#enoch x reader

[poppinspops]

Enoch o'connor mood board/collage I adore the dead riser (movie ver)

[pink-princess-pussy-pop]

Dating Enoch O'Connor Would Include...

From my Wattpad

Warnings: Sexual allusions, not proofed

- Being the only person in the house to see him smile - Stealing his sweaters - You asking him to zip up your dresses - Him obviously helping you - Teaching him to braid your hair - Hand-holding under the table during meals - You convince him to go on walks - And to actually spend time outside - And with the children - Enoch is SUCH a tease - Touching your thigh during dinner - "Enoch..." - "Yes, love?" - "Stop." - "I don't know what you're talking about" - The damn smirk on that boy - Enoch is protective - especially when Jacob shows up - You can't be in the same room as Jacob without Enoch being there too - he just can't risk losing you - You are going outside? Enoch is going too - Going into town? Enoch is coming with you - It does get annoying at times - You got up to use the restroom and so did Enoch - "What are you doing Enoch?" - "Coming with you." - "Enoch, I'm going to the bathroom." - "Oh." - You go to the shore quite often - He loves it when you smile - He smiles when you smile - Miss Peregrine loves you two together - She knew it from the beginning - Even though you had hated each other - She had to set rules once you got together - She caught you two kissing one time - Along with Claire - Enoch was so embarrassed - When Miss Peregrine and the children go on trips to the town, you have the house to yourself - He's like, kinda kinky? - No but really - You have to cover up so many hickeys/bruises - You are so shy when it comes to PDA - Even when it is just you two - Especially when it is just you two - his accent is so hot - him saying your full name?? - DONE. ABSOLUTELY DECEASED - He teaches you how to do stuff - And shows you, many, many things - GoD he's a dom - But he won't do anything you are not comfy with - You two are just so cute together

[miss---lu]

Walks on the Beach

She came to the loop not to long ago, yet no one could figure out what her peculiarity was. She always dodged the question, never looking uncomfortable just not answering.Claire and Olive believed she must have a more scary peculiarity, otherwise why wouldn’t she share it?

Enoch watched as YN walked outside in the garden. He was peering though his window, just studying her movements. Her steps seemed to be with intent, all incredibly light.

He saw how Olive was walking on over towards her. Her heavy boots dragging in the grass. YN just smiled at the young girl as she continued on her path. She was leaving the garden and heading towards what looked like the beach.

Against his better judgement, Enoch decided to follow after. He quickly made his way down the stairs, trying to avoid his housemates, but he was not that lucky.

He ran straight into the bird and started apologizing profusely. She just tutted at him and gestured for him to follow behind her.

“Mr O’Connor what has you in such a hurry? Typically you spend your free hour after lunch working on those puppets of yours.”

Enoch just shrugged, but he felt a soft, warm feeling start to bubble in his chest. “I don’t know, just thought I’d spend some time outside with the others.”

Miss Peregrine narrowed her eyes as she looked at the boy. “You were going after Miss LN, weren’t you?”

Enoch’s face started to heat up as he went to shake his head. It was too late, though. The bird already knew.

“Mister O’Connor,” she stopped and gave a small smile, “you know Miss LN happens to go the beach during this time. She considers it her tranquility period where she can just roam.”

Enoch nodded. After seeing that he was still standing there the bird ushered for his to continue on his journey. He smiled back at her as he made his way out the door.

. . .

YN stood on the beach barefoot as she watched the waves. Her eyes were closed, so Enoch approached her slowly. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, she started talking:

“I know you’re there, Enoch. I can sense your presence.”

Enoch let out a small chuckle. “Was I loud?”

YN turned to face him and laughed. “No. You were very quiet, but you see, it’s my peculiarity.”

Enoch cocked an eyebrow, confused by what she meant.

YN just laughed again before continuing, “I’m what they call an earthwalker. I can control the ground kind of how Emma can control fire.”

“That’s fascinating.”

“Thanks,” she giggled. “That’s why I don’t like wearing shoes. When I have skin on the earth I can feel what’s touching it, what’s inside it, etc. I can also cause the rocks to shift.”

YN suddenly stomped her foot on the ground and Enoch felt the earth tremble below him. YN only smiled at his shocked expression.

“See? I can manipulate the fault lines.”

Enoch smiled softly as he went to take her hand. “You want to just sit here with me?”

“I’d like that. And maybe you can show me some of your homunculus creations.”

[berryazule]

Enoch O'Connor Dating Headcanons

For the sake of this I'm going to place you as Jacobs sister (adopted or not, your choice)

So, he definitely wasn't a big fan of you in the beginning

Probably saw you as an extension of Jake and gave you the same treatment

However

As Jake goes out gallivanting with Emma, you're left behind

So you explore and accidently nosy at Enoch's room/built in organ archive

He'll probably catch you in his room when your back is to the door

Meaning he gives you a fright

And boy is he not impressed

Nothing gets said and you speed on out of there

The end kidding

He just seems to develop a nasty staring habit after the incident

It feels like he's trying to shoot holes through your skull

And everyone's but Jake notices (obvi)

From then on Enoch faces friendly teasing from every other peculiar

Even Emma badgers him on his latest obsession

Soon little flowers start randomly appearing

And you eventually catch one of his little dolls dropping them off

And you've had enough of his weird behaviour

So you go to try and find

But end up hearing him basically rant to Olive about how you're too pretty and distracting, blah blah blah

The absolute shock that overtakes him when he sees you is comical

Olive is quick to rush away with an ex use of needing to warm up the birds afternoon tea

There's honestly an awkward moment of staring

You just decide to bite the bullet and give him a little kissie on the cheek

And you just seem to start dating from then on

The end <3

[1970sgothfreak]

Me: *on character.Ai talking with Enoch*

Enoch: “I will love you even from beyond the grave when our time comes my love”

Me:

[lovevuni]

Double Dare Romance : Enoch O’Connor x Reader : Part 2 Success

Warning: Flirting, Fluff, slight dirty flirting (like two bits), Slow burn

Summary: You take your new challenge into effect, taking every oppurtunity to flirt with enoch to get him flustered in order to soften him up. Your only goal is to get under his skin and have him admit defeat. Is this when you succed?

A/N: Again I hate using Y/N but sadly have to. Enjoy~

Part 1: Challenge Accepted

You are unpacking your luggage in your room Miss Peregrine has assigned to you.

“Ah, Y/N. Always one step ahead of everyone else. I must say, I admire your tenacity.” Enoch says as you are unpacking causing you to look at him.

“tenacity?” You question not understanding the word. 

“Yes, tenacity. Despite our initial differences and the challenges that arise when you’re around, you never give up or lose sight of your goals. Whether it’s advancing your mission or getting under someone’s skin, you always keep pushing forward. It’s an admirable quality, even if it does drive me mad at times.”

“The only thing I want under is you pretty boy.” You tease him causing him to raise an eyebrow at your amusing words.

“Ah, I see you’re still trying to rile me up. Well let me tell you, Y/N, there are much more effective ways to get under my skin than cheap taunts and insults.”

“I bet there is, but this is a lot more fun” You wink.

He chuckles at your antics, “Indeed it is, Y/N. And who knows, maybe someday you’ll find a way to genuinely get under my skin. But until then, I suppose I’ll just have to content myself with watching you try.” 

Claire walks into the room announcing that it was time for dinner before skipping out of the room. (I love claire)

“The night is still young, Y/N. Perhaps we could continue this conversation over dinner? My treat, of course.” In your head you roll your eyes knowing Miss peregrine and the children make the food.

“We shall” You say as you grab his arm for him to escort you down to dinner.

He smiles as he takes your had, leading you out of the room and towards the dining hall.

“A charming lady like yourself should definitely make the most of social situations. Who knows, perhaps tonight will bring about a new opportunity to annoy each other further...or perhaps something more meaningful may come from it? Only time will tell.”

“Oh I plan on it” You finish the conversation as you take a seat next to him, planning your next attack.

He takes a sip of his drink looking pleased as ever, “You know, Y/N, sometimes I wonder what motivates you. Is it simply the thrill of the chase, or do you truly wish to engage in meaningful discourse with me? It’s hard to tell with you; you’re so elusive and unpredictable.”

“I’d never tell you” He grins at this.

“Of course not, Y/N. That would defeat the purpose entirely. Part of the fun is trying to figure you out, to test your boundaries and push your buttons. And yet, despite our differences and opposing viewpoints, there’s something about you that draws me in.” 

You decide to end the conversation there and move your focus to Millard, conversing with him about different books you both enjoy.

