#i think now that summer is over and the grass is no longer that green and touchable we should buy flowers from time to time to remain sane

[qqqqqqqqqqq0]

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Positively unstoppable (Halsin Silverbough x reader)

synopsis: It is the height of bear mating season and with the heat around all of you, you and your group are forces to stop traveling for a while. Well, it seems your lover is not quite comfortable telling you it is mating season as he is scared you are weirded out. Yet he also can´t hold himself back when faced with you.

warnings: p in v sex, mating press, Halsin in heat should be his own warning, some bear like behaviour ig, basically porn without plot, kinda fluff at the end, afab reader

word count: 1.5k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @foxyanon

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon that requested Halsin in heat as soon as they saw my post about researching bear mating season for this <3

Dividers by me

The heat of the height of summer was burning down harsh upon your traveling bodies, bringing your party to a screeching halt when the only thing possible, was to put up camp and find a way to cool down your overheating forms. As soon as your tent is set up, you decide to head to the river nearby, wanting to cool down in the little lake it ended in.

Only after you rid yourself of the clothing and stepped into the water, you notice the towering form of Halsin sitting close by already, his eyes focused on the flow and movement of the river. From the movement of his shoulders, it was clear that he was breathing deeply, most likely meditating. For a moment you contemplate going over to him, but when you look back to where he sat Halsin was already gone. Or so you thought until the water began to ripple into small waves upon the druid stepping into it. He looks tense. More than usual and for sure more than the past couple of weeks, which honestly you didn´t think was possible.

“Are you feeling well? You have been behaving differently for quite some time now.” You voice your concern quietly as to not disturb the peace of the nature surrounding the two of you.

“I can assure you, that I am feeling quite alright.” His words hold relatively little meaning in the face of the way he borderline flinches away from your touch as you begin to run the water over his warm skin. Or the voice that comes out is gruff, yet you can feel his breath hitch just the slightest bit. Immediately you pulled your hands away from him, trying to see through him. A futile attempt so you take his hands in yours and look him deep in the eyes.

"Love, I would be fine even if you told me, you do not wish to talk about it, but just tell me truthfully. Are you alright?" Looking into his eyes, Halsin's pupils have swallowed almost all the green that surrounds them.

In what you perceive as just a sweet attempt to calm your worries, the tall man leans down to rest his forehead against yours, while holding your chin in one gentle hand.

"I am fine." He put emphasis on every word he speaks.

But you are so close and your scent so much stronger than the rest of the year, singing to him in the most irresistible tones. It all made the druid unable to keep himself from nuzzling your face and neck, thus eliciting a so far successfully held back moan and a shiver of arousal runs down your spine. A ripple of pleasure runs through your entire body when he begins to nibble on the tender skin.

"Halsin..." His name trembles from your tongue.

"You're mine." He only growls in return.

It's a rarely seen show of possession from your lover and all the more powerful whispered in the low baritone of his affected voice.

Halsin picks you up as if you weigh nothing and lays you in the grass at the riverbank and doesn't waste a second to crawl on top of you. With one swift motion he hooks his large, muscular arms into the hollow of your knees to lay them over his shoulders.

"Damn it, I cannot wait any longer. Your folds simply feel too immaculate." The druid breathes out the trembling words as he rubs his hard cock between your folds to tease the sensitive bundle of nerves atop it with his tip.

With one strong push and a sigh that fans his hot breath over your ear and cheek, Halsin bottoms out inside your tight cunt. In turn, your walls flutter around his thick member and your back arches until your chest squishes your legs even more between the two of you. 

"Oh, you feel so good inside of me. Always stretch me out so much it's like my cunt will take the shape of your cock one day." You babble mindlessly as you get used to the stretch that feels like it threatens to split you in two.

Halsin doesn't give you much time to get used to his massive size as he sets for an ambitious pace, pushing into your core painfully over and over again until your pained whimpers and moans turn into sounds of pleasure and begging for more.

"Please do not ever stop." You cry out as Halsin's massive paw of a hand begins to pinch and twist your nipples, losing control of himself a bit more and taking the pace and intensity of his thrusts up a notch. One of your hand buried its nails in his shoulder to attempt to ground yourself, while the other grips and lightly pulls on his hair. Immediately your companion leans down to seal your lips with his, kissing you with teeth and tongue. The moment your lips meet, he is positively unstoppable.

You get pushed into the grass with his whole weight, his balls slap against your ass cheeks as you get rocked back and forth by inhumanely, animalistic thrusts. The wet sounds of the tip of Halsin´s cock bullying your most sensitive spot, drenching it in your juices as a result and making the sounds of your hips slapping against each other wetter as time went on. It felt so good that the brain fog soon took over, rendering you unable to kiss him back any longer.

“Nothing feels so divine as your tight walls fluttering around my cock.” Your brain barely registers the words the druid huffs against your lips before kissing you again. Unwavering despite the fact your lips hang open ever so slightly to make way for shaky breaths and high pitched, eager whines.

“Fuck, I can feel you are close, my love. Your cunt could not possibly squeeze me any tighter.” Halsin lets out another insatiable growl, before he coaxes the first peak out of your body. Revelling in the sight of you being shaken by the waves of pleasure he provides.

“Halsin…” You moan the druids name like a mantra, like a quiet prayer to your own personal god that simply continued to bless you with the pleasure that still caused your body to tremble in the aftershocks of climax.

Two more peaks he pulls from your body until you are nothing but a puddle of panting breaths overstimulated cries and a lose grip that tries to hold onto his shoulders, to hold your legs where he put them. Only then Halsin bottoms out inside of you once more. Buried as deep as he can, with his thick tip kissing the opening to your womb, he shoots a great amount of his seed into you. Together the two of you stay intermingled for what feels like an eternity. With your arms wrapped around the other to hold them close as you breathe in the air that the other lets out until you both feel dizzy. The druid wipes the sheen of sweat from your forehead with the greatest care and strokes a lost strand of hair behind your ear, while all you can do is to fight the brain fog and keep his eye contact. Those sage coloured eyes you loved so much, gently get you back to reality, where there is nothing left but to giggle until you burst into full on satisfied laughter.

“Hah, I had a feeling you would go insane on me one day. Yet I never would have imagined it would happen after I laid with you.” Halsin jests as he sits back on his haunches and taps your thighs to motion for you to assist him in sitting you up as well.

You follow his wordless command and sit up, wincing when there is a dull sensation shooting through your core.

“Do you feel aright, my love?” He asks with his eyebrows suddenly knitted together in concern.

“Yes, love. Positively spend, but fine nonetheless and you need not worry about my state of mind any time soon.” You lean forward to place a peck on the tip of your companion’s nose. “I was merely overwhelmed with the content feeling that floods me whenever I am near you and did not know how else to handle it. In fairness one should think I would have learned it by now, but I am far from it. It still is so hard to believe I am lucky enough to be able to call you mine.”

Gratefully you accept the small pouch of water that Halsin hands you and take a few sips, before handing it back.

“I understand what you mean. Sometimes it all feels like it is too good to be true. Like being on the verge of waking up from the most beautiful dream.” The soft voice of your lover makes you feel all fuzzy inside with how effortlessly he understands.

“Exactly, like being on the verge of waking up from the most immaculate dream.”

[theelfsongbard]

Counterweight

Pairing: spawn!Astarion x AFAB!reader

Summary: after the epilogue, you and Astarion share a summer’s afternoon together in the meadow. For @oharahive’s breeding kink challenge!

Warnings: epilogue spoilers, breeding kink, mentions of potential future pregnancy

Word Count: 2273

Image source: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/760123243354175763/

These past 6 months have been the counterweight to 200 years of misery. Thank you.

He had said those words to you weeks ago, and from then, he had slowly been opening up more and more to you. More frank, more transparent with his feelings than ever before. Today, he is quiet again but you know his mind is anything but, still coming to terms with his grand adventure and the turn of fate that it has brought with it. All at once, he speaks up.

“You bring me the best happiness. You show me the way, where I cannot see and you give me love where I don’t always deserve it. I don’t know how you do it, but I will always be grateful for you.”

The summer breeze blows over the meadow, sifting over the long grass like a wave of verdant green. How lovely it is, to be here, to be loved. Astarion’s thoughts lazily drift as he rests his head in your lap, his eyes shut and sheltered from the sunlight by the wide canopy of an old oak. Slowly he breathes in, bringing cool air into lungs that no longer work. Things have changed drastically in the past 6 months, and now, despite his condition, he found himself flourishing and a free man.

Above him, your gentle humming stops though your hand in his hair continues to massage his scalp with just the right amount of pressure. “And I would give up anything to see you happy for all eternity without hesitation. Has last night’s party been on your mind, love? You’ve been introspective lately.”

“How can I help myself, darling? I can’t help but think about how things could’ve turned out so differently, and yet every iteration I think about, I cannot imagine myself being happier than I am now. You led me here and I… hate to think what life would be like without you being my guiding light. I’d be bitter, resentful, enslaved still by my own will or by Cazador. And I know that I was not always easy to love, but you stayed anyways when it would have been so easy to walk away.”

“You are worthy of love. I have chosen to love you because waking up to your smile every day and seeing you grow into who you are brings me joy. You are my home and my guide. The obstacles we faced together only strengthened our bond.”

Astarion cracks one vermillion eye open, a knowing smirk on his lips, “You like my smile? Why don’t you tell me more?” His voice deepens playfully as he drags you down to press some feather-light kisses on your mouth. This is his way of processing his feelings on complicated topics, as if he is afraid that wallowing in his thoughts any longer will eat him alive even though he has become less self-conscious about openly sharing his thoughts now.

You gasp in feigned scandalousness, “If I feed your ego too much, you might be too full of yourself for tonight’s dinner! I suppose you’ll just have to settle with knowing that you’re just lovely.” The way you giggle into his mouth sets something alight in him and he flips himself over, pinning you down into the grass below him, earning him a squeal of delighted surprise. This time, it’s your turn to lean up and capture his lips with her own, pulling a low rumbling chuckle from deep in his throat that vibrates through his chest and into hers where he presses against you. “Cheeky little thing aren't you?” the sound of his voice combined with the feeling of his arms caging you in makes your heart beat wildly in its ribcage. Nobody plays the game of seduction better than Astarion and the past 6 months together have only given him time to learn exactly what makes you tick.

“If you're worried about me being too full for dinner, I suppose I can always have dinner a little earlier, if you'll permit it. There's always room for dessert afterwards.” his lips graze tantalisingly over the exposed skin of your neck, his nose nuzzling the shell of your ear with care.

The ring of your laugh chimes like a bell on the wind, “Oh, just stop playing coy and come down for a bite then!”

You don’t need to ask twice before you feel his fangs probing for the blood beneath your skin before finally piercing into your neck, you grit your teeth and cling to his arms as he bears down. The feeling of pain never gets any better no matter how many times he feeds from you, but you have gotten used to the icy pricks and the ensuing numbness as he draws the blood from your body into his. It's his chest that warms first, followed by the healthy flush of life that fills his cheeks and… more intimate regions making itself known by the hardening desire pressed into your stomach.

Drunk on the fresh bouquet of your blood, Astarion laps his tongue against the puncture wounds at your neck, capturing the remnants of his dinner as it runs from the site. An appreciative moan pours from his throat, and when he pulls away at last, you can see that his eyes burn with fire and need. Feeding Astarion doesn’t always lead to sex, but the intimacy of the act makes it a very appealing activity for you both and today is one of those days.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about our future as well, what adventures it might hold for us both,” he kisses up your neck, tickling you and leaving you gasping for air as he teases. The only coherent word you can manage to utter is a shaky “yes?”.

“And I had the most interesting chat with Gale at the party.”

You frowned, wondering where on earth he was going with this. There was once a time when he and Gale weren’t on the best of terms with one another, not in the least because he was also competing for your affection when it was clearly already given to Astarion. Although time had mellowed out Astarion’s moodiness and dislike of the wizard, you couldn't help but think that perhaps it was jealousy that had stoked the fire of his appetite today.

“Oh? And what about him?” you squirmed about as his lips found your ear.

“It's nothing about him, but it is about us. You see, he was telling me about a guest lecturer he had at his school, a dhampir.”

Oh. Oh. So that was what was on his mind.

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” The implication hung there, tantalising. The idea of children wasn’t a topic that you had broached with Astarion. In all honesty, you had both had your hands full with other things; adventuring, searching for a cure to vampirism, working to rebuild the Underdark for the many spawn that had been released from Cazador’s manse. But now that he had mentioned it, your mind couldn't help but be filled with images of Astarion lovingly gazing down at a small fragile bundle close to his chest, swathed in cloth. Astarion smiling as he held out a finger clutched by tiny hands. Astarion cooing and stroking its cheek as it drifted into a trance, protected from the cruelty of the world by his love. “Astarion.” A familiar tingle of heat fills you and concentrates itself at your core as the thoughts suffocate the forefront of your mind until nothing else surfaces.

“Think of them reaching for us, seeking the comfort of our loving embrace, filling our home with joy in the mornings.” he breathes in wantonly, inhaling your intoxicating scent. You are fertile, and the tang of your blood on his tongue and the scent of it lets him know that your body is ready at its peak to receive a child if you should choose to do so. “I’m ready for a child, if you are, my love.” he breathes it like a promise against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours waiting for your answer.

“Yes. I am ready.” you respond in kind, kissing him earnestly. “Give me your child.”

Astarion’s ministrations grow as much as his enthusiasm. From where he is hovering above you, he growls with a hint of possessiveness and primal joy. The fact that you were willing was a promise of security, of having you by his side in the years to come with the knowledge that you loved him so much that you would choose to create something that would immortalise your expression of love for each other in flesh and bone and flowing blood.

You were his of your own choosing and he was yours. Would always choose you and stand by your side. The thought drives him mad and admist the attention that he lavishes on your lips, a hand snakes down your body, freeing your tucked shirt and undressing you with uncanny dexterity and speed fueled by his need to have you as his partner and his mate. Immediately. To press you down and fill you to the bursting with his essence until his seed overflowed in your womb and blessed you both with child.

His hand is distracted by the curve of your breasts, kneading them gently as he begins to move down your body to lick and suckle on them. The moans pouring from you only serve to heighten his own arousal and fill him with satisfaction as he plays you with all the expertise of a bard with a well-acquainted instrument. When he finally relieves you of your pants, he lovingly dips a finger along your folds, making you buck your hips up, collecting the slick and rubbing it against your clit, revelling in the way you’re already wet with desire for him causing a shiver to run through your body. “Excited, darling?” he dares to tease out with that high giggle of his. The heat in your cheeks only grows as you huff, “you don’t say. Please, don’t stop now.” you're so desperate for his touch, to feel him inside you.

He chuckles, “Only because you’re so desperate -“. He licks a long stripe up through them, but despite pretending otherwise, the hold you have on him is too great and inhumanly quickly, he scrambles back up, his knee hooking up under yours to open you up and pulling himself free from his trousers as he aligns himself with your entrance, coating himself in you before pushing in until he’s fully sheathed in your warm heat. The unexpected stretch rips a stifled yelp of pleasure from you and Astarion can’t help but moan in kind. “Don’t hide, let me hear you.”

Waiting until you’ve adjusted to him, he lifts your knees up to his shoulders, folding you over so that he can bury himself deeper inside. The new position brings you closer to the edge as he thrusts with increasing vigour, losing himself in the need to fill you up completely, imagining his seed taking and the swell of your belly bearing the evidence of your passion for everyone to see. “I want to see you dripping with my seed, fucked full until there’s no room left for anything else.”

“Then do it!” you just about screamed as he reached between you to rub on your clit. “Give it to me,” you sobbed, “until there’s nothing left to give.” the added pressure sent you tumbling over the edge, and your vision blacked out momentarily as your mind tried to catch up with your body, still spasming and twitching around his cock, milking him of all he had as he met his release with a shuddering roar, driving himself even deeper than he had before as he spent himself inside you. He doesn't move to pull out, keeping himself and his spend inside you do as long as possible and the intention of the action makes you clench slightly around his softening cock drawing a hiss from Astarion. “You want to go again, love?”

Catching your breath, from the exertion you couldn't help but drag him down to lay beside you, holding him close as you rest your head on his arm, nuzzling close to his neck and inhaling his comforting scent. It spells safety and tenderness that you know is only reserved for you. “Not right now, Astarion. I'm exhausted, but maybe we do it again another day,” you say with a laugh, “after all, if it doesn’t work this time, we’ll just have to keep on trying.”

“Well,” he says with a lazy kiss, “I’m very on board with your idea.”

“This is nice. This is really nice,” you whisper to him. “I just want to lay here with you forever.”

His hand snakes over to rest on your waist, the reassuring weight grounding you and the gentle press of his lips to your hair making your heart flutter. “Then let’s stay, for a little while longer at least. Close your eyes, darling.” Without even being able to see it, you can hear the smile on Astarion’s lips as he says it. You can’t help but feel a swell of contentment and pride at these moments of softness where so much was said with so few words.

You don't know how long you lay there in the field with Astarion, holding each other as the sun sank below the horizon but the next time you’re pulled from your trance, it’s the stars that watch over you as you anticipate the hopeful possibility of what might come to fruition.

[avonne-writes]

[ GIFT ] sender gives receiver a present (specify)

Aw I have to request this cause Bucky gift giving is the sweetest thing ever. Happy birthday week ☀️

Thank you so much! ❤️ I decided to write this in my friends with benefits au 🥰

Gale licks the ice cream off his spoon serenely as Bucky fidgets opposite him, sideways in his seat. Bucky's eyes track the motion, so Gale makes sure to drag it out and show how much he enjoys it. Not a hard feat to pull off when one likes it as much as he does. The taste, the thick liquid on his tongue, the spoon pressing down... Bucky's attention is a bonus. It’s nice to have it, especially now that Gale knows he can touch those thick thighs if he plays his cards right.

Bucky drums his fingers on his own forearm, then shifts again. Gale scoops up another spoonful and puts it in his mouth. He draws it out, his eyes on Bucky the whole time. He wonders if Bucky realizes that Gale had him figured out the moment he showed up with his jacket draped over his arm and refused to leave it at Gale’s place even though it's hot and sunny outside.

There’s something in that jacket he’s trying to hide. When he started his telltale restless shifting, Gale’s suspicion became certainty. It’s a gift, and Bucky's thrumming with excitement as he waits for the perfect moment to "surprise" Gale with it. God help him, Gale finds it endlessly endearing. He doesn’t want it to stop. Like good sex, he wants to enjoy it as long as possible even if it means denying himself the climax a little longer.

"Need some help with that?" Bucky jerks his chin towards Gale's melting dessert.

Gale debates his options, but his longing to act like Bucky's boyfriend wins over his desire to drag this out as long as possible. He takes a spoonful of ice cream and holds it out, heart fluttering when Bucky barely falters before leaning forward and letting Gale feed it to him. Thank God that Bucky had a cone instead of a cup, leaving them with only one spoon and just enough willingness to go with the excuse.

"You can leave it if you don’t wanna eat the whole thing." Bucky says, squirming in anticipation again.

Gale scoops more liquid ice cream into his mouth. Heat pools in his stomach when he thinks about the fact that he’s sucking on the spoon that has just been in Bucky's mouth. "What's the rush, you have a date or something?"

"I wish." Bucky sighs wistfully, and, well, that does sting. "I'm just... uh, bored."

It's painful enough that Gale’s appetite, for ice cream or anything else, vanishes as if it never existed. He puts down the spoon and pushes his cup away, then moves to stand. "Didn't they teach you how to sit still in first grade?"

"They gave up on the first day."

Bucky lets their elbows brush together as they start walking towards the exit. He grins wide and bright, and all of Gale's disappointment succumbs to the butterflies in his stomach that set off at the sight. As they leave the café and step into the bright summer sunshine that lights up the green grass of the park, Bucky reaches into the jacket he keeps carrying around and pulls something out.

"Got you something to celebrate your paper."

Gale takes it and turns it around in his hands. It's a mug. Dark as the night sky, a spaceship doodle and a dorky text breaking it up with white lines. 'Forget princess, I want to be an astrophysicist'.

It doesn't even make sense why Bucky wanted to give it to him now and not in the café, but Gale doesn’t mention that. He just runs his thumb over the cool ceramic and tries not to smile like he’s in love. Wouldn’t do them any good if he did. "Thanks."

Bucky throws his arm around Gale's shoulders. "You should give me a best friend of the year award."

I would if I didn’t know that you’ll break my heart, Gale thinks, but he just keeps on walking forward. "Don’t count on it." He says, and Bucky laughs.

[kelcemenow]

Walk With Me.

Pairing Taron Egerton x Reader

Words 3620

Warnings I think the only curse word is the first one! There's some flirting, some angst and cute moments in between! There's also a lot of time jumping but it's easy to keep up so don't worry!

"Shit." You quietly whispered to yourself as you accidentally stepped straight into a large puddle. Shaking the water off from your shoe, you noticed that Riley was none the wiser. She was happily running along in the long grass, searching out every scent that she could trace. 

You slowly walked over to where Riley had dropped her ball and picked it up, calling her over to throw it again.

Just as the ball left your fingers, you noticed another person in the park with you. It was a man. He was quite a distance away from you, but you could see that he was standing still, staring into the nearby trees. A small, tan dog was running around his feet, but he remained still in thought.

Riley bounded back to your feet, retrieving the ball and looking up at you to throw it again. You tore your eyes away from the stranger and walked further into the park, throwing the ball ahead of you.

______________________________________________________________

Your sunglasses dimmed the bright afternoon sunshine and you could feel the warm grass brushing against your sandal-clad feet. The warner weather made your daily walks with Riley much more bare-able and you gladly took a longer route on days like today.

You were almost back to your usual spot in the park when a figure in your peripheral vision caught your attention. It was the man from a few weeks earlier. He was closer than before though, you could see his hazel green eyes creasing as he smiled, watching his own dog play with a ball.  

Riley noticed also, and without a second of hesitation, ran over to greet them.

"Riley!" You called after her, making your way across the grass.

"She's okay, mine's friendly." The man shouted as you got closer.

He was right. Looking down you saw Riley and his dog sniffing and running around each other, jumping as their tails wagged in unison.

"Sorry, I just get nervous sometimes. She's still a puppy and you never know with strange dogs."

He looked up at you, "So, you're saying that my dog is strange?"

Your mouth dropped open, "Oh God no! No! That's not what I meant, I-"

His mouth curved into a smile and his eyes softened, "Relax! I'm joking!"

You exhaled and your shoulders relaxed as you smiled back at him.

"I know what you mean. I've had a few scary moments. Nelly just wants to play...some dogs don't like that, she has a lot of energy!"

You glanced back down at Riley, who was stood still now, looking in the direction of the park gates. There was an awkward pause.

“Come on, Riley.” You waved your hand away and turned on your heels.

"See you around." The man said, smiling and raising his eyebrows.

______________________________________________________________

Your bright, floral summer dress waved in the breeze as some strands of hair fell down to frame your face. You smiled and looked down at the ground as you tucked some hair behind your ear.

He was walking towards you, with Nelly in tow. You'd thought about him occasionally since you last saw him, and you found yourself glancing over your outfit in the hopes that you looked good enough.

"Hello again!"

"Hi." You smiled.

Riley looked up at the man approaching her and gladly wagged her tail as he knelt down to stroke her, "I'm Taron..." He glanced over to his own dog, "...and you've already met Nelly."

You smiled again, "I'm Y/N...and I think you've made a new best friend in Riley." You looked down at she was jumping up at him, "She likes you."

He looked up at you and reciprocated your smile. "Cute."

"Yeah, she is."

"I wasn't talking about Riley."

Your mouth opened slightly, and you took a short breath. Your lips curled into a grin and he stood up slowly.

"It's a beautiful day." He looked up towards the sun, "We could walk together?"

You looked around to find Riley, who was becoming properly acquainted with Nelly. Pushing more hair out of your face from the gentle summer wind, you dropped your sunglasses down from the top of your head, "Sure."

There was a short but not uncomfortable silence as you both walked through the park, the gentle breeze making the trees hush.

“So, have you just moved to the area?” You said, hoping not to sound too intrusive.

He swallowed and cleared his throat, “Yeah, just last week.”

