to ask him a series of questions about things he might have experienced in history, though pausing to ramble about how you hoped you weren’t pestering and to stop you if you were, he interjected it was no bother at all. By the time you reached the third floor where his rooms resided, you were bubbling with uncontainable excitement, sharing that your new home was on the same level, just a few doors down.

Once you’d helped him deliver his things to his table, he showed you back to the door when you told him your father would be home from work at any minute, and the god thought it important to introduce himself to his new neighbor. In those few minutes, you began to shy away again, that stutter coming back, as if you’d realized anew just what exactly was happening.

Loki shook the hand of the man you’d identified as your father, a nearly middle-aged sir who was just on the cusp of graying. He exchanged a quick conversation with him that resulted in an invitation to dinner that weekend. The god was near sure you were ready to collapse with excitement when he said yes, but you managed to remain relatively calm, though there was a certain spark behind your eyes. Still, it was a school night, and you had some homework to complete, so you all said goodbye to each other and went your separate ways.

As Loki settled down for the evening in his favorite, comfy armchair with the book he’d started the night before, for the first time in a long time, he felt not so alone, and most thrilling of all, he felt appreciated.