Enoch watches as you begin to speak with millard about literature, “ Ah, a love of reading. How quaint. I must admit, though. I’m suprised to see you conversing with such a lowbrow individual as Millard. Then again, perhaps you seek to prove some sort of point by associating with those beneath you?”

You decide to ignore him and continue your convo with Millard.

He seems offended but stays silent as you converse with Millard, but continues to watch you carefully.

As you finish talking and begin to eat Enoch takes this time to try and speak with you again, “So, did you enjoy your chat with Millard? I must confess, i found it somewhat amusing to observe.”

“You’re observing me now?” giving him a shocked look knowing full well he was.

He smirks, “Indeed, I find myself fascinated by your every move. Perhaps it’s because we have such a strong connection. Or maybe it’s just that I enjoy pushing your buttons. One cannot be sure in these matters. What do you think drives your interactions with me Y/N?”

“You believe we have a connection now? If I were any better I would say your catching feeling now Enoch” You say teasingly as you run your foot up his leg under the table making sure non of the children see what is happening.

He laughs as he glances at your foot on his leg before meeting your gaze once more, “Oh, I know you are much too good for me, Y/N. But perhaps there is something about the way I challenge you, the way I push your boundaries, that appeals to you on a deeper level.”

“I wouldn’t say that now” You continue to move your foot up his body to a more intimate area of his, still making sure no one else can see.

He smirks leaning closer to you, their voices low enough not to be overheard, “is it possible that part of you enjoys the thrill of danger, the excitement of exploring forbidden territories? Are you secretly drawn to the darkness withing me even though it terrifies you at times?”

“there is nothing intimidating about you my boy, I’m just trying to prove that I can get under your skin” You whisper with your hot breath in his ear.

Gasping with shivers down his back as he feels your warm breath against his ear, “You certainly succeed in getting under my skin, Y/N. And yes, I admit it - there is something about the darkness inside of you that draws me in like a moth to a flame.” SUCCESS!

You laugh as you completely pull away from him in a succeeding manner, “told you I would get you”

He laughs, “Well played, it seems our little game has become quite heated. Shall we continue?”

“why should we, when I have already won.” You get up in victory from the table to help Claire get ready for bed, “Come on Claire, time for bed.”

He watches you leave the table and take care of Claire, feeling conflicted emotions swirling within him.

“Intrigued by your wit, intelligence, and hidden desires. Driven by the need to understand you better, to uncover the depths of your soul.” He says to himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 3 : Only Fun

[mlgmtn]

i just know

Enoch O’conner x gn reader, No y/n used

“i wonder what’s that like” you sigh as you look up at the stars thinking of abe and how he got to live his life while you were stuck in time, forever young. Enoch looks over at you his brows knit in confusion, “what’s what like?”. “to love someone that much, so much that’d you marry them and have their children and grow old with them”, you reply while still looking out into space. he bites his lip and thinks for a second. enoch used to wonder the same thing, the ‘what ifs’ and thoughts of having a life outside the loop was something that haunted him. but his life for the past eighty years hasn’t been bad so why trouble himself with the thought of a quote on quote normal life. as far as he was concerned living the same day for eight decades is normal. he turns away from you to also look out into the sky, “ i think it’s more simple than you’re giving it credit for”. “what do you mean?”. “what i mean is that you can love someone that much without those silly things like getting married or having children”. you smile slightly and turn your body to face him. “how do you know that enoch?”. a small and rare smirk appears on his lips, barely visible under the moonlight. “because i just do love.”

[lolawassad]

I just imagined y/n emma and olive welcoming jake w the school song from matilda and the rest of the kids joining and enoch just looking from his window smirking at y/n cus hes definitely in love

[algea]

please I’m begging you guys Finlay MacMillan is so unbelievably attractive

[frost-queen]

To be truthful (Reader x Enoch O'Connor)

Requested by: anon Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @alex–awesome–22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @markive-m

Emma was finishing setting up the table with Fiona. Holding some of the plates, she tilted her head to look into the hallway. – “Didn’t I call for diner a minute ago?” – Emma said out loud, turning around to look at Fiona for confirmation. Fiona shrugged her shoulders, placing a bowl with fresh cut carrots on the table.

“Should I call again? Miss Peregrine insists upon punctuality.” – Emma rambled on, getting nervous that no one was coming through the door. Setting the plates down on the table she had made up her decision. – “I’m calling them!” – she made clear, holding her hands to her hip.

“You’ve just called.” – Fiona answered with a roll of her eyes. Emma was about to shout when Hugh and Claire came running in. Almost running Emma over with their game of tag. Fiona jumped in front of them to stop them before they would bump against the counter.

With her calm hands, she brought them to a stop. Both were panting loud. Fiona simply had to point at Emma then at the table for them to understand. Horace and Millard entered a moment later. Horace chattering loudly as he blindly went to his seat.

Olive and Enoch joined as well. Olive having a soft smile on her lips. They both went to their seats at the table. Emma looked into the hallway with a worried look. – “Where is Y/n?” – she asked. – “Didn’t you call her?” – Emma turned to Olive and Enoch. Enoch sat down, pulling his shoulders up.

“Do I look like her babysitter?” – he answered rudely. Olive gave him a little glare to not be so negative from across the table. Emma’s gaze fixed on the clock, knowing Miss Peregrine would arrive any moment for diner. It made her panic that you still weren’t here.

Enoch jumped out of his skin, startled as he gripped the edges of his chair with a tight grip once you had popped up behind him. – “Bloody hell Y/n!” – he cursed out that you had scared him. You placed your hands on his shoulder, coming to lean over his shoulder.

“Did I startle you Enoch?” – you asked sweetly as he pushed your grip off him. Groaning in annoyance. – “Good of you to join us Y/n.” – Miss Peregrine said entering the room. You quickly went to your seat right across from Emma. – “Good day Miss Peregrine.” – you all called out in unison as she went to sit at the head of the table.

“Fiona splendid work with the vegetables.” – she complimented. Fiona smiled sheepishly, leaning back in her seat rather bashful. – “Now shall we eat.” – she unfolded her napkin to lay it on her lap. The moment was set as everyone got in motion. Reaching for food, chatting and laughing away. From at the other head of the table, you noticed Enoch staring at you or rather glaring at you.

You moved a bit forwards so he could see your face fully. You returned his glare with a sweet smile. Enoch only narrowed his eyes more, swallowing hard. Olive gave him a nudge. – “Stop glaring.” – she whispered to him. Enoch exhaled soft, turning his head away. – “It’s okay Olive. I know Enoch means well.” – you told her with another smile.

Enoch clenched his jaw, trying not to freak out about that. – “Don’t make assumptions for me!” – Enoch replied. – “Why do you dislike Y/n so much?” – Horace questioned as everyone adored you. Enoch leaned a bit forwards. – “Stay out of it.” – he shout-whispered. Miss Peregrine observed from afar. When you turned your head, you caught up with her gaze. With a soft smile, she winked at you.

After diner, the youngest ones were free to play, while the older ones were left to clean the table. You started collecting plates, stacking them on each other. Emma stood by the sink, letting water down to start the dishes. You popped up beside her, giving her a soft fright. – “Goodness Y/n.” – Emma blurted out, one hand on her heart. – “Can’t you just walk. The table is right there.” – she pointed out at how close it was.

It would only take one a few steps to reach her. Yet you chose to teleport yourself beside her. – “Y/n likes to be special.” – Enoch mocked holding a few glasses. You teleported away from Emma, appearing behind Enoch. – “I like teleporting.” – you told him as he had jumped back. With a loud groan he handed the glasses over to Olive.

You started collecting the cutlery. – “Y/n.” – Emma said daringly with a warning finger to not pop up behind her. You puffed soft. – “You are no fun.” – you mumbled, walking up to her instead of teleporting. – “Satisfied?” – you asked dropping the cutlery in the sink. – “Very.” – Emma responded, patting you on the head.  – “Now help me.” – Emma took a towel, laying it on your head, having a laugh at it. You pulled it down.

Giving her a nudge with your hip against her to make some room. Emma started washing the dishes as you dried them. Olive and Enoch putting away the left overs into the fridge. Whilst Enoch was working, he couldn’t help himself but admire you. Gaze upon you and watch what you were doing. Olive noticed it, giving him a little nudge in the side.  – “You are staring.” – she whispered in his ear. – “I am not.” – Enoch grunted out.