“I thought so, I just hadn’t seen you around?” You justified your question, “You know, you get to know the faces in the park.”

“Are you here every day then?” He asked and you swore you could hear hope in his voice.

Nodding your head, you bent down to collect Riley’s ball, “Yeah, pretty much. She has so much energy that she needs to burn off!”

“I can see that!” He said, laughing as her tiny legs moved at an impressive speed, “I bet she keeps you on your toes?”

“Something like that.”

Another short silence. You both watched as Nelly and Riley were running around, finding smells together and enjoying the summer wind. You broke your gaze from the dogs to sneak a glance at Taron, noticing his kind but piercing eyes and the faint creases in his skin. His chin was speckled with short hairs that covered his sharp jawline. He was undoubtably handsome but there seemed to be a softness to him, something that made you even more intrigued.

“So, what do you do for fun around here?” He said, slightly kicking his feet as he walked.

“Erm…it depends what you would consider fun?” You responded in a more flirtatious way than you intended.

He picked up on your tone by flicking his eyebrows upwards quickly, “I’m up for anything, me.”

You breathed a laugh, “There’s some good restaurants, and there’s a street not far from here with some amazing little independent shops. They stock my favourite hand poured candles.”

“Aww, I love candles!” He said, his voice rising in pitch, “I always try to have one burning.”

“Me too!” Your hand rested on your chest, “You’ll absolutely have to go!”

“Maybe I will.”

“There’s tons of live music too, pretty every pub has a band on every Friday, Saturday and Sunday night.”

He leaned in a little closer, “Seems I’ve got a pretty good tour guide here.”

Your cheeks flushed and you smiled before leaning down to throw Riley’s ball, grateful for the curtain of hair hiding your pink face.

“Maybe, I could get your number and we could hang out? You could show me around the town?”

You straightened up and blinked a few times, “Uh…yeah sure! Sounds good to me.”

Taron glanced at the fork in the path as he reached into his pocket, “I’m gunna head up this way but I’ll text you?”

Your mouth stretched into a grin as you carefully typed your number into his phone, checking that it was correct before handing it back to him, his fingers gently brushing against yours.

“I’ll see you around?”

You gently nodded your head as you watched him turn out of the park, your eyes seemingly fixated on the space where he once was. You were quickly broken from your trance when Riley barked up at you, ready for another chase.

______________________________________________________________

The cool air whipped around your face, but you were pleased for the breeze. The fever that was burning through your body was intolerable, along with the stomach-churning sickness that came with it. You weren't unwell though; this was all self-inflicted from countless glasses of wine from the night before. 

You watched Riley as she gladly ran in amongst the grass, nose close to the ground, unaware of how much you craved your sofa.

The evening had started out as a quiet drink with some friends from work but soon spiralled into cocktails and dancing. You grasped at your head as you started to remember fuzzy memories that your brain was trying to push forward in your mind, along with a thumping that wouldn't let up.

"Good morning sunshine!"

A bright voice forced you to turn around, "Taron!" Your eyes narrowed as more memories came flooding back, "Oh my God, I saw you last night!"

"Yeah, you were pretty wasted!" He laughed gently as he unclipped Nelly from her leash, "How are you feeling?"

"As bad as I look."

He shrugged, "Nah, you look pretty good...considering."

You would've blushed, if it weren't for the red haze that was covering your cheeks already. You pushed some hair away from your face as you squinted your eyes at him, "I didn't do anything embarrassing, did I?"

He laughed and started to walk with you, following your dogs, "I wouldn't say that but..."

Your face fell, "Oh God, what? I'm so sorry! What did I do?"

He laughed again, "You don't need to apologise! But you need to thank me."

You lowered your eyebrows in confusion.

"It was around 2am when you decided that it would be a great idea to do shots of vodka while dancing on the bar."

You dropped your head and groaned.

"But I stopped you and insisted that I walked you home."

"You...you walked me home?" 

He kicked some pebbles on the ground, "Yeah. We live really close to each other. Plus, you were a mess by that point, I had to be a gentleman."

You gently brought your hand to his arm, "Thank you. Really, thank you. And you're wrong...I do need to apologise. I know I'm bad when I'm drunk."

He put his hand on top of yours, "Seriously, don't worry about it. I just wanted to make sure you were safe."

You felt your heart leap as your hands touched, but you weren't sure if it was from the contact or from the hangover. His hand dropped and he placed it in his hoodie pocket. You did the same and took in a deep breath of fresh air.

The path you were walking split off into two directions and Taron started turning left as you slowed down.

"Are you going up to the top today?" Taron pointed his finger towards the path that lead to an area of the park that was lined with wildflowers.

You felt a rumble in the pit of your stomach and the heat in your body rose a few degrees in temperature.

"Erm, actually..." You knelt down slowly to put Riley's leash back on, "I'm probably going to go back." You clutched at your stomach.

His eyebrows lowered, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah...I'm fine. I just-" You hurried backwards, nausea coming in waves, "-I just have to go." You quickly said before turning and rushing back towards your house.

______________________________________________________________

Riley was practically dragging you into the park, pulling your arm holding onto the leash that was attached to her collar. She could see Taron and Nelly further into the gates and you couldn't keep up with her pace. The leash slipped from your fingers and Riley ran ahead, bounding towards them.

"Riley!" You yelled out, making Taron's head turn in your direction.

He smiled and kneeled down to collect the leash, letting Nelly greet her canine friend, "She's just too excited to see me!"

You laughed, "Clearly!"

"Or is this all a cover up for the fact that it was you who wanted to see me?" He nudged your arm once you arrived his side.

"Oh, haha." You said, unenthusiastically, "Don't flatter yourself, Egerton."

"You're not denying it." He raised an eyebrow.

You shook your head. 

He was right, though. Every time you took Riley for her daily walks, you secretly hoped that you'd bump into him. Since you had last seen him, you had been messaging each other online, usually until the early hours of the morning, throwing banter back and forth. You talked about your shared tastes in music and movies, he'd send you the occasional message with a new song that he'd found that he thought you might like, or a line from the book that he was currently reading. He would occasionally send you funny Welsh words and their translations and tag you in memes almost every day. His messages made you smile and you as each day went by, you thought more and more about him. 

You looked up to him, "By the way, that playlist that you sent me this morning...oh my God!"

His face was animated, "I know right?! That third song is getting played at my wedding!"

A shiver ran down your spine and you silently wondered if he was currently engaged and a wedding was imminent. You blinked and quickly changed the subject.

"I must admit, I do look forward to your daily messages."

His face changed into a small smile, that grew as he threw his arm around your shoulder, walking with you along the path, "Well, it’s a good job I intend to carry on sending them then, isn’t it?”

______________________________________________________________

There was something that you loved about autumn. Something about the colours and the idea that nature was preparing for winter that held you in intrigue. You watched over the park that you were familiar with in awe, watching the leaves that had fallen from the trees turn to a warm hue of orange, when you saw something else familiar.

Taron was sat on a bench further down the path with his back to you, headphones on and hunched over what was probably his phone.

You walked closer, Riley following you in excitement at seeing Nelly, and poked a finger in his back when you got to him. He pulled his headphones down and twisted around to face you.

His face lit up, "Oh! I was just texting you!"

Your hand ghosted over your pocket where your phone was, "Were you?"

"Yeah!" He put his phone away, "I was just seeing if you were out walking Riley."

Riley jumped at Taron's knees and he stroked her, scratching his fingers into her head. He looked back to you as you sat down next to him.

"How've you been?" He squinted his eyes, shielding his face from the glare of the sun.

You pushed some hair behind your ear, "I'm good, and you?"

"Yeah, I actually wanted to-" He was interrupted by his phone that was in his hand springing into life. He glanced at the screen and his eyes narrowed with an emotion that you couldn't detect, "-hold that thought. I have to get this."

You smiled and nodded, looking over to where Riley and Nelly were, watching them run around each other.

"Hey...yeah." He paused and lowered his head looking down at his feet, shuffling them awkwardly, "...what time do you get in? Okay cool...sure. No...no that's fine." He glanced quickly to you and you caught his gaze for a couple of seconds, "Okay, call me when you get to- yeah...you too."

You looked away, not wanting to seem intrusive to his conversation. He pocketed his phone and rose to his feet.

"We'll have to cut this walk short I'm afraid." He looked over to Nelly and whistled to gain her attention.

"Oh, no problem." You smiled, "You got something to do?" You scolded yourself slightly for prying.

"Erm yeah, kind of." He scratched the back of his neck nervously as Nelly came running back to him, "My friends is visiting, she's-well she's my girlfriend. She's working away and she's back for a few days."

Your stomach dropped to your feet. He had a girlfriend, of course he did. He was funny and intelligent, not to mention exceptionally handsome. You had no idea why you were disappointed. Sure, there was friendly flirting between the pair of you but nothing had ever gone any further. That's all it was, friendly.

"Oh...right." You tried your hardest not to let the disappointment flood your face, but you were sure you had failed in your attempts.

Taron bent down to attach Nelly to her leash as you exhaled away your emotions, biting at your bottom lip. Your eyebrows raised as you caught his gaze again.

"I'll...see you around I suppose."

"Yeah, see you around, Taron."

You watched as he walked away. Your stomach knotted as you studied his body language. You had never known him to deflate so much, everything about him had disappeared. His smile seemed forced for some reason, but you pushed the thought to the back of your mind. Taking a breath, you walked further into the park, letting the gentle breeze cool your skin.

______________________________________________________________

You checked your phone for what felt like the hundredth time that day. It had been almost a week with no contact from Taron at all. Figuring he was busy with his girlfriend, you put your phone back into your pocket and carried on walking with Riley.

You missed him. You missed his morning messages and whenever he got excited about a new pair of sunglasses that he had just bought or a new candle that he loved the smell of. You missed the walks you sometimes shared with your dogs and how completely at ease you felt around him. You missed how he would sometimes lean closer to you when he was talking. You missed the way he would look at you.

But you were just friends, right?

______________________________________________________________

"Taron?" You called out to him. 

He was stood in the large open area of the park, staring down into the grass. He didn't reply, nor did he seem to notice you were even there.

"Hey...Taron?" 

His head raised slowly, and his eyes refocused onto you, "Oh...hey."

You frowned when you noticed how exhausted he looked. His cheek dimples always seemed to be present but they were nowhere to be seen. His hair was messier than usual and there was no smile on his lips when he looked at you.

"Taron...are you okay?" You couldn't hide your concern.

He cleared his throat and looked back down at the grass, "Yeah...I'm fine." He blinked his bleary eyes.

As you studied his face you could see that his mouth was clenched, his strong jawline accentuated and his eyebrows were slowly making their way closer together.

"Nah...I'm not buying it." You moved to face him, "What's the matter with you?"

He closed his eyes and brought a hand to his face, rubbing across his forehead, "Nothing, I said I'm fine."

"And I said I'm not buying it." You reached for his arm and he almost flinched, "Come on, I haven't heard from you in a week, I haven't seen you out walking Nelly and in the nicest way possible Taron, you look like shit."

"It's Kate."

"Kate?"

"Kate...my girlfriend Kate."

You nodded and waiting patiently for him to continue.

"It's...it's just been a difficult week."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Taron." You gulped as he looked at you. You weren't sure if you wanted to hear about her anyway.

"No...no. I think I need to just get it off of my chest." He glanced towards the dogs before motioning across to the bench.

You both sat down and he rested his elbows on his knees, palms pressed together as his eyes danced in anticipation.

"I think she's cheating on me."

You leaned back slightly; eyebrows raised in surprise. It's safe to say that you weren't expecting that.

"What makes you think that?"

His lips curled into a smile as he exhaled, "At first I thought I was just being paranoid. But now I'm fairly certain." He paused as his tried to find his words, "She's works away a lot and she can only visit every so often. And the last few times she's visited...something hasn't seemed right. And if I'm being honest...I haven't been happy for a while."

You could see some moisture forming in his eyes, but he quickly blinked it away.

"Why are you still with her?"

He froze, his hair blowing in the breeze being the only movement on his body. Finally, he let out a breath and shook his head, "I really don't know. She stuck with me while I was broke and trying to make something of myself."

"You don't owe her anything if you're not happy. You know that, right?" You thought for a second, "And if you're sure that she's cheating on you...then-"

"She was using the bathroom and she got a text. I thought it was my phone so I grabbed it and there were all these messages, you know...I can't believe she'd do that to me."

"You don't deserve this Taron." You gently placed your hand on his knee, and he broke his gaze from the floor to look at the contact.

He kept his eyes on your hand for a short moment before you started to pull it away, but he quickly stopped you, "No, don't."

"Taron-"

He cut you off mid-sentence, pressing his lips to yours, gently but hungrily. His hand ran up your arm, finding its way to cup to your face, fingers pulling at your hair.

You melted into him for a moment, before feeling a stab of guilt. You pulled away quickly, placing your hand over his that was still placed on the side of your face. His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes burning into you.

"We shouldn't...I mean, you still have a girlfriend." You whispered.

"But I-" Taron started, moving into you closer.

"No, it's not right." You held his hand and pushed it away from you.

Taron closed his eyes for a moment before nodding gently. You rose to your feet and clipped the leash onto Riley who was sniffing down by your feet.

"Call me when you've got everything figured out."

______________________________________________________________

Ughhhhh...I just love him! I might do another chapter of this if people want it. I find him really easy to write for so I'm also willing for any requests!

If you don't want to miss another Taron fic, let me know and I will add you to my Taglist! Who wants to be first on this list??

[slicznymartwy]

stand by your man

You’re not sure how much time passes, but it’s certainly been long enough for your selfish cat to have had its snack and returned.

tags: first meetings, cannibalism, thomas hewitt wears a face in this one guys, canon-typical violence, misogyny, slut shaming, fluff and angst, ambiguous/open ending, i mean to me its happy but yk, bad guys win sort of ending notes: second person pov – cis fem reader with some defined traits (tall, midsized, long hair). everything else is up to interpretation. i'm sorry if this fic seems really cruel towards thomas :( i love him i promise

read on ao3

Humid felt like an understatement on a day like today. Walking inside your little wooden shack felt like swimming in pond water, thick and stagnant. The morning wasn’t so bad but, before lunchtime, you had thrown open every window on the chance that a breeze would sweep through, even if it was only for a moment.

But there’s no wind today, which leads you and your old orange cat sitting like panting dogs out on the front porch. Your stomach growls, but you can’t imagine getting up and cooking for yourself like this. You want some soda fountain ice cream, but downtown is a long walk and the drugstore has been closed down for a few months anyhow.

Groaning, you roll onto your side and daydream about frothy root beer floats. You’re so deep in your fantasy that you hardly notice when your cat scrambles onto her feet, faster than summer lightning, and books it out the dusty yard on the heels of a field mouse.

“Goddamn it, Peanut,” you say to nobody, watching her go with a disappointed sigh. She must’ve been starving to run like that in this heat. You watch her go and go until she runs into the grass. Then you don’t see her at all.

You’re not sure how much time passes, but it’s certainly been long enough for your selfish cat to have had its snack and returned.

“Peanut?” you call out, sitting up. She’s nowhere to be seen, not even in the shady live oak a stone’s throw from the house. You stand up and walk out towards the grass, feet burning on the sun-exposed dust.

“Here, kitty kitty!” you call out, looking for movement in the fields. There is none, so you cup your mouth and try again, louder. “Here, kitty kitty! C’mere, Peanut!”

Nothing but the buzzing bugs.

Your little housecat wasn’t made for the Texan wilderness. She was getting old and preferred to spend her days napping in whatever spot was the coolest.

Wading into the tall grass, you almost want to forget about ever having a cat, but you know you could never. You love Peanut, even if she gets on your nerves.

The fields are droning with critters that you can’t even see. It’s like they’re all complaining about the heat, and you find yourself agreeing with them. You wish you had grabbed some shoes before heading out, but you’re already this far – besides, if you return home now, you’re sure you won’t want to keep looking.

You don’t know how long you walk, but the sun is high over your head when you find an old wooden fence. Trees line the property on the other side, and it sure is tempting to hide under those pretty green leaves for a while, but you’re getting more worried the longer you look for your cat. Maybe a dog or a snake got to her first.

You hop up onto the fence and swing a leg over, then the other. Standing on the bottom rung, you hold onto the post for balance. Cupping your mouth with your free hand, you shout out into the field, “Peanut!”

Thomas was bored.

They had guests two days ago, but Thomas was already finished separating meat from bone and cartilage. Before that, it had been almost two weeks since their last visitors, and he thinks he got a little too excited at the prospect of getting to butcher something.

They weren’t even handsome enough to keep. The whole thing felt like a waste.

It’s a hot day, but Thomas doesn’t mind it. It not much, but walking in the shade at least gets the sun off of him. The oaks circle their home, and he can walk in on one end and come out on the other, pretty much in the same place. He’s curious today, though.

No meat at home. He might as well walk as far as his legs will take him.

The leaves sway and rustle together quietly when the wind comes by, but even then the air feels thick. Thomas trudges along, looking for something he doesn’t know about yet. There’s movement in the brush, but he can see it’s just a fat orange cat. It bolts when Thomas stomps past it, running into a clearing of tall grass. Thomas keeps on going, searching.

Hearing a shout, he knows he’s found it.

The noise was far, but not too far to walk towards. The sound keeps repeating, and it’s a female sounding voice; today’s his lucky day since he didn’t bring anything with him. She might go kicking and screaming, but it shouldn’t be too hard to throw an unsuspecting woman over his shoulder and carry her to the basement.

Reaching the tree line, the brush and the tree limbs part to reveal you.

Tall and full bodied, he sees your legs first. They’re pressed together as you stand on his fence, and your dress rides up as you bend forward at the waist.

“Peanut!” you yell, and he realizes it’s what you’ve been yelling the whole time. You curse under your breath and wipe at your forehead. Your hair is long and it’s loose, falling down your back past your shoulders. You’re sweaty and you don’t wear any shoes. Thomas watches your curiously.

You must have given up on whatever you were doing, because you step down from the fence and lean on it, putting your forehead on your folded arms. Thomas stares. You don’t look like the usual kind of guest.

Guests were usually tourists, and although Thomas couldn’t place you, he could tell that you were local. You wore a house dress like Momma, and you didn’t wear shoes outside. You were a Texas girl, Thomas realized.

He’s not sure the last time he met a real Texas girl. Probably not since he stopped going to the doctor in town, and that was when he was still a little kid.

Thomas was torn. He’s never killed townsfolk before. Meat is meat, the annoying little Charlie in his head hollered at him, but his Momma was in there too, telling him that there wasn’t anything left of their town. Shouldn’t he try to keep their town alive? Wouldn’t that make Momma happy?

He’s still debating with himself when you turn around and startle. He’s expecting you to scream and run away from him, but you don’t. You close your eyes, cover your chest, and sigh heavily.

“I am so sorry, mister. I thought it was just me and the June bugs out here today,” you say, opening your eyes again.

You smile at him, and Thomas feels like someone’s nailed his feet to the dirt. You watch Thomas as he watches you. Your smile falls a little bit, and Thomas knows why. He was expecting it, anyways.

“I’m sorry if I’m trespassing, mister, really. It’s just that I live out that way and my cat ran away this morning. I’ve been looking everywhere for her, I thought I could get a better look of the field from up on the fence,” you explain, gesturing behind yourself as you talk. Thomas likes the way your hair moves when you turn, and even though it’s wet with sweat, Thomas's fingers itch to stroke it out of your face.

He's no genius, but he can tell you’re worried. You’re making the same worried face Uncle Monty makes when Uncle Charlie was yelling at him. He was gonna walk anyways, he tells himself, as he gestures for you to follow him.

You look surprised, but you hurry to his side as Thomas starts striding through the trees. You sigh once you’re in the shade.

“Hell of a day, today. Even the shade is hot enough to fry an egg,” you say, walking behind him. You were taller than the other girls that came around here, but still only came up to his chin. He wasn’t gonna bother waiting for you to catch up, one way or another, and strode forward.

Your daddy always used to say that you could talk a gate off its hinges, but walking with this enormous stranger, you found yourself all out of words.

He cut a massive and daunting figure, especially with that dark mask covering his nose and mouth. His clothes were dirty, with brownish reddish stains covering him and his butcher’s apron. His dark curls were unruly and stuck together from sweat underneath the straps and buckles of his muzzle.

There was no better word for what he looked like than mean, but that never scared you off before. Your grandpa was a mean-looking man too, but he was also the sweetest man you’d ever known. You just wished the guy would talk to you too, that’s all. Maybe that would make the twisty nerves in your stomach go away.

Just as your mind starts getting creative about where the stranger could be taking you, he continues past the tree shade to an open field. The grass is still tall here, but it makes rolling waves on top of mounds of dirt.

“Guess here’s a good place to look,” you say, and you trudge forward in the tall grass. The dirt is cool between your toes, and you make little clinking noises with your tongue, interrupted by the occasional, “here, kitty.”

Thomas leaves your side to look on his own. The grass here is thick, and the holes make for some nice shade. Probably pretty nice for a little critter looking to get out of the heat.

You’re bent over, inspecting one of the holes, when you hear a familiar grumpy meow. You shoot back up, glancing down in the tall grass before your eyes land on the masked giant. In his arms is your fat orange cat, looking very displeased about being out in the sunshine.

“Peanut! You found Peanut!” you cry, jumping for joy before running to his side. The man stands there, frozen in place, while you take the cat from his arms and kiss her little forehead.

“Naughty girl, running away from home like that,” you scold, patting the spot above her tail like a faux spank. It barely even lands on her, but she still meows in annoyance. You laugh a little bit and look up at the man who’s already looking at you. Your smile softens as relief makes way for gratitude.

“Thank you, mister. You’ve got no idea how much this little guy means to me. How can I repay you?” you ask, holding on tighter to your cat so she can’t jump from your arms.

He doesn’t answer. You bite your lip.

“You free tomorrow?” you change your question. The man pauses before nodding. “Meet me by the fence again, okay? Same time as today.” The man watches you blankly, but the fact that he’s helped you already puts you more at ease. You smile at him and nod with a sense of finality.

“Thanks again. I’m gonna get out of your hair now.” He stands in the sun, and as you retreat back to the shade for your journey home, you can feel his eyes on you until you’re hidden by the trees.

“He seems nice,” you say to Peanut, who cries out pitifully at being carried. It’s gonna be a long walk home, you realize, as she squirms in your arms to break free again.

Thomas isn’t stupid, no matter what people like to say about him. All things considered, though, he feels pretty stupid standing behind the oak tree nearest to your meeting spot by the fence.

He knew you were coming this time. He could have brought his chainsaw, and if that was too heavy, he could have easily grabbed a hammer or his hook. He could’ve even kept them in his pocket, if he wanted to keep his hands free for the hour long journey.

Instead, he stood weaponless behind a tree, nervous to see you again.

His heartbeat races when he hears footsteps coming from the other side of the fence. He’s finally made up his mind to turn around and leave when you finally spot him. He sees a flash of your smile before forcing his eyes to the dirt.

“Hi, mister,” you say, and just like yesterday, his feet don’t really work. “Sorry if I’m a little late, it’s only ‘cuz I was pulling this out the oven.” He looks over at you and sees the brown basket in your arms, a plaid napkin covering whatever was inside.

Thomas nears you, noticing how your long hair was pulled away from your face into a braid that disappeared behind your back. You wore the same dress, but Thomas liked the way it looked on you. It clung to your chest and loosened around your hips, but the material was thin enough that it stuck to your sweaty legs just slightly.

His attention was forced back to the basket when you put it against his chest. With an empty brain, he grabbed it with both hands from the bottom.

“It’s water pie. My nana used to make it during the Great Depression. Kinda feels like that again nowadays, huh?” you say.

You smile as you say it, but it doesn’t feel like your big smiles, like the kind you gave him when he found your cat, or like how you smiled when you saw him behind the tree.

Thomas opens the napkin to see a still warm pie in the basket, glossy with a mix of white and yellow. He’s never heard of water pie, but Momma didn’t get the chance to make a lot of desserts these days.

He walks to the shady tree, wiping a hand on his apron, and sits heavily with his back to the tree. He has to look over his shoulder to find you, and you’re still standing by the fence.

Annoyed that you’re so far away, he quickly gestures for you to join him.