He quickly averted his gaze, yet he kept being drawn to you. Emma and you were chatting whilst finished the dishes. Olive joined the two of you, putting the dishes away. Enoch cleaning the table. After cleaning, you immediately popped away. Emma shrugged her shoulders, leaving the room to head outside. Enoch left as well with Olive right behind him. – “Are you going to play with your dolls?” – she asked, holding her hands behind her back.

“Maybe.” – he responded, looking over his shoulder to her. A part of him wondered where you were. With a soft sigh, he went upstairs with Olive. Pausing almost at the top of the stairs, he saw you walk across the hallway to your room. There you were. Olive poked him in the back to move. Enoch got in motion, heading for his room as he couldn’t help himself but glance at your door. Olive noticed it, stopping to knock on your door. – “What are you doing?” – Enoch panicked.

“Asking if Y/n wants to join. Don’t you want that?” – she said having a sense of his feelings towards you. It had become clear to her for a while now that his act of dislike towards you was just a charade. A façade to hide behind. Enoch tugged his hands in his pocket, looking away. Olive knocked again as you hadn’t opened the door yet. Grabbing the handle, she opened the door. – “Y/n?” – she asked softly, popping her head inside.

To her surprise your room was empty. – “Must have teleported out.” – Olive let out, closing the door once more. With a smile, she returned to an almost sweating Enoch. – “Now you mustn’t worry. She’s not here.” – she teased, patting him against his shoulder. They entered his room as Enoch went to sit. A doll in front of him on the table. Olive picked up one of his tools, already presenting it to him.

“Thank you.” – he said accepting the tool. He started working on the doll. – “Enoch.” – Olive started, hearing him hum loud. – “You like watching Y/n do you not?” – she asked as he nearly had a heartache. With wide eyes, he dropped his tool. In shock turning round in his chair to her. – “What?” – he called out. Olive giggled amusingly. – “I’ve noticed you watch Y/n a lot from afar.” – she explained. Enoch puffed loud. – “I do not.” – he replied turning back to his doll.

“It’s alright Enoch, you mustn’t be frightened of it.” – Olive went on handing him another tool. – “Of what?” – Enoch answered bitsy. – “Of having feelings for Y/n.” – Olive finished. Enoch’s hand slipped as he broke a piece off the dolls porcelain chest. He turned around getting up. – “I do not have feelings for Y/n!” – he shouted as Olive was unimpressed. – “Enoch, just admit it. Why are you even scared to admit it?” – she asked. – “I don’t have anything to admit as it isn’t true!” – he made clear with a glare.

“Liar!” – Olive shouted back, having enough of him lying to himself. – “You like Y/n and you are too afraid to admit it.” – she started, poking him in the chest. – “So you better stop being so scared and let yourself love her!” – Enoch fell back in his chair with her sturdy poking in his chest. Speechless, he stared at her. He had never seen her speak so loudly or react so vibrant. – “So Enoch O’Connor, you are going outside, find Y/n and be nicer to her as a beginning.” – she ordered him, pointing firm at the door.

Enoch shook his head, not wanting to do it. Olive removed a glove, showing her hand that caught fire to him. – “Don’t make me burn your puppets.” – she threatened. Enoch stumbled out of the chair, sweating with shock as he rushed downstairs to do as he was told. Too afraid Olive might actually burn his puppets or himself for the matter if he didn’t act upon his feelings. Olive sniffed out the fire, having a satisfying smile on her face.

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

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[coryosbaby]

ᴅᴏʟʟ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ

Enoch O’Connor x angel! Reader <3

“Enoch! Give it back!”

Your citrine voice echoes throughout Miss Peregrine’s Orphanage as you chase the dark haired boy down. In his hands is your favorite doll, cracked but still beautiful, one Enoch had brought to life for you in the wee hours of the night many (of the same) days ago. He stomps angrily through the house, his jaw clenched, large back muscles flexing. Ignoring the squirming of the doll— aka, Mary— and her annoyed kicks, he tears open the door of his room and slams it right in your face.

How rude he is! All you had wanted to do was have tea with him and show him your new book. He had snapped at you, snarkily said something about “the both of you being too old for tea parties” and that he had more important things to do then do something so childish. You had snapped back, hurt from his words, and he had stolen Mary from you.

You don’t understand how he can be so cruel. His mood changes like the seasons— one minute he’s got a small smile on his usually dull face as he listens to you speak, making you toys that live and breathe. And then the next, it’s like you’re satan spawn.

You rest your back against his bedroom door, pouting. Tears begin to well in your eyes. You just wanted to show him your new book.

It isn’t long before you’re wiping your face and strolling towards Claire’s room. She lets you rant about your book without fuss, fascinated by all the tales that you had enamored yourself with. She also cheers you up about Enoch.

“He’s just in one of his moods,” she explained. A frown had formed on both of her faces, even when the one on the back of her head was gnawing on a chocolate chip cookie. “You know how he can get. He’ll cheer up and apologize, like he always does. Besides, he knows how important Mary is to you. He’ll give her back, I’m sure of it.”

You wonder how a child so young can be so intelligent about such things. But you guess that’s what happens when you relive the same day over and over for fifty years. You learn things, and in a way, still grow mentally.

After your talk with Claire, you feel better. You bid her goodbye, say hi to Emma as you pass her, and wander down the halls barefoot in your flowing pink dress. You make your way to the library for a new book to read.

To your distaste, Enoch is sitting at the couch when you walk through the door. You let out a little “hhm” sound, stomping angrily to the shelves. He’s got his head in a textbook about anatomy and looks up from it at the sound of your voice. He scoffs, then looks back down at it again.

Your fingers skim over book titles, some pretty and dainty, some horrific and covered in fine, dark print. You decide to pick a book by William Shakespeare— A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You scratch your feathered wings, beginning to read the book as you make your way back out of the room.

You pause at the door when Enoch’s voice makes way through your thoughts.

“You’ve read that one,” he murmurs, as his eyes scan over you.

You waver, hand staying on the doorknob.

“I didn’t know you remembered that.” you reply. You had read it years ago. Or, what you presume to be years ago. If you can even count time here.

“You recited it to me.” he shrugs, taking a glance over at your wings. They always fascinate him, even after all of this time.

“I know what I did, Enoch,” you retort, not having much logic in your sentence. But when do you ever? “Don’t tell me what I’ve done. You don’t have a right.”

“What sense does that make?” He questions snarkily, but you’re already out the door.

—

Dinner goes without much fuss. Miss Peregrine looks at the two of you questionably, wondering why you didnt take your usual seat beside Enoch, but doesn’t mention it out loud. After the reset you head back to your room and immerse yourself in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Your lace nightgown drapes down your body in silky waves.

Your shoulders are tensed, your feet tapping nervously. You’re used to Mary’s porcelain feet dancing across the hardwood floors, her tiny giggles as she looks at herself in the mirror. Usually at this time of night, you and the doll will lay awake in the dark, huddled under your ruffled pink comforter, and whisper to each other. It’s the only way you can go to sleep— Enoch had made her to help with your nightmares, after all. Your nightmares of children with no heads, monsters that pluck out children’s eyes in their sleep. Your nightmares of losing the people you love.

How could he be so cruel?

That anger flares up again. With a forceful hand, you slam the book down onto your desk and stalk across the hallway. Your knuckles rap against Enoch’s door ferociously, and when he finally opens it you force your way into his room with curses spilling off of your tongue.

“I don’t understand, Enoch!” Your wings seem to glow a dusty red hue from your rage. “I’m nothing but nice to you! I help you with your experiments, I try to be your friend, but at this point I don’t know if anyone could ever..“

You stop dead in your tracks. Enoch’s eyes dart to his work table, as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. You look across to it.

There, sitting happily, all fixed up, is Mary.

She has a smile on her painted face, and a new dress adorning her. Shes cleaned, polished, and almost looks brand new. All the cracks that were once on her porcelain skin have vanished.

“[y/n]!” The doll giggles excitedly, saying your name in words only you can hear. “Look what Enoch made for me! Isn’t it pretty?”

You gape as Mary happily twirls in her dress. Enoch clears his throat.

“She was filthy,” he mutters. “You should really start cleaning your things. It tracks dirt and grass all over the house.”

Turning to him, your stomach racks with guilt.

“You fixed her for me?”

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze, acting nonchalant.

“I’ve been meaning to for a while. It was quite annoying, watching her face caked with dirt everyday. And her dress was practically torn to shreds.”

You pick Mary up from the table, holding her in the palms of your hands. You press a kiss to her hair. The doll yawns.

“I’m tired,” she mumbles. “Can’t we sleep now?”

“In a moment,” you reply. “Why don’t you go to my room and wait up for me?”