You give him one of your real big smiles and jump over the fence before sitting next to him, back also to the tree. He watches you take a dull butter knife from the basket and slice the pie up. You look up at him, and he looks down at you.

“Do you eat with that on?” you ask.

Thomas shakes his head. He keeps staring at her.

“Wanna take it off?” you ask next.

Thomas shakes his head again on instinct, but once he stops, he takes another look at the pie. He remembers it being warm still. His head nods once, the movement miniscule like he doesn’t want to admit it.

“I’ll look away if it makes you feel better. Swear I won’t look,” you say. Thomas breathes weird and turns away from her before reaching up to take it off.

You hear the buckles being undone and take it as your cue to turn away from the man.

It’s another hot day today, but you wouldn’t have missed your impromptu visit even if the fields were burning. Sure, the man might be odd, but he was mysterious as all get out and you longed to know more about him. It felt a little bit like you were a school girl again, crushing on a cute boy from your class, but it didn’t matter; you promised him repayment, and you always tried your hardest to make good on your word.

You reach behind yourself blindly for a piece from the basket and accidently brush against his hand.

“Oops, I’m sorry,” you say with a little laugh, eyes trained ahead at the fence.

He takes a piece, then you take the slice next to his.

The filling is sticky and gooey, but it stuck together solid when you picked it up. You eat it slowly, savoring the memories that came with the taste, as well as the gentle breeze that picks up under the leaves.

You debate with yourself for some time about grabbing another slice but, figuring he probably wasn’t looking your way, you reach behind yourself and touch the ceramic pie dish instead. You run your hand in a circle and all you feel are crumbs.

“Well gee, mister, I’d’ve made two if I knew you’d be so hungry!” you said cheerfully, grinning as you brought your finger up to your mouth to lick it clean. It wasn’t exactly true, since you barely had the ingredients for one, but he probably already knew that, the town being in the state that it is. “I’m glad you liked it. An empty pie dish is a great compliment.”

You can hear the buckles of his mask again and keep busy by reaching for the basket behind you, folding the napkin back up. It’s pleasantly quiet before the question that’s been at the tip of your tongue since meeting the man finally springs out.

“What’s your name, mister?” you ask, still not looking at him. He doesn’t respond, and you risk glancing back at him. His mask is on, but he doesn’t look at you. It occurs to you that maybe the guy just can’t talk.

Opening the napkin again, you take out the knife and use the rounded tip to write in the dirt. It’s awkward and it’s none too pretty, but your name is clear enough to read. You look to him with a smile and hold the knife out to him, handle first.

He looks between the knife and your name on the ground before carefully taking it from your hand. You already knew his hands were massive but seeing the difference so plainly before your eyes made you blush. Tearing your gaze away from his appendages, you watch the dirt instead as he spells his name out. He writes it thickly, his muscles gouging out the dirt easily with a dull rounded tip. Thomas.

You glance up at him, and when your eyes meet, it feels like electricity.

“It’s nice to meet you, Thomas,” you say. You don’t expect an answer, but he nods anyways.

The sun was past its peak when you finally stood, brushing off your dress. Thomas met you at the fence after you had jumped over it again, basket swinging on your arm. You asked him if he could meet again tomorrow, promising another dessert.

He told himself to say no. He couldn’t picture hurting you the way he did when he first saw you, but he knew this wouldn’t be any good. He’s not the type to make friends, especially not with pretty ladies. It must be his heart controlling his neck muscles because he nodded instead. At least he got to see that smile again.

And so, he met with you again. And then again the day after. Then even the day after that one.

It was only a matter of time before his uncles and Momma realize he’s been out of the house for most of the day, but only Charlie says something about it during their family dinner. He’s loud in Thomas’ ear, and Thomas keeps his head down avoid looking at him. It makes him feel better to call him Charlie in his head. Not Hoyt. Just stupid drunk Charlie.

“You better focus on your work, boy,” Charlie threatens, steak knife pointing at him from across the table.

Thomas goes down to meet you the next day, anyways.

“Hi, Tommy,” you chirp happily, straddling the fence before hopping onto the other side. Thomas liked that you started calling him that, but he doesn’t let himself show it.

He rubs his hands on his apron to get the nerves out of his system and gives a little wave with his first free hand. You don’t have a basket today, but Thomas doesn’t mind. He’s just glad to see you.

“How’s your day treating you so far?” you ask, like you always do. Thomas shrugs, like he always does too. “Peanut misses you, I think. She wants to come with me, but always stops on the porch.”

Thomas thinks about the orange cat again. He wants to tell her that it probably just misses you, since it had been glaring at Thomas from your arms that day. Instead, he just tilts his head at you, not knowing how to gesture all that with his arms.

It’s easy to listen to you. Even when you leave open ended questions, you don’t make Thomas feel pressured to respond. He’d long since given up on pantomiming since he was a teenager, but people still annoyingly waited for his responses. You talked to him like he was an adult, and you never complained about having to deal with him.

You’re talking now, something about Peanut pushing things off counters, and all Thomas can feel is gladness. It’s been a long time since he felt it so strongly, so innocently. He kind of feels like a little kid again, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you under the shady tree in the summertime.

When he touches your hand, you cut yourself off and look up at him. It startles him a little bit, because he realizes that he had nothing he really wanted to tell you. He just wanted to touch you.

“You doing okay?” you ask him, putting your other hand on top of his. Thomas looks down at your hands and nods. He’s doing better than okay. He wants to keep feeling your soft skin on his hand.

“You sure? Looks like somethings on your mind,” you say, sounding sorry. Thomas struggles with how to tell you, which he’s sure you notice. He suddenly takes your hand in his and flips it so that your palm is facing up and your smooth delicate wrist is visible. With his calloused dirty finger, he starts to spell.

“What are you doing?” you say, standing a little straighter and watching how he made the same shape again and again. “Are you… is that a K?”

Thomas nods quickly, looking at you for a split second before focusing down again and drawing a straight line.

“That’s an I. K-I…” you look at him attentively as he gathers his courage. He writes the next two letters quickly in succession. He does it once more before you look up at him, your pretty eyes wide and shinning. “S-S. Kiss.”

Thomas is sure his face is flushed, but he nods. There’s no backing out of it now.

“Oh, Tommy,” you say, and your confusion melts into a smile. “Of course, I’ll kiss you.”

He’s still hunched over from writing on your arm, so the hand you put on his cheek doesn’t have to work much to guide him towards your lips. You’re ready to lean in when your lip brushes against his mask. You laugh softly, running your hand down from his hair to stroke along his covered cheek.

“Can you take this off?” you ask softly.

Thomas shakes his head quickly, covering your hand with his as if you might try to rip it off of him anyways. He knows you wouldn’t, but he can’t think about risking it. Not when you’re so close.

You bite your lip as you think. His own lips move under the mask, imaging what it would be like to touch yours with his. He wishes he was normal. He wishes he had one of his real masks on.

You guide him down lower and tilt your face higher up, and Thomas can feel your lips on his forehead. His eyes close instinctually. He trusts you.

You kiss the spot between his eyebrows next, and he sighs shakily. His hands move your waist, holding you gently.

Then, you kiss the bridge of his nose, and your bottom lips must brush against the edge of his mask. His stomach turns at himself, but he pushes the feeling away.

Your lips follow along the edge of the mask, kissing on the little bit of skin showing under his left eye. When you kiss his temple, your hand moves to cup the back of his head and he shudders.

“I hope you’ll trust me enough, one day,” you say softly, and he practically bends in half to hide his face in your neck. He doesn’t cry, but his throat feels tight like he might. He swallows it all back. He shakes his head softly in the crook of your shoulder, wishing he could correct you. He would bare himself to you completely today if he didn’t think you would run screaming. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to handle that.

Your hands are a soft but persistent pressure on his shoulders. When he straightens up again, he looks down at you.

You lean up suddenly, lip slotting against his mask. Your top lip brushes between his. You taste like sugar and summer air. The kiss is done quickly, but Thomas can’t open his eyes yet. He licks his lips where yours just touched him and commits the taste to memory.

“You still in there?” you ask after a long moment, and Thomas opens his eyes to see you smiling playfully at him.

Thomas smiles when he nods, and stops nodding when you lean in to kiss him again.

He’s never felt so light in his life, having said goodbye to you at the fence after another hour of listening. You even kissed him goodbye, lips touching briefly through the mask as you stood on opposite sides of the fence.

Thomas promised you tomorrow, nodding at your request to see each other again.

His good mood lasts until he gets close enough to the house to hear shouting. He sees Charlie flailing his arms like a mad man by the back of the house, yelling Thomas’s name.

“Where in the ever-loving fuck have you been?” he shouted by the garage, spit flying. Thomas hurried his gait as he neared them. Charlie was bleeding from a wound on his forehead. He steeled himself for what the furious man would sling at him next. “I’ve been screaming for you for the past fucking two hours. Jesus fucking Christ, Thomas! You know, I defend you when people call you names, but maybe you are slow. Just how fucking gone are you up there, huh?!”

Thomas glares at the dirt, imagines pushing his thumbs into Charlie’s eyes until he can’t scream anymore.

“I can’t even look at you, you fucking disappointment. I brought home two stupid as fuck tree-humpers for you, and this is how you repay me? Look at what they did to me. Look!” he grabs Thomas’ apron and shakes him, and Charlie makes him look at the cut on his head. It’s nothing, Thomas has seen him give himself worse when he’s drunk.

“Go get your toy and mow those fuckers down. They’re not getting far, not after what I done to one of them,” he mutters, looking down the dirt road where Thomas can see the distant figures of two limping people. Sighing, Thomas takes off after them, grabbing a hammer from one of the junk piles by the garage.

He didn’t think about you until well into the early morning. He is taking a break from his work, sitting outside while the rest of the family slept in their bedrooms. Blood coated his apron, and he sat on the wide porch with a heavy sigh. He thought about you, wondered how someone so nice could ever want somebody like him.

Thomas was not stupid. He knew murdering people was wrong, just like he knew he was wrong for liking it so much. And he knew he was wrong for liking you.

Rubbing his new face with both hands, he hauled himself up to walk back to the basement. He readjusted the eyeholes as he walked – he had made them too small this time. He’d have to fix that before he did anything else.

Thomas is only one step away from the trees when Charlie hollers his name from the back porch. Thomas sets his jaw and looks over his shoulder to see his uncle gesturing and shouting at him. He can’t make sense of what he’s saying, and he doesn’t really care to. He doesn’t let up, though, so Thomas forces himself to turn back around and trudge back to the house.

He stands in front of Charlie silently.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demands. Thomas has no way of answering, even if he wanted to. His arms cross thickly over his chest instead.

Charlie glowers at him, and Thomas’ stare is just as dark.

“You listen to me, boy. Now, I’m sorry for what I said yesterday, but I think I had good reason to be cross with you. Your family needs you here, Thomas. We need you to keep us safe. What if something happened to your momma?”

Thomas’ eyes glance at the house, where he knew his momma was resting comfortably. Still, the thought unnerved him. Looking back at Charlie, he sees the self-satisfied look on his face, like he knows he won.

“Be a good guard dog and guard the fucking house. Please.”

Thomas’ jaw tightened. He thought about you, walking from your home to see him. Thought about what you might’ve brought, although he wouldn’t care either way as long as you were there. But Charlie had a point. What if Charlie brought guests and they tried to hurt one of them? What if they hurt Momma?

A frustrated noise left his throat and he stomped away from Charlie back to his basement. He couldn’t think straight. The damn sun shined too brightly, and it made his head hurt. Slamming the door to the basement shut, he welcomes the darkness and sets his sights on his unfinished projects.

He only rises from his basement when the sun starts to set. A walk through the house tells Thomas he’s alone, the other members dispersing to be on their own too.

He’d been sad, passing the time while thinking about you getting stood up. Sadness in his chest, he walked to the fence anyways. He might feel better if he could just look at it and imagine how you look in your pretty dress.

At the end of his trek, he freezes as he passes the last low hanging branch. There you are, laying unconscious by the oak tree. He rushes to your side and hesitates helplessly before kneeling next to you. He holds onto your shoulders and tries to shake you awake, harsher and harsher as you don’t wake up. He’s beginning to panic when you suddenly open your eyes with a gasp. You stare up at Thomas with wide eyes. They shine in the white Texan moonlight.

“Thomas?” you whisper.

“What time is it?”  You sit up and Thomas stays next to you, arms awkwardly hovering around you like you might fall asleep again. He’s breathing hard like he’s been running. “Is it nighttime already?”

Thomas nods, sighing finally once he catches his breath. Head low, he touches your arm and drags his hand down past your elbow to catch your hand. His brows are drawn, and despite his size, he seems to shrink as he clutches you like something delicate that might blow out of his hold.

He looks up when you touch his chin, gently guiding him to meet your eye.

“You okay? Did something happen?” you ask him. Thomas just shakes his head, squeezing your hand in his. He carefully turns your arm over, revealing your wrist. There, he writes down four letters. S-O-R-Y.

“Sorry? Oh, bubba, you don’t have to be sorry,” you murmur, smiling at him. “I needed a little nap, anyways. C’mere.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him in for a little hug. He melts into you, forehead pressed against the crook of your neck.

“Sweet boy,” you murmur, hand rubbing down his spine. “It’s okay. You’re alright.”

“I should start on back,” you say after a few silent moments, your hand still rubbing comforting circles on his back. Thomas stiffens and pulls away, and he won’t meet your gaze. You don’t want to part from him tonight, you realize.

When he glances at you, you’re biting your lip.

“Unless you know somewhere we can spend the night?” you suggest softly. Thomas’s face is blank as he thinks about it, but he soon stands up and holds a hand out for you. You take it and he hauls you up, leading the way through the trees. You like how he holds your hand, all encompassing and pleasantly warm in the breezy night air.

He brings you to a barn, standing alone in an empty field. It looks out of use, but bales of hay still line some of the walls, as well as some common tools for the land. You don’t bother looking around too much – you only have eyes for your Tommy. He stands in the barn, looking around for the best spot to lay down. You know it’s wherever he is, his wide chest looks like it’ll be a softer pillow than what you have at home.

“Tommy, c’mere,” you say, finding a bed of dry hay that looks cleaner than the rest. You sit down first, laying back in the rustling fodder. Your eyes meet his as you stretch your arms above your head.

Thomas stands above you. His eyes are dark.

“Lay down with me,” you speak softly. Thomas glances out the open barn doors for a moment before giving up on whatever battle was going on through his mind. You watch him unfasten his dirty apron and hang it off one of the half stables beside them. He lays down beside you, his heavy weight making the pile unsteady. You fall into him with a little laugh, a steadying hand on his chest.

“Oops,” you say with a little smile. You’re surprised to see Thomas return it. He has such a handsome smile; you wish he would smile more for you.

Leaning up, you kiss him through his mask, hands coming up to hold his face.

He exhales heavily, it almost sounds like a moan. He tries to kiss you back, but it’s impossible through the thick leather. Sighing  softly, you kiss his temple and forehead instead, trying not to seem too frantic. It’s difficult, though, as you feel your body make you aware just how badly its craving Thomas.

“Please, Tommy. Please. I wanna kiss you. Please take it off,” you whisper, lips brushing against his tanned skin.

Thomas goes stiff hearing his pleas and pulls away. You watch him go with a pout. He turns away from you slightly.

“Thomas,” you say softly. He turns away further. Sighing quietly, you touch his shoulder. “Tommy. You know it don’t matter to me how you look. Not one bit. I’m always gonna think you’re my handsome guy.”

Thomas shakes his head, but you don’t give up. Kneeling, you hug him from behind, arms wrapping up to his shoulders from underneath his arms.

“I mean it, Tommy.” You put your forehead on his warm back. “I would never think bad about you. Hell, you could kill someone and I’d find a way to defend you,” you say with a little teasing smile. You feel Thomas put his hand on your forearm, gentle and unmoving.

“I could keep my eyes closed,” you suggest quietly. Thomas turns at that and looks at you with imploring eyes. You smile at him, small and secret, and free an arm to cup his cheek. You kiss the bridge of his nose just above his mask before pulling away.

You sit up and turn away from him partially, eyes closing and hands coming up to cover your eyes. “Ok, Tommy. I’m ready.”

In the dark, you rely on sounds. It’s quiet for a moment, and then you hear the buckle of the mask being undone. You exhale shakily, your heart beating near out of your chest. He must have set it down on the ground beside them because you can feel his hands on you, one on your elbow and the other covering your hands just over your eyes.

You’ve never really been described as small, but you feel it next to him. Even without vision, his presence alone towers over you. It should be intimidating, but it only makes you feel safe.

Your lips part and you drop your hands, letting Thomas touch your face directly. It’s even better since you can now put your hands around his back and hold him close.

Despite his size, he kisses you timidly, like he’s shy you’ll shatter into pieces with too much force applied. His touch is so gentle, even as he crowds you. You kiss him back passionately, encouraging him silently with your enthusiasm. You suddenly long to be naked in front of him, to let him blindfold you and use you however he needs. You know he’d be careful with you if this is how he kisses.

“Tommy,” you murmur between kisses, hands fisting in his shirt. “Tommy, I think I love you.”

Thomas can’t answer you, but he kisses you again and again like he’s saying the same.

Weeks pass. The summer turns into autumn, but the heat doesn’t go anywhere. Thomas can’t meet every day, but he wishes he could. Tourists come by from time to time, and everyone in the family does their part to make ends meet.

You’re all alone out here, he knows from your late-night talks. On evenings where neither of you had anything to do the next morning, you and Thomas would walk together to the barn. You always clung to his arm once the building was in sight, glancing up at him from time to time with your shiny eyes. He’s pretty sure you were both a little nervous everytime, but it was a good kind of nervous. He didn’t know there could be a good kind until he met you.

Thomas holds you on the hay pile, more comfortable now with a blanket you brought from home thrown over the mound. You’re naked, and Thomas likes your soft cool skin against his own. Although you’re both covered in sweat, the night is cool and comfortable, and Thomas likes the way you rub your hand slowly across his chest.

When your stomach growls, Thomas glances at you.

“Sorry,” you say. You smile, but it looks sad. “Just hungry. It’s been hard finding stuff to eat with the town being empty.” He knows the feeling well.

He takes your arm from where it’s resting on his stomach and gently twists your wrist towards himself. H-O-M-E, he spells.

“Mine?” you ask softly, head cocking to the side.

Thomas shakes his head and points to himself.

“Yours? What about it?” you ask softly, looking up from your wrist.

F-O-O-D, he spells next. Your eyes go wide.

“Oh, Tommy. You’re too kind to me,” you say softly, and Tommy lets go of your arm so that you can hug him.

His arms instinctually go around your waist, holding you close. He wants to tell you that he’s not just being kind. He would give everything he owns to you if what he owned was worth giving. He kicks himself mentally for not thinking about getting you some food sooner, though.

“Can we go tomorrow?” you ask. He wants to bring you there today, but there won’t be any food this late. He nods, hands running down your back slowly. He can feel his rough callouses catch on your smooth skin, but you don’t flinch or move away. You never have from him. He wants you, more than he wants to butcher, more than he wants to help his family.

“I should go home,” you say. The sky is dark, but the moon is large and bright in the sky, like the sun. Thomas shakes his head.

“No?” you say, laughing a little bit. You lean back and cup his cheeks over his mask. When you smile down at him, he imagines the touch of your lips against his own. On your back, he draws four letters, S-T-A-Y.

“All night?” you ask, pushing some hair off his forehead.

He nods, eyes stuck to your lips, so close but impossible to reach in that moment.

“Won’t your family be looking for you?” you wonder. You rub your thumb along his eyebrow, soothing him into shutting his eyes.

Thomas shakes his head slightly at the question, not wanting to knock your hands off him. He’s sure Charlie will be mad, but he doesn’t care. How could he when he has you in his arms.

“In that case,” you start, moving your legs apart to straddle his hips, “I suppose I’ve got you all to myself.” Thomas watches you closely as you run your hands down his chest and past his stomach, settling just above his open belt. Neither of you get very much sleep that night.

In the morning, he takes you by the hand as he leads you through the front door. The house is quiet despite its size, which makes it seem like it should be teeming with activity and sound. The outside is grey and dusty, same as the front foyer where you stand beside Thomas. You glance around, giving him a nervous smile when you finally hear footsteps coming from the other room.

“Thomas Hewitt, where have you been all night! You had us worried sick!” an older lady says, coming through the doorway. She’s short and plump, with tendrils of her grey hair framing her face, and her glasses make her look like a schoolteacher. She stops when she sees you, clearly surprised. “Oh! You brought company!”

You smile at her, stepping forward as she comes to meet you. She grins at you and takes your hands in her own.

“Hi, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you,” you say, introducing yourself with your name.

“Oh, the manners on this one! Usually, our guests are a little more ornery!” she says to Thomas, laughing. You don’t understand what she means, but you smile graciously as she tries to lead you back to the room she was in. You start to follow her, but stumble against Thomas as he blocks your way. He shakes his head at her.

“No?” the lady questions. She looks confused, but Thomas shakes his head again. He takes your hands from her, and then you feel his arm around your shoulder, keeping you at his side. “Thomas? What on earth is going on with you?”

You’re just as confused, but you don’t want to get in between a family dispute. You look up at Thomas, waiting to see what he does next.

“Is she why you didn’t come home last night?” the woman asks. A cold sweat blooms on the back of your neck with her face falls completely, turning into a blank mask. You’ve only just met her, but you can hardly recognize her from the woman that took your hands.

“I’m Thomas’ girlfriend,” you say, your voice smaller than you intended. You try to clear your throat politely. “I care about him very much, ma’am.”

You gasp when the woman turns on you, her finger pointed at your face as she snaps, “I don’t know how you tricked my son into falling for your tricks, you whore! Hoyt!” Thomas grunts, and the noise startles you – you’ve never heard the man make a sound louder than a labored breath before. Thomas pushes you behind his back and away from who must be his mother.

“No, I’m not a whore,” you say, but your voice is so meek under her disapproving stare. You clutch onto Thomas’ arm, and you can feel his tense muscles.

Someone stomps down the stairs then, an older man in a sheriff’s uniform. Seeing the pistol on his belt, you start to shake.

“And who do we have here?” the man drawls – Hoyt, your mind supplies,

Thomas shakes his head vigorously and stands in front of you completely now, shielding you from his mother and the Sheriff.

“She says she’s Tommy’s girlfriend!” his mother cries, as if she was grieving. The man barks a laugh at that, loud and unbelieving.

“A girlfriend, Tommy! That’s where you’ve been running off to all these weeks! How much he owe you, trollop? Because he ain’t got no money to give,” the man mocks meanly, guffawing as he tries to walk around Thomas to get a better look. You shrink behind Thomas as he does his best to keep you hidden away. “Bet you found her trying to hitch a ride off the highway.”

“I lived in this town my whole life, sir. I swear I’m no hussy,” you say, voice weak and muffled against Thomas’s back.

“Oh, yeah? That mean you two are in love or something?” he says, managing to grab your forearm and pull you out from behind Thomas. You shout in pain as you’re pulled between the two men, causing Thomas to let go of you. Without your shield, you’re faced with the old man and his drunk breath. You cringe away from him when he leans into you, inspecting you like you’re just a thing.

“Just get her out of here,” Thomas’ mother mourns.

“I ain’t no hussy!” you sob, eyes closed as tears start to escape your lashes. The old man laughs in your face, and he shakes you with his grip on your arm.

“Hear that, Momma? She ain’t no hussy! So, you sleep with Tommy for free?”

“I love him,” you sob, face crumpling as you feel yourself finally break. You wish you understood what you did wrong by these people. Thomas tries to break you and Hoyt apart, but the man shoves him away despite being smaller than him.

“Love? You love him?” Hoyt almost screams with laughter. “Does she even know what you do, Tommy? She ever see you without that mask on?

“Why don’t you go ahead and take it off? Take it off, Thomas! Shouldn’t your girlfriend know what you look like?” he turns you in his arms, forcing you to face Thomas. Your heartbreaks for him, and you see Thomas duck his head down low, arms bent by his stomach as he anxiously fidgets his hands.

“Stop it, leave him alone!” you sob, trying to wrench yourself out of the man’s hold.

“Why? Don’t you wanna see what he looks like? Pretty thing like you should have a handsome boyfriend to go along with it, huh?” Desperate, you look behind you to see Thomas’s mother watching the scene unfold with a handkerchief under her nose. You cry out when the man shakes you again, his grip unforgiving for such an old man.

“You know what? Why don’t we give your girlfriend here a tour, huh Tommy? What do you say?” Hoyt asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer when he starts to drag you out through the front door and down the porch steps.

You stumble down them, almost falling out of the man’s arms, but he forces you upright again before going around to the back of the house. Thomas follows you both, and you can see the frantic way he tries to grab for you but hesitates. Even now, you know your sweet Tommy is afraid to hurt you, but you wish he would rip you out from Hoyt’s grip and stand up for himself.

At the cellar door, Hoyt lets go of one arm to push open the wooden door. You can’t see beyond where the sunlight hits the steps.

“Don’t be shy. Go see,” Hoyt says, before you’re pushed down the steps. You shout as you fall, managing to cover your head with your hands, but your body throbs in pain once you land on the cold concrete below.

You weep at his cruelty, curling in on yourself to hide away from the next blow. Instead, you can hear Thomas’s heavy footsteps down the wooden steps. His thick arms wrap around you, and he holds you tightly to his chest.

“Tommy,” you sob, pushing your face into his chest.

“Tell her, Tommy! Tell her what you do! Share your family pride!” Charlie shouts, laughing at them.

“That’s enough,” Luda Mae says quietly from somewhere behind him.

“Show her who you really are, boy, then see if she loves you,” Charlie says. Then he slams the door to the basement shut, leaving them both in darkness.

“Tommy,” you whimper through your tears, starting to lift your head out from his chest. You’re stopped by Thomas’s large hand cupping the back of your head, keeping you close. You can’t see the room, but it smells like blood and rot, and it makes your stomach churn.

You don’t ask him because he won’t be able to explain anyways. Hoyt’s words echo in your mind, and even if it makes no sense, you can understand that something is wrong here. But Thomas holds you and rocks you like a child until you have no more tears to give.

You wake up when the setting sun turns the sky orange. You rub your eyes and sit up, suddenly aware that you’re in an unfamiliar place. No one is around. Looking around the room, you see it’s a simple bedroom, with threadbare sheets. The only furniture besides your bed is a nightstand and a dresser with a missing drawer.

“Tommy?” you say out loud, but you don’t hear anything in response. You stand up and go downstairs, realizing as you enter the foyer that you’re still at Thomas’s house.

In the kitchen is the same woman from before.

“Oh, hi, darling. I figured you’d wake up soon. I realize I never introduced myself. I’m Tommy’s momma,” she says, like she wasn’t accusing you of something terrible earlier in the day. You smile weakly at her. You want to ask where Tommy is. You want to go home.

“Why don’t you sit down? You missed supper but I’ve got some leftovers still on the stove.”

You hesitate, but finally make your way to the kitchen table. Your stomach growls at the promise of food as you sit.

“Thank you,” you say. “I’m sorry for before.”

“Nonsense. I don’t think any of us understood how much you meant to our Tommy.”

You smile and start to eat when she puts the bowl in front of you.

“Where is Tommy?” you ask, looking up at her.

“Working,” she sighs, smiling at you. “We had guests come by in the afternoon.”

“Like a bed and breakfast?” you ask naively. She laughs at you, right to your face.

“You’re a funny one, girl. I see why Thomas likes you. Pretty and with a good sense of humor.”

You smile, laughing shakily as you eat some of the stew. You can’t tell if it’s pork, beef, or rabbit.

“I want to see Tommy. Where can I find him?” you try again.

“He’s working, sweetheart. He made it very clear he don’t want you in the basement anymore.”

Flashes of the basement make you dizzy, and you shake your head.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, dropping your spoon in the bowl and holding your face with both hands.

She sighs gently and puts her hand on top of your head. She rubs your hair flat gingerly.

“Oh, baby. You are home. Everything’s gonna be alright now. You’ve got us to take care of you.” She lets go of you and gets back to her work from before you came down. “You just let Tommy blow off some steam first. He and Hoyt got into a little fight after he brought you to bed. Nothing for you to worry about.”

You swallow thickly as you look around the grey kitchen. You wonder what kind of work Thomas could be doing in that basement with his guests. You look at the bowl of food in front of you.

You’re so hungry.

© slicznymartwy 2023, please do not repost or copy.

[antiquatedplumbobs]

Spring 1916

Joe's grand plan for a full service automotive service station in Brindleton Bay cleared a large hurdle in the Spring of 1916 with the securement of a sizeable investment from a certain Walter Fernald (heir of THE Fernald shipping fortune), who summered at the Cavalier Hotel every year. The sharp rise of excitement Will felt was mirrored by the swoop of dismay as he realized there really was nothing else for it: he had to tell his father.

It wasn't until after the evening milking that Will got the nerve to broach the subject. Twilight had descended on the farm, muting the verdant green of the grass poking up in the pasture. A soft breeze was rustling the newly unfurled birch and maple leaves. The air carried with it that particular spring quality of hopefulness and new beginnings; an aura that Will ��� nervous as he was �� was rather oblivious to. He'd spent the day worrying over what to say, how to tell Hamish this huge news. The perfect words had been elusive, so what came out when he finally got the nerve to speak was terse, if not to the point.  

"Joe's offered me a job as a mechanic. I'm going to take it." Will felt an immense weight list from his shoulders as the words left his lips. His concern over his father's approval was still there, but it no longer ruled him; it was as if speaking it aloud had freed him. 

Hamish, who had been washing his hands at the pump, jerked at the statement, splashing water over himself. 

"Christ, Will, not one for a gentle breaking of news are you, son?" Hamish cursed under his breath as he removed his now soaked overcoat, leaving only his shirtsleeves. "He's expanding I suppose? I'd figured he might with how many autos there are on the roads these days." He sighed, and fished in his pocket for the slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes he always had there. Happy that they were dry enough he shook one out and busied himself with the business of lighting it.   

"I didn't know you wanted to leave, Will." While the words were spoken softly, they may as well have been shouted for the impact they had upon Will. He looked down, gripping the fence rail hard enough to hurt, not wanting to see the disappointment in his father's eyes. He was surprised when a work-worn hand appeared, offering a cigarette. He looked up to see his father's eyes did not hold disappointment, but some other inscrutable emotion. Will accepted silently, and his father equally silently held up the lighter to him before turning to look over the fields. 

"I don't think I ever really told you why I bought this farm, son." Will stayed silent, not wanting to ruin the moment. Hamish loved his son, but he was a taciturn man and had never been quick to share his feelings. Will sensed the story he had to tell was more than the simple one relayed to small children at their father's knee; that his father was offering Will a side of himself he had not seen before.

"My father was an exacting man to work for, you might not believe that 'cause he mellowed out with age a bit, but when I was young everything had to be done exactly how he wanted or there would be trouble. There was all this literature on new farming techniques, ways to increase yields, and I'd show it to him but he never wanted to hear it, never even let me try it on my own." Will thought he heard the ghost of the anger his father had held as a young man in those words.

"So I bought this place." He said it matter of factly. "If he wasn't going to let me do anything my way, I didn't see the point in working with him. Old Mr. Sable had always liked me, I'd help him out sometimes when I had extra time. After his wife died he just wanted to get rid of anything that reminded him of her, the farm included. He sold it to me for a steal really," Hamish said looking around at the farm; the buildings so lovingly maintained and improved by a quarter of a century of his father's hard work. 

"This is a good opportunity," Hamish said, abruptly switching the conversation back to the present. "I'm glad for you." He clapped Will on the shoulder. "Now I think your mother will be wondering why we've let her get her supper go cold while we stood out here." Will looked up to see his mother standing in the open kitchen door and grinned. 

"Well, now," Hamish said thoughtfully as he smiled up at Will's mother. "Meeting your mother was the real push to make my own move, has Ms. Parr been influencing this decision at all?"

Will started at the question, asked in a jovial, almost conspiratorial tone. As if his father was sure he knew the answer but only wanted to tease Will. The truth was, Will hadn't thought about Clara at all when making this decision.

His mother's impatient call to come to dinner saved Will from having to answer the question that should have had an easy answer to. As he sat down at the laden table in the warm, cozy kitchen and his father leaned down with a small smile to kiss his mother's cheek, he was gripped intensely by the desire to have something like this for himself. He found himself imagining a smaller kitchen, the table set for two, and the arms of his wife to welcome him home.

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

next / previous / first

[nix-writes-mcyt]

Reunited

Oneshot Tango x Reader Contains: Fluff -----------------------

With a sigh, you rise from your seated position, checking the clock again. 10.03am. Mornings are long these days, and not just because it's summer.

No, that's how it would be anyway. But these mornings drag even more. These mornings are unusually quiet and uneventful. You have no Tango to make them anything else.

He's been gone for so long now. At this point, you've lost track of the weeks, but it's got to be nearing three months now. Perhaps that's passed already.

At first, you kept going as per usual, seeing hermits you'd normally see, getting in on the community projects. Lately you just haven't had the motivation. You've not even ventured outside your base.

You spend much of your time in the cottage you built for Tango and you at the beginning of the season. You've added a few things to the grounds outside since Tango has been gone, but nothing major. You don't want to remove all the Tango from this space.

It's safe to say you miss him. No one can doubt that.

You glance out of the window as you walk past, the giant silhouette of Deep Frost Citadel no longer intimidating. At this point it only brings you sorrow.

You've spent many an hour staring from various windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the one you love. Hoping he will come home at last. Sometimes you think you see something moving in the distance, but who knows? Maybe you're too far away to tell.

Your communicator beeps quietly in your pocket, it's not an uncommon occurance but it doesn't happen often still. Every now and then someone will check up on you, see if you're okay since you're not venturing out as much any more. That's what you expect this message will be too.

You're pleasantly surprised when it isn't. When the message reads - <Xisuma> I'll be 5 minutes, be ready to leave. Or else ^.^

The threat and uncharacteristically cute face give you mixed messages, but you decide you'd rather be safe than sorry. X isn't very threatening, sure, but while you don't think he'd hurt a fly you've never seen him in that situation to be sure.

So you move away from the window and go sort yourself out for company.

Before you know it there is a pounding at the door, you find yourself pulling on your footwear and trying not to smack your face into the wall as you rush to silence the knocking.

Xisuma looks unimpressed, or so you think behind the mask anyway, pulling you out of the house.

"We'll I'm at least glad I didn't have to drag you out of the house." He says, the slightest hint of amusement in his voice. The emphasis on the word 'you' seems strange, but you decide not to question it.

Xisuma gives you some coordinates, just in case, but tells you to just follow him and it'll be easier. He shoots off into the sky, making flying look easy.

You've not flown in some time. While there is some muscle memory it's certainly rough going. You're a little all over the place for the first five minutes, but you settle back into it fast enough.

The landing isn't particularly smooth, not at all. You almost go flat on your face, but manage to save it last minute and roll.

Xisuma helps you up, not uttering a word or any kind of an expression. Once you're on your feet he immediately sets off walking.

You follow behind him as best you can, relying on the small path. Here the trees are thick, the spruce forest pretty dense. It's beautiful though, the dark green of the leaves glowing from the sunlight above. Moss covers most of the podzol, small white flowers managing to grow over the layer of green.

You haven't been walking for long when Xisuma comes fully back into sight, a clearing up ahead.

Here you're able to see the sky once again, but that's not the most impressive feature. There is grass here, mixed with the moss, on it grows many many flowers of all different colours.

Hidden in the tree line you spot a small building, but see no door for it. Not that it seems you'll be going over there.

X pulls out a picnic blanket, laying it in the center of the clearing. "Care to sit?" He suggests, nodding in approval when you take a seat on the blanket.

Then Xisuma leaves without a word, moving towards the small building. You think of asking him what he's doing but decide not to. That's a man that works in mysterious ways.

Being alone again makes you miss home. You haven't left in so long, not that it isn't nice to, it's just who knows how far you are from Tango.

You can feel the sadness that comes with that thought rising in you. Xisuma disappears and you sigh deeply, choosing to focus on the trees just past the building.

This keeps you occupied until Xisuma reappears. Not that he really looks like himself, the helmet and armour is gone or covered up by long, black robes lined with blue. His eyes glow frosty in the darkness cast by his hood.

This isn't Xisuma at all. This is "Tango?"

"The one and only, my love." He takes a seat in front of you, taking down his hood. His hair is a mess, you can see the dark circles that have formed under his eyes. He looks paler now than he ever has. But it is, unmistakably, Tango.

You forget any sadness, any anger that you haven't seen him sooner. All you feel is happiness in this moment. Especially as he shuffles and pulls you into his side for a hug.

  "I'm sorry it's taken so long to do this. I lost track of time in the dungeon." His voice is sincere, you know he's not lying. You had also lost track of the time in your own home waiting for his return.

"I would have waited forever to see you again." You say in return. Your eyes meet Tango's, his expression is still sad.

"I know you would, as I would for you. But let's be honest, all this time apart hasn't done either of us very good." You nod in agreement. It's not like he's wrong.

The time apart has done a number on you both, it seems silly when you look at it in hindsight. All the problems being apart for so long has caused. You can't change that now, but Tango speaking once again fills you with hope.

"I'm coming home. Every night. No excuses. I even got a Bdubs Offical.' Tango smiles now, a smile you've missed dearly. He waves the clock around, taking the time to point out the Bdubs signature on the back.

You wrap your arms around him, the joy you feel taking over your entire body. Tango holds you just as tight, as if to say he wasn't going to let go again.

You make a mental note to thank Xisuma for bringing you here, for just generally being there for you. It's good to have friends that care about you. It's good to have Tango back If he belongs.

[theprettieststarfr]

GUYS PLEASE READ THIS AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK

So I genuinely refuse to believe that considering the size of Hogwarts there was never a mention of a huge green field, only the lake. Like you know, fields like ones they have in the UK with cows and shit. BUT NO COWS THIS TIME. Imagine there is a huge field with wildflowers, like chamomile and poppies and other stuff and it's just so unbelievably green when May rolls around and throughout June as well, and some time after the field gets green like that it also blooms.

So, now that you've imagined it, imagine four 11 year old boys running around, playing tag in that field, screaming, laughing and falling down, out of breath, on the grass together to look up at the clouds. And when exams/tests are over, they sit on the field, which smells MAGNIFICENT by the way, just like proper summer, with all the flowers on it, and watch the summer sunset.

Second year, Peter gets bitten by a bee and becomes so goddamn scared of the field in the summer because of the bees that he absolutely refuses to play in there with his friends. And because MARAUDERS WERE EQUAL IN EACH OTHER'S EYES they spent so many break times researching the best insect repellent spells with the help of Professor Sprout, that they came up with a solution in less than a month and they were finally able to go to the field altogether.

Sometime then they were also joined by Lily, Mary, Marlene and such, who preferred picnics to playing tag, but weren't against watching the sunset as well.

Around the fifth year the Marauders would notice that Pandora, Regulus, Dorcas, Barty and Evan sat a little further away on the field. Pandora made flower crowns, Regulus read, Barty and Evan bickered, though it was never serious, and Dorcas composed or covered songs on her guitar. And since James is the little ray of sunshine that he is, he RUNS up to Pandora begging her to teach him how to make flower crowns, to which she happily agrees. Remus then finds the book Regulus is reading very interesting, Sirius is itching to put his opinion into rosekiller's argument because of course he knows better - it's clotted cream AND THEN jam on a scone, and Peter actually has a very clear, soothing soprano, which compliments Dorcas's alto and they start singing together. They sometimes hang out together after that.

Sixth year - James and Pandora are teaching everyone to make flower crowns and somehow, after the flowers have been picked, they grow right back, like nothing happened. Sirius gives his first flower crown to Minerva, most pretty (in his opinion) flower crown to Regulus, after a fight, after which Regulus, surprisingly, forgives him, which he does not want to admit, and all of his other ones to his Moony, because "he deserves all the flowers in this world". Remus grumbles a little about waste of flowers, but secretly preserves all of them in his books and keeps them. They no longer play tag in the field, for quite a few years now, but instead just frolic and dance whenever. Lily and Marlene sometimes act like those Zumba instructors and show moves to all the others, while Mary picks out the most danceable ABBA songs, getting a complaint from Sirius, who secretly doesn't really mind a bit of disco. They are sometimes joined by others, like Frank, Alice and Emmeline and they all have a huge dance off and OF COURSE it's either James or Lily who win most of the times and the classically trained Black brothers finally stop associating dancing with their parents and harsh etiquette training.

Last day of the last year, they all come out on the field one last time. To play tag. Like it all started. Running around it without one care in the world, then again, falling down on the field together. They then quietly talk about what they think the future will be like for them, agreeing on the thought that it will all work out eventually. Then they each make A LOT of flower crowns to exchange with every single person there. Barty then charms all the crowns to "speak". Basically, by touching a flower on the flower crown you can hear the voice of the person who made it and that date that they made it on, or whatever they want to say: "I'm Sirius Black, and I made this flower crown for Marlene on dd/mm/yyyy. DAZZLE ON MARLS" or smn like that. When asked how Barty came up with this, he answered, that he didn't wanna sort through his condoms every time he needed them in order to find out which one is strawberry flavoured, so he would just touch it and know which is which 😭😭😭

After that they actually hug. All of them. During the sunset. And it's the most wholesome thing.

And then they stay on the field until dawn getting drunk and doing something dumb and fun.

THAT'S IT YOU GUYS I REALLY LIKE THIS THOUGHT

Oh, also, if you wanna go more canonical (god no please no), then the year before Remus comes back to Hogwarts to teach, they remove the field to build more greenhouses, since more plants are coming in due to globalization and shit. And only Luna notices, crying silently at all the flowers that are gone.

And when Remus comes back, the first thing he notices is that the field is gone. Without a trace. Dead. Just like all of his friends. But not the memories he made. Probably would be better if they were dead too, because they hurt him even more, than he thought was possible.

[pavstars]

jotaro x reader (ft. itty bitty jolyne)

[ crossposted on ao3 @ sinnerspades ]

author’s note: pav strikes again! hopefully jotaro isn’t too ooc, it’s weird writing him so soft but auggghhh papa jotaro.... my heart...give me summer now!!!! 

-

    Thinking about summers with Jotaro and your sweet Jolyne, still only a toddler. The sun takes forever to set in the sky, and you sit on the floor of your living room with the fan running on high, staring at car headlights passing by through the screen door. Jolyne sits in your lap while you sit on the carpet, leaning your back against the couch while she flips through a tiny book about sea creatures. Is she actually reading it or is she just entranced by the colorful fishies? 

    She closes the book with a smack and grins up at you with her rosy cheeks, she looks just like her dad you think. “All done!” She exclaims proudly. You grin right back at her and ruffle her dark wavy hair. 

      “Good job, bug! Your papa is almost done with work- I promise. And then we can go catch fireflies.”

    It looks as if she’s in deep thought, and then suddenly she furrows her brows in a look of utmost importance, her little green eyes meet your own. “You promise?”

      You're taken aback by how serious she looks. She probably got that from her dad too.       “Of course I do, let’s just hope your papa keeps his promise as well.”

“Pinky swear it!” She exclaims, holding out her tiny hand to your own. You giggle and lock your much bigger finger with her own, shaking it firmly like a handshake.

    “I completely pinky swear with everything in me Jojo!” You nod and she seems satisfied enough, unlocking your fingers and standing up off of your lap. You dust her little yellow overalls off and follow in her steps to stand up, turning with a grin when you hear the telltale sound of your husband’s office door opening.

    “Papa!” Jolyne shrieks and runs down the hall, crashing into his leg and wrapping her arms around it with a “squeeeeeeeeeee”

      The corners of his lips lift up in a small, fond smile and he picks her up in his big arms, walking over to where you were still standing at the couch by the door. Jolyne is too busy wrapping her arms around her father’s neck and giggling to care that he leans down to let you kiss his cheek.

      “Good grief you’re a handful Jojo…” He shakes his head and she just giggles harder as he nudges the screen door open with his foot to take her into the front yard. You follow close behind and seat yourself on the front porch steps, as does he after putting the kid down to let her run about in the yard chasing the little bugs lighting up the night sky.

    Jolyne is eagerly starts running circles around the grass with her wide eyes staring up at the sky, her stout arms are stretched up and she tries to cup the bugs in her little hands with a look of determination knitting in her brows.

      Jotaro nudges your shoulder with his own (much larger one) and you sigh happily, leaning your head onto him. After dinner he had gone straight to his office much to your dismay. But you understood, he was a busy guy and his deadlines weren’t exactly forgiving. You’d take what you could get.

      “Hi.” You look him in the eyes and the fondness on your face is so strong that you can see his cheeks flush slightly, whether that was from bashfulness or just his discomfort making eye contact- either way you found it endearing.

    “Hey.” He responds back, breaking his cerulean gaze away from you to look at his daughter causing mischief by the sidewalk.

      “You don’t have to make eye contact with me, you know.” You smush your cheek against his shoulder.

“We are literally married.”

    “Well duh, but I know it makes you a little uncomfortable.” You shrug. 

    Truly you didn’t mind it at all. It was a nice surprise whenever he tried to, but you really didn’t expect anything. You knew his little quirks- you had to have after dating him for so long and being friends with him for even longer. If he had trouble keeping eye contact it wasn’t any biggie, he was loving in other ways, and besides it made it more intimate when he actually did decide to meet your eyes.

    “You’re just pretty.” He chuckles and now it’s your turn to flush red. You two had been married for god knows how long, even had a little ruckus of a child together, but he still gave you nervous butterflies in his weird stoic Jotaro way. “I like to look at you,” he continued.

    “-but you don’t like getting caught?” You mused, finishing his sentence.

“Don’t finish my sentences.” he playfully shoves you from his shoulder and you yelp, shoving him back, ruining the rare moment.

    “But I know you sooooo well!” You try to grab at his sides in retaliation.

“Mama and Papa are fighting!” Jolyne exclaims, running from her perch in the grass to tackle Jotaro. It’s a valiant effort but he’s built like a brick shithouse and there’s no way she’d ever be able to knock him over- or at least that’s what you think until he lets her win, falling back onto the porch with a big huff of air leaving his lungs. Your little girl sits on his chest and lightly pounds her fists on him, letting out the cutest little oras you had ever heard. Dear lord, you thought. Not another one.

    She keeps up her effort until finally growing tired and plopping down on top of him with her face smushed into his stomach. “Papa is too strong…”

      “We weren’t actually fighting, hun.” You giggle and run your fingers through her dark curls.

“Mmhm,” Jotaro agrees and brings his hand up to replace yours, twirling one of her curls around his big finger. “Because if we were I would’ve won.”

      Your jaw drops and you slap him lightheartedly. “You would not have you ass! Oops- I mean you jerk!” Your hand slaps over your mouth and you can see your husband’s chest shaking in silent laughter. 

Maybe a long long time ago you would’ve actually fought: memories long passed of working for Dio under the control of a fleshbud in exchange for something, anything, not unsimilar to how he’d met Kakyoin and Polnareff as well. It had been a long time since either of you had thought of your trip to Egypt, but that wasn’t to say you had forgotten about the memories made and the lives lost along the way. He still kept that framed picture by his desk in the office, and you had the same one as well hanging up just outside the bedroom door in a cherished frame.

    Jolyne doesn’t seem to care about the slip up, (you wouldn’t be surprised if she eventually formed a colorful vocabulary living with you and her father), but after regaining her energy she’s crawling off of her dad to let him sit up and begging you to turn the sprinkler on so she can run around. It’s so hot out and she’s just too damn sweet that you can’t say no.

      The next half an hour is spent watching her sprint around the dry grass with muddy feet through her jelly sandals, cheering and dragging you into the spray of the cold water, fireflies long forgotten. You’re glad she chose something to tire herself out with because after her bubble bath you get to tuck her into bed and she goes right to sleep without a fuss.

      For the rest of the night you finally get to take a cold shower to beat the heat, sneak ice cream and eat it on the couch with Jotaro (glad Jolyne hadn't caught you in fear of sticky kid fingers and another bath ) and eventually you're able to slip into bed and wrap your arms around his familiar frame, feeling cozy and content with your little family. -That is until you wake up in the middle of the night sweating to death and wanting nothing more than to be apart from each other in the swampy Florida humidity.