She looks between you and Enoch, does that off putting giggle that would make anyone else uncomfortable, but not you. She hops down from your fingertips, and skips away to your room across the hall.

You hear Enoch’s bedroom door close behind you once she’s gone, and jump. The familiar raven haired boy brushes past you, taking a seat in his chair. His curls fall into his face, and usually you would move them away while he silently grumbled at you not to touch them. But right now, it’s different. You rock on the balls of your feet as silence fills the dark space.

“Enoch—“ you start, but the boy picks up a scalpel and throws one of his toys onto the table.

“I need the jar of hearts on the third shelf.”

It’s all he says, and you know that this is his way of saying he’s sorry. It’s an odd way, but it’s a way you’ve picked up on continuously. The boy doesn’t have the mouth to utter an apology, so he just brings things back to normal instead.

You scamper over to the shelves, picking out the jar he wanted, and sit it down beside him. A small smile grazes your lips, and you sit on the chair that he had put there just for you. He works silently, and his bottom lip pulls in between his teeth. You think it’s quite enamoring— sort of like your books.

Your mouth can’t seem to contain itself, and within minutes you’re speaking up again.

“Thank you,” you say. “I’m sorry. I should’ve—“

“It’s my fault,” he replies. “I…I shouldn’t have came off so brash.”

Without thinking, your hand brushes up against his.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I forgive you, even though you haven’t said you’re sorry. But I know you are.”

He pauses. He can’t help but trail his eyes down to where your hands meet. You smile up at him, and he adjusts in his seat.

You kiss him.

You don’t know why you do, exactly. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, like you’re something special. But your lips meet, and it’s sweet. Innocent, really— a small peck. His eyes are wide when you pull away from him.

“What was that?” He asks.

Your wings turn baby pink, and a grin spreads across your face.

“I just felt like it.”

[cece693]

Replacement (Enoch O'Connor x M! Reader)

I wanted to add something to the relatively small pool of fics for this fandom. All characters are of age and can be envisioned as their book or movie counterparts.

Summary: As a healer, you naturally seek to care for those around you. So it was easy to befriend Jake when he first entered Miss Peregrine's loop, confused and hurt by his grandfather's passing. However, your best friend doesn't see it that way.

It was official. Enoch hated Jake. Not that the other children noticed, or if they did, they were smart enough to not mention it. Maybe it was jealousy. Perhaps he was bothered by how Emma's eyes sparkled with interest whenever the American boy was around. Or maybe, it was the disruption to their routine, as Jake's presence always seemed to stir the loop like a stone tossed into a still pond.

But Olive knew the truth, for she had quickly discerned Enoch's emotions behind the venomous words he threw at Jake whenever he came near. It wasn't about Emma or their routine being disrupted. It was all because of you.

From the moment Jake first stumbled into their world, he latched onto you—an oddball healer with a gentle touch and ability to mend the deepest cuts, both physical and emotional. So when Jake arrived, it was natural for you to be his guide, explaining things in a way that made the strange world of peculiars feel less threatening.

Naturally, Enoch hated it.

Before Jake arrived, you’d spend every minute by his side—looking over his shoulder, letting out a bright smile whenever his creations came alive. Enoch secretly treasured these moments, feeling comfortable in your presence and falling for you more each day. But now? Now it was Jake this and Jake that.

No space was safe from Jake's influence, nor did the American make it easy to escape his presence. It seemed like whenever Enoch and you were together, he appeared from thin air, begging you to help him with something. It was as if the American knew of Enoch's feelings and acted to rile him up, whisking the attention of the only person he actually liked. It's not as if there weren't any other children who would be happy to spend time with the American, why did he seek you out specifically?

Every time he saw you two together, a storm brewed inside him, and a tight knot formed in his chest. Enoch wasn’t stupid. He understood what jealousy was, but this wasn’t just jealousy. This was fear. Fear that you were slipping away from him. Fear that Jake was replacing him.

One day, it all became too much.

Enoch was sitting at the table in the library, flipping through one of his old, tattered books on embalming techniques, though his focus had long since disappeared. His mind, as usual, was on you. He had tried to pretend like nothing was wrong, but the bitter feeling gnawed at him constantly. And then, as if the universe was mocking him, you and Jake walked into the room together.

Jake was talking about something, gesturing wildly with his hands, and you were laughing—a bright, carefree laugh that Enoch hadn’t heard in days.

That was the last straw.

"Seriously?" Enoch snapped, slamming his book shut, startling you both. Jake stopped mid-sentence, blinking in confusion, but Enoch didn’t care. His gaze was fixed on you, his voice sharp and biting. “Do you really have to follow him around all the time?”

Your smile faltered, a confused frown replacing it as you looked at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Enoch’s voice grew colder, harsher. His jealousy had festered too long, and now it spilled like poison. “Ever since he got here, it’s like you’ve forgotten everyone else exists.”

Jake shifted awkwardly beside you, clearly unsure of what to say, but Enoch didn’t give him a chance. “You’re spending so much time with him, acting like he needs you for everything. It's pathetic."

Your eyes narrowed, a flash of anger crossing your face. “He’s new here, Enoch! He does need help adjusting. And I’m not just going to ignore him because you—”

“Because I what?” Enoch cut you off, his eyes blazing. “Because I’m not needy enough for you? Because I don't fawn over you like a mutt every second like he does?””

Your mouth opened slightly, stunned by his words. Enoch could see the hurt forming in your eyes, but he was too wound up to stop now.

“Face it,” Enoch continued, his voice colder now, “you just want to feel like you matter to someone, right? Like you have some purpose. Well, here’s the truth—you’re not needed here. Jake can deal just fine on his own and I don’t need a dessolent friend.”

Your face twisted in hurt, and that twisted something deep inside Enoch. You stared at him, your hands trembling slightly at your sides. “You’re wrong,” you finally said, voice breaking. “But I guess I was wrong too, thinking you were my best friend.”

Before Enoch could respond, you turned and stormed out of the room, leaving him and Jake alone. The American looked like he was about to say something, but Enoch shot him a cold glare, daring him to speak.

Days passed. Days where Enoch didn’t see you, didn’t hear from you, and the space you used to fill in his life became an empty void he couldn’t bear to acknowledge. You weren't just avoiding him, you had begun to spend even more time with Jake, much to Enoch's dismay.

He tried to act like it didn’t bother him. He pretended he didn’t care when he saw you laughing as if his absence meant nothing to you. But it did. It hurt more than Enoch was willing to admit. It was only when Olive pushed him to accept his mistake that led him to stand at your door, long after the other house's inhabitants had gone to bed.

Enoch stood there for a long moment, his hand raised to knock, but his usual stubbornness kept holding him back. What if you didn’t forgive him? What if you’d already moved on and replaced him for good?

Taking a deep breath, Enoch knocked.

After a few agonizing moments, the door creaked open, and you stood there, blinking groggily at him in the dim light. You looked surprised to see him, and Enoch couldn’t blame you.

“What do you want, Enoch?” you asked, your voice flat, distant.

“I…” Enoch faltered for a moment, struggling to find the right words. His usual snark and bravado were gone, replaced with something more vulnerable, more uncertain. “I came to…apologize.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe, clearly not ready to let him off the hook so easily. “For what?”

“For what I said,” Enoch muttered, not meeting your eyes. “For being a complete prat.”

Your expression softened, but you didn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue. Enoch sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I didn’t mean it. Any of it,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “I was just…jealous. Of Jake. Of the time you’ve been spending with him.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Jealous? Why?”

Enoch hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it. He could either admit the truth or lose you for good. Taking a deep breath, he finally met your gaze. “Because I like you,” he confessed in a whisper. “I’ve liked you for a long time, and seeing you with him made me feel like I was losing you. Like I wasn’t needed anymore. Like I was being replaced.”

The weight of his confession hung in the air, and Enoch braced himself for your response. He had no idea how you would react, but he had to say it. He couldn’t keep pretending like it didn’t matter anymore. You stood there for a long moment, staring at him, processing everything. Then, slowly, you stepped aside, opening the door wider.

“Come inside, Enoch,” you said quietly. “Let’s talk.”

And for the first time in days, Enoch felt a small glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, things could be fixed after all.

[lov3-lik3-ghosts]

could you write a enoch o’connor x reader or enoch x olive fluff? movie ver 🙏

Strange Trails

Pairing: Enoch O’Connor x fem!Portman!reader.

Warnings: Not beta read. Use of Y/n. Movie adaptation. No scenes with Enoch (he comes along in the next chapter).

Summary: Your Jacob’s sister and have come along with him to uncover Abe’s tales and held secrets, though you didn’t expect that the cute boy from your favourite childhood stories would become the source of your affections — and you definitely didn’t think that boy would begin to quote the music album you’d discreetly slipped him.

Format: Series — Part One.

Word count: 6.3k

request guidelines | Following Strange Trails

The death of Abe hit you in a different manner than it hit anyone else. The grief held off for the few weeks it took to arrange his funeral and wake, only a pit in the bottom section of your stomach that flared whenever you caught a glimpse of his smiling picture.

Jacob had reserved himself from you for the second time in your lives — the first being when he stopped trusting in the law that was grandpa Abe’s tales and you continued to live on in the weary dreamworld of childhood that it was for years to come. You’d repaired your relationship years ago, into something not quite the same but just as close, even this closeness didn’t stop the fragments of past hurt and fresh grief from seeping through the cracks.

Abe and Jacob were always close. A bond between boys that bound them into a more understanding relationship, a more loving one, and you couldn’t imagine what hell your brother bore with him after having found the eyeless corpse of someone so dear. Except you and Abe were close too, and it was hard for you too, yet you refused to fall into the pits that were holding him hostage.

You invested all your time into the planning of his burial, the built-up summer homework and ignoring the breakdown Jacob was suffering. You disregarded your sorrow and felt the disrespect curl at your gut when your father, Abe’s son, acted like Abe’s death was nothing more than an inconvenience to his mundane, dead-end life of watching birds. You looked down your nose whenever your brother chose you as his target for lashing words and cutting accusations of not caring, when all you felt like you were doing was caring so much.

You festered in the thick, murky depths of woe, mourning in the ringing silence of it and going through the motions of life with a certain robotic unfeeling.

You kept it up for a good while, all polite smiles and brief embraces for anyone with an ounce of sympathy to spare; then the funeral happened. Abe’s picture sat on a large splintered easel, an easel you’d picked out knowing he’d have picked that very one for all its rough edges should he have had the choice, and he’s smiling that crooked smile you only ever saw once in a blue moon.

Beside that, Abe’s sleek coffin is entrapped in bars ready to lower him into the higher floor level of Earth's layers and it’s then, when the casket is left all them feet down and the first shovel of dirt is flicked over it, that your resolve shatters.

Your chest pangs with an oddened palpation filled with anguish and loss and it travels quickly through to your stomach and churns it more viciously than anything before. Your throat lumps and clenches, the sadness awaiting to manifest into loud, uncontrollable sobs that would no doubt rack through your entire body; you try to swallow it down, try to save yourself and your family some dignity, gulping harshly. You fail.

The cry fields across the graveyard with piercing suddenness. You're the first to cry, or at least the first to let it be known, even Jacob stood beside you stays stoic — blank-faced and numb. He glances at you, the infamous trademark blues that only a handful of Portman’s carried flickering with their first kind emotion he’d had for you in weeks, all sympathetic and soft-centred.

You and Jacob were close growing up, you were each other's first friends, the first person the two of you would choose to share toys or snacks with, you’d shared a room for a while and you’d shared a womb once upon a time too; so even in the times you weren’t friends, Jacob would always be the first to remember that once you sobbed for the first time, it was end game. He wasn’t just some friend, he was your brother first, always.

His arm draped over your shoulder, pulling you into his side and letting you bury your face into the black of his suit despite knowing it’d stain with makeup. He stares forward with his eyes welling and you hear as he swallows thickly but the tears don’t fall. You continue to choke through your grief. And the two of you ignore the condescending pity the rest of your stoic-faced disconnected family convey at the emotional display.

“It hurts.” You gasp out silently, hand resting above the placement of your heart. “It hurts. I’m sorry, Jake. I’m so sorry that you- that we- he shouldn’t have- not like this. Never like this.”

“You don’t have to apologise to me, Y/n.” He whispers. “We both lost him. You lost him, too.” This is the sanest you’ve seen your brother since the accident, the sanest you’ve felt since, and you have a brief moment of hope that flushes through your grief and visualises into a happier future. A future where Abe Portman didn’t die from a brutal attack, where Jacob Portman didn’t close off when you most needed him not to, where you didn’t have to take on so much responsibility all the time.

But that is a future that can no longer have a chance to exist.

Abe Portman is gone. Jacob Portman closes off to cope. You were always going to be forced to pick up the slack.

That’s the natural order now. Not much change, you could deal with it. You had too. You always picked up the slack, Jacob always closed off; Abe wasn’t always dead.

When you and Jacob parted at the funeral the last of the comfort parted with it, clinging to your heart with a suchness that it almost ached. You’d tried to weasel your way into his time, hoping for even a semblance of connection and understanding that you knew only he could offer but Jacob’s grief was a wild, springy, spiral that sparked with a drive of madness and a hunger for answers. Yours better resembled a hazy daydream that clouded your reality and took away your normal sensitivity to life and its breathing tendrils, yours doesn’t spark alight so much as it sparks out.

You have no such madness. No such drive.

You’d prefer your brother's version, alive and reminiscent rather than your dead and grey but your brother’s had caught up to him, so at the very least you were left be for your drabness. Reminiscence for Jacob meant retelling and seemingly harbouring a certain belief into the tales Abe loved to tell you as children, and as much as you sympathised with him for the therapy he was forced into, you would do just about anything to recall the faces and the names and the peculiarities and the stories of the children at the orphanage like Jake seemed too. You would do anything to have your grandpa back like that.

Your parents worried too much about Jacob’s state of mind to really pay attention to your withdrawn one which really felt like both a blessing and a curse all at once. On one hand, you wanted some doting and comfort, you wanted some companionship in a world that suddenly seemed so big and lonely. On the other, you had much more free reign to garner a way to cope and much more time to laze and mope and actually use your newest coping mechanism. Music.

There was so much to music that it felt like a never ending learning curve that you could obsess and consume without ever running out of materiel. Your family were more well off than most and so you could afford the luxury of getting the things your mechanism beckoned for; the guitars, the keyboards, the vinyls, the Walkman tapes, the drums, the speakers — you had a growing collection that slowly began to overtake the span of your room in a comforting display.

You’d had some of it before Abe’s passing, gifted to you by him to sate his own love for music and share it with someone he knew could appreciate it. A modernised vinyl player had been assigned a seat on the surface of one of your chest of drawers long before with a box filled with records on the floor beside it and an electric guitar had hung on your wall since you were only twelve.

Your grandpa had been the one to teach you how to strum the strings and play the chords and he’d done so while learning alongside you; those were easier times filled with peals of laughter and burts of wisdom whose memories left a melancholic river of longing streaming through your blood and down your face. Still, you played and you listened and at first you had to force yourself to enjoy something so associated with him but eventually it became your solace. Eventually, it was everything you needed.

Eventually, the memories stopped clouding your heart and your eyes and music was something that kept Abe’s memory alive and unhindered by your grief. It was his, and it was yours, and you carried it everywhere you went.

••

Having to go through the house of a lost loved one was an experience you wouldn’t wish on anyone. To see the home where he had lived look so lifeless and unlived in was just another drive home of his loss — your loss.

It didn’t stir your heart and churn your stomach like his burial had, you didn’t give throaty cries and cling desperately to your brother like you wanted too. This fostered a sting, a finality and a reminder. Abe is gone and he’s not coming back.

Your grandpa was a hoarder. He didn’t collect in a way that gathered in the entrance of each room and was left to cake itself in layers of moulding gunk but every spare nook garnered papers and maps and trinkets that to an outsider seems pointless. That to your dad, seemed pointless.

You and Jacob fought restlessly for the possession of any items your father picked up, one thing that meant nothing to Jacob meant something to you and vice versa, but Franklin had no attachment to any of it and most of your fight was lost simply because of that. You knew most of the things you wanted to keep didn’t actually have any vital virtue but they were all things you knew Abe treasured and in extension, you did too.

There were black bags lying all around you, filled and fastened and ready to go into the skip. Your throat did that funny clench and clamp you’d become accustomed to whenever you thought about throwing them away, thought about how his entire life was bagged and going to be discarded like it was all nothing. Like his life meant nothing.

You had to keep reminding yourself that your grandfather wasn’t the things he kept, that throwing them away wasn’t tarnishing his memory, that parting with them wasn’t parting with him. Abe didn’t live on through the hoarding of his past keepings, he lived on through you, through Jacob, and through anyone else that remembered him.