[dracoxmalereader]

Peacock Quill

Draco x Male Reader

Context: Another chapter of Intense, which can be found in full on Wattpad and Ao3. Reader is a ravenclaw in the year above Draco. Takes place at the end of OotP. <3

Summary: Draco was right at Hogsmeade station when he realized his wand wasn't in his pocket and went back to the carriages to go get it, only for you to be the one who took it in the first place.

Word Count: 950

The dirt path was damp under the hot, wet air. Dew beaded on the blades of grass to either side of it, moisture dripping from the trees that bordered. Draco jogged down, mud caking in the grooves of his shoes as he passed a number of empty carriages before finding the one him and his friends had arrived in.

He stepped up onto the carriage, balance faltering for a moment as it wobbled to accommodate his weight. It settled, and his eyes scanned the seats and floor for his wand. Patting his pockets again, he felt a surge of panic in its unmistakable absence. 

This was, quite possibly, the worst time for him to be losing his wand of all things. Anxiety boiled in the pit of his stomach, intimidated by the prospect of going home to his father and the uncannily pale guest they’d been housing wandless. He felt reptilian eyes loom over him even now. 

“Psst!” 

Jumping in place, Draco turned his head to you, and he felt heat creep up his face when you held his wand out to him. You stood to the side of the carriage, and Draco stepped down to take it back from you. As he took it from your hand, you ran the fingers of your other along the lapel of his jacket. His pulse raced, and he swallowed the air trapped in his mouth.

You looked him up and down, then smirked. “You clean up well, hm?”

Draco could have sworn he was still on the wobbling carriage with how his organs lurched forwards. 

“I knew you’d come back for your wand, sorry I took it.” Your apology barely made it past the blood that rushed through his ears, warmth blooming in his face because you wanted him here. You let go of his jacket, and he wanted to grab your hand and put it back, keep it there forever. 

You shoved a hand in your bulky pocket, wiggling it around to free the content before holding it out to him. It was a box, dark bluish-green with silver finishes. Slytherin colors that made him want to dress you in his uniform to see if they’d be just as flattering as the box made them look on your skin.

“For me? You’re getting me gifts now, hm?” He felt childish, giddiness swelling behind his teeth. The corners of his mouth tugged up against his will.

You nodded and nudged it towards him. “Open it. Happy end of the year.”

He took the box from your hand and eased the top off, revealing a peacock-feather quill with a silver nib. Opaque and saturated, the feather’s colors alone looked expensive. “How much was this?” His brows furrowed and he pulled the quill out by two fingers. 

“A pretty penny, put it on hold at Scrivenshaft’s and saved up for it.”

Draco eyed the quill for a second longer, admiring its form and shape before he slipped the quill back into the box, shimmying it shut and turning his eyes back to you.

He took a shaky breath, tucking the box into the inner pocket of his jacket. He gave one firm nod of his head back to you. He felt the warmth in his face creep down his neck, and cursed the new summer sun for the sweat that collected at his brow. 

Clearing his throat, he muttered, “Thank you.” 

“Write me over summer, if you can.” You grinned, and he shoved his hands clumsily in his pockets, fingers restless and unsure. His lungs felt tight and his nose itched. You wanted him to write to you. Draco felt like he could die.

“Alright,” He started, more words laying unspoken on his tongue. His mouth hung open and he felt embarrassment seep into his blood as you stared expectantly. “Uh…”

“You should run off to your friends now, no?” You cocked your head to the side, and it made him want to pet you.

“Huh?”

“After this year I don’t think your friends would take too kindly to you ditching them for me on the train again.” You laughed, dry and lacking full humor. You squinted and looked away.

Draco felt guilt burst in his chest. His brows furrowed. “Did they say something to you? Crabbe or Goyle?”

He watched your face morph between a selection of emotions he couldn’t quite decipher, and it made his stomach churn. “Don’t worry about it, I like having the ride all to myself. Good for reading ahead if you ask me.” You brushed past his question and shook your head with a chuckle. A smile that didn’t look very natural settled onto your face. 

A spark of shame stirred his breakfast back to life in his body. Draco felt sick, and a little like he wanted to punch Crabbe and Goyle so hard they could never say anything to you ever again. 

A protective feeling washed over him, and he was glad his hands were in his pockets so you couldn’t see the way his nails dug into his clammy palms. You blinked. How beautiful, he thought to himself. 

“Run along,” You reached out and pawed at his shoulder, pushing him slightly. The contact made fireworks pop behind his ribs. “I have some business to attend to, don’t wait up for me.”

Your smile shifted into something more genuine, and Draco nodded dumbly, allowing himself a moment just to appreciate your eyelashes. Stepping back, he muttered a farewell to you before moving to leave along the dirt path to the train. 

His gaze flickers down your face one more time before he lets his trembling knees carry him away, hoping the summer won’t last too long.

I had a dream the other night that I had to fight Voldemort and then me and these girls I didn't know had to fly out of my window by flapping our hands and we flew to this abandoned island with only woods and a claire's and me and this one girl were arguing about which one of us was gonna go and make the claire's checkout counter into rice because in her words "we don't need that much rice"

So I had to explain to her that I'm bulking, of COURSE we need that much rice. Then Nev from catfish came and made our survival into a TV show and we eventually ran away because it felt disingenuous. We also burnt the entirety of Beverly Hills down, but that wasn't really relevant to the plot.

I hate Nev from catfish. A girl on roblox catfished me once with some scene chick's pictures, and when I called her out for it she was like "Do you know the show catfish? I'm Nev." Girl. We are playing a kawaii sanrio roblox obby at your request. No you are not.

Tags: @nowayisthistakenyet @gayaristocrat @dracoshusband @skrunklespoingo @esperfraud @joongbin @midwestemosblog

[tenjiiku]

rapture / winter

it's been ten years since you left. he still falls for you the same way he did when he was 17.

manjiro sano x fem reader

11.7k words

warnings: portrayal of abusive relationships

prev | masterlist | next

You first met Manjiro at ten years old. Two years your senior, you were positively terrified of him. You remember this now, of all times, particularly because you dreamt about your first encounter last night.

It was during the Summer of 2001 on a Sunday afternoon.

.

.

.

Having Emma Sano appear at your door only three days after sharing a simple smile with her from across the lawn of your new home was certainly a surprise. Mama had fawned over her many times over dinner, urging you to befriend her. To which you would dismiss, opting to gaze at the girl like some foreign entity — open to admire but never encounter.

The year was in that strange time between the Summer and Autumn. It was awfully cold to fully show one's legs, but by the same coin it was too hot to be wearing a sweater. You weren't sure if Emma had caught you at a favourable or unfavourable moment. You had just gotten out of the shower, on the one hand. On the other hand, because you finished your schoolwork and housecleaning on Friday, you had nothing to do over the weekend.

(Thinking back, Emma had always watched over you.)

“Y/n-chan! We're cuttin' some watermelon, come have some!"

The older girl is positively giddy. You briefly get blinded by her radiant aura. The trees and grass are both stunningly green, and the sky is clear and blue. The scenery complements Emma's presence and vice versa.

She is mature and beautiful. She is everything you are not.

You pinch your inner palm, bend your four fingers and dig them into your skin.

"I...," you start, "I don't know..."

"Are you busy or somethin'?"

"I... was cleaning." You lie.

Emma rises to her feet in response to your justification, leans to one side, and looks inside your home. When you realise what the blonde was doing, your eyes widen, and you awkwardly lean in her direction to hide her vision. It was too late, though.

"Your house looks pretty clean to me!" Emma cheers, "Come on, I wanna play!"

You open your mouth, close it, then open it once more before murmuring a small, "Really?"

"Mhm, we’re gonna play hide n' seek!"

You bite the inside of your cheek. You gaze at your feet, bare because you could not afford indoor slippers. Then you stare back at Emma's hazel coloured eyes.

"Come on!!!"

You take a deep breath in, suddenly becoming hyper aware of every action. You consider all the drawbacks of saying yes to Emma's invitation. But your personal worries would pale in comparison to the blonde's disappointment at being rejected. You had a strong desire to spare Emma's sentiments of disappointment for some reason. Mama had always told you to respect your elders — to never question them, to always be a good girl and listen. So you did. And Emma was no exception.

"Alright..."

Emma grins. You cannot help but also smile. Mama would be so proud of you.

It's almost comical how little it took for the girl to become so filled with glee — but you found it rather cute. You can practically feel Emma's contentment as you finish putting on your sandals.

"Come on, come on. Hurry hurry, the others are waiting!"

Others?

Before you can ponder on that thought a second longer, Emma grabs your arm as soon as your key leaves the door's hole. You try to calm the beating of your heart as you find yourself entering Emma's large complex. What ever were you thinking — going into a stranger’s home when mama was gone?

"Ah! Emma, you brought her!"

At the sound of a boy’s voice, you snap out of your reverie. The hold Emma has on your wrist is taken away and you suddenly feel as though lava has been poured onto you from the sheer intensities of the various pairs of eyes all drawn onto your meticulous frame.

But you dare to look up, and notice that Emma has brought you to the dojo you would often listen in on during evening martial arts lessons. It was open, presenting the wooden engawa, small cherry blossom petals falling in preparation for Winter littering the cracks.

"Emma managed to drag you outta the house, huh?"

The strange man asks with a smile, approaching you and Emma and being bold enough to pat you on the head. You close your eyes at the contact.

"Good job." The young man directs towards his sister, who grins pridefully.

"Hehe, thanks!"

You lift your head, the heavy hand still on your scalp. Your cheeks feel hot from the contact which the man refuses to take away. Still, you try to introduce yourself.

“I’m— I’m L/n Y/n.”

The man finally takes his hand off of you, gazing down at you with lazy lidded eyes and a Cheshire grin. He inhales from his cigarette and puffs the smoke out to the side, you try to keep yourself from coughing.

"Sano Shinichiro. Your mother had come over with pork gyoza the other day. Told me to take care of ya.”

You bind your hands together, awkwardly and unassumingly you murmur, "Oh. Okay. Yeah."

You put on a false ignorance about the three other boys in the yard. You stare one of them in the eye before looking sheepishly down at your feet again.

"Hey!" From across the grass, the boy with whom you shared eye contact yells. You tremble.

As he approaches the two of you, his voice is raucous and loud, as befits the situation. Suddenly drawn to the noise, you look in that direction and are astonished to see someone else appear between Shinichiro and you.

He extends a hand and says, "Baji Keisuke!"

At first, you're taken aback by how swiftly he decided to greet you and carried it out. He appeared to have acted without even pausing to consider, but you firmly believed otherwise. Keisuke, still in front of you, stretches out his hand. You can sense Shinichiro-san beaming broadly with amusement. You can't get out because everyone is already focused on you, so you dive in head first — despite not knowing how to swim — to make everyone feel comfortable.

You also extend your hand, accepting his, "L/n Y/n.”

Your way of speaking was a large juxtaposition of Keisuke's greeting. You accept his hand, and you are surprised to find it so warm against your own. Keisuke in turn, smiles at your willingness — at least you suspect so.

"Y/n, nice to meet ya!" Keisuke shouts, his toothy grin being so dazzling that it almost causes you to lose vision. You could probably work with the fact that this boy wore his emotions on his sleeve.

"Keisuke, you shouldn't say something to someone you just met."

From his seat next to Manjiro, a boy with a buzz cut in rose colour makes fun of his friend, clearly igniting Keisuke's boiling rage.

He turns his head, "Shuddap Haru!" his pupils engorged with venom.

While the two boys argue, you look at Emma apologetically.

“That’s Haruchiyo-kun, next to my brother, Manjiro. Or, we like to call him Mikey!” Emma gently explains to you, pointing at the short blond haired boy beside the taller one. Your eyes meet for a couple seconds, then you look away, anxiety pooling in your stomach.

When you hear the tell tale sounds of grass crunching underneath boots is when you pick your head up to notice an older man looking at you, then at Shinichiro. His taller frame gives you some relief from the sweltering heat, allowing your previously strained eyes to temporarily relax.

“She’s the new neighbour?”

He has a deep, slightly menacing voice. Shinichiro smiles and nods, and the stranger then turns to look at you.

As a sign of acknowledgement, he raises his head, saying, "Takeomi, Shinichiro's friend.”

You adjust the hem of your simple white t-shirt as you nod in agreement. You notice a girl looking at her from behind the man's legs, but as soon as she makes eye contact with you, the youngster runs away once more. You raise your hand to your cheek and begin to scrape the skin there.

Once more peeking her head out from beneath Takeomi's legs, the young girl now also catches Emma's eye. The blonde smiles at the girl while furrowing her brows.

"Senju!" Emma hollers and dashes behind Takeomi's knees to grab at the child's hand. She tugs the small girl from behind her brother, finally letting you catch a glimpse of her.

"This is our new neighbour, Y/n-chan!" Despite being only a few centimetres away from Senju's smaller frame, Emma explains fairly thunderously.

Senju's once-wary eyes seemed to flood with warmth the moment the blonde introduced the young girl to the unusual person who made her best friend Emma so happy.

"Hiya!" She exclaims, her hair bouncing with the sudden head nod.

"Hey-... Hi." The two girls round you and stare at you as if you were holding stars in your hands while you stammer. Baji stays by your side as well, and the sudden attention makes you perspire.

You're happy you chose to wear white for today.

"Are ya gonna play hide and seek with us?" Senju queries.

"Uh," You dare to cast your gaze in the direction of Manjiro and the boy Baji had dubbed Haru. You look back to the shorter girl in front of you out of shame as the two give you a direct stare. "I-I'm not sure."

At this, Emma and Senju whine, and just when you’re about to retaliate, you feel a heavy arm swing around your frame and rest on your shoulders.

"Come on, L/n," Keisuke drawls, emphasising your surname and darting his eyes towards Haruchiyo, "We need more players, 'sides, Haru doesn't even count 'cause I can catch him in a second."

Baji receives a direct blow to the forehead from a tiny rock that appears out of nowhere. The hit is so loud that you would have thought you could hear the wind current it briefly generated while being hurled. The thrower had some talent. After a brief squeeze from the shock on your shoulder, Baji's arm drops from your frame to support his hurting forehead.

"Ow!" When the youngster hollers, Haru is already glaring at him.

"Oops." Haru simply says, causing his partner with the dark hair to frown. He chuckles back and turns to look at Manjiro, who also appears to be smirking just a little.

"Join in the fun, Y/n-san!" Senju cries out while grabbing both of your hands.

You had no idea what in the world you did to attract the girl's attention. In truth, you were unaware of how you got here. The heat was really starting to affect you.

"Yeah! We need more girls!" Emma joins, capturing Senju's arms with her own two hands. You note how the three of you somewhat look like those barrel monkeys, all connected. You bite your inner cheek to suppress a smile.

Your eyes flicker from Baji's gaze to Senju and Emma before returning to Baji. You've run out of falsehoods to tell, and before you arrived here, you were fairly good at it. They were staring at you as you were burning from the sun's excessive brightness.

And that was exactly when it began.

"Fine. Okay, okay."

Emma and Senju both cheer, growing elated that their playing field was becoming more equal. Keisuke forms a toothy grin at the prospect of having one more person join their game, a new neighbour at that, nonetheless. Manjiro's gaze remains situated on the group, not bothering to move from his position, and Haruchiyo throws a glance his way.

Hot burns in your head. You hadn't planned on meeting four new individuals over the course of the weekend, three of whom were rather keen on welcoming you into their little circle. While Emma pulls on your arm, you allow your gaze to fall on her brother. While you weren't anticipating special treatment, he was the only one who paid you no attention. Sincerely, you believed that Keisuke, Senju, and Takeomi were more outgoing and curiously open than him. His response seemed reasonable and reassuring to you.

You hope Manjiro ignores you always.

"Who's gonna be the seeker?" Emma asks.

"Haru! 'Cause I caught him first the last time!" Keisuke states, which earns him a glare from the rose-haired boy.

"That works for me," Manjiro says in his first sentence since you got here. You would've liked dwelling in your shock a little while longer, but Haru instantly turns around, not before rolling his eyes, and covers them with his hands.

It all happens so fast. The two little girls beside you squeal with excitement, already starting to back away from the group. Keisuke sports a wild grin as well, mentally preparing his hiding spot. Manjiro leaps off of his rock to land right in front of you.

"How much do I count till'?!" Haru yells.

"Thirty!" Keisuke hollers, his voice distant.

You turn towards Emma and Senju, only to find that the girls have already disappeared. Baji was already running far too quickly for you to catch up, and suddenly you found that your cheeks were too hot under the sun. Your stomach churns in anxiety. It was like your feet were stuck to the ground.

Suddenly, a tug on your wrist snaps you out of your trance. Eyes widening, you’re forced to twist your body towards the intrusion, and your eyes meet with a mop of blonde hair. They travel downwards towards your hand to find it engulfed in his. You barely have time to spare Shinichiro and Takeomi a glance, but they watch with surprise as Manjiro drags you further away.

One moment, you are drowning in sunlight. The next, you’re overtaken in darkness, and a wooden door shuts behind you.

As your eyes adjust to the sudden shift in lighting, you find that you’re in a garden shed, and notice wall space between a shelf at which you decide to lean against.

It seems as though you were the only one out of breath, as the blond boy in front of you casually leans against the door. You have both come face-to-face now. It's intimate, not in the romantic way. It was quiet, the sound of the heat permeating through the wooden boards. Light floods in through the cracks, you can feel a little bit of the warmth on your cheeks. Playing with your thumbs, you do not dare look so freely towards Manjiro as he does to you. Your heart pounds against your ribcage from anxiety. You want to peel your skin off and take a dip in cold water to get rid of this feeling.

Finally, the culprit who caused you such emotions, is the one to put out your fire.

"You suck at hiding. You’ve never played hide an’ seek before?'' His voice is soft when he insults you so casually.

You lift your head to finally make eye contact with him. You can hear wind chimes in the distance. His eyes are clouded, like he was hiding a million secrets in them.

Furrowing your brow out of frustration, you look down at your feet, "I— I never wanted to play."

“Why’d ya say yes, then?”

His question makes heat rise in your chest. You look down, placing a cool hand on your face.

“I.. I dunno.”

The garden ornaments from outside send a pleasant tune to float in the atmosphere. A slight breeze bellows in from the cracks, You tried relaxing yourself by tilting your head upwards, closing your eyes. But your moment of peace is short-lived.

"You dropped this too."

At the sound of Manjiro's voice, you turn your head to him once more, only to notice a familiar red hair band you recall you tied your hair with this morning.

"Oh," your eyes twitch, something of a smile-perhaps formed out of anxiety-painting your features, "Uh…, ah — sorry."

Staring at the hair tie with eager eyes, you suspect the boy to give it back to you any time soon. But he simply stands there, holding it firmly in his hand. His eyebrows are slightly raised, and it almost looks like he is awaiting a statement to be said from you.

"Can I have it back?" You murmur.

You watch Manjiro rather intently. A resounding quietness befalls them. You note how it looked as though gears were moving behind his eyes, as though he was pondering on what to say next. Perhaps he was not as indecisive as you had first suspected him to be. Every move he made was a calculation he made in mere seconds — which made him all the more terrifying.

“Beg for it.”

You blink. Manjiro only smiles at your colourless expression.

“Don’tcha want it back?”

Your heart starts to race. You want to go home. You don’t like this. He’s smiling like it’s funny. You feel like crying sort of, because you know he is making a joke of you. But you don’t. Because Mama said big girls don’t cry.

“What? Lost your voice?” He mocks again.

You murmur something under your breath. He raises an eyebrow. You murmur it again, pinching your palm with four fingers to calm the panic in your chest. Manjiro crosses his arms, leaning back smugly.

“Hah? What? I can’t hear ya.”

You look up at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“You’re mean. I don’t like you.”

Manjiro blinks soundly. He doesn’t insult you, but he doesn’t give back your hair band. He simply stands there, staring at you. He seems to slump back at your insult. You think to yourself — has anyone spoken up against him?

He doesn’t say another word the entire time. The cicadas’ chirping fills the resounding silence.

You can hear the screams of Emma and Senju, no doubt Haruchiyo had discovered their hiding spot. When you can sense bodies from outside approaching the garden shed, Manjiro stands up straight and walks towards you. You, instinctually take one step back. You can’t be close to boys — especially not one like him.

He looks at you with an expression you cannot describe. It silences the beating of your heart.

"Here," Manjiro utters, grabbing your hand with one hand and manoeuvring it so that your palm opens — which he then places the hair tie on.

You are left staring at your open hand, confused at Manjiro's actions. He keeps your hand in his hold for exactly three more seconds, before releasing it. You keep your hand there for a few more moments, trying to register what exactly had just concurred.

A moment passes. Then another. And another. Manjiro scratches at the scab on his elbow, looking down at his sandals. You pretend you don't notice. You can’t really think, anymore.

Haruchiyo finds you both. He interrogates Manjiro on why he was hiding with you, to which the former tells him to shut up. Emma stares at you with bewilderment, which morphs into childish amusement at the prospect of her older brother taking a liking to you. She teases you, hooks her arms around yours and drags you back to their house.

You fiddle with the hair tie. Manjiro was weird. You wanted to go home.

.

.

.

You take a long, cold shower the following morning.

You were no longer children. You had lost all contact with your once friends, never having the gall to introduce yourself once more. Shinichiro-san had died from a car accident the same year your mother had passed — and neither of you had been the same since. Manjiro had grown rough and you had grown cold. You will never get those grievances back, and everyone had just expected one day for you to be alright with such a thing.

You liked to play pretend for their sake, be a small, nice little girl for their comfort — and ignore the incessant rock in your throat that had lodged itself there, stuck for fifteen years.

But with each passing season it only seemed to grow — to suffocate you more and more than the previous years.

You cry under the water with the stone.

Will it ever go away?

.

.

.

The next day, Manjiro begins the conversation. Perhaps it was because you had been acting like a shell of your former self since the aforementioned recalling of your adolescence. Maybe it was because of the cold weather. Regardless of the reason, it was during breakfast — over savoury bowls of tamago gohan — while you were seated across one another under the single kotatsu because that is all he could afford.

You feel like a stray cat he has taken in. The utter irony of it all.

You felt Manjiro’s eyes on you for ten minutes before he pointed his chopsticks at you disparagingly and spoke through a mouthful of warm rice and egg.

“You’re shaking.”

You huff at his audacity, gazing down at your bowl before bringing a bite of rice to your mouth, “Am I?”

Of course, he does not answer. Because he is Manjiro Sano who is nosy, loud and fastidious. He is Manjiro Sano who never finishes what he starts and leaves you to pick up the pieces. You never considered yourself particularly tough before encountering him.

Setting your half empty bowl down, you choose to question him.

“Why did you move to Osaka?”

Manjiro doesn’t answer. Rather, he turns his head to the open engawa, and pretends to care for the sakura petals that fall off the tree branch. You furrow your brow, setting your chopsticks down in your bowl.

“What about everyone else in Tokyo?” You inquire once more.

Thirty seconds pass. You wait, knowing an answer is going to come. The first shove was complimentary, the second prod was real — at least that was how it worked when Manjiro was 16.

“What about them?” He huffs, taking a sip of his morning beer, “They all know my address.”

You bite back a smile — afraid that if you were to show amusement he would only take it as a sign to continue dismissing your concerns. Manjiro had changed but his small little idiosyncrasies remained hidden. A selfish part of you is delighted at the notion that — despite your anxieties — you had truly not forgotten him.

“Don’t you ever feel…,” you bunch your hands together, “lonely?”

His next answer comes naturally. “Nah, think it’s ‘cause it’s new to me.”

“Right,” you shake your head, laughing, “ha— right, right.”

You look down at your bowl. Of course, what were you expecting? Manjiro was nothing like you. He was loud compared to your quiet. Captious to your carelessness. Unlike you who fretted over such illogical matters he would barely put any thought behind even those affairs which required them.

“Do you feel lonely?”

You lift your face up a tad too quickly and despairingly at his question. He’s looking at you with a blank slate of an expression, and it is in this moment you wish he would return to being unserious. You feel like you are in that very garden shed he’d hid you both in.

You force a laugh, “What? No— no. I—… no… No.”