The only thing that Franklin had no argument for was the pictures that had either you or your twin in them and the stashed money kept in the oddest of places. It was to your guys’ uncommon luck that you caught a glimpse of the familiar sleek dark leather that belonged to a box your childhood yearned to have back, after your father had left the room. You’d opened it with a tense jaw and a cautious glance over your shoulder, knowing if you were seen with it it would be snatched from your grasp without a gallon of sympathy.

The monochrome pictures inside were just as you remembered, aged and weathered and fading, they were of a proud woman and orphaned children doing absolutely impossible things that as a child had left you wondered. A woman with a pipe silhouetted before a tall window and angled so you couldn’t decipher a face to recognise; a boy no older than yourself now holding a young girl you briefly remembered to be his sister, with only one arm — the most baffling thing about that photo however, was that the girl held a ragged rotound boulder overhead with a dainty hand and both smiled at the camera like it was the easiest thing they could ever think to do.

A boy clad in shin length shorts and a striped shirt and a thin jacket and bees, hives of them making home up the left of his torso and trailing along the left of his face, he was perfectly calm — stoic even and looked into the camera seemingly fed up. There was one of a seemingly unremarkable boy, dressed in the sophistication of an ironed suit and the curl of a derby hat, one hand rest in a pocket and the other hung loose by his side and he smiled faintly with his head held high; the visual oddity of him was the circular metal of a projector slotted over the crevice of his eye that, when you looked close enough, had small dials that allowed a ‘zoom in, zoom out’ factor. You remember thinking as a child that he didn’t look peculiar at all and more like a character on the fast track to becoming some sort of evil genius with tech gadgets; Abe had had to explain to you time and time again that looks could be deceiving. That sometimes the most unpeculiar looking people were the most.

The next photo you picked up was another boy in a suit, this one was less pristine with a knitted vest warming atop his shirt and an open overcoat, he sat laxly back against the wood of an armed chair with his feet resting on the kicked up balls of his dress shoes; a tweed cap, pointed forward to face the mirror reflecting the front of him, hovered metres above his collar. His invisibility had made him one of your favourite children to hear of when you were younger, the tales Abe had of him going nude to frighten the other peculiars and the locals would have you in stitches for hours; the memory made you huff a melancholic breath.

You shuffled the pictures around, moving to pick up the next one before hearing the light pound of footsteps creaking along the floor. In a panic, you dropped the ones you held back into the box and latched it back closed with haste, shoving it into the opening of your backpack. The bag lay crumpled by your feet as you spun around, schooling your posture to a strait-laced force formation and feigning innocence through wide eyes.

Jacob stood before you, looking between yourself and your bag with a half smirk. “Found something good?” He whispered, nodding down at it curiously. You tensed, following his gaze, you stared in silence.

You knew you could tell him safely, Jacob wouldn’t tell your dad about anything you chose to keep, but these photos were different. These photos would cause a boundless battle between the two of you that would end with more lost love and ceaseless hostility than you could ever handle.

For a moment you looked at him; he’d want these so wholly if he saw them, maybe perhaps he’d treasure them more than you would, but you’d never been selfish, you never kept something for yourself, and this was something you don’t think you could give up.

Shrugging through your answer, you speak lowly, “Photos. Nothing too great, just thought that dad might start to think we’d gathered enough of ‘em.” Your brother seemed satiated by your answer, turning on his heel and hunching over another bland moving box with a hum, but that didn’t stop the twanging guilt from cramping its claws around your heart and throat. It didn’t stop the way your mouth stuttered open to spill the honesty behind the first lie you’d ever told him.

“Hey, Jacob?” You call, truth dancing its delicate waltz along the tip of your tongue, readying to spin its way out, but your mind flashes with all the consequences that could come hand in hand. He could run with it, drive himself madder quicker than he already was after you inevitably lose the fight for possession, or he could do something drastic — suggested by his therapist — like burn them for closure. Neither were worth the trouble you foresaw.

When Jacob called back in affirmative you scrambled for something else to say, routing through all the conversations you’d wanted to start with him since Abe. “He loved us, you know? Loved you.” It was a stretch because you knew he was more than aware that your grandfather had loved him, loved the both of you more than anything, some lousy and futile attempt at consolation that you’d thought up when you hadn’t had the time to truly feel it for yourself, but you’d have to roll with it now.

“I know.” He turned back to look at you, an eyebrow climbing high on his forehead as if to say it was obvious.

You blanked, a bubble of panic hazing your thoughts. There wasn’t anywhere you could really take this conversation, Abe had loved you, and that was that; you loved Jacob though, and the two of you hadn’t really said that since before you’d turned double digits, now seemed the perfect time to remind him.

“I love you.” Jake’s face contorted, looking at you with affronted confidence, you figured he’d found it frivolous that you’d spoken it because the two of you had sworn up and down as children that the other would always come first — no matter the situation. Neither of you ever broke promises. “I- I just mean that I- we haven’t said it in a long time and… I just thought now would be a good time to remind you. In case you forgot.”

“Forgot?” He asked. “I’d have to get hit in the head to forget, idiot.”

You smiled, “You sure? You were clearly dropped on your head loads as a baby, probably built up a resistance.”

Your brother scoffed, looking to the side into an open box and taking pick of a small plush before lobbing it at your head with a smirk. You dove to the side with a squeak, stepping over your bag with twisted steps and landed halfway down the wall with your hands curling into the plaster. Jacob guffawed, wheezing out breaths as he bent at the knee, open palms hitting his thighs in exasperation.

“Ass.” You snicker, separating yourself from the wall. The plush he’d thrown at you landed by your feet, having hit the wall when you did; it was a fluffy blue thing, discoloured with age and matted by years of use, the stuffing was worn down, it’s arms and stomach more deflated than full and one eye had undoubtedly been stitched messily back in.

There was a darkened stain by its nose, blood red and grossly crisping the curls by its snout. You faintly remember the moment that caused it, a small nosebleed you’d bled after a failed game of pirates that ended with Abe tucking you and your brother into bed, the bear nestled between you. It was well loved and another thing you and Jake had shared. Your throat clogged.

He watched as you bent down, wrapped your fingers around the strap of your bag and the teddy before straightening again with a grin. “Look,” Your thumb and index fingers imbed into either side of the bear's head, wiggling its face at Jacob’s. “It’s Bobby Bear!”

He rolled his eyes, feigning an itch on his nose to smother a smile behind a hand and turned back around to the boxes. You sat Bobby on top of the photo box in the backpack, adjusting him to look more comfortable before zipping it closed; the forming fondness zipped in there with it, ready to be reopened when you were back in the relief of your room.

“Y/n?” Jacob asked. You hummed, looking at the back of him. “I love you, too.” His words were tentatively uttered, a cautious chitter of the affection he’d earlier forgone. Your face softened, a warmth inflaming your chest; your brother was a recluse, even in his best of times and affectionately inept, him expressing verbal emotion was as rare as a cat befriending a bird, and just as heart stirring.

His shoulders tightened the longer you stared, squirming under the weight of your muteness. You bit down a teeth-baring grin, cruelly letting him stew in the anxiety for a few long moments before breaking it.

“I know.” You said and rucked your bag over your shoulder, planning to take place in your dad’s awaiting car. You brushed a hand along the blade of Jake’s shoulder when you walked by him, an action you’d both reciprocated since high school — a way to say “I love you” that put the two of you at ease. His shoulders fell.

••

You lay spread eagle across the span of your bed, staring blankly at the ivory pebbledash of the ceiling above you. Your shoes were by your door, still tied into double knots after having been toed off the second you’d walked through the frame and covered by the blue of your dropped jacket.

Today had been trying, a churning rollercoaster ride of emotions and oldened memories and fights for possessions — old wounds had been loosely stitched close and fresher ones torn savagely agape. Abe’s house would never again be easy to be in, a house that was once so full of floundering life was now haunted with the ghosts of love and loss and the weight followed you even now, far from the once home.

Heaving a shuddering breath, you looked to the closed sack beside you. The culprit to your fib lay within, awaiting your curious melancholy with a beckoning lure; you lugged yourself up to pull the bag closer, tugging the zip open and gently manoeuvring the box out.

The golden latch clicked lowly as you unlatched it, the metal glistening against the dim light of your bedside lamp invitingly, a siren song to your desires that you tug open gingerly. The photos you’d earlier shuffled through had been placed so hastily back into the coffer that they were flipped the right side down, revealing the looping calligraphy of your grandfather's handwriting you hadn’t previously known inked them.

Spreading the turned pictures along the fold of your comforter, you briefed over the dates and names.

Peregrine; 1940. Victor & Bronwyn; 1939. Hugh; 1939. Horace; 1938. Millard; 1940.

You paused with a staggering pulsation of shocked disbelief. These were their names — the names of the children you’d longed so desperately to recall, the names you’d spent weeks racking your brain for, smothering the throes of envy towards your brother for having the one obtainable thing you wanted.

Peregrine. Abe always spoke of her with a deference, eyes glinting through the rules she’d ingrained into him — the matron of the children’s home. He never referred to her by anything other than Miss or matron, aside from the one time he’d called her the bird before quickly deferring into an invisible tangent, so you were left with only that to refer to her by.

The longer you looked at the names, the more the tales refilled your head, stringing along in flash memories.

You didn’t have many for Victor and Bronwyn, only Abe’s descriptions of their brute strength; for Hugh, you recalled how often he’d use his bees to his advantage, eluding the others with a colony to bypass them; for Horace, you had a handful more — your grandfather having taken the time to fill your head with more of him whenever you expressed how unpeculiar he seemed in comparison — all about his interest in style and his gentlemanly nature and his dreams, now that you were older, the prophetic element to his peculiarity was much more intriguing. Millard’s tales were favoured between you and Jake, told on repeat to induce bellyaching laughter, Abe would laugh with you, choking over the words in breathless stutters — they were all of how Millard would go nude to startle the townspeople and the other children.

You huffed a watery chuckle. The photos still in the coffer beckoned when you looked at them, ageing corners yellowing and curling. The top seated one didn’t bring forth any recollection, only a chill that raised the hair on the back of your neck. Two children, dressed in extravagant all white, covering them down to even the tips of their fingers and the full shine of their eyes; the masks they wore run the full globe of their heads, leaving only two small slots for seeing and breathing, and looked to be made of thick paper mache. They were pressed side by side, one arm thrown over the other's shoulder with their heads tilted to face the taller photographer and when you flipped the monochrome the names there were nonexistent, replaced by only: The Twins; 1939.

Abe never showed you this photo. The longer you looked at it the more you understood why. Still now, at seventeen, it made you swallow and place it downwards. You were never good with faceless, masked, oldened pictures — the unknown lying beneath it always made your mind run rampant with images conjured from the darkest parts of your imagination, like a fear of monsters under beds. The fact that they were peculiar only fueled the fear; the twins could actually be something made of nightmares under their masks.

A blonde stood in the next picture, hair falling in perfect waves. Her dress hung loose, patterned with spaced flowers, collared with a Peter Pan style most popular in the 1920’s and lengthing down to her mid calf. In her hand hung a thick platform boot, buckled with just as thick metal clasps and patterned with swirls — it looked like it weighed a ton but she held it like a weightless overcoat, looped through a finger. The matching one rests a few feet behind her, just before a patch of fallen, autumn browned leaves. She floated above the ground, bare feet hovering in a cleared circle, arms hanging by her sides, and an even smaller circle of shade just under her.

The boot in her hand acted as an anchor, stopping her from floating up and up, through the tress of branching trees and into the abyss of the sky. Her peculiarity you remembered: aerokinetic, or at least, that’s what your grandfather had once called it. The back of her photo read: Emma; 1940.

You froze.

Surrounding her name wrote a plethora of heart-shapes, calligraphed in the same deep black ink as the other pictures, some were coloured where others lay empty but you imagined all were done with a certain absentmindedness. The same absentmindedness you brained when you’d fallen infatuated with a boy.

No other photo had them and you felt the piercing tendrils of something like distrust creep around you. Had Abe hid things from you and Jacob? Things that mattered, deeper things than a lost puppy love. Was she a lost puppy love? Your father and aunt always gave your grandfather sideway glances when he claimed to love your grandmother, scoffing under their breaths and whispering about “funny affairs”. You’d assumed they meant sketchy people at the time, peculiar people, your young mind naive to the bedtime stories. But now, the word “affairs” had a whole new meaning to you and you couldn’t help but wonder if Emma was “funny affairs”.

Was this why he never let you hold the pictures? So you didn’t glimpse the back and piece things together?

With a furrow between your brow, you collected the spread monochromes and placed them back into the box, lightly latching it closed and sliding it under the space between your bed and the floor, leaving the unseen for another day. Going through the motions of getting ready for bed with a robotic remembrance, your mind ran a mile a minute, all your thoughts clouded with everything he’d ever told you.

You’d always idealised him. Abe could never do wrong, if there was a man to make the sky, he hung the stars and lit the sun, if there was a word you followed without question, it was forever his. You knew it was childish, the type of endless trust you give to the instruction of your mothers words as a tot, but until now he’d never given you a reason not to take his word as law — biblical.

How many times had Abe evaded information?

When you lay down, under the comfort of your blankets and against the plush of your pillows, your body relaxed from a tense you hadn’t realised had taken you. Your eyes fluttered, forcing themselves closed, weary from the emotional turmoil that was your day but your mind wasn’t quite as ready to settle. You try to push the distrust down, hoping maybe it’ll flow out of you with sleep, but it has already paced its way through the previously impenetrable force of your idealisation of him, aflame with your fathers forever distrust.

How often did he lie to you, if he did at all?

The tendrils deepened, running murky red with betrayal and cutting its sharp knife-like point into the depths of your gut.

Did you ever truly know him or was he a man of well spun lies and secret lives?

••

Your birthday came quickly. The excitement that usually took home in your chest wasn’t there at all, rather diminished by a hazy cloud of something akin to sorrow.

The initial shock-horror of the accident had slowly been dwindling, evaporating in such a way you barely noticed, but in its place lay the wanting of Abe to be there for your milestones — and everything that came in between. This was your first birthday without him and the third time it sunk a hollow home into your chest.

Your parents had arranged a surprise party, more for Jacob than for you, that was turning out to be more of a family gathering. The living area was crowded with the subsections of your extended family — cousins you’d never met and aunts and uncle’s you could just barely remember. You’d been lucky enough to be able to slip off through the archway of the door closest to the party, falling just shy of an unfamiliar woman, who had been following you around all night and trying to start a conversation.

Jacob’s walls are lined with posters of things you’d never been able to take interest in and trinkets gathering dust atop his own chipped chest of drawers. He’d never been particularly messy, like Abe he had an organised clutter of things that seemed otherwise useless piling on the spare shelves of his open closet, but his floor was kept clear. The only thing that stood out amongst his space was the drawn blinds; Jacob was one for daylight when you were children, the curtains never stayed closed long enough for you to lay in and he’d go around all your house pulling the curtains aside and hooking them back, seeing a change as small as this reminded you just how hard the loss of Abe was for him.

Footsteps creaked along the floor outside the door, coming along in a rushed pattern. A fleet of panic took your breath. Surely the same lady from earlier wouldn’t go as far as to follow you in here, surely she wasn’t that desperate to talk with you. The doorknob twisted and clicked open in the same second. Jacob’s body slipped between the small gap of the frame, his hair and shirt dishevelled the same way yours had been. You let out a breath.

He hadn’t noticed you perched on the edge of his bed yet, head thrown back against the door and his eyes squoze tight, his grip on the handle didn’t loosen, twisting and turning it round and back again.

“Uncle Mayan?” You ask. He flings himself backwards, headbutting the door with a resounding thwack, and groans as his hand flies to cradle the crown of his head. Your eyes meet his, swarmed with mirth and Jacob’s face twists with irritation and relief.

“Yes.” He mithers, shuffling the distance to his bed and slouching to sit atop his crumpled duvet while still kneading his scalp. “What are you doing in my room? I know you're a lazy ass but surely not enough to not walk two doors down.”

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, shoving his head forward with force. Jacob screeches and sends his elbow into your ribs. The hit tethers over your skin and pulses pain up your side, when your hand touches the area it’s already tender and you’re sure it’s already blooming with irate reds and blues. “Asshole,” You snarl. “That’s gonna bruise.”

“Don’t start what you can’t finish, Y/n.” He smiles sarcastically, still rubbing the back of his scalp.

“That’s it.” You sneer playfully. “You’ve waged war.”

Jacob raises his brows, “You already did that when you scared the crap out of me.”

You huff a shallow breath, narrowing your eyes at him, “I was only in here to get away from an aunt I don’t remember ever meeting before. She wouldn’t stop following me around and I already talked with her for twenty minutes. I don’t think she even told me her name.”

Jacob wheezes a laugh at your misfortune, falling back into his bed. “You deser-”

A knock resounds on his door, three light raps against the wood. He springs back up as your fathers sister enters without waiting for his say. When you look at him, he looks as enervated as you feel.