An awkward silence descends upon you both yet again. The chirping of a little ringed plover fills the room. You think, or at least you try to with Manjiro staring daggers into your side profile. Wrapping the blanket he had given you tighter around your frame, you take a deep breath.

“What about… Keisuke and the others?” You ask, tentatively. His name sounds so odd on the tongue. You don’t think you have said it out loud for nine years now.

Manjiro huffs a chuckle, and you mellow.

“I visit him the first of every month. We all show up at his place,” he explains soundly, bending his left leg and wrapping his arms around it, “And his mother every two weeks. But she likes to be left alone.”

You stare at his hand that scratches at his foot. By Keisuke’s mother he most definitely meant her grave. The woman had always been an eccentric character in your childhood. She made the most delicious rice cakes and warabi mochi. You recall the memory with a solemn grin. She passed away two years ago. You hadn’t even known — only realised she was gone when Manjiro had told you nonchalantly in passing while you were preparing breakfast how much he misses her omurice.

You had burnt your index finger that day, and hid the mark from him.

A wind passes by into the house. The wind chimes sing a familiar tune, and you are surprised to notice that they are the very ones the Sanos had back in Tokyo.

You haven’t confronted yourself in a while. She scared you. Maybe confronting this monster inside will soothe this ache within you — you reason.

“I’d— I’d like to go. I’d like to visit them soon.”

Manjiro’s stare which was directed on his foot moves to meet your eyes. He looks at you for three seconds, scratching at his wrist. He stares at you in a way that silently asks you — ‘Are you sure?’ — and your gaze only hardens; with determination or fear, you can’t really choose.

Manjiro nods.

“Alright.”

He picks up your dishes and places them in the sink for you to wash. This is your routine.

You follow him to the kitchen, standing awkwardly behind the island as he looks at the plates he has put. His hands clench around the metal. He looks up at you once more.

“Alright, we will.”

.

.

.

You reach Shibuya at 9:26pm by car.

When you step out of the passenger seat and onto the road where Manjiro parked, the wind that greets you is warm, for November, at least.

An overwhelming wave of anxiety invades your stomach. Suddenly, the warm air does not help you. You feel like someone has set you on fire. Each step you take towards Keisuke’s home — a large house you have never even thought would belong to someone of his stature — your heart pounds erratically. Manjiro’s resounding footsteps following behind you only add to the reality of the situation. You want to go home. You should have never come.

A hand on your shoulder stops you in front of the door.

“You’re shaking,” Manjiro’s voice states the similar expression back in Osaka. You stare into his eyes, trying to ground yourself.

“Am I?”

“Yeah,” his eyebrows furrow in a mature sense of concern — it is so unlike his past self, “You know, you don’t have to meet them. I can tell them you got sick.”

Your mind manages to eat the information he is feeding you. Once it has consumed every morsel you shake your head. You wipe your clammy hands against your pants — you note how Manjiro’s eyes follow them wherever they go.

“No,” you breathe with a shaky tone, folding your arms across your chest, “No, I—I’m good.”

You shrug his hand from off your shoulder, taking a deep breath in. You haven’t been in this neighbourhood for nearly eleven years. It’s only natural that you are a bit nervous. Manjiro does not look quite convinced. You look behind your shoulder to find him, unmoving and unentertained. You leer into his hazel coloured eyes.

“I promise, I’m fine. Let’s go.”

You tell him for the final time, walking to the entrance of Keisuke’s surprisingly old-fashioned home.

You don’t even have to knock on the door, someone opens it for you from inside. You crane your head up to meet a pair of aquamarine eyes. A small smile traces itself onto your features.

Haruchiyo speaks before you can — he has always had the habit of doing that; taking the first step ahead in the riverbank you liked to explore together, the first bite of freshly sliced watermelon, and the first one to make fun of your mother’s death.

He stares at you like you never even left — like you were coming back from the grocery store.

“The hell happened to you?”

Your smile only grows. “Hi, Haru.”

Tiny pleasantries greet you, and — oddly — Haruchiyo’s arms do, as well. He is even taller than he was back in junior high school. His hair is longer and he still manages to stand out everywhere he travels. You can vaguely sense Manjiro entering from behind you — but you don’t have a lot of time to dwell in his presence. Not when Haruchiyo brings you to the living room. They are watching baseball, the kotatsu is out, stray chips and half empty beer cans litter the surface.

You have never felt more at home.

Keisuke and Ken lift their gazes from the television to you at the same time, when a home run is scored. You smile wearily, and they return it with a grin of their own.

“Y/n…” Keisuke is the first to speak, standing up and approaching your unassuming frame. He looks into your eyes for three seconds — an odd gesture, given that he never waited before — before enveloping you in a warm hug.

You grab his back almost too quickly. It only lasts five seconds but you feel the familiar heat in your stomach return — the one you had carried since ten years of age.

He asks how you have been. You murmur a solemn fine and compliment his home. He bashfully explains how Chifuyu had planned out the interior and exterior designs, and informs you of the fact that Kazutora is with him down in Hokkaido — getting supplies for their pet shop.

Keisuke is much more refined and mellow compared to his former self. His spontaneous nature and wild energy scared you at age ten, and treated you softly at sixteen — when the only boy whose presence did not scare you, was his. Even now, with a few grey strands in his hair, he is gentle and kind — offering you whiskey soda, somehow guessing your favourite drink after a decade apart.

Haruchiyo and Ken tease Manjiro in the kitchen. You overhear everything about him even when you do not want to — even as you are engaged in a conversation with your childhood friend.

“Oi, oi, Mikey. You cut your hair?”

“Ohh, he did, wouldja look at that.”

“Shut up.”

They return with more beer cans. Keisuke sits on the floor next to you on the couch. Ken’s eyes fall on your frame the same time your gaze falls on him.

“Hi.., Ryuguji,” your tone sounds sad. You didn’t mean for it to come out that way.

“Y/n…,” the widowed man returns your smile with one of his own, handing you a can of beer, “Please, call me Ken.”

You stare at it. You stare at him. You don’t know how he does it. The grief doesn’t line his face nor eyes the same way yours does — and it was fresh and new. It still stung and he deserved to feel upset. You did not, you had moved across the ocean and forgotten everyone because of yours — and yet it brought you back to square one, right on a sofa bed somewhere in Tokyo.

You put away your thoughts, locking them beside the incident in the garden shed many years ago. It could be dealt with later.

For now, you take the beer can from Ken’s hands with trembling fingers — praying he cannot tell you want to run.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Dinner is lovely. Warm pork ribs purchased from a local restaurant, spinach salad with sesame, sunomono, and many warm bowls of rice are shared amongst the five of you. You feel Manjiro’s gaze fall on you every so often — almost as if he was trying to assess and read your emotions, to be there to catch you when you fall. It feels odd, every time he looks your way. Every time he does, you clench your beer can tighter.

You do not know why he cares for you so. You are not going to give him what he wants. You can’t, right now.

After dinner, you step out of the golden lighting of the living area to the engawa that opens up to the small square area of greenery. American porch lights hang on the tall pillars holding up the structure of the house, and your eyes instantly fall on the small koi pond installation on the right of the green.

You vaguely hear Keisuke and Haruchiyo yell at each other from inside. You walk barefoot on the grass. You feel like an oversized child.

The creaking of the floor boards alerts you towards the open entrance. You turn as Ken approaches you. His lips are laid flat — and he pretends he doesn't even see you. You appreciate this about him. He’s never made you uncomfortable.

You think you should say something for both of your sakes. Spill the milk and clean it already.

So, you — the ever awkward — murmur softly towards the koi fish, “You’re all so… taller.. now.”

Ken huffs a laugh, standing next to you now. His shows are on, though.

“Maybe you just shrunk.” He jokes. You smile.

“Perhaps,” you respond, “I heard that the weather in New York does that to one.”

For a while, you both stand there. A congenial silence befalls on you both. The wind chimes play a foreign tune. The smell of whiskey, cigarettes and fried pork are carried with the wind. It feels the same way a full stomach does.

A couple moments later, Ken mutters to you, turning his head to gaze down, “You look lovely, tonight.”

You turn your head, too. Since he is now looking at you you suppose you should do the same. It is only customary, after all.

“Thank you… thank you.” You stutter, taking a good look at his features.

His five o'clock shadow is more prominent, only half of his being illuminated by the patio lights. The familiar dragon tattoo is as prominent as ever, but his hair is a dark black now. You wonder if Emma had anything to do with it. When you look at him, you start to think of her.

So you look back down at your feet. It hasn’t snowed in Tokyo yet. You are grateful it is not as cold.

“The weather here is great, though.”

Ken sighs, breathing in the night breeze, “Yeah...”

This time the silence is a little awkward, so you do not prolong it.

“Whose idea was it to install a koi pond and these patio lights?” You force a laugh, trying to make him smile again. It seems to work.

“Ah,” Ken brings a hand to the back of his head, scratching at his neck, “Sana had always wanted fish…, but Emma was allergic. So we had compromised to have them at Baji’s — so she could visit them.”

Your face pales a little at the mention of his daughter. You recall seeing pictures of her on Emma’s social media accounts. You had congratulated her briefly then went on about your day. Your mind had not even recalled her — how shitty of a person were you?

Ken breaks you out of your departure. 

“I think the lights were Kazutora’s idea, though.”

You laugh at this, albeit an uncomfortable one. You knit your hands together. Maybe you should ask about her —he would not have brought it up if he did not want to.

“How is she?”

The koi fish in the pond move more rapidly as you pose the question, almost as though they felt the tension and wanted to relieve it. Ken pockets his hands and grins as he looks down at his reflection in the water, his eyes drifting from his, to yours. 

“She’s doing alright. Left her at her friend’s house for a sleepover.”

You breathe a sigh of relief — one you did not realise you were holding. “That’s nice…”

You look around the scenery, trying to rack your mind for more conversation starters. You had not done this in a while — let alone consoling your once best-friend’s husband, who was now a widower. You were never really that close to Ken, you momentarily recall the few times you did interact; which happened to always be through Emma. You never quite had a problem with, you were happy for her — you truly were. Now that the one virgule connecting you both had gone, it was up to both of you to hang on to another. You wanted to be there —you knew Emma would have wanted that.

You don’t even realise the statement that leaves your mouth next is about her until it just slips out.

“She would’ve loved tonight.”

The dark-haired man only looks down, eyes solemn but a cheeky smirk plastered on his features. He chuckles, “She would’ve dragged me outta the house ‘cause I’d say no.”

You grab for his hand, noticing that the look in his eyes is all too similar to the one in yours. 

“So why’d you say yes?”

Ken does not answer, but his fingers press deeper into your palm. Not enough to elicit blood — but it might as well have been.

“I— I don’t really know. I guess I thought it would make me feel better,” he laughs through a choke and you can only nod, knowing all too well how he feels. You don’t know how long you stand there, holding his hand in yours. A breeze you felt in Osaka bellows past you both. 

Manjiro takes you back to his home, and you feel at peace — like you have done something right.  

.

.

.

Osaka culture is dissimilar to Tokyo’s. Manjiro Sano is much different than The Invincible Mikey. But you were all the same.

A part of you thinks that is why the two of you attracted one another the way you did, many suns ago. Another irrational side of you believes that is why you have not been able to hold eye contact with Manjiro for longer than fifteen seconds since dinner at Keisuke’s home. You don’t know if you lack sexual appeal or if Manjiro’s libido has declined, but he has grown more… comfortable, around you, so to say; walking around with no shirt on and wearing sweatpants that hang too low on his waist.

To keep your mind occupied, you have taken on laundry duty. 

You hum a tune to the melody your mama would sing to you sporadically throughout your adolescence, seated on the floor of Manjiro’s closet with his fresh laundry sprawled about the carpet. 

Your phone rings. You take a look at it — it is an unknown caller. Craning an eyebrow, you finish folding the shirt you currently hold and pick it up.

“Hello?” You mutter into the speaker first.

The voice you hear makes your stomach drop. A heat begins to rise in your head. 

“Y/n.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. You take your phone off from your ear, check to see if you are actually currently in a call with someone, and put it back. 

“…Ryuchi?”

An all too familiar exasperated sigh leaves the caller’s mouth. That is when you realise your assumptions were correct: your ex-fiancé is real and true.

“Fuck— Y/n, shit.”

Ryuchi utters your name like it is a disease — like it hurts his tongue. It is why you cannot put the phone down — why you cannot hang up.

“You know the fucking things I had to…—” his voice becomes a whisper, like he is trying to hide that he is conversing with you from someone, “you know how difficult it was to get a hold of you?”

You place a hand on your ankle, scratching at the scab there — willing it to open, “Ryuchi, why… Why are you calling?”

He doesn’t speak for three seconds, and it terrifies you. He always did that — when he was angry with you. He would never want to communicate until his emotions would reach their precipice and even then, it would require several pushes from you to draw his reactions. As such, those nudges had always led to him shifting the blame on you.

You had learned to live with it. Mama lived with Papa that way, before he left. But she was not allowed to leave first. She would have to stay until he did not want her anymore — and you would do the same thing with Ryuchi. Be it a hole to fuck or in those very soft, sentimental moments, a woman for him to hold — you would give your everything. You didn’t care about his wealth, you didn’t care about yourself. Why would you? He was everything — he was your World, it was how he wanted it so you would give it to him and not think twice.

Then, Ryuchi starts.

“Wha— What the fuck are you talking about?” He laughs, it sounds scary, “You— where the hell are you? Why— Why the fuck did you cancel your lease?”

You chew on your bottom lip. You hate how soft your voice comes out when you ask him again, “Ryuchi, why are you calling?”

A scoff, followed by a, “Do I need a reason to be calling my fuckin’ fiancée — are you kidding me?” rings on the telephone, but all you hear after the word fiancée is white noise.

You remember it vividly. How he had broken things off. You remember him calling you to buzz him up to your new apartment, the one you wanted him to move in with since he was still living in a bachelor’s flat with his friends. You remember opening the door to his solemn face — and you had remembered knowing that it had ended before he told you himself: ‘This is not going to work. Not anymore. Not with you.’ How could you ever forget those words?

You hadn’t cried. You hadn’t even felt mad. You just thought about the papers you had wasted printing your engagement cards. You thought about what everyone would think of you — thought about how mama would be so upset with you for not giving your life and soul to his relationship.

You had heard her voice that day. It was cold.

After a moment, you murmur a flat, “What?” Your breathing begins to pick up, “I… I thought—”

You don’t say anything else. You don’t really know how to. Ryuchi was smarter than you — right? He could pick up the pieces and fix the puzzle.

He does.

“Holy shit—,” he chuckles darkly, his tone then becoming mocking and impassive, “You— you thought I was being serious?”

You don’t realise the words that leave your mouth and escape his.

“You— You asked for the ring back, Ryuchi, Your— Your mother returned the wedding card—.. What— What was I supposed to think?”

“Yeah— yeah—, Cause I was stressed, Y/n. Mother had some qualms with you and I let her get to me. But, I’ve dealt with her now — all for you. I fought for us. Fights like this happen all the time — that... that doesn’t mean you can just get up and walk away.”

They all sound spiteful. You hate arguing. You just wanted to be good. You didn’t want him to do all of this for your sake. You did not need much, you do not know why Ryuchi insisted against that for the longest of times.

He always called you too naive for your own good: but you know what love is.

It is why, after the longest pauses of utter silence taken so far within this phone call, is when you murmur quietly, “Ryuchi, I— I.. I can’t... I.. can’t do this.”

He is on you, instantly.

“What do you mean you can’t?” His voice cracks. You don’t know what to make of it. “I—I miss you. Please. I love you. I love you, baby. You.. you can’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please come back to me — I’ll make it work.”

He can’t. You know he can’t. He’s never needed you, Ryuchi has only ever wanted you in his life. You cannot go back now.

You stare down silently at your hands, fisting Manjiro’s shirt in your palms. The door of the closet is cracked open, streaming in the yellow lighting of the bedroom. It is oddly warm, given the circumstance you find yourself trapped in, unable to move.

When you feel darkness impose on that, you lift your head up. Manjiro stands there, gazing down at your frame. His eyes fall on your cell phone, then on the clothing you crumple.

“Y/n.” Manjiro calls your name. It is soft. His eyebrows are furrowed and you could mistake his worry for how tightly you are gripping his favourite shirt, enough to leave wrinkles.

“Y/n.. please.. don’t do this.” Ryuchi’s whines ring into the speaker. They settle in your ears. Before it would have elated a fire in your stomach, but now it sends a chill up your spine.

You are a bit tired of feeling cold.

“Don’t call me anymore.”

You hang up, stare at Manjiro for a moment, before exiting the closet with his shirt in hand.

You go to the bathroom, and you cry into it. Manjiro doesn’t ask for it back.

You wonder late at night why he is so soft to you.

.

.

.

You think Manjiro began feeling bad for you. He would not leave you alone since the day Ryuchi had called. He’s started to clean up after himself: figuratively and literally. Whereas prior he would leave dish washing duty and laundry to you, you found he would pick up groceries for the dishes you’d plan to make that day — and an expensive brand of detergent you had been eyeing but never had the gall to request.

His steps were small, but left their marks in the ground. You felt supported and seen.

So, the next time he went shopping, you asked him if you could kindly join him. He had told you that if you’d asked sooner, he would have taken you to Tempozan Harbor Village for a picnic.

You refused, saying that your fresh home cooking tasted much better — he hadn’t disagreed — and you ended up going to Tamade Supermarket on a Monday afternoon. The last time you went there you were fifteen and in love with him.

It is funny. How things change.

“I like this shelf,” he states, pointing at a random wooden shelf displayed in the show room.

You nod awkwardly, “It’s a nice shelf.”

It is also nice to be talking to Manjiro like an adult. Although at heart you felt as though you had stopped mentally ageing at 19, it felt good: the idea that he had caught up with you in terms of getting around your hobby of window shopping appliances you can only dream to afford. You do not even care if you are being too loud in the department store. Manjiro made a detour on the way to the supermarket. It feels nice to take up space with someone else. You did not get much interaction like this in your youth; most of your time spent with him was passionate and lustful. Taking things slow was a wonderful change of pace, something you realise your adolescent self would have appreciated though refuted against.

You ponder more about your relationship, admiring the bonsai trees in the garden supplies aisle.

“Didn’t you have a thing for flowers or some shit?” Manjiro asks, pushing the cart up behind you.

You look at him incredulously, with an eyebrow raised in question, “Botany?”

He clicks his tongue, placing his elbows on the cart’s pushing bar and leaning forward.

“Yeah, that.”

“Yeah, well,” you huff a laugh, playing with the leaves of the tree gently, “a bachelor’s in botany is about as useful as a glass hammer.”

“Oh, so it’s shit, then?” Manjro asks rather forwardly.

You snort, and try correcting him. The auntie who strolls past you both looks at you with disgust and Manjiro only makes an even uglier face that makes her run away. “It’d take a lot of time and money. Neither of which I have.”

“That’s why you went into software?”

You think for a second. You look at the flowers you had wanted to plant all over Tokyo as part of your dream adult career when you were 6. How stupid you were, then. It was nice, it had always been better, back then — when you did not know how to tie your shoes or write your name properly in kanji.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

A silence befalls you both. You stand still in the shelves section of this sequestered furniture department store.

“Guess I’m lucky Shin left his shop for me,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say as a response.

Manjiro looks at you. Then he reaches for the shelf, cradling it like it is an infant. Your eyes crinkle up in amusement.

“I’m gettin’ this shelf.”

“Alright,” you huff. “Can we go to the market now?”

He smiles back. You bend your four fingers into your palm when you feel your heart begin to develop a rhythmic thumping against your chest at his expression.

You were not 15.

“Sure.”

But you sure wanted to be.

.

.

.

The next week, Manjiro went to work — and you had taken a long, good look at yourself in the mirror; assessing the damage. 

A wrinkle would come on your forehead when you would smile. Crinkles would form near your eyes and at the corners of your lips, too, if you got too excited. Your skin was transparent — showcasing all your emotions whether you wanted it to or not. Truthfully, you preferred it that way. You had hidden too much of yourself when you were young — for no reason. Perhaps out of fear or embarrassment of being seen — is what you could possibly surmise as some reasons. Your features had also hardened since then, odd, considering how much softer you had morphed. 

All of your youth, you spent resenting yourself. Too afraid to even look at yourself, at times. But, you were normal. You were not a monster — a pleasant surprise.

As you were eyeing yourself, your eyes hand landed on a pair of scissors in a cylindrical cup on a shelf over the toilet. You had then looked at yourself once more, before grabbing the scissors.

Manjiro comes home in the evening with groceries in hand. A small ‘tadaima’ leaves his lips as he takes his shoes off in the genkan. You appear in the dimly lit hallway, a part of you missing. His eyes, already on you the moment your frame turned the corner, enlarged. You feel your chest tighten and the familiar coil in your stomach tangle. 

“You cut your hair,” he breathes softly, like it was a secret.

You approach him. He comes close to you. You are standing taller than he is on the elevated flooring of his home. You smile, a delicate one. “He always preferred long, but I never did.”

A pregnant pause follows. That was the first time you had brought up Him ever since that encounter in the closet. At least voluntarily. You can see Manjiro’s chest deflate, almost as though he had been holding his breath for you to set him free, ever since that day. A part of you hurts at the notion that he still cared for you. Another, more selfish and attention-starved piece of you thrived. 

The clock you purchase him ticks. Manjiro’s nose is red and his eyes are wet from the cold. You see him lift up his hand — it is shaking but you do not stop him or inform him of that.

He cups your cheek. His hands are cold against your warmth. He murmurs, softly and true, “You look nice.”

You look down, suddenly feeling like a teenager again. 

“Thank—Thank you…”

Manjiro’s actions do not register in his mind until your discomposure. He looks at his hand like he has committed a crime and snatches it away. You are troubled by how much his disappearance bothers you.

“Sorry— I—.”

“It’s okay,” You cut him off halfway, giving him a tight-lipped smile. What were you thinking was going to happen? You grab the grocery bags he had set down and walk inside. “I’ll start dinner.”

.

.

It is not after dinner he touches you again. It is late in the night, when the moon has reached its high and the cicadas reach their crescendo. You are laid on the tatami, turned on your side and admiring the melting snow on the sakura trees outside. Your head lays on your left arm, the right one traces patterns into your own skin.

You feel someone behind you. You turn, and see Manjiro.

His gaze reads sorrowful. The rims of his eyes are red. Though he is shirtless and resembles a man, he looks like he is eighteen again when he cries like this, in front of you. It has only ever happened once, when you saw him like this. You had run into him, rather than the other way around — like this.

Manjiro had grown mad. You had grown scared. You were both so stupid and naive back then.

You sit up, your covers bunching at your waist as they fall. You call for him, your tone only but a whisper.

“Manjiro,” you call for him, the clouds finally parting, letting the moonlight flow into the quaint living room and paint his features.

You knew it was coming — it was only a matter of time. Heated stares shared across the too large kotatsu, limbs entangling underneath for ‘warmth’ — they were all a rouse.

A teardrop falls onto your face, as the last sakura petals of Spring shake off the tree branch outside, and meet their wilted brothers and sisters on the dull green of the grass.

“Y/n…” He speaks, ever so softly, as though afraid of breaking through your skin.

Manjiro sounds so sad. He bends onto his knees in front of you. You stare into his brown. A shiver runs down your spine, from both the cold and his close presence. You had realised you had been mentally awaiting for this to happen. It was only natural — like moths to a flame. Suddenly, the tatami mat beneath you is non-existent. You feel like you are floating — like you are in Mr. Nakamoto’s linear algebra classroom, about to receive your first kiss from the boy who’s ruffian behaviour scared you, before. Looking at him now — ten years after heartbreak and uprooting your life — only now you have realised his softness.

“Yes?” You whisper, knowing it was too late — but also knowing Manjiro would never care. It would never bother him like it would to you.

“Y/n,” his voice cracks, he places his hands around your frame, encompassing you everywhere. He calls for you again, his voice only a whisper — almost as though Manjiro were afraid that if he were to raise it any louder you would leave him once more, “Y/n.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur, laying down as he begins to move over your frame and bring your covers up, “it’s alright.”

You take Manjiro into your arms; his sharp teeth at your neck, his warm hands feverishly running up the cold skin of your stomach under his shirt you wear, his blonde hair in your fingers, him, inside of you and you holding onto him for dear life — irrevocably — and he leans into them.

.

.

.

His introspection arrives the morning after he has laid with you — it comes gently and ordinarily. You would not have even known he was opening up to you, if not for the seldom look-aways and hiccups he’d let out every now and again. Metaphorical, of course. But they might as well have been real — it’s too easy for you to discern them.

It scares you, the idea of being a form of his recluse.

You wake up, and he is already staring at you. Your cheek rests on his bicep. His eyes form into crescent moons when you look at him. A warmth rises to your cheeks. You unconsciously hide your hands underneath the covers.

Some birds are chirping outside: for some reason they have not gone to warmer climates. Manjiro is still staring at you — like you are hiding something. You gaze at him, your lips lifting up at the side, unable to hide your amusement and giddiness for some reason. You feel like a small child in his arms; like an excited seventeen year old who had passed their driving test with his guidance. You feel like you were always meant to be here — next to him.

It feels nice. Which is why it confuses you when he asks.

“What?”

You hum. “Hm?”

“You’re hiding something,” he says.

“Huh? What?”

Manjiro grabs at your hands covered by the blanket. He finds the top and kneads it with his thumb. It sends a thumping to your chest.

He grins at you, curious, as he questions, “What’s in your hands?”

Your eyes widen, ever so slightly. Manjiro was always watching you. Usually attention would bother you. You hated explaining yourself. But his attention elicits a warmth in your stomach that sends the same pleasure as drinking a warm cup of coffee.

You think your cheeks are dark as you murmur, a small, “Nothing.”

Manjiro clutches your hands in his, smiling. “Then why do you keep hiding them like that?”

“Have I?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, rustling a little under the covers. The duvet falls to expose his bare stomach. Suddenly you grow hyper aware of the fact that you are both naked. You are even more shocked to find yourself not caring to know the whereabouts of your underwear.

“S’been driving me insane. Thinking you’ve stolen something of mine.”

You feel yourself smiling from one side. “If I had you wouldn’t have found out so easily.”

“Hn.”

You laugh a little at the tiny sound of hesitancy and distrust. Manjiro was so cute. You rustle under the covers, pressing your hands closer to your chest. You hold them together. They are cold against your breasts, and when you press them too hard to the bite and kiss marks left over your skin by the man you lay with, you feel yourself growing shy under his gaze.

“It’s… a habit,” you measly whisper, “I don’t know why.”

Manjiro places a hand on your cheek, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Yeah, you do.”

You sigh and look away. “It’s silly.”

Manjiro brings your face back down to look at him. He looks so serious. You don’t know whether to be flustered or afraid. Perhaps both.

“Tell me.”

You cast your gaze downwards. It was stupid.

“I— ah, you know,” you swallow, “Haruchiyo… used to tease how stubby my fingers were.” You explain, purposefully letting out the part he was involved in. Although you had lost the baby fat and were 29, you do not know why your brain chose to hold onto such an inane insult. You were barely 11 when you were told that. How come you do not remember the good things?

Manjiro looks at you with guilt. Your eyes widen. He remembers, too. You look down, again — feeling embarrassed for even bringing it up in the first place. 

“I— uh— it’s whatever…, I also never liked my hands.”

He shakes his head, and rests his forehead in the crook of your neck and shoulder. You still. 

“Shit,” he grunts, arms wrapping around your frame, “I’m a dumbass.”

You feel your heart jump. You don’t think it’s ever done that before. You like how rough Manjiro’s hands feel against your skin.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, reluctantly bringing a hand up to brush the back of his hair. 

He slightly pulls away, looking into your eyes. You feel his feet brush your ankle. 

“It’s not, though.” he says, “How could I—,” Manjiro stops himself midway. 

He continues to look at you. You feel his eyes travel to your cheeks, the mark under your eye he gave you accidentally when you were 13 and taking turns jumping into a neighbourhood lake you stumbled upon (he had pushed you in because you were afraid — scraped your face against a rock — you had never seen him look so regretful and scared). You look at him — at the light stubble on his chin, the scars running on his cheeks, be it from his time as a delinquent in his youth or from motorcycle work at the shop he runs right now. You wonder where all the others came from while you were gone. You’d gotten up and left — right when you were getting to know each other. You have no one but yourself to blame, and yet he looks at you like you were a martyr who could do no wrong.

“God, I was a dumbass.” He rasps, sweet and true. He leans in closer. You lean in, too.

He holds you so gently, it makes it so easy to forget whatever you had been worried about before your reunion. Warm thumbs brush your cold cheeks — you feel small but you can burst through the seams from this warmth.

“How could I have not seen how beautiful you were?”

His lips brush yours and his voice is raspy smooth when he asks the rhetorical question. You blush and tilt back. Your eyes shift to the open engawa behind him, to Manjiro’s face. You lift your hands from underneath the covers, and place them on top of his. 

“You like me.” You soundly state.

“Yeah,” Manjiro admits, “yeah I do. I like you very much. But you don’t need to worry. That’s something I have to deal with.”

His confession elicits something in you. Something that seemed to have been festering for a while, waiting to be awakened by only him. You feel safe. You do not want to run away. Manjiro knows exactly what to say. 

The admission causes a silence to fall. You break it by opening your mouth and spewing nonsense, as you usually do.

“I… also used to make fun of you.”

Manjiro grins. You blush. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Used to misplace your things when you’d piss me off.” You say, staring up at him through your eyelashes. That was your rebellious phase. Albeit, that had only occurred once — you did not want Manjiro to feel alone in his guilt. 

He laughs. You smile. It is that simple.

“That makes us both idiots, then.” He murmurs, leaning in closer. Your lips touch each other, and you are 15 again, in his arms. 

“I guess so,” You whisper through a smile, and return it ten-fold — a warm mouth melting you away softly.

.

.

.

February arrives carrying a similar breeze. Snow is starting to melt and Manjiro’s garden is beginning to blossom. You make love in his living room, bedroom, and the shower — when he is busy. You also procured a part-time job at a local firm to finally have the money to purchase your own clothes, instead of lounging in Manjiro’s garments all the time. He leaves often in the afternoons, rarely in the mornings — but he always comes back to you in the evenings. You prepare breakfast, lunch and dinner — but this time an odd sense of romantic domesticity is involved in all of your gestures and being around him. Manjiro is clingy, you have come to find out. In his youth his affections were scarce — but so were yours. You were both scared, hiding your love from one another — maybe out of embarrassment, you presume? Now, he is older and so are you. Manjiro’s hands find themselves around you any and every time you are near him.

It is lovely. 

Currently, it is 6:45pm. You are in his closet, arranging his clothes once more. Your eyes land on a box hidden away deep on the lowest level of his shelf. You crane an eyebrow. It has a feminine, intricate design of bellflowers etched into the wood. You note the initials K and E also carved on its top. You reach for it and open it. Your heart falls.

“Found anything interesting?” Manjiro’s voice pierces the silence.

You jump and look towards the door. Much like the day he found you speaking to Ryuchi, he is standing there in his work clothes. Your eyes fall on his face. He does not seem mad. If anything, he seems relieved — almost as though he had left this box out in the open for you to find. 

“You’re home,” you breathe.

Manjiro drops the bag in his right hand. He enters the closet and closes the door behind him, sitting down on his knees close to you and placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. You make a noise between a choke and a grunt, but he only caresses your face.

“I’m home,” he whispers softly to you.

You look down at the box resting in your lap. Manjiro’s hands rest on yours, and guide you towards the lock to open it. You look up and gaze at him with uncertainty. He only nods.

“Open it. It’s meant for you.” He encourages, letting go of your hands.

You stare down at the box. Something in your mind tells you that you know it is yours. You open it, and it is true. Silent for a moment, you gaze down at the countless number of bottle caps — from soda and milk brands back in the day — and your stomach twists at how familiar they all look to you.

Then, you remember why that is. 

“I can’t believe she still had this…” You murmur. You look up at Manjiro. He looks down into the box and rests a hand on your left one. It is only when he does that that you realise that you had been shaking. 

“What is it?”

“Bottle caps,” you utter, breathlessly, “Emma and I… we—we’d buy each other drinks on Wednesdays. A midweek reward,” your voice starts to crack,  “I—I’d put aside money from my tutoring job for it.”

The idea that for over a decade, the girl who you thought forgot about you — did not care for you or wonder about you — kept such an odd presence of your reminder in such a delicate box that you know meant a lot to her (the first present Ken has bought her when they started dating), makes you want to cry. You can’t though. Not with him around.

The walk-in closet suddenly feels too small. The tiniest of whimpers leaves your throat. Manjiro cups your cheek again, grounding you from the panic you feel.

“She always cared for you. But, that doesn’t mean she was mad. She was never mad.” He softly speaks.

You can’t say much to that. Emma is dead. She will not even know that you came back for her. You think Manjiro senses that, because he drops it. You set the box down and lean against the shelf, and he copies your actions. Your shoulders are touching. You look down into the box and decide that perhaps organising these bottle caps will make you feel better.

You start putting them into groups on the carpeted floor of the closet. You can feel Manjiro’s eyes on you. A couple of minutes pass just like this, the only sound being the occasional metal of the caps hitting each other and the rain hitting the windows from outside. 

“Have you ever been in love?” Manjiro asks.

The question oddly does not take you aback. You reckon that he deserves to know. “I guess… I mean… I was engaged.”

Manjiro’s body stiffens beside you. You continue organising the bottle caps.

“His name was Ryuchi. He was friends with my old roommate's boyfriend.” you murmur, eyebrows furrowed as you recall your past, “I—I don’t even talk to any of them anymore.”

Looking towards Manjiro, you find him already staring at you. You note his hand formed into a fist, and look away.

“I think I liked his smile, so I gave it a try. His mother never liked me,” you laugh a little — not quite out of amusement,  “He broke it off in my apartment after four years. A Sunday.”

“I’ll kill him,” Manjiro growls. 

You turn your head to look at him and weakly smile. You place your hand over his fist, and it unfolds to grab at your fingers and intertwine them together. 

“He’s… not in my life anymore. That’s that.”

“I am.” Manjiro reminds you softly with an accusatory tone of voice. It itself is so contradictory it makes you smile; makes your heart flutter.

You shift closer, so your elbows are touching. Your exposed thighs press up against his. “Yes, you are.”

“Were you upset?”

You move a little in your spot, sighing. “I mean, obviously.”

“Are you still upset?”

“I—I dunno.”

A weird part of you feels relieved, another part wants to murder him and another smaller part wants to die. But you do not say any of that to Manjiro. It feels too weird. The topic shifting from his dead sister to your deadbeat ex-fiancé feels too much.

“But enough about that,” you change the topic, tightening your hold around his hand, “What ‘bout you?”

“Yeah,” Manjiro admits, keeping eye contact with you and coming in even closer. “I have.”

“Oh,” your breath hitches, and you murmur a very awkward, “nice.”

Manjiro is close to your ear. You can feel him breathing down your neck. You shiver. “Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

He presses his forehead against yours, playing with a strand of your hair with his index finger and thumb.

“Y/n…”

He kisses you gently, laying you down softly against the carpet. Hot palms brush the bare skin of your stomach, kissing down your neck — leaving small little messages in their wake. A small mewl of defeat escapes your mouth, which he swallows all too easily— all too greedily. Manjiro is everywhere around you, all at once, shielding you from everything and anything in the small little closet of all his and your belongings. A shirt comes off, then your socks. Fists meet hair and you have never felt so alive despite the incessant biting at your skin and clashing of teeth.

I missed you. Each one seems to speak to you. Never leave me again. They beg.

But — something bigger leaves his mouth. Like a monster that had been hiding in your closet all along — hiding in the garden shed since that very day you met the bane of your existence — something you tried desperately avoiding. You start to cry but only clutch onto him harder, because you had always had a fondness for the ugly creatures in life. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

[larcenywrites]

kinda random but headcanons about young!tony telling maria stark all about his girlfriend (maybe she was his best friend/childhood friend and then they fell in love and maria always teased them about how they'd make a cute couple) and maria teasing him about being a lovesick puppy but also being super happy about it + relationship advice from mama stark 🤧🥰 maybe her telling tony what she thinks of his girlfriend and everything 🥺👉👈

Tbh I like the idea of Tony and his s/o being cute childhood friends🥺 and this is already long but I feel like I have so much more I wanna say 😭 I hardly know what I said here honestly 😭 I focused a lot more on the childhood aspect ngl 😭

Word count: 1,909

Warnings: she/her terms and pronouns used | completely SFW |

💠You and Tony have been connected at the hip since childhood! Neighbors, both the only children in your families, same age— so of course you both got up to no good in the shared strip of grass between your homes! And eventually up to no good in each other's homes! 

💠Cue that video of that kid crying because the other kid said that she'd marry him 😂 That's pretty much little you and little Tony! Your Superman and Barbie were always married to his Batman and He-Man toys, and maybe you made him be the housewife when you played house in the kitchen 😌 And Maria was probably much more entertained with whatever love-betrayal-murder plot you two came up with on the living room floor than the daytime soaps on the tv 🤧

💠Especially if Maria is best friends with your parent/s, I'm sure she was the type to giggle about how their kids will grow up and get married 

💠He was ripping apart RC cars instead of playing with them in the driveway, or making you hold wires in place while he duct-taped them around a pipe. And Howard wasn't very happy when he started tearing television remotes apart, too… 

💠So when daddy dearest shipped him off to boarding school, summers and holidays were practically spent entirely together!

💠He always hid in your backyard when he was sent home early from boarding school for being difficult, and was oh-so-boastful about winning the fight that got him sent home early- that he didn't even start, by the way! He started hiding in your room on the days he had to go back, but he wasn't going to let you get in trouble for hiding him when now your parents were involved in the search too 😖

💠Every year, the same routine. Sometimes he came back a little taller, and sometimes he was leaving with a new haircut (of which you weren't afraid to let him know your opinion of it!) that would be grown back out by the time he returned, but one day, in particular, was different...

💠 He'd shown up at your window as per usual, right at the end of summer, finally tall enough to cross his arms over your windowsill without standing on his toes. 

💠 "I don't wanna go," he whined, squishing his cheek against his arm as he rested his head upon his crossed arms. 

💠"But you'll get in trouble," you argued back, meeting him at the window and standing on your knees, still looking down at him. 

💠"I'll get in trouble either way." He continued to pout, but you didn't let up either. 

💠"It's just one more year." But your plea was only met with a sigh.

💠"Here," you started decisively, tone making him turn towards you, still with his chin tucked over his arms. With a short bout of courage, you quickly leaned down before he could even realize, barely touching your lips to his in a child's-excuse-of-a-kiss that hardly lasted a second. "I'll wait for you to get back, okay?" You chirped reassuringly, fighting the heat under your cheeks.

💠Wide-eyed and red-faced, no longer slumped over crossed arms and tight-lipped, he could only nod cartoonishly. 

💠 You'd always thought he looked silly and a bit scrawny in his school uniform, but now he looked quite cute in those silly green shorts as he was finally heeding Jarvis' call from the car. 

💠Both fortunately and unfortunately, nothing special happened or changed once he came home, but as time passes, it's only natural for the two of you to get shy at close contact or steal glances during a round of Galaga or Mario, and maybe sitting a bit close for the thrill!

💠And Maria obviously notices! She doesn't play on the NES herself, but she enjoys watching! Or maybe just enjoys watching you guys 🤭

💠And later that night at dinner, she's definitely teasing Tony about how cute you two are, but even Howard comes to the poor blushing boy's rescue 😖

💠Remember that Tony went to college real early at 16, probably much to your secret bitterness and dismay 😒 but the worst was that, once again, he only came home on summers and winters and holidays 😔 where you got to hear all about his new friend and maybe felt a bit jealous 😔

💠But at least with his more formal education (and more trust from his dad), he was no longer so anarchic with his little science experiments! Sure, he'd always made little robots and been able to put anything back together with only minor issues, but now you were seeing him in a section of the paper with much larger robots and maybe feeling a bit silly now about holding the flashlight for him while he tore apart your family's backup generator 😅 

💠And maybe you leaned in a little too close on purpose when he was sketching out his blueprints to bring to class after spring break... hey, they are actually really good! 

💠Eventually those RC cars became real cars, and eventually he asked you out… with some help from his mom, of course. 

💠"Tony, when are you going to man up and ask (Y/N) out?" Maria asks one day.

💠"Huh?" He's genuinely confused and taken aback, looking over at his mom with furrowed brows.

💠"You heard me." 

💠"I don't think it's like that," he replies meekly, already blushing. 

💠"Didn't you say she kissed you?"

💠"Yeah, when we were like fourteen…" 

💠"And it doesn't seem anyone else is willing to hang out with you every day..."

💠"Should I be offended by that?" 

💠"You should be inspired."

💠Tony rolls his eyes a little, but it is already something he's thought about. Of course he's thought about it! And honestly, you've probably dropped some very frustratingly obvious hints 😖 and Tony isn't stupid. You know this, he knows this. Well, maybe he's a little more inept when it comes to social cues, but still! 

💠Maria has known you for nearly you're whole life, and she already adores you, so don't worry, she also talks all about how lovely you seem and how Tony should go for it! She's on your side! As soon as you leave, she'll have something to say!

💠And the longer Tony puts it off, the more she'll just downright be like, "Y/N was flirting with you, dummy!!!!" or "You guys are very cute 🥰"

💠Tony is frustrated not because he disagrees, but because he really doesn't know what to do and doesn't wanna look stupid :( Because, let's be honest, in this circumstance, he has 0 experience 🤧

💠After awkwardly trying and failing to ask you out in his garage one night, after fumbling to grab every tool and getting hit by the car's hood he didn't properly secure, and then became even more flustered after you grabbed onto his shoulders and head and asked if he was okay, he decided to begrudgingly ask his mom for help 😖

💠And gets even more embarrassed when she excitedly agrees 😓

💠"Yeah, yeah, yeah, just help me out here," he whines in a regional New York accent that he's probably mostly shed by now with his college career. 

💠And only many months later will Maria tell you about his red cheeks and scrunched nose as he asked 🤭

💠But!!! What she's saying... he already failed at a few days ago :( He tried asking you on a date during a casual hangout :( but he was already not doing himself many favors so he gave up and just let you go home with nothing more than a meek "see ya 🙂" 

💠His mom makes him feel a little better about it, especially when she says that you probably thought it was cute😊😊 and probably knew what was up anyway! But, uh, maybe still make sure you don't do that next time... have more confidence!

💠So... the next time you're both hanging out in his garage... he's probably puffing out his chest and flexing a bit 🤭 but when you do look, it does help his confidence! And that's the point! 

💠This time when you go to leave, he's still a bit flustered and stumbling through a few words, but he does manage to get out a "so, um... I was thinking maybe we should go somewhere... nicer? Next time? Maybe Friday?"

💠He becomes a bit squeaky at the end there, but it only helps him look cuter! Of course, you've been waiting on this for years, probably, so you can confidently smile back at him and tell him you'd love that- maybe even tell him that you have been waiting for him to ask!

💠Bonus points if you give him a little cheek kiss before you head home, kinda reminiscent of your silly little childhood kiss 🥰 And yes, Tony never forgot it 😘

💠Your confidence (and his lack thereof) definitely throws him off! But don't let his stiff demeanor fool you! He's very happy! And can't hide his grin when he head into his own house... which his mom instantly picks up on and may have been watching through the window 🤭

💠And might tease him about that little kiss 😘

💠But now... he has to actually plan the date 😨

💠First dates are always awkward (especially with your childhood friend!), but with some pretty flowers and surprisingly confident handholding, it goes well! 

💠Bonus points for another cheek kiss before you head inside your house after he drops you off 😘 

💠Either way, now he's hooked! 

💠Now, when you lean over the edge of the car to look under the hood and huddle close to him, he can't help but smile all giddy and sneak a kiss 🥺 because now he's allowed to and now he's super cute 😭

💠He used to always keep it to himself, but now when he calls his mom every week from school like usual, he can't help but complain about being bored without you 🥺 only for Rhodey to scoff offendedly behind him loud enough for Maria to hear 😭 

💠And you know Rhodey got an earful when Tony returned from Summer break talking about his new girlfriend 😘

💠And you also know that when Tony calls you from school, Rhodes is waiting not only to make his own calls, but 7 out of 10 times waiting to make kissy noises and aws every time Tony says he misses you or anything along those lines 🥰 The other times, Rhodey does give you guys some peace and quiet, but sometimes him being there for the call is fun too! 

💠But even when he is home, and even if you were just over yesterday or earlier that day, Maria can tell he's bummed ☹️

💠But honestly it does kinda make her happy! Her son is in love!! But she can't help but tease him about being all lovesick 🥰🥰 There's probably a picture somewhere of him pouting at the breakfast table, but he'll brush it off as him being tired 😤

💠The two of them being close is, believe it or not, a good thing for you! Sure, Maria is protective of her son, but she's also protective of you! Moreso when it comes to your relationship with Tony! 

💠If Tony comes to confide in her about an argument, whether or not he's in the wrong, she's telling him how to fix it 🤧 and sending him with flowers 💐

[holidaywishes]

lilacs and ice cream

Requested: 👍

Summary/Request: Idk if your taking requests but, If you could (if your doing it) write something about Bo Bichette again please, preferably with a gn or fem reader. I’ve read everything that I can read about him that also applies with me.

Author's Note: Alright, @goodiesinthecloset21, I'm gonna do my best with this one. I want to add that I know absolutely nothing about baseball so any terminology is the work of a quick Google search or something I've heard in a movie. Anyway, I know that you sent your request like a million years ago so I hope after all this time, it gives you a bit of what you're looking for. I decided to do something softer this time, more fluff, since the last one was smut but let me know if that's not the way you wanted it to go and I can give it another shot. Thanks babe! Love ya, stay golden!

P.S. some of this is kinda giving “strained family relationship” which was unintentional, so I’m sorry about that. Hopefully, that doesn’t take away from the story.

masterlist

the other masterlist

xx

Summer in Toronto was beautiful. You loved the way the flowers bloomed, the bright purples popping against the bright green grass; even on the smoggiest days. There was only ever one thing missing - someone to share it with. That is, until Bo came into your life. You had gone to the baseball game with your family begrudgingly, but the seats were good and you knew it was something that your dad had wanted for a long time

“I just want to be in that stadium,” he’d say at least twice a month for most of your life, “just once. To see a game and watch the Jays win”

It was nice to see him, and the rest of your family, so happy. You watched the game, intermittently laughing at your dad as he tried to start a wave that barely made it past your section, or when he spilled his popcorn after jumping up in excitement. You really started to get into it around the 3rd inning, the crowd was getting loud and rowdy and it started to rub off on you. By the time the game ended, you were beaming with excitement, so much so that you weren’t watching where you were going and you somehow walked right into a crowd of people.

“Oh my goodness I’m so sorry!” you laughed, “I guess that’ll teach me to watch where I’m going next time”

“That’s alright,” one voice said, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine. A bit embarrassed maybe,” you added before finally looking up to see who you’d bumped into. Speechless when you saw Bo Bichette smiling back at you, “but you know…” you continued, trying not to blush as you stared, “fine”

“Glad to hear it,” he said cheerfully before his teammates called him to the bus that was waiting for them, “don’t go running into anybody else now.” You watched for a second while he hopped on the bus, feeling a small tug on your arm from your mom pulling you towards your family

“(Y/N), come on, what are you doing?” she laughed

“Yeah, yeah,” you answered distractedly, “I’m coming.” Your mind wandered to that encounter all through your family meal and you weren’t sure you could ever forget it - or that you wanted to.

xx

It had been nearly a week since you bumped into Bo Bichette at the Jays game. Honestly, it kept you going during your boring serving shifts at the pub you worked at.

“I mean it was a fun story,” your co-worker, Brit, smirked as she leaned against the wall where you were cleaning a table, “but don’t you think you should be over it by now? I mean.. it was a chance encounter,” she teased, “we don’t live in a rom-com”

“I’m sorry,” you laughed in return, “but it’s one of the more exciting things that have happened in my life. And.. yeah, maybe I’ve been single for a little longer than I would like.” Brit gave you an almost pitiful look before the door was burst open by a loud crowd of men, laughing amongst themselves before stopping at the host stand to ask for a table; you could only watch for a moment as they were directed to your section before you were pulled away to run food. When you finally got to the table of boastful boys, you noticed who exactly they were

“Well, hello again,” Bo smiled as he greeted you, “I was hoping I'd see you again. Maybe get a name this time?”