“It’s Aunt Susie.” She smiles, making her way over to you almost sheepishly. “I’m so glad you’re in here,” Her blue eyes reflect off the encroaching daylight, peaking through the shutter, when she looks at you. “Thought you guys might want to open this one.”

You shuffle closer to Jacob when she sits on the edge of the bed, giving her more space to settle. The small, book-shaped package she’d walked in with rustles its brown paper when she softly hands it over to you. You hold it with a frown, looking puzzled between the gift, Jacob and her. Susie’s grin softens as she fills in the pieces. “It’s from your grandpa. Found it while I was packing up.”

Jacob swallows lightly as he takes it from your hold, thumbing the curt edges when he looks to her, lips parted. “Thanks.” He says softly.

Susie huffs a small laugh, pushing up from the bed with her hands and making her way out the open door. Jacob looks to you when the soft click of the door sounds, his eyes round. You can only gesture to the gift in his hands.

The rip of the paper echoes louder than it should when he tugs it free, somehow thrumming louder through you than the thump thump of your soaring heartbeat.

As you suspected, when Jacob pulled the paper back a hardback book reveals itself. The cover isn’t much to marvel over, shades of blue and white forming a pretty picture on its front but its title folds your brows.

The Complete Essays and Other Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Abe was a man of many interests. Sailing, history in most its forms, music, storytelling, geography, travelling; but through all of that never once had he expressed an interest in poetry, not to you.

Jacob parted the hard cover from its beginning page, the spine creaking lowly under the movement and you smothered the returning hollowness that wove your heart to scoot closer. Abe’s handwriting drew your eyes the moment you saw the yellowing page, calligraphed as beautifully as you always remembered it and addressed to your brother.

To Jake, and the worlds he has yet to discover. From Grandpa xx

Only your brother. Your heart sank.

Jake took no notice of the drop of your shoulders or the swallow you choked through, absorbed entirely in the final gift your grandfather ever gave him. He turns the next page to a photograph slotted between, one of a tall hill, buzzed green grass and mounted with darker trees. There’s a line of differently coloured brick buildings just below the slope and before what seems like a small beach of grainy sand or a white paved walkway leading into a clear-watered section of a larger bay.

Cairnholm. The word is written in clear letters in the lower left corner of the photo and you wonder briefly if that’s what this place was before Jacob flips the card over to more beautifully looped letters. The silence lingers thick in the air as you both read.

My dearest Abe,

Emma flashes through your mind like a peregrine falcon, quick and fleeting and dauntingly beguiling. You hope terribly that your grandfather hadn’t been stupid enough to leave evidence of an affair so cruelly for your brother to find; you bearing the burden was enough.

I hope this card finds you well. The children and I yearn to hear your news. I do hope you will visit us again soon. We should so love to you see you.

With admiration, Alma Peregrine.

Unmistakable relief floods you in waves. Peregrine. The matron.

Jacob doesn’t utter a word for the two minutes more you stay sat, only flips back and forth between the words of Abe marring the opening page and the loops of Alma’s postcard. You leave his room with a heavy heart, ignoring the calls of your name from the bustling living room behind you. No final gift to awe over, to mourn with.

You wonder if he hadn’t found one yet before his unfortunate demise or if it had been chucked with the rest of his things considered insignificant and frivolous.

The slam of your door does little to quench the unbridled rage tightening your mind.

~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~

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[zelcii]

content | enoch o'connor

sunlight filtered through the trees, casting soft, dappled shadows across the ground as they worked together in silence. she stole another glance at enoch, her heart stirring at the sight of him, focused as ever on the task at hand. his movements were smooth and deliberate, each action steady and sure, but she found herself more captivated by the subtle things—the way his fingers grazed the earth, the quiet determination in his eyes.

every now and then, his gaze would shift, meeting hers for the briefest of moments before he looked away again, leaving her breathless and warm with a longing she barely knew how to contain. his dark eyes took her in so quickly, she wondered if he even realized the effect he had on her, how much her heart ached with unspoken feelings. and in those fleeting moments, she couldn’t help but imagine what those eyes might look like if he was as in love with her as she was with him.

enoch wasn’t like anyone else she knew, and maybe that was what made her fall so hard. a big part of who he was was defined by what he wasn’t—he wasn’t expressive, wasn’t easily swayed, wasn’t the kind of person to wear his heart on his sleeve. yet somehow, she loved every bit of him. it wasn’t the absence of those things that drew her in; it was the quiet strength underneath, the mystery she couldn’t quite unravel but didn’t want to stop trying.

as they continued working, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he saw her the way she saw him. the thought made her pulse quicken, and she fumbled with her hands, trying to focus on the task before her. but every small interaction between them felt like a lifeline, keeping her anchored in a sea of emotions she didn’t know how to control.

“you alright over there?” enoch’s voice was low, cutting through the silence, and she managed a smile, trying to push past the embarrassment. “yeah, just thinking.”

“about what?” his tone was casual, but she could sense the curiosity behind it.

“oh, nothing,” she replied with a small shrug, her heart pounding as she met his gaze again. she knew she was being vague, but how could she ever explain the thoughts running through her mind? what could she say that wouldn’t give her feelings away entirely?

he didn’t press for more, simply chuckled under his breath and went back to his work, but the sound of his laugh lingered in her ears, making her chest tighten with affection.

the rest of their time together passed quietly, but her mind was far from calm. she found herself watching him more often than not, admiring the way the sunlight played across his dark hair, the way his hands moved with such purpose. she thought about how different he was from anyone she’d ever known, how there was so much left unsaid between them, yet she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

in the end, there was no grand confession, no moment of revelation. but that was alright. for now, she was content to be near him, even if he didn’t see her the way she saw him.

also kinda rushed 😿😿

[kingofspadescos]

MPHFP Incorrect Quotes

Miss Peregrine - I'm sure Jake has lots of friends back in Florida.

Y/n (Jake's sibling) - *starts laughing hysterically*

Y/n - Jake? Having friends? Ha! That boys more antisocial than I am and I prefer animals over people-

Enoch - *desperately trying to finish his food without laughing*

[phoenixnewton]

Loop Mornings

Enoch O’Connor x Reader Fluff

Miss Peregrines Home for Peculair Children

My eyes fluttered open as the sound of familiar birds sang their morning calls in the garden. I woke the same way every day. The same minute, of the same day, of the same year. September 3rd 1943. As always I closed my eyes again, attempting to fall back into a deep slumber.

I shivered as a breeze came through the window and snuggled deeper into the duvet and the strong arms that encompassed me. Enoch must have forgotten to close the window the night before after we'd spent the evening on the balcony. I felt my face heat up at the memory. Despite having been together for the past twenty years in the loop, the thought of the broody boy set my cheeks aflame and my stomach to flutter in nervous excitement.

As if he knew I was thinking about him, I felt Enoch shift beside me. He mumbled something illegible and pulled my body closer to him. I let out a breathless laugh and let myself be pressed against his chest. At last, I let my eyes open fully as I listened to his steady heartbeat in his chest. My fingers drew out intricate patterns with a featherlight touch on his chest, being as careful as I could not to wake him. Although, knowing Enoch he was probably already awake and just pretending. He did that a lot, especially in quiet loop mornings like this, just feigning sleep to make the moment last longer.

Despite being virtually adults, and both the oldest wards under her care, Miss Peregrine still disapproved of us sharing a bed. So, moments like this were rare and short-lived.

Enoch stroked a hand down my back softly. His hands were calloused from all the manual work he did constructing his homunculi, but I felt his roughened caress comforting. As his hand made its way down my bare spine I was reminded suddenly that I was naked, which meant he certainly was too. “G’Morning, darling.” He said in a husky voice that was rough from sleep. I felt a shiver go through me at the deep rumble of it.

I tilted my head back and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his jaw in reply. I saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed when my lips carried on a trail downwards along the column of his neck. “Morning handsome,” I murmured against his hot skin.

Enoch groaned and pulled me on top of him so fast it made my head spin. I giggled quietly, aware that we couldn't be too loud. The walls in this house were ridiculously thin. I ran my hands down his defined chest teasingly as he gripped my hips tightly.

“How long have we got?” He asked me slightly breathless when my hands drifted lower, tracing the deep v-line on his hips.

I grinned devilishly, “Long enough.” And with that, Enoch captured my lips in a searing kiss full of lust and love.

Loop mornings were repetitive-literally, and there was no way to deny that. But it didn't mean they couldn't be fun. And as long as I had Enoch, I could spend every morning like this. Full of searing kisses, soft caresses and gasped breaths. Forever.