“H-h-hi,” you stammered, as you looked at him until you realized you should probably be professional, “hi, I'm (Y/N),” you course-corrected, “I'll be your server today. How is everyone doing today?” It was an awkward segue but you didn't know what to do

“Hi, (Y/N), I'm Bo. Nice to meet you,” he said, introducing himself in return and it calmed you down enough for you to... not look like a complete moron when doing your job, “officially.” You felt a blush creep across your face as you continued to take everyone’s orders. When you finally left the table, you exhaled sharply while your co-workers giggled

“I can’t believe this,” you whispered to yourself, “this is insane”

“It’s gonna be fine,” your friend said with a smile, “think of it this way: you’re finally continuing your rom-com”

“Come on, Brit,” you replied, hanging your head, “this isn’t funny. I’m too flustered to give them… to be a good server”

“You’ll be great!” she continued, “just be your bubbly self. They’re just people, don’t think of them otherwise”

“Yeah, just people,” you repeated, “incredibly well-known, well-recognizable, wealthy people”

“You know you also have other tables…” one of your other co-workers, who had been listening to the entire conversation, interjected, forcing you to snap out of your pity party

“SHIT!” you said quietly, rushing out to check on your tables, refilling water glasses and clearing plates where needed, all the while keeping an eye on the players of the Toronto Blue Jays. At some point in the night, the host came to grab you

“(Y/N), they’re asking for you,” the host said, “I don’t think they’re upset but they don’t want to talk to anyone else. Not even the managers”

“How long ago did they ask?” you asked

“Like less than a minute” she answered

“And they’re not upset?”

“No.. I mean I don’t think so but maybe they’re pretending? Being ‘polite mad’?” You chuckled a bit before thanking her and heading back to them, greeting them happily, making sure everything was alright

“We just wanted to ask you a question” Bo smiled

“Bo wanted to ask you a question,” one of the others clarified, and your interest was suddenly peaked

“Ah, okay,” you returned, placing your hand on the back of Bo’s chair, “what’s the question?”

“What are you doing after your shift?” he asked

“It’ll be late,” you admitted with a chuckle, “so I’ll probably be going to bed”

“What time are you off?”

“I’m on a split tonight, so I’m here until at least 10pm” you replied

“Do you work tomorrow?” Bo continued, earning a shy smile from you

“Tomorrow’s my day off. I hardly ever work Sundays”

“Are you free around.. noon?”

“Sure,” you said, “for what?”

“There’s this path I love hiking, how do you feel about that?” you said that would be great, both of you smiling at each other, almost completely ignoring everyone at the table. It took you until you got into the kitchen that you realized you had just been asked out on a date - ‘I guess it has been a while’ you thought - and now you didn’t know how to act. Bo was the one who confirmed the date, leaving you with a blush that covered your whole face; you were sure it looked like you were having an allergic reaction but you hoped he wasn't embarrassed of you...

“I'll see you tomorrow” you managed to get out after what felt like an eternity

“Tomorrow,” he said with a smile, walking backward as he left the pub, keeping his eyes locked on you until one of his teammates turned him around so he didn't hurt himself by running into the door.

xx

You woke up the next morning and practically hopped out of bed, immediately texting Brit

“Did I dream Bo Bichette asking me out on a date?” you asked

“No,” she replied plainly, after about 10 minutes

“I'm going hiking with a professional athlete today?”

“Yes”

“WHAT DO I DO?!”

“First of all,” she started a string of texts, “it's 8 in the morning, calm down.” You chuckled at her text, knowing that she had probably bitterly rolled out of bed after hearing the chime of her phone, “second, what do you mean what do you do? You go on a date with Professional Baseball Player, Bo Bichette”

“Okay.. sure," you typed, “but what do I wear?”

“You're going on a hike. Don't wear jeans”

“Thank you for that”

“Always here to help”

“I should start getting ready...”

“Again, it's 8AM” she repeated

“And the date is at noon...”

“Yeah”

“You don't need four hours to get ready”

“I need to shower”

“20 minutes”

“I have to find an outfit”

“5 minutes, 10 max”

“I have to do my hair and make myself look presentable”

“We'll say 30 minutes to be safe”

“I have to eat something...” You were grasping now but what could you do, you were nervous

“Maybe he's planning on taking you somewhere after the hike?” she countered, "I don't think eating before a hike is recommended”

“BRIT!” you text-shouted, "I'm freaking out. I don't want to be freaking out but I am. I don't want to make a fool of myself. Or him...”

“Okay, okay, okay,” you could practically hear her sigh through the screen, "you're not going to make a fool of yourself or him. No one's gonna be made a fool today. But you don't need to worry so much. Wear a pair of shorts, the ones you really like, bring a bandana or something - to get your hair off your neck a bit but also to get rid of any sweat you don't want him to see - and make sure you wear sneakers. Don't wear boots or flip-flops. And sunscreen. Always wear sunscreen!” You thanked her quickly, jokingly saying that you were glad she was finally getting on board, and placed your phone back on its charger before hopping in the shower.

“Maybe Brit was wrong. Maybe this really was a mistake…” you grumbled to yourself as you fixed your outfit in the mirror, nearly jumping out of your skin when the doorbell rang. You tried to be as calm as you could, letting out a deep exhale before answering the door

“Hey!” Bo said with a wide smile

“Hi,” you said simply, any doubt you had was now replaced with butterflies in your stomach - being nervous was so basic but you couldn’t help it.

“I.. you ready?” He stammered. It made you feel better that he seemed a little out of his element as well

“Let me just grab a water bottle” you smiled, leaving the door open as you ran to the kitchen; a way of saying ‘you can come in, judge my apartment a little if you want,’ but you were maybe just a little too quick.

“Let’s get going then,” he remarked happily and the two of you were on your way. You weren’t sure what to expect with this hike but Bo using the word path led you to believe it wouldn’t be that bad - which would be ideal since the last time you properly went hiking would be at least 5 years ago. However, it turns out, you forgot to take into account that Bo Bichette was, in fact, Bo Bichette: Professional MLBer. In the middle of the hike, you leaned against a tree, claiming you needed the shade

“I forgot to put on sunscreen and I don't want to burn,” you falsely claimed, catching your breath as Bo leaned against the tree with you

“Sure,” he smirked, bringing out his water bottle to take a sip, “I mean I don't burn as easily but we can stay in the shade.” Once you had finally evened out your breathing, you took a sip of water and looked out at the path that you were about to continue walking

“It's beautiful out here,” you smiled, leading both of you back onto the path at a slower pace now, “I can tell why you like it so much”

“I almost brought you flowers, lilacs,” he gestured to the flowers on the path, “but I knew the path and I knew there would be lilacs here, so I decided against it”

“Aww,” you said, pouting slightly to hopefully show how cute you thought it was, “that's really sweet. I would've appreciated it either way but I'm glad I got to see this first”

“I chose right then?” he asked eagerly

“Yes,"”you smiled, “you chose right.” Bo kept your pace for the rest of the walk but you could tell it was not what he was used to and you felt a little silly not telling him you hadn't been hiking in so long. “I'm sorry that this wasn't a very.. exciting hike,” you laughed uncomfortably, “I haven't been on a trail of any kind in about 5 years. I used to do a lot more physical activity and then I guess I just kinda... stopped”

“That's okay,” he smiled in return as the trail came to an end, “it was nice to see it at this pace. Yes, I do typically go a bit faster,” he laughed to himself, “but I don't always take in the beauty of the actual walk. So, I guess I should thank you”

“You're very welcome,” you returned jokingly and he bowed to add to the humour. The two of you finally got to the car and you hesitated as to what was going to happen next

“Everything okay?” he asked, noticing your reluctance to open the door

“I just... had a really good time,” you admitted, “I'm wondering, I guess, what's next?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are we going somewhere else or should we end it here?” you said, “I mean, sorry,” you continued awkwardly, “I don't want to be presumptuous. I'm just flushed”

“What would you like to do?” he smirked

“Whatever you had planned” you admitted

“Then, I think we should go get some ice cream,” he offered, “I know a great place nearby.” You happily agreed before hopping into the passenger seat of the car. You felt butterflies the entire car ride to the ice cream shop and tried not to stare at him too often but would occasionally catch him looking back at you.

“Is Rocky Road your usual choice?” you asked, as you scooped a bit of your favourite into a spoon and bringing it to your mouth

“No,” he admitted, “I’ve never actually had it. I just wanted to try it”

“And…?” you giggled, “what do you think?”

“It’s okay,” he laughed, “I’ve had better but I’ve also had worse.” You smiled at his words and continued eating your own ice cream, taking in the pastel colours of the parlour at the same time, when you heard Bo giggle slightly; your attention immediately drawn back to him

“What?” you blushed

“You just have…” he began, gesturing to his mouth and it took you a minute to understand that you must have ice cream around your mouth.

“Oh,” you said in surprise, tinged with embarrassment, but his finger soon grazed your lip, wiping away the small mess there. “Thank you,” you whispered in this unbelievable rom-com moment, his finger lingering slightly before he cleared his throat and removed it

“My pleasure” he grinned. You wondered if there might be a kiss but let him take the lead - you didn’t want to set expectations. As he drove you home, you couldn’t help think how sweet this all was - the walk, the lilacs, the ice cream, the moment - but the one thought that kept sticking in your mind was: I really hope there's a second date. He walked you to the door to your apartment building, stopping short of entering the lobby, “I had a really nice time”

“I did too,” you returned, “thank you for… everything. It’s been one of the best dates I’ve had in the city”

“I’m glad,” he smiled, reminding you of your first meeting, “maybe we can do it again?” You felt giddiness take over you and you rushed to agree, hoping that did not throw him off. “Perfect,” he finally said after what felt like a long pause, “then I think the lake is open. It’s another physical activity, I know, but paddle boats are always fun. What do you say?” The smile that spread across your face felt like it might consume you and all you could do was nod your head in agreement, “I will pick you up tomorrow then, same time?”

“I’ll bring the sunscreen,” you joked, “I wouldn’t want to burn.” He smiled at you lightly before placing a small kiss to your cheek, a feeling you’d think about until the very moment he picked you up for each and every date.

[fortheloveof-sebastian]

Finding Sebastian: Part One

Pairings: Sebastian x F!Reader

Summary: (minor spoilers) Sebastian disappears before your fifth year is over, and you’re left reeling in his absence. When Anne confronts you about your connection to her uncle’s death and her brother’s disappearance, you don’t expect her to also invite you to join her and Ominis in a quest to find him and bring him home.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: spoilers for Hogwarts Legacy, mentions of death

A/N: I wanted to include this oneshot in my first post, I might expand upon it. There’s so much to be explored after Hogwarts Legacy ends. Of course, I’ve changed it up a little. I hope you enjoy!

Summer had descended on the town of Feldcroft, arriving with bountiful colors of green grass on the surrounding mountains and hills and below you, as you sail past on your broom, bright bursts of wildflowers. You wish desperately that you could’ve enjoyed your journey, it wasn’t often that ventured outside of Hogwarts’s grounds; your stomach churns as you lands, expertly dismounting.

The handful of townspeople out and conducting their business hardly acknowledge you. You likee to think it was because you had frequented Feldcroft several times over the last year, and they were familiar with you, but you knew in your heart that was a lie. Because as soon as you turned a corner, or looked away, you felt their hateful gazes burning into your retreating form.

Could you blame them?

Although disputed heavily through the Wizarding World, everyone had heard of Sebastian’s plight into dark magic. It was common knowledge that you were friends, and undoubtedly had a hand in it. No one knew the extent of your involvement, however, besides you, Sebastian, and Ominis.

And perhaps now Anne.

A pit of dread opens in your stomach. You received her owl a few days ago after your classes commenced, and it had ran through your mind ever since: We need to talk.

You hadn’t spoken to Anne much, besides the fragments of conversation when you visited with Sebastian. Solomon often spirited her away, or she grew too ill to partake in your merriment and she vanished on her own. As you near their cottage, you summon all of your strength not to upheave the contents of your breakfast.

Anne’s uncle was dead — murdered — and with Sebastian missing, it was no wonder that she wanted to speak with you. You were the link between the two occurrences, despite however much you didn’t want to be.

Memories flood into your brain: traveling to Feldcroft for the first time, and your visits afterward, sometimes with Ominis tagging along, sometimes just with Sebastian. Your heart aches. You missed him more than anything. Several efforts to reach out to him had been unsuccessful, he clearly did not want to be found.

After the death of his uncle, Sebastian no longer wanted to be friends. Ominis, immersed in his anger and sadness for your him, stopped talking to you as well. You spiraled into grief, and then, before your OWLs even started, Sebastian vanished without a trace.

The following days, you felt distinctly as if a limb had been chopped off.

You could handle him avoiding you, not wanting to talk. But this — this was a fresh hell, one where you didn’t know if he was safe or what he was thinking. Surely he succumbed to the scrutiny and guilt and fled, but where?

You raise your hand to knock but the door swings open on its own accord. There, in the shadows beyond the threshold, stands Anne.

“Come in, quickly now,” she weakly orders.

With a lingering glance over your shoulder, you step inside and briefly glance about. The inside of the cottage resembles the one in your memory, albeit slightly more disorderly. Anne limps into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, and you realize that she probably doesn’t have the strength to keep things as tidy as they were. It’s hard to discern whether or not she looks worse than before; she’s never looked particularly well as long as you knew her, and now the sadness only exacerbates her sickly pallor and sunken eyes.

The same eyes — Sebastian’s eyes — are studying you intensely. Awkwardly, you sit down.

“It’s good to see you, Anne,” you say.

“I wish I could say the same.”

Her words strike you as if you’ve been slapped. You’ve never seen a glimpse of Sebastian in her before, but her quiet determination reminds you of him, and it startles you.

“Listen, I know you have every right to be angry with me —”

“Oh, I’m not angry with you.” Anne’s shoulders quiver. You’re not sure if it’s with the effort to remain upright, or something else. “I’m furious.”

Your mouth snaps shut. What do you say to that?

“Half the time, I miss him so badly I can barely function,” she continues, “and the other half I’m so upset that I wish he never comes back. Do you know how awful that is, to think that of your brother? Your twin?”

You don’t respond: it’s a rhetorical question, clearly. Of course you could never understand. But you were missing your friend, your lover, and that in itself was its own unique pain.

You mutter, “I’m sorry, Anne.”

She lets out a strangled sob. “Sorry isn’t enough to repair the damage you’ve dealt.”

“Look, I miss him too,” you sharply reply. Although you could guess why she wanted to talk, you didn’t come here to be berated. She wasn’t the only one grieving. “And I didn’t make him cast an Unforgivable Curse.”

Anne flinches, and then her upper lip curls. “No, but you encouraged him to dabble in the Dark Arts. Ominis told me everything.”

“Ominis,” you repeat, confused. “Have you been in contact with him?”

“Obviously.” She coughs into a closed fist. Once she’s recovered, she hisses, “You know, I was their friend before you. And then after I got sick they just…just…replaced me. With you. I was fine with it at first, of course I wanted Sebastian and Ominis to be happy. But then you led my brother astray, and now Ominis is a ghost of his former self and —”

Your jaw clenches. “I didn’t make anyone do anything.”

“Perhaps not,” she sniffs, “but you didn’t stop them, did you?”

“You know how they both can be. Sebastian is wildly stubborn, and Ominis — Ominis would do anything for him.” Tears spring to your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. “He just wanted to find a cure for you. And at the end of the day, that’s all Ominis wanted too. They didn’t replace you, Anne. They wanted to help.”

Anne is silent for a moment. Her gaze drops to the table, undoubtedly recounting the meals she ate there with Sebastian and Solomon, the games of gobstones that were played. She finally says, “No one can help me. I tried to tell them that.” She gestures vaguely. “And now look at me.”

Surprising yourself, you say, “Come back with me to Hogwarts. They’ll look after you.”

“No.” Anne shudders slightly. “I won’t go back.”

“You can’t stay here alone,” you persist. To die, you want to add, but you don’t. Sebastian would want you to take care of his sister. Not to let her perish in their uncle’s home.

“I will, and I am. What do you care, anyway? You were the one to take everything away from me.”

You swallow your initial response, feeling like fire as it goes back down your throat. Voice barely above a whisper, you say, “I loved him — love him, Sebastian. Can’t you see that?”

“He was only using you,” Anne hisses.

It’s as if she’s flicked open your armor and pressed a finger into a wound; the fear you hadn’t quite admitted to, preferring to leave it unexamined. He was a Slytherin, and so were you, driven by power and ambition. All of the times you agreed to help him, all of the doubts you cast aside just to please him, rush back to the surface. The thought crossed your brain, of course, but you never let it linger. You loved him too much to believe it was true.

Had your love for him blinded you? Was that why he wasn’t returning your owls, or any contact?

He used you for his plan — to save Anne — and now that it failed, he didn’t need you any longer.

You push down your sorrow.

You knew Anne just wanted to hurt you.

“Sometimes, if you love someone, you’ll let them hurt you if it means making them happy.” You hold her gaze. “I’ve made mistakes. But loving Sebastian has never been one of them.” After a pause, you scoot back your chair and rise to your feet. “If that’s all, I will be going now.”

You make it to the door, hand on the doorknob, before Anne’s voice stops you: “Wait.”

She’s halfway out of her own chair, hesitant, hand outstretched. There’s a mixture of regret and desperation on her face. She takes a deep breath. “I want to find him. Sebastian. And Ominis said that we can’t do it without you. That’s the real reason I called you here today.”

“You could’ve started with that, instead of all of the accusations,” you dryly retort.

Anne grimaces but doesn’t apologize. “Please say that you’ll do it. We need your help.”

“I’ve already tried,” you confessed. “I haven’t heard anything from him.”

“Us too,” Anne says in a whisper. “But that’s because we haven’t actually gone and looked. We — you — have the entire summer before next schoolyear starts. Come with us.”

You debate this. She makes a good point. You thought about going after him yourself, but there was no way you could do it alone. Considering that Anne hated you and Ominis had now resorted to speaking about you only behind your back, you weren’t sure you were in the best company, but who else could you ask? Ominis, Anne, and yourself knew Sebastian better than anyone else.

“Fine, yes. When do we leave?” You ask.

Anne has the decency to look sheepish. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? But that’s barely any time for me to prepare.”

She wrings her hands. “Yes, I know. I would’ve called for you earlier but…well, I’m afraid I was rather tame today compared to what I would’ve been like a few weeks ago.”

Hand still on the doorknob, you push it open. The summer heat greets you, pressing into you on all sides. You remember something Sebastian said — “Sunmer is my favorite season,” he told you one lazy afternoon. “Don’t you think it’s just full of opportunities and adventure?” — and inwardly deflate. Why didn’t he stick around long enough for you to experience it together?

Slowly, you nod. “Alright. I’ll come back tomorrow at dawn. We’re going to find Sebastian and bring him back.”

[honeyblonde8929]

Whispers In The Dark. Ellie x Reader Fanfic.

- Soft Romance. Mild Smut. Swearing. Smoking Green TW.

• You and Ellie sneak outside of Jackson and find a peaceful, secluded place surrounded by nothing but nature and the glistening moonlight appearing from the frosty horizon. You might be staring at the surroundings, but Ellie isn’t.

-

You were giggling as the both of you scurried into an isolated forest, not too far from Jackson, but far enough so no patrols will spot the both of you. The calls of an owl echoed in the tall trees looming over you. Suddenly, Ellie stopped in her tracks.

“Shit.” Ellie grunted. “I forgot my torch.”

You sighed slightly, rummaging through your pockets while lightly jogging through the meadow, hand in hand.

“Ah! I’ve got mine!”

You playfully waved it near her face and turned it on. It brightened the burnt orange grass. Footsteps crunching the leaves below.

“And I thought I was the smart one.”

Ellie made a small smile to her remark, knowing that you would make fun of her.

And you did.

“Hm, says the one who wears the same converses everyday AND washes her hair… what did you say? Once a week? Not very smart, or hygienic. ”

She scoffed at you, going back to the original pace.

“Did Joel tell you that?! Tell me, the next time I see him, I’m kicking his ass.”

“No, Ellie, you won’t! You love him too much to do that.”

Her eyes twinkled, it may be dark, but it’s hard to not see them.

They were goddamn captivating.

“Yeah, I do.”

She looked at you, maybe a second longer than what would be considered friendly. Your arm hairs pricked up, sending goosebumps down to your waist. It could easily be because of the cool winter breeze. Or was it her?

Yeah. Definitely her.

It didn’t take too long until you found the spot you were looking for. You remember when Ellie sat down by the rock that was only a few feet away from you and she showed you her tattoo. It was fine lined at the time, but the summers glow on the moth almost sparkled with the light. But now it was winter, just shows how quick months can pass by. Especially when you are her have been getting closer and the chemistry was brewing up from each encounter.

The both of you sat on the rock, overlooking the moonlight that shone down, reflecting on your pale skin. The bruises you had from the daily patrols turned into a violet purple as the sun swished behind the mountains. Ellie was beside you and let go of your hands to roll a joint. Her fingers were fiddling with the filter and the pouch of weed, the smell entangled the midnight air.

You turned your head towards her, licking your dry cracked lips.

“Do you think they’ll notice that we are gone for the night?”

Ellie was focused on her roll, giving a gentle shake of her head.

“Well… We haven’t been caught yet. Unless you get really high and start being a nuisance.”

“Pft! As if! I’m not the loud one!”

Then Ellie looked back at you, just at the corner of her eye. She raised her eyebrows.

“You changed something in me that night.”

And God, you did. Last year felt like yesterday. You got too drunk and high with Ellie. Swooning over her like a dog on heat. Your heart pounding and palms sweating from the passionate dance you both created. Being each others first time created a strong bond. It might have just been physical that time, but now, it has a chance to bloom into something deeper.

“I guess I did.”

You passed her the lighter and soon enough she inhaled the blunt, filling her lungs with natures plant and you couldn’t help but glare at the way her voice curled when she exhaled, it made you quiver, in a good way.

After a few tokes, she passed it towards you, you gladly accepted and quickly felt the similar effects. She always put a little bit too much weed, almost busting through the paper, but you didn’t mind. Despite a few coughs, which Ellie found amusing, your head started humming slightly that teased your eardrums. That high circulated you and you closed your eyes, taking in the atmosphere. Moments in an apocalypse don’t get much better than this.

Ellie coughed then scratched the right side of her temple.

“I love the way your hair flows. Y-you know, in the wind. When we are riding on patrols together, it makes me feel… well, I’m not sure yet.”

A tinge of blush warmed your cheeks. You didn’t except her to come out with that, as compliments were a mere hit or miss for her. It felt like a gift that she would open up to you now and again. Despite all of her pain and sorrowing trauma, there was a gentle flame flickering her heart that captured yours.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed those glances you give me. That’s why I wear my hair down sometimes. Just for you.”

You had one last inhale before passing it back to Ellie and she quickly placed her lips on the joint. Looks like she needed the high quicker than she thought.

The freckles that covered her face would move with the smile she tired to hide in front of you. She can be so adorable, though you never told her.

The hallucinating effects now taking full hold of your body, slightly swaying with the rhythm of the rustling trees that were clinging onto the last leaves they held.

“It’s hard for me to say.” Ellie spoke after a small moment of silence.

“You really have been there for me, sure I have my friends, Joel, Tommy and Maria for advice.”

Then she placed her hand on top of yours.

“But you, you are my safe place. I… I really… fuck.”

Her sentence transformed into a whisper.

“After all our time together… I have fallen in-“

You wish you had the patience to let her finish but your mind went out the window and you clashed your now damp lips onto hers. Your long hair sweeping across her auburn layers, mixing into a sunset colourful ray. She wrapped her hands on your waist, feeling her calluses digging into your sides. You were now on top of her and stroked your thumb on her now flushed cheeks, you felt her smile growing from ear to ear. The wind picking up and feeling her muscles poking into the back of your spine. The heat radiating from your aching body was crying for her to explore every inch of you.

And she started doing just that.